The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck

by Bethany Turner

  I nodded with a loving smile, and then we stood to go.

  We drove to church separately, as we had begun to do since my Sunday afternoon plans always included lunch with Ben and Maddie, and I made use of the silence in the car to consider everything Piper had just said—and, with memories of the evening before flooding my senses, admit to myself that she was absolutely right.

  Ben and I were going to have to be very careful.

  Let’s face it: as wonderful as it was that Nate, Joanna, and I ultimately hit it off, and as much as my heart was threatening to burst from the joy of Ben’s proposal, the kissing had been the really good part of the evening. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. There in front of his parents’ house, our love had grown deeper, as had our faith in God. After all, there was no earthly way we ever should have been able to walk away and go to our respective homes that night. It wasn’t easy. As he drove me home from his parents’ house that evening, we’d caused traffic issues at stoplights all over the Greater Chicagoland area, and got honked at repeatedly.

  When we got to my house, I couldn’t even allow him to walk me to the door. Ever the gentleman, he had walked me to my door every single time he had taken me home so far, but that particular evening I knew we wouldn’t have been able to stop until we had gone much farther than the doorway. So instead he kissed me good night in the vehicle.

  About the time the windows of his CR-V began to steam up the tiniest bit, I pulled away and mumbled “Rule number five” as I gasped for air and opened the car door.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled back as he gripped the steering wheel tightly and lowered his forehead to rest on it. “Which one is five again?”

  I had already begun to step out of the vehicle, determined to walk away before I forgot that I was supposed to. “Kissing only within reason. Nothing we wouldn’t do in front of a chaperone.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said as he rolled down his window to get some air. “Chaperone. Forgot we were supposed to have a chaperone.”

  Not being completely alone together had been rule number one and had obviously been treated with all the seriousness of that law in Michigan that says a woman can’t cut her own hair without her husband’s permission, or the one in South Dakota that makes it illegal to sleep in a cheese factory.

  For better or for worse that night, in an attempt to make sure, once and for all, that he wasn’t giving one iota of consideration to Laura and her deviled eggs, I had taken a sledgehammer to a metaphorical flood levee that had very meticulously and gingerly been holding back our passion for each other.

  Oops.

  Yes. We would have to be very, very careful.

  After that evening, Ben and I couldn’t even look at each other without breathing heavily—so it was somewhat inconvenient, to say the least, that the next time we saw each other was at church the next morning. I was just sure the entire congregation was reading our thoughts. I was also fairly convinced that the apostle Paul had been talking to the Corinthians about Ben and me when he wrote all of that “better to marry than to burn with passion” stuff.

  So I sat there in church that Sunday, Piper by my side, Laura nowhere in sight, and I contemplated how desperately Ben and I needed to change our normal after-church sushi routine for that week only. It was very evident that the best thing to do after church was hop on a quick flight to Vegas, get married by Elvis, and book a honeymoon suite at a place that also offered a sushi buffet. And then, by next Sunday, we would once again be normal adults capable of restraint.

  I knew that he was feeling it just as strongly as I was. I knew because he never looked at me from the pulpit. Not once. I saw him go to a great deal of effort to avoid looking at me, in fact. Instead, he presented his sermon on Daniel while glancing at random people, and occasionally his mother. And each time his eyes landed on Joanna, whom he usually avoided as resolutely as he avoided me that day, she couldn’t help but let her maternal emotions get the better of her. All of the effort she had put into not drawing attention to herself as the pastor’s mother had been for naught.

  After the service, as he made his way through the crowd and approached Piper and me, she whispered, “Do I need to stay with you this afternoon to make sure you two can control yourselves?” I didn’t respond right away, which caused her to laugh and say, “For goodness’ sake, Sarah! Are you actually considering whether or not that’s necessary?”

  I wasn’t, in fact. I had been distracted by Ben being stopped, about thirty feet from me, by Tom Isaacs. He leaned in and softly said something to Ben, and then they shook hands. Tom walked away and Ben just stood there for a moment, facing away from me.

  I’d put the tithing controversy pretty much out of my mind at this point. Everything but the joy and happiness we were experiencing had faded away, but suddenly the dark cloud was back. Sure, it hadn’t looked too terrible, whatever had just transpired, but I couldn’t imagine any possible scenario in which everything was okay, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Ben stood there for another moment, and I started to worry—not about the situation, but about him.

  “Is he okay?” Piper asked, sensing my sudden mood shift and following the direction of my eyes to their target.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered, and then I walked over to him. I didn’t say a word when I got to where he stood, and I didn’t touch him. I just wanted him to know I was there.

  He was clearly deep in thought as I approached, but when I stopped right in front of him, he seemed to shake something off, and then he looked up at me with a smile. It wasn’t a completely genuine smile, though. Something was still very much on his mind.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” he joked, and his smile became a more sincere Ben Delaney smile. “In fact, I think I did all I could to avoid knowing you were here. You look beautiful. Where should we go for lunch? I think Maddie’s in the mood for pizza, but I’m always hesitant to eat pizza in the Sunday best. Sauce stains and all. There’s always sushi, of course. Do you want to meet us somewhere or go together?”

