After the Rain

by Bruce, Brandy

  “Yes. He told me about Sadie,” I said gently, hoping it wasn’t rude to bring her up. Connie sighed. She moved to stand in front of me.

  “Can I touch your hair?” she asked, a little embarrassed.

  I laughed. “Sure.”

  “It’s so curly!” she exclaimed with delight. “Did Ben tell you that Sadie had curly hair?”

  I shook my head. She touched my hair. “Her curls were blonde. Your dark hair is beautiful, just beautiful, Debra.”

  I hugged her impulsively, and she hugged me back. When I pulled away, there were tears pooled in her eyes. She laughed a bit self-consciously and wiped away any stray tears.

  “Would you like coffee?” she asked.

  “I’d love some. Can I slice the cake?”

  She nodded and pointed me in the direction of dessert plates.

  “We don’t have to wait for the men,” she told me, motioning for us to sit at the table. We sat down and had coffee together. Connie wanted to know about my job and my family. I wondered whether Ben had told her the reason I’d moved from Texas.

  I stirred cream into my coffee and looked out the kitchen windows to the backyard. One or two runaway snowflakes drifted on the wind.

  “You know my son is in love with you, right?” Connie asked, her tone serious. I blinked fast and stared at my coffee.

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I know Ben,” Connie said, “and I have to tell you, you’ll never find a more wonderful man. I may be biased, but he’s perfect.”

  I smiled at that. “He’s definitely wonderful. He—he has really strong faith. My faith doesn’t match his.” I wasn’t sure why I told her—maybe just the need for transparency since she was being so open with me.

  Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “This year has been one with a lot of change for me. And in all that change, I sort of lost myself. I realized my faith wasn’t as strong as I thought it was.”

  Connie looked outside. “I have a little experience in realizing your faith isn’t as strong as you expected.” She looked down at her hands, running her fingers over her wedding ring. “To me, faith is the promise that I’ll see Sadie again. It’s the peace that eventually came when I didn’t think it was possible. It’s the ability to forgive that I couldn’t have mustered on my own. None of those things were the miracle I wanted—the one I needed. But it’s what I got.” Connie covered my hand with hers. “You may have lost yourself; you may have lost other things too—you may have lost your faith. But God didn’t lose you, Debra. He’s hard to see sometimes. He’s hard to understand. But he’s all we have.”

  A tear fell down my face.

  “There came a point in my life when I had to decide if I would accept God for who he says he is. It was my choice to make. I’ll be honest, it took years for me to make the decision, but I did. God is more patient than people, Debra. Hold on and see what happens. Take your time. You came here to Colorado, brave girl, and God brought you to Ben, and now Ben is going after a dream I thought he’d left behind. Who knows what else might happen?” She sniffed and reached for a napkin.

  “Will you be sad?” I wondered. “When Ben goes on the road? Do you want him to stay at the church?”

  Connie waved her hand. “Ben has a gift. In whatever way he uses it, I just want him to be happy. That’s why I’m so pleased he brought you here. We needed another girl in this house.”

  I had never felt so welcome in my life. In that warm kitchen, over pieces of chocolate cake and cups of strong coffee, I relaxed at Connie’s table. And my deep sigh of respite felt like a prayer of gratitude.

  The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Paige and I went shopping together all day, stopping only for lunch at the Park Meadows food court. There were so many good sales that we ended up buying presents for ourselves and convincing each other that it would be worse to let the sales pass us by.

  “How can you leave me for Christmas?” I pointed my slice of pizza at her. We sat near a huge fireplace, front and center at the food court. She slurped down her lemonade.

  “I have to. This year we’re all going to my grandma’s house in Kansas. You can come too.”

  “I only have the weekend off, and if I went anywhere, it would have to be Minnesota. My mother is freaking out that I’m not coming home. She’s probably having flashbacks of last Christmas—which was the worst holiday of my life.”

