The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck

by Bethany Turner

  “I’m not trying to make you forget anything,” he said softly, his lips only inches from mine. “I’m actually trying to help you remember something.”

  “I knew it. You are using your powers for evil.”

  He didn’t say anything in response, but he leaned in and gently kissed me once again.

  I sighed. “And also good, I suppose.”

  He smiled down at me and said, “If you want to go, we’ll go. If you want to meet them another day, then that’s what we’ll do. I’m not going to pressure you into staying, but I do want you to understand that they already love you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “They were the first people I ever talked to about you. I talked with them after I found out about the books you had written, and I talked with them after I got to the church this morning and saw Laura and all the cameras, and their advice both times was the same.”

  “What? What did they say?”

  “They said, ‘The past has absolutely nothing to do with the future God has in store for the two of you.’ Our past shapes us and our past prepares us, Sarah, but our past does not define us. In that same regard, Beth and Gary aren’t just Christa’s parents. They’re my friends and my spiritual mentors and my daughter’s grandparents. And they love you. They love you for the joy you’ve brought to my life, and Maddie’s. They love you for being a woman dedicated to discovering God’s will for her life. And they love you for taking that picture of me running from the goose, because they just think that’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.”

  I laughed and felt all of my worry and fear melt away.

  “Mostly,” he said with a smile, putting separation between us for the first time but grabbing on to my hands, “they love you because I love you. So you don’t have anything to worry about because that’s never going to change. Remember that, okay?”

  “Well, then,” I said, opening the door, “I guess we should let them get their groceries put away.”

  Thankfully, they didn’t actually have any groceries with them, and as they walked into their home their arms were free to hug me.

  “This is Sarah,” Ben said with affection as Beth wrapped her arms around me before she was even all the way through the doorway.

  She pulled away from me and rolled her eyes toward Ben, for my benefit, as Gary swooped in for his introductory hug.

  “Of course this is Sarah, Ben,” Beth said as she slapped him on the arm before kissing him on the cheek. “I don’t know who else he thinks we think he’d be bringing over.”

  “Plus we saw you on The Tonight Show,” Gary added as he took Beth’s handbag from her and hung it on the coatrack.

  My eyes widened and Ben laughed as he draped his arm around my shoulders. “Well, at least we’re diving straight into your worst fear, right?” he said to me.

  “Worst fear? Are you kidding me?” Beth asked incredulously. “Oh. Because you don’t like to dwell on the Raine de Bourgh stuff?”

  I blushed. “I guess it’s safe to say there are quite a few things I would do differently if given another chance.”

  “We all have things like that,” Beth said. “That’s understandable.”

  Gary walked out of the kitchen with four plates in his hands. “But I don’t think appearing on The Tonight Show should ever be one of those things.”

  “Agreed,” Beth said as she made her way to the kitchen. “But I have to say, it just hasn’t been the same since Leno left.”

  “I always preferred Letterman,” Gary interjected.

  “Anyway, who’s hungry?” Beth called from the kitchen.

  Ben and I looked at each other and shrugged. Lunch with Gary and Beth sounded much more appealing than the media circus we knew awaited us whenever we were finally discovered, so we didn’t see any harm in postponing the onslaught just a little bit longer.

  As a woman who’d spent almost her entire adult life using the services of caterers and restaurants to prepare everything apart from brownies, I was absolutely no help whatsoever to Beth as she prepared the meal. She and Ben took care of that, and Gary and I set the table, prepared iced tea, and discussed the sermon he had delivered in Algonquin that morning.

  A little while later, we were at the dinner table, holding hands as Gary prayed a prayer of blessing over the food. It was one of those prayers in which even though the person is talking to God, you know they’re saying things a certain way for the benefit of those present. It was very Maria from The Sound of Music, when she thanked the children in her pre-meal prayer for making her feel so welcome, after she sat on a pinecone they’d planted on her seat. Or when she prayed for Liesl by name as Liesl snuck in through the window.

