Phoebe and the Rock of Ages

by Becky Doughty

  “Wow,” Trevor muttered, glad that Vic had been there to run interference. “Thanks. Kinda caught me off guard.” He took another sip of his tea.

  “So, my friend,” Vic said after a few moments of silence. “How are you doing with all that?”

  Trevor knew he was being vague because they were in public—in the privacy of either of their homes he would have been much more straightforward. Trevor would be thirty-five in a month, and being a single, red-blooded, healthy human being wasn’t always very easy for him.

  “Honestly? I need to get married, man. I need a wife. I feel like Paul was talking straight at me when he said ‘It is better to marry than to burn with passion.’ Dude.” Trevor shook his head and smiled openly. “I’m doing really well, though, all things considered. As long as I keep busy and focused on what God’s got me doing, I’m good.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” Vic replied. “I mean, a man has to rest, you know.”

  “Yeah, but when I rest, my guard comes down. It’s a battle, Vic, even after all these years. I just keep praying, asking, begging God to send the right woman to me, but…” His voice trailed off. It didn’t sit well with him that everyone else seemed to have someone special in their lives. Sure, Vic was only now getting married and he was even older than Trevor, but Vic had been in a couple comfortable, if not passionate, relationships over the years. Trevor, on the other hand, had always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or with the wrong person.

  That was how he’d felt about Juliette Gustafson, the girl who’d be marrying Vic next April. Even though he didn’t date casually, he’d agreed to go on a blind date with her at Gia’s request, for no other reason than that he’d felt the Lord compelling him to do so. All evening long, he’d prayed about her, asking God if she might be the one for him. But the whole time he was with her, as much as he enjoyed her company, the way she felt pressed against his back when she rode behind him on his bike, even after she’d invited Christ into her life, removing that last barrier between them, he’d known the answer was no. Not because she wasn’t beautiful. Not because he didn’t think she’d be a wonderful wife. Not because he could find anything wrong with her at all. But because he’d known she wasn’t the right one.

  Just like all the other women who’d come and gone in his life.

  Not that they were in his life. And that was the problem. They lived alongside his life, but none of them were really a part of his life.

  And he was weary of being alone.

  “I won’t settle, though. So I just keep praying. Keep asking.” He shook his head and finally lowered his gaze, his stomach clenching a little at having to admit his weakness, even to this friend who’d walked him through some difficult times. “It’s tough, man. Women like Carrie? They’re everywhere, especially on tour. It doesn’t matter that I’m a Christian, that I’m singing songs about Jesus and surrender and obedience and grace. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the opportunity to have my fill of some pretty little Christian girl offering me a lot more than Carrie just did.” He dipped his head in the direction the group of women had gone. “Holding out for marriage when sex is almost standard protocol as part of getting to know someone these days is like hanging onto a tiger by the tail. Not only do I come across as aloof and prudish to people, but I can’t, even for one moment, relax my grip, or I’ll fall, Vic. Crash and burn, you know?”

  “That might be obedience, but there doesn’t seem to be any peace in it.”

  Trevor lifted his head and met his friend’s eyes. He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “No. There’s no peace in it. It’s hell right now. I need a woman, Vic. But I know I don’t just need a woman,” he said, using his fingers to make air quotations around the phrase. “It’s not just sex, although that would be fantastic, too.” He touched a drop of condensation on his glass with the tip of his finger. “I need a woman who belongs to me, one I belong to.” He wasn’t jealous of Vic, but at that moment, he wanted to trade places with him more than anything. “These days, I actually wake up already feeling defeated, struggling before I even get out of bed. This isn’t right, living like this. ”

  “How’s your thought life?” Vic asked, his voice low, gentle, understanding. “What are you doing with your alone time?”

  Trevor released a quick snort. “It’s a twenty-four-seven struggle, man. Twenty-four-seven.” He paused just for a moment, but then continued, knowing he could trust Vic implicitly. “Today at the gas station, Phoebe’s licking comment? In that lounge singer voice of hers? I think I might have lost consciousness for a second or two.”

  Vic laughed out loud but nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “So I thank God in all sincerity for creating beautiful women like Phoebe Gustafson and her sisters. I thank him for putting her in my path, for letting me feel that rush of adrenaline and desire, because it means that at least everything is working the way it should, even if I’m not supposed to act on it. I try to be positive about every aspect of it, you know? I mean, he made women with all those curves and dimples, right? Those soft voices and bottomless eyes?”

  Vic was shaking his head slowly, but not in disagreement.

  “And he made us to appreciate all of it. But I tell you what, Vic. I’m sick to death of appreciating women from afar.” Trevor rubbed a hand over his eyes and dropped his head back against the cushion behind him. “Man, I sound like a fifteen-year-old boy.”

  “Nah. You sound like a thirty-something-year-old man who’s holding out for the right woman.” Vic picked up the tab the waitress had left at their table right before Carrie and her group passed by. He shook his head when Trevor reached for his wallet. “Let’s get out of here. I got this.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “There’s something about her,” Trevor began. They were in Vic’s car, heading out to the range for an hour of target practice. Trevor often teased his police officer friend about shooting off-duty, but it was something they both really enjoyed doing together.

