Deception Ebook EPUB 3-17-2014

by Deception (epub)

  I was hoping we could move past our history and finally be friends. But it couldn’t be done, not with his thinking and feelings. He had kept our meeting a secret from his wife, which seemed unnecessary. But now, I’d understood why.

  He is still in bondage.

  And I am free.

  Two completely different worlds.

  Chapter 69

  Same day

  How did the meeting go? Are you okay?” Peter was concerned. I had met him earlier that day.

  “You won’t like what he said.” I looked at Peter, unsure of his reaction. “He is still in love with me. After all those years, he is still in love with me. Can you believe it?”

  “I don’t blame him. It’s impossible not to love you.” He reached out for my hand. “How did that make you feel?”

  “Awkward. I didn’t expect that. It has been over twenty years,” I said. “How could he still be in love with me? I told him I am a different person now. But I have to be honest: I was a bit relieved when he said that.”

  “Relieved? What do you mean?”

  I paused before I answered. “That means I was the only one. He did not take advantage of me. Am I making sense?”

  “I disagree. I still think he took advantage of you. You know how I feel about this,” Peter said. That was something we had talked about in the past. It was difficult for me to accept that, perhaps, he was right. “But I think I can see your point of view.”

  Peter then asked: “If he had asked you to marry him the summer you were in Texas, would you have?”

  “I don’t know. It’s you I love. It’s hard to imagine what my life would have been like if I did,” I said, being careful with my words. The last thing I wanted was to hurt Peter, yet we’d always cherished honesty in our relationship. “If he had asked that summer, I am not sure. It’s scary because I think I might have said yes. I don’t know. It’s hard to say now.”

  “I don’t remember if you told me before, but had you two ever talked about getting married?”

  I nodded. “He had talked about leaving her. We’d have to wait a few years, he’d said. Whenever we talked about our future, he would remind me of our age differences.”

  “I’d be so old and you’d still be young. I won’t be able to keep up with you,” he’d teased me.

  “You are not that old! Who knows, I may die before you anyway,” I said.

  “When I’m bedridden, you’ll be stuck by my bedside taking care of me,” he’d cautioned.

  “I’ll gladly do that.”

  “People would stare at us, you know,” he’d remind me.

  “I don’t care. That’s their problem, not mine.”

  “Our friends may sidestep us,” he reasoned.

  “We could move so far away to where no one knows us. What’s more, we’ll have each other,” I said.

  “You deserve a wedding. It would be your first.”

  “Weddings cost money. We can just elope and I’ll be happy as long as I have you,” I’d assured him.

  Back then, I couldn’t see beyond the deception of our relationship. I may have considered consequences of marriage, but I was naïve to think that they wouldn’t have mattered. Now, I shuddered to think of what I would have caused: Divorce. Broken home. Fractured relationships with his children. Hurt that would take years to heal. Financial loss. A jeopardized career.

  I also shuddered to think of what I would have missed: My personal growth through therapy. A normal life. My beautiful marriage. The joy of raising our children. My church family. And, most important of all, my personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

  Chapter 70

  November 2008

  I have always been known as a calm and stable person – regardless of the circumstances – but this time, I had cried out to the Lord in despair.

  “Why? Why me?” I asked.

  After I left him, I had been angry. Because of him, I had missed out on my college life. I had fallen into depression. I did not develop lasting friendships. I had also lived with guilt for many years.

  But I was not angry with God. How could I be? God had nothing to do with my misery. It was my confession when I was seventeen that had gotten me into this mess.

  Now, a mother of five, happily married, and a mature Christian, I was able to see the whole picture in a different light. I recognized that the blame was not entirely mine. Our feelings were mutual. I was reminded that he had fantasized about kissing me three months before I had made my fantasy known. Our affair probably would have happened sooner or later despite my confession.

  As I pondered all of this, I began to question God. I understood my role as a sinner. But, what about everything I had learned regarding God and His Sovereignty? How could our mighty God have allowed the affair to happen? He was the one who had placed me into a home without verbal or physical affection and affirmation. He had burdened me with the responsibility of helping Mom and Dad. Wasn’t that enough for a child to carry? Why didn’t God intervene? He could have sent the right person to help me work through my grief when David left me. Why did He allow him to cross my path?

  God had said through Jeremiah: “For I know the plans I have for you – plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (29:11).

  All of this didn’t make sense as I shouted to Him: “How could you?” “Why didn’t you?” “Why me?” “Why?”

  I had no definite answers. My emotional turmoil only lasted a short while though; probably because I believe and trust that God’s ways surpass my understanding.

  I had moved on with my life after I’d nailed his name to the cross. But there were days like today, when Satan unexpectedly caught me off guard with questions to which I had no answers.

