“The blood bank?”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Get over it already.” She reached her finger up to his lower lip, touched it, and displayed her fingertip to him. “No blood. Okay?”
“Okay. So, who then?”
“Stephanie.”
“Oh yeah? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“To say the least.”
Tara sat back down in the recliner. Brent took off his utility belt, tossed it onto the couch, and took a seat next to it.
“Anything interesting?”
“Interesting would be the understatement of the decade.”
Brent expected that Tara would continue. He was wrong. She needed him to ask. That conversational quirk of hers.
“And…?
“And she wanted to talk about God.”
The statement took Brent aback. “What?”
“Exactly. As soon as I answered and said hello, she said, ‘Tara, it’s Stephanie. Let’s say that I was earnestly interested in a relationship with God. What would starting one with him actually look like?’”
“Whoa.”
“You’re not kidding. I just stood there, barely able to believe what I’d just heard. Then she said, ‘Tara, you need to talk. I don’t get much time on an outgoing call.’ I came back to my senses and just started rattling out the plan of salvation—though she’s heard it from me once before. She said that a certain conversation that I’d had with her in the bathroom at Dekker’s Restaurant had come back to her.”
“You mean the one that the two of you had the day you recklessly ran off on your own to meet her without telling anyone in your family? That conversation?”
“Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, she said that she’d recalled my words from that day. According to her, they’d struck her pretty hard. She said she’d intended to never let me know.
“I knew that already, of course, because of how she darted from the restroom and made a beeline to her car. I couldn’t remember what it was that I’d said to her—probably because it was more from the Holy Spirit than from me. Anyway, she reminded me: I had said to her that the one she called her ‘enemy’ truly wanted her to be his daughter and that he wanted to satisfy her heart, her spirit, and her soul.
“All this time, that conversation has apparently been percolating within her.”
“Wow.” Brent took a quick moment to reflect that Tara’s “recklessness” may have been directed by God himself. “Definitely sounds like a God thing. I … uhh … may—possibly—have been a bit too harsh about your visit with her back then.”
“Possibly,” Tara said with a smile that acknowledged his almost-apology. “Then she told me that she was going to…” Tara made quote marks with her fingers. “…‘reach out to him.’ I asked her if she wanted me to pray with her, but she said that her time was running out.” Tara softly laughed. “Then she very politely thanked me and hung up before I could say goodbye.”
“There’s a conversation for the books,” Brent responded. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Tara’s face softened as tears began to well up in her eyes. “God sure is big.”
“He sure is, babe. He sure is. And I’m proud of you. So very proud of you. If you hadn’t been so willing to take a risk back then, none of this would be happening. God used you. And he’s going to continue to use you.”
Tara and Brent moved to sit next to each other on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Brent loved the feeling of his wife showing such emotion, especially when it was God-induced.
“Babe, because of you, we may soon have Stephanie as a sister in Christ.”
“Because of Jesus,” she whispered. “Because of Jesus.”
THE DINNER RUSH wasn’t that bad. Or perhaps she was just less melancholy than the day before. Whatever the case, Elizabeth wasn’t hating her job as much as usual.
The very idea that she would soon be receiving her own modeling portfolio in the mail made everything else seem to pale in comparison. Could she use the portfolio to get started in modeling?
Well, it’s not an actual real modeling portfolio, is it? she pondered. He said it was just a taste of the real thing.
Nonetheless, it was something. Something she could say she was proud of. Something that she could show to others and hopefully receive some doses of positive feedback.
Will I, though? What if people look at it and laugh?
Fear—a longtime “friend”—began to wriggle itself back into her soul. Fear of not being enough. Fear of not being accepted. Fear of not having a worthwhile future.
Fear that no one would want her beyond a temporary thrill that she’d been willing to provide to so many men.
Could she ever know a good man? Would she?
Jamie.
Was he truly different? Could he be?
But he’s too young.
Isn’t he?
Chapter 42
F
riday. late afternoon. He would see her then.
Drew remembered Elizabeth sharing that she typically worked every weekday afternoon into the evening, but that she’d been scheduling Friday evenings off for “family game night.” But, if he remembered correctly, there were no more game nights. That should mean she’d be free after work. Unless, of course, she’d told her employer that she was now available to work Friday evenings.
The question then became, should he text her to verify that she’d have time to meet?
It’d certainly be a risk to drive up there not knowing exactly what time she’d be getting off work. But if he texted, he’d be taking the chance of having her say she couldn’t meet with him.
Maybe I should just show up. Get a table in her section again.
He played out the pros and cons in his mind. Too many cons. The biggest would be that he’d appear creepy. Of course, he could watch for her to leave work, then get out of his car, and “surprisingly” cross paths with her on his way in.
Still creepy.
So … I text.
It took a minute to develop a good ruse. He typed it into his burner phone and pressed Send.
