Take Flight

by T. E. Price

  Ainsley sets the cigar box down on the dresser and begins unloading some other things. “Hey, check this out,” she says, pivoting again in my direction, but this time holding a picture frame of us in Key West. “What a great time, huh? We always have a good time when we travel together.”

  Our smiling faces stare back at me from the frame as my memories ricochet to the night I had returned from that trip. It had been a rough one. One of many I endured in that marriage. Ainsley moves around the bed to place the picture frame on the far bedside table. “Yeah, we have great memories together,” and with a chuckle, I add, “I’m glad you sat next to me in that English class years ago—college was shaping up to be a lonely time.” A hanger slips through my grip and falls to my feet. I bend to pick it up as I continue, “I thought I was going to be all alone again once you found Will, so when you introduced me to … to him—well, I figured it all made sense. You would get married, I would get married, we would both live happily ever after.”

  Ainsley averts her eyes. “So much for that.” She looks back at the picture, then says, “I wish I had known how bad it was for you. I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it.”

  I grab a dress from the bag at my feet and hang it up, pushing the hangers down to create more space in the closet. Ainsley’s phone rings in her purse that is still on the floor in the kitchen. She makes a run for it, leaving me behind to finish setting up the room. “It’s probably Will,” she yells over her shoulder as she jogs toward the phone. The ringing stops and the front door slams as Ainsley exits to take her husband’s call.

  For a few moments, I stand still, my mind tethered to our conversation. I must have been good at hiding it…all the signs. Ainsley didn’t know, Harrison didn’t know, and my parents still don’t know.

  Isabel knew, though. Harrison told me earlier today while we were unloading the moving truck how she had wanted to tell me just how awful she thought he was. Isabel’s never been good at hiding her emotions. That’s been true since the day my brother and she started dating in high school. When Isabel transferred to the private school for her senior year, that’s when she first met him. Harrison told me today that Isabel wanted to warn me about him—that she wanted to tell me how he had tried to date her all those years ago, and how she could tell he was a jerk. Harrison cautioned her to keep that from me. Everyone tried to convince Isabel that he had changed. And it was convincing—the guy was serving in the church, my parents liked him, and my best friend introduced us—he couldn’t have been that bad. But Isabel wasn’t convinced … why was I?

  Why did I make the decision to marry him? It shouldn’t have mattered that he made good money. And yet, that private school, country boy meets business man persona always intrigued me. He was a bit of a mystery, and I found that exciting. He was an impressive golfer and had a good reputation in the community. He was going to church with me at the beginning, and he seemed to have it all together. My arms drop to my sides. “I got sucked in, like I always do,” I whisper to the empty room.

  The front door slams again as Ainsley rushes toward me, her cell phone still in her hand. “Jonathan knows,” she says, her face ashen. I freeze at the sound of his name. She gulps as her eyes lower for a moment, then she looks back at me, “I guess word travels fast in a small town, and Will knows one of the wellhead pumpers that works for Jona—” She licks her lips, “For him,” she corrects. “Will said that this guy was supposed to go over for a drink after work, but when the guy drove past the house, he was outside. And I guess he was pretty upset because the door was left open, and the inside of the house looked a mess. The guy said the hunting dogs were going mad in the backyard pens, and there was a ton of broken glass and things littering the front lawn where he was pacing. He must have destroyed y’alls’ picture frames.”

  Ainsley chews her lip. However, my thoughts jump to the various hunting rifles lining his gun safe, and that image makes my breath come to a screeching halt. I force a slow inhale. “I’m safe now,” I reassure both of us. “He can’t get me here.”

  Right?

  CHAPTER 3

  The water sparkles as sunlight dances across the surface of the rippling lake barely visible through all the trees. Settled in the rocking chair on the back deck of the lake house, I breath in my surroundings, processing all that has taken place over the past few days while trying to determine what is to come. I can’t believe I actually had the courage to leave him. But could I really stay in that marriage forever? No … and I didn’t want anyone to tell me I had to.

