The Snow Angel

by Glenn Beck

  “Your friend? You think a man who would encourage you to defy your husband is a friend?”

  I closed my eyes for a second and berated myself for being so blind. So stupid. Of course, it was all coming out. Cyrus wasn’t the type to let anything slide, much less the sort of offense that I had perpetrated against him. Against our marriage. I knew the rules and I had directly disobeyed them. Did I really think I would get off scot free?

  “I thought you had forgiven me for that.” I didn’t even realize I had spoken out loud until Cyrus gave a short, dry laugh.

  “You never asked for forgiveness,” he sneered.

  It didn’t seem the right time to mention that I believed that was the point of real forgiveness: It was freely given. Grace-filled. Unsolicited. Instead, it seemed the right time to edge away. To slip slowly from the room and try to find another shirt that my husband would find suitable for brunch with the Everton bigwigs. It was a shirt, for heaven’s sake. But I knew that Cyrus’s anger stemmed from somewhere much deeper. Somewhere that seethed with resentment over the years that had built up between us. The various and sundry ways that he was sure I had failed him.

  “I really am sorry,” I said, reverting to survival mode. Maybe if I seemed repentant enough, Cyrus would calm down and remember that we were on the verge of patching things up. Hadn’t he looked at me with something akin to compassion only nights before? Of course, compassion was a far cry from love, but it was a start. I could still feel the warm graze of his lips against my forehead. Had that really happened? Or had I imagined it?

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Rach.” Cyrus caught my wrist and squeezed too tight for comfort. “I don’t ask for much, but there are a few things that I do require. I can’t believe that after all this time you would let yourself be so lazy. Do you have any idea how hard I work for us? What it takes to keep a house like this up and running?”

  I shook my head, afraid to meet his gaze. Somewhere, cowering deep inside, was the woman who had felt so confident only a day before. But she was terrified now, reminded of her position in this family and her own worthlessness. She was scared and ashamed, and she didn’t even flinch when Cyrus hit her.

  “Good morning,” Lily muttered when she shuffled into the kitchen that morning. I couldn’t tell if she was being facetious or not, but she eyed the bruise that was beginning to color my cheekbone with an air of consternation. “Mom!”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” I gave the pancake batter an extra stir and forced a smile. “I’m just so clumsy—”

  “Stop it.” Lily slapped the counter with her open palm. “Stop lying to me. I know the truth. You’ve told me everything.”

  Not everything, I thought, but I held my tongue. “How about some blueberry pancakes?” I asked cheerfully.

  “No thanks.” Lily turned away and headed toward the stairs.

  “But you have to have something to eat,” I called after her.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “But—”

  “I said, I’m not hungry.”

  I watched her until her stocking feet disappeared on the carpeted landing of the second floor. When her door slammed, I jumped a little and left a splat of pancake batter on the counter. How could things have changed so quickly? Our all-too-briefly happy home was once again a battleground. And the change had quite literally happened overnight. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  For the next couple of days, the air in our house was brittle with things unsaid. Lily spent long hours in her pajamas and kept to herself as much as she could, and Cyrus worked extra shifts even though he usually took time off around the holidays. I think they were both avoiding me, and the visible reminder that graced my cheek of how bitter our lives had become.

  None of that changed the fact that it was almost Christmas. That our ten-foot artificial tree sparkled like a jewel in the living room or that carols wafted from the radio no matter which station I tuned it to. There was a decidedly festive spirit in the air, and in many ways that only made everything worse. The magic of Christmas was completely lost on me this year, and while I should have been contemplating a miracle in a manger, all I could think about was my own gloomy situation.

  I was feeling so blue that I entirely forgot about Lily’s acting debut until she descended the stairs on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. She was wearing a costume of pearl white that fell in long, overlapping layers and pooled softly around her ankles. There was a creamy swath of faux fur at her collar and along the hem, and a matching muff to tuck her hands in. She was a vision.

  “You look amazing,” I breathed.

  “You forgot about the pageant, didn’t you?” Lily screwed up the corner of her mouth.

