Forgiveness

by Marianne Evans

  Zach launched away from the wall and stormed across the room. “You know, for all the preaching and singing we do about Christian values and living, this family is”—Zach shook his head, lips curled in disgust, green eyes dark and stormy—“completely messed up. I’m sick of trying to be perfect. I’m sick of trying to be something I’m not! I’m sick of everything. Hear?” He stormed through the front door, slamming it in vivid punctuation of his exit.

  Tyler rubbed his forehead, groaning. Pyper tucked next to her mother. “You’ll never understand the damage he inflicted, Chase,” she remarked in a choked, quiet voice.

  “Does that mean he can’t be transformed? Does that mean he can’t move through the wounds he bears, and the wounds he caused, to become something better? Pyper, if that’s the case, then how could you possibly believe it of me? What are we basing our relationship on exactly?”

  “Chase, I’m not talking about you, and you know it.”

  “But you’re being double-sided, Pyper. Don’t profess forgiveness if you don’t mean it.” Pyper was about to argue, but he cut her off. “I’m not just talking about him. I’m talking about me. Us. How can you say you forgive me the sins of my past but not even give him the time of day when he’s making a solid effort? How do you explain that?”

  A laden silence snapped and crackled as dangerously as a downed electrical wire.

  “I can’t believe you, you of all people, would side with him in this—and judge me to boot!”

  “Once that boil of yours cools to a simmer, I want you to think about something. In what way did I ever make you feel I was judging you? I’m nowhere near qualified. Furthermore, I wouldn’t ever want the responsibility. All I wanted to do was share some wisdom I had to absorb the hard way. Take it. Or leave it.” He turned, forcing himself to disengage, even as it put a blade-tip to his heart. “I’ve overstayed my welcome, and for that I apologize. Pyper, call me when you feel like talking.”

  

  The next morning, Pyper sat at the eat-in kitchen table, staring out the large, bay window. A golden sun just crested the distant tips of the mountains, spreading vivid rays through soft mists as it lifted into a sky of powder blue. The aroma of toasting bread—a homemade gift from Kellen’s wife, Juliet—warmed the air. Pyper stood, her mouth watering, her bare feet padding against cool ceramic tile. She crossed from the fridge to the toaster, butter tub in hand, knife at the ready.

  “Something smells great.”

  Her mom approached and Pyper turned in welcome. “Aunt Juliet rocks at making bread. Seriously. I’m in awe, and I’m hungry.” The toast popped, all golden and crispy. Pyper nabbed the steaming slices, dancing to the island to finish preps after she dropped two more pieces in the toaster. “Carbs are bad, but carbs are so good.”

  “Preaching to the choir. Where’s the loaf? I think I’ll make some, too.”

  Pyper went to work buttering. “I already have you covered. They’re toasting right now. I figured you’d want some when you smelled it. It’s like a siren call or something.”

  Laughing, Amy ran gentle fingertips along the drifts of Pyper’s hair. In passing, she kissed Pyper’s cheek. “You’re the best, snug-a-bug.”

  Though she’d never admit it aloud—to anyone—Pyper adored that childhood nickname, especially today, when she needed all the comfort and TLC she could find. Memories of yesterday’s explosion crowded in and she sighed, refusing delivery, returning to the table with bread in hand. “Has anybody heard from Zach?”

  A crease appeared instantly across her mother’s brow. “He’s not in his room?”

  “Not that I could tell. I’ll double check when I go back upstairs. I thought I heard him take off around nine o’clock or so. Maybe he went for a run or something. He stormed into the house pretty late last night.”

  Her mother’s shoulders bent beneath an invisible weight. Pyper’s bitter mood hit the skids. How many times, and in how many ways, had her mother been forced to endure episodes like this and remain steady? And poor Zach was an innocent caught in the crosshairs. Pyper knew just how that felt, and she softened at once.

  “Mama, I’m sure he’s OK.”

