Take Flight

by T. E. Price

  “I can’t, I should actually go now if I wanna slip back to the lake house before work today,” I reply. “Thanks though,” I add, my tone lifting as if my enthusiasm will follow. Ainsley shuffles over to Sasha and checks to see if the black iron gate enclosing her back yard is locked. She nods, slides open the glass door, then navigates around the high-top table to hug me good-bye. “Thank you so much for letting me crash here last night,” I say as she wraps her arms around me.

  “Any time. Can you let yourself out? Miles won’t be this happy for much longer,” she says as she steals a glance at her son before rushing back to the breakfast prep.

  “Yeah, I’ll call you later,” I say with a quick wave. “Bye-bye little man,” I add.

  Shifting the weight of my gym bag on my shoulder as I walk through the house, I close the front door and breath in the fresh air. I walk down the expansive steps onto the cement path and make my way to my car that sits awkwardly in front of their three-car garage, seriously out of place in a gated neighborhood of mansions. While backing out of their curved driveway, I observe the aesthetically pleasing sight of the Bakers’ well-manicured lawn and how the grass offers a pleasant contrast against the white stone home.

  Shifting my car into drive, I rumble down the twisted roads. A little voice in the back of my head tells me to look for Jonathan’s car. But there’s no sign of him as I survey my surroundings.

  The houses are all so beautiful and evenly spaced, offering enough land to feel separated from the neighbors, but not enough for complete isolation, like the lake house. As I come to a stop at the end of the street, I catch sight of a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher perched on the iron fence of a nearby home. The gorgeous, gray and salmon-pink coloring of our state bird captures my attention. When will this fellow find friends and navigate south? Winter will be here any day now.

  Hiss! My car idles at the stop, scaring the bird into flight, his absurdly long tail fluttering as he soars upward. Watching through my windshield as the bird rises higher and higher, my heart pangs with the longing to take flight like this wondrous creature. He comes and goes as he pleases, his wings carrying him from frightening moments to the safety of the sky. Nothing is tying him down, he’s free to escape as he sees fit. The bird disappears behind the tall pines in the distance, and I linger at the stop sign for a moment to rest my head on my steering wheel. “God,” I whisper in prayer, “I just want to escape, but I have no idea where to go. I can’t keep dodging Jonathan like this.” With a sigh, I raise my head as if it weighs a ton. I don’t have the money to move. And where would I go? It took me almost ten years to find a friend like Ainsley. Do I even have it in me to start all over again? My hands slide loosely down the steering wheel and into my lap. Can I ever trust God with my future, especially if I’m always looking over my shoulder?

  * * *

  “Great practice, everyone. Let’s take twenty before the church service starts,” Chip Catcher says to the worship team as he runs a hand over his bald head, straightens his plaid shirt and walks to the far end of the black stage to place his guitar in its stand. “Hallie, can I chat with you for a moment in my office?” he asks just as I’m walking down the left side of the stage to follow Ainsley into the brightly lit foyer. With a quick nod, I hang back as Ainsley, deep in conversation with the keyboard player, continues down the aisle. I follow Chip toward the small office just around the corner from the stage, squinting against the reflection of the bright spotlights as they bounce off the back-drop decorating the wall directly behind the stage. The bronze plate on the office door flashes Chip’s title, “Worship Leader,” with the Connect Church logo situated in the corner, indicating the office and the job that used to be Harrison’s.

  I settle in the seat opposite Chip’s desk trying to hide my curiosity as he pulls out his chair. He adjusts the pant legs of his skinny jeans as he gets comfortable. “Is everything okay? I hope Becca’s alright,” I add, pointing to the picture frame sitting on the corner of his desk, capturing the smiling faces of Chip and his wife at Disney World.

  “No, she’s fine,” Chip assures me as he reaches for the picture frame and turns it out of sight. “Little bit of a cough, so she didn’t feel like she could carry a tune this morning.” I nod. Becca can sing on key, but her voice is not very strong—singing with a sore throat could draw some unwanted attention. “Thanks for stepping in last minute, Hallie,” he adds. “I hope my text this morning didn’t wake you.”

