Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “Still don’t get it.” She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing against Chris’s, a small pout on her lips.

  “I think I’ve got something in the back that will explain it better. Hold on.”

  He dashed into his office and scoured his shelves in search of anything that might explain spiritual life to someone who might have no concept of sin. Settling on a spiral-bound notebook filled with commentaries, he pulled it down and leafed through the pages. Footsteps scuffed behind him. Candy appeared at his side, the fruity scent of her perfume filling his office.

  “My old neighbor used to tell me stories . . . about a Samaritan woman who slept with a bunch of guys.” Her eyes intensified as she traced her finger along the book spines lining the shelf. “And of another woman caught in adultery.”

  Chris swallowed and stepped back, clutching the notebook to his chest.

  Candy slid closer, gaze locked on his. “She said Jesus loved those women despite what they’d done.” She moved closer, her breath warm on Chris’s face. He tried to increase the distance between them, but his heel hit the wall. “What about me? You think there’s hope for a girl like me?” Angling her head, she touched his arm and leaned forward. Chris raised a hand to push her away moments before her lips met his, his hand squished between them.

  “Excuse me.”

  Chris gave a shove, sending Candy tumbling backward.

  Ainsley stood in the doorway. Color seeped up her neck, matching the fire in her teary eyes. “To think I thought you were different.” She flung a stack of papers toward him, spun on her heels, and ran out.

  “Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” Chris chased after her, slipping on the pages strewn across the floor. By the time he reached the front of the cafe, she’d already made it to the door. “Please, let me explain.”

  Without turning around, she raised a hand and left, the door swinging closed behind her.

  Chris grabbed his cell phone and punched in her number. Her voice mail picked up halfway through the first ring. She’d hit Ignore. With a sigh, he turned around and lumbered back to his office, pushing past Candy.

  She rolled her eyes. “Touchy.”

  Chris marched down the hall to his office and the mess of papers spread across the floor. The Los Angeles County Circuit Court official document glared back at him, causing his stomach to catapult. Beside them lay a picture of him and some college buddies, looking like a pack of playboys. It was downright shameful, and thanks to Christ, he’d left that kind of lifestyle behind. Surely Ainsley could see that. And yet, stacked with the court case and flirty Candy pressed against him, Ainsley had drawn her conclusion.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. The image of her wide, tear-filled eyes tumbled through his skull. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an ad he clipped from the local paper and stared at the photo of the diamond ring.

  Lord, please don’t let me lose her.

  Ainsley jumped into her car and cranked the engine. Praise music poured from her radio. She snapped it off and eased behind a pale blue pickup.

  Men were pigs. All of them. Why should Chris be any different? But at least it hadn’t taken her five years to figure it out.

  Tears stung her eyes as she gripped the steering wheel, memories of riding through the Plaza tucked beneath a warm blanket while Chris shared his dreams for the café resurfacing. And she bought it all, going so far as to plop herself in them.

  Now what? Her entire life revolved around the man, and she certainly couldn’t quit her job. Not yet anyway. She’d have to give her two weeks notice.

  Rounding the corner into her cul-de-sac, her gaze fell on Chris’s house and her heart plummeted.

  How stupid could she be? Way to box yourself in, Ainsley. How many times had she rolled her eyes at women who got involved with their bosses? And here she was, dating not only her boss and ministry partner, but her neighbor! With Richard, breaking up had been as easy as hitting the Ignore button whenever he called. With Chris, it’d require a complete life change. Maybe even a move.

  She gathered her things, got out, and hurried inside, slamming the door behind her. Silence settled over her house. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she thought about calling Gina then tossed the phone aside.

  It’s just You and me, God. Like always.

  Collapsing into the corner of the couch, she grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it, tears pricking her eyes as questions that once haunted her nightly as a child rose to the surface.

  What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anyone love me?

  An old photo album lay on the bottom shelf of her coffee table. She’d salvaged it from her mother’s trash years ago. The memories tucked inside were bittersweet. It was like a timeline of her life, from carefree toddler to broken home to isolation.

  She flipped the album to the first page and studied an image of her father holding her. Nestled in his arms, only the top of her peach-fuzzed head remained visible. A smile crinkled the skin around his eyes as he looked down at her.

  Turning the page, she skimmed through five more years to when she turned six. The year her dad took her to Kmart to buy her first bike. Pink with glittery tassels. Her helmet swallowed her head, and thick pads encircled her knees and elbows. In the photo her father stood beside her, clutching the back of her seat as she death-gripped the handle bars. His smile was huge.

  By the time she turned twelve, the pictures grew scarcer, most of them class photos. She paused to study a snapshot of her thirteenth birthday—an afterthought when her mother came home to find her in tears. The year her mother forgot and her father never sent a card.

