The Isaac Project

by Sarah Monzon

  No, not limp. That implied softness and fragility. Becky was more like dead weight. As unresponsive and hard as a brick wall.

  I set her back down on her feet, moving my hand up to her shoulder. I looked at her, confused. She refused to meet my eyes.

  “Becky?”

  “We better go,” she said as she started to walk away. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  I caught up to her and touched her arm. She stopped but still didn’t look at me. “Becky, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She started walking again. “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t bother stopping her this time. Instead, I matched my stride to hers and walked beside her. “Nothing? Fine? So in other words, something and you’re upset.”

  She spared me a glance out of the corner of her eye but continued walking.

  I caught a growl in the back of my throat and tempered my growing frustration. Patience, Luke, patience.

  We approached Becky’s truck, and I jerked open the door, making the rusty hinge creak. Stepping up on the runner, I plunked down in the passenger’s seat and set my bag at my feet under the dashboard.

  I waited until we reached the freeway and my head was cool to broach the subject once more. “So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “How was your trip? Did you have fun?” Becky evaded my question by changing the subject. And what was with the emphasis on the word fun? It wasn’t like it had been a pleasure trip.

  “It was nice seeing my family, if that’s what you mean.”

  Becky gave an unladylike snort. What was up with her?

  “Lisa says hi, by the way.”

  Some of the icy facade melted.

  It was really eating me up, this change that had come over my wife. Three days ago we had shared a moment of passion, and now I was getting a frigid blast from the Arctic Circle. I wanted to explode, to shake the answers from her if necessary. I contemplated pressing her until she unlocked whatever secret she was harboring, but the quiet voice of caution still whispered in the recesses of my mind. Maybe all Becky needed was some space. Most of the time these things worked themselves out, right?

  I sighed, deflated. Leaning forward, the seat belt cut into my shoulder. I unzipped my bag and pulled out a small wooden box. My finger traced a line around its edges. I wasn’t sure what type of wood the box was made out of. I only knew it held a rich honey hue. The three ballerinas etched on the lid sparkled as the sun caught the gold overlay poured in their grooves.

  I placed the box on the center console between Becky’s seat and my own. “I got you something.”

  She looked over but edged away as if she was afraid the thing would bite her. “What is it?”

  “I know I probably should have waited till we got home. Especially since you’re driving. But I couldn’t wait.” I let my enthusiasm tinge my voice. Maybe it would rub off on her, and she would stop making furtive looks of revulsion at my gift.

  I opened the lid, and the strands of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” wafted through the cabin, accompanied by the ever-present hum of the truck’s diesel engine. The ballerina inside sprang up and twirled, one arm raised gracefully above her head and the other poised in a curve in front of her waist. Her legs were pressed tightly together, one crossed in front of the other, her feet perfectly arched, and all her invisible weight placed on her pointed toes. Below her, the box was covered in soft blue velvet, waiting for priceless trinkets and keepsakes.

  “Do you like it?” I asked, my eagerness giving way to uncertainty.

  Becky looked like she was struggling. Her mouth opened and then closed without any sound passing her lips. I thought I saw the sheen of unshed tears, but then she blinked, and I wasn’t so sure. Her spine went ramrod straight and her shoulders pushed back.

  “I can’t accept that.”

  “What?” Her words hit my heart like shards of ice. “Why not?”

  Becky let out a gust of breath and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Luke, don’t make such a big deal about it. It’s just a…a…a stupid box.”

  A stupid box? My lungs collapsed. Granted, it wasn’t the Hope Diamond or some priceless family jewels, but I thought she loved ballet. All things with those fluffy skirt. I thought I knew at least something important about my wife.

  I didn’t know anything.

  With a heavy heart, I softly closed the lid to the music box, cutting off the sweet notes drifting through the vehicle. Returning the unwanted gift to my bag, I leaned back in the seat and stared out the window. Trees and buildings whizzed past my vision. The tension in the cab intensified with each mile. Becky jumped out of the truck a split second after she rammed the transmission into park and stalked toward the barn without a word.

