Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series

by Paula Wiseman

  Jack shook the old man’s hand and grinned. “I don’t think I have that kind of power.”

  “Words have power. I did a lot of damage to your mother with words. Now you’ve given me renewed hope with yours.” He reached across the desk and shook his dad’s hand. “Mr. Molinsky, good day to you.”

  “But wait!” Jack stepped between his grandfather and the door. “Where are you staying? How am I supposed to get in touch with you again? What about Thanksgiving?”

  “I know where to find you. Don’t worry.”

  Jack watched him until he disappeared out of the building, then he dropped back in his chair. “I’m exhausted.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” his dad said.

  “‘The curse has lifted,’ he said. God’s working, Dad. That means Shannon’ll be home soon.”

  “I think that’s exactly what it means.”

  Chapter 20

  Appointment

  Thursday, November 27, Thanksgiving Day

  Bobbi left Chuck asleep and stole downstairs before the day’s first light. Today marked the first holiday since . . . well, her first without all her kids there. She blew out a deep breath. If she couldn’t even form the words in her mind, how on earth would she get through the day? Plus, if she had any hope of making it through Christmas, she had to do Thanksgiving.

  The first scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen as the automatic coffeemaker kicked on right on time. Rather than sit at the kitchen table and watch it drip, she wandered into the study to her favorite corner of the love seat.

  Thanksgiving. Grateful heart. Maybe she could fake it for the day. Say all the right things. Smile with plastic joy. Everyone would marvel at her courage and her faith. Chuck would see right through her, though, and he would call her on it. And if he didn't, Rita would.

  “Father, I’m going to confess to You right now, I’m having a very hard time being thankful. I know I have Chuck, and Jack and Joel, but it’s hard for me not to focus on what I’ve lost. I don’t want to slip back to where I was. I want to trust You. I want to lean on You. I want to hold onto the hope You give, but today it’s harder for me to find it. Help me find what’s true once more, rather than being controlled by what I feel.”

  What she felt right now, though, was a craving for that coffee that was surely finished brewing by now. As she passed the desk, she saw a note Chuck had scribbled after talking to Detective Ramirez. Brad’s killer was a twenty-four-year-old drug dealer and gang enforcer. His first arrest came at age thirteen after assaulting a police officer.

  Even though Ed Reynolds gave them a description, a name and a license plate, the police hadn’t made an arrest yet. The gunman, street smart and with friends in the neighborhood, had disappeared. They couldn’t arrest him if they couldn’t find him. The detective assured Chuck, in time, they would bring the guy in. A little more patience was all they asked for. As if she had a choice.

  In the kitchen, Bobbi poured a cup of coffee and started to take her usual spot at the table, but two Bibles lay open, along with a couple of notebooks. She instantly recognized Jack’s tight script. On closer inspection of the other notebook, she felt a quiver, deep in her spirit. Brad. His notebooks.

  She set her coffee cup down and tenderly took Brad’s notebook, closing it, afraid to allow her eyes to drift across his words. She eased into one of the kitchen chairs and closed the two Bibles, keeping the notebook close to her.

  A night owl like Brad, Jack must have come back down to the kitchen to study after she and Chuck went to bed. Of course, now he’d have to find his place again since she had closed all the books. Was Jack struggling with Thanksgiving, too? Surely not. He was probably just reading. He probably read from Brad’s notebook all the time. Just like he used to talk to Brad almost every day. Just like she used to.

  She laid the notebook on the table in front of her, then reached for the reading glasses she kept in a case by the sugar bowl. “Talk to me, Brad,” she whispered, and slowly opened the cover.

  Psalm 19:12 Who can understand his errors? — Will I, can I ever really understand how and why my heart and mind conspire in sinful presumptions? Is it as necessary as it seems to understand how and why?

  Cleanse me from secret faults — from the faults I’m unwilling to admit even to myself. To be cleansed, they must be recognized, identified, brought out into the light.

  Keep [me] from presumptuous sins – I’m learning that these are some of my favorites. These are the ideas that I have rights and entitlements from God, that He is obligated, owes me things.

  Let them not have dominion over me — When I am more focused on myself, how I’ve been treated/accepted then I get off track.

  blameless and innocent of great transgression — I want to be but I’m not yet to the point that I am unselfish enough, that I am sold out to that. I want it but I’m not yet willing to do the hard work required to achieve it.

  the meditation of my heart/ Be acceptable — Even the things I brood over should honor God and not seek to displace Him as Lord.

  She could almost hear Brad in all his frustration, castigating himself this way. He had such high standards and expectations for himself. She had trouble remembering he had any faults, let alone imagining he harbored secret, presumptuous sins.

  Psalm 25

  16 Turn Yourself to me, and have mercy on me, for I am desolate and afflicted.

  17 The troubles of my heart have enlarged; bring me out of my distresses!

  18 Look on my affliction and my pain, and forgive all my sins.

  Whether or not the sins are the root cause of all the pain, it seems that distress at least brings on sin. Sins of wrong thinking about God. Sins of ascribing improper, unloving motives to His actions. Sins of demanding explanations or fixes for the situation. Instead, it should be a time of examination and confession, if for no other reason than to break down the barrier to comfort.

