by T. E. Price
In that moment, laughter erupts from the kitchen, and the crowd turns their attention toward the noise. This is my chance to excuse myself. I quickly gush about how nice it was to meet them, then dash to my room. Isabel and Harrison will understand my need to turn in early for the night. Behind the closed door, I start getting ready for bed while filtering through my confused thoughts. Tom and Sarah seem so intertwined, as if their lives are effortlessly bound by their marriage and love for one another. The world has handed them beauty, intelligence, and talent. It’s almost not fair. This is all I’ve ever wanted in a marriage. Their bond is so intact that it’s as if they can read each other’s minds. My heart dips to my stomach. They’ve got what I want—a relationship with someone who is so in sync with me that mind reading is second nature.
With this desire burning in my heart, my mind snaps back to the fullness of my reality. My marriage is over. It’ll end in a divorce in nine and a half months. And who’s to say I’ll be free from Jonathan even after the divorce? Will he ever stop haunting me? Could I ever find myself in a loving relationship like Tom and Sarah’s? I stare down at my limp hands, then start shoving my belongings into my suitcase, packing for my flight back to Oklahoma…back to reality, back to my constant fear, back to looking over my shoulder, waiting for something to go wrong.
Picking up the frame I received for Christmas, I exhale slowly. I’ve got to memorize these words. Maybe I need to start turning my doubts into trust. Maybe if I pray this verse, I can learn how to completely rely on Christ, especially in my time of need and desperation for a brighter future. Maybe, just maybe.
CHAPTER 9
“Hallie McClain,” the flight attendant says as she scans my boarding pass, “glad you’re flying with us today, enjoy the flight.” She directs me down the hall that leads to the aircraft. I accept my boarding pass from her and cringe. I can’t wait for the day when I’m finally freed from that name. Hallie McClain is what I’ve known for the last several years, and the change to Reed is going to require some getting used to again, and yet, that day can’t come soon enough. Yawning, I join the line of people waiting to board as if I’m trying to wade through water, one tired foot in front of the other. While inching forward, I check the time on my phone. The Connect Church worship team should be ending their run-through before the Sunday morning service starts.
The pit in my stomach grows as I navigate toward my seat, and my heart battles this return to Oklahoma, despite my obvious need to make money. The lake house is lonely, my job is floundering, and the gossip mill in our small town is busy turning about my current situation. I couldn’t stop the news from leaking. Now, it’s just a matter of managing the mess I’ve left behind these past two weeks.
I store my carry-on in the overhead compartment then shove my purse under the seat in front of me. Tight squeeze. I settle into my chair, tightening the seatbelt across my lap. We’ll be taking off any minute, so I check my phone one last time. Is Ainsley prepared to pick me up at the airport? I smile at her final, reassuring text and turn off my phone. Ainsley’s a good friend… the kind of friend who would normally be traveling with me. Sighing, I glance at the empty chair between my window seat and the middle-aged woman in the aisle seat. If Ainsley were here now, she would have been sitting there, distracting me from my negative thoughts regarding my return to Oklahoma. It was during our first long-distance trip together that she realized the drastic difference between my reaction to taking off and my emotions while returning home. She guessed my marriage was mediocre at best. Could she have guessed the ugly reality I faced each time I returned home?
The powerful jets propel us down the runway, and my mind travels at the same speed through all the moments I shared with Ainsley on our plane rides home. Ainsley would always relate colorful stories of the vacation while recounting the highs—and sometimes the lows—we experienced on each trip. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I look out the window at the buildings growing smaller and smaller below me. I loved having my friend on those trips, but why was she always caught in some kind of flirtatious moment? And why would she skirt over them on our flights home? I chew the inside of my cheek. Those flirtatious moments took a turn for the worse during our Key West getaway. Some guys bought us drinks while we were laying by the pool—they brought them over to us in an eager attempt to strike up a conversation. I had squirmed with discomfort at the gesture, so I thanked them briefly, but slipped into the pool to escape their pursuits and lingering eyes. They were staring at my scar.
