Illusions

by Jennifer Sienes

  Shock turns to panic. “You mean we’re going to leave Placerville?” Just like a kid to home in on what’s going to affect him.

  “No, of course not. I mean, not if we’re all in agreement that we want to stay in Placerville. I can commute. And your mom’s accepted a teaching position there.”

  “She did? Cool.”

  “I’m sure you’d like to finish high school where you are. And Taylor—well, she’ll need to finish high school one way or the other.”

  “So, you and Mom aren’t getting divorced?”

  “Not if I can help it.” We arrive back at the church. “Anyway, I didn’t want to meet with the board without telling you what’s going on. After all, I promised.”

  “Have you talked to Mom about it?”

  “Not yet.” That should be an interesting conversation. “I won’t commit to anything until I do, though.”

  Kent checks his watch and waves us over. “You ready?”

  I slap Michael on the back. “You want to come in with me?”

  “Me? But isn’t this, like, a job interview?”

  I nod. “Kind of. But they ought to know right up front that my family comes first, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 41

  Corey

  Traffic is light. Who else in their right mind is driving around on a Sunday morning at five a.m.? Taylor was asleep before I reached Highway 1, head cushioned by her pillow against the passenger side window. Rambo’s spread out on the back seat like a king on his throne.

  And I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. Last night, I was unsure of my next move. Do I go back to Paul and pretend nothing’s changed? Do I turn down the teaching position, seek one out in the Monterey area and stay with Tricia? Or do I continue to pray that somehow, some way, God will intervene and restore my family?

  “What do I do?” I’d asked Tricia as we cleared the dinner dishes from the table.

  “I can’t even figure out my own life, which is far less complicated than yours.”

  Opening the dishwasher, I glanced at her. “What’s to figure out? I thought you were perfectly happy with the status quo.”

  She rested her hip on the counter and crossed her arms with a sigh. “I was until you had to butt in and try your hand at matchmaking.”

  “No one’s forcing you to go out with him, you know. And may I remind you that you started the whole thing?” I raised my voice to a falsetto. “If only Jonas had a son.”

  She snatched up a dishtowel and attempted to smack me with it. “I liked you better as the submissive little wife. The screeching harpy’s hard to live with.”

  “Ha. Well, you better get used to it. I may never leave.” I flicked my wet hands at her.

  Wiping her face with the dishtowel, she shot me a smirk. “Aren’t we just a pair? The picture of indecision.”

  “Do you like him? Dylan?”

  “What’s not to like? But I liked Steven, too. Look how that turned out.”

  I loaded the last plate into the dishwasher and closed the door. “So, you take it slow. He’s a pastor, for goodness sake. We’re talking church picnics and walks on the beach.”

  “True.”

  “And if there is a dark side to him, don’t you think Jonas would have seen it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know the warning signs now, don’t you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Look, Trish, don’t make this to be more than it is. Give it some time, and I’m sure—”

  “Hey, Mom?” Taylor poked her head into the kitchen and held out my cell phone. “I was on the phone with Rachel when butt head called. He says it’s important.”

  I grimaced at her as I took the phone. “Maybe it’s time you came up with a nicer nickname for your brother.”

  “Why?”

  It must have been a rhetorical question, because she didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Hey, Michael. Everything all right?” Texts were more his style.

  “You gotta come home.” His tone was a little anxious, but not panicked.

  “Your dad and I will talk in the next couple days—”

  “No. Not the next couple days. Tomorrow. In time for church service.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s important, Mom.”

  “What’s going on?” Tricia whispered. “Is everything okay?”

  I shrugged. “I need more than that if you expect me to be on the road by,” I count the hours in my head, “four-thirty.”

  “Can’t you trust me? Please?”

  We’d have to pack up that night. I’d need to call Jonas to tell him good-bye. And what about Taylor’s therapy?

  “You there, Mom?”

  “Yeah.” I looked at Trish and rolled my eyes. “This is important, huh?”

  “It’s the epitome of important.”

  It must have been for him to pull out a vocab word. “Okay then. I…I’ll be there by nine.”

  “And Mom?”

  Now what?

  “Try not to let Dad see you until after, okay? I mean, stay in the foyer until worship is over.”

  Ten hours later, here we are on the road. Anxiety wars with exhaustion. It was a mad rush to call Jonas last night and pack up everything. Taylor was no help, focused on her own conflicting emotions. How would her friends react to her in person? They’ve all graduated, but she’s, “like, the idiot freak unable to hold onto a thought longer than a minute.” Of course, she then went into the facts she learned in fifth grade about the minuscule memory of a goldfish. Random thoughts that had to be vocalized.

  The temperature rises the farther north we drive. A hazy gray sky greets us in Sacramento. Out of Carmel a few hours and I already miss the clean ocean air. I roll up my window and turn on the air. Taylor stirs and mumbles something incomprehensible. It wasn’t that long ago that alien gibberish was her only mode of communication. A reminder to be thankful for God’s mercy—even on this day wrought with uncertainty.

