I shut the shed door, but I don't go to the house. Instead, I walk behind a tree in the corner of the yard, fall to my knees, and cry. There's no denying it anymore. I played a part in the death of my marriage. And even though I still can't bring myself to forgive Tony for what he did, the hard shell I've wrapped around my heart begins to crack.
40
As surprised as I am that Mom is going to church, I'm even more surprised that Lindsay is joining us. Not only that, but she's excited about it. She wakes before I do, grabs the shower first, and is dressed and heading downstairs when I'm just stumbling out of bed.
By the time I've made myself presentable and get to the kitchen, everyone else is eating. It's another cereal breakfast, so I look at Mom and smile. "Thanks for cooking."
"Lindsay and I did it together," she says.
That explains why we have spoons today. I look at Lindsay. "Very nice."
When we're done eating, we all pile into the car and head for church. Mom sits up front beside Dad, humming along to the music playing on the radio. Lindsay and I sit in the back, craning our necks to see where we're going.
For the next ten minutes, I let myself pretend our family is perfectly happy and normal. I push away the divorce, the unexpected pregnancy and abusive boyfriend, the Alzheimer's . . . none of that exists in this car. We are four people who love one another. That's all. That's enough.
But when Dad pulls into the parking lot and I see people milling around outside the church, my fantasy crumbles. It's been a long time since I've been here, but I remember some of them. Does Mom? How do they relate to her? What about Lindsay? What will people say when they realize she's an unwed mother-to-be? As my protective instincts go on high alert, I look to Dad, ready to take my cue from him. If he's concerned about anything, he certainly doesn't show it. Just the opposite. He's grinning like a little boy with a frog in his pocket.
Arm in arm, he and Mom walk toward the church. Lindsay comes around to my side of the car and puts her hand on the small of my back, pushing ever so slightly. "Don't worry," she whispers, "I'll bet no one knows about your recent issues. They probably won't even recognize you."
Great. I'd been so worried about Mom and Lindsay, it hadn't crossed my mind there might be gossip about me too.
We're enveloped in a cloud of handshaking and hugging as we make our way to the front door. Apparently, my dad told everyone he could that his girls would be with him at church, and they've been looking forward to seeing us. Thankfully, the greetings are all positive, for both Lindsay and me.
By the time we run the gauntlet of well-wishers, music's already playing inside. As Dad leads us down the aisle to empty seats, a voice booms through the sound system. "Let's all stand and praise the Lord."
There can't possibly be two men in this town with the same melts-like-butter voice. I stop in the middle of the aisle. A woman bumps into my back. She walks around me and mouths the words I'm sorry. I make a flapping motion with my hand and hope she knows that means No problem.
Dad spots four empty seats. As I follow him into the row, I stretch my neck and scan the front of the church. There he is. Adam from the coffee shop is also Adam the praise team leader.
I tug on Dad's sleeve. He leans down and I put my mouth close to his ear. "Why didn't you tell me about Adam?"
"I tried."
When did he try? The only time he tried to tell me anything was when we talked about Ben, and— Oh, no!
Beside me, Lindsay lifts her hand, but it's not in praise. She wiggles her fingers and waves at her boyfriend. Ben is playing with the worship band.
Dad wasn't kidding. Mom acts like a different person at church. She engages in the worship service, singing out, her bright soprano clear and strong. She follows the responsive reading. She even takes notes during the sermon. Sitting next to her, Dad is different too. He seems more relaxed and happy. Even Lindsay is having a good time. She beams every time the band plays a song. I'm the only sourpuss in the group.
How could they? How could they let me walk in here and see my least favorite person in the world help lead worship? How am I supposed to concentrate on God when all I can do is stew in my anger? It's the worst church service ever.
As soon as the last amen is said, I'm out of my seat and racewalking up the aisle. I avoid the smiling folks shaking hands at the door, circumnavigate the doughnut and coffee table, and head straight to the parking lot. Since Dad drove his car, all I can do is lean against the door, arms crossed over my chest, until my family joins me.
"What is wrong with you?" Lindsay asks.
"What do you think?" I turn to Dad. "Is there a good reason why you didn't tell me about this when you invited me to church?"
Beside him, Mom looks flustered. "What's wrong?" Her voice has that high, tight quality it gets when she's about to have a panic attack.
Dad shakes his head at me sharply, then gives all his attention to Mom. "Nothing's wrong, dear. Nothing at all." He opens the door and helps her into the car. Once he's sure she's okay, he comes around to my side. "I was afraid if you knew about Ben, you wouldn't come today."
He was right about that. Which is why he should have told me.
"Natalie!" A voice calls to me from across the parking lot. Turning in the direction of the sound, I see Adam sprinting toward us.
Dad opens the driver's-side door and looks over the roof at my sister. "Get in the car, Lindsay."
"But Dad, it's hot." I see right through her whining complaint. She wants to eavesdrop on my conversation with Adam.
"In the car." Dad uses his no-arguments voice. "Now."
She huffs out her disdain but follows his orders.
Adam stops in front of me, hair tousled, grin sheepish. "Surprise."
