The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck

by Bethany Turner

  He smiled. “I told you, I was going to ask you to lunch.”

  “I would have liked to go to lunch with you. And Maddie. I’m sorry I didn’t stick around.” I laughed as I thought of how ludicrous my trains of thought had been for two weeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain that you aren’t actually a disgusting weasel.”

  “Well, I guess it was a relatively easy mistake to make. It makes sense that you assumed—”

  “Oh no, I didn’t assume,” I protested. “The mistake was not mine, my friend. I mean, not entirely.” He looked confused again until I opened my eyes wide and added with a sigh, “She said ‘you and your wife’ and you didn’t correct her.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that would do it!” He laughed. “I guess I just didn’t even notice that part. People don’t really expect thirty-five-year-old widowers, so I get that a lot. Besides, by that point, I felt like you and I knew each other pretty well, I guess.” He ran his hand through his hair and shuffled his feet. “Does that sound crazy? It does, doesn’t it?”

  “It would,” I said with a smile, “if I hadn’t been feeling exactly the same way.”

  We stood in silence, preparing ourselves for what we were embarking on, and having no idea what that was.

  “So,” he finally began nervously, “the fact that I have a kid doesn’t bother you?”

  Tears welled up in my eyes again as I thought of the years I had spent so desperately wanting a child that I felt half of my heart was missing, off somewhere preparing itself for the day when that dream would come true.

  “Why would it bother me?” I didn’t think before I spoke my next words, but I honestly don’t know if I would have changed them even if I had, there in the power of that moment. “If anything, it makes me love you even more.”

  I hit rewind in my brain and ran through that scene again to see if I had actually said what I had just said.

  Ben has a kid? Good.

  He was as into me as I was into him? Very good.

  I don’t have a problem with him having a kid? Very, very good.

  Sarah is a crazy lady who just word-vomited all over everything?

  Bad. So, so bad.

  Before I could retract my way-too-early use of the word, or even breathe, his hand was in my hair and his lips were on mine. It was soft and tender and yet the most passionate kiss of my life. I also think it was every bit as unexpected to him as it was to me. He pulled away gently, somehow leaving me numb and feeling more than I ever had, equally.

  It seemed to suddenly hit him and he took an additional step back. “I am really, really sorry about that,” he stammered.

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Are you?”

  He laughed. “No. But I feel like I should be.”

  We stood in comfortable silence, not sure what we should do next but also feeling no real urgency to figure it out.

  “Are you coming to church tomorrow?” he eventually asked.

  My fleeting thoughts of going to church anywhere other than Mercy Point were ancient history, so I nodded.

  He smiled. “Okay. Good to know. I’ll be delivering the sermon I was supposed to give that first week. Hebrews 11. I’m going to give it my all to not inadvertently switch to a sermon I wrote in seminary again, just because I can’t get the name Sarah out of my mind. Although, Sarah is actually mentioned in Hebrews 11 too. So if I happen to glance your way, it’s not my fault.”

  A few minutes later, we each went to our respective homes, but not before making plans for lunch after church the next day. We didn’t kiss good-bye. Though we didn’t say another word about our first kiss, I think we both knew we needed to be careful. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but think I had all the inspiration I needed for my Christian romance. After all, I’d just experienced firsthand the Christ-centered version of “Nice boys don’t kiss like that.” The truth is: yes. Yes they do.

  No expletive required.

  8.

  Meggie, Hester, and Mary Matalin

  “It’s too Thorn Birds,” Joe said when I ran my idea past him.

  I was driving home from coffee, driving home from Ben, and I was on cloud nine. Though in many ways I was shocked by the evening’s turn of events, there was also a big part of me that felt like finally things were going the way they were supposed to. And I don’t just mean between Ben and me, though obviously that was a huge part of it all. It was bigger than that. My life. My entire life was in God’s hands. I finally gave myself over to that, over to him, and look where it got me . . .

  Don’t get me wrong—I wasn’t looking at Ben as any sort of reward or anything.

  Okay, that was a complete lie. Yes, I was looking at him as a reward. I’m not now, of course, but then, less than three weeks into my salvation, I think I was. Maybe not a reward exactly. More like a door prize from God, welcoming me to his family. Yes, I realize how biblically messed up that was. Don’t judge me.

  Regardless, I just knew that there was a good Christian romance to be found in my blossoming relationship with Ben, and I was determined to convince my agent of that.

  “It’s not at all Thorn Birds!” I argued, while making a mental note to make sure I had destroyed my Father Ralph and Meggie cartoon bulletin. “First of all, The Thorn Birds isn’t exactly a Christian romance, is it?”

  My Bluetooth went silent for a moment. “Isn’t it?” Joe finally asked.

  I laughed, certain he was joking, and then I realized he was dead serious. “Joe, have you read The Thorn Birds? Or at least seen the miniseries?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen snippets. But I know it’s about a priest and the woman he loves, and they have sex on the beach. Sounds pretty much like what you’re talking about.”

