“What’d you do, sleep with someone?”
His words have my head snapping up. “I—how did you know?”
“Just a guess.”
There is some relief in not having to say it out loud—to confess my sin to my own son. “I was so sick and ashamed of myself. I thought I could just put it behind me. Get married and forget it ever happened.” I rub at my temple where a headache is forming. “When I found out I was pregnant with Taylor, I…I assumed—” My face heats and I can’t bear to look at Michael. Another person raining judgment on me. Not that I don’t deserve it.
“Dad isn’t Taylor’s dad?” Michael’s voice is incredulous. “That can’t be true. They’re just alike. I mean, they like the same things and everything.”
“I’ve never thought anything different until Taylor did that science experiment the day of her accident. She found out that her blood type didn’t match up right with your dad’s. She thought it was a mistake.”
“You told Dad the truth?”
“No. I was going to, but Ms. Andrews found out from Josh that something was off about the experiment. She figured it out and told your dad.”
“Why? What does she care?” His tone is laced with disgust.
“I don’t know. I suppose it could have been to hurt your dad because he rejected her.”
He’s quiet for a moment, as if contemplating. “So, why’d you leave?”
“Your dad—he didn’t seem to be able to forgive me.”
“That’s why you know, huh? I mean, about Dad not cheating on you.”
“It would be pretty tough for him to be all righteous if he was having an affair. I’m sorry, Michael. This whole family’s a mess because of me.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Mom.”
I look at my son, sympathy in his eyes—his father’s eyes—and I’m amazed. Is this what grace looks like?
Chapter 38
Paul
The house is too quiet. It never seemed all that large to me, but rattling around in it by myself, it’s grown. Jonas’s words hit hard. Not that I hadn’t thought about the importance of family before. But it was confirmation. God speaking to me through someone older and wiser.
Much wiser.
After ten minutes of searching the shelves in my office, I pluck my old Bible from between Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest and a collection of Charles Spurgeon’s sermons. With the flick of a switch, my desk lamp dispels the shadows of the late afternoon, and I sit at my desk, Bible in hand.
The leather-bound cover is creased with age, the tissue-thin pages well-worn. There’s comfort in the heaviness of the book and the whisper-crackle of the pages as I turn them to the book of Proverbs. King Solomon was given the gift of great wisdom from God, and yet he still searched throughout his life for something other than his Creator to satisfy him. My only defense is that I’ve not been given great wisdom.
Thumbing to chapter eight, I smooth the pages and scan for verse thirteen. It’s ingrained in my brain. The fear of the Lord is to hate evil; pride and arrogance and the evil way and the perverse mouth I hate. Pride and arrogance. The words may be ingrained in my brain, but the sin still found roots in my heart. When did that happen? And what do I do about it?
Humble yourself.
I flip back a few pages until I come to Proverbs 3:34. God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.
I call Kent and ask if he can meet me at the cafe. Maybe give me a little more information on the church in Georgetown I disregarded without thought. If I’m not a pastor, then what am I? Where do I go from here? But how can I stay, when I know it’s gotten all twisted up with my ego?
Kent’s settled in a back booth when I arrive. Little Miss Sunshine points him out.
“Good to see you, Paul.”
“Thanks for meeting me.” I slide into the booth across from him. “How’re things going?”
“Cheryl took the kids to visit her parents down south. Three days in Disneyland. There’ll be no living with them when they get back. How do I compete with that?” Despite his words, he doesn’t look concerned.
“I have a feeling it’s not a problem for you. That daughter of yours looks at you like you’re Santa Claus and Mickey Mouse all rolled into one.”
“Yeah, well, the kid’s easy to fool. Her older brothers are much wiser.”
I doubt that. It used to be that way with Michael, but I’ve blown that.
Miss Sunshine appears, glass of water in one hand, order pad in the other. She slides the water to me, pulls a wrapped straw from her pocket, and slaps it on the table. “What can I get you fellas?”
“I’ll have the burger and fries, June. And hold back a piece of that cherry pie, will you?”
“You got it, pastor. You?” She turns her watery blue eyes on me.
“Same, thanks.”
“Only got one piece of cherry pie left. Got a nice peach, though.” Is that a smile on her face?
“Perfect.”
“You got it.”
I watch her scamper off. “Think she’s falling for me.”
Kent laughs. “Look out.” He pushes the utensils aside. “How’s it going?”
“Let’s see. Corey and Taylor are still gone, and it doesn’t look like Corey’s in a hurry to come home.”
“I thought you encouraged her leaving.”
“Yeah, well, it’d be good if she wanted to come home.” The new Corey pops into my mind. Everything’s changing.
“How’s it going with Michael?”
“We’re figuring it out. He’s down in Carmel with Corey but’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Good.” He raps his knuckles on the table. “That’s good.”
“I thought you could tell me if that opening up in Georgetown’s still available.”
Kent quirks an eyebrow. “You said you weren’t interested.”
