Benjamin Sarah Delaney
Thankfully I was able to ease into my newly conflicted life somewhat gently. I had given Sydney a few days off, and I had no obligations until Monday, so I was able to put Raine aside and just be Sarah. At least for the weekend.
Piper invited me to go to church with her on Sunday, and I was excited by the prospect. And also terrified. All I knew of church was how to be a fake Catholic. At Mass, during my marriage to Patrick, I knew when to stand and when to kneel. I knew the readings. Most importantly, I knew which hands to shake, and I knew how important it was that Patrick and Sarah McDermott appeared happy, in love, and bound together by their devotion to God, family, and country.
It didn’t matter if we’d been awake until 3:00 in the morning, fighting about the fact that he’d just gotten home and yet was about to take off on another two-week business trip. And it didn’t matter if right before we had to leave for Mass I’d seen him quickly close his laptop when I walked into the room. And it didn’t even matter if the night before, after he’d refused to make love to me, he’d told me, as he had for years, that soon the time would be right for us to start a family. None of that mattered. At church, we were still the McDermotts—a couple to be envied by all whom we encountered.
I think I called Piper ten times on Saturday, with different questions in preparation for Sunday. I bought a new outfit—classy casual, as Piper had described her church’s style—and a new Bible. I think I owned a Bible already, but I had no idea where it was. I went to bed early so that I could get up and shower before meeting her for breakfast prior to the 10:00 a.m. service, but I didn’t fall asleep for hours. I was like a child anticipating Christmas, except throw in a lot more stress and anxiety.
I was ready to learn more about God. That was what I was most excited about. It felt like the beginning of a new life, and I couldn’t wait to dive in. But each time I pictured what it would be like, and my head was filled with the idea of songs and Scripture and fellowship with others who loved Jesus, my imagery was interrupted by the thought of someone coming up and asking, “Aren’t you Raine de Bourgh?” Then, in my overactive imagination, there were disapproving stares from the pulpit and I was immediately excommunicated and thrown out the front doors of the church.
After a night full of dreams like that, and at least one featuring Father Horatio saying, “Nope! God still doesn’t believe in you!” I awoke with joy. The fear was gone. I got dressed and did my hair and makeup with confidence, certain that I was going to be an awesome Christian. I no longer worried about being confronted regarding the Raine thing. After all, if anyone had read the books, they wouldn’t admit it at church, would they? I was safe.
After breakfast Piper and I drove to Mercy Point Church, which didn’t look at all like I had expected it to. There wasn’t a big steel cross, or any cross at all apart from a little one on the sign. And the imposing concrete steps I had dreamt of landing on when I got thrown out were replaced by a slight three-foot ramp. At least that wouldn’t hurt my bottom as much.
My classy casual fit right in, and by the time we got in the building and had a seat in the auditorium, I felt very much in control of my nerves and the whole situation. People smiled at me and greeted me, and I was amazed to discover they were greeting me. Not Mrs. Patrick McDermott and not Raine de Bourgh. They didn’t know me, but they were genuinely glad I was there.
I took a quick peek at my watch and saw that I had about ten minutes until the service was supposed to start, and I realized I should probably go to the restroom. The last thing I wanted to do was interrupt my first real worship experience because I had to pee. Piper offered to escort me, but, like I said, I was feeling confident. I got directions from her and with assurances that I would be back well before the service began, I was on my way.
I smiled at everyone I encountered, and they smiled back. I visited with a couple of women in the ladies’ room, did my business, checked myself in the mirror, noting the huge, sincere smile that I couldn’t wipe off my face, and then I barreled out of the restroom, excited to get my worship on.
Until I barreled right into someone.
“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry,” I said as I knelt down and picked up his Bible from the ground.
“Don’t apologize. I ran into you. Sorry about that.”
I stood up and handed his Bible to him, and then I stopped breathing. And I think he did too.
