I haven’t voiced my thoughts, prayers, out loud in a long time. Not really. It’s something I used to do a lot, to help me process. Back when my faith was stronger, I believed I’d get answers. Some, Brock perhaps, would write the words. I speak them. And sometimes I yell.
The heart-wrenching, aching, guttural groans that escape between fits and starts bring tears of sorrow and anger and, finally, a strange sense of joy. Even though I’m not altogether convinced I have any sort of solution, I feel it might be possible to release some of the bitterness I’ve been holding on to.
As I push up, my body stiff and sore and cold, a flash of pink catches my eye. I move closer to the tree, shake my head in wonder as a smile splits my face. There, on the lowest branch, sits one perfect pink bud, open and infusing the air with scent. I lean over, inhale, and stay in the moment. In five minutes it may not be there, but for now, inexplicably, it is. And I am simply thankful for the gift.
The following afternoon the house is quiet. Dad is snoring in front of the television, Hugh and Peg have taken the kids tobogganing, Zoe and Adam have gone to lunch with Kevin, and I’m puttering around in the kitchen. Paul and I talked for hours last night. I know he was tired when they arrived. Janice and the girls went upstairs shortly after supper, but my brother and I sat in the deserted dining room, drinking coffee and catching up. And I told him everything.
Paul challenged me to search my heart. To seek wisdom and truth, not to rush headlong into a situation I might soon have no control over. I teased that he sounded just like Clarice. He laughed at that and said he hoped to meet her while he was here. I think he’d like to meet Brock as well, but I’m not sure I want him to.
“Anything I can give you a hand with?” Janice walks through the kitchen running a finger across the counter. She immediately grabs a cloth and wipes it down.
“Just putting a few dishes away.” I try to smile but it’s difficult. My sister-in-law and I have never gotten along.
“You’re looking quite well, Savannah. Have you lost weight?” She reaches for a plate to dry. As usual, she’s dressed perfectly. Today she’s wearing crisp beige trousers with a striped sweater, her blond hair pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. And she is as slender as the day she married my brother. Janice is a few years older than me but I swear she looks younger. She homeschools their three girls, runs the women’s ministry at their church, and does a million other things I could never begin to wrap my brain around, all with seemingly very little effort. She is the perfect pastor’s wife.
I glance down at my plaid shirt, untucked over faded jeans. I am neither svelte nor stylish, and I’m not bringing sexy back anytime soon, but I have managed to shed a few unwanted pounds. “I’ve started working out a bit. Of course the holidays . . .”
“Yes, well. You look good. Considering.”
“Life goes on, Janice.” I search the room for something else to wash, relieved when I spy a forgotten frying pan on the stove. I grab it and plunge it into the sudsy water.
“I was surprised to see Kevin up here,” she starts up again, apparently determined to break through our usual stilted conversation. “That’s good, don’t you think?” She begins rearranging my mother’s glassware, putting them in order of size. I grin, thinking of the battle that will ensue later, once Mom discovers Janice has been meddling with her stuff.
“Good for the kids, I suppose. How’s the weather in Oregon this winter?” A lame switch of topic, but I’m desperate to get her to move on.
“Dreary. You know, Savannah . . .” She closes the cupboard and turns to me, her blue eyes giving the impression that she might be on the verge of tears. “Despite what Kevin has done, it’s your duty to take him back. Surely you know that.”
“My duty?” I back up against the counter and twist a dry dishcloth a little too tightly.
“You know what I mean. God hates divorce. The Bible says—”
“I know what the Bible says, Janice.” I put up a hand and draw a deep breath. “Don’t stand there and throw that at me. You have absolutely no idea what this has been like. You don’t know how I feel or what I think or even what I pray for. The current state and future of my marriage is, quite frankly, none of your business.”
“Savannah.” She wears a pained look I’m tempted to slap off her face. “I was only trying to point out that—”
“You were judging me, Janice. And you have no right.”
Her lips pinch together as if I’ve mortally wounded her. “I wouldn’t say judging. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“Sounds spot-on to me.”
Kevin strolls into the kitchen, leather jacket open, his cheeks blistering from the cold. I know he’s heard most of the conversation by the anger simmering in his eyes.
Janice backs up a little, her flawless face gaining some color. “Kevin. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” He shoots me a cautious glance. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I think I might actually be smiling. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”
“So I heard.” I think he might be smiling, too, but Janice is still in the room so I look away.
“Well, I guess we’re all done here.” Janice attempts to scoot past him to the door but Kevin blocks her path.
“No, I don’t think we are done, Janice.” He clears his throat and looms over her. He can be quite intimidating when he wants to be. “I’m well aware of your opinion of me, but leave Savannah out of it. This isn’t her fault. If you must unleash your holy wrath on somebody, I’m right here. I’m more than happy to throw it back in your face and tell you exactly what to do with it.”
“I . . .” Janice just stands there gaping.
But Kevin isn’t finished.