9:03 p.m.
ELIZABETH GRABBED HER purse from the locker, said quick goodbyes to a couple of the girls, and headed out from the diner.
Phone time.
As she walked through the parking lot, it took only a few seconds before the familiar tone of a text message played in her ears.
There were actually three.
The first was from Tara, letting her know that, should she get off work early, she could go with her and Jenna to do a little early-evening shopping.
She thought about the idea again. Still not sure I want to go and shop for Jenna’s out-of-state life.
The second was from Jamie: Just saying hi. Hope UR having a good day.
Her heart skipped. He’d never texted her before!
He’s getting bold.
But it was something she appreciated in that moment.
She decided to respond right away.
Hi, Jamie. I had a pretty good day. Guess I could have told you that at home. But didn’t want to keep you in suspense.
Elizabeth smiled. Was this going to be the start of some flirting?
The thought gave her pause. She stopped at the front of the car and leaned back against the hood.
Flirting. The very idea struck fear into her heart. She wasn’t sure that she could flirt innocently. Her flirting had never—not one single time—been innocent. There had always been a sexual component.
Oh God.
What if she took things too far and ended up being the reason that Jamie fell from grace?
Oh God.
Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should feign disinterest—make him think that she didn’t have the first romantic inkling toward him.
I’d be lying. I do have an interest. Well, some kind of interest.
She was afraid of that too. He was just too g
ood for her. And too young.
Is he too young?
She didn’t know. It was only about a year and a half difference. And he did come off as the same age as her or maybe older.
As for him being too good, she had never thought of him as a “goody two-shoes,” but she assumed that he was innocent of all the mess that she was into. She was sure that in the Lawton household he wasn’t doing the same kinds of things behind closed doors that she was.
Even if she did become a Christian—and about that, the mental debate still raged—she’d be damaged goods. Unrecoverable, probably.
I’m the freak of the household, whether anyone knows it or not.
Oh God.
In the midst of her dread, another text sounded.
Jamie’s new message showed up below her own: I can handle suspense. Face to face is better than text.
I’m a dead woman.
Elizabeth closed the text window to check on the third message she’d received. She didn’t recognize the number. Opening it, she was caught by surprise by a message from Mark Johnson.
Sorry I haven’t gotten the portfolio into your hands yet. It’s done. Was going to mail it but realized I have to drive through your area again Friday. Want me to hand deliver it? You’ll get it faster.
Yes, of course! she thought.
Elizabeth took a moment to think. Friday, she worked. Not as late as the rest of the week, but that still probably wouldn’t allow her to see the portfolio until afterward.
Maybe before work?
She typed. Hi, Mark. I’d love to get it Friday, but I work. I guess you could just drop it off and I’ll stick it in my locker until I’m off. I don’t work in the morning. Start at 11 AM. Can meet you in the parking lot. Will that work?
IT HAD BEEN more than two hours since he’d sent Elizabeth the text.
An anguishing two hours and … eighteen minutes.
But finally, she sent her reply.
An unexpected turn.
Drew stared at Elizabeth’s text, contemplating the best way to respond.
This next text will make or break the whole thing.
Hi again. Unfortunately, that’s not going to work. It will be evening before I’ll be through the area. A long drive from New York, with several hours left to drive afterward. Thought I might be able to catch you with a window of available time. No worries, I’ll get it into the mail as soon as I can. Maybe middle of next week.
Send.
He waited. And waited some more.
Maybe she’s….
Ding!
I don’t work late on Friday. I have my evening open because I used to have game night. Never told work that I’m available for a later shift. I’m off at 5 PM. Does that work?
Bingo!
ELIZABETH HELD HER breath. She was possibly just two days out from having her very own modeling portfolio! But only if he could meet up with her after work.
Her phone gifted her its familiar, happy-sounding text notification.
I think I can just make it there in time. I will see you then.
“Yes!” she squealed, bobbing up and down on her toes. However, she wouldn’t be anything but reserved in her response. She certainly didn’t want to look like she couldn’t control her emotions.
See you Friday, Mark.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 14
Chapter 43
H
e looked at Tara, his heart still pounding.
The night-light glowed from the corner of the room, allowing Brent to see her clearly. She lay facing him, lips slightly parted, a look of perfect peace on her face.
Good.
He sighed.
When is this nightmare going to end? God, what is the point of this? I need this gone.
He eased himself from under the sheet and rested his feet upon the cool hardwood floor.
His alarm clock read 3:37 a.m.
Another hour of sleep isn’t out of the question … if I can get back to sleep.
His shirt was wet from sweat and his mouth was dry, probably from fear-induced heavy breathing. He’d head down to the kitchen for a drink of water or maybe a sports drink.
Brent quietly made his way onto the landing, laid hold of the wooden banister, and walked down the steps.
