The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  Dylan’s throat constricted as panic set in. Fear choked him. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breath. He began to hyperventilate. No! No! No! My God! Lorraine's getting married! The divorce isn't even final yet and she's making wedding plans! Oh, Lord, help me! Please don’t take her away from me!

  And as he waited, listening within for an answer or for comfort, Dylan’s breathing calmed a bit, and he looked around to see if anyone had noticed his distress. But the men were drinking coffee and making preparations for the study. Dylan quieted his thoughts and as he did, a gentle voice slowly rose from within and swelled his heart, stretching him, enlarging his soul as the Spirit assured him: My grace is sufficient for thee.

  Dylan strained. Yes, Lord, but this is more than I can handle. Please, help me.

  And slowly, softly the Lord implored, Cast your cares upon Me for I care for you. Give me the reins, Dylan. Trust me. I am a good God and I will take care of you. A moment passed, and then another, as Dylan absorbed the truth and reveled in the glow, and as he surrendered the reins of control back to God, sweet peace enveloped him like an analgesic applied to his soul. A soothing balm, a heavenly medication, and he breathed a sigh of release.

  Doug began the study with a moment of prayer, and then said, “Tonight’s topic is on how do deal with day-to-day temptations.”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank interrupted. “Pass me one of those brownies before you get started.”

  Doug gave a teasing scowl as the men laughed. “The verse we’ll be focusing on is found in Romans 12:21, if you would like to follow along in your Bibles.”

  A sudden rustling sound followed as the men turned to chapter and verse.

  Doug read the passage aloud to the men. “‘Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.’ Since most temptations involve things that we desire, like more brownies,” he smiled at Frank. “I’d like to share an old Indian legend that compares our two natures to two dogs. We’re all born with the first dog that I’ll call Sinbad. He’s a wild dog by nature, but he’s cute and cuddly and even funny when he’s a little puppy. You’ve seen silly things he’s done like trip over his own feet and tumble into a furry ball or sneak treats from the biscuit box and then look forlorn when reprimanded. He doesn't need much to keep him happy at this point, because his vicious nature hasn’t fully emerged. But as he grows, he becomes more demanding and more controlling in order to feed his ever-increasing appetite. He runs the show for quite awhile, but then one day a Good-dog comes to live with us.”

  Ryan toasted with his coffee cup, and said, “Amen.”

  Doug smiled. “The Good-dog is bigger and stronger than the Sinbad dog and can easily dominate him, but many people continue to feed the wild dog and neglect the Good-dog, so the Sinbad dog usually rules.

  “So, what can we do to get rid of the dog that wants to destroy us and nourish the dog that wants to protect us?” Doug looked around the room then answered his own question. “Feed the good dog and starve the bad dog. What we feed our hearts and minds by way of our senses, particularly what we see or hear, determines which dog will grow and dominate. It’s really a simple concept, if you think about it. But heed a word of warning: If you stop feeding the bad dog, he's going to put up a fight to get what he wants, and you may feel miserable for awhile, because a starving dog is a vicious dog. The good news is that if you choose to solely feed the Good-dog, there will come a point where Sinbad will be too weak to fight, and the struggle will eventually cease.”

  When the Bible study ended, the men gathered jackets, smacked backs, and bid adieus before Doug turned to Dylan, and asked, “Are you ready to go home?”

  Dylan set his coffee cup down and picked up his jacket. “I’ll be right there.”

  Doug lifted his keys from the hook on the wall, and as they walked to the car Dylan’s thoughts turned toward home. Home. Home to what? An empty house full of nothing but loneliness and memories and a cat that can’t talk. How am I going to do this, Lord? Dylan mulled over the two-dog concept that sounded so simple to comprehend, yet so difficult to carry through. Every time he thought of Lorraine marrying another man, the turmoil erupted again. How could he stay focused on the Lord when he was so lonely for the real live companionship of a woman, his woman, his wife?

  “You okay, Dylan?”

  “Just thinking about the Bible study.”

  “It’s an old story. I just added a few details to make it more relevant. I hope it helps.” Doug slowed to a stop at the traffic light in the middle of town.

