The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Brad’s hand touched my shoulder. “We should go.”

  I hated to leave, but I could tell Hayley wouldn’t rest as long as we were there. “Yes. We’ll go.” I bent low to kiss Hayley’s forehead. “I’ll come again in the morning. You try to get some sleep.”

  “Okay,” she whispered without opening her eyes.

  Out in the hallway, I hugged Steve and told him to call if he needed anything.

  “I will.”

  Brad gave him a pat on the back, expressing sympathy without words. Then he took me gently by the arm, and we walked down the hospital corridor. We were outside, halfway to the car, when I began to cry. Silent tears, streaking my face. No sobs. No whimpers.

  And yet, somehow,Brad knew. He stopped, turned me toward him, and pulled me to his chest, his arms enfolding me.

  Odd. It was what I needed and wanted, but still I tried to pull away.

  He didn’t let me go.

  “Why?” I whispered. “Why did God take our grandchild?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why is He letting this happen to our family?”

  He didn’t answer. I sensed him pondering the question, testing his reply. But in the end, he only said, “I don’t know.”

  Why, God? Why?

  I wanted an answer, needed an answer. I wanted things to make sense again. I wanted to trust my husband. I wanted to have faith in the goodness of God, in the plans He had for me, for us, for our daughters and their husbands.

  “Let’s go home, Katherine.”

  Home. It used to be a place of joy. But now—

  “It’ll be all right. God hasn’t forsaken us.”

  I wasn’t so sure.

  Seventeen

  THERE HAVE BEEN OTHER SORROWFUL OCCASIONS IN MY life. My father died from a heart attack when I was in high school. A dear friend was killed in a car accident when we were in our early twenties. My favorite aunt and uncle went through an acrimonious divorce after forty years of marriage.

  I’d been saddened by those events and shed tears over them, but I’d never let my emotions overwhelm me. Now everything overwhelmed me. The world had turned ugly, and I wanted to hide from it. Deciding what to eat for breakfast was too much to handle. Leaving the house seemed unthinkable. I moved around it in a kind of daze.

  “You’re depressed, Katherine,” Susan said in her usual direct manner when she dropped by later in the week. “It’s only natural, with all that’s happened.”

  “I don’t get depressed.”

  “Girlfriend, we don’t get to decide what we feel. Feelings are feelings. They happen to everybody. And trust me. You’re depressed.”

  I looked away from her, staring across our backyard at the bright-colored tulips that bloomed along the fence. Brad and I had planted those bulbs the first fall we were in this house. How many years ago was that now? Fourteen? Fifteen? I wasn’t sure. Funny that I couldn’t find the answer to such a simple question.

  I wished Susan would leave. I was tired and wanted to lie down, to be alone. Besides, shouldn’t she be at work? It was Thursday. No, Friday.

  “You can’t go on like this, you know.”

  “Like what?” I asked, looking at her again.

  She motioned at me as if that were explanation enough. “Like this. You need to talk to somebody. A counselor or your pastor or somebody. It’s no crime to need help working through a crisis.”

  I shrugged.

  Susan leaned forward on the patio chair. “Kat, I’m your best friend. I care about what’s happening to you. You’ve always been as solid as a rock for yourself and everyone else. We both know that. But you’ve been through a lot in the last few weeks. You need to let out all the pent-up fear and anger you’ve got going on inside.”

  I wanted to deny that I was afraid. I wanted to protest being called angry. But I couldn’t seem to open my mouth.My throat had closed up, keeping me mute.

  “I know you’re worried about the investigation at In Step and heartbroken about Hayley’s baby, but I don’t think that’s what’s eating at you. You’ve lost faith in everything you used to trust. You’ve got to start believing in something or someone again.”

  I hoped she wouldn’t start spouting psychobabble at me.

  She laid her fingertips on my knee. “Do you believe Brad or do you believe Nicole?”

  The breath caught in my chest.

  “Do you believe God or do you believe Greta St. James?”

