“Your Dad’s—he’s leaving?”
“Not leaving. Stepping down. He wants to spend more time with my mom.”
I nod. “Smart man.”
“I thought I heard voices up here.” Jonas appears, a tired smile on his face, his hair mussed, a dirt smudge on his cheek. “Corey?” His eyes widen. “Well, look at you.”
My face heats as I give my hair a self-conscious pat.
“It’s good to see you. How’s Taylor?”
I roll my eyes. “She’s a work in progress. Just when I thought I’d never see the toddler years again…”
Dylan clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me. It was nice meeting you, Corey.”
“You, too.”
I watch him amble from the sanctuary then turn my eyes back to Jonas. “I hear you’re leaving the church.”
“Beth needs me. I’d have done it long before now, but we really wanted Dylan in place first.”
“He seems nice.”
“I think so.”
“Married?”
Jonas barks out a laugh. “Mrs. Shaffer, are you angling for my son?”
“Depends.”
His gaze sharpens. “You and your husband aren’t parting ways, are you?”
“Not that I know of. But I do have a friend.”
“Ah. Well, Dylan’s not married, but he is divorced.”
“You make it sound like a criminal offense.”
“What his ex-wife did…” He grimaces. “Close enough as far as I’m concerned. So, you have a friend?”
“Tricia. She’s been my best friend since grade school. Widowed.”
“Hmmm. What did you have in mind?”
“How about dinner at her place? That’s where I’m staying.”
“He’d run at the first scent of a setup.”
“Good. So would Tricia. We’ll call it a thank you dinner—for your help with Taylor. Then we’ll step back. If it’s meant to be—”
“I’m a firm believer in leaving things in God’s hands.” He grins. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little nudge now and again.”
Chapter 35
Paul
A light rain dots the windshield, an occasional drop making its way through the open window. The late evening air’s uplifting. Spring rain. Gentle, cleansing. Reminds me of God’s grace. Too bad I need a reminder. I can’t seem to hold onto it on my own.
I’ve just left the convalescent home. John Pendelton’s improving, might even be released by the weekend. One of the more pleasant pastoral tasks—visiting recovering congregants. The worry and tension that aged Beverly has eased since the last time I saw her, and my heart’s lighter than when I entered.
Dusk has our front porch in shadows as I pull up. No lights. And, thank God, no stereo blasting. Isn’t Michael home? We agreed he’d let me know if he made plans. When I called to tell him I’d be late, he said nothing about going out.
I pull the car into the garage, cut the engine, and sit. I miss Corey and Taylor. I even miss Rambo and his enthusiastic greeting. My prayers have been more heartfelt. Nothing like loneliness to draw you closer to God. I want my family back. And I want my church back. But the Lord seems to be moving me in some other direction. The desire for a simpler life.
Gathering my briefcase, I climb out of the car. What will await me inside? Emptiness or rebellion?
A light glows from the kitchen, but no one’s there. No Michael and no dinner. But, what’s this? A wad of cash sits in the middle of the table. Twenty, forty, sixty—two hundred dollars? I drop it back on the table and head for Michael’s room.
He sits hunched over his computer, those ever-present ear-buds drowning out my arrival.
“Michael?”
No reaction.
I step in and tap him on the shoulder.
He jerks up, as if shocked, and turning, yanks out the earbuds. “You tryin’ to give me a heart attack or something?”
I stifle a grin. “Sorry. I called your name, but—” I point to the buds in his hand. “You keep the music up that loud, you’re going to go deaf before twenty. What are you working on?”
He turns back to the monitor and points. “Editing some pictures I took at school. I’m helping Dan with a collage. For the yearbook signing party.”
Resting a hand on his desk, I lean in. Candid shots of kids and teachers portraying every emotion from hilarity to dejection. “These are great, Michael.”
He shrugs. “Thanks.”
When was the last time I showed interest in his photography?
“I did something like this with Mom and Taylor, too. Wanna see?”
“Yeah, I’d love to.”
With a few clicks of his mouse, he pulls up another file. Taylor in the I.C.U., still as death, Corey at her side, the anguish in her eyes painful to see. Another of Taylor in her wheelchair, a blank look on her face, again, Corey at her side, eyes swimming with tears. Picture after picture depicts the journey Taylor took with Corey standing guard. The epitome of motherly devotion.
Emotion fills my chest, and I have to look away. “They’re good. Really good.” Corey’d show that same devotion for Michael or me. It’s who she is. Why did I lose sight of that?
I clear my throat as I sit on his bed. “I found a couple hundred dollars on the kitchen table. Is that yours?”
“It’s yours.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Restitution payment.”
The last time he tried to give me money, I threw it back in his face and accused him of bribing me.
“You sure? I mean, you can make smaller payments.”
“It’s why I took the job.”
“About that camp—”
“Forget it.” His words hold no heat.
