Not Quickly Broken
Page 15
“You don’t love him?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I said that I didn’t love him.”
“But you do now?”
“With all my heart,” she nodded.
“I don’t understand.”
“I knew that God wanted me and David to be together,” she explained, “but I went through this really rough time in my life and, honestly, I kind of quit worrying about what God wanted and I just started thinking about what I wanted.”
“And you fell in love with someone else?”
She nodded.
“And then what?”
“And then God made it really clear what He wanted me to do and I finally decided I was going to listen to Him.”
“So you just suddenly quit loving this other person and started loving David?” I asked dubiously.
“I didn’t say it was easy,” she admitted. “I had to pray about it for a long time.”
I waited for her to go on.
“First,” she said, “I had to make the decision that I was going to do what God wanted me to do no matter what . . . that was the hardest part. Then I had to pray for God to help me love David the way I was supposed to . . . and that the feelings I had for this other person would go away.”
“And it worked?”
“I love David with all my heart,” she said, smiling. “I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”
I sighed and sat back in my seat.
“And you and Charlotte are meant to be together, too,” Laci went on. “And I know that if you pray about it, God will help you get back together and then He’ll help you to love her the way you’re supposed to.”
I pursed my lips together and looked at her.
“You just have to make up your mind,” she went on, “that you love God enough to trust Him, and to do what He says.”
David and Laci were both right . . . deep down in my heart I knew that. I knew that I had gotten away from God again (just like I had during my senior year in high school), and the first thing that I needed to do – before I started worrying about Charlotte or Rhiannon or anyone else – was to fix that.
So when David asked me to go to the Wednesday evening service that the youth groups always went to, that’s exactly what I did.
Telling God how badly I’d screwed up wasn’t really the hard part. Asking Him to help me wasn’t, either. The hard part was trusting Him. It was saying, “Okay, God, whatever you tell me to do, I’m going to do it,” and to mean that . . . especially since I already knew exactly what He was going to tell me to do.
I didn’t really want to fix my relationship with Charlotte, and – honestly? I was pretty sure that it was way beyond repair anyway. I didn’t believe that our marriage had any hope and I certainly didn’t believe that Charlotte was ever going to love me again. I was also pretty doubtful that I was ever going to be able to love her again, either.
~ ~ ~
WHEN I ARRIVED back in Chicago on Sunday I stopped by the apartment first to get something, but then I drove straight to Elias’ house and rang his doorbell . . . quite possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Elias answered the door. I have never wanted to punch anybody as badly as I wanted to hit him right then and there.
“Is Charlotte here?” I asked as calmly as I could. My fists were clenched so tightly that I could feel my nails digging into my skin.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” he answered.
“I want to see my wife,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Get outta here before I call the cops,” Elias said.
“It’s okay,” I heard Charlotte say. She stepped around from behind him and glared at me. She laid her hand against Elias’ arm.
“Are you sure?” he asked her, resting his own hand on her shoulder. She nodded at him and he stepped away from the door.
“What do you want, Jordan?” she asked, still glaring.
“Can we talk for a second?”
She rolled her eyes and stepped out onto the porch and Elias disappeared. She closed the door behind her.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Well,” she answered. “You’re sorry. That just makes everything all better, doesn’t it?” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the door.
“Will you please come home so we can work this out?”
“No!” she laughed bitterly. “As a matter of fact, I won’t.”
What am I supposed to do, God? I asked. I’m trying, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
“Here,” I said, handing her an envelope.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The divorce papers you sent me.”
“Oh,” she said. She took the envelope from me. “I noticed you haven’t been home for the last week. Having a nice time with Rhiannon?”
“I was in Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
“Yes.”
“Did . . . did you go see David?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him?” she asked, glancing furtively back at the house. “Did you tell him what’s going on?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I went down there . . . to talk to him.”
“He knows?” she cried. She looked absolutely horrified.
“Yes,” I said. “He knows.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him everything.”
“Everything?” She turned away from me and put her hands over her face.
“Oh, crap,” she whispered to herself. “Crap, crap, crap!”
I didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t want my mom to know about this right now,” she said, fuming. “You had no right to tell anybody!”
“He’s not going to say anything to anyone,” I promised.
“I didn’t even want him to find out about it right now!” she yelled, stomping her foot. “What’d you have to go and tell him for?”
“I needed to talk to someone,” I explained.
“Why didn’t you just talk to Rhiannon?” she snapped. “Oh, that’s right. That’s not what you and Rhiannon like spending your time doing.”
