by Leah Atwood
He averted his gaze and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “The tags are still on.”
“Oh no.” Embarrassed, she hurried to rip them off then shoved them in her purse. She’d avoided removing the tags in a vain hope she’d be the rare person who didn’t need maternity clothes, but that had come back to bite her.
We have a child together—this is not that big of a deal. She repeated that to herself until the heat left her cheeks. So what if Jared knew the pants were brand new—her embarrassment was an overreaction.
“Robert’s, the restaurant I’m taking you too, is a small family-owned joint.” Jared navigated a curve, then continued speaking. “They serve a full menu all day, so you can have a burger for breakfast or an omelet for dinner.”
“I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it. Then again, food like that is typically off limits.”
“How come? Special diet or something?” He turned into a gravel parking lot. A wooden building with a metal roof sat nondescript at the rear of the lot. A hand-stenciled sign identified the restaurant as Robert’s.
“No, but if I ate out every night, especially greasy food, I’d balloon in no time.”
His face fell. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who orders a salad with no dressing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being healthy.” Her defenses rose. He’d been in the Marines who prided themselves on health and fitness. Why should she have to defend her position?
“No, but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself, either. It’s about moderation.”
“I know that, but there’s an immense amount of pressure put on modern women to have a perfect body.” She scowled and crossed her arms.
“And who defines the perfect body?” He switched the engine off and turned to face her.
“Would you have taken me home that night if I weighed an extra fifty pounds?”
“You were fun and made me laugh.” His eyes darkened and conveyed a message she couldn’t decipher. “Yeah, you looked great, but your personality drew me more than anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure.”
“I mean it.”
“Then you’re not like most men I’ve ever known,” she shot back.
“If the men you knew were that shallow, then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The conversation, rather Jared’s replies, unsettled her. He’d displayed a strong character from the moment she announced the pregnancy, and everything she’d witnessed about him unraveled her long-held beliefs about men.
Leaning over, he nudged her gently. “I didn’t mean to start anything. Let’s go eat and enjoy an unhealthy meal. We can walk it off afterward.”
His indirect apology lowered her defenses. “That’s a lot of walking.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll be in good company.”
Chapter Seven
“Didn’t I tell you the food’s good?” Jared leaned back in the booth and looked at his empty plate. He’d put away an enormous slice of fried ham, two eggs, a heaping pile of hash browns and several biscuits covered with pepper gravy.
“Delish.” She wiped her mouth then took a sip of sweet tea. “That was the best egg sandwich I’ve ever had. I could eat another.”
“Order one if you want. I’m not in a hurry.”
A cute smile formed on her lips. “My taste buds want another, not my stomach.”
“If you’re sure.” He drank the last of his soda and watched her finish her potatoes.
Before their night together, the woman he knew wore layers of makeup trademarked by thick lines of eyeliner. Her clothes had fit tightly to accentuate her slim figure, whether she was going to work or out for the night. He’d found her attractive then, but this version of her drew him deeper. She still wore makeup but in subtle shades, and her clothes fit well but were casual.
This woman came across as authentic, and he liked that.
The waitress laid their hand-written check on the table, and he grabbed it without looking at the total.
Sybil laid her fork on the empty plate with a satisfied sigh. “What’s my share?”
“My treat.” It might not be a date, and their unique relationship might not always coincide with his old-fashioned values, but he refused to let her pay when he’d initiated the meal out.
“Thank you.”
He left a five-dollar bill for a tip then slid out of the booth and walked to the front counter to pay. On the way out he grabbed a mint from the bowl on the counter and popped it in his mouth. He held the door open for Sybil, and they left the restaurant.
Dark clouds dotted the sky, and he spotted sheets of rain to the west. So much for suggesting the walk they’d discussed earlier. He wasn’t ready to end their day together.
A question for her rested on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure how to ask. He’d hoped for more time to figure it out.
Her hand wrapped around the door handle. “Thanks for coming with me today.”
“My honor.” His eyes shifted upward to the visor where he’d safely tucked the sonograms until he got home. Pride filled his heart, along with a renewed determination to keep his daughter.
“Next Thursday I have an appointment, but it’s only to check my blood pressure.” She pushed the door open a crack, letting in the cooling air.
“I can go if you want company.”
“You don’t have to feel obligated. I only told you because I agreed to let you be a part of this.”
Women were confusing. Did she or didn’t she want him to go? “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t start my job until October, so it’s not like I have anything else to do.”
“I’m used to them by now, and I’m usually in and out.” She slid her purse over her shoulder. “You’re more than welcome to come, but you won’t miss anything if you don’t.”
“I’d like to be there.”
“Can you meet me there? I’m going on my lunch break to conserve my paid time-off.”
“That’s fine. What time?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
He pulled out his phone and added the appointment to his calendar. “Same place?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there.”
She pushed the door open wide. “If I don’t see you before then, have a good week.”
“You, too.” He waited until she entered her house before backing out of the driveway and going home.