  I trudged toward the house with a tornado of confusion and frustration blowing inside my head. I really needed to find a local gym. The muscles in my shoulders bunched as the tension in my body increased. My fists itched to release the tightly wound stress on a punching bag. Pounding the pavement in my running shoes would have to work for now.

  I quickly changed into a pair of gym shorts and a wicking shirt. As I stepped out of the house, I looked toward the barn. I considered informing Becky that I was going for a run, but shook my head. She didn’t care where I was or what I was doing. Conversation with her right now seemed pointless, and I didn’t care to be on the receiving end of another scornful look or scathing retort.

  I didn’t bother stretching. I needed open road, and I needed it now. I lengthened my stride and set out at a fast pace. With every slap of my foot on the asphalt, the cacophony booming between my ears died. Soon, the only sound I was conscious of was the cadence of my feet and the rhythm of my breathing. Sweat, hot and salty, burned my eyes. I blinked back the sting, refusing to lose the tempo of the run.

  My legs ate up mile after mile. My lungs burned and my heart pounded, but still I pushed myself forward. The sun was setting behind me, giving way to the twilight that was beginning to ascend in my path. To my right and left, the sky was a soft, light shade of blue, ever darkening across the horizon toward the center of my vision. The first stars of night began to dot the sky.

  When I reached the driveway, I finally allowed my body to slow. My chest heaved in my lungs’ attempt to take in more oxygen. My wet shirt clung to my skin, and I shook out the exhaustion from my arms.

  The lights in the house and barn were off, and the property was getting darker by the second as the husky glow of twilight faded to the stark blackness of night. Becky’s truck was gone, and I kicked myself at the relief I felt.

  A jiggling of the knob revealed the front door locked. Thankfully we’d had a key made when I first moved in. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside and turned on the light. First thing I needed was a shower. I was sweaty and tired and just wanted to stand under the steady stream of warm water.

  I grabbed a towel from the cabinet and turned the knob on Becky’s door. My shoulder bounced off the wooden barrier when it refused to open. Locked. Really? I didn’t even know the door had a lock on it. Becky had never used it before.

  A growl tore from the back of my throat as my fist slammed against the door. If I ever met the person who built this poorly designed house, I’d have a few choice words to say to him. Whoever heard of having to go through the bedroom to get to the only bathroom?

  Running out of options and patience, I called Becky. It went straight to voice mail.

  Dried sweat left a stiff white ring on my skin. I wasn’t sure when Becky would be home and I was running out of time. I had to leave early in the morning for training and still needed to pack for the weeklong trip.

  Not liking my options, I grabbed some soap and stalked out of the house, slamming the door behind me. The air was cooling without the heat from the sun, but it felt good against my warm skin. My blood was still pumping hard from my run and now, also, from my rising temper.

  A coiled hose lay on the ground opposite a water trough. Turning the spigot, wate
r gushed from the opening of the green rubber tube. I pulled my shirt up over my head and tested the water by letting it run through my fingers. It was as if someone had dumped chunks of ice into the well. I leaned over and lifted the hose, letting the water run over my head and through my short hair. A small stream of liquid snaked down my back, sending an involuntarily shudder through my muscles. Man, it was cold. Better to get the process over with as quickly as possible. I contemplated stripping off my shorts, but my sense of modesty held me back. I hastily worked up a sudsy lather and then rinsed with the spray of glacial water, watching the bubbles glide off my skin, which, even in the light of the moon, I could see was turning a pinkish color. I vigorously rubbed the plush towel over my shivering frame, hoping the friction would return some circulation to my body. Wrapping the long cloth about my shoulders, I jogged to the house.

  Once I was in dry clothes again, I checked my phone. No messages. Becky hadn’t called or texted. I was at a loss. If I hadn’t known where my wife’s heart stood before, then I was as good as in a foreign country with no map now. What could have caused the transformation? I had no idea, but I was determined to find out, one way or another.