  Bobbi wiped away a tear. How could her son have this insight tailored to her life, her current struggles, including, ironically, getting over his death? God was answering her prayer already, drawing her to the truth that Brad had discovered, comforting her with a mother’s mixture of pride and longing. She had to keep reading.

  Her little boy, the one with the tousled hair and crooked grin, matured into this astute yet compassionate theologian, and she never appreciated that until now. Until the time she needed it most. She drank in Brad’s wisdom one page at a time, oblivious to time, to hunger, to routine, to the rapidly cooling coffee.

  Halfway through the book, she came to an entry on Habakkuk chapter 3.

  Habakkuk 3:17–19 says “Though the fig tree may not blossom,

  Nor fruit be on the vines;

  Though the labor of the olive may fail,

  And the fields yield no food;

  Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

  And there be no herd in the stalls—

  18 Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

  I will joy in the God of my salvation.

  19 The Lord God is my strength;

  He will make my feet like deer’s feet,

  And He will make me walk on my high hills.

  Paraphrase: Even though I have nothing now, no hope for tomorrow and no prospect that anything is ever going to change for the better, I WILL CHOOSE to rejoice in God, my God, my salvation. He is my strength and He enables me to walk through these fires with confidence, like it was my natural habitat. I WILL CHOOSE.

  Bobbi laid the notebook down on the table and slid off her glasses. “Oh, Brad,” she said softly. Did he ever hit the nail on the head with this one. No hope, no prospect for change. Shannon wasn’t coming home. And Bobbi also fully expected to be in that minority that succumbed to breast cancer. No fruit on the vines. Rita had seven grandchildren, while she had one by adoption. Even though she dismissed it when Chuck talked about a curse, she wondered herself from time to time if God was cutting off her family line.

  She had to choose. Until now, she’d
been reacting, then failing miserably. This is where I am, dear God. I don’t see how anything is going to change, how it’s going to improve. I can’t get moving, or think about the future, because it still seems pointless. I’m going to need Your help choosing to rejoice in You.

  She winced as soon as the tepid coffee hit her lips. Thankfully, her morning pot was good for two cups. She freshened her coffee and leaned against the sink, processing as she sipped. Rita told her the issue was control—she wanted control, especially over her own life and death. She returned to the table and glanced back through the Scripture Brad copied.

  Only one of us can be the strength. Either me or God.

  Knowing what the "right" answer was wouldn’t make it easier to carry through, however. She knew Chuck was struggling with the very same thing. Choosing wasn’t about control, though. It was about trust. Again.

  When she and Chuck were separated, she felt like God was trying to teach her to trust Him implicitly, before the answers came. The answers did come, along with reconciliation with her husband.

  Laurie Dillard suggested that being unable to say good-bye left things unresolved. Bobbi leaned back in her chair, her mind drifting to the waiting room at University Hospital, to the day her mother died. Soon those images were replaced with the ER, and then with Shannon’s empty bedroom. Tears formed in Bobbi’s eyes, but not from grief. They were angry tears. What she had vented at Brad’s gravesite just scratched the surface. Dr. Craig told her years ago that often depression is anger stuffed deep inside, and that she was particularly susceptible to it. She let it get her again.

  Dear God, anger and joy can’t exist in the same heart. It hurt so much when my mama died. It seemed so senseless and unfair. It made me mad. I felt the same way when Brad died. I kept thinking You couldn’t hurt me that way and still love me. I know better. Father, forgive me for harboring this anger. I don’t want it anymore. I want to feel what I know, that You do love me, that You will get me through this.

  When she raised her head, she saw Chuck standing in the kitchen doorway. “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m much improved.” She wiped her eyes and motioned for him to join her at the table.

  “I expected to find you in the study.” He sat down beside her and took her hand in his.

  “I was headed that way, but God had the answers in here.” She slid the notebook to him. “Read some of this.”

  He adjusted his glasses and tilted his head the way he had done since he got bifocals. He quickly read through the first two pages. “This is Brad?”

  “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

  “He gets that from you.” Chuck smiled and flipped through a few more pages. “Did you read this whole thing?”

  “Not quite.” She pulled the notebook closer and leafed through the pages. “Here, read the one about Habakkuk.”

  His eyes began to tear up. “This is just what you needed, isn’t it?”

  “And to hear it from Brad, that was . . .”

  “Perfect."

  She nodded and wiped away another tear.

  He squeezed her hand gently. “You know, I was worried about you getting through today.”

  “I’m not through it yet, but I think I can do it. I mean, not me. God will walk me through it.” She patted the notebook lying on the table in front of Chuck. “Brad told me how.”

  * * *

  A few minutes after eleven, Bobbi stood washing up the mixing bowls while she waited on the sweet potato casserole and a pecan pie to finish baking. With Chuck stepping in and helping out, they might actually make it to Rita’s on time for a noon meal.

