The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  Then, when she took his hand and placed it on her stomach, his face contorted in such a way that she didn't know if he was happy or sad. But when his lip quivered and his head bowed, and a tear slipped to the floor, she knew he’d make a fine father.

  A sad song drew her attention back to the play. The mournful strains of the melody touched a cord within her soul that reverberated between poignant sorrow and bittersweet hope. The performance was about an emaciated man, who had ventured into the wilderness in search of food. And after walking for miles and gazing for hours at the barren horizon, he gives up hope and retreats in defeat to die alone to his hovel.

  But what the audience sees that the starving man doesn’t is that if he had shifted his perspective a little, or waited a few moments longer, he would have seen that blind spots were hiding a wealthy caravan, bringing food his way.

  Even the song and the story reminded Lorraine of Dylan and his dismal situation. His life had obviously slipped to a low level of debauchery, and she had gotten her life so together. A wave of guilt washed over her and she wondered why she felt that way. Maybe Dylan’s life would have turned out differently, if she had stayed with him. Or maybe things would have been different if he had come after her to make amends. Her body stiffened at the last possibility. No, he didn't bother to come after her once she’d left the hospital. And even though she’d told him to leave that night, he should have known that she really didn’t mean it. She was just grieving from the loss of the baby. She wasn't sure why he didn’t contact her, or why he didn’t come to the baby’s funeral. She just assumed that he didn't care, or that he was too busy drinking with his friends. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter now. Things were over between them.

  On the contrary, Randy showed her compassion right from the beginning, which ironically was the night she lost the baby, which ironically went against his hard and fast rule about not getting emotionally involved with patients. He was an intern then, and his bedside manners included encouraging her to follow her dream of going to college to become a nurse. She saw Randy a few times while she was in school and then more often once she began working at the hospital.

  The audience broke into a thunder of applause when the performance ended.

  “Wasn’t that a great show?” Randy asked while clapping.

  “Yes, it was,” Lorraine nodded, and although she had only a vague idea of what he was talking about, she applauded anyway.

  “Well, it wasn’t that wonderful,” Randy said, as he gently wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Lorraine patted the other side of her face. “I’m sorry,” she smiled. “I always cry at sad stories.” She hoped he wouldn’t question her about the performance, since she had missed most of it while musing about Dylan.

  They rose from their seats and wove through the crowd as they made their way to the lobby. Once there, they stood near the exit, watching the rain as it poured outside. “I should have brought my umbrella.” Randy frowned at the downpour and then glanced at his watch. “I’m going to make a quick call. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  Lorraine sat on a lobby chair, as Randy walked to a quiet area to use his cell phone. She watched people pass by arm-in-arm in stylish clothes while raving about the performance, and then she drew her attention back to Randy. She felt a sense of pride, knowing that she was engaged to such a handsome, intelligent, successful man. All of that, combined with his charismatic personality, made her feel all the more special to be his fiancé. People looked up to him and admired him in so many ways. Even now, her thoughts proved prophetic when a beautiful woman gazed at him from the corner of her eye, while her date appeared no wiser. Although something about the secretive look and the flicking eyebrow bothered her, especially when Randy looked back with a mutual glance of admiration.

  Lorraine stood up when Randy walked toward her, and said, “No emergencies at the hospital.”

  “I didn’t think you were on call.”

  “I’m not, but I still like to check in.”

  She nodded, wondering if this was a preview of coming distractions.

  “Well, we might as well make a run for it.” Randy held his overcoat above their heads while they darted across the parking lot. Once settled inside the car, he turned and held his coat up in the backseat and gave it a gentle shake. “Would you like to stop somewhere for a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be nice,” she said, wiping the rain from her cheek.

  Randy laid the coat on the backseat before starting the car. Then they drove through the falling rain as the wipers clacked a steady rhythm all the way to Perk-O-Lates 24-hour Coffeehouse. The rain had let up by the time they arrived, and once inside, a waitress led them to a table where Randy ordered two cups of coffee.

  “You’ve been the quiet one tonight,” Randy said.

  Lorraine wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t know where to begin. Her love life had been on hold for so long, and now it was moving so fast with him, and she was glad, but she needed to tell him about Dylan. “Remember when I told you that I hadn’t seen Dylan in over a year-and-a-half?” She folded and unfolded her napkin.

  “Yes,” Randy said, while thanking the waitress for their order before she left. “What about it?”

  Lorraine took a sip of coffee then swallowed hard, taking note of the waitress’s lingering glance at her fiancée. “Well…I…um…I saw him…I saw Dylan this morning,” she stammered, nodding in her own approval that she finally got the words out.

  Randy stiffened a bit as though someone suddenly added starch to his shirt. “So, what did he have to say?”

  “Nothing. He was asleep.”

  “Asleep?” Randy raised one eyebrow. “Where did you see him sleeping?” His voice remained calm, but the inflection changed ever-so-slightly.

  Lorraine’s mouth parted in surprise at the hint of suspicion in the question. “I saw him on my floor as a patient. Where else would I have seen him sleeping?” What wonders irritation will do to magically untie one’s tongue.