That's an understatement. "So you're a coffee dude and a worship leader. Are those your only jobs, or is there somewhere else I should expect you to pop up?"
"No, those two are it."
"Good. Then it should be easy to avoid you." He grabs my wrist as I reach for the door handle. "You can't do that."
I whirl, ready to lay into him. But his eyes are so intense that, for a moment, I'm speechless. All I can do is stare back.
"Ignoring me won't solve anything," he says. And I realize that his interest in me goes beyond that of one friend for another. Not that we're friends. Somehow, we've skipped right over the friend part and landed smack-dab in the middle of forbidden attraction.
Yanking my arm from his fingers, I take a step back. "I told you, I'm married."
"Yes, you did. But that's not the whole truth, is it?"
How does he know? I glare at Lindsay through the car window. Of course. She talks to Ben. Ben talks to Adam. They've probably been encouraging him to pursue me. Maybe she thought if they kept me distracted, I wouldn't watch her so closely. She's got another thing coming.
I turn back to Adam. "My personal life is none of your business."
"I'm sorry you feel that way." He looks down at his feet, and when he looks back at me, he seems more confident than ever. "I truly believe God brought the two of us together for a reason. You may not see it this way, but all I want to do is help you."
"Help me? How does hiring my sister's low-life boyfriend help me? How does it help anybody? What business does a person like Ben have playing in a worship band?"
Now he pulls back, as if truly offended by my words. "A person like Ben? What kind of a person is that?"
"You want the short list?"
"I get it. He's a sinner. So am I." He slaps the palm of his hand against his chest. "So are you. And God loves us anyway. All of us."
I can't believe I'm getting a lecture in basic Christian principles from the guy who makes me coffee. "You don't get it. Of course, he belongs in church. Where he doesn't belong is up front helping to lead worship. I don't even think he believes in God."
"Have you asked him about his faith?"
"No."
"Maybe you should stop assuming and start asking."
"Take care, Natalie. I hope to see you again soon. Somewhere." Adam walks away, leaving me stunned and speechless.
41
I'm going home next week."
Dad and Lindsay look at me like I've announced I'm going to the moon. "When did you decide this?" he asks.
"Yesterday." After we got back from church, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I've been doing here. Although I've wanted to spend time with Lindsay and my parents, I've also wanted to hide—from Tony, from the failure of my life. The more I went over everything, the more obvious it became that I have to face it. I have to go back.
Lindsay tosses a puzzle piece into the middle of the table. "This is because of me, isn't it? You're mad about Ben being at church."
"I'm not mad." Disgusted maybe. Irritated definitely. But not mad.
"Yes you are. And you want to teach me a lesson."
Elbow on the table, I press my fingertips into my cheek and forehead. "For crying out loud, Lindsay. Not everything is about you!"
"Shh." Dad puts his finger to his lips. In unison, Lindsay and I look toward the couch. Mom is still asleep, her head listing to one side, her breath coming out in occasional short puffs.
"This is about me." I take a deep breath, determined to keep my voice low and calm. "My home is in California. There are things I have to clear up there."
Lindsay frowns, but she doesn't come back at me with anything. Dad squeezes my hand. "I understand, Sugar Plum. But I wish you could stay. It feels like you just got here."
"I'm not leaving yet, Dad. I still have to book a flight."
"You're flying back?" Lindsay asks.
"Of course." One road trip per lifetime is plenty for me.
"Then you're not going to tell me I have to go with you?"
"Would it do any good if I did?"
"No."
"Okay then."
A snuffling snort sounds from the couch. "Oh, dear." Mom's own snoring has woken her up. "Why aren't I in bed?"
"That's just where we're heading now." Dad kisses us on the head, first Lindsay, then me. Mom is so foggy, she doesn't slow down at all as he leads her from the room.
I break up the jigsaw puzzle and dump the pieces in the box. Lindsay stands up. "I'm going to sit outside for a while."
She heads for the door, but I speak up before she gets out. "Ben's coming over, isn't he?"
Her eyes narrow and I suspect she's debating whether to tell me the truth or come up with a cover story. "How did you know?"
The truth. That's a refreshing change. "Why else would you sit outside by yourself?"
Our eyes lock. The silence deepens, the tension grows. We both have something to say, something important. Intuitively, I know this moment will define our relationship. Which one will be the first to speak? Who will be the first to take us to a place we can never turn back from?
It's me. "You're making a big mistake. Why can't you see that?"
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "You are so blind. Why can't you see that you're wrong? You misjudged Ben from the start but you won't let it go."
"No, I won't. Because he's no good. You think you can trust him, but you can't." I don't want our parents to hear us fighting, so I struggle to keep my voice down. The result is a low, almost menacing tone, not at all what I want to project. But I can't stop myself. "No man is worth that kind of pain."
Her eyes narrow, her jaw juts forward. "This isn't about me at all, is it? You're jealous."
"Jealous? Of what?"
"Ben dropped everything and followed me across the country because he loves me. What has Tony done?"
The words are like a slap in the face, and I take a step back. What's Tony done? Left me for another woman. Broken my heart. Hurt me more than I thought possible.