  27

  Rebekah

  THE BLOOD IN my veins didn’t pump red. It pumped yellow. I couldn’t even call myself a scaredy-cat. That wouldn’t be fair to cats. I had once seen Mittens jump from a ten-foot branch of an oak tree, a feat I deemed courageous. Nevertheless, I found myself driving to Grandview less than an hour after picking Luke up at the airport. And it wasn’t Luke I was afraid of.

  I was afraid of myself. Or, rather, the reaction I had when in Luke’s presence. I’d thought the sight of the man would fill me with loathing. And it did, for a while. But the bitterness soon mixed with unwanted compassion as I saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes in response to my rejection. The yearning of unrequited love mingled in the swirling vortex of my emotions.

  When he had tried to give me that gorgeous music box, I’d almost been undone. The threads of my resolve nearly severed. I’d waivered and come close to giving in to his masculine charm.

  So in a dire effort to protect myself from my own imprudence, I was cloistering myself away in hiding for the night. If Lisa had been in town, I would have gone to her house. But, even though I got along well with her parents, I didn’t want to have to explain why I, a grown woman with her own house, needed a place to stay for the night. It just wasn’t a conversation I was willing to have with them. A hotel would have been the obvious choice for an alternate sleeping arrangement, but Meadowlark didn’t boast such an establishment. More’s the pity.

  As it was, I was silently praying Rita would be on duty at Grandview. The nursing home didn’t exactly allow overnight guests. I felt somewhat ashamed at taking advantage of my newfound friendship with the innocent and obliging CNA, but I didn’t see any other options either. Besides going back home and facing Luke, that is. And in my book, that wasn’t an option.

  Grandview’s parking lot was nearly empty. The only cars present were those of the staff. I parked near the entrance, rotating the key in the ignition and sliding it out. Turning off the truck’s headlights, the darkness of the evening enclosed around me, nearly suffocating me with its despondency. The only light, the only reassurance, came from the fluorescent bulbs illuminating Grandview’s front porch.

  Stepping out of the truck, sound of hundreds of little wings rubbing together serenaded me. The mellifluous cadence of the country—crickets. The decreased speed of their song testified to the cooling weather. So did the tiny pinpricks on my skin. I should have grabbed a sweatshirt. I wrapped my arms about myself and hastened inside the nursing home.

  “Ms. Becky!” Rita’s thick accented voice was a whole octave higher in her surprise at my presence. “What you doing here?”

  “Umm…well…you see…”

  “Everything okay?” Her eyebrows knit together in concern.

  I started to nod but then shook my head. “Not really. I know it’s a bit unconventional, but can I stay here tonight? I can sleep on the couch in the front room.”

  “What wrong? Why you need stay here?” Her perplexity showed in the tilt of her head.

  I sighed. I wasn’t going to get off the hook without an explanation. “Things with Luke have turned a little…complicated.”

  “Compli—” The word tied her tongue. It obviously wasn’t in her everyday vocabulary.

  My shoulders slumped. I might as well tell Rita the whole sordid story. My soul yearned to confide in someone anyway. So with words that left a sour taste in my mouth, I spewed the truth of my marriage, the unexpected love I came to have for my husband, and, worst of all, my recent discovery of his disreputable character.

  “I do not believe it,” Rita exclaimed. “Mr. Luke, he a good man. I do not think he do this thing you say he do.”

  I frowned. I should have just kept my big mouth shut. “Look, can I sleep on the couch tonight, or what?” I couldn’t quite keep the bite out of my voice. “Luke’s leaving in the morning for training, and I’ll figure something else out then.”

  Rita bit her lower lip, her eyes darting around. “I guess so?” It sounded more like a question than a statement as her shoulders rose to reach her ears.

  “Thanks. I’ll be out of here before the first resident wakes up.” I turned my back on my friend and left without another word.