  I stood and moved to the edge of the patio, my back to Susan, blood pounding in my temples.

  She had a lot of nerve, saying that to me. I’d been sharing my faith with her since we were schoolgirls. Susan was the one without any faith. Not me. How dare she imply that I didn’t believe God?

  “Kat, I love you more than anybody. You know I do. We’ve been best friends forever. You tolerate me when I’m PMSing and when I just want to be ugly. You even put up with me during those awful days before and after my last divorce. Remember what I was like?”

  Yes, I remembered.

  “So hear me when I tell you this. I’ve been through it. I know what I’m talking about. You won’t begin to feel better until you discover who you believe and what you want. Limbo is no place to make camp. You need to start working your way back to the real world, kiddo.”

  The world was real enough at the moment, thank you very much. More reality I didn’t need.

  Susan came to stand beside me. We exchanged a glance. I was the first to look away.

  “You’ve had it pretty good, Kat. Great childhood with loving parents. You’ve always been happy in your marriage. You were able to be a stay-at-home mom, just like you wanted, and Brad supported you in that decision. If he ever objected, I sure never heard it. But what man would when he’s being catered to by his wife?”

  My gaze shot back to her as I opened my mouth to object, but she raised a hand to silence me.

  “Sorry. That was the feminist coming out in me.” She gave me a quick smile. “Anyway, like I was saying, you’ve had things just the way you wanted them. Until now, your kids haven’t had anything worse happen to them than the sniffles or the flu. Your home is lovely, and you shine as a hostess. Seems like your God’s blessed you for a long, long time.”

  “Yes,” I answered softly.

  “It’s pretty easy to believe in Him when everything’s going your way, isn’t it? Not so easy when you hit a few bumps in the road.”

  I looked at her again. “It’s not a mere bump when your husband is accused of a crime and may have been unfaithful and your daughter miscarries her baby.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her expression sad. “And I’m not trying to be cruel or minimize how much you’re hurting. But I am trying to make you think. Think or talk or scream or break something. Anything to get out all that garbage you’re bottling up inside.”

  “I’m not the screaming type.”

  “No, you like to appear like you’re all together. But girlfriend, you’re not. Not all the time. No one is. Life happens to us. Things get broken, hearts included. We’re kidding ourselves when we think we’re in control.”

  “God’s in control,” I whispered.

  She raised her brows and tilted her head slightly to one side, as if to say, then act like it.

  Closing my eyes, I rubbed my temples with the tips of my fingers. I needed an ibuprofen. My head felt like it could split in two.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I only want to help.”

  I knew that. I knew Susan loved me and would bend over backward to make things better if she could.

  “I’m going to leave. I’m due back at the office.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “Think about what I said.”

  I nodded.

  She leaned over and kissed my cheek.“Call me.”Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Any time, day or night. I’m here for you.” Then she left.

  A squirrel chattered from a tree in the neighbor’s yard. A sprinkler stuttered on the other side of the f
ence. The day was warm, but it was pleasant in the shade of the covered patio. The air smelled of spring, unfolding leaves, thickening grass, budding flowers.

  Spring. Life renewing itself. Fresh beginnings.

  I raised my eyes toward heaven.

  Help me.

  I seemed to crumple in upon myself, and the next thing I knew, I was kneeling on the concrete slab, bent forward at the waist, my face hidden in my hands.

  Brad

  HE SAT IN HIS CAR, WHITE-KNUCKLED HANDS CLUTCHING the steering wheel. Beyond the guardrail of the overlook was a sharp drop into the reservoir. How long would it take to find somebody who accidentally drove into those deep,murky waters? The spring runoff had filled Lucky Peak to capacity. It could take days to find a missing car if it was going fast enough when it hit the railing.

  The thought seemed momentarily inviting. He’d lost two of the things that mattered most to him—the love and trust of his wife, the respect of his friends and colleagues. He didn’t know if he could ever win those things back. And if he couldn’t?