  “I do too,” Dylan sighed, as he looked toward the park, beyond the landmarks, beyond the present. “You can let me off here. The walk will do me good.”

  “Are you sure? It's no trouble to take you the rest of the way home.”

  “I'm sure. Thanks anyway.”

  It was still early, not quite nine. Dylan thought he’d stop for a slice of hot pizza, but decided against it. He really didn’t want to go home yet either. The thought of his empty house intensified his loneliness and he felt uneasy. He knew the feeling. He’d felt it before. It was like something had a hold of him. Like the dog inside of him wasn’t a dog at all, but a ravenous wolf gnawing and ripping the pit of his stomach. He missed Lorraine and she wouldn’t be home tonight or tomorrow or ever. He wanted to find her and make her come back, so he could hold her and kiss her and love her again. But after the shocking news tonight, his hopes and prayers seemed to have vanished unanswered, so he ached to hold a drink instead, and Fredonia was the place to find one.

  The town took on a whole different feel when the sun went down. He knew it, and he walked smack into it anyway. By day, the sleepy little town stepped back in time. Missing only were parasol-carrying ladies in hoopskirts in horse-drawn carriages amid apothecaries, soda fountains and liveries where people felt safe, waved to their neighbors, and fetched lost dogs if they wandered from homes.

  But by night, the quaint little village touted its bars above all else, wooing potential clientele, as they swarmed like bees congregating at hives, to drink in their fill of intoxicating honey. Promising sweetness, enticing to sip, then biting with fiery stings once they partook.

  Dylan passed a liquor store, then a bar, and then a lounge and a club. Walking by one building and then to the next, they seemed to be cut from the same mold and squeezed together in tight little rows, like a long drawn out game of Monopoly all crowded with houses and hotels. He heard laughter and music and felt himself weakening. The lure tugged at his heart with an invisible cord as he heard the evil lies from his past: Go inside and you'll feel better. Just this once won't hurt.

  The establishments reached out like creepers on sleeping giants, awakening with yawning orifices, devouring those who entered in by way of curiosity or excitement or escape. Yes, Dylan knew what he was doing when he stepped out of the car. He didn’t want to come here, but he got out anyway, to walk the perimeter of sin. He loved and hated drinking all in one breath. He wanted to be free, but he wanted to drink, and now he was fighting the urge that intensified with each step that he took. Thinking all the while he’d be strong, yet all the while knowing he’d be weak.

  He vacillated from yes to no, then back to yes again, before steeling himself with hands tightly fisted and bowing his head right there on the street, not caring who saw or heard in his plea. “Lord, hold the reins of my life. Help me to keep the door shut. Help me! Please help me! I am willing to do your will. Help me to starve the bad dog and feed the good dog. Starve the bad dog, feed the good dog,” and so went his praying mantra.

  Turn around. Get away. Do it now!

  Dylan gasped at the command. And when he lifted his head at the intersection, he turned from the allure of the town like the ripping of a sleigh from its course and swiftly began walking away from it. And when he made the external move, together with the internal decision, an invisible cord seemed to be severed from his body and the struggle immediately ceased.

  Sighing in exhaustion and relief, he continued moving qui
ckly until he came upon a gift shop and glanced in the window. There, he stopped to see, a china doll in a red velvet dress staring back out at him.

  And the words of Pastor Jacobson came to his mind. “The Lord will give you new doors to walk through.”

  FOURTEEN

  “Look at this!” Connie said, holding up a vanilla-colored silk chemise while whistling softly through her teeth. “For the wedding night?”

  Lorraine shook her head. “I’m here for wedding day attire, not evening retire, thank you.”

  “But it’s gorgeous.” Connie held the garment higher for a better look.

  “Please, Connie, I have to find a dress.”

  Connie put the wisp of white away then pulled a feather boa from the rack, looping it behind her neck and down the length of her arms. She gave the boa a playful shake and raised a questioning eyebrow in Lorraine’s direction.

  Lorraine’s hand halted on the rack of gowns. She shook her head again, then lifted and folded a dress over her arm. “Randy doesn’t like anything birdlike. I think it’s a Hitchcock thing.”