“I haven’t seen or talked to Rhiannon since–”
When I didn’t finish my sentence, she glared at me yet some more.
“I wanted to talk with David because I needed some advice,” I told her.
“Advice,” she laughed. “And what advice did he give you?”
“He thinks we need to see a marriage counselor. He thinks we need to try to work things out.”
“Well,” she waved the envelope in front of me. “Looks like you really took his advice to heart.”
“I didn’t sign them.”
“You what?”
“I said I didn’t sign them.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want a divorce.”
“Maybe it’s not about what you want,” she yelled. “Did you ever think of that?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately.”
“I want a divorce,” she said angrily, shoving the envelope at me. I took it back, reluctantly. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.”
“Just come see a marriage counselor with me,” I begged. “Let’s just go talk to someone.”
“Go talk with your precious Rhiannon,” she said, and then she turned around and reached for the door.
“Charlotte, wait!” I said, grabbing her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, turning back around and looking at me coldly, “ever again.”
I let go of her arm.
“Sign the papers,” she said evenly, “and don’t come back here or I’ll file a restraining order against you.”
And then she went into the house and slammed the door in my face.
I called David before I even go
t off of Elias’ street.
“This isn’t going to work,” I told him.
“What’s not going to work?”
“Me and Charlotte getting back together,” I explained. “It’s not gonna happen.”
“Go see a marriage counselor,” he began, “I sent you the link to a really good Christian counselor in Chicago and–”
“I already tried!” I cried. “She’s not going to go see a marriage counselor with me!”
“You have to keep after her,” he said. “Don’t give up until she agrees to go.”
“How am I supposed to do that? She just threatened to file a restraining order against me! She wants a divorce!”
“You have to think of something,” David insisted. “You’ve gotta figure out a way to make her agree to go.”
“David . . . I can’t make her do anything. I have no leverage – she’s holding all the cards here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s hired a lawyer. I mean she has a picture of me kissing Rhiannon. I mean she’s taken all the money out of our bank account and she’s frozen my credit cards. I mean I have NO options here! There’s nothing I can do!”
“You don’t have any money?”
“No I don’t have any money!” I said. “My life is falling apart here! I’m supposed to start classes Thursday, but if I don’t go down to the registrar’s office by tomorrow then that ain’t gonna happen. Not to mention the fact that I haven’t bought any of my textbooks yet and my car’s almost outta gas and I’ve got like two cans of soup left in the apartment.”
“I can send you some money . . .”
I rubbed my forehead and sighed. I was going to have to borrow money from someone . . . either him or Tanner or my mom. It might as well be him . . .
“Thank you,” I managed.
“But you’ve gotta talk Charlotte into going to see a marriage counselor with you,” he insisted.
“How?” I asked quietly. “How am I supposed to do that? It’s gonna take a miracle . . .”
“Well, then,” David said, “we’ll just pray for a miracle.”
~ ~ ~
IT WASN’T THE kind of miracle I was expecting.
“Hello?” It was the first time since she’d left me that Charlotte answered her phone when I called.
“I’m in jail,” I told her. (If I hadn’t had the shock factor going for me I’m pretty sure she would have hung up as soon as she heard my voice.)
“Jordan?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re in jail!?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you in jail?”
“Ummmm, driving without a license, no insurance, expired registration, not my car . . .”
“Speeding . . .” the officer behind me added helpfully.
“Speeding . . .” I said into the phone.
Speeding had actually been the initial reason I’d been pulled over . . . I’d been on my way to the registrar’s office. The reason I’d been arrested was mainly due to the stack of unopened mail on the counter at home: expired and out-of-state plates, overdue inspection, out-of-date registration (which was in Charlotte’s maiden name anyway), and lapsed insurance. (It also didn’t help that I hadn’t even applied for my Illinois driver’s license yet and that my old one was sitting next to the computer where I’d forgotten it after applying for my campus parking permit online.) I think the fact that I had been arrested for punching that kid back in high school didn’t help either.
Charlotte didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was still on the line.
“So, anyway,” I said. “You’re my one phone call.”
“Why didn’t you call your lawyer?”
“I don’t have a lawyer,” I told her.
“You need one,” she said.
“I’m not getting a lawyer. I’m going to be here until you bail me out.”
“Why would I bail you out?”
“Because you don’t want me spending the night in prison.”
“Jail,” the police officer behind me corrected. “You’re in jail.”