  “Not at all, I tend to be an early riser these days,” I chuckle. The office gets quiet, so I clasp my hands together in my lap and chew at the inside of my mouth.

  “I’ve been noticing you aren’t volunteering to sing on the worship team as much anymore,” he states, stroking his long beard as he talks. “Not that I’m trying to pry, but something’s off with you.”

  I look down at my shoes, my toes wiggling against the material. What do I say? My throat tightens. This conversation could erode the protective walls I’ve worked so hard to build. “Yeah, I’m definitely up for serving more now. But I…uh,” I cough, trying to steady my shaky voice. Was Ainsley right? Should I let another man know about my situation? I pick up my head, and with a sturdy tone, I say “I’ve left Jonathan.” Chip’s hand stops, mid-stroke, and his eyebrows raise high enough to disappear into his hairline—if he chose to have one.

  “Wow, Hallie,” he starts, rolling the chair closer to the desk and leaning into the conversation, “I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “I um…I just couldn’t stay,” I finish. He doesn’t have to know about the secrets I’ve been keeping from the church all these years, especially that one in particular. My hands begin to tremble in the silence that follows. I can’t meet his gaze. Is Chip about to dismiss me from the worship team? Am I going to have to wear the scarlet letter—a “D” replacing the “A”—screaming the reality of my failed marriage to the entire congregation?

  “Good for you,” Chip finally replies, startling me from my blaring thoughts. “I think it’s great you’ve finally made a decision for yourself. I don’t know what happened in your marriage, but that guy never shows up to church with you, he didn’t come to hear you sing on Sunday mornings, it just seems like he was really holding you back.” I squirm in my seat. Jeez, I knew it was bad, but does he have to point out all this? Was it that obvious just how bad it was? “Do you think this is permanent?” Chip asks. Is that accusation I hear? Maybe not, maybe it’s just me.

  “Yes.” My fists tighten as my face flushes. “Look, I really don’t want to get into the details, but it’s over. Jonathan is a good guy, and I wish him well.” I flinch. Why do my lies for him surface so easily? It’s my desire to keep his reputation unblemished; a desire I can’t explain…and I hate it. Did this habit build out of a need to hide my reality from the world? Or have I told this lie to myself enough that I’m actually convinced there’s truth to it?

  “Well, I’m sorry that your marriage has ended this way,” he says, his brow furrowing as his eyes lock with the keyboard in front of the monitor. “But maybe this is a good thing that you’ll have some free time, because I think I need your help with some changes I’d like to make with the worship team.” Chip clears his throat, “Hallie, I need you to sing on Team B as well. I need you to be the lead singer on Team B.”

  My palms begin to sweat. I rub them down my jeans, then say, “I thought Becca was the lead singer on that team.”

  Chip leans back quickly and squirms in his seat as his eyes move to the floor. “I think she’ll be okay with this change,” he adds, waving a hand in the direction of the picture frame without looking at it. Checking the time on his watch, he springs from his chair as he says, “Let’s discuss the details later, I just wanted you to start thinking about it before I make any permanent changes. We should probably get out there.”

  I follow him toward the door, but just as we are about to exit the office, I add, “Chip, if you could just keep my … situation to yourself for now, I’d really appr
eciate it.” I shove my hands into my front pockets, then say, “I know word will eventually get out, I guess I just want to control the way it’s shared. Divorce usually doesn’t sit right with the church.”

  Chip turns from the partially cracked door just long enough to acknowledge me, but he avoids my eyes. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He wavers in his step, still turned enough in my direction, then adds, “Maybe it’s best if we keep everything we discussed in here quiet, at least until I can work out the logistics of it all.” And although I feel like a weight has plunked down on my heart, I nod in agreement.