Ainsley claimed both drinks, waved me off, and engaged in an animated conversation while I waded around in the water. We never talked about how she handled that situation, maybe because it was clear she enjoyed the guys’ attention. Gulping, I close the window cover and grimace as my eyes stare at the seat back in front of me. After that trip, flirting became a central focus for Ainsley. We both had ulterior motives for our various vacations as the need to escape united us. Everyone faces the fight-or-flight instinct in a marriage, and our default was to literally take flight. It still is.
The seatbelt sign dings, indicating our ability to leave our seats and jolting my thoughts away from those prickly memories. It has been a while since Ainsley and I have escaped somewhere together, but I don’t have to run away from my torturous marriage anymore—with my head down, reminiscent of my cross-country days, unwilling to take in my surroundings in an effort to respond appropriately to what lay ahead. As much as I miss my trips with Ainsley that provided a short reprieve, I don’t miss the awkward situations created by Ainsley’s flirting. Ahh. What does it matter now? I don’t need to escape from him. I’m safely tucked away in the lake house, and as long as I’m careful, Jonathan won’t find me there.
Looking down at my hands, I find a hangnail and begin picking at it. Ugh! I need to start trusting God if I’m ever going to make it through this divorce. I need to look where I’m going instead of running away blindly. My whole life I’ve been running. This is where it stops. I nod my head and take a deep breath. My New Year’s resolutions are going to bring a change. This year is going to be the year that Hallie Reed becomes a fighter.
A child’s ear-piercing cry from a few rows back startles me, and I jump. A chill runs down my spine. Why is it that every unexpected shriek from a child thrusts me into the sickening memory … of him? Of the night I came home early from work, and Jonathan wasn’t expecting me. As I tiptoed up the stairs to our bedroom, I heard a child’s wail from inside the room. In utter confusion, I opened the door to see Jonathan watching something on his laptop. I figured it was a scene from a movie, but my heart plummeted when I realized it was a live feed of a child being abused. Why would he watch such a wretched thing? But my questioning didn’t impede him in the least. He wasn’t remorseful—he told me I could leave if I didn’t like it. I did … as fast as I could, retching the moment I made it into the bathroom down the hall. He didn’t bother to check on me, to apologize, or even to offer an excuse that he stumbled upon the live feed. That was the day I realized the depth of his dark heart. That was the day I realized the issues I had experienced with him were deeply rooted and much uglier than I could’ve ever imagined. That was the day I knew having children with him was never an option.
Feeling the bile rise, I fight the urge to be sick. Wishing I could forget it all, I wipe the beads of sweat beginning to form on my brow and look for the flight-attendant inching her way down the aisle closer to my seat with the beverage cart. As I wait while massaging my temples, I focus on my breathing, trying to block the memories of him, of how I spent the night on the couch for the next week after that incident, of how I was fooled by such a monster. Clunk-clunk. The plane begins to jostle with some turbulence. I focus on the bouncing of the aircraft as I close my eyes and steady my breathing.
The flight-attendant asks what I would like to drink, and I tell her that water will be fine.The middle-aged woman in the aisle seat utters some sort of non-committal mention of The Man Upstairs as the plane takes anot
her dip in the sky. Her nonchalant words spoken only in a time of need, as if God is only convenient when our lives are at stake, turns my thoughts around to my parents. I take a sip from the cup handed to me. Why do people depend on God only when it’s convenient for them? Doesn’t it seem better to always trust in an ever-dependent reliance on Christ and the salvation he offers through his death on the cross? If that were the case, then we could all find peace, even during turbulent times.
But do I really have this peace? My relationship with Christ still needs to grow; I need to become more dependent on him. Harrison mentioned this a lot during my time with them these past few weeks. My brother is good for me. He leads me to understand that my life, eternity, and everything that happens in between hinges on Christ alone.
