Illusions

by Jennifer Sienes

  “I could use some wise counsel.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The female instigator I told you about last time?”

  He nods.

  “She made an appearance at the service Sunday.” Staring at the dark liquid in my cup, I hesitate. “She’s up to something. It feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “You have truth on your side. Nothing to hide.”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t told you everything.”

  “Oh?”

  “If this blows up, it’s not just me who’ll be hurt. Corey and Taylor. Michael, too, for that matter.”

  “If what you told me last time is true—”

  “It is. But I didn’t tell you everything. Alexis…she has information…about Corey and Taylor. Whatever she’s got going with Drew Simpson, she’s willing to use it to get me to step down.”

  “So, what do you want to do?”

  “Do?” I shake my head. “I’d like to stand up to her. This whole sordid mess started because I stepped on her precious pride. I had a front-row seat to her humiliation, and she wants me to pay. But in the process, Corey and Taylor will pay too.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do here, Paul. But I will say that it’s not going to end well if you let them bully you.”

  “And it’s not going to end well if I don’t.” Impossible situation. I can’t quite remember why I wanted to be a pastor in the first place. But to let them railroad me out…I have my pride too.

  “What can I do to help?”

  I shake my head. “Would you be willing to go with me to talk to her? I don’t think it’s smart to do it on my own.”

  He nods. “You shared this with your associate pastor?”

  “No.”

  “Might want to bring him in on this. While you’re at it, consider gathering anyone who’s taking part of this lynch mob mentality. Get it out in the open, once and for all.”

  “Makes sense.” I rub a thumb across the rim of the mug. “But first, I need to tell Corey.”

  Kent’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “You’ve kept all this from your wife?”

  “You don’t know the whole story. You see—”

  “I don’t have to. Ever hear the saying divide and conquer? You know as well as I that it’s Satan’s favorite strategy. Every day you go this alone makes you both more vulnerable.”

  “I get that, it’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “It may be too late.”

  * * *

  Corey

  After weeks of spending every morning in a rush to get to the hospital, the idea of time to myself feels unsettling. I should feel free, unencumbered, maybe even renewed. Instead, the change in routine is clouded by doubt. Nothing is as it should be. What did I do before Taylor’s accident? Paul and I would get the kids off to school and sit together with a cup of coffee, share the day’s schedule.

  After last night, I couldn’t stomach looking at Paul, let alone sharing small talk with him. How dare he tell Michael that Taylor’s accident was my fault? I can’t deny the truth of it, but to throw it out there, as if he had no concern for the ramifications…

  What happened to that man who’d lay down his life for me? Or was that all talk? Now, he’s more than happy to throw me under the bus and take out a couple innocent bystanders in the process—Taylor and Michael. And what if Michael had asked about Paul’s accusation? I waited for it this morning, nerve endings frazzled, until Michael left for school. But he was quiet while he ate his breakfast. Probably battling his own demons.

  I dump Michael’s breakfast dishes into the sink and wrap all but one of the leftover chocolate chip pancakes in foil for Taylor. The kids’ favorite. With little energy and even less enthusiasm, I forced myself to make a batch this morning while glib sayings played a mantra in my head, spurring me on. Fake it ’til you make it. Loving actions produce loving feelings. Just do it.

  I bite off a piece of the pancake I left out for myself, Rambo moving in to beg. “Chocolate’s not good for you, pal.” The truth is, I’m not willing to share. I load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters, forcing myself to complete a few mundane tasks before sneaking down the hall to check on Taylor. Again. Just like I did when she was an infant.

  I slip into her room and close the door, so Rambo won’t wake her. Sun pours through the lavender sheers on her window, bathing the room in warm light. Twelve hours, and she’s still sleeping. Is this normal? I dangle my hand in front of her face. Okay, she’s breathing. I’m just being a worrier.

  Better use the quiet time to make a game plan, because the one I have now isn’t working. I will have to face both Taylor and Michael with the truth, but I can’t do it with St. Paul raining judgment on me. I have enough of my own to deal with—eighteen years’ worth.

  Whatever is going on between Paul and Michael, I’m a hindrance. They both use me as a go-between and refuse to deal with whatever the true issue may be. Michael’s rebellion. Paul’s inability to forgive him. It’s not that simple. It never is.

  While Paul slept on the couch last night, I couched myself in prayer. When it comes to praying for others, I’m a world-class champion. The words flow through my mind and out my mouth. Whether it’s for Paul or the kids, a friend, our country, or any other for that matter. But when it comes to praying for myself? I hear my father’s words, “A harder lesson to learn than asking for permission is living with consequences.” I’ve made my bed, so what right do I have to ask God to clean it up?

  Last night was different. Was it my sobs that had Him responding? Or maybe He’s been speaking all along, but I’ve not been listening. Well I was listening last night. He wasn’t prolific, but He laid on my heart a verse: Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome wife. Or a quarrelsome husband. After more prayer, I knew what I should do. Needed to do.