  I sighed a little. “I suppose I did. But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you. It doesn’t mean I’m not excited to see you play the part of an angel.”

  “I don’t feel like doing it anymore.” Lily swept across the floor and flounced on the couch with a huff. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Oh, honey.” I crossed the room and perched on the arm of the couch, trailing my fingers through her auburn hair. “I know the last few days have been hard. But we can’t lose sight of what this season is all about.”

  “If you’re so excited about it, why don’t you be the angel?”

  “Are you kidding me? Look at you!” I took an inch of the silky fabric between my thumb and forefinger and gave it an appreciative rub. “You’re breathtaking.”

  “There are wings, too,” Lily said, trying to sound indifferent, but a sliver of excitement crept into her voice all the same.

  “Well then, I guess all we have to do is your hair.”

  She gave me a skeptical look. “What could we do?”

  “Something elaborate.” I gathered her curls in my hands and swept them up on the top of her head. “I’ll do a few loose braids, and then pin it all up with little pieces hanging down.”

  “Sounds pretty.”

  “It’ll be gorgeous.”

  “But your arm…?” she gave my casted wrist a look of severe disapproval.

  “My fingers still work. See?” I waggled my fingers to show her that my hand wasn’t completely useless, and raised my eyebrows hopefully.

  Lily lifted one shoulder in a shrug of nonchalance, but I could tell she wanted to be won over. “If you want to mess around with it, you can. We’ll see if it turns out.”

  “Just let me grab a few things.” I scooted out of the room and was back before Lily had time to change her mind again. Fixing her hair was a definite bright spot in a week that felt as dark and dreary as the weather outside.

  “It’s supposed to storm tonight,” I told her as my fingers struggled to work elegant braids in her red-gold hair. “I hope it’s not snowing too hard for the program.”

  “‘The show must go on,’” Lily intoned. “At least, that’s what Sarah says. She told us that the snow will only add to the drama.”

  “I can hear her saying that.” I laughed a little, and was seized by a sudden desire to see my friend. I hadn’t seen her since our afternoon at the nursing home, and I wondered if she was busy trying to track down my father. I imagined Sarah was an intrepid sleuth, but I didn’t know how to break it to her that even if she discovered where my dad was staying, it wouldn’t matter anymore. Cyrus would never let me go.

  It didn’t take me long to make Lily look like she had fallen from heaven, but I lingered over her hair for a few stolen minutes. I could tell that she was still upset by the way she held her shoulders, but at least we were occupying the same space. It felt good to be near her.

  When the garage door slammed, my heart sank to my toes. The afternoon had slipped away from me, and it was nearly five o’clock. Time to drop Lily off at the farm for last-minute preparations before the big Christmas pageant at six. Almost time to make my public debut, bruised face and all. I wasn’t cheered by the thought. Over the years I had grown to hate showcasing the evidence of my failed love. I hated the looks people s
hot me. The lies I had to tell.

  I heaved a sigh and gathered up the hair things just as Cyrus was walking into the living room. “What’s she all dressed up for?” he demanded, looking from me to Lily and back again as if he suspected we were up to something.

  “She’s the angel for the Christmas program,” I said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes—we had been over this a half dozen times. “I’m just going to put this stuff away and then I’ll bring her to the farm.”

  Cyrus gaped at me. “Oh, no, you won’t.”

  “Pardon me?” I paused midstep and tried not to appear as frustrated as I felt.

  “You will not bring Lily to the farm looking like that.”

  I glanced down at my clothes and found nothing offensive in the tailored jeans and fitted jacket I had on. One hand reached absently for my hair and I pulled a soft strand over my shoulder, wondering if I had messed it up somehow. “I’ll change,” I said. “I wasn’t planning on wearing a dress because it’s supposed to be cold, but maybe if I wear boots …”

  “I’m not talking about your clothes.” Cyrus had been unbuttoning his coat, but now he redid the last few buttons and motioned to Lily. “Let’s go. I’ll drop you off.”

  “No,” she said. Her chin was raised, but there was a waver in her voice. “I want Mom to bring me.”

  “She’s not going out of the house like that,” Cyrus said as if I wasn’t even there.