  There was a time when I was nervous about my brother’s reaction— worried that he would encourage me to stay in the marriage, to work through our problems, to keep praying until God made a difference. Yet, when I unloaded the shameful truth, there was no deliberation…he wanted to get me out of there just as badly as I wanted to leave.

  My head drops against the back of the rocker as I fixate on that moment when I revealed the darkest secrets of my terror-filled marriage to my brother. Crunch! I jerk my head forward. The rustling of leaves to my left has me fighting for air. Something is moving in the woods. My skin crawls as my eyes pierce the spot where the noise originated. The trees move ever so slightly as a fawn at the edge of the wood patters into view. I exhale while my grip on the arm of the rocking chair loosens. Every muscle momentarily poised for a sprint relaxes, and I smile at the spindly-legged creature.

  Harrison always says I remind him of a fawn, so innocent and timid. Much like this fawn, I’m naïve, clumsy, easily distracted, and fairly forgetful. I wish I could process the unknown well, but instead, I’m just like this poor, little thing, skirting the edge of the forest all alone. The fawn leaps quickly out of sight in reaction to a movement from the woods. Is the little deer running toward its mother, fearful of its surroundings, unsure of the world, unwilling to venture too far from safety? I shake my head as I clench my teeth. That’s not me—I don’t have to run to anyone—and certainly not my parents. They don’t get me, anyway. They’re always pushing me to be stronger, and yet, they disagree with the strongest decision I’ve ever made… to leave him.

  The wind rustles the leaves of the forest that secures this hiding place of mine, and I shiver in response. I am all alone, there isn’t a neighbor for miles. Harrison landed safely in Michigan yesterday, and Ainsley is currently getting ready for church…something I should be doing myself. But could I really fathom facing anyone right now? Going grocery shopping yesterday was one thing—I needed to do that—but putting on a show for the church goers is different.

  My heart thumps hard in my chest at the reality of being truly alone. In the first few days after the wedding, I kept telling myself that I had Jonathan, but it didn’t take long for me to realize I was alone in my marriage. Alone, just days after I married him, alone in trying to improve our marriage, alone in my dreams and desires for a romance that would never flourish. Alone— with terror serving as my constant, sickening companion. If it’s possible, I felt lonelier then than I do now, sitting here beside this isolated lake, rocking back and forth, with only my thoughts for company.

  The cool morning breeze loosens a few strands of hair that I quickly tuck behind my ear. I lift the hood of my high school’s cross-country team sweatshirt to protect me from the chill of the fall air as I reach for my mug and take another sip of my coffee. The heat of the brew warms me as I hug my mug closer to my chest where my team logo is, testifying to my only potential reprieve from loneliness during my high school years. It’s not like being alone is a new feeling for me. Unlike Harrison, who has always been outgoing, I struggled to make friends when my parents moved the family from Michigan to Oklahoma all those years ago. I made plenty of acquaintances—sure, and there were a lot of guys who tried asking me out, but I didn’t have any real friends. So, I joined the cross-country team, even though team didn’t reflect the reality I experienced since I ran with earphones during practice, my music taking the place of comradery. I developed the habit of running with my he
ad down, something my coach tried to correct given that I could only see a few steps in front of me. Perhaps this running ritual of mine was an omen, a hint of what was to come in my adult years. I went through college, graduated with an Associates in Business, but had no idea what I wanted to do with it. I struggled losing Ainsley to Will, so I dove blindly into a relationship with Jonathan, oblivious of where that would take me. It seems like my whole life I’ve had my head down, always running away from something instead of toward something.

  The alarm on my phone nestled inside the front pocket of my hoodie begins to jingle, breaking the silence. The church service starts in ten minutes—time to turn on my laptop and watch the live recording. I reach for my phone to turn off the dinging as I rise from the rocking chair, taking one last survey of the beautiful view. If I have to be alone, I couldn’t think of a prettier place to be.