  “I’m sure he is, too. Still, I need to check on him. I need to talk to him about everything that’s happened.”

  With that, a figurative elephant entered the room. Straining to ignore the topic to come, Pyper devoured her toast. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw the way her mother steeled her spine before pulling bread slices from the toaster. “Have you talked to Chase since he left?”

  “Nope.” Pyper looked out the window, craving avoidance. Confusion swept in from all sides. So did anger and sadness and love. Lots of love…

  Silence held sway while her mom squeezed a plastic honey bottle in the shape of a bear; she added a dollop to the top of her toast. Before her mom could comment, Pyper latched on to some courage and picked up the ball.

  “Mama, I’m furious at him.”

  “Why, honey?”

  Aghast, Pyper dropped her bread and stared. “Oh, my word. You need to ask?”

  “Yeah. I want your take on all this.”

  “He behaved horribly toward you and dad.”

  “You knew he had a temper.”

  “Maybe, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen it in full color.”

  “He spoke from love. Remember that.”

  “So, you’re on his side. You think I’m awful for not running into Mark Samuels’s waiting arms and rejoicing to be reunited with a father I’ve never known, never cared to know, and spent the bulk of my life despising. Is that it?”

  “Oh, Pyper, please. It’s more complicated than that, and we both know it.”

  The sharp, parental tone left Pyper to wilt. She expelled a wavering breath. “I hate this, Mama. I hate having all these doubts, all this turmoil. Nothing is quite right—not with Chase, not with Mark, even my family. What am I supposed to do next? I’m at a loss right now.” She gave her mom a plaintive look. “Why couldn’t God leave well enough alone?”

  “Maybe because He wants us to grow into something better than ‘well enough.’” Her mom sank onto the chair directly across the table. Reaching across the blonde pine wood, she linked their fingertips. “And all I want is for my daughter to be happy.”

  The show of empathy brought a lump to her throat. “I’m trying, Mama. Promise. I’m trying to find the road ahead. The right road ahead.”

  “For now, snug-a-bug, that’s enough. Trust in that. Believe in that. And, maybe this will help. As much as Mark did that was wrong, the one thing Mark and I did right was welcome you into this world. Without Mark, I wouldn’t have you. You are not a mistake. Even in that messy, sordid chapter of life, God had his hand on everything.” She leaned forward in emphasis. “He took my and Mark’s sin, forgave us, and turned it into something wonderful—you. And let me take that point one step further.” Her mom kept hold of Pyper’s hand and gave it an assuring squeeze. “At the end of the day, you don’t belong to me, you don’t belong to Tyler, you don’t belong to Mark…or even Chase. You belong to God, Pyper. So, pray. Pray hard, and ask God what He wants from all of this. Believe me, that’s what’ll bring you the most peace, and the greatest joy. Once again, voice of experience talking here.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that’s not all you want to say?” Pyper frowned.

  “Because you’re smart.” Her mother attempted a smile, but trouble formed a backlight to her eyes. “You need to talk to your dad.”

  Pyper inhaled sharply through her nose. “He isn’t here right now, so I can’t, but I’ll certainly do so when we have our weekly dinner date at the Franklin Chop House tonight.”

  Her flip answer was greeted by an arched brow and tight lips. All over again, Pyper dissolved into an emotional mess. “Mama, you’re not making this any easier.”

  “Then maybe this will. I think you’re right to love Chase, past history and all.”

  The comment caused Pyper to go still
, and attentive.

  “I have to admit, I had my doubts at first, but I’ve been forced to look at a lot of things since he entered our lives. Just like you, I’ve done a lot of thinking about what he’s dealt with in his life. You’re stung right now, Pyp, and that’s to be expected. But Chase loves you. He loves Mark, too. That leaves him split into pieces over this whole situation. Have respect for that. Maybe the end of a twenty-year-old horror story has God’s grace written all over it. Maybe God’s saying all of this needs to be laid to rest. You owe it to yourself to find out. You need to put this behind you, for once and for all. Talk to Mark, and talk to Chase, OK?”

