A Moment of Weakness

by Karen Kingsbury

  Later, the Quinns dropped her off at home, and her principal tried to encourage her. “It’ll be okay, Cami. Just talk to him.” Cami wanted to believe that. She thanked him and said goodbye to Jordy.

  But as she walked into her house her heart raced. She had a feeling something terrible was about to happen. Good thing her twin sisters were staying with friends tonight. Her father was by himself when he met her at the door.

  Rage burned in his eyes. “Cami Ann Nelson.” He spat her name through clenched teeth. “Get yourself into the kitchen and sit down.”

  “Yes, sir.” She dropped her backpack just inside the door and followed her father. He was bursting with hatred. More than Cami had ever seen.

  In the kitchen, she saw at least six empty beers. Great, she thought. He’s drunk and furious. She took the far seat, her back against the window. Her dad followed her to the table. Then he took slow steps in her direction. “Don’t . . . you . . . move.”

  What was happening? Why was he talking to her this way? Cami’s heart raced so fast she could barely breathe. “Wh . . . what’s wrong, Daddy?”

  His words came like so many bullets, in a fit of anger greater than anything Cami had ever known. “I was at the parent meeting tonight. I heard your little speech.” He slammed his hand down on the table and a cracking sound came from under it. “You’re reading the Bible? Is that what you’re doing? At a public school? Behind my back?”

  Cami had always known this day could come. Many times she’d thought about telling her dad she was in the Raise the Bar club. Better to break the news before he found out about it. But there never seemed to be a right time. She swallowed hard. Her legs and arms shook with fear. What’s he going to do to me?

  “It’s an important club, Daddy. All the students . . . everyone is happier now.” Tears filled her eyes. Her father seriously looked like he might kill her. “Did . . . did you hear all the good things I said about it?”

  “Oh, yes. I heard.” The words came out like a hiss. Her dad turned and walked to the fridge. He took out another beer and downed it. Then he crushed the can and sneered at Cami. “Imagine my shock when I hear my daughter talking about her changed life.” He slammed the can in the trash and turned to face her. “Star student in the club. Little Miss Give-your-life-to-Jesus.”

  He crashed his hand on the kitchen counter. “Well, I can tell you this much, missy. It’s all over. You following some fairy-tale faith, and . . . and this club meeting on campus.” He came closer to her, his breath hot against her face. Again his words were seething with hate. “I could overlook a few kids reading the Bible together after school. But when my own daughter is being brainwashed . . . something has to be done.” His final words boomed. And then, suddenly, his voice fell to a whisper. “And as for that principal of yours, he can finish up his time behind bars. Then he can rot in hell.”

  Cami wondered if she’d throw up right here on the kitchen table. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Her heart was beating so wildly, she thought it might stop altogether.

  Her dad said his final words with a loud burst, every one like an arrow aimed straight for her heart. “Get. To. Your. Room!”

  There was nothing Cami wanted more. She ran to the front of the house, grabbed her backpack, and sprinted down the hallway. But instead of shutting her bedroom door behind her, she left it open just a crack. She wanted a warning, wanted to know what her dad was going to do next.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to wonder. Her dad was calling someone on the phone. He was too drunk to talk quietly or in any sort of professional manner. He must’ve dialed the local newspaper. Because from where she sat, on the edge of her bed, she could very clearly hear his side of the conversation.

  “Yes, this is Andy Nelson from Haughville.” His words were slurred—as much from his anger as the alcohol. “I need to talk to the main editor.” He paused. “Hurry up. It’s an emergency.”

  Cami felt the floor beneath her turn liquid. Suddenly she wasn’t listening from her bedroom down the hall. She was in a ship, tossed by the worst waves any storm could ever stir up. No, God . . . please, no. This was going to ruin everything. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

  “Hello, this is Andy Nelson.” Now he sounded almost sober. He explained that his daughter was a senior at Hamilton High, and that the principal—Wendell Quinn—was leading Bible study and prayer meetings twice a week. “He’s converting students to Christianity, and I want action immediately.”

  The blood rushing through Cami’s head made it impossible to hear every word. But she caught much of it. Her dad said he was going to hire a lawyer and sue Principal Quinn and Hamilton High and the school district. Maybe the entire state of Indiana.

  Whatever it took to shut down the program and see the people behind these acts punished.

  The reporter must’ve promised to show up on campus the next day, because Cami heard her father repeat the name of the school. “You can see for yourself. We just had a parent meeting, and this . . . principal was actually proud of what he’d done.”

  Her dad was still talking, but Cami didn’t hear another word. She ran to the bathroom and threw up. Not once but three times. Because after today, every good thing that had happened to her and to Jordy, every beautiful change that had taken place in the lives of the students at Hamilton High would all be brought to a sudden and dramatic end.

  Cami couldn’t imagine the trouble they were about to be in. They would probably all be arrested for talking about Jesus on a public school campus. Their Bibles would be confiscated and maybe burned. Something awful like that. And Principal Quinn could be locked up for life. Cami began to shiver. The students and administration at Hamilton would need a miracle to survive whatever was coming next. Her father would see that people were punished to the letter of the law. She knew that much about him.