  He’d reached the end of himself and had nowhere left to turn. He couldn’t turn to Katherine. She’d made that clear enough. The same with Hayley. Among the members of his immediate family, only Emma remained steadfastly in his corner. Some men he’d considered good friends—his Christian brothers—had withdrawn from him as well. And it hurt.

  Not that he would actually take his own life. He trusted God too much for that. But right now he understood why some gave in to the temptation. His life seemed broken beyond repair, his strength used up.

  God help me. He looked up at the sky, piercing blue spotted with cotton ball clouds. “What do I do now?”

  He hadn’t found a job yet and time weighed heavy on his hands. He wasn’t used to being idle. He’d lived at full throttle for too many years. Now when he got up in the morning, very little lay before him besides wondering how to put his life, his marriage, his family back together again.

  No, suicide wasn’t the answer, but he thought this would be a fine time for the Lord to return.

  Come, Lord Jesus.

  He looked one more time at the guardrail, then turned the key in the ignition, put the car in drive, and pulled out of the parking area.

  Eighteen

  A TOSSED GREEN SALAD WAITED IN THE REFRIGERATOR next to the deviled eggs and two steaks. I glanced at the clock on the stove, wondering if I should start the grill. That was Brad’s job, but he wasn’t home.

  Where is he?

  He’d left the house early this morning to fill out more job applications. Maybe he’d found work. What a relief that would be. I felt anxious every time I opened the checkbook, uncertain when we would see some income again.

  Maybe I should look for work too.

  Doing what? I had some office skills but nothing that would look impressive on a résumé.My proficiency on the computer had been acquired at home on my own time. Even my work for In Step had been as a volunteer. I hadn’t drawn a salary since I quit a wait-ressing job soon after I became pregnant with Hayley—I was twenty-one at the time. Who would be interested in a forty-five-year- old housewife whose last place of employment was a local diner more than two decades ago? Burger King? McDonald’s?

  I shuddered.

  Susan was right. I’d lived exactly the life I wanted. I’d chosen marriage instead of a college degree. I’d chosen babies instead of a career. Maybe I was a throwback to another era, but I’d loved my old-fashioned life as a wife,mom,and homemaker. I wouldn’t have changed a single thing.

  Now I wondered, had I made a mistake? Other women, like Susan, could support themselves. They’d worked their way up the corporate ladder. They weren’t dependent upon husbands.

  Like Nicole.

  Oh, how I hated her. How I wished I could rid my mind of her, once and for all. I would have done it if I knew how. But thoughts of her hovered around the edges of my life, every minute, every second of every day.

  Did Brad think about her, too?

  “Stop it!” I slammed my right fist down on the kitchen counter. Pain shot up my arm. I groaned as I shook my hand, mad at myself, mad at my husband, mad at the world.

  Mad at God.

  My marriage was in crisis. Our livelihood had vanished. My husband may have lied to me, may have broken trust with the community. Hayley had lost her baby. My life made no sense to me, and I was used to things making sense.

  Susan’s voice taunted me again: “It’s pretty easy to believe in Him when everything’s going your way, isn’t it?” Even hours later, the words hadn’t lost their sting. Worse still, I feared she might be right. I feared my faith was weak, too weak to withstand the onslaught of trouble.

  This time it was the words of the apostle James that taunted me: whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy.

  I used to think I knew what that looked like, but I didn’t. I had no clue how to feel joy over or in my present circumstances. No clue at all.

  The closing of the door drew me around. My gaze met Brad’s as he stepped into the kitchen. I didn’t need to ask if he’d found work. I could tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t.

  I asked anyway. “No luck?”

  “No luck.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be gone so long.”

  “I stopped by the church. I wanted to talk to Mike about . . . something, but he wasn’t in. Then I got asked to work with some volunteers in the benevolence garden.”He looked at the palms of his hands. “It felt good to do something physical.”

  Did Brad consider his current troubles an opportunity for joy?

  I turned toward the kitchen counter. “I’ve got steaks ready to barbecue.”

