Composing Amelia

by Alison Strobel

Her mouth twitched. “I’m curious what yours is, but … I’m not ready yet.” She stood. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  The hope that had briefly flared in his chest died out as she gave his knee a pat and headed for the bedroom.

  Marcus hadn’t talked to anyone about his conversation with Pastor Ryan. But he’d ruminated on the man’s words long enough. It was time to hash them out with another person. A week after Amelia had come home, Marcus met Ed at the diner once again. “So how’s Amelia?” Ed asked as he doctored his coffee with sugar and cream. “Was her time at the hospital helpful?”

  Marcus filled him in with what few details he knew. “There’s something she’s not telling me, though. I’m not sure if I should be worried or not.”

  Ed frowned as he stirred. “Secrets in a marriage are no good.”

  Marcus’s guilt kicked in. “You’re right. But I can’t force her to tell me what’s going on, either.”

  “No, that’s true. Best just to make sure you’re nurturing your relationship as best you can so she feels safe telling you.”

  Marcus nodded, glad he had his pie to focus on. “On a different topic, I had an interesting conversation with the hospital chaplain.” He told Ed what Ryan had said, noting especially the other pastor’s admonition to stop thinking about whether he was in the wrong place and concentrate instead on what God wanted him to do at New Hope. “I’ve been going crazy trying to get things off the ground here—you’ve experienced that yourself. And I know neither of us wants to see the church collapse around us. But … I’ve been praying about what he said, and it makes more and more sense every day.”

  Ed’s gaze was steady on his pie, but Marcus could tell he was thinking. “That’s excellent advice,” he finally said. “I’m disappointed that I didn’t think of that myself.” He glanced up at Marcus. “And has God revealed anything to you about what your purpose is here?”

  “I think so, actually. I—I really think I am supposed to be a pastor.”

  Ed chuckled. “I could have told you that, son. Anyone who listens to you preach knows you’re a born teacher. And your sermons are some of the best I’ve heard. Very impressive for a man so young.”

  The compliment was heady stuff. Marcus tried not to let his giddy appreciation show too much. “Thanks, Ed. That means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome. I guess the next question is, what do we do now?”

  “Well …” Marcus tapped his fork on his pie, nervous about the suggestion he was about to make. “I think the board needs to draw a line in the sand, saying this is what we’re about, and if you’re in, great. If you’re not …” He shrugged.

  “Show them the door?”

  “Maybe not quite like that, but make it clear that we’re not going to accommodate attitudes and behavior that are detrimental to the body.”

  “Set some boundaries.”

  “Precisely.” Marcus pushed his pie away, his energy focused entirely now on the conversation. The passion he’d felt for the job when he’d first been hired was smoldering again. “When I think about the vision you had, of a community that really took care of its own, I get so fired up. I want to be a part of that. And I really think God wants me to be a part of it too. And I can see there’s going to be a rocky road ahead as the members are called upon to either get serious or go home. There are going to be some hurt feelings, some big anger—because people have grown complacent and they like things the way they are, not because I foresee us being mean in our delivery. But what’s going to come out of it … I think it’s going to be amazing.”

  Ed smiled. “A phoenix rising from the ashes.”

  Marcus’s heart knocked in his chest. “Yes. Yes, exactly like that.”

  They spent the rest of their time together brainstorming, and when Marcus left for home, he felt like a new man. Everything was falling into place. His purpose was clear again, and without the weight of the congregation’s health on his shoulders, he felt that he actually had the strength to handle whatever they might throw at him when changes started to happen.

  There was only one thing left to do: Show Amelia that her secret was safe with him.

  A month out of the hospital, Amelia’s depression had greatly improved, though she still felt emotionally wobbly on some days. Unfortunately, the stability didn’t translate to her plans. She changed her mind about her future and her faith almost daily. Ruminations about motherhood would send her dreaming of running away to LA after the baby was born, but the next day she’d see a mom with a newborn at the store and find herself taken by the perfect little bundle in the stroller. She’d be comfortable with the idea of a godless world, only to have Marcus read her something he’d found interesting in one of his preaching magazines that made it more obvious than ever that God had to be real. Her soul was suffering from a bad case of whiplash.

  Having Marcus around so much made it worse. She longed for the connection they’d had before New Hope had sent him that letter. It was killing her not to open up to him, especially after he’d admitted how much he missed talking with her. And when he’d said he had a secret too—it had taken all her willpower not to capitulate just so she could hear it. She didn’t like the idea of him having a secret from her. But who was she to complain?

  She still held to the belief that leaving was the right thing to do, but she still had so much to figure out, and she didn’t have space to think with him always there. She was afraid her doubts and thoughts of leaving would show up somehow on her face. And it was harder to think about leaving when she was surrounded by the scent of his cologne and distracted by his very presence. They hadn’t had sex the entire time she’d been depressed, but since coming home from the hospital the combination of a stabilized mood and the absence of intimacy for so long had her longing to make love to him, and he was more than willing to comply when she admitted her desire. But the act left her feeling tremendously guilty—how she could give him her body in bed, but not share her soul and deepest thoughts?