  CHAPTER 6

  My favorite worship song, a rendition of the hymn “It Is Well,” fades as Ainsley flicks her car blinker on to leave her neighborhood already decorated for the Christmas holiday. The passenger’s seat heater of her Toyota Highlander warms me as I contemplate the words of the song. It isn’t well with my soul—there’s so much unknown in my future. I want to trust God. I really do. But how can I when I don’t know where my life is going? Even as I’m getting things done—working longer hours, filling out paperwork for a new bank account, applying for health insurance—this past month hasn’t provided any reassurance or clear direction.

  “What a great song. Let’s suggest it to Chip for next week’s worship. You will be perfect for that harmony,” Ainsley says as she angles her rearview mirror to get a better glimpse of Miles in his car seat behind us.

  I blink and shake my head. It’s funny how easy it is for me to get lost in my thoughts. “Mmm-hmm,” I offer behind closed lips. This song would be a good fit, but I don’t think I could get through it without crying. Soft music draws my attention back to the radio as the announcer on our local Christian music station starts to read Scripture, “Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord … Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the Lord is good and his love endures forever …” I drop my gaze as I re-adjust my seatbelt. Love. What does it mean to feel loved by God? Yeah, sure—he loves me. So, why don’t I feel it? “You’ve just heard some verses from Psalm one hundred,” the announcer continues, “and what a reassurance it is for us, to trust in a God whose love and faithfulness endures forever. We are to give thanks to him for all that he provides.”

  Ainsley leans forward in her seat, muting the volume. “With all this talk about giving thanks—how was Thanksgiving at your parents’ last week?”

  “Oh,” I start, slumping my body on the door as I turn toward her, “boring, really. We ate, Dad watched football, Mom tried to bring up Jonathan and how lonely he must be during Thanksgiving. It was awkward, so I went back to the lake house early.”

  “You don’t think he went to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving?”

  “You know, I figure he probably did. But then again, he may have made an excuse and skipped it. I haven’t heard anything from his parents or his brother. They haven’t contacted me, so I don’t think they know I’ve left him. They aren’t shy—his dad would certainly have something to say, which makes me think he hasn’t told them.”

  “You blocked his number, but did you block his parents too? Maybe they did try to get in touch with you.”

  I sigh as Ainsley makes another turn, navigating to my work where my car is still parked. “No, I didn’t block them. I figure I owe them something, at least a small explanation, although I definitely won’t tell them everything.” One thing’s for sure, I definitely won’t tell them about that night.

  “Hallie, you gotta tell his dad what he was doing at work. Don’t you think his dad oughta know what went on behind the scenes, I mean, especially because he took over when his dad retired?”

  My face twitches as I rub at my neck. What if someone could hear this conversation now? We slow down for a stoplight. In my silence, Ainsley turns to study me. “I can’t tell his dad that,” I confess. “It would ruin him …” Ainsley purses her lips as if to say, and? I shake my head. There’s nothing more to say about that. “Anyway, tell me how the Christmas party went last night—I’m sorry I didn’t go. I guess I’m just not feeling up to that kinda stuff these days. Miles and I cuddled on the couch and watched a few YouTube clips on my phone just after you and Will left. He went down after that, no problem.”

  Ainsley grabs her head and moans just as the light turns green. Miles screams in glee, causing Ainsley to wince. “Well, I think I drank too much… but I had to,” she defends. “What a dull bunch.” I roll my eyes, the hint of a smirk tickling my cheeks. This is my best friend. Whenever things get boring, she knows how to liven things up. Before you know it, she’s chatting with everyone and anyone. Once the life of the party, always the life of the party…that is, if there’s enough alcohol in her system. “You know, Rita was there with Andrew—I haven’t seen him since we graduated from college.” She runs her fingers over the smooth leather of the steering wheel, “Remember when he had a crush on you back in college?” She chortles, “Man, he would have done anything to be with you. He would chase us around from party to party, always by your side in case you ever got too drunk. I was wondering when the guy would catch on,” she nudges me across the center console, “I mean, getting drunk was never your thing—it’s mine.” She tips her head back and holds her hand above her mouth, pretending to down a drink, then laughs.

  I avoid the conversation of over-drinking with a shrug and refocus on Andrew, “Yeah, he’s not my type. He is a nice guy, though. Did it look like he was having a good time with Rita?”