“I’ve been doing some thinking. I—” Is that Drew Simpson coming our way? I look at Kent and tilt my head toward Drew.
“This ought to be interesting,” Kent mumbles, then sits back and watches as Drew approaches.
Drew looks at us. “Pastors.”
“Mr. Simpson,” Kent says.
“Glad to run into you here, Paul. I was going to come see you tomorrow. Mind if I sit a moment?”
Startled, I don’t answer at first. “Be my guest,” I finally respond. Peace settles with the realization that I don’t have to give Simpson the power to ruin my day. Or my life.
“Would you like me to give you some privacy?” Kent starts to rise.
“No, stay. Please.” Drew takes a chair from another table and sets it at the end of our booth. “You’re involved in this too.”
Kent and I make eye contact—what’s this guy up to now?
Drew sits, elbows on the table, and looks at me. “I owe you an apology.”
That’s unexpected. “Oh?”
“I should never have caused a stir in your church. Not on the say so of one person.”
I cross my arms. “You had a whole slew of accusations.”
“Motivated by the lies of one woman.”
Kent clears his throat. “And you know they’re lies now how?”
“My wife. She heard some things, pushed me to check them out. I confronted Ms. Andrews and she finally confessed it was all a lie. She said you never did anything inappropriate. Also found out that she stirred up some pretty ugly stuff in your home.”
My spine stiffens and I’m in defense mode once again. “We’re not bringing my family into this.”
“Not my intention, pastor. Just want you to know that her lies have been brought to light. You’ll not have any more trouble from me or mine.”
I draw in a deep breath and relax. “I appreciate that, Drew.”
“Hope you’ll accept my apology.” He stands as June arrives with our order. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Here we are, gentlemen. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“About?”
“Still want to hear about the opportunity in Georgetown?”
Good question.
* * *
Corey
It’s been a good day. While Taylor worked at the shop with Tricia, Michael and I went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. It never ceases to amaze me what wonders God’s created in this world. We learned about marine life, braved the shallow waters of an indoor tide pool, and observed sharks from the safe side of a glass partition.
“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask him as we do a slow crawl on Highway 1 back to Carmel.
“Let’s rent a couple movies. Something we used to watch with you when we were kids.”
“Are you sure?”
“Taylor’s a sucker for sentiment. It might soften her up a little.”
“She’ll come around, Michael.”
He hits the button to roll down the window, and the ocean tang fills the car. “I don’t know what the big deal is anyway. It’s not like anything’s changed.”
“She just needs time to process.” I’m actually beginning to believe it, too.
Home from the video store, Michael goes out back to feed Rambo and I start on dinner. Meatloaf, Michael’s favorite home-cooked meal. I take out the thawed hamburger and pork, gather up the other ingredients, and dump them all into a large bowl. Preparing to dig in with bare hands, I tug my wedding ring off. My eyes catch and hold on the simple gold band with the humble diamond in the center. It’s the ring I wanted when we married, but more than that, it’s what it symbolizes. To be true and faithful until death.
And I broke those vows before I even made them.
Some might say I wasn’t accountable for that promise until I made it, but that’s just semantics. I know in my heart that what I did was wrong. And I know in my head that my sin is forgiven. How do I get my heart to believe it? Because if I don’t, then I disregard Jesus Christ’s sacrifice on the cross—as if it wasn’t enough for me. How arrogant.
With the ring clutched in my hand, I pray. Help me, Lord, to accept the sacrifice of Your Son for my sins—past, present, and future. To let go and move forward and to offer the same grace He’s given me to others.
Laying the ring on the counter, I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. I’m tired of being separated from my husband, from my son, and even more so, from my God. Is it possible for Him to cleanse me of my guilt?
I’m knuckle deep in ground meat when the doorbell peals. “Michael,” I call out. “Can you get that?”
No response. Where did that boy go?
I scrape what I can from my fingers as the doorbell peals again. Grabbing a towel, I jog through the house to the front door. In my haste, I forget to check the peephole and fling the door open.
It takes a moment to register. “Dad?”
“Good. I have the right address.”
His stern countenance puts me on alert “What…what are you doing here?”
“Mind if I come in? It’s been a long day of travel.”
I step back to allow him entrance, then poke my head outside. “Is Mom with you?”
“Nope. I came by myself. It seems we have some things to talk about.”
Hand on the knob, I fight the childish urge to take flight down the street. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.” He homes in on me with a razor-sharp stare. “This isn’t about her.”
The back-door slams, then Michael calls out, “Hey, Mom, when’s dinner ready? I’m starving.”
“In here, Michael.” I escort Dad into the family room, heart in my throat, as Michael appears.
“Grandpa? Hey, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Hey, Michael.” Dad reaches out and gives him a one-armed hug. “Your grandma said Taylor’s here. I didn’t know you were too.”
“Just until tomorrow. Where’s Grandma?” His glance moves past us toward the front door.
