Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  “I thought you said social worker, not psychologist.”

  She held her glasses up in the air, then rubbed the lenses on her MercyMe T-shirt. “You’re avoiding the question. She has to make amends and ask for forgiveness as part of working the steps. Maybe you need to forgive her for what she did. She doesn’t know you know. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even remember doing it.”

  “That’s what blows my mind. How can she not know she started a fire and nearly burned the house down with us in it?”

  “It’s called a blackout for a reason.”

  The real reason he became a firefighter. To make sure he was never that scared and vulnerable again. To make sure he could take care of the people he loved. No one would ever do that to him or Angie again.

  Especially not Marnie. “Don’t leave the kids with her. Please.”

  “They love her and she loves them. It’s way better than a crowded day care. And I pay her—not much, but it’s grocery money. The house is paid for, but her SSI doesn’t give her enough to live on.”

  “Do you flinch every time you hear sirens?”

  “Not forgiving her is a burden on your shoulders, not hers. She didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident.”

  “She left the gas burner on. A stack of pot holders caught fire. It spread to some towels and boxes of cereal or whatever. It spread. The entire kitchen was gutted. The living room was . . . It’s a wonder she didn’t die right there on the couch. That we didn’t all die.”

  “You got me out. You got her out.” Angie’s voice broke. He shouldn’t force her to relive one of the worst nights of their lives. “But not Toby. You did more than a twelve-year-old kid should have to do.”

  Toby, the stray cat they had adopted only weeks earlier. A scrawny black-and-white kitten who yowled every morning to be let out and then whined to come back in every night. He belonged to Angie more than Spencer. The firefighters found him underneath Angie’s smoke-scorched bed.

  “I never understood why they didn’t take us away from her.”

  “Because we kept our mouths shut. Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.” Angie tucked a fat pillow embroidered with Bless This House in her arms and laid her cheek on it. “We could’ve ended up with Dad and his new wife. For all we know she’s Godzilla. And he obviously didn’t want us. He left us. It was an accident. We knew it was an accident. She fell asleep on the couch—”

  “She passed out.”

  “She fell asleep on the couch. Mom worked all day—”

  “And drank all night.”

  “She provided for us.”

  “She almost killed us.”

  “Instead of flinging all this old stuff at me, talk to her. Tell her how you feel. I know that’s what any psychologist would tell you.” Angie closed her eyes and sighed. “Anyone with half a brain can see it’s eating you up. For your sake, have it out with her. You’ll stop being angry. She’ll stop feeling guilty. You’ll both start to heal.”

  “Not possible.” He pushed the recliner back until he lay prone and closed his eyes. “Go to bed, Sissy.”

  “Now that you’re back—”

  He opened his eyes. “I’m not back.”

  “So you’re not staying?”

  “I have a job in Missoula.”

  “You have family here.”

  “Missoula is only a few hours away.”

  “Yet it’s been ten years since you’ve been home.”

  “I had my reasons, as you well know.” He closed his eyes again. “Go to bed before one of the kids wakes up and wants a drink of water or has to go potty.”

  The swish of her voluminous skirt alerted him when she got close. Her lips brushed his forehead. “Love you, big brother. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Love you too.”

  The swish-swish moved away. Her soft words floated on the air. “I’m praying for you.”

  Having an angel pray for him couldn’t hurt.

  He might even learn something from her about how it was done.

  26

  Eureka, Montana

  Who said those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it? The name escaped Juliette. Sunlight pierced her eyes as she stumbled into her aunt’s airy, country-style kitchen. The aroma of frying bacon and bread toasting turned her stomach. She’d been a lightweight drinker in college, prone to sudden, unquenchable puking, which was why she learned to turn down the frat boys’ offer of murky concoctions early in her career. She always said she was a crazy, happy person without alcohol. Why add to perfection? If they preferred their women plied with alcohol, they could take a flying leap somewhere else. So why the twenty-four ounces of headache the previous night?

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Mom slid two eggs, two strips of bacon, and two pieces of toast onto a chunky ceramic plate covered with dark-blue flowers. “You missed a good sermon at church this morning. The coffee’s hot. Orange juice might be a better choice. It hydrates.”

  “Daddy told you.” Her stomach heaving, she waved off the plate and went to the coffeepot. Aunt Tina’s mugs were enormous and perfect. She added milk and extra sugar. “It was two beers.”

  “He was fit to be tied.”

  “I’m an adult.”

  “His thought is that you should act like one.”

  Juliette slid onto a stool at the quartz-topped island and sipped her coffee. Her mother laid the plate in front of her. Her expression suggested Juliette not argue. She picked up the fork, then laid it down. “Were you and Dad Christians when you got married?”

  The smile flitting across Mom’s face was the one she displayed when she opened the kids’ homemade gifts on her birthday. “We were. You know the story. I grew up in Polson. Your dad was from Kalispell. We met at MU my freshman year in Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I was on a volleyball scholarship. He had a basketball scholarship. We dated all through college and got married right after graduation.”

  “What if one of you hadn’t been a Christian?”

  “I guess we wouldn’t have met.”

  “You could’ve run into each other in the student union or at a football game or someplace you worked.”

