by Tamie Dearen
Chapter Thirteen
“How was your week?” Shara broke into the awkward silence. James had been quiet ever since they left the office. Judging by his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he was still upset about Mack. Though she’d lied about what they were doing, she hadn’t done anything wrong. He had no right to be angry. Perhaps she should’ve told James they were praying, but the whole event had been traumatic. If her comfort zone was the North Pole, praying out loud was the South. Her hands were still trembling from the adrenaline rush.
“Fine. Yours?” His lips stretched into a semblance of a smile, but the absence of dimples proved it wasn’t real.
“Fine.” She picked at a loose thread on her pants. “The marbles worked really well. Fez is sleeping through the night, except for a couple of bathroom breaks.”
“Good. Good.” He shifted his hands on the steering wheel. “That’s really good.”
“Where are we going?”
“Huh? Oh, you asked where we’re going?”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of a surprise, but you’ll know in a minute, anyway. We’re going to A Night at the Museum.”
“Isn’t that a movie? An old one?”
“It’s also an Arts Council promotion. All the museums in Denver are free tonight. They’ve got finger food and beverages. I figured you could find something to nibble on at each museum, and it’d be better than trying to stomach an entire meal.”
Once again, James amazed her. He’d always been thoughtful, way more so than she was. But something about his personality or his computer background made him an excellent planner. He remembered the little things that made everything perfect. And if he made a mistake, he bent over backwards to make it right.
The only time he’d messed up in a big way was when they slept together. He’d had no chance to right that particular wrong, since she’d been quick to sever their relationship. He obviously cared for her, yet she knew he didn’t love her. He’d had ample opportunity to state his feelings for her, but he’d only spoken those three words in the heat of passion, a sure sign of insincerity.
After hearing their baby’s heartbeat today, she decided James deserved to know about the pregnancy. One way or another, she had to tell him the truth tonight. He might pledge to marry her in a fit of obligation, but she could always turn him down. It was wrong to withhold the knowledge simply to avoid dealing with his altruistic attitude. Tonight she would tell him, and deal with the consequences.
“We’re here,” he said. “Would you rather do something else?”
She looked around, surprised to find they were parked at the museum. His expression had lost its previous anger, replaced with anxiety.
“No, the museum thing sounds incredible. I was lost in thought...”
He made a show of digging in his pockets. “Had a penny in here somewhere, but I can’t find it. If I give you an IOU, will you share your thoughts?”
What could she say? She couldn’t admit she was desperate to hear those three crucial words from his lips.
“These thoughts aren’t your average, run-of-the-mill, penny thoughts. These thoughts are gilded in gold. I believe the going rate for thoughts of this caliber is in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars for a single thought?” He hopped out of the car and jogged to the passenger door, whipping it open. “You drive a hard bargain, m’lady. Do you accept credit cards, or does it have to be cash?”
“I prefer PayPal.” She grasped the hand he offered and climbed out of the car. “Cash is covered with germs. Don’t you know most flu viruses are spread by handling dollar bills?”
He gasped, as he bent his arm, offering an elbow. “Say it isn’t true! Our revered presidents are making us sick?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She let him lead her to the entrance, her anticipation building. No surprise that he’d started their tour with the art museum. She loved painting and might’ve pursued art as a career if she’d had the money to go to school. Her high school art teacher had been the only adult in her life who encouraged her and spoke of her potential. The woman had begged Shara to go to college and study art. At the time of graduation, however, her dad had been on a particularly bad drinking binge and lost his job. Shara had to work to pay the rent, and thoughts of college and art were buried under her daily struggles. Her father encouraged her to use her looks to find a “sugar daddy,” and she drifted from one boyfriend to another, hoping to find Mr. Right. Each one professed his love and devotion, and several invited her to move in, though none mentioned marriage.
Eventually, she stumbled onto the job with Dr. Madison, who seemed for some inexplicable reason to believe she was capable of greatness. She worked hard to please her, constantly afraid her boss would wake up one day and discover her mistake. The job paid better than the minimum wage work she’d had in the past—enough to move out on her own and escape the daily verbal abuse from her dad.
She couldn’t remember when James first discovered she dabbled in art. Perhaps when he saw her doodling on some scratch paper. When he coerced her into showing him some of her artwork, he’d oohed and aahed as if her paintings were masterpieces. Buoyed by his naïve admiration, she’d dusted off her old paintbrushes and started indulging once again.
She’d never felt comfortable going to art galleries, as it seemed the clientele would be too sophisticated. Her social life, such as it was, only included occasional visits to coffee shops, bars and nightclubs—certainly not highbrow establishments where women wore shoes whose value equaled her weekly salary. Even now, she shook with uneasiness, clinging to James’ arm with the hope she would be invisible at his side.
To her relief, the museum visitors were as varied as the population of Denver, rather than the wealthy patrons she envisioned. She quickly lost herself, wandering from one amazing painting to another, examining closely to study their techniques. An hour or more passed, and she was still lost, meandering between fantastic works of art. Why had she denied herself this pleasure, believing it was only for the upper class?