He was about 5’11” with dark, wavy hair and the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen. His long-sleeved henley did nothing to conceal his lean, muscular build, and all of the distance in the world wouldn’t have been able to mask the amazing way he smelled. It was as if a mad scientist assigned with the mission of distracting me from my holy-minded endeavors had created this man just for me.
We were staring at each other, probably both realizing how stupid we looked for just staring, and yet we couldn’t formulate words, or breathe, and we certainly couldn’t pull our eyes away. I had never been so instantly attracted to anyone in my life. I know it sounds insane, but right then, before either of us had muttered another word, I was picturing myself in his arms and imagining how his lips would feel on mine. And then I remembered that I was in church and that I had become a Christ-follower on Monday. So I told myself to get those thoughts out of my head. He was forbidden fruit, I lectured myself. Satan put that man there to distract me. Or maybe God put him there as a test. Maybe I had to walk away to prove my dedication to God.
But I couldn’t walk away. I couldn’t even look away. And then I thought maybe I wasn’t supposed to.
“Are you okay?” he asked with legitimate concern as I struggled for breath. He put his hand on my arm and ushered me to a nearby bench. Needless to say, feeling his body touching mine didn’t help with the breathing problem, no matter how innocent his touch.
I nodded, feeling like a fool, but also with a weird sense of clarity. I looked up at my handsome stranger, and for the first time in my entire life, nothing felt complicated.
On paper, that moment—what with my gasping for breath and my flushed cheeks, not to mention my inability to speak—should have been humiliating. And that’s even with my above-average humiliation standard, having experienced such moments as Patrick and Bree acting like they were just in that room, half-dressed, looking for our Scrabble board. And yet there was nothing embarrassing about it. In fact, there was nothing in that moment that even made me think of myself at all. I could think only of this man.
I exhaled deeply. “I’m okay now. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re sure you’re okay?”
Looking into his eyes, I suspected I would never be less than okay ever again. “Yes. Thank you.”
And then I chuckled a little bit, and he smiled. We had no words to say to each other that didn’t seem insignificant and unnecessary.
Except perhaps our names. That seemed both significant and necessary.
“I’m Sarah,” I said, putting my hand out to shake his.
“Sarah,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact.
I smiled. “What a coincidence. Your name is Sarah too?”
He smiled and blushed, and my heart did somersaults. “Sorry, no. Sarah’s just my middle name.”
I laughed, but I almost hated to. I couldn’t stand the thought that the sound of my laughter might interrupt anything he might say.
“Benjamin. Ben. That’s my name. Ben Delaney.”
“Benjamin Sarah Delaney. That’s very pretty.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He had taken my hand to shake it, and he hadn’t yet let go. I hoped he never did. “I always thought it was pretty butch, actually. Especially compared to my brothers Jeremy Marie and Jacob Diane.”
I was in love. No doubt about it.
We talked for a few more seconds, continuing our slightly flirtatious banter, until the spell was broken by the sound of loud praise and worship music. Oh no. I had told Piper I would be back before the service started, and I was pre
tty sure I was now late. But if I left, would I ever see him again? What if he was on his way out, having only stopped in to ask directions? Okay, he was carrying a Bible, so that didn’t seem incredibly likely. But what if we got separated by the crowd after church? What if, what if, what if?
“Hey, sorry. I need to run.” I gestured in the direction of the sanctuary.
“Yeah, yeah.” He let go of my hand and stood, looking very flustered all of a sudden, and I feared I had broken the spell. “Me too. Look, it was really great to meet you, Sarah.”
“You too, Ben.” I felt more confident than I ever had in my entire life. “I really hope we get to see each other again.”
He smiled and then leaned in and whispered, “I give you my word.”
Dear Jesus, I prayed silently. I hope that being really, really attracted to and frankly a little turned on by a man I just met at church isn’t a sin—but just in case it is, please forgive me.
We turned and went in opposite directions. I reentered the sanctuary and snuck into the aisle next to Piper.
“Good grief. What happened to you?” she whispered.
“Sorry.” I grinned from ear to ear. “There was this guy God wanted me to meet.”