The timing hadn’t been right to ask her, but he would. Soon.
When he opened his front door a minute later, the silence startled him. It had never bothered him before, not much anyway. Today, it goaded him. Told him he had no one.
Don’t listen to the lies.
He hadn’t told his family about Sybil and the pregnancy. Each time he spoke to his mom or sister he’d intended to, but the words wouldn’t come out. How long could he put it off? He didn’t want to, didn’t like secrets between them.
But if he called, they’d ask more questions in their own discreet way. They’d want to know if he’d stayed sober, to which he could give a resounding yes. They’d also ask carefully constructed questions to find out if he’d released his guilt, and when they found out he hadn’t, they’d direct him to the Bible and prayer.
For his daughter’s sake, he needed to move on from the shame that followed him around like a cloud over his head. He couldn’t continue as he had been. And yes, he’d stayed sober; but how long would that last if he didn’t confront his demons?
He rubbed his eyes and fought a battle within himself. Mom told him God cared about him, no matter what he’d done. Somewhere inside him, albeit deep, he believed that. He’d learned about Him and believed in Him from a young age, but he’d lost his way.
What could it hurt to pray? If God heard him, then good. Maybe He’d point out the path of healing. And if He didn’t hear? Then he wouldn’t be any worse off than he was now.
Maybe if he got down on his knees like he had as a child saying his bedtime praye
rs, it would help his message get to heaven. He went to his bedroom and kneeled at his bed. Crossed his hands and bowed his head. Every sound in the house magnified. Car doors slammed shut in the neighbor’s driveway.
He inhaled and filled his lungs with air, employed various techniques he’d learned to concentrate. After several minutes, he blocked out all the noise, but then he became self-conscious. He wiggled his shoulders and brushed a speck of dust from his shirt.
This is ridiculous. He stood to his feet and then moved to the living room. Turned on the television and tried to immerse himself in a movie. As the rain moved in, the stronger he felt the need to pray. But how?
Turning off the movie, he grew more agitated and restless. He went outside and let the rain fall on him, not caring that it soaked clear through his clothes.
“What am I supposed to ask You? Can You hear me up there? I’ve not done anything to warrant Your attention, but I’m desperate. I have a little girl coming in a few months, and she deserves to have a daddy who’s whole, not broken in pieces.” He held his hands to the air, wrought with emotion and despondency. “How can I forgive myself for not being on that helicopter? How can I go back to the person I was before that crash? I don’t like this version of me, but I don’t know how I can change it. I don’t deserve Your intervention, but I’m crying out now for Your help. Not just for my sake, but for Sybil’s and our daughter’s. They need the best of me, not the worst.”
Emotionally spent, he lowered his arms to his side. He’d not intended to unleash the deepest recesses of his heart, but once he opened his mouth, it all poured out. A vulnerable feeling came over him. Part of him feared God wouldn’t answer. Where would that leave him? He’d reached his last hope and if that didn’t pan out, what would he do then?
He returned inside, dripping water on his kitchen floor. The air condition chose that moment to kick on, sending cold air through the vent and over his wet clothes. His entire body, from head to toe, trembled with a chill that penetrated to his bones. He had to mop his mess, but not until he’d changed into dry clothes.
In his room, he pulled out a pair of jeans from his dresser and a t-shirt from his closet. Dry clothes weren’t enough to ward off the chill. He needed layers. He went back to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer that stored his hoodies in the off-season. There hadn’t been a cool enough day yet to warrant bringing them out and adding them to his normal rotation of clothes in his closet.
He dug through sweaters he rarely wore to get to the sweatshirts. His favorite was on the very bottom, and when he laid hands on it, he yanked it from the drawer. Something fell on the floor.
It was a Bible. Not his normal Bible that he’d used before the deployment, but a military edition. Camouflage decorated the front design, and the flexible cover had small lines of texture. He’d hadn’t seen it in ages, had thought he’d lost it. How it ended up in his bottom drawer, he didn’t know.
“Is this Your answer, God?” A breathless laugh escaped. He had asked for answers. To ignore the Bible could very well mean rejecting the solution he’d asked for. “What do I do with it? Am I supposed to just open to a page and there will be my answers?”
What would it hurt? That was his phrase of the day, it seemed.
On his way to the kitchen, he turned up the air so it wouldn’t come on again. Then he made a cup of coffee. Rain continued beating down on his house, creating the perfect setting for quiet reflection. Granted, he’d never been one for reading, but if he was going to, a dreary day presented the perfect opportunity for it.
When the coffee finished brewing, he added sugar and stirred it before carrying the cup and Bible to the living room. He settled into his usual spot on the sofa. For a minute, he stared at the Bible, afraid of what he’d find inside. An odd thought since he’d read through it multiple times in his life, first as a pre-teen, then several times in high school. Not that he hadn’t cared about the contents, but he’d mainly read it because he wanted the rewards his youth group offered.