  Connie laughed and gave the boa a final twirl before putting it away. A feather zigzagged through the air and floated to the floor.

  “You’re molting,” Lorraine said, smiling over her shoulder before stepping into the dressing room.

  Moments later, Lorraine emerged from the curtained cubicle modeling a ballerina length gown with satin bows and puffed sleeves, “What do you think of this one?”

  Connie scowled. “Friends don't let friends wear puffed sleeves. Try this antique white one with the lace and seed pearl trim, and the matching skullcap with the stiff veil too.”

  The saleswoman unzipped Lorraine’s gown and she stepped back into the fitting room. As Lorraine hung the dress up on a hook, a pair of shoes suddenly jutted through the curtain, swinging on Connie’s fingertips. “Might as well get the full effect.”

  “What would I do without you,” Lorraine mocked. A moment passed, and then she said, “Oh, Connie, these heels are way too high. Can you find another pair?” She spoke through the curtain as she slipped out of one gown and into the next. “Dylan used to say that he didn’t know how women walked in such high heels. But those aren't even high heels they're die heels. They'll kill my feet!”

  Connie found a more comfortable looking pair and exchanged them with the killer heels.

  “Girl, what am I going to do with you? These are way too small!” Lorraine stuck her leg out of the curtain, dangling the little shoe from the tip of her toe, and sang, “Cinderella, Cinderella. Try again?”

  “Pick, pick, pick!”

  Lorraine poked her head out and pouted her lower lip.

  Connie curtseyed. “Sorry, your Highness.”

  When she finished dressing, Lorraine flung the curtain open and pranced around the boutique with an exaggerated strut pretending to be a model on a platform runway.

  Connie played along acting as a buyer evaluating her ensemble. “It's exquisite! Ravishing! I'll take two!” she said, clapping her hands faster than a circus seal.

  As Lorraine circled the room, her heel twisted, her body jerked, and her arm shot out to regain her balance. She quickly recovered, but the whole scenario set Connie to twittering like a sparrow. “T...t...t...twinkle toes!” Connie cupped her hand over her mouth to smother the laughter, but the muffling set her to snorting like a little piglet.

  Lorraine giggled, but it was nothing compared to the display unfolding before her as Connie teetered on the throes of hysteria. Lorraine glared at her friend in an effort to settle her down, but that only intensified Connie's laughter and she began clucking in laughter like a chicken.

  The saleswoman glanced at Connie with a look of disdain, mumbled something about a one-woman menagerie then rolled her eyes as she hung up a dress.

  Lorraine cleared her throat then turned to face the full-length mirrors. When she saw her reflection among the plants and flowers and satin and lace, she held her breath in awe. Was that really her in the mirror? She looked angelic! Exhaling measured breaths, she touched her hand to her heart then slowly ran her hands down the length of the gown as though smoothing out wrinkles, but there were none.

  The dress was beautiful, more beautiful than any she'd ever seen before. And as she stood mesmerized by the yards of satin and rows of pearls and lace, she felt like a princess. And the longer she stared, the greater the realization of her forthcoming marriage became and it hit her like a blast of hot air. She suddenly felt dizzy, so she touched a finger to her forehead as her body swayed ever so slightly. Straighten up, she thought, chiding herself for behaving like a marshmallow. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, then after regaining her composure and hoping no one saw her falter, she tried to make sense of it all.

  Oh, she knew that she was marrying Randy all right, that's why she was here. To try on gowns and veils and shoes to make sure everything fit. But something didn't seem to fit. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she had an uneasy feeling that something wasn't quite right.

  When she married Dylan, she never had all the beautiful things for her wedding that she will have this time, but she never felt uneasy either. Even with their lack of money and her parent’s refusal to attend the ceremony, they made do with what they had, and it was okay.

  Dylan picked a bouquet of daisies and chicory to match her periwinkle dress and then tied empty soda cans to the back of the Pontiac, where they clanked mercilessly behind the car when he drove down the road. They pitched a tent and camped in the woods on the evening of their honeymoon, then slow danced under a diamond-studded canopy of velvet, while music played on the car radio, and the fire crackled softly and smoldered into the night.