I point to his computer. “It’s clear you have talent, Michael. But the fact is, we can’t afford the tuition this year. Even though we have insurance, there have been some financial costs—”
“It’s fine, Dad.” He shrugs. “Really. It’s too late now, anyway.”
“You’ve worked hard to get your grades up. To make headway toward the restitution.”
He nods, averting his eyes.
“I’m proud of you, son.” His eyes meet mine and I hold the connection. “Real proud.”
He drops his head and mumbles, “Thanks.”
“So, I’m thinking if you keep your grades up next year and we plan ahead—”
He sits up straighter, eyes back on me.
“—maybe we can swing it for next summer. I know that sounds like a long way off—”
“Only forever.”
“Just a thought. So.” I slap my knee and stand. “Have you had dinner?”
“Peanut butter sandwich.”
That sounds as appetizing as dog food. “We must have something more appealing.”
“Good luck.”
“You still hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to call your Mom, then I’ll see what I can find.”
I retrieve the phone, punch in her number, and sit at the dining room table to sort the mail. Most are from the hospital. Thank God for insurance.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Cor. You talking to me yet?”
“I think you’ve suffered my silence long enough.”
“I’m sorry I upset you. It wasn’t my intention.”
“I know. It never is.”
“Michael wants to come down for a visit when school gets out.”
“Yeah?”
“I told him you might be coming home before then.”
“Do you want me home?”
Pride rears its ugly head. “Do you want to come home?”
“Taylor’s just making progress. With her speech therapist and with me. I figured out a new strategy.”
I swallow down disappointment. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Tough love.”
“Is that strategy for Taylor or for me?”
“You didn’t stop me from leaving when you
had the chance.”
“No.”
“Is your reason still valid?”
“I wanted to protect you and Taylor.”
“Does it have anything to do with Alexis Andrews?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I don’t. But I know what I’d be thinking if I were in your place.”
“You didn’t answer the question, Paul. Is your reason for wanting us gone still valid?”
I fight the urge to demand she come home. “Yes.”
“Then I suppose we have nothing to talk about.”
“Don’t you even want to know what it is?”
“I wanted to know weeks ago. Now I just want to know that you’re handling it.”
“I’m trying.” I blow out a breath. “I love you, Corey.”
She hesitates before responding. “I love you too, Paul.”
But is it enough? For the first time, I’m not so sure.
“Look, I have to go. There’s another call coming in.”
“Wait, Corey—” Too late. She’s gone.
Again.
* * *
Corey
Chicken.
The only thing strong enough to get me to accept a call from my dad is the fear that I’ll cower in the face of Paul’s persistence. So, I choose the lesser of two evils. Grimacing at the caller ID, I flick a thumb to connect the call.
“Hello?”
“Corey?”
Wait. That’s not the voice I expected. “Mom?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“Oh. I…I didn’t. I mean, I thought it was Dad calling.” Why I made that assumption, I can’t tell her. Guilt? My head’s too far buried in the sand to think?
A sigh huffs over the line. “I’ve been worried sick. About you. About Taylor. If you didn’t answer this time, I was going to call Paul again.”
“Again? You’ve talked to Paul?” He could have warned me.
“And if you thought your dad was trying to reach you, why didn’t you call back?”
Diversion is the best ploy at this point. “Is everything okay?”
“That’s what I want to know. What’s going on? Are you still at Tricia’s?”
“Yes.”
“You…you are? Are you and Paul…are you having marital problems?”
Hoots and hollers come from the back patio where Trish and Taylor are playing checkers. Taylor doesn’t know it, but it’s a therapy assignment. They’re high fiving each other, so she must be doing well.
“Corey?”
“Yeah, Mom, I’m here. Sorry.”
“Whenever I call the house, Paul or Michael just say you and Taylor are visiting Trish. But how long have you been there?”
“I put Taylor in outpatient therapy in Monterey, Mom, and she’s doing so well. Her memory’s coming back, she’s able to retrieve words. She’s even working at Tricia’s shop.”
“Wonderful. What a blessing. But you didn’t answer me. Are you and Paul having marital problems?”
I flop onto the couch, and Rambo jumps up beside me. There’s no evading the truth any longer. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”
Her tone shifts to concern. “What’s going on?”
How can I tell her? Even if I can stomach her knowing, the thought of Dad hearing it is enough to convince me to take it to my grave. “I can’t tell you. You’ll never understand.”
“What a thing to say. How will you know if you don’t give me a chance?”
“Even if you do, Dad won’t. You know how he is.”
“Your father loves you.”
“There’s a reason Brian moved to Japan, Mom.”
“It had nothing to do with your father. That was a business decision…” She runs through the litany of reasons my big brother laid out— reasons meant to appease. But had his relationship with Dad been easier, would he have made such a drastic move? I don’t think so.
“So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Not on the phone. Besides, I have to go. Taylor needs me.” Lies, lies, lies. Here we go again. Will I ever learn?
“Can’t I at least talk to her? I won’t keep her long.”