“You know, the problem with you perfect people is that you actually believe the things you say are justified. You force your opinions on others and sleep soundly at night, secure in your small little minds that you’ve done right. And you don’t think twice about calling someone out when you think they’ve gone astray, but you don’t do it to help them, even though you say you do. You do it because it makes you feel better about yourself. Maybe it’s a way to cover up your own shortcomings. You believe you have some divinely inspired, indisputable right to cast judgment, and you wield it like a weapon, never thinking you might be doing more harm than good. Well, let me tell you something, lady, you don’t have that right.”
He pauses, pushes his fingers through his hair, and glares at her.
The kitchen is supremely silent. The ticking of the clock on the wall is almost too loud. I don’t hear the television anymore. Since Kevin’s here, I assume the kids are back. I imagine the entire family huddled in the living room, holding their breath.
My chest is so tight I’m ready to scream. The urge to grab my sister-in-law and push her out of the room before she does more damage is overwhelming. I study Kevin’s face, his tight jaw, hardened features, and tired eyes. He’s holding back. Actually showing great restraint in his silence. He’s not overly confrontational by nature, but when it comes to defending his family . . . oh, can he bring it . . .
Days after Shelby’s accident, curious onlookers, concerned neighbors, and a handful of local reporters still shadow us. We try to leave for the hospital as early as possible. I hadn’t wanted to come home at all, but Kevin insisted. I’ve showered, changed, but not slept. Beth and John are here, their kids asleep upstairs with Adam and Zoe.
We don’t speak. Kevin has the car keys in hand and we head out the front door before we see them.
Three, maybe four people coming toward us with cameras and microphones.
“Mrs. Barrington, can you tell us how your daughter is?”
“Is it true she wasn’t wearing a helmet?”
“Where were you at the time of the accident, Mrs. Barrington? A neighbor tells us you were inside. Not watching her.”
Kevin swears, grabs my wrist, hauls me behind him, and thunders down the fro
nt steps. He lunges for the first camera he can get his hands on and hurls it to the redbrick path.
“Get off my property!” Before I can move, his fist plows into the startled reporter’s face. My scream brings Beth and John outside and John manages to break up the fight.
The police arrive, Kevin is charged with aggravated assault, but thanks to Walter’s quick intervention, the charges are later dropped.
“You shouldn’t have hit him.” I huddle into Kevin’s chest later that day as we hover over Shelby’s bed. She still hasn’t moved, but her vitals are stable. For now. He puts an arm around me and kisses the top of my head.
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. He deserved it. Nobody talks to my wife that way. Not as long as I’m around.”
The enormity of it, what he’s just done, standing up to Janice like that, defending me, floods through me, and it’s all I can do not to crumple to the ground and weep.
But Janice doesn’t back down easily. She’s rooted to the spot, staring at him like he’s the scum of the earth. “You have truly lost your way.”
Kevin draws a long breath, then lets it out slowly. “You’re right, Janice. I have lost my way. What I did was wrong. Abhorrent. But you know, the faith I hold on to, the God I still believe in, who I believe somehow still loves me, he’s all about forgiveness, not judgment. And I believe those who follow him are asked to extend grace and mercy. Even toward someone as vile as me. Shocking, isn’t it?”
Janice stalks past him and disappears. It’s only once she’s gone and I’m breathing normally again that I realize I’m trembling. I meet Kevin’s eyes and somehow manage a smile.
“Well, crap. I never did like that woman.” He slides a hand over the lower half of his face and gives a low groan. “But maybe I shouldn’t have said all that.”
Unspoken questions bounce between us like live wire. I can’t pick them up because I’m too afraid of the shock. So I cross my arms and nod. “You said what needed to be said. What I was thinking. And you probably said it better than I would have.”
“I think I’d like a drink.” He takes a few steps toward the refrigerator, then stops midway, looks my way with a wary glance. “You mind?”
“Whatever you want. And make mine a double.”
He grins and some of the tension etched across his forehead disappears. “Shall I ask Janice if she wants a beer?”
“Don’t you dare.” Laughter creeps up and spills from me. Next thing I know, he’s taken off his jacket and we’re sitting at the kitchen table drinking beer at three in the afternoon. Not really talking, but that’s okay. I think he’s said enough today.
CHAPTER 19
“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”
—LUKE 6:37
Curiouser and curiouser.”
I underline the words in my book of Alice quotes.
I can’t shake yesterday’s scene with Janice from my mind. I didn’t sleep well, again, for thinking about it. Kevin went back to his hotel before dinner last night. He didn’t say much to anyone. The kids stood outside with him for a bit, watched him drive off, and returned to the living room with half-happy smiles. It seems they’re working things out with their father, and I’m pleased about that. But since Kevin showed up, I’m feeling more conflicted than ever.
After my shower, I dress, blow-dry my hair, and pull back the curtains in my room. Kevin’s car is in the driveway. I step back in a hurry and peek around the curtains. My brother appears and hops in, and off they go. My breath fogs the cold glass as I watch the car disappear out of sight. O-kay . . . now he’s apparently going out for breakfast with Paul. I take a moment to pray for that meeting. For both of them. But mostly for Paul. He’d feel so bad if he actually hit my husband.
Just as I’m about to leave the room, I see a thick black book placed on the bookshelf. I know it wasn’t there yesterday. It’s a scrapbook. And it’s heavy.
