Moments We Forget

by Beth K. Vogt

  “Surprising, yes. And honest. I think we’ve both seen enough marriages end in divorce that we know it doesn’t guarantee happiness.”

  “I guess I somehow thought Geoff and I would be different.” I shook my head. “It seems like I got engaged and then the past year of my life has been one long undoing. No more good health. No dream wedding. No perfect husband. No . . . no . . . no . . .”

  “And no children.”

  “No children.” Saying the two words seemed to scrape my throat raw. “How can Geoff do this to me?”

  I’d forgotten I was even talking to Payton until she’d stated the blatant truth I lived with every second of the day. Only sleeping allowed me to forget. It was as if I was laying all my losses on the table, trying to sort them out, going through the emotional debris of the last year. Which reaction was real? Which one was fueled by fatigue?

  “My life feels like . . . well, more like a house renovation.” Great. I was back to that word picture, the same one I’d used when I talked to Zach. I could only hope Payton understood. “Every time I turn around, something else is wrong. My emotions are as exposed as the walls of my kitchen during the beginning of the work, when they’d stripped out the drywall to rewire the house.”

  I stopped, unsure if I was saying too much.

  “Go on.”

  “I love Geoff. And I believe with all my heart that he loves me. But I don’t know him anymore.” I pressed my hands to my face. “That sounds like a line in a movie!”

  “It’s understandable.”

  “You know how I got through cancer, Payton?”

  “I know Geoff helped you . . .”

  “A glass jar full of quotes like ‘One positive thought in the morning can change your whole day’ and ‘Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day’ and ‘This too shall pass.’”

  “Okay.”

  “Now I’m facing this huge reality that I won’t ever have kids and I can’t think of one positive thought to help me live with that reality. Not that it matters because I gave the jar back to Harper so she could take it with her to North Carolina. I thought she might need all those ‘You can do it’ statements more than I do.”

  Payton took a sip of her water. “I can understand why this is so upsetting to you, Jill, but I’m not sure why Zach suggested you talk to me—”

  “Payton, you’re not who you were a year ago. You . . . you dealt with Pepper’s death after avoiding it for ten years. Told the truth to the family. You handle Johanna better—”

  “Sometimes, Jill. Sometimes.”

  “What helped you?”

  “Zach helped me. His faith . . .”

  “But don’t you have faith, too?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure it out, still asking questions . . .” Payton paused, pressing her lips together. “Yes, I believe in God, but there are still things I’m confused about. . . . I—I think you should talk to Zach again.”

  “But he told me to talk to you.”

  Payton stared at me for a moment, seeming to struggle for words. Then she stood, shaking her head. “I can’t help you . . . except to say talk to Zach. Or someone whose faith is stronger than mine. I can’t offer you anything when I’m trying to find my own answers.”

  I stopped Payton before she rushed out of the house. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

  “No, I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you.” Her smile wavered. “I . . . I just don’t have any answers for you. Or for me.”

  THE FIRST OFFICIAL PRACTICE of Club Brio’s “evens” teams was over. This was the first chance for the girls who’d been selected for two teams of fourteen-year-olds, two teams of sixteen-year-olds, and one team of eighteen-year-olds to run through a few drills and line up on opposite sides of the net for a low-key scrimmage.

  Payton liked the looks of her sixteens team. Her setter had good hands and was just as excited to work with a left-handed middle as Payton was to coach her. Her libero was going to rock the back row. Now all she had to do was make certain her pin hitter positions were anchored down—and that she was prepared to back up Sydney’s “no drama on or off the court” speech given earlier this evening. She could only hope the girls’ parents went along with the no-drama edict, too.

  Sydney hugged one of the younger girls from a fourteens team—a new setter who had come over from another club—and waved good-bye to the girl’s parents as Payton did a final check of the gym for random volleyballs that had been overlooked during cleanup.

  “Where’s Zach? I expected him to be hanging out at the gym, watching his favorite coach, waiting for the chance to take you to coffee.” Sydney grabbed one side of the canvas ball cart, rolling it across the gym as she walked backward toward the equipment room. “Or are you meeting him somewhere?”

  “Um, no.” Payton tossed two volleyballs into the cart.

  “No? Just no?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Sydney locked the equipment room, pocketing the keys. “Payton, what kind of answer is that?”

  Payton called a final good-bye to Cassie, her new middle, before answering. “You know Zach and I aren’t dating, right?”

  “No . . . Is this a ‘we were dating but now we’re not’ kind of thing?”

  “We were never dating.”

  “I’m confused—because you guys certainly looked like a thing.”

  As she shrugged into her hoodie, Payton wanted to admit she was confused, too—but she wasn’t. She knew exactly what was going on—or rather, why nothing was going on between Zach and her.

  Why the necklace Pepper had left her had become some sort of symbol of the religious and romantic mess of her life. Give the right answer, believe the right way, and she got to wear the necklace. She got God and Zach, too.

  Some nights she fell asleep and dreamed she and Zach were back in the cabin, back in the kitchen . . . and that she ignored her hesitation and held on to him, told him she loved him, promised she’d never let go . . .

