“On the first day I met you,” Scott said, nodding toward Gus and Bev, who waved when I caught their eyes, “Gus introduced you as my future wife. I didn’t take it too seriously, as he’s a bit of a . . . how should I put it? A creative thinker.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” came Bev’s happy voice. She did a high five with Shayla and there was a little laughter from our audience, quickly hushed by anticipation.
“Scott . . .” There was fear in my voice as a burning panic moved from my stomach to my throat.
Concern flashed across his face. “This isn’t what you’re thinking,” he said, holding my hands a little more tightly.
“It isn’t?”
“It’s not a proposal. You know that’s what I want—sometime—but not yet. Not until we’ve gotten this other thing straight.”
“And thank your lucky stars for that,” Kate said with the certainty of experience. “This guy proposes like a hippo does ballet.”
Scott shrugged and smiled. “So I’m not an actor.”
“No, but you’re turning into quite the public speaker,” I said a little hoarsely, unaccountably disappointed that this wasn’t the proposal I so desperately feared.
“As I was saying,” Scott continued, leveling a well-aimed look at Kate to quell any further interruptions, “this isn’t a proposal. But it’s equally important to me. Something I promised you I’d keep trying to get right.” He took a deep breath and smirked at his own nervousness. “And I’m hoping that doing this in front of all these friends comes close to that.”
Meagan giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth, and Seth met my gaze with a warmth and affection that made me want to weep. Kenny lifted a gaping Shayla out of Trey’s arms to whisper something in her ear as Scott took a moment to look around at our friends and students. His eyes stopped on my daughter. “Is it okay if I do this now, Lady Shay?”
Shayla nodded and beamed him a glowing smile, throwing an arm around Kenny’s neck and yelling, “Yes, yes, yes!”
Scott took another deep breath and smiled at his mesmerized audience. I could tell his nerves were getting to him. “You all know Shelby,” he said, addressing them but staring at me, “so you may be surprised to hear that she’s not very good at believing people love her.” He glanced at Trey. “And I have it on good authority that this isn’t a recent thing either.” I tried to roll my eyes at my interfering brother, but they stayed anchored to Scott’s.
“We love you, Miss Davis,” Meagan singsonged. Seth hushed her with a hand on the top of her head.
“Exactly,” Scott continued. “And you’re not alone, Meagan. That’s why I find it so hard to understand how a person as well-loved as Shelby can be so unconvinced of . . . well, of her lovableness.”
The students voiced their agreement with murmurs, nods, and smiles, while Gus let out a hearty chuckle and gave Scott a thumbs-up. Our audience was clearly warming to the Scott Taylor Show.
“Is lovableness a real word?” I whispered to Scott, emotion constricting my throat.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, smiling. “Give a coach a break, will you?”
There were tears in his eyes, and he blinked at them as he continued. “Shelby,” he said, his fingers holding mine with so much gentleness that I feared I might forget, in months and years, just how they felt, “I need you to know, in front of the people who mean the most to you, how I feel about you.”
“Scott . . .”
“This isn’t a passing or casual thing. It’s not something I need to wait and think about some more. And it’s not something I’ve ever said with this degree of conviction or hope before. It’s something I know—and I’m so sure of it that I want everyone here to know it too.” He took a deep breath while Shayla scrambled out of Kenny’s arms and came to stand right next to me, looking up with wide, ecstatic eyes, her arms hugging my legs.
“Am I doing this right?” Scott asked, his insecurity endearing.
I laughed a little raggedly. “You’re doing great.”
“I love you, Shelby Davis,” he said softly.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach, leaving a dizzying void behind, a buoyant space that brimmed with unimaginable promise.
“And I don’t need you to feel the same way I do,” Scott continued, a tremor in his voice, “and I certainly don’t expect this to make Gus’s prediction come true. This isn’t about bribing you or pressuring you. I know you’re still dealing with a lot of stuff, and that’s for you and God to wrestle with. So for now—” he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, eliciting a high-pitched “awwww” from Meagan—“for now, all I want is to present you with my love in a way I hope you’ll believe, in front of all these people who know you and love you too, so you’ll have this memory to come back to the next time you have trouble accepting what I’ve said.”
He sighed heavily, a smile softening his eyes and seeping through my reserve into my most protected weakness. “I wouldn’t be saying this with so many witnesses if I weren’t sure of myself. I’m for real, Shelby. I’ll probably mess up and disappoint you and fail in multiple ways, but my love is real. And I’m not going anywhere. So—” he wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb—“please, please believe me.”
I blinked. Twice. Then I reminded myself to breathe. There was a convergence in my mind of so many images that dizziness made me reach for Scott’s arms and hold tightly to his strength.
He saw me, I knew, in all my healing imperfection. He saw me as I was and somehow—by some miracle—still wanted me. He was the living, breathing, nurturing expression of God’s love for me. So was Shayla. So was Trey. So were the students and friends bolstering my weakness with their comfort and support. They were God’s rescue from my pain.