The plane takes a sudden dive, and the middle-aged woman stifles a yelp. A little bit of water splashes out of my cup and onto my jeans. I take the napkin offered to me moments earlier and dab at my damp pant leg, but my thoughts are stuck on the differences between being a true Christian and being a church-goer. I’m a Christian … so why do I still resist getting baptized? Harrison was baptized shortly after he became a Christ follower. I was there. Our parents didn’t go—they were at their church—but I wanted to be there when Harrison publicly declared his relationship with Jesus by symbolizing the death and resurrection of Christ through the act of baptism. I down the rest of my water. Okay, God—I’ll make a deal with you. Who knows where my future is heading. But if I can trust you with my future, and if you show me you do have plans to prosper me and not to harm me—a plan to give me hope—then I will get baptized. I stuff the used napkin into my now-empty cup just as the pilot announces more expected turbulence. How ironic. Is this announcement prophetic—is this God answering my prayer, saying that things in my life might get worse before they get better?
* * *
Spying Ainsley’s Highlander, I wheel my suitcase to her vehicle and throw my stuff into the back. Jumping into the passenger’s side, I say a quick hello to Miles and shift my eyes to my best friend in the driver’s seat. As I greet her, my hello gets swallowed up by shock. “Whoa Ainsley, what did you do to your chest?”
“Well, hello to you too,” Ainsley jokes before adding, “what do you think of ‘em?” She pulls her Connect Church t-shirt tighter across her body to show off her new additions, but she certainly doesn’t have to draw attention to her former A cups that are now Ds. I offer a blank stare in response as Ainsley joins the moving line of cars. “I got them for Will as a Christmas present this year.” Her smile wilts as she sarcastically adds, “Although, he barely noticed.” My head reels at the implication of her gibe while she clarifies, “I mean, he noticed, but you know—” her voice trails off as she shrugs with a sigh. Eager to change the topic, she asks, “So, how was Michigan? Meet any cute guys?” She laughs as she quickly adds, “I’m just joking.”
I clear my throat. I’m still married, and even the joke of meeting someone else while I’m going through a divorce makes me squirm in my seat. She might be joking, but why would Ainsley be so insensitive? “Well… Michigan was good,” I say, my thoughts landing on the couple I met at the New Year’s Eve party last night. Somehow, the memory of meeting Tom and Sarah has me clutching my stomach. But now’s not the time to compare my current marital standing to their flawless marital connection, so I move the conversation along. “It’s so cold there, though. I definitely didn’t pack as many layers as I needed—I had to borrow Isabel’s coats and stuff.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Ainsley says, oblivious to my shifting brought on by her query about cute guys. “How was Christmas morning? Did the twins love having their aunt there?”
I groan. “Christmas was great, but I finally heard from Jonathan’s family.”
Ainsley gasps, “Did they call? What happened? What did they say?”
“Yeah, they called. They weren’t happy. Jonathan showed up drunk at his parents’ house for their Christmas dinner, and I bet he gave them the perfect sob story about how I left him unexpectedly while he was at work one day.” I grimace as Ainsley shoots me a side glance. “Who knows exactly what he said to them, but somehow I was painted as an irresponsible wife who left him and is now trying to take all his money.”
“Well, you should,” Ainsley replies.
My eyes narrow. “You know I’m not in this for the money.”
“I know, I know,” she saves herself, “but he does owe you money for the car he never bought you.” With a shrug of her shoulders, Ainsley asks, “What did his mom say? I mean, his mom has to at least know some of the crap you went through with him—didn’t he treat her badly, too?”
I blink several times. He better not have treated his mom the way he treated me. I skip past the question. Ainsley can connect the dots if she pleases. I’m not going to gossip about it. “Actually, his mom didn’t talk to me. Only his brother and his dad did.” I massage the back of my neck, trying to rub out the tension that continues to build during this car ride back to the lake house. “I’m sure she didn’t want to confront me. She’s the only one in that family who truly accepted me. I know she loved me, she was probably just out-numbered with all the men in the room, each of them just as strong willed as the other.” Ainsley nods her head as I continue, “I bet his mom knows something serious happened for me to leave him like I did, but she probably doesn’t want to address it. I know she wanted me to be a positive influence in his life, so she’s probably upset that I left, leaving her hopeless in a family full of men who refuse to change their ways.” As I hug my arms across my chest, I drop my gaze. Jonathan certainly fooled us all in the beginning, trying to prove to everyone around him that he was ready for a change—that love made him realize how destructive he could be. Unfortunately, that façade faded, and I came to realize the destruction he was capable of.
