The Best We've Been

by Beth K. Vogt

  I’d walked away from something I’d loved because I believed Mom had chosen the twins over me.

  I’d shoved music out of my life. I’d shoved my family away, too. And I’d replaced them with . . .

  Nothing.

  Oh, some people might assume I replaced my music with my career, but I didn’t have that when I was ten years old. I didn’t even dream of being a pharmacist back then. And becoming a pharmacist hadn’t been a dream so much as a good career choice.

  Only now could I grasp how alone I’d been all these years because I’d chosen to separate myself from what I loved. From anyone who might love me . . . or anyone I might love.

  “Johanna, how are you coming with packing for college?” Mom stood in the doorway of the bedroom I shared with Jillian.

  “Just about done.”

  “You’ll be ready to head out early, then?”

  “Yes. No problem.”

  “I wanted to ask you something . . .”

  “Okay.” I tossed an old tube of mascara into the trash can beside my bed. “But I’m pretty certain I’ve got everything. I’m just cleaning out my makeup bag.”

  “It’s about your piano.”

  I froze for just a moment, then continued sorting through old eye shadow. Keep. Toss. Keep. Keep. Toss. “The piano?”

  “Yes. You haven’t played it in years, and no one else seems interested.” Mom remained standing in the entrance to my room. “Payton and Pepper seem to be more interested in athletics. They liked the introductory volleyball clinic they tried this summer.”

  Hard to miss that, the way they passed balls back and forth around the house, ignoring the fact that there was a perfectly good backyard for that, no matter how many times I told them.

  “Anyway, would it be okay if we sold the piano?”

  Sold the piano. How long had my parents been planning to do this?

  “You don’t have to ask me, Mom.”

  “We bought the piano for you—”

  “Like you said, I haven’t played in years.” I turned my makeup bag over, gave it a quick shake, and dumped the contents into the trash can. “Whatever you and Dad want to do is fine.”

  I’d meant it when I told Mom that and then finished packing for college. Believed it. Returned home for Christmas months later to find blank wall space where my . . . where the piano used to sit.

  No one said anything about what was missing. Maybe everyone was used to the piano being gone after all those months. Mom had mentioned a family with several young children had bought the piano. And I’d gone up to my room after dinner and an impromptu game night, crawled into bed, and refused to cry over something I didn’t care about.

  I’d allowed music into my life through the years, indulging in the occasional symphony. But just like the people in my life, it was allowed only so close. No closer.

  I’d deprived myself of so much because I’d looked . . . and seen the wrong thing.

  29

  THIS WAS JUST BREAKFAST with Jillian.

  Breakfast and the chance to talk. To catch up with each other.

  Of course, Payton and Jillian had both brought their Bibles, setting them in the center of the round Formica table, not too close to their yellow mugs of coffee.

  In years past, Payton had been at restaurants or coffee shops and seen two friends, or even a small group of people, talking as they paged through their Bibles. She’d always thought chatting about the Bible in public was, well, odd.

  And now, here she was, one of those peculiar people sitting in a local breakfast place in Colorado Springs, planning on talking about just that with one of her sisters.

  Jillian gestured above the circular booth at the oversize orange light fixture that complemented the restaurant’s muted yellow, green, and brown colors. “This is my first time at Snooze. The decor is fun.”

  “I’ve been to the one in Denver. I like their breakfast burrito with tofu.”

  “It’s a great menu.” Jillian had flipped through the pages of the menu several times before selecting the brioche French toast. “Lots of options.”

  “I’m glad we found time to get together.”

  “Me, too.” Jillian clasped her hands around her coffee mug. “Can I admit I’m nervous?”

  “Nervous? Why? It’s just you and me.”

  Jillian tapped the cover of her Bible. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

  Payton couldn’t hold back a laugh. “We’re both new at this. That’s why we’re here—because we both have more questions than answers about God. Our faith. How to do all of this.”

  Maybe her words would begin to break down any lingering sense of a wall between them. Bring them closer together. They both had questions. They both were unsure of themselves. They could stand together—be strong together—in their uncertainty.

  “I was surprised you were having a tough time with your faith.” Jillian wore no makeup. Her short hair was casual, accentuating the bit of curl left over from her chemo.

  Jillian was being honest.

  Payton would be, too, when her turn came. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the warm sweetness. “Why?”

  “Because Zach is a believer, too. I would think it would make your being a Christian easier. At least he supports what you believe.”

  “Unlike Geoff.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you and Geoff argue? Does he not want you to go to church?”

  “No, it’s nothing as blatant or bad as that.” Jillian paused as the waitress brought out their food. “We’re too busy arguing about other things. The one other thing.”

  “I’m sorry, Jill.”

  “Me, too. But I’m also realizing Geoff is sorry.” Jillian poured syrup onto her French toast. “At first, I was so mad and hurt and . . . well, self-centered, I couldn’t see it. He doesn’t want to hurt me, but he can’t change the way he feels to make me feel better. At least, not yet. And I can’t force him.”