  “Heavenly Father, thank you for this meal, for the nourishment it provides, the enjoyment we take from it, and the fellowship we share as we eat. Thank you for family, Father—those in other places today, those who now sit in your presence instead of ours, and especially those sitting around this table. Thank you for Sarah and Ben. Help us to be for them a source of strength, love, and protection, as you are for your children. Amen.”

  And then, dear Lord, about Liesl . . .

  I understood what Ben meant about them getting it. Not only were they kind and so hospitable in a way few other people could have been in their situation, they were also just incredibly cool. We discussed movies and music—Gary has a sincere appreciation for Taylor Swift—and ganged up on Ben when he made the ridiculous claim that Rocky IV was actually the best of all Rocky movies. They both knew the Bible every bit as thoroughly as Ben did, but they were somehow less nerdy about it, and I loved listening to the three of them throw passages out there as if there were an applicable verse for every situation in life. They were just comfortably engaged in what was a typical type of conversation for their family, of which I was now a part.

  By the time the discussion came around to the call I had received from Joe, I had no qualms about discussing it openly. I explained to them some of the ins and outs of my publishing contract and all of the potential repercussions.

  “Well, waiting a little while to get your Christian romance out there isn’t really all that bad, is it?” Beth asked over dessert. “And this other book you have to write in the meantime, well, that could be anything, right? So that could be fun. And now maybe the pressure is off. If they’re not going to promote the book, you don’t have to worry about book tours and all of that. That frees you up to focus on some things closer to home for the next couple of years.”

  I almost asked what things she was referring to, but Ben’s hand suddenly grabbed mine under the table, and I realized that within a couple of years we would be married and it was possible I would finally be a mother. My emotions threatened to overtake me, and while I felt comfortable enough to let them, I also didn’t want to get so caught up in my tears that I couldn’t eat Beth’s homemade coconut cream pie, which was possibly the best thing I had ever tasted in my life. So instead I put Ben’s feet to the flames and took a bite. Of the pie, not Ben’s feet.

  “I guess.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Ben hasn’t even given me a ring yet.”

  “Benjamin! Is that true?” Beth asked.

  “I’m not even sure it’s official until you give her a ring,” Gary added.

  Ben laughed. “Of course it’s official.”

  “Still, she needs a ring, Ben,” Beth added.

  I would have felt bad about the lighthearted attack he received from them if I hadn’t been so joyfully stuffing my face. Never mind that we’d still only known each other a couple months, and never mind that that day—that horrible, life-altering, exhausting day—was the first time we had seen each other since the day after he’d proposed. And never mind that he was on unpaid leave from a job that didn’t pay all that much to begin with. None of that mattered. What mattered was pie.

  “She will get a ring, I assure you.” He turned to face me. “I will get you a ring, you know.”

  I smiled and winked at him as I chewed and then looked dow
n at his untouched pie. “Are you going to eat that?”

  As talk finally came back around to the prospect of unemployment and diverted dreams for both of us, I voiced my frustrations in a way I don’t think I had even allowed myself to think on them.

  “I know that we don’t always get to know God’s plan. I understand that. But I’m pretty sure we were right about the basics of the plan. This new book I’ve been working on, it was like God gave it to me almost fully written. I’ve been so proud of it, knowing that I was finally going to be putting something positive out there. And Ben . . . I mean, you guys know what a great pastor he is. They’ve had to add rows of chairs at Mercy Point every week since he’s been there, and he’s making a difference in the lives of so many. It’s not as if we weren’t doing good things, right? And now Ben’s reputation is damaged, if not ruined, despite the fact that it was all lies. People are still going to have it in the back of their minds, no matter what happens next. I don’t know. I just can’t understand it.”

  Beth had been listening from the kitchen as she cleared the table. As she walked back in with a pot of coffee, she said, “This reminds me of a story I used to tell Christa when she was a little girl. There once was a girl who was sickly and poor throughout her entire childhood.”