I could feel a surge of joy growing out of the ashes of my past as a peaceful certainty clicked into place like a missing puzzle piece. No need for cows and dolphins. No need for zingers and barbs. No need for fear of the unknown. My only need was for boldness to enter the battlefield and for courage to face the risks head-on. Every particle in the room turned golden and converged in a burst of sudden, luminous clarity. The Davis genes, above all else, were cowardly. And I refused to give them the power to determine my future. I looked at Trey—he smiled at me. He knew. My courage was God’s answer to the mushroomness of fear.
In that moment, I saw the fullness of my life like a crystalline mosaic in which shards of rejection and survival and despair and love and horror and redemption swirled into the luminescent revelation of God’s abiding love. I saw it all—I embraced it all. And with my eyes riveted to the sureness of Scott’s gaze, I nodded through my tears and whispered, “I believe you.”
A Note from the Author
SOMETIMES AN AUTHOR sits around for weeks charting plotlines and developing characters before beginning to write. And sometimes an author is engaging in the glamorous task of vacuuming her apartment when the freckle-dusted face of a four-year-old pops into her mind. I was still living in Germany when Shayla’s soulful eyes first distracted me from my chores. I can remember the exact section of ratty carpeting I was working on when her gaze flashed across my consciousness with a hint of complex history. I turned off the vacuum and gave the apparition a moment’s thought, then shook my head at my flight of fancy and resumed the job at hand. But not for long.
Minutes later, the vacuum stood abandoned in the living room while I curled up in my bed with my laptop and began to type. I had no idea, at that moment, of the zigzagging path the story would take between present and past, nor did I foresee the characters who would come to flesh it out. But as Shelby appeared and stole the spotlight from Shayla, as Gus and Bev ushered Scott into her life, and as present-day muddlehood led back to darker huddlehoods, I realized that Shayla’s face might have been more than merely an excuse to stop Saturday chores.
For the better part of the following nine days, I let myself be guided by the characters—watching them evolve as they suffered, dreamed, and overcame. The H
uddle Hut emerged out of Shelby’s and Trey’s minds, not mine, as did Geronimo, swinging chins, and that crazy Vira Snurdly. Trey himself was unplanned, yet he wove his way into the fabric of the narrative. He started out as “Kerr,” but my fingers kept typing “Trey,” so I gave in to the story’s wishes and dutifully made the change. Even now, with the novel approaching publication, I feel it as a creation that breathes in spite of me, and the process that birthed it remains in great part a mystery.
But I hope In Broken Places is much more than a tale of huts, hurdles, and the power to overcome. Child abuse is a destructive force. It slithers and marches; it whispers and roars. It either weakens or hardens its victims, but it never leaves them unscathed. If you or someone you know is being victimized, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE.
My sincerest prayer is that the pages of this book will shed a compassionate light on the ravages of child abuse, its soul-crippling tyranny and deep-rooted legacy. Pain need not win. There is life beyond bleeding. There is love beyond fearing. There is hope beyond despairing. I should know . . .
I am a survivor.
Discussion Questions
Why does Shelby feel the need to move to Germany with Shayla?
Is the relationship between Shelby and Trey healthy or unhealthy? What evidence do you see in the story?
In what ways did Shelby’s abuse influence her in adulthood? Can you think of at least three examples?
Faced with the chance to take in your abusive father’s daughter, would you do what Shelby did? Why or why not?
Should Scott have walked away from Shelby after so many early rejections? Was his persistence a sign of weakness or strength?
What could/should Shelby’s mother have done differently? Can her choices be forgiven? What responsibility does she share with her abusive husband?
What role does the Huddle Hut play in both Shelby’s and Trey’s survival? Can you think of a place or ritual in your life that fulfills a similar role?
Can you recall three or four places where the book refers to a bird? What is its symbolism?
What do you foresee happening in Trey’s future? What is the trajectory for his life emotionally? Professionally? Spiritually?
Can Shelby and Scott have a healthy relationship that leads to a strong marriage? Why or why not? What steps might they take to increase the chances of a “happy ending”?
About the Author
BORN IN FRANCE to an American mother and a Canadian father, Michèle Phoenix is an international writer with multicultural sensitivities. A graduate of Wheaton College, she spent twenty years teaching at Black Forest Academy, a school in Germany for missionaries’ children.
Michèle fought two different forms of cancer in 2008, a challenge that caused her to reevaluate the direction of her life. In 2010, armed with a desire to broaden the imprint of her remaining years, she returned to the States to launch a new ministry for and about missionaries’ kids (MKs).
Now living in Illinois, Michèle serves with Global Outreach Mission as an MK advocate, speaking, writing, and educating the North American church about the unique strengths and struggles of missionaries’ children.
Her first book, Tangled Ashes, was released in 2012. Visit michelephoenix.com for more information.
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