“Well, forget about them,” Ainsley says. “They probably know all they should—so it’s best to just leave it at that.” Ainsley takes another turn as she navigates toward the lake house. “If he’s drunk all the time, he’s probably sharing all the details, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I absently respond. My stomach tightens at the mention of Jonathan’s drinking habits. If only I had been firm from the start, then maybe I wouldn’t have had to tolerate the ebb and flow of his destructive habits. It seemed simple enough. If I begged him to stop using drugs, he would change. How could I have known he would turn to alcohol like he has? In my mind, I had it all planned out. He would stop with the drugs and life would improve. How naïve could I have been?
Miles’s whiney request for a snack draws my focus to the back half of the vehicle. “Hallie, will you grab that blue cup over there?” Ainsley requests. “I think there are some Goldfish in it.” I reach into the backseat and hand the small container to Miles. “What do you say to Hallie?” Ainsley prompts.
A quiet thank you escapes Miles’s half-full mouth as I take in his Sunday outfit. “He looks so cute today. That collared shirt makes him look even more like his dad.” Pursing my lips ever so slightly, I ask, “Where is Will today? Did he go to church with you?”
“No,” Ainsley starts, “Will is still missing church. He’s so busy during the week that he makes excuses almost every Sunday morning.”
“Oh, gotcha,” I add in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own. I don’t want to create tension. “Well, he probably just needed to sleep-in today. If he’s working late from home and has to get to the office early in the morning, then I bet he can use some extra sleep.”
Ainsley hesitates, then caves to her frustration with a vent, “He’s not sleeping. He actually went back into the city to look for an apartment.” My bulging eyes swivel in Ainsley’s direction. My mouth gapes. What does this mean for their marriage? Ainsley steals a glance in my direction, “It’s not like that!” She darts her eyes around the car, looking everywhere but at me. “He’s just sick of getting up early every morning and dealing with the traffic going into
the city. He said if he had an apartment near his office, it would save him a lot of time, especially if he gets out of a meeting late and doesn’t want to come all the way home.” I pinch my lips together. It’s not my place to speak my mind. Ainsley’s marriage is her business. “He won’t be using the apartment that often, just a few nights a week,” Ainsley reassures, but the comment was meant more for her than me.
“Maybe you can stay with him a couple of those nights,” I suggest through a constricted throat. If this is Will’s plan, better make the best of it. “You can drop Miles off with me at the lake house or leave him with your parents. It might be nice to stay in the city some nights.” Ainsley smiles, but it doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
As we turn onto the dirt road leading up to the lake house, relief washes over me. “Chip Catcher was talking about you all morning at church,” Ainsley puffs with a role of her eyes as the car jostles over the many ruts, “I think he’s eager to get you singing again.” She laughs, then adds, “His wife has been taking over your harmony, and you know Becca isn’t a strong singer.”
Although I agree with Ainsley, a desire to defend Becca surges through me as I reply, “She isn’t too bad. Her voice sounds great when she sings that one song. What’s it called?”
Ainsley shifts into park and swivels her eyes in my direction. She knows the one, and her head tilts in a you gotta be kidding me kind of way. Shrugging my shoulders, Ainsley finishes by saying, “Well, at any rate, I think Chip is excited to have you back next week.”
With a nod and a stifled yawn, I thank Ainsley for picking me up, then head to the back to grab my suitcase. As I walk up the steps leading to the front door, I frown. I hope Chip hasn’t made any announcement regarding me potentially serving on Team B. The key turns in the lock, and I open the door of the lake house, heading quickly to my bedroom for a much-needed nap. It’s been a long day, and that car ride didn’t help…neither will thinking about my early start to work tomorrow morning.