She jumped when James touched her shoulder, a tingle spreading through her as his warm breath caressed her ear in a whisper. “You must like this one a lot. You’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”
Remorseful for her selfish absorption, she apologized. “I’m sorry. You’re probably bored to death.”
“Not at all. Seeing you smile is all the entertainment I need. I’m too busy patting myself on the back to be bored.”
When he bestowed an affectionate kiss on her cheek, she abruptly remembered her promise to tell him about the pregnancy. There was no easy way to say it. She had to bite the bullet and get it over with. With that thought came a wave of queasiness, and she cranked her neck around in search of a bathroom.
“I think I need to find the ladies’ room,” she mumbled around the hand covering her mouth.
James frowned, but led her back toward the entrance and indicated a hallway with the appropriate signs. Shara made it inside just in time for her stomach to empty its very meager contents. Eyes watering, she waited inside the stall long enough for the existing round of bathroom occupants to leave, so no one would know who had been making the retching noises.
When she exited the restroom, James was waiting, leaning against the marble-covered wall, a pensive look on his face. “I thought you were doing better. You haven’t even eaten anything tonight, and you’re still throwing up?”
He’d noticed the pattern was off from her normal bulimia behavior. This could be the perfect segue into her confession. “Yes... I haven’t been feeling well. It’s not really my bulimia causing the problem. Or at least bulimia isn’t the only issue.”
He folded his arms across his chest and glared. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth before?”
Confusion flooded her mind. Why was he asking that question? Did he know she was pregnant? Did Noelle tell him? Or David?
“I... I’m sorry. I didn’
t know how you would react.”
“Is that why you were praying with that guy back at the dental office?”
“What? No.” Her knees began to shake. When had he seen them praying? “Mack and I were praying about something different.”
“You and he looked pretty intimate back there. Why didn’t you tell me you’d dated someone else?”
“You think I went out with Mack?”
“Mack or Sam or whoever. I’m not judging you, okay? But what else am I supposed to think? You ditched me for five weeks and the next thing I know you’re head to head with some guy at the office.”
Outraged that he believed such a thing, she sputtered, unable to think of a single response.
“Listen, Shara. I don’t care what you did. I don’t even care if you slept with him. I just want you to choose me.”
“You think I slept with him?” He’d essentially called her a slut, like her father had for years. She’d worked so hard to follow Christ, believing God would give her a new start, but clearly she could never escape her past.
His face distorted in misery. “Shara, I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this, but I want to be with you. I kind of went crazy when I saw you with another man, but it doesn’t change anything.”
But it had. It changed everything. James thought she’d slept with another man. If she told him she was pregnant, he might not even believe he was the father. She knew if she saw that doubt on his face, she would never be able to recover.
“I’m leaving!” She swirled and stomped toward the exit, almost knocking a woman off her feet. “Excuse me,” she muttered without slowing down.
“Shara, wait.” He spoke in a stern, commanding voice. She customarily allowed James to take the lead in their relationship, always trying to please him. But not now. Since she knew he thought so little of her, there was no longer a need to earn his approval.
“No need for you to ruin your evening. I’m sure there a plenty of other slutty girls who’d love to keep you company.”
A well-dressed couple gasped at her comment, but she was beyond caring.
“I didn’t say that. I would never say that about you.”
She jerked to a stop, pivoting to face him. “Did you not accuse me of sleeping with another man when we’d only been broken up for five weeks?”
“Shhh!” His face reddened as he glanced at the people milling around them. “Let’s have this discussion somewhere else.”
“You can go somewhere else and talk for as long as you like to whomever will listen to you. I’m going home.” She ignored him as she made for the exit. Outside, the air had that crisp smell that always came before the snow fell. She pulled her coat tighter against the bone-chilling wind.
He caught her elbow before she reached the steps. “Shara, I never accused you of sleeping with him. I was only saying I would forgive you if you had. I would understand.”
“You would forgive me?” Fury built inside her chest. “What right do you have to say that? You’re no better than me,” she snapped, wishing she believed it was true.
His fingers pushed through his hair, upending it. “You’re right. I’m no better. I didn’t mean to imply I was.”
“Let me ask you a question, then. When we were broken up, did you sleep with another woman?”
“No. Of course not. I’m not that kind of guy—at least not now.”
“Exactly. If you’re not that kind of guy, why would you think I was that kind of girl? It’s almost like you’ve been talking to my father about me.”
She caught the widening of his eyes before he looked at his feet.
“Tell me you didn’t!” Her gut rose up into her throat and stuck there. “Tell me you weren’t talking to Dad about me. Tell me you didn’t believe what he said.”
“I...” His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “I didn’t believe him. Not really.”
“Obviously, you did, or you wouldn’t have said what you said.”