  Randy’s face turned a lovely shade of pink. “I’m sorry, Lorraine. I didn’t mean anything by it. I guess I still have insecurities when it comes to you and Dylan. I’ll feel better once your divorce is final.” He took a sip of coffee then set the cup back down. “Can you blame me? You’re such a beautiful woman and you have so much going for you. I’ll bet you had guys lined up at your door before either of us ever came along.” He took her hand and kissed the top of it while looking into her eyes.

  Randy had a way of disarming her with his words. He’d done it on more than one occasion before. She decided to let the implication slide, and said, “Dylan came in last night as a stabbing victim and was admitted as a John Doe.”

  The lovely shade suddenly drained from Randy’s face. “John Doe? I was on duty last night when the John Doe came in. I closed him up.”

  THIRTEEN

  Dylan heard a woman’s voice. “He should be up and around in no time. He’s healing well and as long as there’s no sign of infection, he should be released in a day or two.”

  “Thank you,” Pastor Jacobson said.

  The first voice left the room, and then it was quiet. And then Dylan heard Pastor Jacobson praying. “Lord, whatever happened last night, please help Dylan to forgive himself, as you have already forgiven him. Let him heal quickly and grow spiritually into the godly man you desire him to be.”

  Lying there, Dylan slowly flicked his eyes open and then scanned the room while trying to figure out where he was, and what had happened to him. The sterile atmosphere indicated things that he was all too sure of, but didn’t want to admit. Glimpses of the night before flashed through his mind, filling him with guilt and shame, which intensified when he saw Pastor Jacobson.

  “Dylan—” Pastor Jacobson called tenderly.

  Dylan turned his face away, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath. Oh, Lord, how he wanted to cry. Or to crawl in a hole and die. How could he have been so weak and foolish? How stupid
of him to think that his problems would magically disappear just because he prayed one prayer. How he wanted the pastor to go away so he could grieve alone. The shame he felt was unbearable, especially in his presence. How could he face this man after he’d walked the aisle that day? He thought everything was going to be perfect after he gave his life to Christ. Dylan slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry, Pastor. You must really hate me by now.”

  Dylan shook his head on the pillow and then spoke again. “I meant to sever the ties, but I got tangled up instead. When I prayed at church that day, I imagined my life in a sleigh where I laid the reins in Christ’s hands, but last night I took them back and overturned the sled instead.” His voice halted with emotion. “I can’t fix this now. I’m pathetic, hopeless.” Dylan closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his lips flat. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “I only meant to have one drink. Jesus drank wine.”

  Pastor Jacobson had let Dylan speak freely as he seemed to search for the right words to respond. “First of all, Dylan, I don’t hate you. You’re my friend. Second, you cannot fix this, but the Lord can use it to further your growth, because He’s a God of grace and forgiveness. Third, Jesus drank wine, yes, but he also walked on water and rose from the dead. Becoming like Christ is a gradual process, not an overnight done-deal.

  “The image of the sleigh and the reins is a good one, because the Lord does search our hearts and test the reins to see who’s in control. It’s when we get our sticky fingers on those leather straps that we sometimes make a mess of things. But when we release the reins and fully trust Him, we can know that wherever we are, or whatever we are going through, is where we’re supposed to be. Everything’s used to further our growth.”

  “I realize this now,” Dylan offered. “I just want to get over this and move on, so it doesn’t happen again.”

  Pastor Jacobson looked at him with compassion. “Dylan, when a child is born he doesn’t just stand up and walk right away. If he fell down you’d say that he’s learning and encourage him to try again. His life is a process of growth, and in much the same way, you must learn to walk a different way than you previously did before. It’s natural to fall, but you don’t have to stay on the ground.”

  “I tried to make up for the wrong that I did by helping the man get his wallet back. I never intended to keep it.”

  The minister held his hands in front of his lips in prayer fashion, keeping his eyes focused on Dylan then lowered them slowly. “Did any of your good works reconcile you to God last week?”

  “No.”

  “You’re right. Good works are the fruit of the Christian life, not the root.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jesus paid our sin debt by dying in our place and then rising again. That’s the root, or the foundation of what we believe. Good works are the fruit that is produced when we are obedient, or when we give Him the reins and trust him. You can’t fix the past, but you can change your future by accepting God’s forgiveness and starting again from where you are.”

  A dull ache pulled at Dylan’s stomach when he shifted to his side. “But you don’t know what I’m going through. You’re a minister. Your life is practically perfect. You’ve never had to deal with the losses or the temptations that I deal with every day. It’s harder than anything you can imagine.”

  Pastor Jacobson looked down at his hands for a long moment then slowly lifted his head. His eyes appeared to tear. “Dylan, remember the sermon about the Word of God being the foundation of the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Jesus says ‘apart from me, you can do nothing.’ Certain doors in your house should never be opened again. In your case it’s drinking. False pleasures or pretend friends may entice you to come inside, but if you should open the door, even a crack, the evil one can get a foothold in this area and take over the whole house. One compromise can ruin your life like it almost did last night.”