  The couch in the front room was comfortable enough as I snuggled down into its springy cushions. I pulled the crocheted afghan from where it hung over the back of the sofa and cocooned myself in its warmth. Emotional exhaustion soon pulled me into a fitful sleep.

  ***

  The clearing of a throat registered through the sleep-induced fog clouding my brain. I grunted, turned on to my side, and pulled the cover up closer to my chin.

  The throat cleared again. This time followed by a deep voice that called my name. “Miss Sawyer.”

  I squinted against the morning sun and blinked rapidly to dislodge the sleep that was clinging to me much like a toddler to his mother.

  “Miss Sawyer,” the voice said again with more persistence and impatience.

  I managed to collect enough of my faculties to look up and recognize that the voice belonged to Dr. Henshaw. Bolting upright, I extricated myself from the blanket and hopped off the sofa.

  “Dr. Henshaw, how good to see you. How’re you doing this morning, sir? I wanted to talk to you about Poppy. He seemed to be getting better, but now he looks like he’s going downhill again. Is that normal? Should I be worried?” I spoke with the speed of a great thoroughbred racehorse. Secretariat wouldn’t have been able to catch the words flowing out of my mouth. As I spoke, my hands worked in a frenzy folding the afghan and replacing it to the back of the couch.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it was good seeing you, Dr. Henshaw, but I really must be going now. We’ll have to discuss Poppy another time. Hope you have a good day.” I dashed to the exit, leaving behind a befuddled, droopy-eyed physician in my wake.

  I breathed a sigh of relief upon entering my truck. I could’ve kicked myself for oversleeping. Hopefully, Rita wouldn’t receive any repercussions for my actions.

  Not in a hurry to return home, I stopped at a coffee shop and leisurely sipped a caramel Frappuccino, watching the minutes on the clock tick by. Getting caught off guard once in a day was enough. I wanted to make sure enough time passed that Luke would be gone from the house before going back.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. Withdrawing it, I squinted at the screen. The sun was streaming through the coffeehouse window, producing a horrendous glare off the screen. Tilting the phone, I was shocked to find so many missed calls and texts. I opened the messaging service and began reading the texts I had slept through the night before.

  Where are you? We need to talk.

  It’s getting late and I’m worried about you. Are you coming home?

  Rita just called and told me you are at Grandview. I thought about comi
ng but decided you must need your space. Do you want me to come?

  Becky, I don’t know what is going on, but whatever it is, we can talk about it.

  Hey, I’ve got to go to training. I’ll be back in a week. I hope that is enough time for you to figure out whatever it is you’re going through.

  I miss you and I’ll be praying for you.

  All the texts were from Luke. All the missed phone calls as well, although he didn’t leave any voice mails. I resisted the urge to slam my head against the table. What was his game? What was his angle? It didn’t make sense to me. But no matter what, I couldn’t let his smooth talking dissuade from the hard facts of what had transpired in Michigan.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  My head snapped up at the sound of the voice that had haunted me day and night only a few short months ago.

  So much for not getting caught off guard a second time that day.

  I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and glared. “Depends on who’s asking.”

  James slid into the seat across from me despite my not giving him permission, much less an invitation. “Now, Becky, don’t be like that.”

  “And how exactly do you expect me to be?” My voice was clipped.

  “Civilized. A Christian. You are still a Christian, aren’t you?”

  Ouch. That hurt. “Yes, I’m still a Christian.” Although I felt anything but Christ-like at that particular moment.

  “Then what about loving your neighbor and forgiving seventy times seven and all that other junk you used to spout off about?”

  I sighed and uncrossed my arms. “What do you want, James?”

  He leaned forward and tried to take my hand.

  I practically sat on them to keep them out of his reach.

  He shrugged and pretended my reaction didn’t bother him.

  “Honestly, babe? I don’t know. I saw you sitting here all alone, and I thought I’d come over and—”