  I was torn between wanting to laugh at his ignorance and just hanging up on him, but in the end I did neither. He had been a sports guy, after all. While women all over the world were falling in love with Father Ralph and Richard Chamberlain and feeling guilty about it, Joe Welch had been traveling the world with Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe. I knew I should let him slide, so I told him the story of The Thorn Birds. Three different times I said, “If you’re bored, I can stop,” and three different times he said, “No, go ahead.”

  I concluded just as I pulled into my driveway. “So Father Ralph told Meggie the story of the thorn bird and then he died in her arms.”

  I can’t be sure, but I think he sniffed. “What is the story of the thorn bird?”

  “I can’t remember exactly, but basically it’s a legend that there is this type of bird that spends its entire life searching for one particular type of tree or bush, or something. It won’t rest until it finds it. Once it does, it lands on it, but the long, sharp thorns impale the bird in the chest. I think that’s right. And then upon its death, right before it dies, the bird sings for the one and only time in its life, and it’s the most beautiful song ever sung by any creature.”

  There was a long pause as I reflected on the beauty of the story and Joe took it in for the very first time.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I asked comfortingly.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life! How stupid is that bird? At some point, through years of evolution and survival of the fittest and everything, wouldn’t those birds have learned to avoid the thorns?”

  “Good night, Joe.”

  “No, wait. Sorry. Okay, so maybe that’s not the same as the story you want to tell. But if you write a story about a woman who falls in love with her pastor, you know there will be people who make comparisons.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “But since most people have either never heard of The Thorn Birds or actually have a clue what it’s about . . .”

  It was his turn to sigh. “Okay, let me think on it and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Maybe not tomorrow,” I said, thrilled that my work was not coming first in my life.

  “Oh, right. Church. And lunch with Father Ralph.”
/>
  I laughed. “Good night, Joe.”

  “Night, Sarah.” I was just about to hang up when I heard him say, “Hey, so, do you think The Thorn Birds is on Netflix or something?”

  Oh boy. “Good night, Joe.”

  I was tempted to call Piper as soon as I got in. I wanted to tell her all about everything that had happened, before the feeling of Ben’s lips faded from mine—but then again, I didn’t know if that feeling would ever fade, so there wasn’t really any rush. However, she had texted me about a dozen times, so I figured I should be nice and put her out of her misery.

  But I was in such a good mood that I decided instead to playfully torture her, as any good friend would. “Heading to bed. Coffee in the a.m., before church. See you then,” I texted, and then I turned off my phone with a laugh, clearly envisioning the frustration that was about to ensue.

  I wasn’t, however, actually heading to bed. I couldn’t shut off my brain. I thought for one brief moment that I might call Ben, but I looked at the clock and realized it might be about the time a five-year-old would go to bed. Also, I didn’t have his number.

  “How did I not even get his number?” I wondered aloud to myself. I also hadn’t given him mine, or any other way of contacting me, but I wasn’t too worried about it. I knew the location of his pulpit.

  The next morning when I got to the coffee house, Piper was already there, practically bouncing in her seat in anticipation. She scowled as I approached, trying to act as if she were mad at me for brushing her off with my text, but in the end she couldn’t keep it up.

  “So? Tell me. Did he talk to you? Was there a simple explanation? Tell me there was a simple explanation.”

  In light of the actual truth that had been discovered, I felt pretty guilty about the previous conversations.

  “His wife is dead.”

  “Told you!” Piper squealed before immediately catching herself. “I mean, that’s horrible, of course. But I just knew there was a good reason—I mean, not a good reason. That’s a terribly sad reason. But I knew there had to be a simple reason. Not that I’m saying this is simple, of course . . .”

  “No, no, I get it.” I laughed—not at the circumstances, but at Piper. Then I went on to tell her the little bit that I knew about Christa and Maddie. And then I told her about the kiss.

  “Seriously? Just like that, he kissed you?” she asked in shock, which I interpreted as scorn.

  Oh no. Had I committed some sin of which I hadn’t even been aware? Or had he? My mind was racing. Piper was the one who had said that Ben hadn’t taken a vow of celibacy, but were there guidelines? Are Christians not allowed to kiss on the first date? Oh wait, we hadn’t even had a first date yet. I was a Christian Hester Prynne!

  “Wait! That’s another one!” I spoke as if Piper had been reading my mind and following along with my entire train of thought, not to mention the previous evening’s conversation with Joe. “Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter! Her affair was with a man of God too! What was the minister’s name? Arthur something . . .”

  “Another one?” she asked, as confused as she had every right to be. “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to write a romance about a woman in a relationship with her pastor, but there is no example of that type of romance in which it isn’t some illicit, scandalous thing. Is that how it’s really going to be?” I was going through the mental catalogue of every book I had ever read and every movie I had ever seen. “Am I making a huge mistake? Am I in way over my head?” I looked around to make sure no one would overhear and then I whispered, “Am I a modern-day Mary Matalin?”

  “Sarah, calm down. Seriously, what are you talking about?” Piper looked amused, clearly not understanding the magnitude of the situation.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm down as she had instructed. “There is no telling of this story in all of history that ends with the man and woman together and still honoring God. At least not that I’ve read or seen. Meggie and Father Ralph are just one heartbreaking example. Hester Prynne slept with her pastor and had to wear an A until she died. By execution! And Mary Matalin had to go by herself to France after Jesus was crucified.”

