by Amanda Tru
Gary nodded. “Then you both have some homework to do, don’t you?” He handed a paperback book to Traci. The title fit their conversation. “Read the book together. Talk about it. Take the quizzes. Don’t cheat. Come back Monday morning at ten. Or, if you need to reschedule, whenever you’re free on Monday.”
Traci looked at Travis, her face mirroring the same confusion he felt. “Okay, sir.” They all stood together. Traci gripped the book so hard her knuckles turned white. Travis wanted to take it from her and read the back of it, but she didn’t look like she wanted to give it up just yet. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, guess we’ll see you Sunday.”
“Yep. See you then!”
Outside of the church, Traci looked at the book in her hands then at Travis. “What was that about?”
He cleared his throat. “Not sure. But maybe the book will help.”
She flipped it and looked at the back and said, “Maybe. Hmmm.”
“Why don’t I come over after your shift, and we can read it together?”
She looked up at him and pursed her lips, then looked back down at the book. “Sure,” she said, “sounds good.”
Traci did a sit-up while Travis read. “Genesis 2:20-24 says, ‘I will make him a helper suitable for him…and they will become one flesh.’ The term ‘one’ used here is the same term used in Deuteronomy 6:4 describing the holy trinity: ‘Hear O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one.’ I think that is a powerful message from God that puts man and wife as one – one flesh, one in the eyes of God as much as the trinity of God is one.
“Genesis 2:20 calls woman man’s helpmate, not ‘helpless mate.’ In 1 Corinthians 11:3, God said: ‘Now I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.’ The word ‘head’ here is a military term, not a social placement term. This is not saying one person is better than the other, more like ‘first among equals.’ Someone must be head; there must be order, and ultimate authority and responsibility. To God, that is the husband, even though the wife is his equal in the eyes of God.”
He set the book down and looked at her. She paused and felt a drop of sweat roll down her hairline. After several seconds of silence, she looked at him. “What?” she asked.
“Just, you know, curious about what you think.”
“Oh?” She went down and back up again. “I didn’t figure I had a voice.”
“Seriously?” His eyes hardened, and his lips thinned. “Is that how you’re going to take this assignment on? Passive-aggressive sarcasm?”
Giving up on the sit-ups, she folded her legs and put her elbows on her knees, lacing her fingers together. “We were both raised by our single or widowed mothers. Are you telling me that if your mom had remarried, that new man would suddenly usurp her authority in the very same household she had created and provided for?”
He looked at the book and his worn Bible. “I’m saying that it’s mentioned more than once and obviously something we need to consider seriously.”
“Yeah. Of course. Says the man, that is.” She pushed to her feet and went into the kitchen. She poured a glass of water and drank half of it before going back to the living room. “I don’t know why we have to agree to some archaic social system to be married in our church. Maybe what we should be discussing is whether we want to keep going to that church.”
“Did you even hear what I read?” He opened the book and repeated, “First among equals. That’s exactly what Ryan was telling me a few weeks ago.” Tossing the book down onto the coffee table he said, “That’s hardly archaic.”
“Look, Travis.” She set the glass down then sat on the coffee table facing him. “I love you. I want to be married to you. Why should we have to measure up to anyone else’s expectations? Can’t we just forget this part and just get married?”
He stared at her for a long time before saying, “No.”
With a gasp, she flinched back as if he’d struck her. “No?”
“No.” He stood and walked to the door. “You didn’t take it seriously. You don’t like the idea, so you dismissed it without even giving it any thought. Here is my challenge to you. Research it sincerely. Look it all up. Without distraction or working out or whatever else you did at the same time to alleviate your boredom while I read to you. I want you to give it your full attention and consideration. As if investigating a crime. I want to talk to you when you’ve come to that honest conclusion instead of this knee-jerk, secular humanist sound bite.”
When the door shut behind him, she stared at it for several seconds. “Well,” she said out loud. She picked up the book and looked at it, then set it back down again. “Well.”
She expected anger and tears but instead felt mild confusion. What exactly had she done wrong? What wasn’t she taking seriously? What did she need to investigate? The idea that men were smarter, stronger, faster than women?
The idea made the muscles in her neck tighten. However, the thought that Travis would actually stall their wedding less than three weeks away scared her. Maybe he wasn’t the modern man she thought he was. Maybe…
No. He obviously had read something that resonated with him. What? The only way to figure it out would be to read it herself.
She went to her desk and grabbed a notebook and pen. Armed with a steaming cup of tea at her elbow, she opened the book and started reading. She made notations on the pad, cross-referenced with the Bible verses listed in the text, and then pulled out her laptop and looked up several articles on the same topic.
By two in the morning, eyes burning, back aching, she felt convicted. Why had she knee-jerked so hard?
She set her alarm for seven and stumbled to her bedroom, falling face-down on her bed. It felt like the second she fell asleep, the alarm started going off. Only, it was in the other room, and she had to get out of bed to shut it up.
She had a slight headache born of fatigue and hours of reading. After setting up the coffee pot and turning it on, she took a long shower, feeling almost all the way better once she got out and toweled herself dry. She slipped on a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants and a blue tank-top, then filled two travel mugs with the coffee.