  I amble around the right corner of the deck and enter through the side door, greeted by the lit fire, welcoming me to my comfy domain where I can lounge in sweats while still enjoying the church service from their online feed. I flip open my laptop and cuddle into the leather couch. The seat has been warmed by the fire, and I sink deeper into the folds that cushion my body. With a blanket tucked around me, I wait for the music to begin.

  The screen shows the masses starting to filter in from the foyer. I smile. Connect Church is my safety net. It’s been three long years of attending services alone, trying to hide my tears. The members and leaders knew I needed them from day one, although they didn’t exactly know why. Before our wedding, he filled the seat beside me, but after the honeymoon was over, the seat was vacated, and my heart was broken.

  I squint toward the front row where Ainsley and I sit after singing on the worship team. We usually sing together, and I grimace at the thought of leaving her alone up there today. The stage stands empty while the clock at the corner of my screen counts down to the start of the service. My heart lifts at the memory of Harrison and I singing together on that stage; he was the Worship Leader, serving as the lead guitarist and vocalist at that church before he and a very pregnant Isabel took the job in Ann Arbor. My brother is the one who encouraged me to start going to church after I stopped attending my parents’ church years prior. Eventually, he led me to understand what was lacking in my life. There was a hole in my world that couldn’t be filled by distractions or relationships. Thankfully, Ainsley supported my decision to give my life over to Christ, and she was quick to follow in the same path. Once we both graduated from college, we settled in the same area and began attending and serving at Connect Church together.

  A large shadow crosses in front of the camera and my breath catches in my chest. Is that him? Would he show up at church trying to find me? It’s been years since he attended Connect Church, he wouldn’t go now that I left him … or would he?

  The tall figure walks toward a seat in the middle row, and I exhale sharply. It isn’t him. I shake my head as the timer on the screen continues to count down. The one thing I can depend on is his determination to maintain a good public image. He would never show up at church and make a scene. He’s always had this undeniable desire to come across as respectable to those in the community. When he took over his father’s position as supervisor of the wellhead pumping company, his good-guy act increased double-fold. He wouldn’t do anything irrational to taint his reputation. He has the county fooled, just as he had me fooled before we were married. He wouldn’t sacrifice his image just to get back at me. So, how is he handling my departure? Has he told anyone? Does his family know yet? Maybe he’ll keep going on with his life, as if nothing has changed.

  The music begins, jolting me out of my downward spiral. The thin frame of Chip Catcher, the worship leader that replaced Harrison, fills the screen. His hipster attire is countered by his shiny, shaved head and burly beard, but his style works for him as his music and stage presence seem to draw in a crowd. Ainsley finds her place on the stage beside Chip, and the familiar melody of today’s opening worship song eases my heart. My eyes are drawn back to the aging bass player standing in the spot where Jonathan used to play while we were dating. Tugging on the blanket, drawing it closer to my chin, I breathe in a slow, calculated breath. He can’t find me here, and he won’t do anything in public to ruin his coddled reputation.

  The service today is about baptism. Bile rises in the back of my throat and my stomach tightens. I’m still not baptized, despite my faith in Christ. But could I really stand before all those people and share my testimony, especially now that I’ve left my husband? Pastor Noah’s introduction sends my wandering eyes back to the screen as he challenges our willingness to trust Christ. The camera focuses on his pale features and cleft chin as he directs us to a passage in the Psalms. He reads to the congregation from chapter thirteen verse five: “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.” He places the Bible on the podium and scratches at the edge of his short, silver hair as his pale blue eyes penetrate the audience. “Have you placed your trust in Christ?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper. “Do you have reason to rejoice in your salvation? If so, why don’t you proclaim that trust proudly today?”

