My tears started falling. “That bench?”
“That bench,” he confirmed. “So I just sat there, tired of wrestling, having nothing left to give. I screamed out for God to finish me off, once and for all. He won. I was done. I couldn’t do it anymore. I made the phone call to refuse the position, but they didn’t have anyone to preach that Sunday. They were ready to give up. They were going to close the doors, and all of those people—the ones who had held on and stayed faithful in spite of it all—were going to have to find another church. So as painful as I knew it would be, I agreed to preach one sermon, one Sunday, but that was it. Just to give them one more week to figure something out. Then I knew I would never step foot in that building ever again.”
I sat up so that I could look at him. I started to speak, but I had no words, so I just stared at him as he continued.
“That Sunday I was determined to go straight from the pastor’s study to the pulpit, and then straight out the door, and yet I found myself walking down that hallway. The music started, you and I went our separate ways, and I wrote a note, accepting the position, and slipped it to them just before I was introduced.”
We sat in silence for quite a while, trying to process all of the ways God had worked in our hearts and lives to bring us together, and feeling quite certain that it was something we would never be able to fully comprehend.
I was startled out of my perfect peace and contentment by the shrill ring of my cell phone. I didn’t even know that I had it back, but I guess Piper had slipped it into my purse while hugging me. I tried to ignore it, but Ben urged me to at least see who it was, in case God had taken to just calling us directly. We laughed as I stood to answer it, not even worrying about what might await me. After all, Ben and I had discussed all possible fallout, hadn’t we?
“Hello?”
“Really, kid? You couldn’t have used your best sex scandal material when we were promoting Stollen Desire?”
I laughed. “Oh, Joe. You don’t even know if this is my best material!”
He wasn’t laughing. “This is bad, Sarah.”
I looked at Ben and rolled my eyes, indicating the call was going to take a little while. He smiled, walked over to me, and kissed me on the cheek, and then picked up our coffee cups and went to the kitchen to tidy up.
“It’s not, really,” I insisted, still feeling perfectly calm. “This is nothing more than an attempt by Ben’s ex-girlfriend to split us up.” I still wasn’t completely sold on that motive, but it was the one I was going with until I could prove otherwise.
“No, you know what this is? This is The Thorn Birds.”
Oh, here we go again. “This is not The Thorn Birds, Joe. I know where you’re going, but the child is not Ben’s. I promise you that. There will be no Thorn Birds–type situation here. We’re not going to have years of Ben mentoring this child like Father Ralph mentored Dane, only to discover with his dying breath that the child was his after all. Besides, Dane was the child conceived in love between Ralph and Meggie, so even if there were other similarities to be drawn—”
Joe cleared his throat. “Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe we had this wrong the whole time? Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’re not the Meggie?”
The thought was staggering for one brief moment. For one second—less than a second—I almost let my crazy, pop-culture-obsessed, insecure mind run away with me. After all, what if he was right? And if he was right, and Laura was actually Meggie, then who did that make me? Luke, Meggie’s ranch hand husband? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. Who was the rival for Ralph’s attention and love? Mary Carson, Ralph’s elderly, spiteful benefactor who, even after her death, used her wealth and power to try to win Ralph’s love away from Meggie? Stop it, Sarah. Stop it.
“This is not The Thorn Birds, Joe. This is my life, messed up though it may be, and if claiming I’m not the Meggie is the most constructive thing you have to say—”
“They don’t want the book, kid.”
“What does that mean? What do you mean, they don’t want the book? Who doesn’t want the book?”
“The publishers.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to remain calm. “But it really doesn’t matter if they want the book, does it? I have a contract.”
There was no chance, none at all, that I wasn’t going to be given an opportunity to publish my Christian romance, I tried to convince myself. After all, hadn’t that been, at least partially, what God had been directing me to do? Wasn’t the Lord giving me an opportunity to put something positive out into the mainstream for a change? Wasn’t I the perfect person to do it? Wasn’t everything that had happened somehow preparation for the day when I would get to deliver good and light to the masses, rather than the dark, soul-crushing crap I was known for?
“That’s right. You have a contract,” he said, but it wasn’t comforting. “The only problem is they were shaky about it all to begin with, and now they’re afraid no booksellers will touch it. And, frankly, they just don’t think readers who are wanting to read a Christian romance will consider you a reliable source.”
“That’s insane, Joe! Because of this? Because of Raine de Bourgh, yeah, you bet. That I get. That one was always going to be tricky. But this?” It didn’t make any sense. “I don’t get it, Joe. I just got more free publicity than we ever could have bought in a hundred years. I understand it’s not good publicity, but you’re the one who said all press is good press, so—”
“Sarah, I would have thought it was Christmas morning if you had given me this sort of PR explosion when we were pushing the other books. This feeds into everything that audience wants to believe you are. But if you’re hoping to make a transition to the Christian market?”
I didn’t understand anything that was happening. “What they’re saying about Ben isn’t true, Joe,” I said softly. “None of it.”