“She didn’t come out with me this trip.” He sits in the easy chair. “You all act like I can’t travel by myself. I’m not that old yet.”
They catch up, and I try to find my voice. Questions dance through my head until I’m dizzy with them.
“Can you give your mom and me a little time alone, son? We have a few things we need to talk about.”
This can’t be good. If Mom’s okay, then this has to be about my marriage.
“Sure.” But Michael looks at me as if asking permission.
I force a smile to let him know it’s okay. “Maybe you could take Rambo down to the beach for a walk.”
A few moments later, I’m facing my father. Alone. “You should have called first, Dad. I—”
“Don’t worry. I got a hotel room, and I have a flight out in the morning.” He waggles his hand toward the couch in a non-verbal command to sit.
I obey, perching on the edge, dishtowel in my hands. “I don’t understand why you’re here.” But I’m afraid that’s not true.
“No?” He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and folds his hands. “I’m worried about you, kiddo. You’re living here, away from your husband.”
I focus on the towel I’m wringing in my hands. “I appreciate your concern, but—”
“I don’t think you do.”
“What?”
“You been lying to us for months. You didn’t tell us how serious Taylor’s accident was. Then you ignore your mom’s phone messages.”
“I thought it was you.” The words escape before I can stop them, and they just hang there between us.
“So,” he says. “It’s not your mom you have a problem with.”
His tone takes me back about thirty-five years, and it’s irksome, which puts me on the defense. “Look, Dad. I’m sorry you felt the need to fly out here, but really, this is none of your business.” My face heats as his eyes widen. What’s gotten into me? I’ve never spoken to my father this way.
“Is that what your kids say when you question their lies?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, they do. The difference is that they’re just that—kids. I’m an adult—”
“Then it’s time you start acting like one.”
Words escape me. How dare he?
“I’m here because I’m concerned about you, Coraline. Can’t you see that?”
Tears well and I shake my head. “No, I can’t. My whole life, whenever I’ve messed up, you’ve been quick to judge me and find me guilty. I have enough guilt eating away at me right now without you adding to it.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know.” I swipe at my nose with the towel. “I messed up, Dad. A long time ago, I messed up. I can’t change it. I’m trying to make it right, but—” I bury my face in the towel. Why won’t he just go away?
The couch dips with his weight as he sits beside me. I’m ready to bolt, but then his arm slides around my shoulders and he pulls me close. The warmth of his embrace opens my emotions like a floodgate, and I sink into him, sobbing.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I promise.”
Chapter 39
Corey
The bedroom is bathed in gray pre-dawn light when I wake. Too early to go for a walk, but there’s no going back to sleep. Instead, I replay the events of the night before. After my crying jag, there was no time to talk—not with Tricia, Taylor, and Michael returning. Dad stayed for dinner and even sat through The Princess Bride.
Tricia watched me as if I were in the psycho ward on suicide watch. The kids were either not perceptive enough to see the evidence of my tears or chose to ignore it. Not Tricia. Twice, she tried to trap me in the kitchen for an explanation, but I’m nothing if not the queen of evasion.
There will be no putting her off this morning.
After Trish and the kids went to bed, Dad and I talked. I told him everything, as if daring him to judge me—baiting him to slip back to the man I thought I knew. It took me hours to fall asleep while I sifted
through childhood memories, replaying each one to see if I’d missed some key ingredient of grace. But I could find none. Dad had changed. Where judgment once reigned, grace now prevailed.
I push the covers back and pad across the carpeted floor to the bathroom. Once done there, I make a beeline for the kitchen. And coffee. The glow of a light warns me that someone’s beat me to it. Tricia. She sits at the kitchen table, bed-head hair, hands wrapped around a steaming, aromatic mug.
“Morning,” I say in my soft, early-morning voice.
“You’re up early.”
Coffee pot in hand, I look at her. “I could say the same about you. Everything okay?”
She smiles. “You’re asking me? It looked as if your dad put you through the emotional wringer yesterday.”
I doctor my coffee and join her at the table. “Do your parents ever surprise you?”
“I don’t suppose you’re talking about my birthday or Christmas.”
“You think you know someone…” I take a sip of coffee and close my eyes. “I told him, Trish.”
“Everything?”
“Down to Taylor’s blood type.”
“Wow. That must’ve felt weird.”
“That’s just it, though. It didn’t. He’s different.” Setting the mug on the table, I look at her. “I guess there’s hope for Taylor.”
“She’s coming around.”
“Not so you’d notice.”
“The tough love thing is working. Stick with it. She mentioned you twice yesterday with no attitude. And I had her put together a fall ensemble on a mannequin. She said it’d look good on you.”
“That’s progress.” Even so small a step lightens my mood. “I talked to her speech therapist about it.”
“You did?”
“Not the exact situation, just that she’s upset with me about something. Dottie reminded me that her focus issues will also be emotional. I just feel blessed that I didn’t get any backlash from Michael.”
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