  And then she woke up. Stark, unsatisfying reality replaced her wishing.

  But she’d survived sleepless nights and troubling dreams before. She would again.

  She doubted she’d ever figure out what she believed about God. If she believed in Him for herself alone. And then Jillian asked her questions. What a waste of time.

  “What’s holding you back from being with Zach?”

  “I am.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Zach’s a Christian and I’m . . . I’m still trying to figure out what I believe. Why I believe.”

  “But aren’t you going to church with him?”

  “Yes, I was. But I know enough to know attending church isn’t the same as believing in what . . . in who Zach believes in.”

  “So you don’t even believe in God?”

  “I do. More than I used to.”

  “That’s an unusual answer.”

  “Sydney, I grew up in a family that didn’t talk about God. We didn’t go to church. I mean, we weren’t even one of those families that went to church on Christmas and Easter.” Payton sank onto a bottom bleacher, the metal cold through her sweatpants. “When Pepper started hanging with Christians before she died, I was so hurt and angry that I didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. And at first, I was hostile toward Zach, too—for a lot of reasons, but I definitely didn’t want to hear anything he had to say about God.”

  “So what changed?”

  “I did, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This past year, with everything that went on with Jillian, and me telling my family the truth about the snowmobile accident that killed Pepper . . . I changed. And Zach became a friend. Someone I trusted. He never pushed what he believed. I got curious.”

  Retelling the story, even in shortened form, was like . . . not a walk down memory lane . . . more like cruising through a familiar neighborhood, maybe one you grew up in. Passing by houses you remembered. Yo
u didn’t want to move back there because not all the memories were pleasant, but you wanted the chance to recall some things. Some of the neighbors. Some of the days gone by.

  The gym had gone dark, just the emergency lights on, and Payton hadn’t even noticed. They needed to leave. But she wanted to stay. Wanted to hide.

  She at least needed to offer Sydney the chance to go home to her husband and kids. She wasn’t one of the teens Sydney was coaching—mentoring—anymore. But just like years ago when Sydney had been her coach, Payton still valued her insight.

  “We should leave.”

  “Keep talking.” Sydney leaned over so that their shoulders touched. “So the lights are out. It’s not like anyone is going to lock us in. I’ve got the keys.”

  Payton bumped their shoulders before continuing, a silent thank-you for Sydney’s understanding.

  “Curiosity—even a strong curiosity—isn’t the same thing as believing like Zach does. Like Pepper did. Zach and I both know we can’t be more than friends if all I am is curious—no matter what we feel for each other. Lately it’s like he’s pushing me to decide what I believe so we can finally move forward, admit that we love each other.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, little things like saying, ‘You want to talk about the pastor’s sermon?’ or ‘What did you think of the book I gave you?’ Or he just happens to find another book he thinks I might like.” Payton groaned. “I’m in college! I barely get through my required reading for my classes.”

  “Payton . . .”

  “And then he told Jillian to come talk to me about her problems . . . as if I could help her. How could I do that when I don’t even know what I believe for myself?”

  “Payton, this is Zach—the guy you said you trust. Do you really think he was setting you up somehow? That he was pressuring you in some covert way by sending Jillian to talk to you? Maybe he really thought you could help your sister by being there for her.”

  “I’m just confused, Syd.”

  “But you do love him.”

  “Admitting that doesn’t change anything.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re nothing more than an interested bystander to Zach’s faith?”

  “Say I decide to go all-in with God. How can I be sure it wasn’t somehow connected to Pepper? Or worse, how do I know that I don’t believe in God just because I love Zach?”

  “So Zach becomes your bonus prize, huh? Not bad.”

  Payton shook her head. “How can you joke about this?”

  “Because you, Payton, need to lighten up.”

  “This is an important decision, Sydney.”

  This was like all the times Sydney had coached her through a match. The pressure would be on—the score 23–22—yet Sydney stayed calm. She’d call a time-out, gather the team in a huddle, refocus them off the score or a couple of bad plays or a bad call, and remind them to be a team and play their best. She was never one of those coaches who yelled at their players. She never got yellow carded for arguing with a ref.

  Here she was, calm again when Payton was off her game. Sydney’s family was waiting for her. And based on the way her stomach had just growled, Sydney was as hungry as Payton was. Still, she didn’t rush the conversation.

  Couldn’t Payton just pretend she was in high school, let the coach call the plays?

  No. Too much had happened for Payton to play make-believe.

  “You’re getting mental, Payton.”

  “What?”

  “Remember when we’d be playing an important set—”

  “You always told us every set was important.”

  “Nice to know you remember. Now don’t interrupt when I’m coaching you.” That quick moment of laughter eased a bit of the tension. “You always played your best—the team always played their best—so long as you didn’t get stuck in your head. Stop overthinking this.”

  “How can I not think about this?”