  Paige cocked her head to the side. “But this Christmas will be wonderful. You and Ben are dating!”

  “Yes, but then he leaves for the spring tour. And then he’ll turn into a legit rock star, and he’ll have groupies following him and girls throwing their bras onstage.”

  Paige put her hands on either side of her face. “Do women still do that?”

  I shrugged. “Probably.”

  We continued eating in silence.

  “You’ve come a long way, Debra, from last Christmas.”

  “I’m not even the same person.”

  She smiled. “You’re still the same person. At least, I think you are. Jason says you are. You’ve changed, yes, but change is good. Have you made a decision about the house?”

  I took a long sip of my soda. “I’m going to at least tell my parents about it. I know it’s my decision, but I have a feeling they’ll freak out if I buy a house without telling them. Plus, I want their opinion before I sign anything.”

  “The thought of building a brand-new house is so exciting. I hope you do it. I can see lots of fun summer evenings on your back porch.” Her eyes shone. “This is going to be a great holiday for you. I know what Ben’s getting you for Christmas.” She clapped her hands. “It’s going to be fabulous.”

  “Really? What’s he getting me?”

  Paige immediately sobered and gave me a stern look. “Don’t ask. If I accidentally tell you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What should I get him?”

  She looked stumped. “I have no idea. He’s the kind of guy who will like anything, but you want to get him something he’ll love.”

  “Thank you for all that help.”

  “Anytime.”

  Paige and I cleaned up our table and continued shopping. We walked together past the Santa station, then stopped at one of the baby stores so I could get Gilly a gift. Finally, worn out from shopping, we made our way to the exit.

  “It really is shocking to me that it’s been almost a year since Luke broke up with me,” I said.

  Paige looped her arm through mine. “I’m so glad you moved here.”

  “Me too,” I told her.

  When we got back to her car, Paige pulled something out from the trunk while I waited for her in the passenger seat. She hopped into the driver’s side and handed me a bag.

  “I have a Christmas present for you, and I know it’s early, but I want to give it to you now.”

  “What? We’re not doing gifts yet!”

  She pushed the bag into my arms. “I can’t wait any longer. I made this for you.”

  “You made it?” I reached my hand into the bag while Paige nodded with excitement. I pulled out a wooden plank, smooth and natural. Stamped onto it in black were the words: There’s no growth without rain. Embrace it. Be the storm.

  “I read something like it online somewhere, and it made me think of you. How much you’ve gone through and how you don’t always realize it, but I think you’re fierce and strong—like a tempest.”

  My hand ran over the words. “I love it, Paige.” I turned over the plank, and at the bottom, in tiny letters, it read, From Friend No.1.

  I chuckled as Paige turned the ignition and said, “My vital place in your life, etched in wood forever.”

  Ben was so busy through all of December that other than a few quick lunch dates, it seemed like I hardly ever saw him. I tried not to be overly aware of the calendar dates ticking down to the twentieth, to Sara and Luke’s wedding day. A few days before, Ben and I managed to have coffee after worship practice
on Saturday morning. I sipped a peppermint mocha latte as Ben slid two tickets across the table at Starbucks.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Your Christmas present,” he said, smiling over the top of his spiced chai.

  I picked up the tickets. “White Christmas is coming to the theater district? You bought me two tickets?” I squealed.

  “Technically, one is for me. It will hurt my feelings if you want to go with someone else.”

  I laughed, leaning over the table and kissing him. Then I looked back down at the tickets. December twentieth.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked back up at Ben’s beaming face. “Thank you so much.”

  The Christmas before, I’d left Texas around five in the morning to get to Minnesota. I cried during the whole flight, blubbering my story to a military guy sitting next to me, who never got a word in. When I’d arrived, I’d spent the next week in bed, emerging only for meals. My mother slept next to me that first night back home, smoothing my hair as I whimpered and whispering to me that everything would be okay, that my life wasn’t over. She promised me that I was a resilient woman and that I wasn’t alone.