  It was the first time I had seen him dance the dance of avoidance, and I was amazed by how bad he was at it.

  “What did Tom say?” I asked quietly.

  “Hmm?” He acted like he hadn’t heard me, but I knew he had.

  “Ben, you do know that you’re freaking me out more by avoiding telling me, right?”

  He exhaled and his shoulders sagged, then he pulled me aside, a little bit away from traffic. “He apologized for the call the other day and said he hadn’t had any idea you and I were together. Then he shook my hand, said ‘Enjoyed the sermon,’ and walked away.”

  I stared at him in confusion. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” He frowned.

  “Ben, that’s great! I mean, seriously, it’s amazing. Like, almost—” I froze.

  “Too good to be true?” He completed my thought, but with a very different tone from the one with which I had begun the thought. “What does not knowing we’re together have to do with it? And how does he suddenly know?”

  Those were very good questions.

  In the end, we didn’t go anywhere for lunch, for the first Sunday since the first sushi, because I wanted to go home and write. At least that was what I said, and there was certainly truth to it. I did end up writing, and what I wrote was good, but I also just needed some time to think. Right then, at that particular time in our relationship, I had a difficult time thinking when I was with Ben.

  Ben was initially somewhat concerned when I skipped out on lunch, but I think there was a small amount of relief there as well, and I wasn’t offended by that. Rule number two, the rule in which we committed to only seeing each other three times a week, had also been abandoned long ago. And though neither of us was sorry about that, and I knew that we would happily spend every moment of every day together without complaint if we could, it felt like the appropriate time to take a breather.

  I say that it felt like the appropriate time, but of cou
rse it also felt like the worst possible time, and that was probably the greatest evidence that the slight step back was absolutely necessary. We couldn’t get enough of each other, and while God’s rules were still the top priority, our own rules, so carefully considered and thought out, seemed like naïve ancient history.

  So I went home and I thought and I wrote, and I threw all of my worry and concern, and also all of my passion, into new characters who, just like Ben and me, were struggling to stay focused on God under less than conducive circumstances.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying it, kid,” Joe said almost three weeks later when I answered the phone, “but this is good stuff.”

  Something in me had been unlocked. It seemed as though being engaged agreed with the author in me. The real author in me. I appreciated Joe’s words, but truthfully he hadn’t told me anything I didn’t already know. It was good stuff. I had started working on the manuscript as soon as I’d gotten home that sushi-free Sunday, and I hadn’t stopped long enough to look back since.

  “So, you really like it so far?”

  “I do,” he said. “I can’t believe how much I do. I feel emasculated by how much I do, actually.”

  Those words were rich coming from the man who now had “Theme from The Thorn Birds” as his ringtone.

  “Well, I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Joe. Do you think the publishers will go for it? I mean really go for it?”

  “About that. I just got off the phone with Kent, and he’s crazy about the snippet you sent him a couple weeks ago. He’s in. I think he finally saw the marketing potential. You know, if we really push this thing as your ‘come to Jesus moment.’ Literally!” He laughed.

  Joe didn’t understand my newfound dedication to Christ, I knew, but he was never disrespectful about it. Well, at least not intentionally. It was all coming together so much better than I ever could have anticipated, and I knew I had Joe to thank for that. On the surface he could act like it was all about selling books and making money, but I knew he cared about me. And what I desired with every fiber of my being was to be able to turn this book into a positive influence on the lives of women, relationships, and marriages. In other words, I was making a literary U-turn.

  “But they’re a little antsy, kid,” he continued. “It’s certainly not a safe and traditional move. I’m thinking we need to move fast and not give them a chance to back out.”

  “Back out?” I asked. “I mean, technically my contract doesn’t say what kind of book I have to write. Right?”

  “Right. But that doesn’t mean they won’t edit it to within an inch of its life. Right now, they’re pretty fired up about it. That’s the way we want it, Sarah. We want them to believe in this project as much as you do. So how much longer do you think you need? To finish this thing up?”

  It was shocking to me just how quickly I had gotten as far as I had. Stollen Desire had been written quickly, but let’s face it: it had also been crap. On the other hand, I was so pleased with the new work. I was proud of so many aspects of where it seemed to be heading, but most of all I was proud of how romantic and sexy it was without ever being inappropriate. I knew I would have a legion of people saying I wasn’t capable of writing anything but smut, and until very recently, I may have been chief among them.

  But it was going extremely well, and I knew that God deserved all of the praise and glory for that. So how much longer did I need? I guess that depended on whether or not I could keep up my current pace.

  I suppose it also depended, in no small part, on whether or not my fiancé and I began speaking to each other again.

  “I’m not quite sure how much time I need, Joe. Let me give that some thought, and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  As I thought about Joe’s question and tried to calculate how much more time I would need, I took into consideration how much I had written in the three weeks since I’d begun. Over the course of those three weeks, I had settled into the writing sweet spot that all authors cherish. Not always, but sometimes, you enjoy a creative burst during which you can’t type quickly enough. It’s almost as if the story is already written and simply waiting for you to get it down on the page. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. Those periods don’t always come along, so when they do, you can’t do anything other than enjoy every single moment of it and try to keep up.