  Still pondering what she’d read from Brad’s notebook, she jumped when the telephone rang. She cradled the phone on her shoulder and dried her hands. “Hello?”

  “Mom, I wanted to check on you,” Joel said. “Since this is the first holiday . . . Well . . . I’m not sure we should leave you today. Aunt Rita said we didn’t even have to call her if we decided to stay. You just say the word.”

  “Thank you. I had my own doubts about today, but I took some time this morning, just me and God. Dad and I talked. I think I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re pretty amazing.”

  “Hardly. Listen, sweetheart, if you’ve got a few minutes tomorrow or Saturday, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I can stop by tomorrow after work.”

  “Perfect,” Bobbi said. “You guys enjoy your Thanksgiving. Maybe Abby’s parents are coming around finally.”

  “I’m not sure we’re ready for that miracle. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too, and give my love to Abby and Ryan.” As she hung up the phone, Chuck came in from the family room.

  “It smells ready,” he said. “How much longer?”

  Bobbi checked the oven timer. “Ummm, four minutes. That was Joel. I think he was looking for an excuse not to go to Greenways for Thanksgiving.”

  “I don’t blame him. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to go. They might not invite again.”

  “They might not, anyway.” Chuck leaned down to look in the oven. “Your pie looks perfect.”

  “If you want to hang around and take it out when it’s finished, I’ll go touch up my makeup. That way we might actually get out of here on schedule.”

  “Sure thing,” Chuck said, but before she could get out of the room, he called her name. “You’d . . . you’d tell me if you were having trouble today, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m doing okay. I think I can handle it.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “You’re not going to lie to me, are you?”

  “Good grief, Chuck—”

  “Bobbi, I hope you’re absolutely right. I hope today marks a huge step in healing for you, but considering where we’ve been these last few months—”

  “You don’t have to worry.”

  “Wrong.” He crossed the kitchen and took her hand. “Regardless of what happens, how you cope or don’t cope, I don’t want you to act or pretend.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  Rita rushed to the front door as soon as she heard the car pull up in front of the house. “They’re here!” she called to no one in particular. In a last-minute phone call, she tried to persuade Joel to come to dinner, but he seemed convinced his mother would be fine without him. What if she wasn’t? Then what?

  She swung the front door open. “Hey, you’re right on time!” She leaned over to hug her sister tightly. “You look good.”

  “I feel good,” Bobbi said.

  Rita hugged Chuck and Jack. “You guys can take the dishes to the kitchen. Gavin and John are in watching some football game, and the girls are on the computer in the den.”

  “John?” Bobbi’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “John.” Rita nodded. “Kara asked me last week what I thought about him coming. Apparently, they’ve been talking, have had dinner once or twice.”

  “Are you serious? That’s wonderful.”

  “We’re trying to be very reserved. Not let on how thrilled Gavin and I would be if they got back together.”

  “You? Hiding your feelings?”

  “Don’t laugh,” Rita said. “Miracles happen every day.”

  She led Bobbi back to the kitchen where Kara was pouring drinks.

  “Hey, you made it!” She set the pitcher of tea down and hugged Bobbi.

  “On time, even,” Bobbi said. “I’m glad John is here.”

  “It feels right,” Kara said. “We’ll see what happens.”

  “Kelly’s at Patrick’s folks, right?” Bobbi asked.

  “Yes, but they’ll be here for Christmas,” Rita answered as she searched through the silverware drawer for serving spoons. “Danny’s even trying to wrangle a few days off. I could have all three of my kids here for Christmas.” She smiled broadly until she turned and looked
into Bobbi’s eyes. “I am so sorry,” she said quietly. “That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.”

  “It’s okay,” Bobbi said. “You didn’t mean anything by it, and you should be happy to have your kids home.”

  “But you—”

  “Let it go. Please.” She picked up her casserole dish and carried it into the dining room.

  As soon as she was safely out of the room, Rita turned to Kara. “Will you just smack me the next time I open my mouth?”

  “I’m not the one to help you with your mouth,” Kara said. “Talk to Dad. He never says the wrong thing.”

  “I know. It’s unnatural.”

  She and Kara carried the rest of the food to the dining room and called everyone to the table. Heatleys, Molinskys and Isaacs joined hands and Gavin asked a blessing. Rita squeezed his hand tightly when he mentioned those who weren’t there, but Bobbi’s whispered “yes” reassured her.

  Throughout the meal, she stole glances at Bobbi, watching for cracks in her carefully maintained front, but she smiled readily and the long-absent light had returned to her eyes. John and Kara’s daughters, obviously thrilled to celebrate the day with both parents, barely let anyone else talk.

  Before dessert was served, Chuck leaned over and took Bobbi’s hand. She winked at him and mouthed the words, I’m okay. Maybe she was.

  When Bobbi finished her pie and coffee, Gavin pushed away from the table. “Chuck and I will clean up.”

  “Gavin, you never pack the leftovers the way I want them done.” Rita stood and began stacking dessert plates.

  He took her by the arm and looked over his glasses at her. “If you set foot in that kitchen before tomorrow morning . . .”