“Almost like having twins,” Steven said. “Brad and Alissa are certainly going to see their lives change.”
Genevieve nodded. “Children do have that effect on you.”
Steven seemed thoughtful a moment. “I don’t think our lives changed much after our girls were born, do you?”
Genevieve clenched her teeth. All her efforts to remain relaxed flew out the window, and before she could hold back her words, she stated, “You would have to have been around to notice.”
Steven put down his fork. Genevieve knew the signal. From the look in his eye, she knew he was weary yet nonetheless willing to meet her on the other side of the line she had just drawn in the sand.
“You knew what my career entailed when you married me.”
“I was nineteen, Steven. I didn’t know anything.”
“You knew plenty, Genevieve. Why is it that we can never resolve this issue? What is it you blame me for?”
“I don’t blame you for anything. You’ve made a wonderful life for the girls and me.”
“That’s not true. You still blame me for losing all that money in the stock market, don’t you?”
Both of them spoke in low, constrained voices. No one in the restaurant would have known they were fighting.
“That’s all in the past, Steven. We can’t keep looking back.” Genevieve smoothed the stiff linen of the cloth napkin in her lap. The bitterness she had harbored for so long against Steven had become a tangled vine, winding through her heart’s garden. Many times she thought she had hacked away at the source of the problem, only to find that what had been removed was just a branch and not the root.
Without thinking about it, Genevieve let words slip through her lips. “Besides, you had a choice. You could have put all the money in the bank.”
Steven leaned closer. “You are still holding it against me, aren’t you? You think I talked you into making the stock market investment.”
“You were the one who did all the research and had the hot lead.”
“You could have disagreed at any point, and I would have dropped the whole idea.”
“I know. It was a mutual decision. We did what we thought was best. I don’t hold the decision against you.” Her words were bloodless, robotic, and void of life.
“Yes, we did what we thought was best. For you. For us. For your dad’s money. Your father would have understood. He would have, Gena. Do you still think he is somehow angry with you?”
Genevieve didn’t answer. She thought back to their wedding day and how her father barely spoke to her because he was angry that she was marrying an American. He had performed his duty, walking her down the aisle the same way he had performed his duty of walking her to school every day. She desperately yearned for him to offer a warm squeeze of her hand or a kiss on the cheek before he turned her over to Steven at the altar. Instead, her father had given her a stiff half-bow from the waist just as he had done for years at the school yard’s gate.
In her mind that day had pounded his admonition, “Make something of your life that will shine brightly.” By marrying an American and interrupting her university education, her father no longer believed she could make anything bright or promising of her life.
Then her father had turned, sat down beside her mother, and folded his arms. Genevieve stepped up to the altar, put her hand in Steven’s, and somehow transferred all that pain and disappointment into their marriage.
Now Steven reached for Genevieve’s hand across the table and said with steady, even words, “Gena, this needs to get settled. I’m not perfect. Nobody is. Your father wasn’t perfect, either. He’s gone now.”
“And so is his money.”
“Yes, and so is his money. We’ve been over this before. There’s nothing we can do to change that loss, Gena. I’m trying my best here. When will you believe me when I tell you I love you? I’m here for you. I always have been.”
Genevieve’s eyes narrowed as she looked into Steven’s sincere face. “When are you here for me? You’re leaving again Monday. You’re not here, Steven. You’re never here.”
Steven sighed and leaned back, as if her blow had hit its intended mark. “Yes, I am leaving Monday. That’s my job. My job that I love and you hate. I’ve paid my dues for your resentment of my career. We moved to Glenbrooke, like you wanted. We took another risk with the rest of the inheritance money and bought the café, like you wanted. What more do you want, Genevieve? Tell me, because I really would like to know.”
The waiter stepped up to the table at that moment, clearing their soup bowls and serving their salads. Genevieve had lost her appetite. She stared at one of the mandarin orange slices and tried to breathe slowly.
In a small voice she said, “I don’t want anything from you.”
“You know what?” Steven said. “There’s something I want from you.”
Genevieve looked up. She hadn’t expected his statement.
“I know you didn’t ask me what I wanted from you, but I’ll tell you anyway. I want you to forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what?”
Steven sat back. He pressed his thumb to his cheek and rested his fingers across his mouth as if deep in thought. “Only you can answer that, Genevieve. You say all these mistakes of mine are in the past, and yet I feel as if every single mistake I’ve ever made hangs around my neck like an invisible weight.”
“I don’t hold anything against you, Steven,” she said quickly. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with my father. Both he and Mom loved you like a son before they died. They knew you were a good husband and father. And you are. I don’t hold anything against you. I’m sorry I brought up the money. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. I don’t want to ever discuss it again.”
“I wish I could believe that,” Steven said.
They remained silent for a solid three minutes while they ate their salads. Genevieve hated the way she felt right now. Something needed to change. The darkness inside her spirit was smothering her. She had lost all sense of what was true and what was a deception.