“I believe you.” He sighed. “Really. But look at what we’re dealing with here, kid. People were already going to have a difficult time disassociating you from Stollen Desire. But hey, look, she goes to church now. She’s changed. She’s marrying a pastor.” He took a deep breath. “A pastor whose name is now every bit as connected to sex in the news as hers is.”
I stifled my sobs. “We’re going to get Ben’s name cleared, Joe.”
“I’m sure you will. But it’s out there. You know? And let’s face it—for all the damage he’s doing to you right now, that’s nothing compared to the damage you’re doing to him.” He spoke gently, fully aware he was breaking my heart and hating every minute of it—but also not knowing any way around it.
“Because if I’m the person the world thinks I am, it’s not very difficult to think the worst of anyone who would want to marry me.”
“Exactly.”
I breathed in as deeply as I could, but it felt painfully shallow. “So what do I do now?”
“Like you said, you’ve got a contract. They don’t want the book, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to publish it. It just means it might get buried in the bargain bin for a while,” he said. “Or you could always go back to what you do best. Maybe it’s not time for Raine to retire. Not yet. Maybe it’s time for The Thorn Birds to merge with the literary community that already loves you. Actually, kid, if you take this story you’ve been writing, which you know I love, and turn it on its ear . . .” He whistled through his teeth. “And then you reinvent yourself in a few years, when all of this has been forgotten, after you’ve milked the edgier romance market for all it’s worth. Then you have your ‘come to Jesus’ moment. I can work with that.”
He rambled on like that, but I stopped listening. I glanced up as Ben walked out of the kitchen, not saying a word but telling me everything I needed to know. He stood there with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, the concern evident in his eyes. He didn’t need to know what was happening, he just needed to know that I was okay.
“Joe,” I said into the phone softly, never taking my eyes off of Ben. “Joe
,” I said a little more loudly as he continued his rambling. “Joe!” I finally shouted.
“Yeah?”
“How much would it cost to buy out the remainder of the contract?”
He laughed. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Probably. So how much would it cost?”
“Well, let’s see. Of course, there’s no chance they’ll ever revert the rights to you on the Desire books. And you know how much your advance was for the next book, so we can start with that. Do you still have all of that money sitting around?”
“Well, no,” I stuttered. “Not all of it. I bought the house, and I had to pay you and Sydney, and—”
“Sorry, kid. Can’t be done. Not realistically.”
The tears I’d been valiantly holding in were suddenly released with a vengeance as I began to feel truly hopeless for the first time. Ben walked closer to me, wanting to comfort me but not having any idea what was happening.
“Look, Sarah,” Joe said, softening his tone, “you know how I feel about you, and I’m just trying to be up front with you here. There is no chance, absolutely none, that they are going to give up the rights. Ever. But you’re the author who wrote those books that have made them so much money, and at the end of the day, I don’t think they want to lose you. No matter what they’re saying right now. We’ll let this blow over, you’ll give them something they’ll be happy with for this next book, and then when the next contract rolls around, we’ll build it around your Christian romance, or even your artistic and inspirational reimagining of the phone book, if that’s what you want. We just have to wait a little while. Just be patient. Okay, kid?”
I wiped away the renegade tear as it fell. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll be in touch.”
I hung up the phone and tried to decide if I was angry or sad. It was difficult to tell, but opening the door and throwing my phone outside, as hard as I could, while making the sound of a wild chimpanzee, seemed to indicate the anger was, at least temporarily, the stronger emotion of the two. The maniacal laughter that followed called it all into question—most notably my sanity.
Ben didn’t move from where he stood, but he also didn’t gawk at me, or go running from the room, or react in any of the other ways which would have been somewhat justified, considering my crazed state. He just let me have my moment. He’d slammed his hand into the wall, I destroyed a cell phone and howled like a banshee. Everyone handles frustration in their own way. When it seemed that I had dealt with the worst of it, he sat by me on the floor in front of the door, where I had collapsed into an exhausted heap of tears and calamity, his back up against the wall, arms around his propped-up knees.
I don’t know how to describe the way I was feeling. In the old days, I would have downed a bottle of wine and gone to bed rather than even try to analyze the emotions. I still felt God’s presence, so powerfully, and I knew that, as Piper had said, he had some awfully big plans. My faith didn’t falter, and my willingness to follow him had never been stronger, but it sure would have been nice to be given just a little advance peek at what he had in store. Ben was going to continue being the pastor at Mercy Point, where more seats were filled and more lives were changed for the good of God’s kingdom each and every week. I was going to use all of my fame and notoriety to inspire others, lead them to Christ, and strengthen marriages. That was the plan, right? Hadn’t that been the plan? I’d thought so as recently as morning coffee. To find ourselves contaminated by ethical and professional leprosy, rendering us unclean and untouchable, just a few short hours later was enough to cause whiplash.
I smiled sadly and snuggled into Ben once more. “Remember that time I told you nothing could shatter us? I meant that, but you do realize I only meant our love for each other, right? I think I need to add an addendum that makes it clear that I offer no such guarantees as to our careers, reputations, income, or relationships with others.”
He lowered his knees and wrapped his arms around me. “Well, yeah. Obviously. I mean, that was a different time. We were different people then.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s been about an hour.”