  Ainsley chuckles, “Maybe. He definitely was spending a lot of money on her at the bar. But you know Rita, she was lapping it up—getting spoiled by him while flirting with the singles around her the moment Andrew left to buy her another cocktail.” Her tone lowers while adding, “I really dunno why she came over to talk to me if she was having such a good time flirting.”

  “What did she want to talk to you about?” I ask, just as we pull down the street leading to my work.

  Ainsley looks out her window at the vast emptiness that surrounds the decrepit strip mall and gulps. “Oh … uh,” she starts, her voice jumping several octaves, “well, she just wanted to gossip, you know.” Ainsley yanks her hair off her neck. “She just told me about a bunch of people in town and what they were doing—who got fat, who got married, who had a baby… that kinda stuff.”

  “Oh,” I say, trying to catch my best friend’s eyes just as she pulls into the parking lot, her large tires managing the pot holes better than my car. Silence follows as she pulls into a parking spot. I clear my throat, “Well, thanks for driving me to work,” I finish, moving my gaze to my gym bag on the floor. Why does it feel like the air has left the car?

  “No problem,” Ainsley squeaks. She shifts her car into park then adds, “And thanks for watching Miles last night—you gave my parents a night off from babysitting.” She waves her hand across the parking lot, “And I guess it’s only right that I pick my babysitter up and drop her back off at her car.” Her smile is set by the time she finally faces me, but then her lips slide downward. “Is that Rita’s Jeep?” she points to the Connect Church sticker visible on the back windshield of a vehicle parked a few spots away.

  “Yep,” I say with a shrug. “She started working out here not too long ago.”

  “She’s probably working off all the alcohol she drank last night.”

  I chew the inside of my mouth. It’s not right to talk about people like this, and I don’t want to keep caving to gossip like I do when conversations take an awkward turn. But I’m in no position to give a lecture—especially when my best friend is struggling to make eye contact, for whatever reason. “She comes in often enough, not just after a night out.”

  “Ah, she’s probably here for all the guys. I mean, that woman is desperate,” Ainsley tilts her head. “I swear, she flirts with all the single men, even at church.” My gaze flits between my shoes and my friend. This all might be true, but I don’t need to hear all the details. “She seem
s eager to find a daddy replacement for her kid. You know, she’s always looking for ways to make herself out to be the victim…sharing all the sorry details at church of how that guy got her pregnant eight years ago and then left.” Jutting her neck out, Ainsley adds, “But luckily she found God.” Ainsley’s fingers form quotation marks in mock disapproval. “More like she found a room full of potential dating options.”

  I squirm in my seat, glance at the clock on the large screen of the Highlander, and make for a quick departure. I grab for my gym bag on the floor, and we say our good-byes as I close the passenger’s side door. That was weird.

  Rita’s shrill laugh bombards me as I enter the front door of Jim’s Gym. My eyes dart to the scene at the front desk. Rita is leaning on the desk with one leg crossed behind the other. Does she know she’s giving Danny, who’s seated in the office chair behind the desk, an eyeful of cleavage right now? Ding-ding. The bell dangling on the door draws their attention toward me. Ugh! Better make a run for it. Too late, they’re both staring at me now.

  “Hi Hallie,” Rita sneers. Is it just me, or is she upset at me, as if I’ve just interrupted something? I acknowledge her greeting with a quick wave and a closed-lip smile as I try to speed past the scene. Why does the locker room have to be beyond the front desk? Danny pulls his gaze away from Rita’s chest long enough to give me a seductive smirk and nod of the head. I quicken my pace to reach the women’s locker room. Once I’m behind the closed door, I lean against the inside wall, glad to get away from whatever’s going down at the desk. With my ear positioned close to the crack of the door, I hear hushed whispers. In an attempt to catch a couple of words, I open the door an inch and strain to listen to whatever Rita is rambling on about. It must be juicy. Usually, her loud voice would easily carry all the way in here.

  “Hallie?” a voice from behind startles me, and the door slams closed as I swing around. Caught in the act.