  Except they weren’t using guns. They pulled into the Midtown Archers Club parking lot and Vic turned off the engine. “About Phoebe?”

  “Yeah.”

  Vic stilled, both hands on the steering wheel. Finally, he spoke, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Look. I agree, she’s quite a woman. But she’s…well, she’s not on the same page as you are, my friend. You may have a tiger by the tail, but she’s got the world eating out of the palm of her hand. Phoebe’s life is dialed in, and she likes it that way. And I don’t think she’s looking to change any time soon, Taz.” Trevor could tell Vic was being careful with his choice of words to describe the flamboyant woman.

  “I don’t mean it like that. Yeah, she’s gorgeous. And that voice!” Trevor shook his head appreciatively. “She may have a whole different set of standards than I do, but then, that’s not saying much, is it? Apparently, most of the world has a different set of standards than I do.” He made a fist, his forearm bunching on the armrest of the passenger door. “It’s just that I feel like I know her from somewhere. It feels like I should know her from somewhere. It’s driving me crazy trying to remember, though. I can’t place her, but I somehow recognize her.”

  Vic chuckled. “Maybe that’s your testosterone recognizing her.”

  “Ha. You’re a funny guy.” Trevor pushed open his door. “Come on, Sheriff. Let’s see if you’ve improved any since the last time we were here.”

  Trevor loved bows. He appreciated a well-built recurve, and he liked the efficiency of a compound, but he loved his collection of longbows more than any others. He’d been into archery since he was a kid, not for competition or show, not even for hunting. It was more the overall concept of the weapon, and he’d spent hours and hours constructing his own bows and arrows from a variety of woods. His latest masterpiece he’d crafted from yew in the classic English longbow style. The wood felt solid and sure in his hand, the riser settling into his grip in an organic way only wood could.
His favorite bow up until this one had been a Tomahawk longbow—it fit his lean musician hands perfectly—but the more he shot this new one, this one he’d custom built to his standards, the more he liked it.

  Vic, although almost as enthusiastic about shooting as Trevor was, only had two bows; a recurve that was his preference, and the sweet Bear Montana longbow he’d brought with him today. The two friends had spent more hours than they could count putting holes in targets, whether they were the foam-backed bosses at the club, or cheap paper targets tacked to straw bales out in the back forty at Trevor’s folks’ place in the canyon. The Zanders had almost three acres—his mother worked as a trainer in several of the local stables, and they boarded a few select horses on their property as well, but there had always been plenty of room there for Trevor to set up his range. When they’d first met, Vic had been fascinated by the hobby and had joined right in. Now, years later, it was still something they did together when they could get their schedules to cooperate.

  “Well, you’re from around here and so are the Gustafsons,” Vic suggested. “You’ve probably seen her around town.” They pushed through the double glass doors of the club and headed toward the front desk to check in.

  “Nah, it’s not that. I feel like I know her, or at least something about her.”

  “Maybe you remember when their parents were killed?” Vic signed his name in the registry and stepped aside to let Trevor do the same. “It was big news around here, from what Juliette tells me.”

  “Not that, either. I think I was too young and self-absorbed when it happened. I didn’t go to school with them and I wasn’t personally affected by it, you know?” He paused. “I do remember hearing about it. And I remember the other girl involved, Angela something, I think. The one who was driving. But that’s only because my mom knew her mom from one of the stables where she worked.” He shook his head. “It’s something else. And it’s going to drive me crazy until I remember, I know it will.”

  Vic reached over and put a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “Just be on your guard, my friend, okay? She’s going to be my sister-in-law, and I’ll stand by her, no matter what, don’t get me wrong. She loves her sisters like there’s no tomorrow; I’d trust her with Juliette’s life, and that’s saying a lot.” He frowned before continuing. “But her lifestyle is—well, just be careful.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to pursue her.”

  “Maybe not out loud, but I can hear you considering it.”

  Trevor studied Vic’s serious expression a few moments. Then he nodded. “Fine. Yeah. I’m considering it. I know I was supposed to stop at the Chevron today, and I know it was because of her.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “And I don’t think it was just because God wanted me to carry her gas can back to her Jeep for her.”

  “Fair enough.” Victor dropped his hand from Trevor’s shoulder and started forward again.

  “But will you do something for me?” Trevor didn’t want to ask. He wanted to think he was strong enough, manly enough, godly enough, to be able to handle this situation on his own. But he was well aware of his weaknesses, and even the thought of Phoebe tasted like temptation.

  “Anything.”

  “Will you hold me accountable?”

  “How?” Vic wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know what any of this is going to look like. But I want to at least figure out why I’m so—so bothered—by her. I feel like I should know her,” he said again. “I just don’t know if it’s because I know her from somewhere in my past, or if it’s because I’m supposed to get to know her. Or even because I just want to get to know her. Regardless, I feel compelled to move forward until God closes a door on this.”

  They’d reached the 70 meter line and chose two lanes side-by-side. It wasn’t terribly busy, which made continuing their conversation a little easier.

