Reconciled for Easter

by Noelle Adams

  Not long into the marriage, Abigail had realized that Thomas wanted something very different from the wife than she could be to him.

  When she got out of the shower, she dried off and went to get underwear out of her top drawer, noticing the framed picture she’d stuck in there because she didn’t know what else to do with it.

  She pulled it out now, looking at her and Thomas on their wedding day. Thomas had been skinnier then, not yet fully filled out after his scrawny boyhood, but mostly he looked the same. Her eyes lingered on his familiar face and the affectionate, almost protective look in his eyes.

  She wanted him to look at her that way again. She wanted to feel the way she had that day, believing she could trust him completely, give herself to him completely, know he would never let her down. She’d been convinced there was no other man in the world as brilliant and funny and dear as he was.

  She still believed that. If only they could live together.

  Her eyes shifted over to her own image in the picture. Thomas might still look mostly the same, but she didn’t look the same at all.

  Her light brown hair had never been cut back then, since her father hadn’t allowed it, so it was long and thick and a little frizzy. She hadn’t worn any makeup—even on her wedding day—and she’d been wearing her glasses, since her father hadn’t approved of contacts either. Her mother had made the dress, and it was pretty and modest and old-fashioned.

  She looked like a different person now, with shoulder-length hair, contacts, make-up, stylish clothes, a career, and a lot more confidence. She felt like she was finally really Abigail.

  Her father hadn’t said a word to her since she’d walked out on Thomas. That was to be expected. But the thing that hurt the most was that Thomas had evidently only wanted the sheltered, compliant girl in this picture, and not the woman she really was.

  There was nothing to do but accept it. She’d spent so many years of her life anxious, self-conscious, and paralyzed by feelings of never being good enough. God had taken her through that, and she wasn’t going to return to that place—not even to get her husband back.

  Abigail was twenty-eight now. Once their six-month break was over, they would start to work on their marriage again, hopefully no longer too exhausted to invest in the process.

  And part of her still hoped that, one day, Thomas would want who she really was as a wife.

  ***

  The following day, Abigail sat a railroad crossing, waiting for a slow-moving train to pass so she could get to the highway.

  If it didn’t clear quickly, she was going to be late for Mia’s ballet recital.

  Torn between cursing the train and praying for it to hurry up, Abigail was also thinking about texting Thomas to make sure he’d gotten Mia there all right and on time.

  She didn’t want to nag, but she also didn’t want anything to go wrong.

  Before she could make the decision, her phone rang. She hesitated when she saw who was calling, but she ended up connecting the call. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Abigail. It’s Jessica Duncan. Daniel’s wife?”

  Abigail knew who Jessica was. She’d met the other woman several times when Mia had participated in children’s events at Willow Park Presbyterian, Thomas’s hometown church. Jessica was the wife of the pastor.

  It was the church Abigail would have joined had Thomas not already had first rights to it.

  “Hi, Jessica.” Abigail smiled into the phone, since she’d always liked the other woman. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “No, no. I’m waiting for a train. I’ve got nothing to do but mutter under my breath.”

  Jessica laughed. She was quiet and intelligent and reserved, but she had a really good sense of humor.

  “Oh, you had a baby recently,” Abigail said, as she remembered. “How is everything?”

  “Great. His name is Nathan. We haven’t gotten any sleep for a month, but otherwise things are going well.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you long from your muttering. I was actually wondering if you would be interested in joining a book club I’m in with some other women. We’ve lost a couple of members, and I immediately thought of you.”

  Abigail was taken aback by the invitation, since she’d on purpose avoided socializing with people she considered part of Thomas’s circle. He had his own life, and she wanted to give him his space, to make sure he didn’t think she was intruding. “Oh. I…I don’t know. What is it like?” She was mostly stalling for time, trying to think of a good excuse that wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

  “We meet once a month. We read all different kinds of books—not just normal book-club books. And not everyone always reads the whole book each month, so it’s fine if you get busy. It’s just fun to get together. We have snacks and dessert and wine. We have a really good time, and we’d love if you could join us.”

  “How many people are in it?”

  “Not too many anymore. Just me and Alice Duncan—Micah’s wife—do you know her?” When Abigail said she did, Jessica continued, “Sophie Miller. You might not have met her yet. Oh, and Lydia is it in too. That’s all for now. It’s a good group, and I think you’d fit in.”

  “I don’t go to the church or anything—”

  “That’s totally fine. It’s not a church thing. It’s just a group of us, talking about books.”

  Abigail actually thought she might enjoy the book club, but she always felt a bit awkward around people who were close to Thomas. In another situation, they probably could have been her friends.

  But both parts of a separated couple couldn’t really be part of the same circle of friends, and this had been his community first. Plus, she was the one who had left Thomas.

  “You can think about it, if you need to,” Jessica said, evidently recognizing her hesitation and kindly giving her a way out. “I’ll email you the information, if that’s okay, and you can let me know.”

