Though flakes of the gold enamel lettering were missing, the word “Bible” was etched across the front.
My eyes widened in shock. Yet an unfazed Wilson deftly moved over to the nightstand and set the book down.
“Now, where were we?” He crawled back on the bed and resumed nuzzling my neck.
And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness.
The words both Clark and I had pledged before family and friends on that beautiful August day took their place at the forefront of my mind.
What in the world was I doing?
Had I really been about to make love to another man on top of a Bible?
Wilson’s labored breathing brought me out of my thoughts.
“Stop,” I said. “I-I can’t do this.” I squirmed from under him and scooted to the edge of the bed.
Frustration filled Wilson’s face as he sat up next to me, and a tinge of fear filled my heart. I didn’t know anything about this man. He could be a rapist or a murderer, and I’d opened my door and let the devil in.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammered as I stood up, putting some distance between us. “I don’t know what I’m doing. My husband cheated, but I . . . This isn’t me. I’m going through a rough time, and I’m not thinking clearly.” I rushed my words out as I tried to shake off the lingering effects of the liquor.
I expected Wilson to protest, get angry, but instead he took a deep breath, in and out, then nodded in understanding.
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”
He stood and adjusted himself. If he was upset, he wasn’t showing it.
“You’re a beautiful woman.” He paused, and I realized that I didn’t even know his last name. I was about to have sex with a man whose last name I didn’t even know. “And I’m not going to lie,” he continued, “I was looking forward to this. But no means no,” he replied. He picked his shirt and blazer up off the floor and slipped the white button-down back on. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
Those words brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back and willed them not to fall.
Wilson threw his blazer across his arm, then dug in his pants pocket. “Here’s my card,” he said, handing me his business card. “If things don’t work out with your marriage, feel free to call me. Next time we’ll just start with coffee.”
I managed a smile as I took his card. Wilson Parsons. Now I had that at least. “Thank you” was all I could say.
Infidelity has caused me to take leave of common sense, I thought as he walked out the door. Thank God I’d encountered a decent man. Because this scenario could’ve ended very differently.
Till death do us part.
My gaze settled on the book that had brought me to my senses. I picked it up and ran my fingers over the rough cover. It was strange. This was definitely not the standard Gideon Bible placed in all hotel rooms. The frayed cover made the book appear to be decades old.
I plopped on the bed and flipped the book open. The pages were worn, as if the book had been passed down for generations. I had walked away from God five years ago when he hadn’t fulfilled my prayer of motherhood, so I hadn’t opened a Bible for a long time. No need to start now, I thought as I tossed the book back onto the nightstand. Yes, it had kept me from making a horrible mistake, but it hadn’t changed my situation.
The book teetered on the edge of the nightstand, then fell to the floor, opening to reveal a tattered page.
Ashamed of my carelessness, I leaned down to pick it up. Before I could close the Bible, the verse that the book had opened to caught my eye.
Psalm 147:3—He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
The verse made my heart drop. It was the same one that Clark had repeated when he brought me back from the depths of despair.
That verse—and my husband—had saved my life.
chapter
* * *
3
September 2010
My wounds could not be healed. The therapist had not been able to do it. My best friend, Yvonne, had not been able to do it. Nor could my beloved Clark.
Nothing could bring me out of the black hole of grief.
I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d uttered a word. Death had a way of silencing people. And I had been comfortable settling into the pit of despair. The only voice I’d been able to find was the one praying for God to take me in my sleep. If I wasn’t such a coward, I would’ve downed a bottle of pills and given God some assistance.
“Look, you have to move past this.”
Yvonne’s voice shook me out of my self-induced trance. My best friend since middle school had been by my side almost as much as Clark. Only unlike his, Yvonne’s tone had changed from concern to exasperation.
“It has been six months, Savannah,” Yvonne said, reaching up to tie her long, curly hair into a ponytail, like she needed to get comfortable to knock some sense into me. “I know this is hard, but you’ve got to come back. You’ve got to shake off this grief.”
How do you shake off grief? I screamed inside. How do you get rid of the never-ending sound of your mother’s cry that haunts you? A cry that she emitted as she lay dying in your arms from an accident that you caused?
Who gets over that?
A text. A stupid text about a story I was trying to scoop the competition on. A text that just couldn’t wait and had killed my mother, my unborn child, and my future children . . . and left me to deal with the aftermath.
No, I had no interest in coming back from that. I was going to stay in my fallen state forever.
Yvonne scooted next to me on the sofa—my permanent place of residence since I’d come home after six weeks in the hospital and rehab to heal a broken leg.
I’d merely broken my leg.
The deaths of my mother and baby had broken my heart. And yet I got to come home.
