by T. E. Price
CHAPTER 10
My thoughts plow through the sermon Pastor Noah just delivered as I exit Connect Church and walk to my car. Ugh! Pastor Noah drilled into my issues surrounding trust and reliance on Christ this morning. At least his penetrating stare didn’t rest on me sitting in the front row. That would have kept me squirming, but he couldn’t have guessed his sermon would hit me square in the heart. I fumble for my keys as I approach my dilapidated car. Gross. All the rust around the tire rims and nicks on the windows point to exactly how used and run-down my car is. Resisting the temptation to rub at a smudge, a voice from behind startles me.
“You killed it again this morning, Hallie.” I swivel to find Chip Catcher strolling toward me, his hipster outfit perfectly crafted for this dreary, mid-January day. “Man, we have been missing your voice on stage—it’s good to have you back.”
I offer a thin smile. “Thanks,” I murmur, dropping my head ever so slightly to play with my keys, my eyes flitting between him and this preferred distraction.
Chip approaches, his head tilted. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I pick up my head and exhale into a smile. Now is not the time to get into a conversation concerning my finances and how I feel about my crappy car, or the tickle of fear constantly nagging somewhere in the back of my mind, as if I’m going to be forced to make a decision that may have a rippling effect on our worship team.
Chip lowers his voice to the point where his words are barely audible. “Have you given any thought to serving on Team B, especially now that we have you back?”
I shift from one foot to the other. “I don’t know. I don’t want to take Becca’s spot—she seems really happy serving as the lead singer on Team B.”
“You let me worry about Becca. I’ll come up with some excuse that forces you to be in that position over her. I just really need you singing more up front.” His deceit stabs at my heart, and my eyes drift away from his pinched face. In that instant, I catch Rita getting into her Jeep only a few cars down. Her sneer doesn’t go unnoticed.
Like a lightning bolt jolting my body, I pivot back to my car as I say over my shoulder, “Let me think about it a little longer—thanks for leading worship this morning.” Throwing him a nonchalant wave, I get into my car and shove the key into the ignition. Phew! I’m glad that conversation’s over. I hit my rattling car into reverse, leaving behind Chip, who’s rubbing his bald head in agitated circles. What lengths is Chip willing to go in order to remove his wife from the worship team…and why is Rita so intent on examining my every move? There’s no way Rita could hear my chat with Chip, but was she capable of identifying my emotions during that brief conversation? Jeez, I’m in trouble. That woman is the town gossip. Speeding out of the parking lot, I shudder as I navigate onto the main road and duck down a side street to avoid the traffic that’s building at the stoplight ahead.
Scurch! As I make my turn, my car suddenly lurches. Exasperated, I kick at the gas pedal, but the whole car shuts down. The steering wheel stiffens, and with great effort, I direct my car to a grassy patch on the side of the road. My vehicle coasts to a stop just as I release a frustrated cry. I turn my key again. Come-on, you can do it. Will you just start—please? Click … click. Nothing. Not even a small groan of life is left in the engine. I don’t need this right now. I grab for my phone and call Ainsley. The line connects. “My car just broke down, and it’s not starting again.”
* * *
“I can’t believe you’re meeting with him,” Ainsley says as she pulls into the parking lot of the strip mall. The Java Coffee House slowly comes into view as a pit forms in my stomach. My eyes quickly scan the parking lot in search for Jonathan’s car. Is he already waiting inside?
“It’s my only choice,” I whisper. “My parents said they would only help me buy a car if I go back to Jonathan, and you can’t keep carting me around like you have been all week—it’s like you’re my taxi driver.” A small groan bubbles in the back of my throat as I add, “Since I’m refusing to move back in with him, the only option I had was to ask him to pay me the money he promised me years ago.” I can’t walk to work and my wage at Jim’s Gym won’t pay for a reliable car. Without him, I’m screwed. “He has the money to help, so I figured if I unblocked his number and asked to meet him at a public place, it might make him think he has a chance.” I’m here—now it’s up to him to give me the money.
“Well when you put it that way, I think you’re doing the right thing—he owes you that money,” Ainsley responds as my trembling fingers struggle to unbuckle my seatbelt. “But, I mean, what if he gets angry while you’re in there alone with him?” She shifts into park. The truth is, his anger is the least of my concerns. It’s whether he acts on it.