  “Like what?” I asked softly.

  “All banged up like that.”

  My fingers found my cheek, the place where the skin was still tight and smooth as a piece of purple silk pulled taut. “I fell,” I said, the words a reflex.

  “Well, you look terrible.” He turned away from me and barked an order at Lily: “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t even realize that Lily was standing until she linked her arm with mine and held on tight. “I’m not going with you,” she told Cyrus.

  He stopped. “What did you say?” He cast a dark look over his shoulder at Lily, but didn’t even bother to face her full on. It was like he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that he was being challenged by his usually compliant daughter.

  “Go,” I whispered to her. “I’ll see you when you get back. You’re going to make a beautiful angel.”

  “No,” Lily said again, as much for Cyrus as for me. She took a deep breath. “I won’t go with him.”

  “Lillian Grace,” Cyrus whirled around and whispered her name through clenched teeth. “Get over here, now. We’re leaving.”

  “No.” It was softer this time.

  “Sweetie,” I took her face in my hands, “just go. Everything is going to be fine. We’ll—”

  Cyrus cut me off abruptly by swallowing the distance between us in a few giant strides and grabbing Lily by the arm. He didn’t normally touch her, and certainly not in a rough way—I had done my best to make sure any anger he felt was always directed at me—and when he jerked Lily away from me she cried out as if she had been struck.

  I can’t really explain what happened in my chest except to say that somewhere deep inside me a fuse blew. It was a tiny thing, a quiet disconnect that changed everything so entirely I knew in that moment that there was no going back.

  “Take your hand off her.” I said it so quietly I wondered for a second if Cyrus would even hear me, but something in my tone stopped him cold.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, take your hand off her.”

  Cyrus had seen me happy and sad, hurt and scared, but I wondered if he had ever seen me blood-boiling furious. I had spent a good chunk of my life trying to hide my true self from my husband, trying to mold myself to the woman he wanted me to be so that there would never be a reason for him to be angry. But all of that striving fell away the second Lily cried out. Something wild burst inside me and all at once I knew that if he wanted to get to my daughter, he’d have to go through me first.

  Enraged, I took a quick step forward and wrenched Lily’s arm free from Cyrus’s grip. Shoving her behind me, I glared at my husband. “If you ever lay a hand on her again, I’ll …”

  “What?” Cyrus looked stunned at my defiance, but he managed to pull his lips into a sneer all the same. “What do you think you’re going to do, Rachel? You think you can hurt me?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I choked. “But I won’t let you hurt her.”

  “Mom?” Lily gripped the back of my jacket with desperate fingers. I could tell by the little gasps of her ragged breathing that she was crying.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. I didn’t dare to turn my back on Cyrus, but I reached behind me and caught her hand in my own. “We’re leaving.”

  I took a tentative step backward, and Lily followed my lead. We had backed halfway out of the living room and were well on our way to the front door when Cyrus seemed to come to his senses.

  “What do you mean you’re leaving?” The muscles in his jaw tightened visibly.

  “We’re leaving,” I said again, because the truth was, I didn’t know what I meant. All I knew was that Lily and I had to go, now, and whatever it took to get us out the door was exactly what I was willing to do.

  “It’s Christmas Eve, Rachel. What are you going to do? Run away? You can’t even check into a hotel. The credit cards are in my name.”

  I faltered. Cyrus was right: I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no money, nowhere to run. I didn’t want to burden Sarah, and going to Max would only drag someone I dearly loved into a horrible situation. It seemed like there was no way out, and yet, I couldn’t stay. We couldn’t stay. To back down now would only give Cyrus more power over us. I couldn’t stand that thought.

  “Keep going, Lil,” I said. “Put your boots on and don’t forget your coat.”

  When we crossed onto the tile floor of the entryway, something in Cyrus’s eyes shifted. He appeared to understand that we weren’t going to stop, and he didn’t look too happy that his wife and daughter were on the verge of walking out of his life.

  “Don’t you dare.” He glowered at me menacingly, walking toward us as if he had all the time in the world.