  That was the year she barred her father from her heart. The year she told herself she didn’t—wouldn’t—care.

  She glanced up, reading the verse on an embroidered wall hanging.

  “I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.”

  Yeah, well, You’re the only one. And Gina. And Deborah. Thank You for bringing such caring women into my life, Lord.

  As she crumpled against the couch cushions, one image rose to the surface—her father. She tossed her pillow aside.

  This is not about my father. It is about a sleazeball who charmed me into believing he was different, who broke down my walls only to slash through my heart once he laid it bare.

  And yes, Chris was like her father. Carbon copy, minus the gray hair and paunch belly. Lesson learned.

  Her Bible beckoned like an ever-faithful friend. She grabbed it and flipped through the thin pages, landing on Matthew 7 (NIV).

  “First take out the plank in your own eye, and then you will see clearly” (v. 5).

  She snapped it shut and dropped it back onto the coffee table.

  The issue wasn’t clarity. She’d seen enough already, but somehow the prick in her heart wouldn’t go away, as if God wanted her to dig deeper—to draw nearer, to somehow catch hold of something just beyond her reach.

  Then you will see clearly. She reread the passage again, beginning with verse 3 (NIV).

  “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.’”

  OK, God, You want me to resolve things. Then can I quit?

  The phrase, “then you will see clearly,” echoed in her mind, causing her to read the passage a third time, more analytically.

  What are You trying to tell me, God? What’s my vision-distorting plank?

  Once again an image of her father surfaced and this time she didn’t shove it away.

  Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose as tears welled behind her lids.

  She knew what God wanted. He wanted her to release her bitterness, to forgive her father for all the times he hur
t her, but doing so would only invite fresh pain.

  I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.

  But that wasn’t true. Not really, because with God, all things were possible. This wasn’t a question of her ability but instead of her surrender. To give herself fully to God, wounds and all.

  Closing her eyes once again, she slipped to the floor. On her knees, she pressed her folded hands to her forehead. “Help me, Lord. Help me to forgive him. To move on. Help me learn to trust.”

  Chapter 45

  ith one eye trained on the door, Chris wiped down tables and straightened books in the shelves and windowsills. Would Ainsley come in today? He’d called her numerous times, stopped by her house, left messages, with no response. The television light flickering through her blinds told him she’d been home.

  Shoes clicked behind him and he turned to see Candy approach with a pouty smile, hips swaying like a pendulum. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and lowered her lashes. “You’re not still angry with me, are you?”

  He stepped back to lengthen the distance between them. Now what? If he fired her, she’d probable file a sexual harassment suit. “Is the counter stocked?”

  “Yep.” She moved closer and traced a finger along the table in front of her. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable the other day.”

  “There’s no sense discussing it again. I’m confident you understand the parameters of our relationship now.” He crossed his arms. “You might want to see if Wanda needs help in the kitchen.”

  She lifted a Bible from the nearby shelf and leafed through it. “If you’re not too angry, I have a couple questions.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. So how does one reach out to sinners without getting dragged through the gutter?

  “OK.” He moved toward her.

  The door to the café chimed open and he turned to see Ainsley enter, her eyes going from wide to narrow as a deep scowl spread across her features. Dropping his towel on the table, he raced to her side.

  “Ainsley, can we talk?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” She tucked her purse beneath the cash register. “It’s not like we had a formal commitment or anything.” Her eyes darkened as her gaze shifted to Candy who glided over with lowered lashes and a slight smile.

  “Good morning, Ainsley.” Back arched and mouth pouty, she fiddled with a container of pens.

  Customers milled in, lining behind the counter. Moving aside, Chris turned to Ainsley. “Please, can we talk? Give me five minutes.”

  After an extended silence, she nodded.

  He followed her to his office, his heart wrenching at the sight of her clenched hands. Oh, sweet Ainsley.

  She stopped in the center of the room and picked at her thumbnail. “I’m sure I’m overreacting here, but the truth is, I’m not interested in the dating scene. And . . . She swallowed and looked at her hands. “I think it would be more comfortable for both of us if we limited our time together.”

  “You’re quitting?”

  “As soon as I find another job. It’d be better if we didn’t serve together at the shelter anymore either. I think one of us should switch days.”

  “Ainsley, please. I didn’t do anything. Candy came on to me, but I pushed her away. And that picture—”

  “You don’t need to explain. As I said, we weren’t committed. I hold no claims to you. I’m just . . . Honestly, I’m . . . I wish you well.”

  “But I want to be with you. Can’t you see that?”

  She blinked and her chin dimpled. For a moment, the angry lines in her face softened, but then Chris’s phone rang, and she spun around and left.

  He glanced at the number displayed on the screen and sighed.

  Lord, can we start this day over?