  As Cami crept into bed and turned off the light, as she lay in the dark shaking with fear, she couldn’t feel even one fruit of the Spirit. Not love or joy or peace or patience. Not kindness or goodness or faithfulness or gentleness. Certainly not self-control.

  But she knew this much. Even now she was not alone.

  She drew a deep breath. Calm, Cami . . . you can do this. Stay with me, Jesus. Please stay. Gradually she felt control restored to her soul. Because there were two things no lawsuit or reporter or human being could ever change. First, God was with her. And second, He loved her.

  Even if she was about to lose everything else that mattered.

  9

  Reagan couldn’t sleep. Luke had come home late again, caught up in another important case. She climbed out of bed and walked without a sound into the living room. Anxiety ran like ice through her veins.

  He’d been late three times this week. Reagan didn’t want to admit it, but the problem was coming back. Luke was working too many hours, ignoring the kids and her. She dropped to the leather sofa and covered her face with her hands. Please, God . . . not again.

  If she talked to him about it, he would do his best to change. But she didn’t want to always be the nagging wife. Luke needed to see this on his own. He should want to be home more than he wanted to be at the office.

  What am I supposed to do, God? She leaned back and looked around the dark room. Will You please get Luke’s attention? Let him realize what he’s doing by being gone so much?

  No answer came, but gradually a sense began to dawn on her. Love Luke. At first the idea grated on her. Love him? That wasn’t the problem here. It was Luke who needed to love her. Luke was the one working too late.

  But the idea wouldn’t let her go. Love Luke, My daughter. That’s what I’m asking of you. If the voice that echoed in her heart was God’s, then Reagan had better listen. She sat up a little straighter.

  Love Luke? Was that what God was asking of her?

  It took another thirty minutes before she was sure. God wanted her to love her husband—no matter what. Her Bible study had been talking about this very thing. How to be
the wife of a happy husband. The idea had seemed a little outdated at first, but every week the truth from Scripture and the stories of the women in her group were undeniable.

  Bottom line, marriage took work.

  It wasn’t a fifty-fifty venture. It was each person giving a hundred percent, all of the time. Because that’s what God asked of her. Not because Luke always deserved that. Some days, sure. But other times marriage simply meant Reagan needed to love Luke because that’s what God called her to do.

  Period.

  Reagan let the message wash over her. Love Luke. The words filled her heart and soul. Rather than hold on to her frustration she needed to turn her efforts toward serving him. Loving him. Find some way to shift her mind from his late hours to something kind she could do for him.

  As a way of honoring God . . . and her husband.

  Reagan thought for a minute and then it hit her.

  Luke’s birthday was coming up just after Thanksgiving. All his life the family had celebrated it on or near Thanksgiving. Just last week Luke had joked about it with Tommy. He’d said something about how he never really had a birthday growing up. He had an extra-special Thanksgiving.

  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. A surprise party! That’s what she could do. She would contact everyone in the Baxter family and get them on board early on. So they were all available. They’d let Thanksgiving come and go and that Sunday she would throw Luke his best birthday party ever. She would plan for the celebration and pray for her husband.

  And maybe in the process she wouldn’t notice how much he was gone.

  • • •

  THE SUN HADN’T yet risen over downtown Indianapolis and already Wendell Quinn had a bad feeling. There was no reason, really. His meeting had gone without any of the complaining or arguing he’d expected. Not that everyone there agreed with Wendell or the Raise the Bar program.

  But it was hard to argue with the results.

  Maybe that, or maybe the fact that Hamilton High parents were too busy trying to make a living to complain. Because some of the parents definitely didn’t like the idea of their kids learning about the Bible or praying together. Wendell had overheard some of them leaving the meeting.

  “It’s illegal, what that man’s doing with our kids.” The statement had come from a father who had been talking to a couple of women as they headed for the door. The man shrugged. “But hey, if it’s keeping my boy off drugs, I say more power to him.”

  “Gotta hand it to the guy,” one of the women said. “I wouldn’t risk jail time for something like this.”

  “Me, neither.” The second woman laughed. “I wouldn’t risk missing dinner for it.”

  Wendell had watched them leave. She wouldn’t risk missing dinner? What was that supposed to mean? He’d felt a sense of outrage then and he felt it now. They needed more parents who cared about the fate of the teens at Hamilton. More people willing to risk everything to see the kids grow up law-abiding, productive, successful citizens.

  Now, first thing this morning, Wendell tiptoed to the kitchen and opened his briefcase. Inside was a sign-up sheet. Four parents had written their names on the piece of paper. Four out of all the parents who had attended. These four had agreed to bring snacks to the meetings. Snacks and dinners. Chick-fil-A was still providing a meal once a week, but the other meetings typically took place without food.

  Wendell looked at the names of the volunteers. Bless those parents, Lord. Bless the ones who care and bring more like them. We need all the help we can get. Wendell studied the list once more and then shut his briefcase and headed for the shower.

  This was his usual morning routine. He would get ready while his kids slept, and then around six-thirty, Jordy would get up and wake the other three. Leah scrambled eggs for her siblings and made sure they wore clothes that at least matched. Jordy would feed Luvie.