At seven-thirty on a Sunday morning, Main Street had no traffic. The sound of birds filled the air. She lifted her face to the morning sun, enjoying the warmth. Somewhere, she could hear the drone of a lawnmower and thought it rather early for the neighbors of that person. Above her, squirrels fought and chased each other through interconnecting branches. When she got to Travis’ academy, she turned down the alley and stopped at the side door that opened up onto the staircase and rang the doorbell.
The sight of disheveled, unshaven, obviously still sleepy Travis opening the door made her pulse rate increase. She smiled broadly at him and held up coffee. “Peace offering,” she said. “Honey and heavy cream, just the way you like it.”
“Thanks.” His voice sounded as sleepy as he looked and she all but sighed at the manly sexiness of it all.
“Can I come up?”
“Promise to be good?”
“I promise, Master Seaver.”
“Then, sure. Come on up.” He led the way upstairs, wearing a pair of blue pajama bottoms and a T-shirt advertising his academy. His bare feet made no sound on the wooden stairs.
Inside his apartment, she went straight for the couch. As soon as she sat down, Hobbes landed in her lap and yelled out a loud meow. “Is that right?” Traci asked, running her hand over his head. He rubbed all over her palm. “I think you need to lodge a complaint.”
“What’s up?” Travis asked, sitting in a barstool. He took a sip of coffee and set it on the bar behind him.
“I, uh, was up until two researching and reading. First off, I apologize for that knee-jerk reaction. That was hardly fair or mature.”
His sleepy eyes studied her face. “Okay. And?”
Clearing her throat, she pushed Hobbes away and stood. “And, I get it now. Around two this morning, I had an epiphan
y. I understand the terminology, I understand the concept, I even get the why. Yes, Travis, I am readily willing to submit to your leadership in our marriage. I hope, in the process, that you agree to give me a voice. But, I trust you with my life, and I trust you with our future.”
He stood, too, and slipped an arm around her waist. “I would have accepted you having a different opinion. I just wanted you to respect the assignment from the beginning.”
She studied his face, reading the sincerity, loving him more and more with every passing second. “Good. I’m going to have different opinions sometimes. It’s nice to know you’re going to accept that.” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose then stepped away. “That’s all you get. I promised to be good. I’ll see you at church.”
“Yes, you will.” With her hand on the door, he said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” When she turned and looked at him, she tried to convey to him how serious her next statement really was. “I don’t think you understand the depth of feelings I have for you. Your happiness and contentment are a priority of mine.”
He smiled in a way that sucked the breath right out of her. “Likewise, Traci.”
Traci snarled at the binder. It had taken over her entire life and consumed her in a way that she felt probably wasn’t healthy. How did people get married every day? How did her mother make a living out of doing this for people over and over again?
She picked up her to-do list and a pencil. Cake, done. Caterer, done. Dress, done. Final fitting, done. One by one, she went down the list. When she got to the bottom, she grinned and tossed it on the table in front of her. She had done every single thing, save the rehearsal dinner tonight, and she wasn’t in charge of that one.
“Thank You, God,” she said out loud. “Thank You for patience and perseverance. Let tomorrow go smoothly.”
She’d taken today off, but Travis had not closed his school, so she changed into her dobak, grabbed her bag and a band to tie her hair back, and left her apartment. She kept the shirt loose and just draped her black belt around her neck for now. She glanced over at her mom’s house and saw her sitting on her porch, looking at the river.
“Hey, Mama!” She yelled. Michelle looked up and lifted a hand just as the door behind her opened and a young woman stepped out, carrying a steaming cup in each hand. Donetta Nelson. She had skin the color of rich mocha and bright gray eyes. Traci had hired her a month ago to keep her mother company. She sat with her, fixed her meals, and ran errands with her. Traci really liked her a lot and knowing her mother wasn’t alone had lifted such a burden. She could have moved in, yes, but she worked so many hours that they still would have needed to hire someone. Her mom had a substantial savings account from the sale of her father’s car dealership. It felt right to put that money to good use for her mom’s health and well-being.
In the fall, Donetta would start her sophomore year at the local college. Traci would have to find someone else then for the daytime hours. At least, she hoped she would need to. She prayed her mother would baffle medical science and out-live this heart problem.
The sun shone hot today, and she pulled at the sleeves of her dobak. Maybe she should have worn the white one instead of the black one. It might have made for a cooler walk. When she stepped into the school, she saw Travis leading the class in free-sparring. The little kids in their helmets and padded vests made her smile. Travis looked up and lifted his hand in a greeting when she slipped into one of the benches.
Thirty-minutes later, the class dismissed. Traci helped students take the padding off and store it properly, then made her way to the mat. Travis led the next class in stretching. She found her spot in the ranks and started stretching her hamstrings with them.
“No more to-do list?” Travis teased.
“No, thank God. I’m officially done until tomorrow morning.”
“Good for you.” Turning his full attention to the class, he led everyone into the push-up position and started counting out push-ups.
