The Best We've Been

by Beth K. Vogt

  “Gianna’s still okay helping with Winston, right? You can always take him to my parents’ if you need to.”

  “Gianna’s fine helping out if I need her to.”

  Silence settled between them again. There was nothing more to say—not tonight, at least. She needed to end this and hope . . . hope for a better outcome next time. “I’ll call again soon.”

  “Fine.”

  “I love you, Geoff.” She could say the words, no matter how she felt.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I don’t understand. You never asked if I understood.”

  With those words, his guard was back up, and so was hers. Her stilted repeat of “I love you” was a failed attempt to step closer as Geoff disconnected the call. Had he even heard her?

  Jillian sat in the bedroom, her phone on the floor beside her. Nothing had been accomplished. She shouldn’t be surprised. Or disappointed.

  Well, Harper would be happy to know she’d called.

  And her best friend would understand, even if Geoff didn’t.

  14

  HOW HARD WAS IT to ask for prayer?

  Almost impossible, since Payton and Zach were several weeks into the couples’ Wednesday night Bible study and she still hadn’t spoken up and shared a request.

  If she did, it would mean she had to pray out loud like everyone else in the group. And she was not going to do that. Not until she knew certain things.

  Did she say “Dear God”? Or “Our Father”? Or just “Jesus”? Did she have to say “amen” when she was done or “in Jesus’ name”? And was there a time limit for praying? A minimum time to pray?

  But then Payton kept hearing how prayer made a difference. Changed things. And she needed to change her attitude. It wasn’t that she didn’t pray. She was fine praying by herself—silently. Short, easy prayers. She was fine praying with Zach—letting him pray out loud and saying, “Amen” after he did. But praying out loud in a group of people she barely knew made her want to find a paper bag and breathe into it until she didn’t feel like passing out.

  “Any more prayer requests?” Paul glanced around the group.

  It was now or never.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. I have one.”

  “Sure, Payton. How can we pray for you?”

  She ignored how Zach froze next to her, which was hard to do when she was clinging to his hand. He was probably stunned she’d asked for prayer. Everyone in the room was staring at her.

  “I coach a girls’ volleyball team. I think I mentioned that, right?”

  Paul nodded, his pen poised over the notebook where he recorded the prayer requests each week.

  “One of the girls—she plays back row, um, defense—” No one else except Zach understood what she was talking about. “Anyway . . . she has a really poor attitude. Every single practice. She complains about the other girls. Doesn’t let me coach her. I’m getting frustrated with her.”

  “How can we pray?” Paul’s pen remained motionless.

  Oh. She hadn’t said that yet.

  “I guess, if you could pray that I would have patience—”

  She’d barely gotten the word patience out of her mouth when Sharon exhaled a loud gasp and a “No!” that cut her off.

  What had she said?

  “Payton!”

  “What?”

  “You never pray for that!” The woman’s perfectly made-up eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Then Sharon burst out laughing.

  And everyone else joined her—Zach included.

  The joke—whatever it was—was on Payton. All she could do was wait for everyone to tell her what was so funny.

  Zach tugged on her hand, a “Come on, laugh with us” gesture. But what was she laughing at?

  She was clueless, and if she didn’t do something fast, she was going to look like a poor sport.

  She’d treat the situation like an imposing, taller middle staring at her through the net. Not let on she was intimidated. All she had to do was not back down, so she’d take a step closer. She didn’t have to do anything crazy, like the one player who barked like a dog to try to distract opponents. That was annoying, not intimidating.

  “Um, what unspoken rule did I break?”

  “Sorry, Payton.” Sharon gained control of her laughter. Barely. “It’s just something Christians say.”

  “I’m kind of new to this. What do we say?”

  “Never pray for patience . . . unless you want to be tested.”

  “Ah. Got it. If I pray for patience . . .”

  “God’s going to put you in tough situations so you can learn to be patient.” Sharon’s husband offered her an apologetic smile. “That’s not really how it works. People just say that.”

  She nodded. “This is when I withdraw my prayer request, then?”

  “Of course not.” Sara spoke up. “I’ll pray for you.”

  And when everyone else had shared their approved requests, Sara did just that, in her soft, pleasant voice that took away the sting of laughter and didn’t seem to invite impending disaster.

  Zach held Payton’s hand and no one seemed to expect her to pray. And she didn’t, because her courage waned at the thought of praying out loud and getting it wrong.

  She’d face that opponent next time.

  Maybe.

  Once the study was over, she hurried Zach through the chitchat and out to their car.

  “What’s the rush? Why do we have to leave so soon?”

  “I’ve got stuff to do, Zach. You know that.”

  “What stuff?” Her husband rested his hands on the steering wheel. “I thought you said you were caught up on things.”

  “I’m . . . tired, okay? Can we just go?” She clicked her seat belt in place, facing forward.

  “Sure.” He started the engine.

  “Do we have to go back to the study?” Payton’s shoulders slumped. So much for bravado.

  “What?” Zach slid the car back into park.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to keep going to the study. I mean, we’re both busy with work and classes and I’m finishing up club season . . .”