  “I always figured God picked your dad out for me and vice versa. He made it happen.”

  “You wouldn’t have considered marrying Dad if he wasn’t a Christian?”

  “Does this have to do with you and Tim?”

  “Tim’s a jerk.”

  “No, he’s not, and you know it.”

  “I got a job offer.”

  Her mother shrieked, threw her hands in the air, and rushed across the kitchen. The hug squeezed the air from Juliette. “Where, when, doing what?”

  “That’s the thing. It’s in Billings.”

  “Billings. That’s not so bad. At least it’s not in Kansas City or Timbuktu.”

  “Mom! It’s eight hours away. And Tim refuses to consider moving.”

  “Honey, Tim’s right.”

  “Mom!”

  “Sorry, sweetie. I love you and I want you to be happy.” More hugging ensued. Mom brushed Juliette’s hair from her face and patted her cheek. “I can’t tell you how many hours I spend on my knees praying for my children. All of them. I have calluses. I want you to be happy, but more than that, I want to know that your future—your eternal future—is secure. That has nothing to do with Tim.”

  “It has everything to do with Tim.”

  “So that’s what the drinking was about. Tim loves you, there’s no doubt in my mind. The question is, why did you turn away from Jesus? What’s keeping you from turning back to Him?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Until you do, you’ll never be truly happy.”

  A future filled with unmet goals, unhappiness, and emptiness without Tim unfolded in front of Juliette. “Thanks for the pep talk, Mom.”

  “I’ve never understood what happened to you. One day you were running off to youth group with Madison and Olivia and the other gi
rls from church.” Her expression perplexed, Mom straightened the silverware next to Juliette’s plate. “The next you refused to go. You stopped hanging out with them. You stopped going on the mission trips and working at the pumpkin patch. What happened?”

  The feel of Danny’s sweaty hands on her bare neck made Juliette’s skin crawl. The smell of his spearmint toothpaste and overpowering Axis aftershave gagged her. The memory crawled from the dark corners of her mind. No. She kicked it back into its box, and with it, the whimpers that followed late into the next night and many nights after.

  “Juliette, talk to me. Your face is white.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. The expression on your face says it all.”

  “It was my fault for being stupid.”

  That sentiment applied to many situations. Trusting a guy new to the youth group was stupid. Taking a walk by the lake after dark was stupid. Wearing that bikini was stupid. Pastor Rick had said modest suits only or T-shirts to cover them. She took her T-shirt off every chance she could. Pastor Rick was too busy tending the bonfire, breaking up ice fights, cooking the hot dogs, roasting the marshmallows, and praying to notice. The guys in her group weren’t. Nor was Danny.

  Danny with his long blond hair that made him a dead ringer for a surfer. Tanned, a buff body, older than her friends. Danny with the smile that said he liked the way she strutted her stuff.

  Liked it so much he was all hands the minute they escaped the bonfire’s light. The farther they walked, the closer he moved. His arm, with bulging biceps, locked down around her neck. His fingers pinched her bare belly. His lips bruised hers.

  “No. No.”

  “Baby, you’ll like it. I promise.”

  “Stop. Stop. Please stop.”

  He didn’t stop.

  No tender touch, no sweet prelude.

  His heavy body anchored her to the ground. Her lungs couldn’t inflate. She had no breath. Panic grew and grew until she screamed.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  She still awoke some nights smothered by his muscle-bound body.

  “You’re so sweet. You’re so beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Please, please. I . . . can’t . . . breathe.”

  “Do you like me? I like you.”

  Afterward, he wrote her cell phone number on his hand and then wrote his number on hers in ink. He pressed too hard. It hurt.

  Everything hurt.

  Laughing and nuzzling her neck, he put his arm around her shoulders and walked her back to the light of the fire. They snuck into the group. Olivia and Madison were singing Chris Tomlin’s songs and acting goofy. They were little kids. Juliette never sang another verse of “I Will Lift My Hands.”

  Danny never came back to youth group.

  Juliette never heard from him again and she never told anyone.

  She kept smiling. She smiled now. “Do you have some aspirin?”

  Her mother brought her a bottle of Tylenol. “Is there something else you want to tell me?”

  “I’m good. Thanks, Ma.”

  “I could pray with you.”

  “If it makes you feel better.”

  She sighed and took Juliette’s hands in hers and bowed her head. Her face was filled with a peace that made her seem younger and wise and sweet. Juliette swallowed against a lump the size of Montana in her throat and closed her eyes.

  The words flowed over her full of grace and forgiveness and a mother’s hopes and dreams for her daughter.

  Having a mom who cared so much was a gift. Where did that gift come from?

  God?

  Where were You, God, when I was acting stupid? When I let Danny take my hand for a walk? I thought I liked to live dangerously. I thought I could handle it. You knew better, but You didn’t do a thing about it.

  Being mad at God, talking to God, that presupposed a belief in God. What kind of God was He? The feel-good God who showered you with blessings like an omnipotent Santa Claus? The peevish Jehovah of the Puritans?

  Or Tim’s God, who loved all His children and wanted to walk through the trials with them?