  “Lorraine...Oh, Lorraaainey.”

  Lorraine flinched and turned from the mirror. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.”

  “I thought maybe you'd stepped into Wonderland, Alice.”

  Lorraine forced a smile and turned to the saleswoman. “I'll take this one.”

  After Lorraine changed back into her clothes, she wrote out a check to the tune of four figures, as the clerk packaged the gown and the veil.

  The women strolled out of the boutique like two peacocks on their way to the grand fowl ball. “You know, I could buy an entire living room suite for what I paid for this dress.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you can spread the gown across the parlor floor and sit on it while you and Randy watch television.”

  “Are you kidding? I might have it framed and hung on the wall for that price.”

  “Sort of like a tapestry, huh?”

  “Yeah, right,” Lorraine smiled. “How about stopping for a glass of iced tea? My treat.”

  “Sounds good to me. I need something after the vibes that saleswoman gave off. She acted like I was some kind of a kook! Can you believe it?”

  “If the shoe fits,” Lorraine said, peeking at Connie out of the corner of her eye. She liked Connie. They immediately hit it off the first time they met at the hospital and have been friends ever since. Connie had a great sense of humor and was prone to excessive goofiness at times, which by some sort of osmosis brought out Lorraine’s own mischievous nature. She remembered the time she squirted whipped cream into Connie’s mouth and her cheeks puffed out like a hamster’s. Lorraine doubled over laughing when Connie held her mouth to keep the cream from spraying out in forty different directions. Lorraine banged the can down on the counter and laughed so hard her stomach hurt for an hour. Even now, Lorraine smiled at the memory.

  The two women carried the boxes to the car and locked them in the trunk before walking to the outdoor café around the corner. Suddenly, Connie grabbed Lorraine’s arm, and said, “Hey, did you hear that Minnie on 4C got a facelift?”

  “Good for her. A nip and a tuck in all the right places would make any girl happy.”

  “No, it’s weird. She used to have skin like a walnut shell, and then poof, she’s pecan smooth.

  “Connie!”


  “Well, it’s not natural,” Connie said, scrunching up her face. “Her husband looks like an old prune and she looks like a hot tamale!”

  “Why do all your metaphors involve food?” Lorraine grinned. “Anyway, don’t tell her she’s hot. Her head will blow up like a beach ball.”

  The women were still giggling when they pulled out the bistro chairs at the café and sat down. Lorraine ordered a glass of iced tea for both of them. The sun felt wonderful against her skin. She lifted her face to the warm sunshine and stretched her hands across the table, absorbing the light through her pores, melting the tightness in her body like wax on a hot summer day.

  The waitress returned with their tea and set the glasses on the table.

  “Thank you.” Lorraine said to the woman. She swirled the ice with her straw and sighed, as the wax melted and poured itself out. “There's still so much to do. I’ve made reservations at the church and now I have my dress, but I haven't decided on flowers or food or music yet. I think the Chautauqua Chateau would be a nice place for the reception. Don’t you?”

  “Sounds okay by me,” Connie said.

  “Do you believe that my neighbor suggested the Stein and Dine? Their meatballs are the size of baseballs and their biscuits are as hard as hockey pucks. And the chicken, ugh, forget it! You can wring the grease out of it! Who wants that oozing through their fingers?”

  “Not me,” Connie nodded and scrunched up her face, while squeezing lemon into her tea.

  Lorraine hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve heard the Chateau has great roast beef. They've been serving it there since the early 1900s.”

  Connie took a sip of tea. “Isn't it a little tough by now?”

  Lorraine gave her friend a lopsided grin. “Old joke,” she said, and then continued, “They offer a huge assortment of imported cheeses and home-baked breads.”

  “I don't know about the cheeses. My mother gave me a thirty-minute lecture last week on the evils of cream cheese,” she paused, “but I still love the others. If it’s spreadable with crackers that’s always a plus.” Connie leaned across the table as she expound on the pros and cons of dairy products. “They have a buffet in Erie with cheeses as far as the eye can see. Sharp, Colby, brie —”