  And as if it wasn’t already difficult enough to commit herself to leaving, Marcus’s blatant—and effective—attempts at expressing his support and love for her nearly did her in. He’d started going back to the church to work, but he would leave her little notes if she was still sleeping, or make her breakfast if she was awake and deliver it to her on the couch with a kiss. He catered to the silly cravings the pregnancy brought about, even anticipating them before they hit and coming home from work with a collection of random items that he predicted she’d want at two in the morning. Regardless of whether she did or not, she’d indulge him by eating them at one point or another, loath to hurt his feelings and secretly tickled that he put so much thought into something as weird as her changing tastes.

  In an effort to contribute to their life again and to try to make up for her secrecy, she returned to teaching piano for Blue Note. Six students came to their apartment throughout the week for hour-long sessions, and while the money wasn’t much, it was better than nothing. The bigger payoff came in feeling like she was still able to be productive even though her brain was so defective. Her self-esteem had taken a major hit with the diagnosis, and even though teaching was one of the last things she wanted to do with her life, she was glad to know she could still do at least one thing to contribute to society and make a living.

  One Wednesday morning at the end of June, she went out to the coffee shop on Main just to get out of the house for a while. Armed with a book and a wide-open afternoon, she claimed a beat-up armchair in the corner and made a halfhearted attempt to read. But the group of women gathered around a nearby table stole her attention and unwittingly cured Amelia’s indecision about her life.

  “Guess who got eight solid hours of sleep last night?” said a woman with bright lipstick.

  “Don’t rub it in,” said one with her hair in a messy ponytail. “I’d kill you out of jealousy, but I’m too tired.” She drank deeply from her coffee while the others laughed.

  “Dave got eight hours,” add
ed a woman in a too-tight shirt. “Maybe even nine. Slept right through Izzy’s screaming fit at two thirty. I don’t know how he does it.”

  “Men have some weird ability to sleep through anything their children do at night,” said Ponytail. “They only respond to orders barked from a mother on the edge of insanity.”

  “Well, of course—it’s our job to take care of the kids, remember?” said another woman. “Because they have to, you know, go sit at a desk for eight hours, and that’s really tiring.” More laughter as she rolled her eyes.

  “The minute Greg walks in the door I tell him he’s on duty with the kids,” said Lipstick. “I’ve had it with them by the time he gets home. The whining—seriously, I feel like my ears are bleeding half the time.” The others were vocal in their commiseration.

  Amelia had heard enough. This was the last thing she needed. Leaving her nearly finished drink on the window ledge near her chair, she fled from the coffee shop. Was that what it was like to be a mother? There was clear resentment and sarcasm in these women’s tones. It was what she’d always heard from her own mom, but she’d always assumed other people thought differently, that her mother’s venom had found its source in her craziness. But apparently it was a more common view than she’d thought.

  Amelia didn’t want her life to become one giant gripe session. It would be hard enough to resist with the stupid bipolar thing hanging over her.

  She drove to the library and waited for one of the public terminals to open up, then sat down to do some research. She’d had enough waffling. She was getting out of here.

  When Amelia arrived home, the apartment was empty. A note on the kitchen counter told her Marcus had gone out for a run. She took advantage of the solitude to start writing out notes on her plan at the dining room table. She started with a list of necessities—travel back to LA, a place to stay, a job—then began to brainstorm options. Her research at the library had been scattered and aimless, driven more by the need to take some kind of step in the direction of leaving than by an attempt to find useful information. When her initial burst of energy diminished and her frantic hunger for a way out abated, she’d come home in order to give her mind time to digest everything she’d taken in. Now she set about plugging that information into her list and fleshing out the details. She had less than four months to get it all laid out; once the baby was born she’d have to start implementing.

  Amelia’s thoughts were on Karis and whether she’d make a good wife for Marcus when her cell rang and startled her like a sudden crash of thunder. She jumped, the pen fumbling from her fingers, and grabbed it before another ring could jar her again. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ames, it’s me.”

  Jill’s voice came as a surprise that knocked Amelia off balance. They hadn’t talked much since Amelia had moved, though Jill had certainly tried more than Amelia had to keep their friendship alive. “Oh—Jill, hey. How are you?”

  “I’m pretty good now that it’s official: I’m a mom.”

  Amelia gasped. “The baby? You had the baby?”

  “This morning, yeah. Seven pounds, seven ounces, will one day answer to the name Bradley Michael.”

  Amelia didn’t really want to hear about this—it made the impending birth of her own baby all too real. But she couldn’t get out of it now. She did her best to fake her enthusiasm. “Oh my goodness, Jill. That’s—that’s wonderful. Congratulations. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right. I’m still not sure what was worse: labor or the first six months of the pregnancy when I couldn’t eat a blasted thing.”

  Amelia winced. “Well, it’s all over now.”

  “Yes it is. Thank the Lord. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m … doing all right.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. I promise not to tell you any awful stories about giving birth. I know you’re not psyched about it in the first place. But honestly, once it’s over, you realize it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Heh, thanks.”