  Ben and I looked at each other and started laughing. We just couldn’t hold it in.

  “Sorry, Beth,” he finally said, still laughing as I covered my mouth with my hands. “We know this one, actually. Well, we know separate but equally bad versions of it—though I am really intrigued to hear how you think it could possibly be relevant to this moment. The only thing we learned from it was that our mothers were both horrible storytellers.”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “Well, I’m guessing that’s where the problem is. Maybe, if you think you can stand it one more time, you can give me a shot at telling it?”

  We stopped laughing and nodded, and she began again.

  “There once was a girl who was sickly and poor throughout her entire childhood. She had no one and nothing, except for the ability to sing a beautiful song that possessed healing powers, a gift from her mother. Her father, however, possessed only evil inside him, and he cursed her with the inability to ever sing the song of healing and restoration for anyone outside of their small family, and only within their small hut. He wanted her melody to be only for the benefit of himself and his wife. If she sang the melody outside of the hut, or if anyone entered in as she sang, she would lose the song in her heart—both the gift and the curse of it.

  “One dreadful winter, her mother and father traveled far from their daughter, in search of food. Without her song to heal them, they died and she was left alone, with only a song. Night after night, day after day, she lay in her bed, shivering from the cold, singing with all her might. The song was her only friend and her only warmth.

  “One day a local trader passed by and heard the song from afar. ‘Who is that, singing with the voice of an angel?’ he asked. ‘Why, it’s no one, sir,’ the townspeople said. ‘It is but only a sickly girl with a song in her heart.’ ‘Lead me to her,’ he pleaded, but the townspeople refused, insisting she would not survive the visit, for they knew of the curse the girl’s father had placed.

  “Another day, a jester from the court of the king passed by and heard the song from afar. ‘Who is that, singing with the voice of a majestic harp?’ he asked. ‘Why, it’s no one, sir,’ the townspeople said. ‘It is but only a sickly girl with a song in her heart.’ ‘Lead me to her,’ he begged, ‘and I will take her before the king.’ But the townspeople refused, insisting she would not survive the journey to the palace—for they knew that if she left the hut, she would lose her song.

  “Still another day, the prince himself passed by and heard the song from afar. ‘Who is that, singing with the voice of my own heart’s desire?’ he asked. ‘Why, it’s no one, your majesty,’ the townspeople said. ‘It is but only a sickly girl with a song in her heart.’ ‘Lead me to her,’ the prince commanded, ‘and I will take her as my wife.’ The townspeople, of course, could not refuse the prince, but as they approached the girl’s hut, the singing stopped.

  “‘She’s dead,’ the townspeople cried, full of despair and disbelief that the girl was gone, and they would never again hear the song that they’d always believed would someday heal her. That evening, as the townspeople mourned, they heard a melody from afar, and it was more beautiful than any they had ever heard. Even in their sadness, they could not deny its power and they ran to it. Much to their dismay, it came from the hut of the girl, but it didn’t stop when they entered. The voice—more beautiful than that of an angel, more majestic than a harp, more than even a prince could ever know to desire—belonged to a beautiful woman they didn’t recognize and yet felt they knew.

  “They had deprived her of adventure and fame and wealth, and even marrying a prince, but not to be cruel and not to keep her gift for themselves. All of the pain and isolation had been the means to an end—the gift of a village who cared for her, and not just her song.”

  Gary chuckled as Beth stood and picked up the coffeepot. “Yep, I remember that one.” She walked behind him and leaned over and kissed him on the head. “Couldn’t be any plainer than that, could it, hon?” He stood and followed her into the kitchen with our cups.

  Meanwhile, Ben and I sat, stunned and speechless. What had just happened? Gary and Beth walked back in a few seconds later, and we hadn’t budged. They looked at each other and shrugged, and then looked back to us.