“What?” She didn’t have any idea what I was talking about, but she smiled in response to my giddiness.
I winked. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Please be seated,” the worship leader instructed as we came to the end of the song, which I had missed almost in its entirety.
As I went to sit, I realized I’d lost track of my new Bible. I leaned down to look under my seat, and under Piper’s. Meanwhile, the worship leader was talking. I wasn’t really paying attention—not only was I searching for my Bible, I was also reciting “Sarah Delaney. Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Delaney. Ben and Sarah Delaney” over and over in my mind.
I finally found my Bible under the row in front of us, and grabbed it and sat up just in time to hear, “The long wait is finally over, church. Many of you know how long we’ve been praying for a pastor, and how long we’ve been pursuing this pastor in particular! Well, it appears we finally wore him down, and we’re just so honored and excited to welcome him to our family here at Mercy Point. Brother Benjamin, come on up here.”
The congregation applauded warmly as the gorgeous man who had taken my breath away, just moments prior, made his way up to the pulpit. His eyes caught mine, which must have been the size of the forbidden fruit itself, and he responded with a sheepish grin and a slight shrug.
I was pretty sure I was going straight to hell.
6.
Let’s Call Her Margaret
“To the best of my knowledge, Pastor Benjamin hasn’t taken a vow of celibacy, Sarah.”
As we ate lunch after church, I filled her in on all of the chaste and innocent, yet somehow steamy, details of my conversation with Ben, though according to her, there wasn’t much to tell that she hadn’t been able to figure out herself. I don’t know what gave it away.
It may have been the way he seemed to involuntarily glance my way each time he said my name during his sermon. I mean, he wasn’t just randomly saying my name from the pulpit. He preached on Abraham and Sarah that day. And each time his eyes met mine, I was shocked to discover I didn’t want to look away. I should have been self-conscious, but I never was. I was only Ben-conscious.
Then again, maybe Piper took her clues from my doodles on the bulletin, which, depending on the moment, alternated between the practicing of what I hoped would be my future signature, and a badly drawn cartoon of Ben and me as Father Ralph and Meggie from The Thorn Birds, being cast into a fiery furnace.
The more likely culprits, however, were the events that took place right after the service ended. Ben ran down from the stage and made a beeline toward me, which obviously delighted me no end. But it was his first day as the new pastor, and he was swarmed by the congregation. I understood that, of course, no matter how annoyed I was. He grinned another sheepish grin at me and shrugged his shoulders again, and I smiled and shrugged back, ready to wait until the crowd cleared. But then one old lady said, “Your daughter was a delight in children’s church today, Pastor Ben. You and your wife must be so proud!”
Apparently I had jumped the gun ever so slightly when I began doodling “Mrs. Delaney” on my bulletin. But how was I supposed to have known that I was just practicing another woman’s signature?
I hurried out of there as quickly as I could, pulling Piper along with me. Of all the scenarios that could have ended with my being thrown out onto Mercy Point’s front steps—or ramp, as the case may be—flirting with the married pastor on his first day wasn’t one I had envisioned. It would, however, have been the most justifiable.
How had I gotten it so very wrong?
“Clearly there has been no vow of celibacy, Piper,” I said with a sigh. “He’s a dad, after all. But, although I’m new to this whole religion/Christianity thing, I’m pretty sure adultery and/or bigamy are not really recommended for most pastors.” Or anyone.
“There has to be an explanation!”
She had been saying that for nearly an hour, all through lunch, and I wanted to believe that there was, but nothing made sense. I probably should have stuck around and at least given him a chance to explain, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of that. Besides, what explanation could there have been?
“I wouldn’t mind an explanation as to why he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.” I sniffed and then sipped iced tea through my straw. “That’s just setting a girl up to fail.”
My fear was that he hadn’t actually felt anything toward me like what I felt toward him from our brief encounter. I threw that theory out there, but Piper immediately knocked it down.