  “Okay. We can pray about it, and I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “Thanks. God?” Trevor knew Vic was accustomed to him breaking out in prayer at any time, so he moved right into it without explaining. “You know I’m yours. You know I want to live by your plan for my life. But you also know my heart, my strengths and weaknesses. Give me the courage to move forward, give me the discernment to recognize a closed door when—if—I see one. I’m asking for wisdom here, God, something I feel in short supply of these days. And thanks for Vic. Show us how to be the iron that sharpens iron in each others’ lives.”

  “Amen,” Vic said after Trevor fell silent.

  Trevor braced one end of his bow on the ground and bent the top limb forward so he could loop the end of the string in place. He strapped a short leather guard around his bow arm because he’d never quite learned to bend his elbow out far enough not to get burned by the bowstring, and slipped a three-fingered shooting glove on his other hand. He made his own from pliable suede, and had given Vic a couple, too. Selecting a hickory arrow from the quiver slung low on his thigh, he notched it, drew back on the bowstring, and released it. With a crackling thunk, it embedded itself into the target, only millimeters off center, the shaft quivering enthusiastically.

  “Nice,” Vic said before releasing his first arrow. He didn’t even make the inner circle. Trevor may have missed the mark when it came to women, but at least here, on the range, he outshone Vic by a long shot. Or a short shot. Or any shot.

  “You never finished telling me about this new album you’re working on.”

  “Right.” Trevor selected another arrow. “I still don’t know what I’m going to call it, but it’s the theme of transformation. Not the stereotypical bad to good transformation, though. More of a ‘works to faith’ transformation.”

  “Why not call it ‘Transformation? You just used the word three times,’” Vic asked, sending another arrow flying. Trevor could see him from the corner of his eye, and he almost laughed. The man had perfect form, just like everything else he did in life. Vic was a walking paragon of self-control, and being around him sometimes made Trevor feel like such a slouch. Although his faith was strong, a powerful living force inside him, Trevor felt more like the ruled-by-emotions King David of the Old Testament than the passionate self-disciplined Paul of the New Testament whom he so longed to emulate.

  “Too cliche, too churchy. Too familiar. Makes it easy to write off, even though the concept of transformation, if we really considered it, would blow our minds. No,” he shook his head slightly. “It has to be something the world would understand, and something that might make believers stop and take notice.”He paused, considering how best to describe his project. “This is about the transformation of a Christian from being a guy who follows all the Christian rules and regulations to being a man who believes with every fiber of his being that his works amount to nothing without Christ in him. The kind of transformation that should come after we accept Christ, you know?”

  “The kind that doesn’t happen nearly as often as it should,” Vic added, raising his hand in acknowledgment. “Speaking from experience, here.”

  Trevor nodded and set up another shot, and then lowered his bow before releasing the arrow. He turned to face his friend. “This is a really personal project. I’m not interested in if it sells or not, except for the fact that higher sales indicates that the message is getting out to more people. Dude, I’d give it away if I thought that would help spread the word. It’s that important.”

  “You know I believe in you, brother. You, of all people, can bring that kind of message to life.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They were there to talk about baby showers and wedding plans. Not about Phoebe and Trevor. Or Taz. Or whatever his name was.

  She had to move past this; get the others to move past this. She had to move past him. She wanted no part in his life, no matter how boy-next-door sexy he was.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d smiled at her, how he’d goaded her into letting him help her even after she insisted
she was fine. The guy flirted with her openly. Granted, he didn’t ask for her number, but there was all kinds of ‘come on’ in that crooked grin. And she knew a come on when she saw it. But he’d pulled away from her when they were in front of everyone. And then back to smiling and teasing her from across the room. Good grief, the man was a basket of contradictions and complications. Something she wanted no part of.

  “So what did you think of Taz?” Gia asked, as though sensing the object of Phoebe’s thoughts. “Isn’t he awesome?” The youngest Gustafson sister flopped back down on the floor atop a pile of over-sized cushions. She leaned forward and scratched Bob’s ribcage. He rolled onto his back, legs in the air, mouth falling open into a toothy grin. Mr. Bobo scampered into Gia’s lap, vying for her attention, too.

  After the guys left, Phoebe had settled into her customary seat on the sofa, at the opposite end from Juliette. She took a sip of coffee, delaying her answer. She was sure Trevor was awesome. Just not her kind of awesome. And she certainly didn’t want to talk about what she thought of him. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.

  “He’s very kind. And insistent.”

  “I know, right?” Gia agreed, her beautiful amber eyes wide. “He isn’t the kind of person to be put off, you know. If he wants something, he just goes out and gets it.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Phoebe.

  Phoebe laughed and shook her head. “I’m sure he does. But since that has nothing to do with me, how about we get on with the task at hand. Gia? You ready to get this thing started?”

  “Wait a minute,” Juliette interjected, holding up a hand. “You didn’t answer her question. What do you think of Trevor?” She stretched a shapely leg across the couch cushions between them and poked Phoebe in the thigh with her bare toe.

  Phoebe dropped her head to one side and scowled over at Juliette. “Seriously? You guys, I ran into him twenty minutes before I got here.”