He sighed. “Ah, were we ever so young?”
19.
There Once Was a Girl
A few minutes later, Ben and I were preparing to leave Gary and Beth’s house, not certain where we were going but convinced we couldn’t hide any longer. We were going to run into some reporters or photographers somewhere, we knew, but we were just postponing the inevitable.
“Ground rules?” I asked as we headed toward the door.
“Easy,” he said. “Honor God, treat everyone else involved with respect, and don’t leave each other’s side. Oh, and be honest.”
He sure made it sound easy, but I didn’t believe he thought it would be any less of a challenge than I did, though I knew we were going to be presented individual challenges. For him, the most difficult thing would be treating everyone involved with respect. He wasn’t feeling very respectful toward Laura, I knew, and it would take a lot of prayer and fortitude to avoid throwing her under a bus.
And I do mean a literal bus.
For my part, I wondered if I possessed the spiritual maturity to stick to my guns. Throughout my entire adult life, every speech I had given and every statement I made publicly had been full of lies.
“Well, I’m not saying my sex life is quite as outrageous as that of Alex and Annie, but it has been said we write what we know,” I’d said to a national late-night television audience.
“I just couldn’t be prouder of him than I am. He deserved this award, not just for who he is in the boardroom, but who he is in life,” I’d said to Chicago magazine and the entire state of Illinois when Patrick was awarded their “Man of the Year” prize.
“I will,” I’d replied to a priest and five hundred people I didn’t know when asked if I would be with Patrick McDermott until death separated us.
Though at the time, I’d believed with my whole heart that one was the truth.
As we began to walk out the door, a car pulled into the driveway. I was afraid it was reporters and quickly tried to pull Ben back into the house before we were sighted.
“Relax, it’s Beth and Gary,” he said, not budging as I tugged on him with all of my strength.
For some reason that was temporarily more terrifying than the thought of photographers. I’d already developed an immense respect for Christa’s parents, based on all Ben had told me. They seemed like wonderful people, and I was certain we’d all be fast friends, were I not attempting to fill a void left by their daughter—not only in the life of their beloved son-in-law but also their only grandchild. But as it was . . .
I was hunkered down, squatting just inside the door, under the window so that I couldn’t be seen, still holding on to Ben’s hand, still pulling on him, a little bit lost in thought trying to come up with an excuse to kiss him.
That had helped the last time I didn’t want to meet parents.
“Sarah, what are you doing?” He laughed.
“I can’t meet them, Ben,” I whispered, still hiding but deciding to go with the honest approach for a change. “I am really uncomfortable at the thought of that. What if they don’t like me? I mean, I know they love you, and I’m sure they’ll probably support you no matter what, but I want them to like me. I know I can never compare to their daughter in their minds, and that’s as it should be, but I want them to think I’m at least okay, you know? And I’m just not sure today is the day that I can put my best foot forward. Can we try another day? Please?”
I heard their footsteps and chatter getting closer, though I couldn’t see them from my position near the floor, and I took a deep breath, hoping and praying that this time Ben would understand my heart. I just didn’t know if I could stand for him to once again not comprehend how real my fear was, even if I couldn’t help but demonstrate it in the silliest and most humiliating of ways.
“Hey, guys.” He leaned out the door, still holding on to my hand. “I’m sorr
y, but would you mind giving us just a minute?”
“Sure,” they said in unison. Beth asked, “Do you want us to wait in the car, or . . .”
I saw in Ben’s eyes that for a moment he wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Should he ask them to leave and come back, or just wait in the car so I could sneak out the back door? But as he looked back to me, I saw a shift—in his thoughts and his demeanor. I didn’t know what was happening, but the power I felt between us got very intense once more, and I was worried he was going to tell me how important it was that I meet Christa’s parents, and then I would be riddled with guilt and have to go through with it. I would do it, of course, if that’s what he wanted, but this time I was hoping he would understand.
“Actually, I’m just going to shut the door for a moment, if you don’t mind,” he said to them, never taking his eyes off of me. But he didn’t wait to find out if they minded or not.
He took a couple of steps into the house, not letting go of my hand. From my mushroom-like position, I was twirled around as Ben got to the other side of me, and I was suddenly facing the inside of the house instead of the front yard as I had been. He used his foot to shut the door behind me and then reached for my other hand with his free hand and pulled me to a standing position.
“Come here,” he whispered with a smile.
I was only about a foot away from him, so I couldn’t get much closer. But it would have been rude to not even try . . .
“We probably shouldn’t make them stay outside,” I said as I inched closer. “They might have groceries to put away or something. I’d hate for their ice cream to melt.”
He smiled but he didn’t respond to that. Instead he released my hands, and as they fell, he placed his hands behind my neck and pulled me to him gently. “Do you realize I had to go three weeks without kissing you?”
The thought had occurred, yes.
He leaned in and tenderly captured my lips with his.
With slightly staggered breath once our lips had parted, I said, “If you’re trying to make me forget how nervous I am, it’s not going to work.” Of course I was not entirely sure that was true. When it came to controlling my emotions, I was pretty sure Ben Delaney could do anything he set his mind to.
The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck Page 21