“Yes. Just a sec.” I hesitate a moment. What if Taylor tells her about the blood test? Then there will be no more secrets. As the words settle over me, a peace follows. Whatever happens, happens.
“Best of three out of five,” Tricia’s saying as I open the French door.
“Taylor?” I waggle the phone. “Grandma would like to talk to you.”
“ʼKay.” She pushes back from the table and snags the phone on her way into the house.
Tricia gathers checkers. “Want to take her place?”
“Are you letting her win?” I cross my arms, as if to ward off a chill—one that’s coming from inside me.
“Listen, the kid’s a checkers-shark. She doesn’t need my charity.”
“She’s going to tell my mom about the blood test, I just know it.”
A stack of red discs in her hand, Tricia watches as I take Taylor’s seat. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“My dad never speaks to me again.” I let loose the grasp on myself and reach for a black checker, fingering the ridge.
Trish snorts. “A blessing in disguise.”
Ignoring the comment, I push the checker aside and change the subject. “I was on the phone with Paul before my mom called.”
“And?” She starts laying the red discs on the board, each in its own square.
“I think he wants me to come home.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Is it? How can I be so wishy-washy? One minute I want him to want me, then when he does— “You know when you said you haven’t seen the old me in a long time?”
“You mean the screeching harpy?”
I smile. “Yeah. Her. Even though I felt bad about yelling at him, there was something freeing about it, too. I spend so much time stuffing my thoughts and feelings, I’ve forgotten how to think and feel.”
“And you’re afraid when you go back to Paul…?”
I shrug. “Stuffing my thoughts and feelings again? It’ll be like trying to shove an inflated air mattress back into its box.”
“You’re assuming Paul wants you…” She waves a hand around as if it’ll help her retrieve the word she’s looking for. “…stuffed.”
“That’s who he knows.”
“But it’s not who he fell in love with in the first place. Maybe he’s just grown accustomed to you this way, the same way you have.” She plops down onto the chair across from me and rests her chin in her hands.
“Or maybe our marriage has lasted this long because of who I’ve become.” The idea is more than a little unsettling. “It’s hard to live with a screeching harpy, you know.”
Tricia smiles. “You’re not a screeching harpy. It was that initial burst, like the pop of a champagne cork. Now that the pressure’s off, you can ease into it some.”
I snag a black checker and spin it between my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to be the only one unstuffed. He’s been hiding work issues from me for months. If we weren’t communicating when we were living together, how can we fix it while we’re apart?”
“All I can offer is this old adage.” She takes my hand, checker and all, and squeezes it. “God works in mysterious ways.”
Taylor steps out of the house, phone held toward me. “Grandma said she’ll talk to you later. She’s having trouble understanding how my science experiment proves that you cheated on Dad.”
I drop my head in my free hand. What I wouldn’t give for life to go back to boring.
Chapter 36
Corey
Staring in the mirror, I still can’t believe it’s me looking back. The jeans, the boots, the hair. The long sweater wrap hugs my new-found curves. Trish pushed enough makeup on me to service a chorus line. I opted f
or a touch of mascara and lip gloss, but even that’s foreign to my minimalist taste. There was a time I had a heavier hand, but that was before I got it into my head that a pastor’s wife should look…I don’t know…pastorly.
“Let’s see.” Trish slips up behind me and I catch her eye in the mirror. “You look amazing. Didn’t I tell you those jeans would fit?”
I pluck at the cream-colored sweater. “I don’t know, Trish. I feel exposed.”
“Exposed? Nonsense. You don’t have an inch of skin showing. You look beautiful. Feminine.”
“I feel like a fraud. At least you look like you.”
The clingy, turquoise blouse she’s wearing brings out the green in her eyes. “You’re just out of practice. We find a few more outfits for you and you’ll be back in the groove.”
“My husband wouldn’t recognize me.”
“Sure he would. You look more like the woman he married now than you have since.” She takes my place at the mirror and futzes with her hair. “What else needs to be done?”
“It’s all under control. This is a thank you dinner for you and Jonas. I don’t want you lifting a finger.” I cock my head in an effort to discern where my daughter is. “Do you know what Taylor’s doing?”
“She’s out back trying to remember how to paint. That was a great idea, picking up those supplies for her.”
“I hope she doesn’t get anything on her clothes. I’m going to check on the lasagna and put the salad together.”
I step out back on my way to the kitchen. Taylor’s wearing an old dress shirt of Steven’s over her clothes—her paint smock—and is staring at a blank canvas. “Hey, Tay? Did you feed Rambo?”
At the mention of his name, Rambo tears out of the house and spins in circles at my feet. When it comes to food, he speaks human.
“No. I’m trying to figure out what to paint.” She turns to look at me and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. Compliments might be misconstrued as forgiveness. We wouldn’t want to make that mistake.
“Jonas will be here anytime. I need you to feed Rambo. Now.” I step back inside.
Tricia walks through the dining room and does a double take. “Why are there five places set? Isn’t it just you, Taylor, Jonas and me?”
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