  “So that leaves you . . . where?”

  “I’ve been stuck. For months, I wanted Geoff to agree with me. But I realize now that’s not the right thing to do. Not if I want to protect our marriage.”

  “That’s . . .” Payton hesitated. “I was going to say that’s very wise, but it’s actually very loving.”

  “Harper was the one who helped me realize all of this, and she doesn’t even believe in God.”

  Jillian’s words were such a good reminder of what it was like to be a new believer—how they learned from others who had been believers longer. And sometimes God worked in unexpected ways, like using Harper, who still had questions about God but knew Jillian better than her own sisters did. And that was okay. It made sense. Now.

  The aroma of a variety of breakfast dishes filled the air in the restaurant. Eggs. Breakfast meats. Coffee. Hash browns. Toast. Payton had no right to go back in the kitchen and make breakfast for herself or any of the customers. She’d leave that to the cooks, who were trained. She wouldn’t even try to deliver the food to the tables, because she’d drop plates and glasses, making a huge mess. She could have learned, if that was important to her, from someone who would take the time to teach her.

  She and Jillian could help each other.

  “What are you struggling with the most, Jill?”

  “Finding hope. Holding on to hope. I’m not doing enough to be a good Christian, either. So it’s probably my fault—”

  “No.”

  “No?” Jillian tilted her head to one side.

  “No. We’re not going to think like that. We’re not going to blame ourselves for getting things wrong. For not knowing things.” Payton took a quick bite of her burrito. Chewed. Swallowed. “We can learn, right? Thatchers are smart.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why we’re here—to help each other. I know we both want to learn more about prayer—not that I’m going to suggest we pray right here. But I do have a funny story about that.”

  “Really?”

  A good ti
me to be honest. She shared the prayer-for-patience fiasco, joining in with Jillian’s laughter.

  “Not my best moment at the study, but it’s getting better.” The laughter had helped them both relax. “One day at a time, I’m learning more about prayer. What would you like to learn more about?”

  “I’d like to know what the Bible says about hope. That’s my word for the year, but how do I have hope when it feels like nothing is going my way?”

  “Maybe we could look up Bible verses on hope.”

  Jillian’s eyebrows furrowed. “How do we do that?”

  Payton shoved aside her plate and opened her Bible to the back pages. “There’s a concordance in the back—it’s like a verse dictionary. It lists verses alphabetically by topic. Like hope or mercy or grace . . .”

  This was kind of like coaching, showing her sister something she already knew. But she didn’t want it to be all one-sided.

  The waitress paused just short of their table, holding a carafe of coffee, her gaze pinging back and forth between them and their open Bibles.

  Yes, they were those people.

  But Payton couldn’t worry about what the waitress, or anyone else, might be thinking.

  Jillian, unaware of the young girl’s scrutiny before she began refilling their mugs, turned to the back of her Bible until she found the word hope. “Now what?”

  “What’s the first verse?”

  “It says . . . Job 13:15.”

  “Turn there. That book is in the Old Testament. I’ve heard Zach talk about Job. He lost everything—his possessions, his family—when God allowed Satan to test his faith.”

  “O-kay.”

  “Obviously you have other questions, but let’s focus on the verse about hope for now.” Payton started searching for the chapter in her Bible. “What’s the verse say?”

  “‘Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him’?” Jillian sat back. “Whoa. Did we have to start with that one?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t that like saying, ‘Even though everything is wrong, I’m still going to trust God’?”

  “Ye-es.”

  “Just because I understand the verse, Payton, doesn’t mean I know how to do it.” Jillian slumped against the low back of the booth.

  “You’re not the first person to struggle with this. And look—Job says that in the middle of the book. Maybe he struggled to say it at first.” Payton shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Good point.”

  “Maybe—” she couldn’t believe she was saying this—“maybe we could do a Bible study on hope.”

  Payton sipped her coffee, hot once again, thanks to the waitress refreshing it. They’d both be asking for take-home boxes since they’d talked so much and ignored their food. She didn’t have a lot of spare time, with college and volleyball and driving back and forth to the cabin on weekends. This was a crazy suggestion. But it might help her sister, and her, too, while giving them a reason to meet on a regular basis.

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” Payton schooled her features to hide her doubts.

  “Do you know one?”

  No. “I’ll ask Sara. She and her husband lead the couples’ study Zach and I go to each week. I’ll tell her we don’t want anything too intense. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect. Something basic, introductory, to help me understand what hoping in God looks like.”

  “Sounds good to me, too. Do we want to plan to meet every other week? What’s a good time? Weeknights? Weekends?”

  “Are weekdays an option at all?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. That just might work around my college schedule, once I get it finalized. And weekends aren’t the best, since Zach and I go back to the cabin.”

  “How long are you going to keep that up?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Payton didn’t back up her words with a laugh. “Zach and I have been talking about that. We think it’s time to make a change. This whole ‘Winter Park on the weekends, living at my place during the week’ routine is beginning to wear on us.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Nothing firm yet. But we’re thinking we might sell my house and look for something closer to the Springs.” Payton paused, unsure of how much to share. “And I’m thinking about becoming a college dropout.”