  “I’m enjoying the study. Aren’t you?”

  “I wasn’t really looking for more homework, Zach.”

  “Paul and Sara don’t worry too much about that. I mean, it helps being part of the discussion if you work through the chapter—”

  “Some of those people in there know all the answers without even cracking open their Bible.”

  “So?”

  “And Greta . . . I’ve seen her workbook and she hasn’t written a single word in it, but she talks more than anybody in the room.”

  Zach laughed, waving away her complaint. “She’s a PK.”

  “A what?”

  “A PK. Preacher’s kid. Of course she knows all this stuff. She was raised in the church.”

  PK. Yet another term she didn’t know.

  “Then there’s Ethan, who spouts off Scripture after Scripture. I try to write them down, but . . .”

  “Oh, Paul calls him a ‘walking concordance.’”

  “A what?”

  “A concordance. You know, a book that lists verses topically. Although they have online concordances now.”

  “Oh.”

  How had she missed the memo that there was so much lingo when it came to being a Christian? So many terms to learn? She needed to make a personal dictionary in the Notes app on her phone.

  She’d expected competition on the volleyball court, not at a Bible study.

  The echo of Zach’s laughter still lingered in the car, but Payton struggled to laugh. It shouldn’t matter so much. But it did.

  Zach reached over and took her hand. “Is this why you don’t talk at Bible study?”

  “Noticed that, did you?”

  “Yes, I noticed. I think everybody has noticed.”

  “It’s not going to help that I got shot down
the first time I ever shared a prayer request.” Payton’s face burned at the memory. “I’m not too inclined to ever ask for prayer again.”

  “But you laughed!”

  “While I was being laughed at.”

  “Everybody was laughing. You joked about it, Payton.”

  “What was I supposed to do, Zach? Cry?” She offered a weak smile in the darkened car. “I’m still getting used to praying out loud with you. So even asking for prayer is uncomfortable for me. I was afraid it meant I had to pray out loud, too.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “I don’t know that.” She resisted pulling her hand away and pouting. “Didn’t you notice that I stumbled around when I started talking about volleyball? I realized no one else would understand, so I stopped talking about it.”

  “But this is a Bible study. We’re going to have things like lingo and praying and . . .”

  “I know. I know . . .”

  It was like being a rookie again, and she hadn’t been a beginner in so long. She’d forgotten what it was like to not know what to do.

  And now everyone else was coming out of the house and heading to their cars.

  “Drive.” She motioned toward the keys dangling from the steering column. “Now.”

  “What?”

  “Everyone is coming out. They’re going to see us still sitting here and think we’re arguing or that something is wrong . . .”

  “Maybe they’ll think we were making out.” Zach’s laugh was just wicked enough to make her blush.

  “Like that’s better?”

  “Hey, we’re newlyweds. I don’t mind if they think that.”

  “Come on, Zach. Drive, please.”

  “Are we going to finish talking?”

  “Yes.”

  Zach maneuvered the car away from the curb. “Do you really want to stop going to the Bible study?”

  At last, she had her out.

  “I don’t want to go back.” And then Payton remembered that she and Pepper had never been quitters when it came to competition on the court. Why should she be a quitter now? “But I will if you help me.”

  “You want me to do the homework for us?”

  “No! I’m not a slacker or a cheater, Zach Gaines.”

  “That was a joke.”

  “Here’s what I want. What I need.” She took his hand, his skin warm against hers. “Tell me there was a time you didn’t know all this.”

  “‘This’ being . . . ?”

  “All the right things to say. All the right things to do.”

  “Of course I didn’t.” Zach squeezed her fingers, his words warmed with a smile. “And being a Christian doesn’t mean knowing all the right things and saying all the right things.”

  “It feels that way sometimes.”

  “Let’s go back to basics.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Zach pulled over to the side of the road before leaving the neighborhood. Turned the car off. Leaned across, until his hand found the diamond cross necklace that rested against her skin.

  “Why are you wearing this? To make Pepper happy? To make me happy?”

  “No. You know I wouldn’t be wearing it if that’s what it was about.”

  His eyes searched hers in the darkness. “Tell me.”

  “I wear this because God proved to me that He was real. That He loved me.”

  “There you go.”

  “There I go . . . what?”

  His smile eased the tension that had surrounded her heart. “When you get frustrated with all the lingo and how much everybody else knows, you go back to that. God loves you. All that other stuff—praying out loud and the Christianese—it’s stuff, Payton. I think God chuckles at us and all our catchwords sometimes.”

  Zach knew her. And he always knew how to draw her back to the truth. He’d helped Payton believe in God, giving her time and space to find God in her own way. He wasn’t going to let her forget and lose her way because she got tripped up by code words and what she did or didn’t know.

  Zach’s fingertips grazed the skin along her collarbone as he let the necklace drop, causing tingles to course up along her neck. Then the back of his hand caressed the curve of her jaw.

  “Interested in making out with me, Mrs. Gaines?” He offered Payton a seductive half grin.

  “You are a silly man, Mr. Gaines.” She leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss across his lips.

  “I am completely serious.”