  Then an hour later, Jordy would drive everyone to school and they’d be one day closer to Christmas break. Most days, Wendell enjoyed the quiet of the morning. He tried to enjoy it today. In the shower he hummed “Amazing Grace,” and while he got dressed, he prayed. For his kids and his home, for the students at Hamilton High and for protection of the Raise the Bar program.

  Normally he was so happy by the time he headed off to school, it almost didn’t matter what the day brought. Wendell would be ready to face it. But today was different. The bad feeling had been there since he opened his eyes, and it was worse as he walked to his small office at the front of the house and took a seat in the chair near the window.

  Wendell tried to spend at least half an hour here every morning. This time was for him and God. The first appointment of the day. Get this one right, and the rest of the day would fall in place. Wendell grabbed his Bible from the small end table next to him.

  He stared out the window and watched the sunrise begin to break across the horizon. Nothing like the mornings, Lord. He breathed in deep. There was something about seeing darkness flee, watching it dissolve in the power of the sunshine. It reminded him of one of his favorite Bible verses. Lamentations 3:22–23. Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

  The words were true. They had always been true.

  Wendell let the weight of the Bible settle on his lap. Maybe the concerned feeling was simply his heart, missing Joanna and the way life used to be. When everything was simpler. Wendell turned his eyes to his desk and the photo that had sat there for five years. A photo that would stay as long as Wendell was given another day.

  The picture was taken many summers ago, when their youngest, Darrell, was only six years old. Wendell smiled at the image. He could still hear the kids laughing as the photographer tried to get them situated around the bench in her studio.

  “I need the oldest kids in the back.” The woman had been beside herself. “Please, could you all stop tickling each other? This is serious business.”

  Serious business? A family photo? Wendell chuckled in the morning glow just now hitting his window. The kids had all been laughing, talking about something Jordy had said or a song Leah had been singing. Alexandria had been just eight that summer, and the four kids got along like few siblings ever had.

  Wendell credited Joanna with that. His wife had always wanted to be a mother. His eyes settled on Joanna, the first woman he had ever loved. “Dear God, I know she’s happy in heaven. But could You please tell her . . . how very much we miss her down here?”

  The pit in Wendell’s stomach grew. Much the way it had felt the day of Joanna’s accident. Wendell turned to the window again and lifted his eyes to the pink streaks making their way across the morning sky. And suddenly, like it did every now and then, the past came to life and Wendell was a middle-school boy, first day of seventh grade.

  And Joanna was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

  She was from California, more talkative than most of the girls. Her eyes were wide, her hair pulled into a ponytail and gathered in a bright pink bow. Wendell thought she looked like a model, and when the teacher assigned him a seat in English class far away from Joanna, Wendell did something he had never done before.

  He disobeyed the teacher.

  There had been an open chair right behind the new girl, so Wendell took that. And when the teacher called roll and looked for Wendell in the seat across the room, Wendell simply raised his hand. “I’m over here.” He smiled at the man. “I’m sitting over here.”

  The teacher didn’t really know how to respond. He looked down at the seating chart and up at Wendell. Finally he gave a shake of his head. “Okay. You’re sitting there.”

  As the teacher moved on to the next students, Joanna turned and giggled in his direction. “You’re funny.”

  Wendell smiled and felt his breath catch in his throat. “You’re pretty.”

  He didn’t kiss her until their wedding day, but after that middle-school English class, they were never apart again. Wende
ll blinked and took a long breath. The morning sky was lighter now, a few streaks of pale blue and orange giving way to a clear autumn sky.

  He looked at the photo once more. He could still hear Joanna’s voice when they’d reviewed the proofs from that shoot. Some of the pictures were perfect, in the most professional way possible. The kids all looking at the camera, everyone’s clothes neat, their smiles on point.

  Those weren’t the photographs Joanna wanted.

  No, she wanted the one that sat framed on his desk. The picture where the photographer had caught them all mid-laugh. Jordy was looking at Leah, and Alexandria was trying not to let go of Darrell. Wendell’s arm was around Joanna’s shoulders and her head was tipped back.

  Laughing the hardest of them all.

  Wendell let his eyes settle on her, on the way he would always see her. The way he would remember her.

  Three weeks later Joanna was coming home from the grocery store. A trip she’d made a thousand times. Same car. Same street. Same groceries packed in bags in the back of their family van. Only this time a reckless teen rounded the corner on the wrong side of the two-lane highway.

  The police said Joanna never knew what hit her. “Life to life.” That’s what Wendell had said about his beloved at her memorial a week later. Joanna Quinn had gone from life to life.

  Jordy had said it another way. “My mom had three miscarriages between having us kids. She always talked about her babies in heaven. Three babies there. Four babies here.” He had paused to dry his eyes. “She spent all these years here with us. It only makes sense that God would let her spend the rest of her time with her other babies. The ones in heaven.”

  Wendell let the memory fade. He swiped his finger beneath one eye and then the other. He had this morning time with God in part because of Joanna. Because years ago she had once told him: Mornings were the best time to hear God. The best time to talk to Him.