My brain went blank. I wanted to turn and flee.
“Your husband has refused to talk with us, but we hoped that you—”
A camera pointed in my direction. I saw the little red light glowing and knew my reaction was being recorded.
“No comment,” I whispered.
“Please, Mrs. Clarkson. The community wants some answers.”
From somewhere within came the strength to move forward, forcing her to back up.
“Mrs. Clarkson—”
“No comment.” I closed the door, twisting the dead bolt into place. Then I leaned against the wall and listened to the hammering of my heart.
Nicole must have been filled with hate to talk to Greta St. James. She’d tried to steal another woman’s husband. My husband. Didn’t she care how that made her look?
No. Of course she didn’t care. Few enough did in this day and age. Actors routinely had affairs with their costars, and the next thing you knew, their relationship was being romanticized in People or some other weekly magazine. Token pity was sometimes shown toward the betrayed spouse, but never for long.
I felt the soft rumble of the garage door opening. Almost simultaneously I heard Ms. St. James shouting a question. Through the living room window, I saw Brad drive past the reporter and her cameraman. The garage door closed again, and silence gripped the house.
I waited for Brad to enter the kitchen through the connecting doorway. One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Finally, I couldn’t stand the tension building inside of me. I walked into the kitchen and opened the door, peering into the dim light of the garage.
“Brad?”
The door to his car opened. “I’m here.” He got out. “How long have they been here?”
“Not long.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No. But I opened the door before I knew who it was.”
He walked toward me, his footsteps slow, his shoulders slumped. As he drew near, light from the kitchen revealed the weariness written on his face. I stepped back to let him pass.
Where were you last night?
He stopped in front of me, as if he’d heard my silent question. His gaze met mine.
Many years ago, when I was still in high school, I heard someone say that God fashioned Eve from Adam’s rib because He wanted her to be strong enough to protect her husband’s heart. Looking into Brad’s eyes, I knew I’d done nothing to protect him since this awful mess began. Maybe I never had.
“So again I say, each man must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.”
How often had I quoted those words to other wives? More times than I cared to admit. I used to think I’d followed that Bible verse, that I’d shown Brad the respect he deserved and needed. But now, in this crisis . . .
I lowered my gaze. After a moment, he released a whisper-soft sigh. A hot lump formed in my throat as I closed the door.
He walked across the kitchen to stand at the window overlooking the backyard. “Three corporate sponsors canceled their pledges to the foundation today. Individual pledges have dropped off too. Only a few days, and it’s noticeable.”
My heart hurt.
“I’ve been asked to remove myself from my position with In Step.”
“Remove yourself?”
He turned to face me. “If I don’t quit or at the very least take an unpaid leave, In Step might not recover from the bad press it’s getting. There’s already plenty of doubt in the public’s mind. Especially in the Christian community. It’s better for me to step down than force the board to remove me. It’ll look better . . . later.”
Another layer of fear swept over me. “Why an unpaid leave? You’re the founder. You deserve better treatment. It’s like you’re guilty until proven innocent.”
“How could I, in good conscience, draw a salary while employees face layoffs?”
“Layoffs? Is it as bad as that?”
He nodded. “It’ll happen soon. I don’t see how it can be avoided. Those corporate sponsorships were a big chunk of our annual income.”
Perhaps I was selfish, but I couldn’t help wondering how we would pay our bills if we lost his income. The mortgage, the car payment, the lights and heat, groceries. We weren’t rich by any means. We didn’t have unlimited resources—we’d put too much into building In Step through the years. We would be okay for two or three months. Would that be long enough?
Brad raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “I’m the accused, Kat, not the foundation. If I’m out of the picture, giving might pick up again. Maybe some of those sponsors can be wooed back.”His voice lowered.“The employees and the people In Step helps shouldn’t have to pay for whatever I did or didn’t do.”
“But it’s your ministry. You built it from scratch. No one knows it the way you do.No one cares about the people you help the way you do.”
His smile was sad, his tone of voice poignant. “It’s God’s ministry, Kat, not mine. I’ve had the privilege of serving in it, and I hope I’ll serve there again. But that’s up to the Lord. We’ll have to trust Him.”
His humility and trust shamed me. Could such a man cheat on his wife and lie to those who loved him?
I drew a shallow breath. “What will you do if . . . if you don’t work at In Step?”
“I’m still good with a hammer.”He held up his hands, palms toward me. “I imagine I can get a job in construction. Spring’s here. New building has kicked into gear.”
In Step had been birthed in Brad’s heart. He’d never been happier than he’d been since selling his business and devoting himself full time to the foundation. Letting it go would be harder for him than he let on.
“I love you, Katherine.”
Tears filled my eyes. His image blurred before me. I love you too. I wanted to say it aloud, but the words were strangled by the doubts I harbored.