“I was jealous. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
How could James even listen to the things her father said about her? Unless... unless it was true? Maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe she had no right to be angry. Maybe, as her father had always said, her only value lay in what she could gain using her body, and even God couldn’t change it. Some kind of invisible walls seemed to close in on her. She wobbled in place, steadied only when his hands braced her.
“Take me home. Please,” she rasped through a throat that felt like someone had cinched a wrench on her windpipe.
Without further argument, he circled her waist with his arm, supporting her rickety legs as he walked her down the steps. The first snowflake fell, landing on her nose. Then another. And another. By the time they reached the car, there was a light, but steady snowfall. They drove back to her apartment in silence and he insisted on taking her to her front door.
As she stepped inside and pushed the door shut, James stopped it with his hand. “I love the snow, because it covers up everything and makes ordinary things look beautiful.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to look at me with a blanket of snow. I know I’m not perfect—I’m all lumpy. I know I say the wrong things and hurt your feelings. But I’m trying to change.”
She shook her head. “It’s not you, James. It’s me. Sometimes we can’t help who we are... who we’re born to be.”
His nostrils flared and he blinked his eyes rapidly. “Mr. Holiday asked me if you deserved the best possible husband, and I didn’t answer him. Do you know why?”
“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Because I knew that perfect husband couldn’t possibly be me. He asked if you didn’t deserve a husband who would lay down his life for you like Jesus laid down His life for the church. I’ve been trying to change who I am and be perfect. Only I keep failing at it.” He kicked the concrete with the heel of his boot.
“I didn’t ask you to be perfect, James. But I thought we knew each other really well. You had to know it would hurt me if you even listened to my father, much less agreed with him.” Her fury began to dissipate, leaving irritation behind, like an obnoxious voice in the background.
“I know. I know.” He studied his feet. “I tried to ignore him—I really did. Jealousy made it hard for me to think clearly, but that’s no excuse.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Can I... Can I hold you for a second?”
“I don’t know if we should.” Warning buzzers went off in her head. Physical contact with James usually eliminated all clear thought.
“Please? I promise I won’t even try to kiss you.”
“Okay. If you promise.”
She opened the door wide and he stepped inside, reaching out and folding her in his arms. As his warmth enveloped her, the last of her anger dribbled out, and she curved against him. His hand stroked her back in soothing motions that relaxed every muscle. Soon, only the circle of his arms kept her limp-noodled body upright.
OVERWHELMING THOUGHTS blew through James’ mind like a hurricane, as he held her close, his face buried in her hair, basking in its sweet scent—a hint of lavender. Her thin body felt frail, as if she could break with the slightest pressure. If only he could take back every hurtful word and action and restore her faith in him. His true fear was that when he betrayed her trust, she lost her faith in both him and God. He had a strong suspicion God would be fairly perturbed if James had chased Shara away from church and Bible study, as appeared to be the case. On the other hand, if she’d truly abandoned her faith, why was she praying with another man?
He swept his lingering suspicions to himself. “Shara... why don’t we try doing what you did with Sam?”
“Hmmm?” she murmured against his chest, her eyes fluttering in drowsy repose.
“I think that’s why I got so jealous that I lost my common sense. We’ve never prayed together. I didn’t even know you knew how.”
“You want to pray with me?” She stiffened, and without saying a word, her expression said she had no
desire to pray again. Why was she willing to pray with the grumpy-faced Sam at the dental office?
“Is there some reason you don’t want to pray with me?”
She hesitated, pulling away and showing a sudden interest in her fingernails. “Sure, we can pray. Go ahead.”
“Wait.” He hurried to explain, “Since you know how to do it, you can do the speaking part, and I’ll echo whatever you say inside my head.”
She got a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look. “James, that prayer today was a fluky thing. I don’t actually know how to pray, so I think you should do it.”
It was hard to believe she had no idea how to pray, when he’d seen her all cozy, praying with another man. What was she trying to hide?
“I think if you prayed out loud, like you did with Sam, I could get over this insane jealousy. I still want to clobber that guy, and I’m not usually a violent person.”
“But you’re a man. Aren’t you supposed to be the spirit leader or something like that?”
“Whatever that means.” James had no desire to be the spirit leader. It sounded like something at which he was bound to fail. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“I think you missed that sermon. You were too tired to go to church that Sunday morning, as I recall.”
That’s what I get for skipping church. “David said he and Noelle are equal partners, and I’m positive I’ve heard her say the blessing as many times as David.”
She studied her feet for a few seconds. When she looked up through her thick lashes, her blue eyes shimmering like the surface of a crystal lake, he knew he would agree to whatever she wanted. “What if we both pray out loud?” She bit her plump lower lip, and his ribs contracted. He fought the impulse to grab her shoulders and kiss that luscious mouth and claim her as his own.
Taking a breath to steady his nerves he nodded. “Fine, but—”
“You go first,” they finished in unison.
“Jinx!” Shara smiled, the first one he’d seen since he hurt her feelings at the museum. She lifted her chin. “I think, since I said jinx first, I won, and you have to pray first.”