  Chapter 71

  Several Days Later

  I did not want to admit it, but perhaps Peter was right. He had said he didn’t like the idea of my seeing him, but he trusted my judgment. Was I a fool to think we could have an honest conversation about what had taken place? Was I a fool to think we could finally be friends? Was I a fool to think I could share God’s Word with him?

  How could he still be in love with me? It had been over twenty years.

  How could he still not think that what had happened was wrong?

  As soon as I had the house to myself, I knew what I needed to do. I walked to the basement and opened the door to what had become our storage, the space under our stairs. What I was looking for was somewhere in the midst of all the stuff I had stored: Christmas decorations, wrapping paper, surplus school supplies, snow pants and gloves, along with the vacuum, and several Rubbermaid boxes.

  I created a path, crawled into the tiny space toward the back, and pulled out a green Rubbermaid box. Dragging it across the floor to our family room, I opened the box to make sure it was the right one. It was.

  I carried it upstairs, sat down on the floor, and opened the top lid, removing all the contents from my high school years – pictures, essays I had written, medals I had won, and notes my friends had secretly passed to me. I was looking for any memorabilia I may have saved associated with him. After ten minutes, I realized that I had thrown away all of it except for his letters from the first summer we had corresponded. After digging some more, I came across my journals, my printed TTY conversations, and a stack of papers, which were bound with a paper clip. I looked at the cover page: “What can I say!!!”

  I paused, trying to remember. What was this? Then, turning the page, I realized it was from him. When did he give them to me? I looked at the dates; they were written up to a year after I had left him. Slowly, the memories came as I began reading them one by one. I could no longer hold back my emotions.

  Shady places, without traces

  Lonely trails, without tales

  Sharing time, yours and mine

  Country lanes, time change />
  Girl dreams, lady in jeans

  Lady. All of your letters were addressed to me in that special name. Growing up, I never had a nickname. How I had cherished that name.

  We meet, with kisses sweet

  Holding hands, making plans

  Clouds above, serious love

  Life’s fine yours not mine

  Girl dreams, Lady in jeans

  What an irony! In the beginning, your life was fine, not mine. And, my life was not fine – not at all – for a very long time.

  Dying is easy, I would be gone

  Living is hard the pain goes on

  Why can’t my life follow a plan?

  Why am I just a man?

  I’ve been there, if you remember. I’ve spoken of my desire to die.

  Being together

  You and I

  I saw the feelings

  Watched you cry

  How could you watch me cry and not do anything about it?

  Good times together

  Is what we had

  Made me happy

  Made you sad

  If you had recognized my sadness, why didn’t you just let me go?

  So much pleasure

  Being with you then

  Will it return

  I wonder when

  Do not count on my returning to you. It’ll never happen. It was all so wrong to begin with.

  I would change things if only I could

  Kiss the bruises and heal the wounds

  Has been a long time since June

  Only days, but ages it seems

  All too clear, wishing for a dream

  Mistakes, I made so many because

  You spoke so little but listened a lot

  I talked so much and listened not

  Change the past to make new feelings

  Looking back to change the ways

  Living the memories day by day

  Being alone and going home

  Is not the same as going home alone

  Problems you had more than a few

  You spoke so little but listened a lot

  I talked so much and listened not

  Problems, you said. Thanks a lot. Yes, I spoke so little. So little. If you had listened to everything I had written the first year, you would have seen that I needed help. Instead, you had become a problem of mine.

  I have no future, dreams of my own

  I live in the past, I live alone

  I never knew the price I’d pay

  You said

  I love you and went away.

  I never knew the price I’d pay, either. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused. I’m truly so very sorry. I wept, trying to make sense of the whole thing.

  Chapter 72

  Spring 2010

  I noticed two sticks of butter on our kitchen counter. Next to them were vanilla extract, baking soda, baking powder, brown sugar, two eggs, and all-purpose flour. Savannah, our oldest daughter, was looking in the freezer as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Where are chocolate chips?” Savannah asked when she saw me. “I thought we had some. I saw the bag a few days ago.”

  “It should be there,” I said. “If not, check the garage.” With five children, the extra freezer in the garage had become a necessity.

  After Savannah returned from the garage with a 72-ounce Nestle bag in her hand, I asked: “Are the cookies for us?”

  “No. For Julian.”

  “Again? You just made him some brownies last week.”

  “I know,” she smiled. “He loves my homemade goodies.”

  “Savannah,” I said. “I know we’ve talked about this before but I must repeat myself. It isn’t a good idea. You’re giving him the wrong idea.”

  “Mom!” She looked at me in exasperation. “I’ve told you many times. He’s my best friend.” They were inseparable at the school. They ate lunch together. They were in one or two classes together. They even walked together in between classes. Every night at dinner time, his name would come up in her conversation: his not-so-good relationship with his dad, his athletic achievements, and how teachers kept on referring to him to Savannah’s “other half,” which she found hilarious.