  This Christmas season, Paige came over and we decorated a tree in the corner of my tiny apartment. I babysat Gilly so Jake and Cassidy could have a night out. I lost all battles of temptation against specialty coffee drinks, drinking way too many pumpkin spice cappuccinos and gingerbread lattes. I baked Christmas cookies and took them to KGBL. I hung a wreath on my door and listened to holiday music.

  And on the twentieth of December, I went to the theater with Ben.

  We took the train downtown. I’d worn my new knee-length gray coat (my favorite Christmas gift to myself) and white gloves, since it was approximately nineteen degrees outside. Even if we hadn’t been going to a musical, the lights and buzz of downtown and the magic of the theater district would have been enough. Ben was adorable, in trim black pants and a gray sweater over a white collared shirt (no, we didn’t coordinate ahead of time). He held my hand tight as we walked the short distance from the train station to the auditorium. We stopped at a little bistro before the musical started and had champagne.

  Then we went to see White Christmas. He didn’t know that it had been my favorite Christmas movie of all time since I was eleven years old. He couldn’t know that nearly every December of my childhood, I’d spend at least one night at my nana’s and we’d watch White Christmas together and dance to the “Sister, Sister” number. And he had no idea that while being in the heart of Denver on a cold December night, the smell of snow looming in the air, the hint of Christmas around the corner, I was trying not to think about the fact that somewhere in Texas, Luke and Sara were taking their first dance and cutting cake and, at this very moment, were now married. I had no doubt that Sara would have looked beautiful, probably wearing an elegant designer dress, dancing with her own Prince Charming, who at one small point in time had been mine.

  I finished my champagne, and then Ben and I went to find our seats in the auditorium. And I cried and applauded with everyone else, because White Christmas is perfection. But sometime after the first intermission, I could feel the weight of emotion getting to me. Memories of my childhood, being with Nana, those special moments when I was a little girl, twirling and dancing. Moments that were forever in my heart but now over. The emotion of growing up and moving away from home. The heavy reminder that I was miles away from my family this Christmas. And of course, the pressure on my heart, knowing Sara and Luke were married, maybe making their way to a gorgeous hotel room at that very minute, starting their life together.

  Even surrounded by the wonder and magic of my evening with Ben, the emotional weight was like a too-thick blanket, suffocating me.

  After the musical, we bundled up and walked back toward the train station. Snow started falling. Through the light surrounding the lampposts, we could see it swirling down.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Ben asked, discerning as ever.

  “No, I don’t want to ruin this perfect night.”

  Ben stopped walking. “Now you have to tell me. Deb, I need to know what you’re thinking.”

  I cried and told him—all of it. Missing my grandmother. Missing my mom. Thinking of Luke and Sara celebrating with all the people who were my closest friends. Everyone there but me. Because I couldn’t be there. I didn’t belong there. Ben pulled me into a hug, and we stood there on a snowy street corner.

  “Are you upset that everything has changed, or are you hurting because Luke just married Sara?”

  I sniffed and dug through my purse for a tissue, then wiped my nose. “I don’t know. I’m just sad.”

  Ben’s mouth twisted and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared down at me. “I get that it’s a lot. And it would make anyone sad ... but are you missing Luke right now?”

  “I’m missing everyone, and I’m sort of mad at everyone.” It was getting colder; we started walking again, toward the train station. Once we got there, we had to wait awhile for the next train. I wasn’t sure how Ben was feeling at that moment, but I was freezing so I tucked my arm through his and stood as close to him as possible. Finally the train came, and we got on, but it was packed, so Ben stood the whole way back. When we were in Ben’s jeep, the heater on high, Ben drove me home.

  I felt awful and wished I’d been able to keep it all inside. “I’m sorry, Ben. You planned this perfect date, and I ruined it.”

  He sighed. “You didn’t ruin anything. If you can’t tell me what you’re thinking and feeling, we’re not a real couple.”