He tapped his fingers on the sofa’s armrest. Just open it. Holding the Bible by its spine, he let the book open and the pages fall. He glanced down. Psalms. Isn’t that how it usually went? But didn’t people always turn to the Psalms for comfort? He’d invested himself this far, might as well follow the course.
The first page began with the last verses of Psalm 138 and led into chapter 139. He skimmed the first few lines, then focused on the full chapter. When he finished, he went back and reread it again, not believing his eyes. Every word spoke directly to him, but one verse, in particular, jumped from the pages.
Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began.
Every. Day. Had. Been. Planned.
God. Knew.
This. This is what he needed to see and let seep into his heart. God had been in control. Not him. Not Mike. Not Wyatt. Not Evan. Not their pilot, or even the enemy that caused the crash. Only God.
He’d made a choice, but all the bad choices in the world couldn’t circumnavigate the plan God had set out for Mike’s life, or his. The truth of His Word broke through the fog of grief and guilt.
“I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive my doubts and my immature behavior. I don’t know why Mike died and I’m still alive, but I have to believe that was only one frame of the big picture. Show me Your plan for my life, so that I can live with purpose.”
Stillness came over him. The kind that only comes from inner peace and acceptance of what had occurred. Ownership of his part, but acknowledgment of a divine Force at work.
Life could never be the same as before Mike’s death, but that didn’t mean his life had to end. To live as he had for the last year and a half was to let Mike’s death count for nothing. That stopped today.
His future spread before him, a near-blank canvas for him to fill. It held a vague outline of fatherhood, left for him to fill as the years progressed. The rest he didn’t know, but at last he looked forward to what was ahead instead of dreading the approach of each new day.
Chapter Eight
The sweet aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin filled Sybil’s house. Fall had never been her favorite season—she preferred spring and summer. This year proved different. So much in her life had changed, and she wasn’t the same person she’d been in the spring.
Fall invoked sentiments of coziness. Staying home and drinking cider while watching old movies. Walks through the woods with leaves crunching under her feet. Autumn invited personal connections with those she cared about, created ideal settings in which to spend quality time with friends and family.
Perhaps that’s why she’d never cared for autumn—she’d never had anyone she’d been close enough with to desire that time together. Even the friends she’d cared most about, she’d kept at an arm’s distance. Letting people know the real her required exposing herself, and Mom had taught her the dangers of that.
Rysa and Jared were slowly changing her fear of friendships. She saw qualities in them that debunked her old beliefs that everyone’s self-serving. There were people out there who acted out of the kindness of their hearts without expecting anything in return.
She curled on her recliner and sipped her caramel apple cider. A vine of tiny pumpkins lined her TV stand. Their presence officially made this the most decorating she’d ever done for any holiday, and that wasn’t including the harvest placemats she’d bought for her table.
Since she became pregnant and stopped going out to the bars and happy hours, she discovered she liked being home. Staying alone with her thoughts wasn’t the nightmare it had once been, and Rysa and Jared ensured she never stayed alone for long. She’d come to enjoy, and even look forward to, their company.
If anyone had told her six months ago that she’d become a homebody, she would have laughed in their face. And it wasn’t as if she never left. She went to work every Monday through Friday. One or two nights a week she’d go out to eat with Rysa, but her activities were n
o doubt more subdued.
The old group of friends would call her boring. Actually, they had called her that. At least Liz had. Don’t let her get under your skin. She barely spoke with Liz anymore, and the last time she had, Liz made it clear their lifestyles no longer meshed for friendship. Whatever that meant. Couldn’t people be friends through different stages of life?
Her loss. Sybil’s focus remained on her baby girl and bringing her safely into this world. She’d contacted an adoption agency but hadn’t brought herself to read through the information. When they called and asked if she’d received it, she’d answered yes and then started ignoring their phone calls.
Her conviction hadn’t changed, but it had started to waver. She’d given Jared her word that she’d consider letting him raise the baby. If he believed himself capable of raising their daughter with no experience, then couldn’t she as well? But he’d had a different upbringing. He understood what a family was supposed to be.
She wanted her baby girl. She wanted to be there for her first smile and belly laugh. Hold her hand as she learned to take her first steps. She wanted to comfort her when she came home from school in tears because a mean kid picked on her, and tell her she was beautiful when she convinced herself she was the ugliest girl in school. She wanted to be the mom her own mother had never been.
But was that selfishness speaking or a true calling to be a mom? Only time would tell.
The doorbell rang, and it startled her. Apple cider spilled onto the armrest and onto her pants. She didn’t see anything to wipe it up with quickly, so she pulled her sleeve down over her hand and blotted the liquid. Fortunately, she wore a black shirt and whoever was at the door wouldn’t know she’d used her shirt as a napkin.
The bell chimed again.
“Coming.” She rushed to the small foyer then peeked through the peephole. An automatic smile formed when she saw Jared, and she hid her wet sleeve behind her arm opening the door, on the off chance he would have noticed. “Hi.”