  When Paul and I started dating, I had such stars in my eyes that they blinded me to any comparison I might have made with my father. Paul was sweet and affectionate. I’d never seen either trait in Dad. Paul was focused and passionate about his calling but could shift that laser focus onto me so fast it took my breath away. This would not be a man who put work first.

  And he courted me. That was romantic enough to dispel any of the underlying red flags I might have noticed otherwise.

  Because they’d been there.

  A month before our wedding, Paul’s sister, Justine, came to him in tears, pregnant. What should she do?

  “What did you tell her?” I’d asked him. We were sitting in “our” booth at the back of a small cafe. The red vinyl seats were faded and cracked with age. Fake daisies, set at every table, tried to muster a little dignity in their dime store vases. Student budgets didn’t allow for us to eat anywhere fancy, but that was fine with me. There was comfort in knowing the people who worked there. Comfort in the familiarity.

  “What do you think? I told her she’d need to marry him.”

  Marry Glen? I tried to form a picture of it in my mind, but it wouldn’t stick. Justine was sweet and vulnerable. Glen was…not. I was no Freud, but it didn’t take a psych major to see something was off about him. He was a con artist with narcissistic tendencies.

  “You can’t be serious, Paul.”

  Head down, focused on the menu he could quote in his sleep, he said, “What’re you going to have. I was thinking the burger.” He glanced at me and must have caught my glare. “What?”

  “Glen’s…Glen! Justine doesn’t belong with him anymore than she does Jack the Ripper.”

  One eyebrow hitched up, a move I’d thought was cute the first time I saw it. But it didn’t take long to figure out he used it to communicate disdain. “Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little dismissive? She came to you for advice.”

  “She should’ve come to me before taking up with that loser. What choice does she have now?”

  “With
a little help, she could raise him on her own. Maybe your dad—”

  “Dad can’t take care of himself, let alone Justine and a baby.”

  “Well, what about adoption?”

  “She doesn’t need me for that.”

  “You know she looks up to you, Paul. If you suggest adoption, she’ll consider it. But if you tell her to marry that jerk, that’s what she’s going to do.”

  “She’ll do what she wants. Obviously.”

  “You’re wrong about her. She wants your love and acceptance, but instead, you give her a set of laws. Talk to her, tell her you—”

  “I warned her about him. She chose to ignore that warning. Now she’s going to have to live with the choices she’s made.”

  I was paralyzed by his words. If this was how he responded to the needs of a sister he claimed to adore…

  Shaking off the memory, I step through the sliding glass door to the back deck. Inhaling the earthy scent of spring, I assess the winter-worn backyard. The lawn is in serious need of a cut. Dead plant stalks mingle with browning daffodils and freshly blooming tulips. My favorite time of year, and instead of the joy the season brings, I’m acting like Eeyore—a gloomy cloud hanging over my sorry head. Maybe Taylor and I could spend some time outside this afternoon. It’s going to be a beautiful day, and a little activity will be good for both of us. Reconnect her neurons and my God relationship.

  But first things first.

  I pour a cup of coffee, doctor it up so it’s palatable, snatch up the phone receiver, and tuck myself into the corner of the couch before dialing Tricia’s cell number.

  “Hey, girlfriend.” Her voice explodes across the line, a welcome reminder of normalcy that has me reaching for a tissue. “I was going to call later today. When can I come see Taylor?”

  “I have a better idea,” I say through my tears. “How would you like a roommate?”

  Chapter 24

  Paul

  Everything’s in play.

  After my meeting with Kent, I went back to the church to track down Mark. Time to get everything out in the open. The only way to handle a bully is to stand up to him. Or in this case—them. But the best laid plans and all that. Two irate parents, three “emergency” phone calls, and one attitude from an Awana leader later, I was finally able to confess all to Mark—Alexis’s vendetta. Simpson’s accusations. Corey’s betrayal. Taylor’s accident.

  “Whoa.” Mark had slumped back in his chair. “You’ve been dealing with this how long, and it’s the first I’ve heard of it?”

  “Thought I could get a handle on it.”

  Mark was silent for a heartbeat or two. Probably questioning my discernment. “So, what’s the deal with Alexis and Simpson?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it’s time we find out.”

  “We?”

  “I should have brought you in on this from the beginning. I’ve also asked Kent Richardson to join us. Thought it would be good to have an unbiased observer.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as we can get a meeting together.” I drummed my fingers on the desk. “But first, I need to talk to Corey.”

  Hours later, the meeting’s set and I’m ready to face the lioness in her den. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting when I walk in the door at five, but it sure wasn’t the tantalizing aroma of Italian herbs and garlic. Lasagna? Why would Corey make my favorite dish when she’s angry? Arsenic in the sauce?

  “Hi, Dad.” Taylor comes out of the kitchen carrying plates. “Mom made some noodle thingy.”

  “Lasagna?”

  She nods. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “It smell’s great. How was your day?”

  “We worked in the backyard.”

  “You get your first therapy appointment scheduled?”

  “Mom’s taking care of it.”

  Corey comes out of the kitchen, utensils in hand. “Hey, Paul.”