"Natalie." Lindsay's voice is soft and gentle, laced with an empathy I didn't think she possessed. "This is a terrible time for you, and I'm so sorry. But Ben is not Tony. We've had problems, yes, but he loves me. I know he does. And I love him. You have to accept that."
I watch as she leaves the room and goes out the front door, pulling it closed softly behind her. Is she right? Have I really been envious of Ben's dogged determination to be with the woman he loves? I told myself I was over Tony—that we were done—but do I really believe it? Is there a part of me still waiting for him to change his mind, to tell me how wrong he's been and to beg for forgiveness? And if he did, what would I do? Would I take him back? Could I?
Lindsay's not an expert in the field of relationships. She hasn't studied Scripture down to the roots of the original Greek and Hebrew texts. She didn't even graduate from college. Yet she identified and exposed a major issue in my life. Two things are now abundantly clear: I need to sort out my feelings for my husband, and I owe my sister an apology.
When I go outside, I find her sitting on the porch steps. "Mind if I join you?"
She looks up at me, her face impossible to read in the shadows thrown by the porch light. "Be my guest."
I don't know where to start, so I say something safe and general. "I'm surprised you didn't choose the swing."
"I don't trust it."
"Dad and I both sat on it the other day and it held our weight." I look at it over my shoulder. "It's perfectly safe."
"Probably." She rubs her stomach thoughtfully. "But I'm not taking any chances."
One thing I'll say about Lindsay, she's extremely serious about her health and taking care of her baby. No caffeine, no flying, no porch swings . . . Which is why it's so odd that she wants to be with Ben. Why would a woman who's normally so conscientious about her well-being and safety willingly put herself in such a dangerous situation?
She wouldn't.
The truth hits me like hail from the sky. I look into the darkness of the night, the inky blackness dotted with splotches of illumination from streetlamps and porch lights, and I wish it would swallow me up.
"Ben never hit you, did he?"
"No."
I hang my head, not able to look at her. "I've been such an idiot."
She puts her arms around me, squeezing so tight I can barely gasp in a breath. "Not an idiot. A concerned sister."
I lean my head against hers, letting a tear drip down my cheek and into the hair I helped her color. I'm so sick of crying, and even more sick of hurting. "I'm sorry."
When we pull apart, her expression reminds me of when she was a little girl. When she was five, I took her to a circus. She had that same look on her face when I bought her cotton candy and took her picture with an elephant. Like her big sister had just given her the most precious gift imaginable.
"What changed your mind?" she asks.
Staring at my clasped hands, I shrug. "You're an intelligent woman. You're capable of making your own decisions and taking care of yourself. Granted, they're not always the right decisions, but nobody's perfect."
"True."
There's more to say, but the sound of whistling drifts to meet us. Lindsay plants a kiss on my cheek, struggles to rise from the step, then runs down the path to meet Ben. As he enfolds her in his arms, my heart aches. He loves her. Why couldn't I see that before?
She says something to him, motioning wildly with her hands. He looks over her shoulder at me, surprise evident on his face, even in the murky light. I force a smile and wave. He waves back.
I stand and brush off the seat of my jeans. "I'll leave you two alone."
Back in the house, I find Dad waiting for me in the front room.
"Did you hear any of that?" I ask.
He nods. "Most of it. If you wanted privacy, you should have shut the door." He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. "You did a good thing."
"I hope so."
Leaning into him, I soak up as much of his strength as I can. Because my apologizing isn't over yet. Tomorrow morning, there's another portion of humble pie wa
iting to be swallowed. And I intend to wash it down with a cup of the best coffee in Beaumont.
In the spirit of killing multiple birds with one shot, I decide to jog to Uncommon Grounds in the morning. I've been meaning to start an exercise regimen, and now seems like the perfect time.
Two blocks into my run I realize what a bad idea it was. By the time I reach Old Town, I'm breathing hard and sweating even more. I'm tempted to turn around and try again tomorrow, but then I see Adam through the window. He's standing on a ladder, putting books on one of the high shelves at the rear of the store.
The bells jingle as I walk in. He looks over his shoulder, smiling to welcome a new customer. When he sees me, his smile slips. And so does his foot. Right off the ladder step. His arms flail and he goes down with a thud.
"Adam!"
There are only three other people in the shop, all senior citizens, so I run to offer aid. Kneeling beside him, I try to remember everything I've seen in medical dramas on TV. "Lie still. Don't move. Something could be broken."
"You okay over there?" a wavering voice calls out.
Adam groans and pushes up on one elbow. "I'm fine, Mr. Jordan," he calls. Then he looks up at me. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" I touch his arm. "Did you break anything?"
"The only thing broken is my pride." He sits up and I notice a splotch of red on the carpet where his elbow had been.
"You're bleeding."
He looks down but seems unconcerned. "It's just a nick."
Ignoring protocol and probably violating several health department rules, I run behind the counter, grab a paper cup, and fill it with ice. I pull some paper towels off a roll and turn to run back to him. Except that he's standing right behind me, so I run into his chest, spilling ice all over him and the floor.
"Woman, you are a danger to yourself and others."
The Mor Road Page 17