Steven cleared his throat and held out a verbal olive branch before Genevieve’s barricaded heart. “We have a whole weekend ahead of us. I don’t want to argue with you. I want both of us to enjoy the time we have together.”
Genevieve forced a weak smile, as she had so many other times when their battle reached this point. “I don’t want to argue with you, either.”
Steven reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Genevieve knew that she would now do what she had done often before. She would retreat deep inside herself and leave only a shadow of the true Genevieve holding Steven’s hand and accompanying him through the rest of the weekend.
Little had changed inside Genevieve, despite their truce. The heaviness of her deepening sadness hung on her spirit like an overgrown vine blocking the light and air. There was no way on this green earth that she could get this darkness off her. She had tried before and nothing worked.
The only thing that helped was when she immersed herself so deeply in a project that no room was left for vine chopping. She survived by doing, not by brooding.
With renewed determination, Genevieve focused on all the good things she could find in Steven and in their marriage. This would be her project during the weekend. She would think about only positive aspects or their life together and do all she could to make her time with Steven wonderful. Brooding would not be allowed this weekend.
When the sun came out Saturday, the two of them took an afternoon drive down the coast. Genevieve tied a turquoise scarf around her neck and let the wind tie her hair in tangles. She drank in the fresh sea air as if it were an elixir. They drove for miles without speaking. The space and air and time gave Genevieve a chance to downshift.
After a decadently delicious crème brûlee at a French restaurant, Genevieve slipped her hand into her husband’s as they walked out the door to the parking lot. Steven opened the car door for her. Before she got in, she kissed him
generously. Her decision to focus on the positive was having a good effect on her.
On the way home Sunday afternoon, Genevieve felt refreshed. She told Steven they should do this more often, and she admitted she needed to get away more than she had realized.
“That’s what the girls told me,” Steven said.
Genevieve asked what he meant.
“Anna and Mallory told me you’ve been working too hard at the café. Anna said she thought the two of us needed to spend some time with each other away from all that.”
“This weekend was Anna’s idea?”
“No, it was my idea. But Anna’s comments prompted me to put the plans all together. I guess I needed to hear from the girls how hard you’ve been working.”
Immediately an old, familiar accusation flew to Genevieve’s mind. You wouldn’t need them to report to you about my life if you were actually around to live it with me.
Genevieve determinedly pushed back the wave of anger that threatened to crash over her. She told herself not to think about the negative. Steven was here with her now. He had been with her all weekend. It had been a restful weekend in which the real Genevieve had almost begun to integrate with the shadow of Genevieve who had started out the weekend with Steven.
The struggle was more intense than she expected. By the time they arrived home, Genevieve had slipped back into the familiar place of darkness and discouragement deep inside her heart. She hid behind her well-rehearsed role of attentive mother and careful homemaker. The girls seemed happy that their mother had glowing reports about the great time she had enjoyed with their father. Anna and Mallory seemed to have no trouble believing all their mother’s words were true.
But this time, Genevieve knew that Steven wasn’t buying it.
Chapter Six
Genevieve arrived early for work Monday and noticed that Leah had installed the awning. It looked exactly as Genevieve had hoped it would. The outside appeal of the Wildflower Café was now as perfect as it could be.
Inside, the brighter lights helped a little. The café was about half full of customers. Leah, who had donned her baseball cap that morning, was making the rounds with a coffeepot.
“Hey,” Leah greeted Genevieve, “how was the romantic weekend getaway?”
“Very nice.” Genevieve was aware that everyone in the café could hear her answer. “After all that rain on Friday, Saturday was beautiful on the coast.”
“We had a high of sixty-eight degrees here,” one of the elderly gentlemen at table number three said.
“Time to get some corn in the ground, now that the rains have let up,” another man said.
Leah began to discuss gardening techniques with the men while Genevieve slipped into the kitchen and pulled a clean apron from the drawer. It felt good to be back. This was her domain, and she was full of plans for improvement. With Steven gone for a week, she could concentrate on the girls and the Wildflower Café with renewed energy.
Her momentum, however, came to a dead stop two days later when Leah handed her the phone and said, “It’s the delivery service for the new tables.”
Genevieve listened while she stirred the day’s soup in a large kettle. She couldn’t believe what the man was telling her.
“No,” Genevieve answered him, “it would not be okay for you to deliver the tables Friday. As I explained when I ordered them, I need them today because all of the old tables are being removed today.”
“I wish I could help you,” the man on the other end of the line said. “But like I said, we’ve had some delivery complications here at the warehouse, and the absolute soonest I can get the two tables to you is by Friday.”
“It’s not two tables; it’s twelve tables.”
The man paused before saying, “On the order form here, I don’t see a one before the two. Are you sure you ordered twelve tables?”
“Yes, I ordered twelve tables and four chairs for each table.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but according to the paperwork I have, you only ordered two tables. I’ll have to call you back after I’ve checked the original order form.”
Genevieve let out an exasperated huff as she hung up the phone.
“Everything okay?” Leah slipped into the kitchen and scooped up two lunch plates.
“No. The order for the tables and chairs is a shambles!”