He strode across the kitchen and took me into his arms, pressing my cheek against his chest, hiding his face in my hair. It was the first time he’d touched me in several days. The first time I’d let him get close enough to try. This time I didn’t pull away. I wanted to be there, to wrap my arms around him and find security in his embrace. I hoped he wouldn’t let go for a long, long while. Once we were apart, the thinking would begin again. The thinking and wondering, the dread and the doubts. Here, in the circle of his embrace, I didn’t have to think.
Tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that, I would be forced to face reality. Tomorrow I would hurt because of the suspicions of betrayal. I would feel crushed by the words in the newspaper or on TV.
Tomorrow I might loathe Brad’s very nearness, but for now, I took shelter in it.
Fourteen
THE NEXT MORNING, I AWAKENED BEFORE DAWN, MY HEART hammering, remnants of a nightmare wrapped around my throat, choking me. I gasped for air.
“Kat?” Brad’s hand closed around my upper arm.
I turned my head. Even in the shadows of night, I knew he lay on his side, facing me.
“Bad dream?”
“Yes.”
He drew closer, his head now next to mine on the pillow. “It’s going to be okay.” The fingers of his right hand twined through the fingers of my left. “It’s going to be okay.”
We hadn’t eaten dinner the previous night. We hadn’t watched the news or answered the telephone when it rang. Instead,we took refuge in our bedroom. We took refuge in each other. We took comfort in the old and familiar. And for a time, the troubles surrounding us retreated. For a time, I could almost believe my life was perfect once again.
But it couldn’t last. Even my dreams knew that.
“I’d like you to go with me on Monday,” Brad said, his voice husky.
“Go where?”
“To the office.”
“Why?”
“The board meeting was called for nine a.m. I’ll ask the directors to approve an unpaid indeterminate leave, they’ll vote, I’ll get my personal belongings, and we�
��ll come home. It won’t take long.”
Although he sounded matter-of-fact, I wasn’t fooled. His heart was broken.
He rolled onto his back and drew me closer, my head now resting on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady thrum of his heart. My memories were filled with thousands of mornings that had begun much like this one, my head near his, our hearts beating as one, words softly spoken before the start of another day.
Much like but not the same. Nothing would ever be quite the same again. Couldn’t be. Nicole had changed all that.
I started to pull away.
Brad tightened his arm. “Don’t, Kat. Please.”
Had he held her the way he held me now? Had he stopped her from pulling away from his side, ever whispered her name in the dark?
Unwelcome images filled my mind.My nightmare revisited.
“There’s no way I can prove what I say is true. There’s no way to prove what she says is a lie.”His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Unless she confesses the truth, it will always be her word against mine.”
I preferred things to be black or white. That was my nature. I wasn’t comfortable with shades of gray. But that’s where I lived at the moment—in a world gone the color of slate.
He slid his arm from beneath my head, rolled to the side of the bed, and sat up. “I’m going to take my shower.” A few moments later, the bathroom door closed behind him.
Outside, the sky blushed with the promise of dawn, staining the blinds a pale pink. Another morning I might have gone to the window to observe the sunrise. I might have hummed a praise song as I witnessed the advent of another day.
This was not another morning. I had no songs inside me.
I got out of bed and slipped into my robe. Bare feet carried me down the stairs. I stopped to turn up the heat to take the chill from the house, then thought better of it. If Brad was out of work for long, we might not be able to afford extra heat.
I leaned the top of my head against the wall next to the thermostat. “Jesus, I’m frightened. I need Your help.”
Peace in the midst of a storm. Wasn’t that what believers were promised? So why was I drowning in fear instead? Why did the future look so black?
I entered the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Then I went into the family room to await the machine’s final gasp. My gaze fell on the end table to my left. There was my Bible, untouched since the previous Sunday.
I lifted the leather-bound book from the table and placed it on my lap. I didn’t open it, didn’t turn on the lamp. Instead, I allowed the stillness of morning to surround me, and I hoped it would bring an equal calm to my heart.
Wisdom . . . Discernment . . . Patience . . . Strength . . . Never had I needed those attributes more than now. Never had I felt so far from having them.
Where are You, God?
No sound. No touch. No sense of peace.
Only turmoil. Only aloneness.
Brad entered the kitchen. I watched as he took two mugs from the cupboard and set them near the coffeemaker. He drummed his fingertips on the countertop, then turned and walked to the telephone.
“We’ve got messages on the machine,” he said, punching the button.
The monotone voice of the recorder gave the date and time.
“Mom and Dad.”Emma.“Are you guys home? Call me when you get this.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
Again, the monotone voice.
“Brad? Evan Daniels. I got the message about the board meeting on Monday. Think it’s a good idea. We need to clear the air. But I’d like to talk to you before then if we can. Call me at home. I should be around most of the weekend.” A pause. “Oh, and sorry you’re having to go through this.We’re praying for you.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
I hugged my stomach.
The machine again, reporting the time of the call.