  “But he has a girlfriend,” I reminded her. “Does she know you’ve been making him special treats? I doubt it. I imagine she wouldn’t like that.” His girlfriend was a student at a different high school.

  Fast forward several months later…

  Savannah came home from school and asked: “Could we please talk?” So, we sat down on her bed.

  “Is everything okay?” I was concerned. She seemed agitated.

  “Julian and his girlfriend broke up.”

  I didn’t say anything, but knew what was coming. We had talked about it numerous times.

  “You were right,” Savannah admitted.

  “What do you mean?” not wanting to assume.

  “You were right about him. He has feelings for me,” Savannah said. “I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t.”

  “So, he left his girlfriend for you?” I asked.

  “They’ve been having problems for some time. It seems that Julian has been talking about me a lot and it bothers her,” Savannah said. Then, she added: “Now, Julian tells me he loves me.”

  “How do you feel about him?” She had denied any feelings toward him in the past.

  “I only like him as a friend.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing more?”

  “I’m sure,” Savannah nodded.

  Julian was crushed when Savannah told him that her feelings were not mutual. Her rejection, unfortunately, put an end to their friendship.

  Later that night, I told Peter: “What was Savannah thinking? It was so obvious. I just wish she would have taken my advice.” I shook my head in frustration. “People often tell me how mature Savannah is for her age, but at times, she is so naïve.”

  I was almost the same age as Savannah when my relationship with the teacher started. I’d always considered myself a mature girl. And, in many ways I was. But today, I was reminded that, ultimately, I was also a typical teenager – as irrational and naïve as any.

  Chapter 73

  April 2012

  No!

  Not long ago I had read headline that Jordan Powers, eighteen, had told Christopher James Hooker, forty-one, that she was done with him.

  “Yes.” I pumped my fist. Done. I knew it was not an easy thing to do, and I commended her strength to walk away.

  Every time teacher–student scandals appeared in the news, they never failed to capture my attention. I couldn’t fully relate to the affairs between teenagers sixteen and under and teachers in their twenties. But this one in particular was close to home. A teacher in his forties was married and had children. The only difference between this story and mine were that Hooker had left his wife for Powers, and they had appeared in public without shame. I had followed this story closely.

  I could feel Powers’ pain when she shared during her interview with ABC that she had “lost everything for this guy.” Yet, now, she could start rebuilding her life.

  But today, the headline read: “Modesto student moves back in with teacher arrested on sex charge.”

  No!

  So many questions raced through my mind, as they always did:

  How did their affair begin?

  What was really happening in her life?

  Surely, her parents must have suspected something was going on?

  How could he have crossed his boundary as a trusted professional working with children?

  I didn’t believe that they had waited until she turned eighteen before their relationship turned physical. After our kiss, it had taken him only two weeks. I had resisted David’s attempts to t
ouch me. But with him, I didn’t. I just couldn’t.

  It was one of a few scenes I remember vividly. We were alone in the building on campus when it happened. He had offered to take me home after school so that we could talk. He had taken me to a small room adjacent to the classroom, closed the door behind him, and began undressing me. He did not ask if it was okay. I wasn’t even sure what he was doing. I didn’t have time to react. I was scared. I knew we were alone in the building.

  I could clearly see Powers as a victim.

  There was no question that Hooker (ironically, the name was very fitting) exploited Powers (whose power didn’t grant her enough strength to say “no”). What they had was not love, but his lust and power. Powers had mixed up love for affection and attention. Boundaries were clearly violated. He was an adult and she was a kid.

  But, was I a victim? I had never looked at myself that way. It had never crossed my mind. Not even once.

  Never mind the teacher’s boundary. Never mind the teacher’s age. Never mind the teacher’s authority. Never mind the teacher’s failure to protect me as a student. Never mind the teacher’s…

  Remember: I was the one who had started it.

  Never mind that his letters the first summer contained inappropriate comments. Never mind that he had called me while vacationing with his family during the February break, a week before I had delivered him the note. Never mind that...

  Remember: I was the one who had written the confession note.

  I had asked Peter’s colleague, a professional counselor, to read my story to get her perspective. Imagine my initial reaction, disbelief and denial, when she told me candidly that I was sexually exploited.

  I didn’t like what she had said.

  And what may seem obvious to others was not apparent to me: She also said that what had happened to me almost thirty years ago was not my fault.

  I was not responsible for the affair…I mean, the abuse.

  I had thought I was past all the pain. But, once again, my world turned upside down. After several days of sorting through my feelings, I knew what Peter’s colleague said was true. Every little thing I had pondered over the years now made sense. And, I thanked the Lord for this revelation. The very last burden I’d held on to for so long was finally lifted.