An hour later, she helped kids out of their pads again and stacked helmets and gear on the shelves. She changed into a pair of shorts and a bright pink tank top, then hung around in the lobby while she waited for Travis to talk to a parent. Finally, he came out of his office. “When’s your next class?”
He turned off the “open” sign and winked at her. “No more today. I’m getting married tomorrow; in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Really? I bet you’ve had so much to do.”
“Nah. Just planning tonight’s meal, and my mom’s doing most of that. Been easy-going, that’s for sure.” He looked at his watch. “If you wait a minute, I’ll change, and we can grab lunch.”
“Sure.” She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll wait outside by your side door.”
She heard him lock the front door behind her, then strolled into the alley. She pulled her phone out of the side pocket of her bag to check and see if she missed any calls or texts during class. The amount of use she’d gotten out of her phone since the wedding preparations began amazed her. She used to go entire days without even thinking about it. Now it felt glued to her hand.
“Well, well, well, been looking for you. Imagine our surprise to just find you right here. All alone.”
She turned her head and saw Dylan Crawford flanked by two men she recognized but could not name. He wore a pair of dirty jeans and a blue and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. A prison tattoo ran down his left arm, and his brown hair curled out from under his red baseball cap.
Some instinct inside of her warned her of impending danger. Without hesitating, she hit the emergency call button on her lock screen and tossed her phone into her bag. She had on a pair of shorts, a tank top, and flip flops. Honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever felt so defenseless before.
“Good evening, Mr. Crawford, what can I do for you?”
He snickered. “Well, Miss Deputy Winston, it’s more about what I can do for you.”
Lifting her chin and eying his friends she asked, “Oh?”
“Yeah. You see, in the last few weeks, you have gotten in my way over and over again. You don’t stop my uncle from killing himself. You arrest my boy. And, you arrest my daddy’s sister. It’s like you have a personal thing for me. So, I’m here to make sure you get my message.”
“What message?”
He stepped close enough that she could smell the stale stench of tobacco and dried sweat. “Stay out of Crawford business.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Crawford. Keep your designer drugs out of my town, and we’ll have nothing more to talk about.”
“Oh, I think you misunderstand. It ain’t that kind of message. I ain’t here to talk.”
The first swing actually caught her off guard, surprised her. His fist connected with her cheek and sent pain through her face that took her breath away. She staggered back, wanting to cover her face and cower from another blow. However, she’d had enough training to battle that instinct, take the hit, and confront her opponent without flinching.
Instead of giving in to her instincts, she kicked off her flip-flops and took up a fighting stance, hands fisted, feet shoulder width apart, strong leg back, rear foot braced, and knees slightly bent. The next time he swung, she deflected the blow and delivered a punch to the side of his ribs along with a deep, angry shout. She used every ounce of her body weight and geometry, so the punch started in her hips and ended at her first two knuckles with all of the force delivered a few inches past her actual target.
Dylan hadn’t expected her speed or her strength. He obviously had not even a glimmer of an understanding about the training she’d received in the building behind them, and the number of boards and bricks she’d broken with her fists, feet, and the sides of her hands over the years. Traci heard Dylan’s rib snap just as much as she felt it in her fist, and he gasped in sudden pain. She returned instantly into her fighting stance.
Somehow, one of the men with him had managed to get b
ehind her. She realized she must have developed momentary tunnel vision when confronting Dylan. She had rarely practiced facing more than one opponent at the same time. The vast majority of sparring sessions were one on one, just as in a competition match. When the man behind her grabbed her wrists, it surprised her. Then she reverted to her training again.
Using his body for leverage, she lifted and kicked with a mighty yell. The ball of her foot missed the third man’s chin, but her heel broke his nose with a crunch that sounded even louder than her yell. He screamed and grabbed at his face as blood poured out from between his fingers.
Before she could contend with the man holding her wrists, she suddenly felt his entire body being tossed aside. She felt Travis’ presence even if she didn’t see him. While she focused on Dylan once more, she did hear a series of grunts and gasps while Travis quietly and efficiently demonstrated his craft. The student part of her wished she could have watched.
Dylan crouched. Traci didn’t move, focusing on being ready for him to make his next move. After what felt like a very long time, Dylan swung toward her again.
Traci jumped in the air just as she had recently practiced, and kicked for Dylan’s throat. She adjusted the angle at the last possible moment. A throat blow with that much force and velocity could have ended the man’s life had she connected. Instead, the ball of her foot slammed into Dylan’s jaw with a force that had shattered cinder block, pushing his mandible backward into the ganglions, the bundles of nerves located just behind the jaw and just below the ears, and rendered the man instantly unconscious.
Just as Dylan fell bonelessly to the ground, Tiny appeared in the entrance of the alley. He drew his pistol the second he assessed the situation.
Traci stood back-to-back with Travis, staring at the men laying at their feet, ready to keep fighting if necessary. Tiny kept the gun trained on the men as he handed Traci field cuffs to secure their prisoners. She slipped her flip flops back on only after she zip-tied Dylan’s wrists behind his back.