  “If you’re serious, then take me home, sir, and prove it.”

  “I’m more than happy to do so, love. More than happy to do so.”

  15

  ONLY A FEW OTHER staff members occupied the hospital cafeteria, but Axton and I chose a table near the artificial waterfall, providing a pleasant view and additional privacy, thanks to the soft murmur of the water among the well-tended foliage.

  “I have to admit I’m getting used to these weekly early morning meetings, Axton.”

  “I noticed you let me buy you tea this morning.” Axton sat across from me, enjoying his usual muffin and coffee.

  “True. I suppose one day I’ll be able to drink my French press again.” I raised the white ceramic mug with the logo of a columbine on it. “Until then, tea it is.”

  “Does your admission also mean you’ve bought into the monthly birthday celebrations?”

  “Do you want an honest answer?”

  “I’ve come to expect nothing less than an honest answer from you, Johanna.”

  “I’ll always be more of a Lone Ranger than you.” I held my hand up before he could interrupt me. “But I also admit the staff enjoys them. I see the smiles. Hear the positive comments. See how they read the messages from their coworkers inside the birthday cards. Who buys them, by the way?”

  “I confess, my wife buys them.”

  “Ah, your cover is blown. You’re not the perfect boss, browsing the card aisle and selecting just the right one for each employee.”

  “No. Dot enjoys it too much for me to take that responsibility from her. We have quite a stash of birthday, anniversary, get well, and new baby cards.” Axton tore the wrapper off his bran muffin. “When I mentioned we were meeting this morning, Dot brought up the idea of planning a baby shower for you again.”

  “No.” I sputtered on my sip of tea. “I do not want a baby shower.”

  “You do realize you need things for this baby—”

  “Yes, of course I do. I’ll handle that. And now that you mention it, there are some things I wanted to talk to you about—besides a baby shower.” I stirred my tea—a useless action, since I didn’t add sugar or cream to it. “I talked with Rose in HR, and Colorado law allows for up to twelve weeks of maternity leave—unpaid, it turns out. However, the hospital offers six weeks of paid maternity leave for employees—”

  “Which you plan on using.”

  “I plan on using that—at least. Maybe an additional six.” I consulted the calendar on my phone. “Six weeks takes us into October. An additional six takes us to Thanksgiving. I could ease back in after that. I do plan on coming back to work, but I also plan to give myself—and my baby—time to adjust to all of this.”

  “You’ll be looking into day care then?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure how to do that yet. But I’ve got time to figure it out.”

  “I can ask Dot if she knows anyone who can give you any recommendations.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” I took another sip of my tea, the swallow convincing me yet again that I’d never prefer tea leaves over coffee beans. And also giving me time to get used to the idea of accepting help from Axton’s wife. Maybe if she helped me with finding day care, she’d abandon the idea of a baby shower. “I want you to know this pregnancy isn’t going to affect my job—other than needing the maternity leave, that is.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” Axton raised his mug in a silent salute. “You haven’t missed a day so far.”

  “I know getting the chemo
pharmacy up and running is a prime objective.”

  “Yes. We’ll be fine.”

  Was anybody watching this? Videotaping it, maybe? Axton and I were talking. Relaxed. Agreeing on things. My pregnancy wasn’t going to interfere with work. If I believed in miracles, this would count as one. But I wasn’t one of those Thatcher sisters.

  Axton and I weren’t best friends, but we were finding a way to work together at last.

  “Excuse me, Johanna, Axton. I’m sorry to interrupt.” Dr. Lerner’s voice sounded behind me. “I thought I’d find you here. Colonel Sager was looking for Dr. Thatcher.”

  I choked on my tea, grabbing a napkin and covering my mouth before I spewed liquid on my boss.

  Axton took the mug from my hand, setting it on the table between us. Rose to his feet, reaching out to shake Beckett’s hand. “Colonel Sager, I’m Dr. Axton Miller.”

  “Dr. Miller, please call me Beckett.”

  Axton angled his body as if he were protecting me. “Beckett. Absolutely. Call me Axton.”

  I stood, clearing my throat. “Dr. Lerner, I’m sorry you had to come find us—”

  “It’s no problem.”

  Beckett stepped forward. “I was hoping we could talk—”

  I held myself rigid. “I’m at work, as you can see. In a meeting.”

  “If you want to talk to Beckett, we can finish talking later, Johanna.”

  If I wanted to talk to Beckett. No, I didn’t want to talk to him. In all the years we’d dated, he’d never once come to my work. It seemed Beckett had forgotten the “plenty of space” part of our relationship motto—not that the term relationship applied to us anymore.

  Beckett must have anticipated my no, because he reached for my hand. “I won’t be here long. Please, Johanna.”

  I pulled away from his touch, tucking my hand in my lab coat pocket. “Fine.”

  This was no better than being forced to play with the school bully because some teachers said you had to be nice to your classmates. All of them.

  His last name—S-A-G-E-R—was spelled out on the uniform name tag on the shirt that he filled out so well. It didn’t take much to recall his muscular build. I once thought I’d be Dr. Johanna Thatcher-Sager.