  Pastor Noah continues with his sermon, but his voice drowns in a sea of thoughts. That’s it, that’s my problem. I don’t really trust God—not enough to publicly proclaim that trust. Biting my bottom lip, I lean my cheek into one hand. Can I really trust God after he led me into such a terrible marriage? And just after I became a Christian, no less.

  My cell phone buzzes on the coffee table beside me. My hand flies from my face as I lean forward. It’s my mom. I glance back at the screen and see people lining up to get baptized. Maybe I’ll take her call instead of watching this. I exit the live feed and pick up my cell.

  “Hi, Mom,” I somewhat screech. Clearing my throat, I drop my voice back to my normal pitch, “I thought you agreed not to call on Sunday mornings. I’m usually in church.”

  “Oh, yes,” she greets matter-of-factly. “Well, your father and I were just driving home from our church, and we thought we would call to check in on you. All settled at that lake house now?” She doesn’t bother to ask why I’m not in church this morning. No surprise there.

  I roll my eyes at the sound of her tone. My parents are creatures of habit, they retired years ago when they moved the family to Oklahoma, seeking a simple, country life away from the cold temperatures and city life Michigan had to offer. Since then, my mother’s hair appointments and the small, country church services remain pretty much the only two activities that get her out of the single story, outdated house where I spent my middle and high school years. “Yep,” I reply, then quickly add, “and please don’t tell anyone where I am. I need to stay—” I hesitate, weighing every word, “— away from the public. That includes the hair salon, Mom. It’s just down the road from my gym, and I don’t want people knowing I’ve left him.” Silence follows on her end. “How was church?” I throw in. I’ve said what I needed to say, no point in opening the conversation just to hear, yet again, my parents’ theories on my broken marriage.

  “It was good,” my mother sighs, “but you would know if you went with us every now and then.” She pauses, letting the sting of her retort hang between us.

  I cast my eyes downward and pull my knees to my chest. I should let the comment pass, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Your church just isn’t for me, Mom,” I begin. “It’s a great church, and the people are really nice, but I just…I really like Connect Church.” My mother doesn’t respond. There it is—another moment for a daughter and her mother to bond … gone. This is our reality, we just don’t know how to relate to one another. I hype up my pitch, my words projecting through my constricted throat, “But I’m glad you and Dad still enjoy it.” The conversation of church is never an easy one. My parents use church as a ruse. They attend the service on Sundays as if the practice will erase the sins they’ve committed throughout the week. Ever since I was young, I knew this side of
religion wasn’t for me. I need a real, day-to-day relationship with Christ, even though I still have some trust issues. Perhaps the trust issues stem from my parents. Or maybe from Jonathan.

  “Well,” my mother clears her throat, bringing me back to our conversation, “did you do anything this morning?”

  “I watched the service online,” I say, sitting up a little taller. “The sermon was on baptism.” I glance at the sleeping laptop sitting on the coffee table. I should have just ignored her call, like I usually do. Would it have really been that bad to watch the people in the service do what I still can’t bring myself to do?

  “Oh, that’s nice.” My mother is at a loss for words again. Muffled whispers fill the background. “Your father wants to talk to you.”

  “Could we just—” I interject, but it’s too late. My dad’s dominant tone rings through every syllable of his brusque greeting.

  “Hallie,” he starts, “I saw Jonathan’s car circling our house yesterday, and I thought I should tell you.” I grip fistfuls of the blanket as a shudder passes straight through me. My lungs inflate, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. Of course he went by my parents’ house, that’s where he expects me to be. The silence stands for a moment, but my father doesn’t wait to hear my response, “I wanted to talk with him, but—”

  “No!” I take a quick, steadying breath. “Just don’t let him in or try to talk to him, Dad,” I beg. “It’s over between us, and I don’t want to complicate things with useless conversation.” That would be something my dad would do. Chat away to the monster who has stolen so much from me…as if nothing has changed. But my parents don’t know what happened. And I couldn’t tell them. It was hard enough sharing those shameful details with Harrison and Ainsley.