I sit on the edge of the bed with the book in my lap. And all I can do is stare at it.
My mother’s handiwork.
Mom has been scrapbooking for a few years now. None of us thought the hobby would stick because they rarely do. Watercolors, pottery, crochet and knitting . . . she’s tried everything. It became a running joke within the family—what weird gift would we get from Mom this year. I half expected some kind of framed collage this Christmas, but my present was a lovely cashmere sweater and a spa day at a nearby hotel. Which I’m grateful for. But this . . . I finally open the book and a handwritten note slips out.
Merry Christmas, Savannah, darling.
I wanted you to have this when you were alone. Take your time—look at it when you can, when you’re ready to really appreciate it.
I love you, sugar.
Mama
It begins with pictures of us in our teens, here at the lake house. Paul, Peg, and me, and Kevin. She’s catalogued everything in chronological order. My high school graduation. Our wedding . . . Once our parents got past the initial shock, arrangements were made as quickly as possible and we held a small ceremony that December with only family and close friends invited. I try not to laugh as I stare at the two starry-eyed youngsters standing on the front steps of my parents’ home, me with my just slightly rounded belly. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. But we didn’t care. Despite everything, we were happy.
Next is an assortment of photos of me at various stages of pregnancy. Shelby’s birth. Her first year. Me, pregnant again, with Zoe. She was a surprise—we hadn’t intended to add to our new family so soon, but by that time we’d settled into the routine of marriage and parenthood and we were quite excited. Then came Adam, planned and perfect, the boy to round out our clan. Pages and pages of memories . . .
I can’t absorb it all now, so I put the book away and head down for breakfast.
Later that morning I take a walk with Mom and we pop in to say hello to Clarice and introduce Mom to the puppies. Hope is ready to come home with me, but I’ve decided to wait until everyone leaves, when the house will be quiet again. Brock is nowhere in sight and I don’t ask for him. Part of me is relieved.
I show her the work we’ve done in the greenhouse, and Mom nods and smiles and tries to look impressed. Her idea of gardening is buying a flower arrangement from Whole Foods, putting it on the table, and waiting for it to die. Fortunately, she’s always hired extremely talented landscapers; her gardens never tell the true story.
We’re on our way back home, so I take advantage of the opportunity. “Thanks for the book.”
Mom pauses by the lake, turns to face me, her eyes worried. “Was it okay? Daddy thought it might be too much, too hard.”
“No.” I smile and shake my head. “It’s perfect. Really.”
“Savannah . . .”
I nod. I know what she’s going to say. I’ve known it since Christmas Day. “We don’t have to have this conversation.” I laugh it off, but she frowns and folds her arms against her forest-green down jacket.
“You know you’ve never been terribly good at hiding your feelings, darling.”
“I must get that from you.” I sigh, look away, and watch my breath curl in the cold air.
“I won’t ask if there’s something between you and Brock Chandler because I think that much is obvious. But I will ask if you’re positive you’re making the right choice.”
I turn back to face the questions in her eyes. “Mom.” I don’t like the worried creases on her brow because I know I put them there. And I know she’s right. “It’s all so confusing.” The sun parts the clouds and shimmers across the snow. I tip my face toward it and bask in the warmth. “It’s not something I went looking for.”
“How far has it gone?”
“Far enough.” I shove my hands in my pockets and find the courage to tell her what happened, and didn’t happen, that afternoon before Christmas. “And before you ask, I told Kevin on Christmas Day. Of course he thinks I�
�m trying to get back at him.”
“Are you?”
I shrug and kick at the snow. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s more that I . . . that I like being with someone who makes me feel special again.”
“Well.” Mom slips her arm through mine and we start walking again. “You’re all grown up now, perfectly capable of making your own decisions, but this worries me. You’ve been hurt enough.”
“By Kevin.”
“Yes. Which is why it’s not a good idea to barrel headlong into a relationship with a man you barely know. Because that’s what this is, Savannah. And it’s dangerous.”
“I know.” She’s not telling me anything I haven’t told myself. “I don’t intend to continue it, Mom. Believe me, it caught me completely by surprise. But I’m not stupid. I know I’m not in a position to be in a relationship with anyone.”
Mom nods, stops, and stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t know if I should tell you this. I wasn’t planning on it. But . . . yesterday, before Kevin left, he asked your daddy and me into the study. You were still in the kitchen.” She runs a gloved hand over her face with a shaky sigh. “At first I didn’t think Michael would agree. You know how angry he’s been with Kevin over all this. But he heard him out. All I can tell you, sweetheart, is that that man is filled with regret. He’s sorry and—”
“Mom, don’t.” I don’t want to hear it. An awful lump sticks in my throat. “What if he was just telling you what he thought you wanted to hear?”
“And what possible reason would he have for doing that?” Contrite anger inches into her tone. My mother has always had a soft spot for Kevin. “Savannah, if the man still intended to divorce you, do you think he’d be up here? Do you think he’d bother giving any of us the time of day? I don’t condone what he’s done, not in the least, but I believe he’s trying to make amends. And I also believe he still loves you.”
I yank my arm from hers and take a step back.
Where Hope Begins Page 17