The guilt had driven me into an abyss of darkness. There was no light in my life. I was cloaked in grief, and it permeated everything I did. Or didn’t do. The weight of knowing I’d killed my mother, my child, and my womb had left me unable to function, and the sofa had become my refuge. I spent my days and nights in alternate states of depression, tears, and sadness. Now, as Yvonne wiped tears that constantly appeared without warning, I wondered if I’d ever see light again.
“Sweetie, I want to help you,” she said, her expression a mixture of worry and irritation. “We all want to help. But you have to open up and let us in.”
I pulled the afghan more tightly around me. I’d vowed that all I’d do for the rest of my life was exactly what I’d been doing for the past four months—sit on this sofa and wait to die.
“Clark lost his child. He can’t lose you, too.” Yvonne then said what she always said. “He’s a good guy, one of the best. But there’s only so much any man can take when his wife shuts him out. You have to come back—for Clark. Before he leaves,” she added.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The sight of Clark standing in the entryway, the sunlight capturing his profile, showering him with the aura of a Wakandan king, made my heart flutter. I loved my husband so much, but love wasn’t enough to save me.
Clark walked over to the sofa, sat on the other side of me, and took my hand.
“No matter how long it takes, I’m going to love my wife and help her past this pain.” He lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes as he continued. “I’m going to do whatever it takes. We will deal with this grief together. The Lord heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
I snuggled into his embrace. Though I wasn’t responding, I heard his prayer. It was how he ended every night as he tucked me into my spot on the sofa. Clark was the religious one in our marriage. He’d been raised in one of those Sunday-through-Sunday churchgoing Baptist homes. The foundation his mother and grandmother had laid ran deep. I was more spiritual than religious. But ever since I’d overheard his mother complaining that we were unequally yoked, back when we first started dating, I’d tried
to channel my husband’s faith.
It had worked, too. I had happily opened the door to religion. But now—after this—I’d slammed that bad boy shut.
“I’m gonna go,” Yvonne said. “I gotta go check on my parents. You know my mom hasn’t been feeling well. And my hypochondriac sister has diagnosed her based off something she read on the Internet.” She leaned over and kissed me on top of my head, then squeezed Clark’s hand. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad she has you.”
I nestled closer to my husband, my back resting against his chest. As I watched Yvonne leave, Clark’s hands instinctively went to my stomach and I tensed. I hated for him to touch the home of the child we would never know.
As if reading my thoughts, he whispered, “You know it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.”
How could he not? The crushed metal from my car had pierced my amniotic sac—and my womb—ensuring that he would never have the children he so desperately wanted.
“We are going to get through this together,” he said, holding me tighter. “I’m here for you till death do us part.”
I didn’t realize I was crying as I sat on the edge of the hotel bed. At the time, I’d felt that Clark deserved so much more than what I had been giving him. He had suffered through my grief and loved me out of it. It had taken another six weeks, but his love had given me a will to live.
I slapped my face as I wiped the tears brought on by that memory. I was supposed to be angry, vengeful. Why was I thinking about the good part of my marriage? All of that had been ruined because Clark slept with another woman. So much for his religion.
I snarled at the book, before slamming it shut.
This Bible was bringing back things I didn’t want to remember. All I wanted to think about was how the two people I cared about most had broken my heart.
The Lord heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
“Ugh,” I groaned, tossing the Bible on the bed as I stood. An eerie feeling swept over me as the book fell open again . . . and back to Psalm 147:3.
I looked around the room as if some supernatural force was at play. My eyes drifted back to the book—and the tattered pages. The pages fluttered, despite the fact that there was no breeze.
“No,” I said, picking the book up and slamming it shut again, before setting it on the desk. My mind was playing tricks on me. The gin and Cokes had taken their toll.
This book had stopped me from sleeping with a stranger, but that’s it. Nothing more. If God was in this equation, He would’ve stopped Clark like He’d stopped me.
I fell back across the bed and cried myself to sleep.
chapter
* * *
4
I had fallen asleep with betrayal on my mind. And I’d awakened with more thoughts of revenge. I groaned as my head throbbed from all the liquor that I’d consumed yesterday. I didn’t drink like that, and that’s why I was paying the price this morning.
A shower and some breakfast helped ease my hangover, and I knew it was time to figure out my next step. I needed to start with my cell phone. I’d cut it off yesterday after I called my boss and told her that I needed some personal days. Since she was a friend in addition to being my boss, she was sympathetic without probing.
I don’t think my phone had ever been off for a solid twenty-four hours. I knew Clark was going crazy with worry, but right now, honestly, I didn’t care. Even still, I picked my phone up off the nightstand and powered it on. Clark had probably called everyone under the sun looking for me. And I didn’t want everyone else to worry about me.
As soon as the screen popped on, I saw the notification that my mailbox was full. I opened the messaging app and saw the urgent texts from Clark’s work phone, because I’d blocked his cell phone number. And for every one text he sent, Yvonne had sent two more.
If you don’t call me right now, the last text from her said.
I sighed and then dialed my best friend’s number.