  Where were You, God, when I needed You?

  “Honey, you’re crying. Tell me. What’s going on?” Her mother’s voice climbed an octave. “Let me help you.”

  Juliette laid her head on her forearm and sobbed. “It’s nothing. My stomach hurts so bad.”

  “How long has it hurt like this?” Mom’s hand stroked her hair just like she used to do when Juliette had a tummy ache and went to bed early.

  Some things couldn’t be fixed so easily. “For about five years.”

  “Juliette! Why didn’t you say anything? We need to take you to the doctor.”

  “A doctor can’t fix it.”

  The story came out in fits and starts. Pieces more jagged than broken glass, more piercing than arrows, tore at Juliette’s throat.

  Aunt Tina started into the kitchen. Mother shook her head. She disappeared.

  “I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry. I’m so ashamed. It was all my fault. I was so stupid. So, so stupid.”

  Shaking her head vehemently, Mom dragged her stool closer. Tears ran down her horror-stricken face. “It wasn’t your fault, I promise.” Her hand rubbed Juliette’s back in warm, soothing circles. “I’m sorry you went through that. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you report him to the sheriff?”

  “I went with him willingly. I did everything Pastor Rick said not to do. Who would believe me? It was my fault.”

  “It’s never a girl’s fault. No means no. Where was Rick when all this was happening?”

  “Doing his job. Being a youth minister to twenty crazy teenagers.”

  “And the other chaperones?”

  “Around. Eating s’mores and singing stupid songs.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I was ashamed.”

  Mom held her. They cried together. Courtney strolled into the kitchen, stopped in her tracks, and opened her mouth. Mom waved her away. She closed her mouth and went.

  “I want to get you some help.” Mom snagged two tissues from a box on the table and handed Juliette one. “Let me do that for you, please.”

  “It was years ago. I’m over it. I’m just hormonal today, that’s all. I don’t need help.”

  “You’re not over it. You need to deal with it. Out in the open.”

  “You can’t tell anyone.” Horror blew through Juliette. Telling someone should’ve made it better. It didn’t. The same thick, heavy blanket of sorrow and shame dragged her down. People couldn’t know. They couldn’t. “Not Dad, not anyone.”

  “I can’t do that.” Her face full of a mother’s pain, anger, and empathy, Mom stroked Juliette’s hair. Her firm tone didn’t bode well. “Your dad needs to know.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Why?”

  “It’ll help him understand your behavior. So he can pray for your healing. So he can be there for you.”

  “I don’t want him to know.” Juliette jerked away. She popped from the chair and paced between the island and the long row of cabinets. “I don’t want him to pity me the way you’re pitying me right now. I’m not that stupid little girl anymore. I don’t need anyone to be there for me.”

  “You were a fifteen-year-old girl. You were assaulted on a trip where you should’ve been safe and among friends.”

  “It was a long time ago. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. I wish Pastor Rick was still around. I’d give him a piece of my mind.” Mom smacked her fist against her open palm. Pastor Rick had moved to a larger church in Butte, which was obviously a good thing now. “I trusted him with my baby girl.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “And you never saw this guy again?”

  “He was a friend of Jeremy’s. Jeremy moved to Butte a few weeks later. Danny didn’t come to youth group after that. ’Course, neither did I.”

  “It makes me sick to my stomach.”


  An even more horrible thought—if that were possible—hit Juliette. “Tim can’t ever know.”

  “You need to tell him, honey. He’ll understand.”

  “How could he?” Juliette didn’t understand. How could Tim? He already hated the way she acted around other men. He would think it was her fault for sure. “He’ll understand that I put myself in a situation and now I’m damaged goods?”

  “Oh, baby, you’re not damaged goods.” More waterworks. For both of them. “You’re a beautiful, smart, funny woman any man would be blessed to have as a friend and wife and mother of his children.”

  Juliette blew her nose with a loud honk. She grabbed another tissue and wiped her face. “I don’t feel like that.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to get you help.”

  Juliette had spilled the story in a moment of weakness, and now the past would come crashing down around her. “You can’t tell anyone. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  “Baby, I can’t do that.”

  Juliette sank against the counter. Exhaustion blew through her. The kitty cat clock over the stove read 9:43. “Take me to get my truck?”

  “So you can go where?”

  “I need to get some air. I’ll go for a run at the park.”

  “A run would be good for you, but then I want you home.” Mom scooped up her keys from the kitchen counter. “We’re not done talking about this. I’ll tell Tina we’re headed out. She’s probably worried sick. Courtney too.”

  “Don’t tell them.”

  “I won’t, honey, but at some point, you have to deal with this or it will eat you alive.” She blew Juliette a kiss and swept from the room.

  Maybe it already had.

  27

  Eureka, Montana

  Juliette put the Ranger in park and turned off the engine in front of Nana Knowles’s house. Sunday had turned into Monday, but nothing had changed. Her mother knew Juliette’s darkest secret. She wanted to help. By now, Dad knew too. They planned and plotted next steps for fixing their oldest daughter. They didn’t understand she was irrevocably broken. Which was why Juliette had to escape Aunt Tina’s house. So she fled.