  I pull into Placerville at eight-fifty. Twenty-five minutes until Paul will step up to the podium to give his message. Plenty of time to drop Rambo off at the house, wake Taylor, and freshen up a bit. Every conceivable reason Michael wants me here tumbles through my head, twisting and turning, yet never settling into anything that makes sense.

  Your grace is sufficient, Lord. Your grace is sufficient, Lord. Your grace is sufficient, Lord. The prayer becomes a litany as I drive into the church lot and park the car. Attendance appears to be back up, if the number of vehicles is any indication. Or maybe there’s something special happening today, and that’s why Michael wants us here.

  “Let’s go.” Taylor unbuckles her seat belt.

  I latch onto her upper arm. “Wait a minute. Michael doesn’t want your dad to see us.” I check my watch. “When we go in, let’s stay in the back. If there are empty seats, fine, but if not, we’ll stand.”

  “But I want Dad to know I’m here.”

  “He will, sweetie. After. I promised your brother.”

  She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

  The ending strains of How Great Thou Art reach my ears as we step into the foyer. Wrapping an arm around Taylor’s shoulders, I hold her back with me until I hear Paul’s voice.

  “Let’s go. And remember, stay in the back with me.”

  * * *

  Paul

  After a few deep breaths, I step up to the podium. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it’s everything I can do to not lose what little food I have in my stomach. Please, Lord, don’t let me throw up. Staring out over the sea of familiar faces, I hesitate over a few—John and Beverly Pendleton, Drew and Rebecca Simpson, Craig and Jenna McCarty, Mark and Brianna Lewis. And Michael, front and center, offering up an encouraging smile.

  What did I ever do to deserve his loyalty?

  Michael glances over his shoulder. Who’s he looking for? I scan the back of the church, but the lights are too low to make out anyone. I clear my throat and lay my speech down o
n the podium. I rehearsed it in my office a dozen times last night but can’t remember the first word.

  “I figure I’ve stood before you all about five hundred times in the last ten years if you factor in the weeks I’ve been on vacation.” My stomach does a precarious flip, and I breathe deep. Please don’t let me throw up. The sea of faces in front of me blurs, and my head’s pounding like a bass drum.

  “When I first started here at the ripe old age of thirty-two, I thought I knew what it took to be lead pastor. I’d spent the previous ten years at three different churches in the capacity of youth or associate pastor. I watched lead pastors deal with every conceivable issue from dissension over music to abhorrent sexual sin.” I pause to remind myself to breathe.

  “But there’s something I didn’t factor into the equation—my own stinkin’ thinkin’. What started out as a call to serve God by serving others became a call to serve myself.” My words result in shocked expressions. I can just imagine what they’re thinking. “Oh, I didn’t pilfer money from the collections or give anyone cause to believe I was unfaithful to my wife. Although, if I’m going to be honest here, there were accusations made of which I was innocent. But my sin was worse, in many ways.”

  There’s a shuffling in the body as members lean in, as if to hear better or turn to each other, eyes wide, while questions fill their minds.

  “My sin was in wanting to receive the credit for my work—credit that rightly belonged to the Lord. Some might not see that as deserving a public confession but allow me to explain how that played out. First off, my son, Michael, gave me permission to share what many of you already know—last year he vandalized the elementary school. He did this out of anger toward me. I didn’t know it at the time, nor did I bother to find out. I was too concerned with how his actions made me look and how it affected my position here.”

  I catch Michael’s eye and he gives me a slight nod.

  “Since that time, I’ve spent more energy defending my right to this position against eleven families who felt I should be removed. Rather, I should have been focusing on the multitude of you who weren’t involved. I shirked my godly responsibilities in favor of a worldly reputation. I got caught up in the sin of pride and arrogance.

  “Sadly, this didn’t start just last year. It started when I first walked in those doors.” I point to the back of the church. “When many members made it clear that my wife should be serving the church and not working outside our home, I stomped all over her dreams of teaching so my position would be secure. God first, then family, then work. I put work first, then it was a toss-up whether God or my family took second position.”

  No one’s thrown out insults or demanded my blood. So far, so good. The churning in my gut eases and breathing becomes second nature again. Shuffling my notes, I find the passage I need.

  “Proverbs six, sixteen through nineteen says, ‘These six things the Lord hates, seven are an abomination to Him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among brethren.’”

  I scan the body, catching a look here and there. But for the most part, eyes are down. Guilty consciences like mine? “It’s humbling to note that I can see myself in most every one of these seven abominations. Although I’ve been guilty of not forgiving when I’m called to, I stand before you and humbly seek your forgiveness. None of us is sinless, but your pastor should be above reproach if at all possible. I’ve let you down. I’ve let my family down. And I’ve let my Lord down.”

  Gathering up my notes, I exit the stage, my steps much lighter than when I entered. There’s something to be said for unburdening one’s self.

  Pushing through the side door with the intention of heading around to the foyer, I’m caught unawares by a woman’s presence. I have to do a quick shuffle and grasp her shoulders to avoid running into her.