  Dylan’s eyes were riveted on Pastor Jacobson. “So how do I keep it shut?”

  “The Lord will help you keep the door closed and give you new doors to go through. Let me see if I can explain this a little better,” Pastor Jacobson smiled. “You’ve seen the Superman movies, haven’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, then you know that even though Superman was faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, he had one weakness, Kryptonite, which brought him to his knees like a helpless little baby. You also know that there were only two things that kept Superman strong: He either had to stay away from the element of his former world, or he had to keep Kryptonite stored in a closed lead container.

  “When I was a little boy, I used to watch with fascination as the enemy opened the lead box and Superman swooned and stumbled and then fell down.” Pastor Jacobson smiled as he continued. “The Man of Steel in all of his strength could not ‘beat’ Kryptonite just as you cannot ‘beat’ your temptations on your own. The only way that he remained strong was by staying away from the source of his weakness, or he kept the source of his weakness enclosed in a lead container. Kryptonite never jumped out of the box and chased Superman down the street, and neither do our temptations. We are the ones who move toward the things that make us weak and allow their power to overtake us. Turning away creates distance from the source of temptation and its power over you, just as turning away created distance from Kryptonite and its power over Superman.

  “The next solution is a bit trickier. Keeping the door closed simply means there is no opening at all. This is so basic that many people don’t accept the simplicity of how it works. When someone has a drinking problem, they often fool themselves into believing that it’s okay to indulge in moderation. Saying, ‘just this once’ or ‘just a little bit’ is like lifting the lid of the lead box or opening the door a crack, and then they lose their strength. Once it’s opened, it’s hard to close and the next thing you know, they’re snatched through the door.

  “The ironic thing is that those who are the strongest are often most susceptible to falling this way. They’re the ones who believe they can handle one look, one touch, or one taste, while thinking ‘this time will be different.’ But every time they peek or play or dance around the lead box, they lose a little strength, and pretty soon the lid is off and they are on the floor, swooning like Superman with a bottle at their lips. You see, Dylan, I do understand. I am an alcoholic.”

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon, Pastor Jacobson pulled up to the hospital entrance and waited for Dylan to be discharged. An orderly wheeled him to the car and locked the chair as Dylan stood, turned and eased himself into the passenger seat. With clenched teeth and short breaths, the slightest exertion hurt. He thought there must be a boot print on his back the way that it felt today. He buckled the seatbelt as best that he could, while holding it away from his wound, then he rested his head against the seat and sighed, while looking up at the building. That’s when he saw the nurse looking down from the third floor window.

  Pastor Jacobson pulled away from the curb.

  “Did you see that nurse?” Dylan twisted his neck to look back, grimacing in pain when he turned.

  “We just left a hospital,” the pastor said with a smile. “I saw a lot of nurses. Why?”

  “I don’t know. That one up there just looked familiar.” Dylan pressed his hand to his stomach as he repositioned himself on the seat.

  “Oh, by the way, I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” Pastor Jacobson reached behind the seat and handed Dylan a leather-bound Bible. “It’s a gift.”

  “I’ve never had one of my own before. Thank you, Pastor.”

  “Doug’s hoping that you’ll be able to help him with the new job that starts next week. There’s also a group of men who get together at his house for a Bible study. He wants to know if you’d like to join them.” Pastor applied the brake as he rounded the corner. “The study deals with issues pertaining to men’s lives: rel
ationships, temptations, finances, those sorts of things. Then, they learn how to handle each situation from a Biblical perspective. There’s a meeting Friday night if you feel up to going.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven o’clock. Someone can pick you up if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested.”

  * * *

  Linda Baker set a plate of walnut covered brownies and a carafe of coffee on the living room table then excused herself from the room. Folding chairs had been arranged around the sofa and coffee table where ten men gathered for the informal meeting. Dylan knew most of them from church, but there were a few unfamiliar faces.

  “We saved you the best seat in the house, Dylan,” Doug said, slapping the back of his overstuffed recliner. Doug introduced the men, as Dylan made his way to the chair. “You know most of the guys here, but these two new faces belong to Frank Canfield and Ryan Hall. They attend the First Christian Church in Jamestown, but they come to our men's Bible Study to eat my wife's brownies.”

  “Hey!” Frank protested, while wiping the crumbs from his mouth on a napkin, “Walnut brownies for the soul.” He held up the remainder of his brownie and smiled. “With a name like Canfield, I should write a book.” A few of the men chuckled as more coffee was poured and more brownies doled out.

  Before he sat down, Dylan shook Ryan’s hand, and as he did, the man said, “Clark, huh? We've got a big wedding coming up at our church for a Clark. Lorraine Clark. Any relation?”

  WHAM! Like a rug pulled out from under his feet, the already wounded man practically fell into the chair. Dylan gripped the arm of the recliner then lowered himself into a sitting position. Then, in an almost apologetic voice, he said, “Sorry, my stomach. It's still a little sore.”