  “Good. I’m famished. I didn’t take time to eat lunch. I’ll fire up the grill and then go wash up.”

  “Okay.” I set several tomatoes in the sink and turned on the cold water to rinse them. By the time I looked over my shoulder again, Brad had disappeared.

  I let out a deep breath.

  I hated the way I was around him. When he was gone, I wanted him home. I wanted to know where he was and what he was doing every instant. But when he was with me, it wasn’t any better. I remained anxious and tense. Part of me feared he would reach for me, want to hold me, want to kiss me. I’d let him do that when I shouldn’t have. Because it felt like another lie. It felt as if I were promising things would get better between us, and I didn’t know if it was true.

  I reached for a knife and sliced the tomatoes on the granite countertop, wishing I knew what tomorrow would bring, wishing I knew how this would all end.

  Nineteen

  IT WAS MOTHER’S DAY, BUT I DIDN’T GO TO CHURCH. SINCE the last Sunday I was there—three weeks earlier—our private lives had become public knowledge, unflattering information splashed across television screens and newspaper columns. I wasn’t ready to look members of the congregation in the eye. Not yet.

  “I should be able to do what I want on Mother’s Day,” I’d told Emma over the phone on Saturday, “and what I want is to stay home.”

  “Jason and I were going to take you and Dad out for brunch after church.”

  “I’d rather stay home. I don’t want to risk running into reporters.”

  “Hayley and Steve are coming, too.”

  “Your sister isn’t up to going out. It’s much too soon after her miscarriage.”

  “Didn’t you know, Mom? She’s going back to work on Monday.”

  “No. I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me when I talked to her. When did she make that decision? Has she—”

  “Her doctor said it was all right. So you see, it won’t hurt her to go out to eat with the family tomorrow. We could all go to second service and then to brunch afterward.”

  “Except I don’t want to go. Not to church and not out to eat.”

  “But Mom—”

  “No, Emma. Not this year.”

  She’d tried several more times to convince me, but in the end, I had my way. S
he’d been none too happy by the time she hung up the phone.

  Brad hadn’t been happy either. Only, unlike our youngest daughter, he hadn’t wasted his breath trying to change my mind. I suppose he’d recognized the stubborn set of my chin.

  Come Sunday morning, with Brad off to church solo, I wandered around the house, feeling restless and taking no pleasure in the solitude. Maybe I should have gone. Anyone at church who was prone to gossip would gossip anyway,maybe even more when they saw Brad without me.

  After walking into the kitchen for the fifth time in half an hour, I poured myself a cup of coffee, then moved to the telephone, thinking I might call Susan. I picked up the cordless handset, set it down, picked it up again. It was early. She’d said I could call anytime, but I knew she liked to sleep in on the weekends. I should wait a while.

  Telephone in one hand, coffee cup in the other, I walked to the easy chair in the family room and sank onto it. I blew across the surface of the hot beverage before taking several sips. My eyes went to the face of the phone. Fifty-seven calls in the log, the screen said. With my thumb, I began to scroll through the log in order to clear the screen. Susan’s name and number. Emma’s name and number. Hayley. Susan again. In Step. Emma again. Harvest Christian. Emma. Harvest Christian. Brad’s cell phone. Stan Ludwig’s office. In Step. Susan. Emma.

  N Schubert.

  I was several numbers past it before the name registered. I moved my thumb and scrolled backward.

  N Schubert 10:23A May 6

  Nicole called here? I glanced at the calendar. May 6. Tuesday morning, the day after Hayley miscarried. Were Brad and I at home when the call came or at the hospital? I couldn’t remember.

  I set aside the phone and coffee cup and massaged my temples.

  I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to call after what she’d said to the media. What gall! What on earth could she want? To apologize? Not likely. To talk to me? Never. To talk to Brad? Yes, that would be the reason for her call. She’d wanted to talk to Brad. She must have called our home dozens of times in the past two years, and I’d never suspected a thing.