  The sliding glass doors in the family room came open and Zach burst across the threshold, ending their conversation. Dressed in shorts and a sweat-stained t-shirt, he had obviously taken out his frustrations on a run along the green trail not far from their home. Pyper gave him a wan smile that he acknowledged with nothing more than a brief nod.

  Breathing hard, he paused for a few seconds to shake out his arms and stretch his legs. When he crossed through the kitchen he nabbed an apple and a banana from the wire fruit holder.

  “Hey.” He grunted the word, never missing a stride as he strode out of the room.

  Pyper’s heart ached. Zach needed reinforcement coping with the dramatic residue from yesterday. A disease crept its way through the fabric of the relationships she held most dear. She could heap the blame on Mark Samuels, of course. She’d even have enough left over to dish some over Chase and his hot-headed reaction after yesterday’s fiasco.

  But Pyper knew her mom was right. She needed to take some ownership of the situation and move forward before matters turned worse.

  20

  That afternoon, Pyper reported to Imperion for a recording session meant to finalize the studio rendition of “Forgiveness”. Seeing Chase, sharing small, overly-warm booth space with him, was only the start of her inner battle. While she sang, thoughts of Mark swirled and fought against her beliefs as a Christian, choking her freedom of expression, shackling her emotions.

  Two takes in, Pyper was miserable, struggling for control and the means by which to sing the blasted song. At that point, Chase pushed the headset pad away from his right ear. “Let’s take a break.”

  “No. We need to lay this down. I’m ready now. Promise.” She tried hard for an encouraging smile.

  Chase didn’t move on right away, but when he did, it was with a sigh passing his lips and a head-nod to the team in the control booth. “OK, then. We’re ready.”

  Music played. Pyper closed her eyes, relaxed into the flow of the melody. Chase chimed in on the opening verse and she sank into the beauty of his voice, the words he sang.

  And completely missed her entry cue.

  Pyper hung her head as the recording stopped and tension pulsed through the air. She groaned, but a gentle caress skimmed the back of her hand. Long fingers laced through hers, curved in and held on tight. Chase. Her soul all but breathed his name, savored it…

  “I need to grab some water.” He drew her gaze with a touch to the cheek. “Come with me?”

  Time off would be for the best. Through the headset she wore, techs could be heard in the background as they cued up for a fresh take. Pyper surrendered her gear and stepped away from the mic. Hard, taut lines formed through her back and shoulders.

  Meanwhile, Chase addressed the crew. “We’re going to take fifteen, gang. Let’s gather again at three o’clock.”

  There was a utilitarian cafeteria on site and Chase led the way. Treating herself to a container of fresh fruit, Pyper followed him to a table toward the back of the room. Employees were sparse this time of day; the seclusion was welcome.

  “First off, a question since we didn’t have much of a chance to talk before the session started.”

  “What’s that?”

  His lips tipped. He slid his hand across the table and took hold of her drumming fingertips. “Are we past the cooling off period, because I’ve missed you like crazy, crash.”

  Chase’s opening established instant ease and charmed the weight straight off her body. Pyper even laughed, leaning forward just far enough to brush his lips with hers then softly and quickly claim his mouth. “Yeah. We’re past it. I missed you, too, and I’m so sorry about today. I don’t mean to be such a mess, but I can’t focus.”

  “No worries. ‘Forgiveness’ is a work in progress. It’ll get there.”

  Pyper wondered if there wasn’t a level of double meaning behind that observation. “I know you must think I’m a horrible person for the way I treated Mark, but I’m scrambled on the inside. I hope you can understand that.”

  “I do, and actually, that’s part of the issue, Pyp. The scramble. Your emotions. The past. All those issues you’re dealing with? All the leftover chaos that’s going on inside you toward Mark? They belong to you, not him. They’re your responsibility, not his. He’s reaching out and asking you to hear him out, one-on-one. That puts the next move directly on you.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll excuse my reluctance.”