“Savannah! Are you dead?” she cried, answering without bothering to say hello.
“I’m fine,” I said, taking a seat at the desk.
“Then you have lost your mind!” she barked. “Do you know how unbelievably worried we have been? We didn’t know if you had been kidnapped by a serial killer, run into a tree, or what.”
I could tell she immediately regretted her choice of words because of my accident. But I chose to ignore the reference. I couldn’t be concerned with that now.
I understood that Yvonne was worried—her job as an ER nurse had her always thinking the worst no matter what. But this wasn’t about her. Or Clark. Or anyone else who was worried. This was about me.
“Look, I’m going through a lot,” I said. “And I’m just taking some time to get my head together.”
“Where are you?” she asked. When I didn’t reply, she repeated, “Savannah, where are you?”
Yvonne had always been like my big sister, and I knew there would be no taking no for an answer. She would call out the cavalry until she tracked me down.
So I just told her. “I’m at the Markham Hotel, but do not tell Clark.”
“I’m not even talking to Clark. That jerk cheated on you, so he’s on my list.”
I was a little shocked that he had told her. I might not have understood the whys behind Clark’s transgression, but I knew he would never want anyone—especially my overprotective best friend—to know what he had done.
“So you know?” I asked.
“Yeah, he called trying to see if you were with me. Then he tried to give me some cockamamie story about you just leaving, but I know you, and we both know you wouldn’t have just taken off.”
“I know, right?” I said.
“So, I pressed him until he came clean. And girl, despite what he did, I can tell you he’s a complete basket case of worry.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Good.”
Yvonne finally exhaled a sigh of relief. “Well, look, I’m on my way over there.”
“No, really, Yvonne. I need to be alone,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied. “Did that sound like it had a question mark at the end? I didn’t say, ‘Can I come over there?’ I said I’m on my way. Markham? That’s the hotel downtown, right?”
I thought about protesting, then decided maybe talking to my best friend would help me sort through things, figure out my next move.
“Fine,” I said. “I’m in Room 316.” Then I thought about it. If I let Yvonne in here, she might never leave. “You know what? I’m hungry, so just meet me in the restaurant downstairs.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
+ + +
The waiter had already served my New England clam chowder by the time Yvonne arrived. She hugged me like I’d been missing for months, even though I just saw her three days ago.
“You have no idea how worried I was,” she said. “I called every hospital in a fifty-mile radius.” Yvonne took a seat across from me, set her purse on the table, and crossed her arms. “Okay. So, start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
The waiter approached us. “Ma’am, can I get you something?”
“Not now.” Yvonne’s tone sent the waiter scurrying away.
She glared at me. “Get to talking.”
“What has Clark told you?” I asked.
“That he messed up. That he hurt you. He’s dying because he doesn’t know where you are.”
“Good,” I said.
“Would you just tell me what happened?” she snapped.
It took me less than ten minutes to fill her in on everything. And by the time I was done, her arms had unfolded and her fists were balled up on the table. She looked like she was ready to go exact some punishment of her own on Clark.
“Clark and Dawn?” she finally muttered, still in awe.
I nodded.
Her surprise turned to sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Savannah.”
I ran my finger around the rim of my water glass. “You a
nd me both.”
“That dirty little home wrecker,” Yvonne said. By default, Dawn had become a good friend to her as well. Yvonne didn’t get along with too many people, but she liked Dawn. “And here I thought she was your friend.”
“You and me both,” I repeated.
“You know I called the heifer.”
I shook my head and managed a terse laugh. “I should’ve known. What did she say?”
“You know she didn’t answer.” She paused as her expression softened. “Savannah, are you sure you didn’t misconstrue things? Maybe—”
The look on my face made her stop in the middle of her sentence.
“Yeah, you never have been one to overreact,” she continued, “and Clark did confess that he had cheated on you with her.” She released an exasperated sigh. “But why did they do it? What happened?”
“Does it matter?” I said. “I didn’t stick around for an explanation.”
The waiter stood back with my club sandwich in his hand. I smiled and motioned for him to set my food down, which he did. Then he turned to Yvonne again.
“Would you like anything?”
Thankfully, Yvonne smiled. “Sorry for being rude. Dealing with some heavy stuff. Just bring me an apple martini, please. I’m not eating.”
The waiter nodded and took off.
“You know you need to leave him a big tip,” I said.
She flicked off my comment. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Clark so desperate.”
I hesitated. “I can’t believe Clark talked to you about it, to be honest.”
“I mean, he told me, but only the overview. I could tell he wanted to explain himself, but his focus was on finding you.” She took a deep breath, and I could feel some more of her anger dissipate. “Okay, Savannah, I’m going to say this and I want you to seriously consider it. I know this is an emotional time and you’re ready to call a divorce attorney, but you do know that couples have come back from affairs before?”
The Book in Room 316 Page 2