  “I said stop overthinking it. You’ve been trying to decide what you believe about God for months now. I know you’ve been talking with Zach about what he believes. Asking questions. I know you’ve been listening to those sermons when you’re sitting in church—hearing the truth about God. That it’s not about religion, but reconciliation and relationship. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t complicate what you know, what you believe, with Pepper and Zach.”

  Without her realizing it, Sydney had slipped her arm across Payton’s shoulders, pulling her close.

  The simple embrace reminded Payton that she wasn’t alone.

  “What do you believe, Sydney?”

  Sydney shook her head. “Oh no. We’re not going there. Not tonight.”

  “What? We can talk about what I believe or don’t believe, but I can’t ask you what you believe about God?”

  “No, you can’t. Not now. You’re already weighed down by Pepper’s faith. By Zach’s faith. I’m not about to toss my faith into the mix. But I do want you to know that whatever you decide, I’m here for you, Payton. Nothing changes that.”

  “I didn’t ask you a fair question, did I?”

  “Timing is everything.”

  “Yes.”

  Through the years, Sydney had offered to pray for her and other girls on the teams, so Payton knew she believed in God. She knew Sydney’s faith was important to her, even though she didn’t talk about it unless she was asked. Yet, here Payton had asked, and Sydney refused.

  And for good reason.

  Maybe part of Payton hoped Sydney would persuade her so she wouldn’t have to wrestle this out alone . . . well, wrestle this out with God.

  The sound of their breathing filled the darkness.

  “Payton?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Syd.”

  “And Zach loves you—no matter what you decide.”

  “I know.”

  But that didn’t mean they’d end up together.

  “And God loves you, too. He always has. It’s always been about more than Pepper and Zach, you know—and less than them, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if there’d never been Pepper and there’d never been Zach, it would still come down to you and God—and this question.” Sydney stood with her, and they walked through the gym, stopping at the front doors leading outside to the parking lot. “Saying yes to Him isn’t so frightening if you can remember He loves you.”

  Sydney’s words stayed with Payton as she drove toward Denver.

  “Saying yes to Him isn’t so frightening if you can remember He loves you.”

  She was frightened.

  Not of God . . . but of getting all of this wrong. Frightened that one day, when she got to heaven—because if she believed all this, then she was saying she believed in heaven, too—she’d be face-to-face with God and He’d say, “You almost got it right, Payton. But be honest. Wasn’t your so-called faith really more about what your sister wanted? And about Zach Gaines? It wasn’t about Me.”

  Even a loving God wasn’t going to overlook that kind of a self-centered miss.

  But maybe . . . maybe faith wasn’t so much about believing enough. Being enough. Maybe faith was realizing that the truth of who God was, and what He promised, was enough for all her doubts.

  JOHANNA SMOOTHED the gray-and-pink paisley duvet over her bed, the material soft against her skin. She gathered the two king-size pillows, Beckett’s aftershave lingering on one, and arranged them against the tall gray padded headboard, covering them with shams that coordinated with the duvet. Then she folded a pale-pink blanket across the foot of the bed. This room stood in direct contrast to every other room in her house, but this was where she came to rest.

  Maybe today was the day she and Beckett would start planning their wedding.

  She’d gone online several times and looked through the Broadmoor’s Celebrations photo gallery and scanned the details in the virtual broch
ure. They’d celebrated their eighth anniversary this past summer. What were they waiting for—to reach a decade? She’d browsed several wedding dress designers to begin narrowing down her dream dress and even gone onto Pinterest and looked at wedding bouquets. She wasn’t quite ready to create boards, but she’d lost herself for almost two hours in all things bridal. She knew what she liked, but there was something fun about browsing others’ creative ideas. There was so much more to getting married than changing her status from “engaged” to “married” on Facebook.

  Things would be quiet today, or so Beckett had promised as they’d fallen asleep last night. When he came back from his run, she’d suggest they go have a late breakfast at Garden of the Gods Café and consider possible dates. Take her iPad and look at the Broadmoor’s information together.

  Beckett’s phone buzzed on the bedside table.

  Johanna groaned.

  So much for a relaxed day together, making wedding plans. This was probably the superintendent, needing him to do something urgent right away. It was always urgent, whatever it was.

  A photograph of Beckett standing with his arm around a woman filled the phone screen. An unfamiliar woman, with a killer body accentuated by tight jeans and a skimpy top, identified as “Iris.”

  The repeated buzz of his phone was as good as an electric shock up her arm, traveling straight to her heart.

  “Hello?”

  A moment’s silence and then, “Is Beckett there?”

  Again there was silence as if the two of them were circling the phone, sizing each other up across the line. Fine. She’d go right ahead and confirm Iris’s suspicions.

  “I’m sorry. Beckett’s in the shower right now.” A white lie—but he’d need a shower when he came back from his run. “Can I give him a message?”

  “No . . . that’s all right. Just tell him that Iris will call later.”

  Touché. Pretty little Iris didn’t scare easily.

  “I’ll do that.” Johanna disconnected the call, tossing Beckett’s phone onto the end of the bed as if her hand had been scorched from a lightning strike.

  The woman might as well have shown up in her bedroom, asking Johanna if she could talk to Beckett.