  “That would be great,” Abigail said, relieved at the reprieve. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “Of course. I really hope it works out for you to join us.”

  As she hung up, Abigail sighed and closed her eyes, since there was no sign of the end of the train yet.

  She would have loved to go to the church in Willow Park. It was the only church of her denomination within a half-hour of where she lived. The people felt like her kind of people, and Daniel was an excellent preacher.

  Instead, she was attending a church down the road. The teaching was solid, and the people were nice, but it still kind of felt like she was visiting there. She was so busy with her job and Mia that she’d never really gotten involved. She was just as committed to her faith as she’d always been, but some weeks, she didn’t even go to church.

  Her father would have strongly disapproved of her church attendance.

  She pushed the thought from her mind, since she was determined not to be constantly shaped by her insecurities from the past.

  If things started to go better with Thomas, she could join the Willow Park church too. And, if that never happened, she could be happy where she was.

  This was the life she’d chosen to have, and it wasn’t a bad one. It wasn’t perfect, but nobody’s was. Better to be Abigail, even without a husband, than to be who she’d been before.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, she rushed into the crowded auditorium, checking her watch for the twentieth time. Two minutes until four o’clock.

  She’d barely made it in time for Mia’s ballet recital.

  Breathlessly, she scanned the rows of seats filled with chattering parents, searching futilely for an empty place with a decent view of the stage. Mia’s lessons were given by the only ballet school in the county, so the recitals were always dreadfully long and very well-attended. The auditorium was packed.

  Abigail let out a relieved sigh when she saw Thomas’s distinctive profile and
forehead.

  Despite the milling crowds, he’d seen her and was gesturing her over toward the front.

  She hurried down the aisle and shook her head in dry amusement when she saw that he’d managed to snare two of the best seats in the house. Near the front but not so close you had to crane your neck to see the stage. And on the side aisle where it was easy to duck out to run to the bathroom or stretch your legs.

  The seat next to him was empty. She didn’t know if he’d been saving the seat for her or if he’d pretended it was taken so he wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone. Either way, it was really nice of him to let her have it.

  She smiled at him gratefully as she climbed over his legs to sit down. “Thanks.” Then she noticed that in the next seats were his sister, Lydia, and her husband, Gabe. “Hi, there,” she told them with a grin.

  She liked Lydia, who was a no-nonsense, forthright kind of woman. She was the kind of woman Abigail always tried to be now—confident and sure of herself. Lydia had married Gabe just last fall, so Abigail had only met him once or twice before.

  “Is Ellie nervous about the recital?” she asked.

  Ellie was Gabe’s daughter from his first marriage—a few years older than Mia—but she took ballet lessons from the same school.

  “Yeah. She’s so competitive that she’s afraid she won’t do better than all the other girls in her class.” Lydia smiled, obviously finding this trait in her stepdaughter funny and understandable both.

  “She’s not afraid of messing up,” Gabe added with a slow smile. “Just that she won’t be the best.”

  Abigail laughed and said, since it was on her mind, “I was just talking to Jessica on the phone. She invited me to your book club.”

  “Oh,” Lydia said. “That would be perfect! We’re in desperate need of new blood there. I’d love if you can come. Do you think you can join?”

  For some reason, Abigail was intensely conscious of Thomas’s eyes on her profile as she replied, “I don’t know. I said I’d think about it.”

  “I really hope you do. I know you have to take care of Mia, but she could probably come over and stay with Ellie, if Thomas was busy, or—”

  Lydia broke off when Gabe nudged her gently with his foot. “Maybe give her some breathing space,” he murmured.

  “I am,” Lydia looked surprised and then apologetic. “I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy or anything. I just think it’s a great idea. Gabe’s always telling me that not everyone wants me to organize their life for them.”

  “And then she tells me that organizing mine is a full-time job,” Gabe added. He had a very attractive aura of laidback confidence, and it wasn’t hard to see that he adored his wife.

  Abigail smiled again, hiding a little twinge of jealousy. It would have been so nice to have the kind of marriage that Lydia and Gabe evidently had—where they helped each other and supported each other at the same time, where they didn’t seem to have to struggle for every step forward they took.

  She’d always wanted that. She still did.

  She turned back to Thomas, who’d been listening to the conversation and who was the only one of the four not smiling.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

  “Yeah. Just a hair appointment that ran over and then I got stuck by a slow-moving train. How’s Mia?”

  “She’s fine. She is a little nervous about messing up, I think.”

  Abigail nodded and lowered her voice as the lights began to dim. “Yeah. She’s been nervous all week. Not that she’ll admit it.” She slanted Thomas a wry look. She knew exactly from whom their daughter had gotten the sometimes frustrating unwillingness to admit anxiety.

  Thomas turned to focus on the stage as the performances began, but he was visibly hiding a smile that filled her with warmth and flushed her cheeks.

  Mia had a small part in the big number that began the recital, so Abigail watched as her daughter—pretty in pink taffeta and infinitely grave—lined up with the other small girls to perform a few simple steps and some arm gestures as background to the older dancers at the center of the stage.