  “Matilda, good morning.”

  “I stopped by the nursing home this morning to have breakfast with Mom.”

  “Is everything OK?”

  “I found her lying in dried feces, and there were fresh bruises on her arms.”

  His stomach dropped.

  “You’re right. Mom deserves better. I’ve scheduled a meeting and tour with the director of Lily of the Valley, if you’d like to join me.”

  “What time?”

  “Ten thirty.”

  He checked the clock. “I’ll be there.”

  Tucking the phone in his back pocket, he hurried down the hall, and out onto the café floor. Ainsley and Candy manned the counter, side-by-side. Based on the Candy’s crooked grin and Ainsley’s scowl, he’d be lucky to find Ainsley here when he returned. Although he longed to hover, countering the crazy ideas swimming through her head, he couldn’t leave his sister waiting. Not when so much hinged on this meeting.

  He approached Ainsley and tried to make eye contact, but she concentrated on scrubbing an old coffee stain from the counter.

  “Do you think you guys can handle the place for a while?”

  Ainsley nodded and Candy’s smile widened. “We’ll keep the coffee hot and the cash register clanking.”

  An hour later, he stood on the curb outside Lily of the Valley.

  “What do you think?” He held his breath as Matilda’s inspected the single-story brick building lined with windows and the occasional wind chime.

  “It appears lovely. And I like that it is faith-based.”

  Chris nodded.

  “Although I’m still concerned about how Mom will handle the change.” She fiddled with the strap of her purse.

  “I know.”

  “I’ve given this much thought. This must be her last move, which means, if your business fails . . .

  “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes to see the bill gets paid. When would you like to move her?”

  “You don’t mind losing out on two months worth of rent?”

  He shook his head.

  She glanced at her watch. “They’re probably getting Mom ready for lunch now.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 46

  hris and Matilda gathered on the curb outside of Shady Lane Assisted Living.

  “Shall we pray?” She held out her hands and Chris took them in his.

  Chris nodded and bowed his head. “Holy Father, we need Your help today. Mother’s been through so much.” His voice cracked at a memory of his mother crumpled beside their father’s coffin, her trembling hands reaching for him. “Please calm her anxiety and let this be a peaceful transition. Please go before her and keep her safe.”

  When they finished, Matilda wiped a tear from her cheek and lifted her chin. “Shall we?”

  They filed into the facility, backs rod-straight.

  Heather met them at the reception desk, face blanched. The facility director stood beside her holding a manila file. Chris glared at Heather, his muscles quivering. She avoided his gaze, but the director stepped forward.

  “I highly recommend against this course of action.” Her eyes darkened behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Why don’t we go into my office to talk about this?”

  Chris spun around. “Perhaps we can talk about the best way to file abuse charges?”

  The director’s eyes widened and her lips quivered. “Incontinence is quite normal at your mother’s stage—”

  “Incontinence I understand. Inflamed skin beneath dried feces, I do not.” Matilda’s eyes narrowed on the director.

  “That was an unfortunate—”

  “Accident?” Chris scoffed. “You were understaffed? And the bruises on her arms, which resemble human hands, arose out of nowhere?” He increased his pace, Matilda matching him step for step. The director scurried behind them.

  A few heads popped out of doorways, eyes wide. A woman with short, silver hair smiled at Chris, nodding. She appeared on the verge of tears. Chris swallowed, eyes burning, as her unspoken plea settled deep in his heart. As soon as they got Mom settled at Lily of the Valley, he’d head to the courthouse. This place needed to be shut down.

  They reached their mother’s roo
m to find her sitting in front of the television while a CNA straightened her bed.

  She glanced up and smiled. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting company.” Her face blanched, her hands clutching at her neck, when she noticed the director. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” She shook her head and waved her arms in front of her.

  Chris reeled around. “Out! Get out, now!”

  “As the director of this facility I am responsible—”

  “I said out!”

  The director gasped and stumbled backward, the CNA scurrying close behind. Matilda closed the door in her face then turned back to their mother who white-knuckled the armrests of her chair.

  “Sh. Everything’s fine.” Matilda knelt in front of her and started to hum. Chris moved to her side and joined the melody.

  He flipped off the television, shooting up silent prayers while Matilda soothed their mother’s back, her soft humming now expanded into song.

  You are my ever-present shield, the strong tower at my side.

  Your strength is like no other, in Your love I hide.

  Though my enemies assail me,

  Though my strength is wearing thin,

  You alone will carry me,

  You strengthen me from within.

  By the second verse, their mother relaxed her grip on the armrests and settled back into the chair.

  She glanced around. “Where’s my angel?”

  Matilda stopped singing. “God’s angels are always with you, Mom.”

  She shook her head. “No, my curly-haired angel with the voice from heaven.”