Leah paused. “Should I tell Seth not to come with the delivery truck this afternoon?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to let Shelly down. She needs the tables for her May Day event Saturday.”
“Which reminds me,” Leah said. “I have to talk to you about that. Let me serve these lunches, and I’ll be right back.”
Genevieve prepared a tuna sandwich and a chicken salad sandwich while waiting for Leah to return. Leah served the prepared sandwiches and then bustled back through the swinging door. “About the May Day event. Would it help if I took some of the food over Friday evening and set up things in the camp kitchen? I told Shelly I’d help her with table decorations, and I thought I might as well take the food when I go.”
“Yes, that would be very helpful. Thanks, Leah.”
“No problem. And let me know as soon as you find out about the new tables so I can give Seth a call.”
By that afternoon, Genevieve still didn’t know what she was going to do about the tables. The furniture warehouse hadn’t called back so she knew she would have to pursue them. Business had slowed down. Only four women sat in the dining room at the corner table. They were sipping tea and sharing desserts.
Genevieve decided to use the phone in the dining room so she could sit down as she spoke to the delivery service and have all the information in front of her. She also thought it might help her to control her temper and to be more polite since the young women sitting at the window table could overhear her if they wanted to.
One of the women at the table, Jessica Buchanan, looked up and greeted Genevieve from across the room with a smile and a wave. Jessica, a gentle-spirited mother of three, had initiated this meeting time at the Wildflower Café a few weeks ago so several women could participate, without their toddlers, in an informal Bible study. The group previously had met at Jessica’s beautiful Victorian home. Genevieve had been invited numerous times to join them, but she had declined the invitations over the months, saying that her work schedule was too busy.
At least, that was the reason Genevieve gave. The real reason was that she was nervous about making a commitment to keep up with the study. Years ago, when she had jumped into Bible Study Fellowship with both feet, she had been searching for answers and direction in her life. Now she was hiding. Hiding from her husband, from herself, and although she hadn’t admitted it yet, hiding from God beneath the tangled vines in her heart’s garden. The last place she wanted to be was around women who were out in the open.
“Yes, this is Genevieve Ahrens calling back for …” She checked the warehouse invoice in front of her. “Is it Jack?”
“One moment please.” A click was followed by music while Genevieve was put on hold. Of all things, the music was Christmas carols!
She held the phone far enough away from her ear not to be bowled over by the sound of sweet silver bells. Without intending to, Genevieve heard every word the women in the Bible study group were saying.
“My favorite verse in this chapter is definitely verse 6,” one of the women said. She had warm, brown skin and thick, curly, brown hair that fell over her shoulders. Genevieve had seen her in the café before, and she knew it was possible she had met her, but Genevieve couldn’t remember her name.
“It seems so crazy,” the woman said, “that Jesus would walk up to this man, who is lying there, paralyzed, and ask him, ‘Do you want to be made well?’ I mean, what paralyzed person wouldn’t want to be healed?”
Genevieve heard the music stop and held the phone up to her ear. “Hello?” It was only a pause on the music track. Strains of “Feliz Navidad” came pounding through the receiver louder than the
silver bells had been. She turned the phone away and listened to the women with her back to them.
“I wrote down verse 6 as my key verse, too,” another woman said. “Why do you think Jesus asked the paralyzed man if he wanted to be healed?”
“I thought about it a lot, and I asked Gordon—”
One of the women cut in. “No fair getting input from husbands when they’re pastors!”
The other women laughed.
Genevieve remembered the identity of the woman with the warm brown skin. Her name was Teri, and her husband was the new pastor at Glenbrooke Community Church. Leah had been talking about Teri and Gordon ever since they had arrived from Hawaii. Genevieve knew all about how Teri had taught at the high school with Jessica years ago and how Teri and her Australian husband had twin boys in kindergarten and a baby girl. They were living temporarily with Jessica and her husband, Kyle, since the Buchanan mansion on Madison Hill was large enough to be a hotel.
Genevieve wondered what a pastor’s wife would say about wanting to be made well. After all, Genevieve knew what it was like to be stuck in a paralyzed state emotionally. She had been that way a long time. No one had ever asked her if she wanted to be well.
“Gordo and I got into a big discussion about how sometimes we get stuck in our lives and in our routines.” Teri’s voice carried across the room as clearly as if she were speaking directly to Genevieve. “The paralyzed man in John 5 certainly had the routine down pat. He spent every day at the same place, doing the same thing, with the same blind and lame people.”
“You know what?” Jessica said. “Excuse me for interrupting, but it doesn’t specifically say that this man was paralyzed. It just says that he had an infirmity for thirty-eight years.”
“You’re right,” Teri said. “I hadn’t noticed that. It doesn’t specify his particular problem, which makes this verse even more applicable to my life and what I was going to say. This man had been in this same routine with his problem, whatever it was, for thirty-eight years. Jesus comes to him, asks if he wants to be made well, and instead of simply saying yes, the guy gives the excuse that no one will help him.”
Wildflowers Page 6