“Brad. It’s Stan Ludwig. Got your message. I’ll be at your office Monday morning a half hour before the meeting. There are some details we should work through before you talk to the board. If you’ve got any questions or concerns, call me over the weekend. And remember to stay away from the press. They aren’t going to let up. I suggest you stay close to the house until Monday. Might be a good idea to stay home from church tomorrow, just in case the media is waiting for you there.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
The coffeemaker gurgled and gasped. I forced myself to breathe.
Years ago, I heard a friend say to her husband, “Be careful what river you go down because I’m in the boat with you.”
Today I understood what she meant. My life was joined with Brad’s. When we married, two became one. What he did or didn’t do had a direct impact on me. I was in the same boat with him. The rapids were rough, and water was rushing over the sides, attempting to swamp us.
Was there any hope we would survive?
Fifteen
WE DID AS WE WERE ADVISED, STAYING HOME THE ENTIRE weekend. We saw no one except for Emma and Jason, who dropped by on their way home after third service Sunday morning, and the pizza delivery guy who delivered our dinner Sunday night. We spoke little, both of us wondering what the next morning would bring, both of us sure it wouldn’t be anything good.
On Monday, as Brad and I walked from the parking garage toward the In Step offices, I experienced true empathy for those women I’d seen on TV and in tabloids. Wives who entered courtrooms or made their way through a sea of microphones at the side of their embattled husbands. I realized they weren’t always naive, foolish, or blindly loyal. Sometimes they were simply swept along by the storm of events.
Reporters and cameramen from newspapers and television stations—local and national—waited for Brad at the main entrance of the Henderson Building. I ducked my head forward, the way I’d seen countless others do in similar circumstances. I’d thought it was to avoid having their faces captured on film, but I’d been wrong. It was to avoid eye contact. If I didn’t look at them, I could pretend they weren’t there. I could ignore the questions they hurled at us.
“No comment,” Brad repeated. “No comment.”
His hand on my back kept me moving forward until we entered the relative safety of the elevator. I waited until the doors closed and the car moved upward before I turned around.
Brad gave me a repentant look. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.”
“You didn’t know they’d be here.”
“It’s why Stan told us to stay home over the weekend. So we could avoid them.”
Okay, maybe he should have known, but we were in unfamiliar territory. Both of us.
The elevator doors opened. We exchanged another look—filled with trepidation—before we moved toward the glass doorway, Brad’s hand once again on the small of my back.
All eyes were trained on us as we entered the In Step offices. A hush hovered over the large main room. This time I held my head high, my back ramrod straight, and tried my best to look calm and serene—two things I wasn’t.
“Good morning, Sue,” Brad said to the receptionist.
“Good morning,” she answered.
“Morning, Kay.”
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Roberta.”
He continued acknowledging each person as we made our way toward his private office. Once there, after he gave his assistant the same greeting, he asked, “Are any board members here?”
“Not yet.”
“How about Stan?”
Lori motioned with her head. “He arrived a few minutes ago. He’s in your office now.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “I want you to know, I don’t believe a word of it. Not a word.”
He gave her a stoic smile. “I appreciate that, Lori. Thanks.”
“If there’s anything I can do . . .”
He nodded. “I know.”
Lori Kendrick had been hired as Brad’s administrative assistant about nine years ago. An attractive woman in her early fifties, she was totally dedicated
to her job. And to Brad.
I could imagine what she wanted to do to Nicole Schubert.
Lori looked at me, sympathy in her eyes. “If I can help, Katherine, you need only ask.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d better see Stan now,” Brad said, “but as soon as the board meeting ends, I’ll need to meet with you, Lori. When the board members arrive, tell them we’ll begin promptly at nine o’clock.”He glanced at me.“Ready?”
I nodded, and Brad led the way into his office.
Stan stood when he saw us. “Katherine. Brad.”
I sat on the small sofa near the door.
“Thanks for coming.”Brad shook the attorney’s hand before rounding his desk to sit in the executive chair. “Was the press here when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Some mess.”
“Some mess.”
Brad glanced in my direction, although it was Stan whom he addressed. “What do you advise?”
“Short of suing Ms. Schubert for slander?”
“Yeah, short of that.”
“Stay away from the reporters. And if you can’t avoid them, keep saying, ‘No comment.’”
I hated this. I hated every part of it. Was that really all we could do? Hide out or run away?
“What about the attorney general?” Brad asked. “What’s happening there?”
“I believe they have everything they need for their initial review. Your bookkeeper and accountant have found nothing that raised any red flags, but they still have more records to comb through. Still, I believe you should be encouraged. I am.”
Brad nodded, but his expression didn’t change. He didn’t look encouraged.“How long will the AG’s review take?”
“I expect them to render a decision in a couple of weeks. Maybe three. If they decide a full investigation is needed”—he shrugged—“there’s no telling how long it will drag out.”
Brad glanced at me a second time, then back to Stan. “Will Nicole’s assertions have any impact on whether or not they do an investigation?”
“Although it shouldn’t matter, I can’t say it won’t, human nature being what it is.”
The Perfect Life Page 7