  “She didn’t mess up at all,” Abigail whispered, leaning over toward Thomas and speaking into his ear so as not to disturb anyone else. “Most of the other girls did. Did you see?”

  The corner of Thomas’s mouth quirked up. “I saw.” He didn’t make as much of an effort to keep his voice down as she had.

  Leaning over, she whispered, “Her hair looks really good. Who did it?”

  Mia’s hair had been braided up and twisted prettily around her head, a much more sophisticated hairdo than anything Abigail ever had time for.

  Thomas shook his head and mouthed out, “Shh.” Then he acted like he was absorbed in the middle-school-aged girls dancing a routine as a flock of birds.

  “Who did her hair?” Abigail repeated in a hushed voice. She was leaning over toward Thomas and was suddenly conscious of his clean, masculine scent and the way his shirt draped smoothly over his broad shoulders. “Was it your mom?”

  Thomas murmured an incoherent response that she took for an affirmation. He was close to his parents, which Abigail had always been happy about, since it was good for him and good for Mia too. She was particularly glad about this fact because the Morgans were currently the only set of active grandparents Mia had.

  The recital went on forever. Mia’s main routine was in the middle of the recital. It was the one her class had been working on for months. When her daughter appeared on stage, Abigail leaned forward, holding her breath eagerly as she waited for the music to begin.

  Mia went through the steps flawlessly, with all the conscientious precision and dedication with which she approached every challenge. The expression on her face was sober and cautious, and she didn’t miss a single turn of her toes or wave of her hand.

  She also didn’t exhibit any real sense of grace or artistry. And, as proud as Abigail was, it was more than evident that Mia wasn’t cut out to be a dancer.

  When the little girls filed off the stage, Abigail turned to Thomas with a grin. But she blinked when she saw he was frowning.

  “What?” she asked.

  With thoughtful eyes still resting on the empty stage, Thomas murmured, “She doesn’t like it.”

  “What?” With effort, Abigail kept her voice low, since a new troupe of dancers was lining up to begin the next number.

  “She doesn’t like to dance. She did everything perfectly, but she’s not having any fun.”

  “She might not be naturally inclined in that direction, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like it.”

  Thomas’s frown deepened as he met her eyes. “You saw her face just now. She’s not having fun. Why did you enroll her in the class?”

  Now that she understood the direction of Thomas’s concerns, Abigail experienced a rise of defensiveness. “If she really doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to take another class.” Her glare was cool, although her cheeks were burning the way they always did when she felt like she’d done something wrong. “But I like to give her as many kinds of experience as possible, so she can branch out from always reading and see what else she’s good at.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with reading.”

  “I know that. I’m happy she’s such a great reader. But she reads all the time. And she doesn’t have very many friends. And she’s really, really shy with kids her own age. I want to make sure she has a lot of social experience so she feels more comfortable. So I enrolled her in the dance class. I thought it would help. I’m sorry if you think I’m torturing the poor thing by making her take a class she doesn’t like.”

  Abigail said far more than she intended. She usually didn’t lose control around Thomas anymore—she’d been doing better since they’d given themselves the break—and her emotional response worried her. She really didn’t want to get insecure like this again. She really didn’t want them to start fighting again.

  She pulled away from him an
d stared blindly at the back of the woman's head in front of her, almost shaking with emotion. She was still anxious about parenting, and sometimes she felt overwhelmed with the pressure of having to do so much of it on her own. She loved Mia so much and thought she was so special.

  But sometimes she thought toward the future with an ache of dread. And she imagined her smart, shy little bookworm in middle school and high school. During her own school-aged years, Abigail had always felt isolated and mocked because of her old-fashioned clothes and strict upbringing. She didn’t want Mia to experience anything like that.

  Thomas adjusted beside her, draping his arm over the back of her seat. He wasn’t putting his arm around her. In fact, he was probably just bracing himself so he could lean over and talk into her ear. But he suddenly felt close to her. His arm brushed against her shoulders.

  A year ago, she would have jerked away from his touch.

  “Abigail,” Thomas murmured, his voice a little thicker than usual and his breath blowing against her ear. “You’re doing a great job with Mia. I never meant to imply anything else.”

  “I know,” she said with a hard swallow. “I just worry sometimes.”

  Thomas hadn’t pulled back. He was still very much invading her personal space. “I don’t think you need to worry about this. Not everyone has to be popular in school. That’s pretty minor in the big picture. We make sure she’s happy and secure about the important things, and let everything else fall where it does.”

  Abigail had no idea how he’d read her mind so precisely. With a little hitch in her breath, she turned to gaze up at him. Their faces were only inches apart, and the look in his eyes was intimate. Certain. Strangely reassuring.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt that kind of support from Thomas, and the resulting emotion caused her vision to blur, smudging the lines of his handsome features. “Yeah,” she breathed.

  Even she wasn’t sure if the word was an agreement or a question.