  “Pyper, stop.”

  “No, hear me out. When you’re a terrified four-year-old, struggling to find a way to your father’s love, trying everything you can to make that man love and understand you, the emotions you talk about can’t be so easily dismissed, and until you’ve lived them, you can’t ever really understand them.”

  “That’s true. But that’s also what was. Confront it. Get rid of it. Together the two of you can move forward. Until you find a way to deal with that fact, you’re no good to anybody, because you’re no good to yourself.”

  Pyper wanted to find a way to argue the point, but came up empty. He was spot on, and that crawled under her skin like an irritant. “I wanted his love so much. I fought so hard to make him love me. No matter what I did, no matter what I tried, all I remember of him, all I really knew of him was violence. Anger. You know what that did to me.”

  Chase edged forward and captured her hands in a tight squeeze. “And for real and for true, there’s not much that could turn me against the man except that.” He paused as though to let that sink in. “What he did was reprehensible. Never, ever doubt that I’m on your side here, Pyp. But he’s coming to you on his knees. What does your heart, and your life as a Christian, tell you to do with that?”

  Again, Pyper had no answer, no ready refute.

  “All I ask is that you take a look at what’s real in the here and now, because that’s what matters. That’s why you’re willing to give me a chance, right? Because of authentic reform, because of grace?”

  Again he paused, and arched that thick, dark brow in challenge. Pyper didn’t know whether to drag him close and sink into his arms forever or flat-out strangle him. Agonized, she pulled a paper napkin from the silver dispenser, wringing it tight.

  “I’m not so sure I can live up to God’s ideals this time around, Chase.” She unwound the napkin and systematically shredded it to bits.

  “I think you can. You’re too good a person not to, Pyp. I know it’ll take a huge leap, but you can do it. And maybe, after that, you’ll find a way to live up to, and sing, the words of our song. The one we created together. The one I believe, to the depths of my heart, came about because God wanted you and me to look at forgiveness and accept it—and give it—on His terms.”

  For certain the equation came together with ease and made perfect sense. Reform, reclamation, forgiveness and renewal. In the cold, stark weather of reality, however, Pyper continued to struggle.

  “I’ll forgive him, but I don’t want a relationship with him. I won’t give him anything of who and what I am.”

  “Then your forgiveness is superficial, and unworthy of the woman I admire and care for so deeply. Not to mention, you’re squandering a luxury.”

  “What luxury? What squandering?”

  “The luxury is redemption. The squandering is that of second chances. Think about Christ. Is what you just described the means by which he’s
forgiven us for the wrongs we’ve done? The pains we’ve caused? The sin? No. He welcomes us freely and loves us. We’ve been called to do the same.”

  He ignored Pyper’s affronted gasp, and she realized anew that Chase had emerged from battle as a man of deep, strong conviction.

  “Seems to me you’re being pretty tight fisted and stubborn toward a person who wants to do nothing more than apologize, begin a new chapter of his story and give you love.” At last Chase uncapped his water bottle and guzzled. “Know what else?”

  “What?” Pyper seethed, but only because his words were truth, and they struck through her pliant heart like perfectly aimed arrows.

  “I know you well enough to recognize the fact that you’re fighting it all the way.”

  “Fighting what?”

  “Mark’s offering. As a Christian, as his daughter, it looks to me like you want to start over, but as a human being, you’re refusing delivery. It’ll be interesting to see where God takes that. You can be a victim, or you can be an overcomer. The choice, the control, is now all yours, and it’s time to decide.” He took another long swallow, his eyes never drifting from hers. “Talk to him, Pyp. Just talk to him.”

  

  The longest emotional walk of Pyper’s life began the moment she exited her car in the parking lot of Reach North and strode past the reception desk inside. She had no appointment with Mark. She didn’t want to be announced. What she craved was the element of surprise. Most of all she wanted to run away.