  “Hi, Corey. Dinner smells great. Lasagna, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She turns to Taylor and hands her the silverware. “You set the table. Michael’s finishing up the salad. Dad and I need to talk for a minute.”

  “What’s this about?” Did someone tip her off?

  Taking my arm, she steers me down the hall and into our bedroom.

  “Look, Corey, I know you’re angry about last night. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” But her eyes swim with tears, not anger. “We’re in an impossible situation here, and—" scrapes her hair back then folds her arms “—I’m leaving.”

  A lance to the gut. “What do you mean, leaving?”

  “I don’t see how we can resolve this while I’m here.”

  Crazy talk. “So, leaving me is the answer? What? You want a divorce? On what grounds?”

  She barks out a humorless laugh. “Divorce? No. But I also don’t want to live out our marriage in a combat zone. You and me. You and Michael. And if I’m not careful about how I handle this, Taylor and me.”

  “What about Taylor? You’re going to just leave her when she needs you the most?”

  “Of course not.” She looks hurt that I would even suggest it. But what are her options? “I’m taking her with me.”

  “Wait.” I put my hands up, a traffic cop stopping the flow of her lunacy. “Taking her where?”

  She looks down, arms tightening around her middle. “Tricia’s. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “And what about school? And rehab? She’s supposed to go twice a week.”

  “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Kendall. Taylor will be on independent study, since she can’t go back to school yet. It doesn’t matter if she’s here or in Carmel.”

  “And rehab?”

  “I spoke with Joy, and she—”

  “Who?” The word comes out a near-roar.

  Corey glares at me. “Joy. The nurse advocate at the hospital. Anyway, she says there are a couple good outpatient rehab centers down in Monterey.”

  I shake my head. “You’ve got this whole thing figured out, haven’t you? You’re just going to make a unilateral decision to leave, not bother to consult me?”

  “I’m doing this for you, Paul.”

  I let out a snort and throw my hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I am. For you and Michael and Taylor. And yes, for myself, too.”

  “What does Michael have to do with this?”

  She shakes her head, pins me with a look. Determination. “The two of you use me like some kind of mediator. You need to figure this out for yourselves. But as long as I’m here, you’ll default to me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do.”

  “If you’d just told the truth from the beginning—”

  “Like you don’t have any secrets of your own?” Her eyebrows hitch up, eyes wide. “There’s something going on between you and Alexis Andrews.”

  “I was going to talk to you about that tonight.”

  “How convenient.”

  “No, Corey. It’s the truth.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not really. The issue isn’t Alexis.”

  “You can’t think there’s something going on between us.”

  “Of course there’s something going on.”

  “No, Corey.”

  She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry, Paul. I don’t think you’re having an affair or anything. But there are other ways of being unfaithful, and you haven’t trusted me with it. Maybe a little distance will help make things clearer.”

  Arguments line up in my mind, one after the other. But before I can voice even one, I’m stopped by the determination etched into her features with Mount Rushmore-like proportions. She’s made up her mind, and nothing I can say will change it.

  * * *

  Corey

  Once Paul realizes he can’t change my mind, he paves the way for a normal evening, engaging Taylor in conversation, asking Michael about his schoolwork and job, and even helpi
ng with the dinner dishes. This is the man I fell in love with—the man I was prepared to lose myself for so many years ago.

  I awake to predawn gray seeping through the bedroom windows and know without opening my eyes that Paul isn’t in bed. Sliding my bare leg across the mattress, I’m met with lingering warmth. He hasn’t been up for long then. Does he regret the tenderness he showed me last night—a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes? Is he regretting the distance that’s grown between us, brought on by misplaced motives and a guardedness that has no place in a marriage? Or was his lovemaking a last-ditch effort to change my mind?

  If it was, it’s working. For better or worse…

  Am I abandoning ship merely because the water’s a little rough? What if this is a colossal mistake, leaving Paul and Michael? If Paul’s willing to work through this stuff, to trust me again—

  “I was hoping you were awake.” Paul stands in the doorway, chest bare, pajama bottoms resting low on his hips, and a cup of coffee in each hand. He looks anything but pastorly, and my heart leaps. “Heard you moving around and thought a caffeine fix might set the tone for the day.”

  I’ve stepped back in time—before Taylor’s accident. Before the truth of my past ripped our life in two. Maybe—

  “I doctored yours just the way you like it.” He waits for me to get settled against the headboard and hands me the steaming mug.

  “Mmm.” I inhale the heady combination of coffee and chocolate. “Thanks.” Warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with a hot drink. Paul always knew how to tap into the farthest reaches of my heart.

  How can I leave now?

  “I thought we should talk.” He places his mug on my nightstand and sits at my hip. Scratching his cheek, I hear the rasp of his whiskers, blond and barely discernible in this light. Whiskers that had shivers skittering down my spine in the dark of night.

  I reach up and touch his face, run my fingers over the stubble. “It’s been so crazy.” I wait for him to agree, to make promises. Make me change my mind.