  At the time I didn’t notice, but looking back it is quite evident that my best friend was having to work very hard not to laugh in the face of my spiritual immaturity and lack of biblical knowledge and understanding.

  “First of all, it’s Mary Magdalene. Not Mary Matalin.”

  That didn’t sound right. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes. Quite. Mary Matalin is the political lady, married to James Carville.”

  Oh. Yeah, I was pretty sure she was correct about that.

  “Secondly,” she continued, “please do not turn to Dan Brown or The Da Vinci Code as a scriptural authority. That stuff was made up. Jesus and Mary Magdalene weren’t married, didn’t have a child. The Bible doesn’t give us any reason to believe there was any sort of romantic relationship at all, actually. She was a devoted disciple and a reformed prostitute.”

  “Hmm. Okay. If you say so,” I said dismissively, still determined to check that out for myself later.

  “And then let’s examine The Scarlet Letter,” she continued. “For one thing, Hester wasn’t executed.”

  “Oh, really? I’m not sure if I ever actually finished that book . . .”

  “And they were Puritans. They had a sexual affair, and Hester had a baby. And then her presumed-dead husband showed up. Personally, I can see lots of ways in which that differs from your situation with Ben. Maybe that’s just me.”

  “You’re making fun of me.” I pouted, a bit hurt.

  She laughed. “Of course I am! You change courses so quickly and I never know why! You were so happy about it all just a couple of minutes ago. What turned the worry back on?”

  “You said, ‘Seriously? Just like that, he kissed you?’ and, yeah, just like that he kissed me. I just can’t imagine what you must think of me. And him.”

  And then she released the laughter in full force. “Really, Sarah? You’re so paranoid! I was just getting into it. It’s like a romantic comedy or something. Frankly, it just sounded really sexy. I wasn’t being judgmental or anything.”

  Oh.

  “However,” she continued, putting her index finger up as if that would help her make her point. “If it’s that intense already, you probably do need to be careful.”

  Of that I was fully aware, but I wasn’t worried. Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t. I thought about what it would have been like if I had met a man three weeks ago—if I wasn’t a Christ-follower and he wasn’t a professional Christ-follower. But if we’d had the same acute level of connection that Ben and I’d had? Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought twice about kissing him. Well, that’s not true. I would have thought about it twice and then continued to think about it until the next opportunity came to kiss him again.

  An hour later we were walking into Mercy Point, and I felt like a teenage girl, desperate to lay eyes on her crush. I was on the lookout, anxiously awaiting the moment when I would next get a glimpse of his beautiful brown eyes. Finally I spotted them, but they had a different home from the one I had previously seen. The slightly tanned, five-o’clock-shadowed face I’d seen less than eighteen hours earlier had been replaced by flawless peaches-and-cream, perfectly cherubic cheeks, and the brown wavy hair had been replaced by golden curls. But the eyes were definitely the same.

  I walked over to her where she stood, just inside the doorway to the children’s church wing. She was holding a doll, brushing its hair.

  “Madeline?” I said softly.

  She looked at me, and I realized the overwhelming power of the Delaney charm must come from the eyes, for I instantly fell in love with her.

  I smiled, squatting down to her height. “Hi. You must be Madeline Delaney. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

  “Why did you want to meet me?” she asked with the voice of an angel.

  “Well, just bec
ause everyone says you are a very special, wonderful girl. And when I heard that, I just knew you were someone I wanted to be friends with.”

  “This is Chrissy,” she said, holding her doll out for me to meet her.

  I shook the doll’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Chrissy.” I directed my attention back to Madeline. “Chrissy is a very good name for her. It suits her.” I melted, and my heart broke for the little girl as I realized that Madeline had probably named Chrissy after the mother she didn’t remember.

  “What’s your name?” she asked me.

  “My name is Sarah.”

  “That’s pretty. My name is Madeline, but everybody calls me Maddie. Do people call you anything else?”

  I don’t think I’d ever been called anything else in my life, apart from Raine de Bourgh, so I just said, “Nope. No one ever has. But if you’re going to be my friend, you can call me whatever you want.”

  Her eyes got big and she smiled as she realized she had an opportunity to name another doll. She thought for just a moment and then she said, with authority, “I want to call you Applesauce.”

  Well, I hadn’t seen that coming. “Applesauce? Okay,” I said slowly. “If that’s what you want . . .”

  “I think Applesauce is the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard!” she exclaimed sincerely.

  Dear Jesus, I prayed. Thank you for bringing this precious girl and her father into my life.

  “Then Applesauce it is!” I giggled, so enamored by her.

  “Applesauce,” she said, “you should ask Miss Laura if you can come to lunch with us today. We’re going to a restaurant!”

  “Miss Laura?” Who was this Miss Laura, and why was she intruding upon my lunch?

  “Miss Laura’s coming, and Kaitlyn, and I think my gram is coming. Please say you’ll come, Applesauce! Please?”