“I couldn’t care less where you spend the night,” Charlotte said. “Get a lawyer.” And she hung up the phone.
“Someone coming?” the officer asked as I handed the phone back to him.
“I’m not sure.”
“Need to call someone else?”
“I thought I only got one phone call.”
“You watch too much television.”
“I . . . I’ll wait,” I decided.
He led me down a hallway to a cell with two bunks. I sat down on one of the nasty, bare mattresses and tried not to think about what the stains on it were from. Instead, I wondered what Charlotte was going to do. The way I had it figured, she’d do one of three things:
1. She would have mercy on me and rush down to the jail and bail me out.
2. She would have mercy on me, but be too angry to rush down to the jail and bail me out. Instead, she would call Tanner or my mom, turn the whole mess over to them, and I’d see one of them in about six hours or so.
3. She would let me rot in jail.
Nine hours later I figured that Charlotte had gone with Option #3. It hadn’t occurred to me that there had been an Option #4:
4. Charlotte would initially decide to let me rot in jail, but would eventually change her mind and come down to bail me out.
It was three in the morning when an officer finally came back to my cell, told me that bail had been posted, and led me to the same room I’d made my phone call in. He had me sign some papers and then pointed me through another set of doors and told me that I was free to go. When I got to the lobby I saw Charlotte, sitting in a vinyl chair with her arms crossed. As soon as she saw me she stood up and stormed out of the station.
“Charlotte, wait!” I called, rushing after her.
“What?” she snapped, not even turning around as she marched down the steps.
“I need a ride.”
She wheeled around at the bottom of the stairs, pausing just long enough to eye me in disbelief.
“Well, they impounded the car,” I said, feebly. “I didn’t drive myself here . . .”
She turned back around, heading for the parking lot, and I hurried after her. Once she got close to her car she pushed the unlock button on her keychain and got in. I hopped in on the passenger side as she started the engine. She pulled away, not waiting for me to do up my seatbelt.
“Thank you for bailing me out,” I said.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.
“You didn’t?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
“Who’d you do it for?”
She took a moment to answer.
“My mom.”
“Your mom? What’s your mom have to do with anything?”
She drove along for a minute without answering.
“She . . . she’s sick,” Charlotte finally said quietly.
“She’s sick?” I asked, feeling my heart give a little flip.
Charlotte nodded again.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Breast cancer,” Charlotte answered.
“Your mother’s got breast cancer?!”
Charlotte nodded, keeping her eyes on the road.
“When did you find this out?” I asked.
“Her mammogram came back abnormal a couple of weeks ago and she had a biopsy done last Friday. She just got the results yesterday–”
“You’ve known that she might have cancer for a couple of weeks?” I cried. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“Well, excuse me!” she yelled. “She called me the same day I found out that you were cheating on me and really I didn’t feel like talking to you about it!”
“I didn’t cheat on you!” I shouted back. “It was one kiss! One lousy kiss!”
“Sure,” she said, waving her hand at me dismissively. “Whatever.”
I sighed and covered my eyes with my hand
“You should have told me,” I finally said, looking at her.
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
“That’s not fair, Charlotte. I love your mother and you know it!”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” she said quietly, shaking her head.
“So . . . so what are they going to do?”
“She’s having a mastectomy the day after tomorrow.”
A mastectomy.
“Are you going down there?” I finally asked.
“Of course I am.”
“I’m going with you . . .”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Please, Charlotte? I want–”
“No,” she said again. “She doesn’t want you there.”
“Oh,” I said, quietly. I leaned my head against my window. I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut.
“She . . . she doesn’t know,” Charlotte said after a moment.
“Doesn’t know what?”
“She doesn’t know about us. I haven’t told her yet.”
“Oh,” I said again, lifting my head off the glass. “Then why doesn’t she want me there?”
“She knows your classes are supposed to start Thursday . . . that’s why she doesn’t want you to come. She doesn’t want you to miss them.”
“Oh,” I said for a third time, looking at her.
“And, um . . .”
“What?” I asked.
“I still don’t want her to know for a while.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“Depending on what they find when they do the surgery she might have to have chemo and radiation and I . . . I just don’t want her to have to be worried about this right now.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“And, um . . .”
“And what?”
“And she thinks we’re still coming for Labor Day weekend.”
“Oh.”
We rode along in silence for a little while.
“What are you going to do about that?” I finally asked.
“I was thinking that maybe you could come with me.”
“Go with you? On Labor Day?”
She nodded.