  I felt a rush of panic then, a frantic, anguished surge of horror that vibrated to my very fingertips. What have I done? I wondered, but it was too late to take back what I had said. I could hear Lily struggling with her coat behind me, and I silently thanked the Lord that we had not yet affixed her angel wings. A second later I heard her unlock the front door. It was time.

  “Go to the car, Lily,” I said. And then I turned my back on Cyrus and ran. I didn’t even care about my coat or shoes, but my car keys were on the hall table, and as I lunged for them I heard Cyrus make a low, guttural noise.

  “What are you going to do, Rach?” he shouted. “Shoot me?”

  Confusion made me stumble. Shoot him? What in the world was he talking about? And then, as I half crashed into the hall table, I remembered. There was a gun in the drawer. And I knew how to use it.

  Cyrus was too far behind me to stop me from throwing open the drawer and grabbing the weapon inside. In less than a heartbeat, my mind ran through every possible scenario. I knew where the safety catch was, I knew how to cock the hammer. Would Cyrus stop if I pointed it at him? Would I shoot?

  A shiver raced up my spine as I felt him move behind me, and in that moment I yanked open the drawer. The gun was there, but so was something I had completely forgotten about. Sarah’s book. Perfect love casts out fear … I didn’t have to read the back cover copy to know what it said, what the book was about. It seemed impossible. There is no such thing as perfect love, my mind hissed. But my heart responded with the memory of Max’s smile. Sarah’s friendship. Lily’s hand in mine. I thought of making snow angels with my dad, and suddenly I knew that all the imperfect love I had ever known was a reflection of the perfect love that I had never had the eyes to see. I had a split second and a choice to make.

  “I choose love,” I breathed as I shoved the drawer shut and whirled aroun
d to face Cyrus.

  “Are you going to shoot me, Rachel?” Cyrus snarled, slamming into me and grabbing me by the arms so tightly I felt the circulation immediately stop.

  “No,” I whispered. I was terrified, scared to death that he’d wrench the drawer open and turn that gun on me, but I sent desperate prayers heavenward and managed to croak out, “But you’re going to let me go.”

  “The hell I am.” His breath was hot on my skin, and though I was loath to do so, I made myself look my husband in the eyes.

  “I loved you so much,” I said, and that one tiny admission unleashed a lifetime of tears I had hidden away. They spilled down my face hot and fast.

  Cyrus blinked, momentarily surprised, but he was too angry for something as monumental as a declaration of love to shake him back to his senses. I could feel his grip tighten like a vise.

  “Oh, Cyrus,” I whispered. I knew he probably wanted to kill me, but Max and Sarah had loved me enough to ensure that he wouldn’t. “You’re going to let me and Lily go because if you don’t Max will tell everyone what you’ve done.”

  “What?” Spittle flew from Cyrus’s lips as he leaned in even closer.

  “He knows. He knows everything. If you so much as touch me, Max will scream it from the rooftops. You’ll be ruined, Cyrus, and you know it.”

  “You think people will believe the word from that old man? I’m Cyrus Price, Rachel. My name is as good as gold around here.”

  “Sarah knows, too.” I bit off the words, my voice trembling. “They both know that Cyrus Price beats his wife. They have pretty convincing proof.” Even though my arms were numb, I held up my casted wrist, forcing the evidence of my husband’s abuse right in his face.

  Cyrus searched my eyes, and he must have seen the truth written there, because the air in the room went absolutely still for the span of a few heartbeats. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until my chest began to ache.

  I could count on one hand the times that I had seen Cyrus speechless in my life, but this one eclipsed them all. My husband let go of me as if I had burned him, as if my very skin was made of fire that he couldn’t stand to touch. There was nothing Cyrus loved so much as his own reputation, and though people had probably speculated about the nature of our relationship before, a public airing of his sins would destroy everything he had worked so hard for. Cyrus was a small-town hero, the high school football star, son of the former mayor, a business owner who was destined for glory himself. But if everyone knew who he truly was, what he did to me, there would be no forgiveness. Everton was a tiny town, but it was populated by people with big hearts. I wondered at the fact that it had taken me so long to realize it.