  “Excuse me.” I drop my hands and step back. It can’t be. “Corey?”

  Pushing her hair back with trembling fingers, she raises watery eyes to me.

  “Why—how—I mean, what are you doing here?”

  “Did you mean it?” She waves a hand toward the sanctuary. “What you said in there?”

  “Yes, of course. But, I don’t understand.”

  “Michael called last night.”

  “Mich—” I laugh. “Our son the conspirator.”

  She smiles and crosses her arms. “Now what?”

  “I suppose that’s up to you.”

  “No,” she says. “It’s up to us. I need you to forgive me and leave the past in the past. I don’t want to relive it every time we disagree on something.”

  Reaching out a hand, I run a finger down her cheek until her eyes meet mine. “And I need my wife back. Someone to hold me accountable when I start thinking this life’s about me.”

  She stands straight, looks me right in the eye. A challenge? “I want to teach.”

  “Good.” I pull her in for a much-needed hug. “Because that speech I gave might have been my swan song. You just may be supporting us for a while.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Corey

  What made me think life would be less chaotic once school got out? In a quest to find my planning book, I shuffle through the stacks of papers that cover the dining room table. Michael’s photography portfolio, Taylor’s Sac State class catalog, Paul’s VBS material, and my freshman English curriculum.

  “Hey, Mom,” Michael shouts from the back of the house. “Where’s my SOCAPA sweatshirt?”

  “Everything’s packed.” Lifting The Ancient World History textbook, I thumb through the pages, breathing in the new book smell, my eyes catching the glossy, colorful pictures as they pass in a blur. My own classroom. My own students.

  The clatter of Michael’s suitcase being rolled down the hall precedes him. “I left my sweatshirt out for the airplane, but I can’t find it.”

  “We have to leave in ten minutes if you want to make your flight. And hey, your portfolio’s over there. Aren’t you taking it with you?”

  Grumbling, he snatches up the album from the table, lays his suitcase down, and unzips it. “I was going to carry it on, but this’ll be better.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Nah.” He looks up from the floor and grins. “Are you?”

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “It’s New York, Mom, not Afghanistan. I’d be more worried about Taylor going to college in September.”

  “What about me?” Taylor emerges from the hallway, Rambo at her heels, rubbing her eyes. The girl can still rival Rip Van Winkle when it comes to sleep.

  “Hey.” Michael stands and points at her. “That’s my sweatshirt you’re wearing.”

  Sure enough, SOCAPA blazes across her chest, black and red on gray.

  She shrugs. “So?”

  “So, give it back. I’m taking it with me.”

  “You’ve got a million sweatshirts. This one will keep me from missing you.”

  Michael snorts. “As if. I’m only going to be gone two weeks.”

  “How about you let me keep this one and I’ll get you a Sac State sweatshirt when school starts?”

  “No. Come on, Tay, it cost me twenty-five dollars. That’s, like, almost three hours of pumping gas.”

  “Fine,” she says with a moan. “Let me go change.”

  Glancing at the clock, I call out to her retreating back. “Better make it quick, Tay. Dad’s going to want to leave soon. VBS starts today, remember?”

  A door slams and Paul comes in from the garage. “You guys about ready?” He reaches for Michael’s suitcase. “Let me load that for you.”

  I step up to him and take his wrist. “Michael’s a big boy. He can load it himself.”

  “Got it, Dad, thanks.”

  Taking Paul’s hand, I wait until Michael’s in the garage. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”
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  “Oh, yeah, I know.” He plants a quick kiss on the end of my nose. “This’ll be a good experience for him.”

  “I mean VBS. I know Community Christian doesn’t have the space you had at Crossroads, but—”

  “Not even close.”

  “But you have a great team working with you.”

  He slips an arm around me. “I still wish you could be there today.”

  “Well, I’ll be there tomorrow and the rest of the week. I want to try and get some planning done after I drop Michael at the airport. With church activities and Tricia’s wedding in a few weeks, summer’s going to be gone before we know it.”

  “I still can’t believe you scored the sixth-grade teaching assignment.”

  I grin. “Me neither.” When God opens doors, He doesn’t mess around.

  “What d’you think about staying down in Carmel for a week or so after Tricia’s wedding?”

  I step back to look at him. “Are you sure? We were just there.”

  “Babe, spring break was almost three months ago.”

  “What about church?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll see if I can get Mark to substitute, or maybe Kent.”

  “It’d be good to spend a little time with Jonas. I think he’s covering for Dylan at church. Since Beth died, he seems so lost.”

  “Well, then it’s good we can be down there for a few extra days.”

  “And hey, Tricia and Dylan will be on their honeymoon, maybe we can stay at their place.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He plants a kiss on my head and wraps his arms around me.

  “Here you go, butt head,” Taylor says, sweatshirt dangling from one finger. She looks around. “Where is he?”

  Stepping away from Paul with a sigh, I glare at Taylor. “That’s the last time I want to hear that come out of your mouth. You’ll be starting college in a couple months. It’s time you act like it.”