  I considered the enhanced creativity a blessing, but it hadn’t been the easiest thing to try and get Ben to see it that way. The initial step back he had welcomed, I think. He was worried about what Tom wasn’t saying much more than he had worried about anything that had been said or done, and he needed some time to think it through and sort it out. So we took Sunday off. I think he expected that to be the extent of the break.

  “I miss you,” he’d said on the phone on the Friday morning after the Sunday we skipped sushi. It was only the third time we had spoken that week, and we hadn’t seen each other at all.

  “I miss you too,” I replied honestly into my Bluetooth, but I didn’t stop typing.

  My assistant, Sydney, was there, on orders from Joe, doing her best to facilitate the creative process. What that meant, usually, was making sure I wasn’t disturbed and making sure I ate and went to the bathroom once in a while. When you’re going through one of those creative periods, it’s shockingly easy to forget stuff like that. She’d been hired on as my assistant shortly after book one in the Desire trilogy hit the New York Times bestseller list, so she’d been by my side through most of the insanity. She knew her job and she did it well, but of course this time around she had to contend with something she hadn’t prior.

  “I didn’t think Sydney was even going to let me talk to you,” Ben said with a laugh. I think he thought it was a funny thought that couldn’t possibly be true, but it was absolutely true. I’d only gotten her to finally give me the phone by promising her that I would make sure he didn’t call back for the rest of the day.

  “About that . . .” I began hesitantly, succumbing to the glower being directed toward me by Sydney. “She’s just doing her job. I mean, I know the rules don’t apply to you, but—”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means the rules don’t apply to you.”

  I gestured to Sydney that I needed some water, so she ran off to get it for me. I should have been happy to have a moment alone to talk to Ben, but honestly I don’t think I was even paying enough attention to him to think about it.

  “Well, it just sounded a little sarcastic. Like I think I’m above the rules or something.”

  I laughed, still not really realizing what a bad mood he was in. “You are above the rules, so it doesn’t matter if you think you are or not.”

  He sighed. “So then what is Sydney’s job exactly? Keeping me from distracting you?”

  I laughed again, still oblivious and searching thesaurus.com for a word I liked better than countenance. “Pretty much.”

  She walked back in and handed me my water, and also looked very irritated that I was still on the phone. I silently thanked her and apologized at the same time. “Hey, I should probably get back to it. Can I call you tonight?”

  “Sure. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Okay. I caught that one.

  “Hey,” I said, softening my tone and forcing myself to stop typing. “You’re not bothering me.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes, implying that he was bothering her, whether I was okay with it or not. I stood from my desk and walked over to her and gently pushed her out of the room, with her protesting all the way, and shut the door behind her.

  Finally I was focused on Ben. At least I was mostly focused on Ben. I still had lines running through my head that I was terrified I would lose if I didn’t get them recorded soon, but I quickly asked God to help me remember everything worth keeping, and then I plopped down on the couch to find out what was bothering my uncharacteristically moody fiancé.

  “I’m sorry if I made it sound like you were bothering me,” I said sinc
erely. “You could never bother me.”

  I felt him thaw out some in response to my warmer tone. “No, it’s fine. I know you’re busy.”

  “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  “Why are you pulling away, Sarah?” he asked directly.

  Seriously? “Ben, I’m not pulling away. I’ve just got to keep the flow going while I can. Writer’s block could be waiting for me in a dark alley somewhere.” Ah! “Dark alley”—that was the better version of “dark corner” I had been looking for. I ran to my laptop and found the passage and made the substitution.

  “Are you sure? Because if you ask me, it seems like you’re using that as an excuse to stay away from me.”

  “What?” I scoffed. “Why would I want to stay away from you?”

  I was thinking that through, trying to figure out how he could have possibly drawn that ridiculous conclusion, when I realized he was right. He was absolutely right.

  “Oh my goodness, Ben. You’re right. I hadn’t realized! But why? Hold on. Let me pray about it. Okay. Got it. Apparently, despite the mind-blowing happiness that I feel due to my love for you, and my belief that you genuinely love me as well, I am still harboring some feelings of unworthiness that lead me to subconsciously be certain that once you realize what kind of person I really am, you’ll run away faster than you can say ‘deviled eggs.’ What’s more, I really don’t know if I can control my desire for you, and sometimes I get so caught up in you that I almost forget that I should control it. And then of course God tells me, ‘You aren’t in control. I am.’ And that’s awesome, but once in a while I don’t want him to be in control. I don’t want to give it over. I just want to give in and somehow find a way to not feel guilty about it the next morning. But I know that’s not possible, so truthfully it’s easier to just put some space between us and think good Christian thoughts about this new couple I’m writing about, and funnel all of the desire I feel for you into them. It’s easier, and it’s safer.”