  “You see, the song wasn’t who she was,” Beth said, speaking slowly and clearly. “The song was what healed her. It was how she got from point A to point B, but it wasn’t her identity.”

  “She had to go through some pretty rotten stuff, and the townspeople allowed it to happen,” Gary added. “They let all of these really good things pass her by, and maybe that seemed cruel at the time, but sometimes we have to pass up ‘good’ in order to get to ‘right.’ You know?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, still not moving or blinking.

  Gary and Beth looked at each other and then back to us once more, I think starting to get a little bit concerned.

  Gary spoke softly, as if worried he’d startle us. “The two of you are certainly having to go through some rotten stuff. And you’re having to let some really good things pass you by.”

  “Like this book for you and Mercy Point for Ben,” Beth interjected. “And maybe it seemed like they were the ultimate goal, but maybe God has even better things in store. Maybe they are just a means to an end.”

  Ben finally looked up. “Yeah, we get it. Thanks.”

  I heard Beth giggle from the kitchen. “Hey, babe, let’s give them a minute.”

  Gary walked behind us on his way out. He patted Ben on the shoulder, and then we were alone.

  “How have we been missing that?” I asked.

  “Well, in all fairness,” Ben said, still in a bit of shock himself, “we never heard that story.”

  20.

  Fade to Black

  “This morning on Today, Meredith Vieira sits down with bestselling author Sarah Hollenbeck for her first interview since the scandal that rocked religious and literary communities three months ago. The unlikely love story between a popular Chicago pastor and the queen of steamy fiction was headline-worthy enough on its own merit, but the addition of false paternity claims by a member of the congregation created a story made in tabloid heaven. Today we hear Sarah’s side for the very first time, and even get an exclusive peek at her scandalous new project. And believe us, it’s not what you think. But first, this is Today.”

  “No, no, no! You can’t possibly want to watch this again!” I growled at Piper as I searched for the remote.

  “Come on!” She laughed. “You were so great! So great, Sarah! Please? Just one more time?” She put her hands together to beg, while pouting and blinking her big puppy dog eyes.

  I groaned. “Fine. But that’s it. Last time.” Oh for the days befo
re DVR, when I could have just pulled out the VHS tape and thrown it away, no remote required. “But I can’t watch it again. I’m done. Just let me know when you’re through.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a smile, clicking play on the remote that I think she had been hiding down her shirt.

  What a three months it had been. Not all bad, not all good, but never boring. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been bored. And you’re not bored now, Sarah! Get busy! Right. I shook myself out of my nostalgic stupor with a mental reminder of all I needed to get done in the next two hours if I had any chance at all of getting a decent night’s sleep.

  “And that’s when Reverend Benjamin Delaney entered the picture. To hear them tell it, love was the last thing either of them had on their minds, but certain forces are just irresistible.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to watch.” Piper smiled knowingly as I plopped down on the couch next to her and she handed me the bowl of popcorn.

  “I’m not. Just the part about Ben, then I’ll get back to work.” I stuffed a handful of popcorn into my mouth and then stole Piper’s Diet Coke from her hand.

  “Who are you kidding? It’s all about Ben!”

  “True.” I nodded. “Let’s get shirts that say that.”

  As I watched Ben tell Meredith Vieira a little bit about losing Christa and being convinced he would never love again, I thought back on the days following Laura’s announcement. Ben and I had walked out of Gary and Beth’s ready to face whatever came at us. After all, we finally understood that stupid fable. At least we thought so. We both have recurring nightmares of random people coming up to us and saying, “There once was a girl who was sickly and poor throughout her entire childhood . . .”

  We knew that everything in our lives was part of a much bigger picture. Before Stollen Desire became the bestselling, provocative phenomenon that it is today, it was nothing more than some sheets of paper falling out of my Kate Spade messenger bag, causing a girl who sat across the circle from me to get very grumpy. Without that girl, whom I literally can’t remember my life without, there would have been no parking lot salvation and no first Sunday at Mercy Point.