As he descended, he began whispering a prayer.
“Father, please. I really need this to end. It’s beginning to affect me in some really negative ways. What is this? I don’t get it. I … I just don’t understand.”
Reaching the living room, he continued into the kitchen and turned on the light above the stove.
Brent opened a cabinet and reached for a glass. He stopped and withdrew his hand. The glass was no longer important.
Weary and discontent, he turned around and leaned back against the counter. He needed answers more than water, so he dropped his chin to his chest and began to pray in earnest.
“Father, I’m confused. I’m also a little scared here. When I was a teen, you—for some reason—allowed me to have these dreams. I don’t know if they came from you or the Enemy, but you used them to show me that I needed someone bigger than myself. You. I struggled back then to understand what they—what it—meant. It never became clear. And now the dream is back. Nearly identical. I’ve got no insight into what it means. Am I supposed to? Even with Tara and Pastor Jonathan praying for me, I’m still lost in this.”
A deep sigh.
There were really only two possibilities to consider: Either the dream was from the Enemy or it was from God. But would God actually foster nightmares? It seemed impossible since the Bible plainly stated that the Spirit does not instill fear. Rather, he gives us power, love, and sound, disciplined minds.
“My mind doesn’t feel very sound with these things going on, God. So it has to be the Enemy. Right? Where are you in this?”
Brent needed to see God in the midst of the chaos. A memory invaded his mind. Many years ago, during a stay at his mamaw’s house in Kentucky, he had seen Jesus. Not just once, but several times.
For a few nights in a row, he had encountered him in a very real, very direct way. And during those occurrences, he’d known Jesus by a variation of his name: Joshua.
“Joshua, where are you?” he whispered. “I need to talk with you.”
It was almost like a Narnian call to Aslan, the great lion of C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia.
He hoped, just like the children in those books, that something magical would happen.
The children believed that Aslan would come. Could he believe that Joshua would do the same?
His heart skipped a beat as he thought he heard something familiar in the recesses of his mind.
He felt a deep impression in his spirit to get quiet.
He tried to hush his thoughts but couldn’t. Not quite.
Joshua?
And just that quickly, his thoughts tripped up the quiet he’d come close to achieving.
He tried again to just listen. But the hint of a voice and the anticipation that followed had him calling out in his mind. Joshua! Please! Is that you?
Again, he felt a compulsion to become quiet.
He took in a deep breath and slowly released it with an obvious quaver in his chest.
He waited.
Thoughts began to drift back in again.
He hated his lack of discipline.
C’mon, Brent. It shouldn’t be this….
“Brenton,” a still, small voice interrupted.
Brent’s heart began to beat rapidly again. This time, he knew without a doubt that he’d heard a voice. It was Joshua!
“Brenton, son of Keith.”
An account from Old Testament Scripture suddenly soared to the forefront of his mind.
A young boy—a servant of the high priest of Israel—named Samuel had been awakened in the night by a voice calling his name. Thinking he had been called by the old priest, he went and awakened the
man. Three times this happened. The third time, the priest told Samuel that it might be God calling him, and that he should respond to the voice in a specific manner. That specific way now played heavily on Brent’s heart and mind.
Quietly, ever so quietly, with a tremble in his voice, he said, “Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.”
The sound of Brent’s spiking heartbeat and heavy breathing softened to nothing in his ears.
He concentrated on the intense silence. In it would soon come the voice of his Lord.
He wasn’t made to wait long.
“I will pour out my Spirit on all people during the last days. Your sons and your daughters will prophesy. The young men among you will experience visions, and those aged men among you will dream dreams.”
Brent knew this passage from the Bible—it was in both the New and Old Testaments.
“You, my beloved one, will dream dreams. Your son and your daughters will prophesy.”
Brent recognized that Joshua had, with intentionality, changed the wording of the Scripture verse, and that he was supposed to take note. But why?
“Do not look down on them because they are young.”
Them? I don’t….
“I do not give spirits of fear! I will never give you a spirit of fear. Discern, Brenton. Discern! Yechezkel, Daniyel, Yesha’yahu, Yochanon, Channah. They all had reason for alarm. And yet they knew me. They knew that I never forsake my children. And so, they spoke forth the truth and the futures that I showed them, though they were hard to understand. Discern, Brenton. Discern and seek to understand!”
Silence.
Brent stood shaking as the sounds of his heart and heavy panting returned to his ears. Weakness in his legs dropped him to his knees.
A song that he’d neither heard nor sung, nor even thought of, since his teen years filled his heart and spilled out across his lips.
“I love you, Lord. And I lift my voice to worship you. Oh, my soul, rejoice. Take joy, my King, in what you hear. Let it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ears.”
Then another.
“Holy, holy, holy! Lord God, almighty! Early in the morning my song shall rise to thee. Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty.”
That Dark Place Page 24