“A pastor doesn’t walk in late to his first service at a new church so that he can sit on a bench with someone and not say anything,” she argued. “He was clearly feeling something powerful as well.” Powerful enough that he got as lost in me as I did in him.
“Or maybe he was just being kind, Piper. Maybe I was clearly out of place, and as the pastor he was trying to make me feel welcome.”
“Out of place? What do you mean?” she asked. “At Mercy Point?”
“No.” I sighed. “Just in general . . . trying to carry on an adult conversation.”
“Listen, Sarah, at the risk of sounding repetitive, there just has to be an explanation.”
“What makes you think that could sound repetitive?”
She ignored my jab and instead tried to convince me that the explanation could actually be quite simple. “Think, Sarah, think! You’re a writer. Write this story. What is the simple explanation?”
“Maybe his wife is in an asylum,” I began hesitantly, gaining steam as I went. “Maybe she’s basically a vegetable, and just a thin veil of the woman he once fell in love with. His dedication to the beautiful young thing he married—”
“Sarah—” Piper interjected.
“Let’s call her Margaret. His dedication to Margaret and their daughter, as well as his beliefs and his role in the church, has kept him from divorcing her. But every day is cold and lonely, and as sand falls through the hourglass of Margaret’s life, Ben’s heart is preparing him for the inevitable—to love once more.”
Piper sipped her coffee and finished off her last bite of key lime pie as I spoke, and then set her fork down and smiled at me. “Okay, that one’s on me. I forgot what types of stories you write.”
“What?” I asked, bolstered by the ludicrous potential I was creating.
She laughed. “Sarah, in this scenario, are you hoping for Margaret to die or for him to divorce her?”
Well, huh. My walk with the Lord was new, but when she put it that way, it was pretty clear that I already knew the correct answer—not just as a Christ-follower. Also as, you know, a human.
“Neither?” I asked, though I hadn’t intended to phrase it as a question.
“Very good.” She winked. “No, I actually meant that maybe
the simple explanation is that—”
“But what if Margaret is lifeless as it is, and Ben is miserably unhappy, and—”
“Sarah!” She placed her hand on mine with a laugh. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me support your soap opera plot.”
“Fine,” I muttered as I pulled my hand from under hers and crossed my arms.
She leaned in and spoke discreetly. “But we haven’t considered the possibility that just because he has a daughter doesn’t necessarily mean he has a wife.”
I sat up straight in my chair, willing to at least momentarily consider any scenario in which Ben was single. “I would love for that to be the case, but the lady said—”
She shrugged. “It’s his first day. There’s a lot we don’t know about him yet. I mean, I wasn’t on the hiring committee. Were you?”
“I was not.”
“And that lady who talked to him about his daughter probably wasn’t either. So there you go,” she concluded, as if that truly were the conclusion. Mystery solved. The prosecution rests.
I really don’t know how to explain it. I couldn’t even explain it to myself, really. It didn’t make sense that I was this upset, and yet I was. I didn’t know how long Ben and I had been in the hallway together, but it couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes. And then he preached for a while. Was that really enough time to have fallen in love with him? Was that really enough time for me to begin hoping for any far-fetched situation that would allow me to date him?
“How would that even work?” I asked Piper. “Dating a pastor, I mean. If he were single, which he’s probably not. And actually interested in me.”
She shrugged again. “Pretty much like any other relationship, I would think. Except you’d only go out to dinner at potlucks, of course.”
I knew she was teasing me, but the idea that it would be just like any other relationship didn’t seem right. He was a man of God, right? Surely there were different rules for that. Hadn’t there been some sort of swearing-in ceremony during which Ben had been given a list of guidelines, and maybe his special clergy parking pass for hospital visits? Different rules had to apply. Granted, I didn’t have much knowledge, or anything to compare it to. Father Horatio was single, but he was a priest who had taken a vow of celibacy. Apart from that, I knew nothing. Well, apart from movies. But The Preacher’s Wife starring Whitney Houston didn’t seem like the ultimate authority in this situation. Even to me.
The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck Page 5