  “What?” Jill’s eyes widened.

  “I’m not so sure I want to be a teacher.” The admission lifted an invisible weight off her shoulders. “I thought it was the best thing for me to do if I wanted to coach. But Sydney asked me if I’d be interested in becoming more involved with Club Brio. More full-time, becoming a partner eventually. And that excited me.”

  “Oh, Payton! I love that idea.” Jill grinned.

  “The more I think about it, the more I do, too. And Zach supports it. There may be changes up ahead, but that can be a good thing, right?”

  “Right. Changes for you, me, and Johanna. We need to be praying for all of us.”

  “Especially that the rest of Jo’s pregnancy goes well.”

  “I’m already praying for that.” Jill’s words rang true, no hesitation, despite the fact that, weeks ago, Johanna’s pregnancy had almost separated her from Johanna.

  “Me, too, Jill. Me, too.”

  30

  THERE WAS NO SENSE in asking Mom if I could help with the dinner dishes. I’d asked every night in the two weeks I’d been here, and every evening, her answer was the same.

  “Don’t worry about these, Johanna. I can manage loading the dishwasher.”

  And no matter how many times I’d told Mom I wasn’t an invalid, she’d laughed and shooed me out of the kitchen, telling me to rest.

  I hated the word rest almost as much as I hated the words relax and sit and nap.

  “You know what you should do—”

  “Please, Mom. Don’t tell me to read a book.”

  “You girls can always have your book club here, you know. I don’t mind.”

  “I’ll mention it, but I think we’ve put the book club on hold until after my baby is born.”

  “What I was going to say originally is that you should look at ideas for the baby’s nursery.” Mom paused from rinsing the dinner dishes. “Or have you already decided how you’re going to decorate the room?”

  “I’ll be using that empty spare bedroom. I don’t like the fact that it’s across the house from me, but she’ll be sleeping through the night soon enough—”

  “Said every first-time mom there ever was.” Mom had the grace not to laugh. “Here’s hoping your daughter is kinder to you than you and your sisters were to me.”

  “And on that note, I’m going to leave you to the dishes.”

  “Fine. I’ll join your dad outside when I’m done here.”

  “I know if I can’t find you two, you’re outside on that new deck.”

  “We should have done it sooner.”

  “Saying that means you know you did the right thing.”

  “You can join us, you know. I don’t think Dr. Gray actually limited you to a specific number of stairs per day, did she?”

  “No.” And since our talk, I’d been trying to spend a bit more time with Mom—and Dad, too. Not that I could regain all the years lost. “But I’m good. I could check the status of the items I ordered for the nursery. The rocking chair arrived a few weeks ago, but I’m still waiting on the crib. And I never got the walls painted or the prints hung.”

  “You can always let her sleep in a bassinet by your bed for the first month or so. It will be easier for both of you and give you time to finish her room.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  And I wouldn’t confess to Mom that I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my room with my newborn daughter. Did wanting a little bit of privacy make me a bad mother?

  I hadn’t even pulled up the information about the crib order when the front door opened.

  “Knock, knock? Johanna?”

  I closed my laptop.
That sounded like—“Beckett? What are you doing here?”

  “I stopped by to check on you.” He stepped into the entrance of the living room. “Are you going stir-crazy yet?”

  I was just bored enough to be glad to see him. “You know me too well.”

  “Having to move back home with your parents—I figured you wouldn’t last forty-eight hours.”

  “I managed seventy-two before I thought about climbing out a window and running away from home. I stayed because I was exhausted. And because I promised Dr. Gray I’d be on my best behavior. Doctors are pretty influential.”

  “Yes, I met Dr. Gray, if you recall.”

  “I do. She put you in your place.”

  “Don’t remind me. Was she ever in the military?”

  “I never asked her.”

  “How’s it going on house arrest?”

  I refused to laugh. “Not funny, Beckett.”

  “Sorry. You think you can do this until you deliver?”

  “Well, I’ve stuck it out for just over two weeks so far. Besides, I have no choice. I have to take care of this baby.”

  “And yourself.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I have no doubt you can do this.” Beckett offered me a smile. “If anyone can see this through, you can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Part of me wanted to lean into the compliment. Instead, I held myself still, kind of like an awkward half hug with an acquaintance.

  Beckett carried a large brown paper bag in one hand. He didn’t advance, possibly waiting for me to indicate what would happen next.

  I couldn’t leave him standing there.

  “What can I do for you, Beckett?”

  “The question is, what can I do for you?” Beckett held up the bag, offering me a glimpse of the grin I used to love. “Where can I unpack this?”

  “I’m pretty much restricting myself to the main floor or my bedroom. Avoiding the stairs as much as possible. Which is too bad, since my parents put a deck out back off the family room . . .”

  “A deck? Well, we have to see that, don’t we?”

  “My parents are going to be out there. And I’m not going down those stairs . . .”