  We didn’t talk for a few tense moments. My apartment was close to the train hub. Ben swung the jeep into my parking lot.

  “Want to come up?” I asked him, my voice more timid than usual. He parked the jeep and we walked upstairs together. Once we were in my apartment, the lights glowing from the tree, the gas fireplace burning, our jackets strewn over the high-top chairs, Ben seemed to relax somewhat. I made coffee; then we sat together on the sofa. If it hadn’t been for the incredible awkwardness I’d created, the glow of the twinkle lights and the fire would have been wonderfully romantic.

  “Are you happy here, Deb?” Ben asked, restraint tempering his voice.

  “For the most part. Is anyone entirely happy?” I asked with a nervous chuckle.

  “I am. When I’m with you, I’m happy. When I’m leading worship, I feel joy. When I’m singing with Twenty-Four Tears, I feel a rush of adrenaline.” His eyes were cast downward. “Are you ever going to be over Luke?” he asked evenly, and I bristled.

  “You think I’m not?”

  He gave me a condescending look. “We’re still talking about him, aren’t we?”

  I stood up. “Well, I thought I would marry him, and tonight he married someone else. What do you expect?” I yelled, hands trembling.

  Ben stood up too. “I know. But do you know how that makes me feel?” Ben’s voice jumped several notches and his eyes narrowed. “Do you know how sick it makes me that you came so close to marrying someone else?” He ran his fingers angrily through his hair. “You might have married him and never moved here and never gone to hear Twenty-Four Tears play. And you’d be his, when—don’t you realize?—you were always meant to be mine.” Ben’s voice fell, he was rigid with tension, and I couldn’t make myself breathe. “It’s him or me, Deb. Or neither of us, I guess. But he’s gone and I’m right here. You have to decide what you want. I need you to be all in if we’re going to do this.”

  Oh, God. I found it again.

  Did that count as a prayer?

  Yes.

  I blinked, frozen, sure that the answer had come from my heart, and recognizing it as a voice I hadn’t heard from in a long time. And that one moment—that whisper—drew tears to my eyes. No miracle. Nothing special. Just a nudge that perhaps I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Then I remembered that’s how it is sometimes.

  Just a subtle voice.

  Subt
le wasn’t my favorite.

  I blew out a breath, trying to let go of some of the anger.

  I could want it to be different, or I could accept how it was.

  Ben took hold of my shoulders. “Debra, I haven’t loved anyone since Jane, and I didn’t love her in the right way. Part of me has held off on anything resembling a serious relationship since then, because I knew the next time I loved someone, I wanted it to feel healthy and real.” Ben took a shaky breath, but his eyes stayed on mine. “The next time I make a baby with someone, I want that to mean everything to both of us.”

  I touched his face, my heart aching. He wanted all that with me. “Ben.” His trembling hands squeezed my shoulders slightly.

  “I’ve made mistakes, and I’m still making mistakes, but I don’t want to talk about Luke anymore. I don’t. I want you to be mine. He let you go—and I’ve thanked God over and over for letting that happen—because in every way, you’re perfect for me, not him.” He dropped his hands and folded his arms across his chest.

  “I know,” I whispered, then cleared my throat. “I know, Ben.”

  “You don’t—wait, what?” Ben said, confused.

  “I’m not in love with Luke anymore.” My voice pleaded with him to understand. “It hurts to be pushed aside and left out—and that’s how I feel when I think about him marrying Sara tonight, surrounded by our best friends. But I don’t want to go back. I’m different now, in ways that make me feel like I know myself better. I don’t need him anymore. But us—but you—”

  He absorbed that. “Are you—are you still afraid I could change my mind?”

  I threw my hands up. “Yes, I’m afraid. Now you’re going to be a rock star. We both know what that lifestyle can be like.”

  His eyes bulged. “It’s—you—” he sputtered. “You’re the one who wants me to do this!”