  “So you and Marcus have to plan a trip out here soon, before you can’t fly anymore. I want you to meet Brad. Plus, I miss you.”

  “Aw, you’re sweet.” And then, to avoid more baby talk or the possibility that Jill would try to get all sentimental with her, Amelia took a chance and changed the subject. “But I’m moving back, so eventually I’ll be around all the time again.”

  “You are? Oh wow—I didn’t think you ever actually would. Is Marcus coming back, too?”

  “No—just me.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “Well, actually … I’m leaving the baby with Marcus.”

  The pause before Jill answered made Amelia sweat. “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “Um, I feel like I’m missing something. How exactly are you going to work this?”

  Amelia sat up straighter, gathering her courage to seal her new truth by speaking it aloud. “I’m leaving Marcus, Jill. I’m turning the baby over to him and coming back to LA.”

  The silence on Jill’s end made panic start to percolate in her middle. She started talking to fill the space. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this,” she said, standing to pace. “Ever since my time in the hospital, I’ve struggled with the idea of staying here and trying to be this homemaker-slash-pastor’s wife. It’s not what I thought it would be, and I’m not the right girl for the job. Remember when we went out for sushi, back before Christmas, and you said you weren’t even sure I was a Christian?”

  “Y-yeah—but remember, I—”

  “No, Jill, you were right. I mean, I guess maybe I sort of was, but it was for all the wrong reasons, and lately I’ve realized I’m just not convinced about it all. Marcus can’t be married to a woman who doesn’t even share his beliefs. He’s a pastor, for crying out loud.” She wandered the apartment, afraid to stop talking, sensing Jill would read her the riot act when she got the chance. “When my mom disappeared, I was desperate for anything that would give me hope that I wouldn’t turn out like her. You and your faith were right there in my face, so I grabbed it when you offered it. But I would have grabbed anything. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t study it—you looked like you had it all together, the stuff you told me about God made enough sense, so I went for it. And then I made that ridiculous decision to transfer out of Juilliard, and I met Marcus.… Honestly, if I hadn’t met him I don’t know if I would have lasted this long as a Christian. But I can’t keep faking it. And it’s not fair to him if I stick around.”

  “Amelia, you can’t just leave him with the baby.”

  “Why not? He’s going to be a great dad, he’s got a ton of support here—”

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean, you seem to think it’s going to be like handing over a—a box of books or something. ‘I’m moving but I don’t want to bring these; here, take all my paperback romances.’ This is your baby, Amelia. A living, breathing piece of yourself. Trust me, you have no idea how you’re going to feel about this child until you’ve given birth.”

  “Jill, listen, I didn’t want this baby in the first place. I don’t want to be a mom. I’ve never wanted that.” She punched a pillow on the bed, frustrated that she had to justify herself and afraid that, when she laid it out like this, she’d find her reasoning too flimsy to follow through on. “I don’t want to look back on my life in twenty years and hate myself for getting stuck with a kid I don’t know how to raise, a husband who believes something I don’t, and for missing my chance to actually do something with my life and prove myself. But by then I’ll be so entrenched, I won’t be able to leave. I still have a chance if I do it now. Marcus will have a chance to find a wife he can depend on to be the Christian woman he thought I was when he married me, someone who knows what to do with a baby.”

  She ran out of words and let herself sink to the bed. The line was quiet for a moment, then Jill said, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I can’t believe you’re actually talking about walking out on your family.”


  Amelia rubbed a hand over her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She really wanted this conversation to end. “What’s better, Jill—to deny who I am and make all three of us suffer for it? Or to let them move on with their lives and find someone who makes sense in the life they want, and move on with mine and be who I really am?”

  “You’re out of your mind, Amelia. Is your medication balanced?”

  “Oh please—I’m bipolar, not delusional.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Amelia rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Look, pretend I never said anything, okay? Obviously I shouldn’t have brought it up. I shouldn’t have expected you to be supportive. I’m just excited about getting my life back on track, and I wanted to share it with someone, so I figured I’d tell my best friend. My mistake. Congrats on the baby; I’ll talk to you later.” She shut her phone and sucked in a deep breath, then let it out in a huff as she stood to return to her list in the dining room. Why did she go and complicate things like that? Now she’d have to worry about Jill telling Dane, and Dane telling—

  “Marcus.”

  He stood outside the bedroom, arms folded across his chest that heaved with measured breaths. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was blank with horror. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, until Marcus finally broke the standoff.

  “You’re leaving me?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Marcus’s heart was pounding, and not just from his run. Amelia wrung her hands, started and stopped sentences before they made any sense, and finally pushed past him and said, “It’s for the best.”

  He felt like he was in The Twilight Zone. Who was this woman? “It’s for the best? It’s for the best? How can there be a single iota of ‘best’ in walking out on your husband and child? My gosh, Amelia, who have you been talking to?”

  “No one! You think someone talked me into this?”

  “I don’t know what else to think—why else would my wife be talking like this?”