There’s a weakness that radiates from my heart to my knees as I say, “That’s why I’m meeting him in a public place. He won’t do anything to ruin his reputation. And I have an excuse to make the conversation short: I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.” I shake my head. Why couldn’t my parents help me out just this once? Why do they have to put stipulations on everything?
“Okay—well I’m going shopping downtown. If you need anything, call me.” She glances behind at Miles, then back to me. What did I expect? She shouldn’t have to wait around and make sure I’m alright, especially not with a toddler in the car.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure her through the pressure pulsing away at my temples. “I’ll just walk down to the gym when it’s all said and done.”
She offers a curt nod as I exit the vehicle and walk toward Java, my legs shaking. This is the first time I will see Jonathan since I left him three months ago. I don’t want this meeting, but I have no other choice. I order a tea and sit close to the window, away from the few Friday afternoon frequenters populating this dying business. The steam rises as I silently pray this meeting goes well. Jonathan sounded hopeful when I called him, and I didn’t crush that hope. This is my chance to get the money he owes me—the money I need for a new car. If he’s going to give it over, he needs to think there’s hope for us.
Can I balance my reserve while offering this falsehood? There’s risk that comes with dangling this hope—I’m playing with fire, and eventually, I will have to make my intentions clear. My stomach churns as I gulp back the sickness creeping into my throat. Don’t think about Jonathan’s family. This has nothing to do with the accusations they made about me going after his money. He made a promise to pay for my car years ago. I need that money. And I deserve it too. I take a deep breath as I brush the hair away from my face and sit up straight. Time to pay-up, pal.
The door opens, and my insides lurch as the six-foot-one man with buzzed, brown hair who haunts my dreams walks into the coffee shop. His beady, black eyes scan the room until he finds me, and in a split second, his fierce stare has me cowering in the corner. I fight against my nausea. Dear God. He’s thin…much thinner than ever before. All it took was three, short months, now his polo shirt and khaki pants hang loose about his frame. He brushes aside the barista and strides toward me instead. He takes a seat across from me, his austere presence swallowing me whole. I look down at my steaming mug of tea. Get right to the point. Ask for the money and leave. But trepidation has struck my vocal chords, refusing to let me speak.
“Hallie,” Jonathan greets with sheer dominance and a tone of belittlement, his deep voice reverberating through my entire body as I become rigid in my chair. My dread rises. He already has me locked in his invisible handcuffs. I lick my lips, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond. “So, your car broke down?” He doesn’t expect an answer. I nod anyway. “Why did you call me?”
My stomach tightens as I focus on the inflection of my voice and the purpose of this meeting. I have to calculate my best response before things take a turn for the worse. “I didn’t have anywhere else to turn.” I clear my throat. I have to feed his ego, but I still fight valiantly against what I’m about to say. “You’ve always provided for me, and I knew I coul
dn’t depend on anyone else for what I need.” A grin spreads slowly across his face. There, I did it. This is the response he was hoping for. My heart screams against this dangerous game I’ve begun. His bloodshot stare, accompanied with the dark bags under his eyes, the weight loss, and his scruffy face, evidence his return to hard drugs. My eyes flutter closed for a moment. He’s going to be difficult to reason with in this state—he always was, but the drugs make it worse.
“I thought you would go to your parents for help,” he accuses.
Biting my bottom lip, I answer, “I tried, but they had … um.” I falter. He doesn’t have to know the whole truth. “Well, they had certain stipulations—” I trail off. His eyes narrow anyway—he’s too smart. The dots have already connected.
“Stipulations about me?” I don’t answer, but that seems to be enough confirmation for him. “I knew your parents wanted us together—that’s it, isn’t it? Is that why you haven’t filed for a divorce yet?” I turn away and sip my tea as the tension pulsates between us. Unable to respond, the fury in his voice, ripening with every word, echoes in my throbbing head. He bangs his fist on the table as he grunts an obscene word. I flinch and recoil. Tea spills from my mug and stings my skin. But I brace myself for something more painful. My eyes fly open. I blink rapidly and survey the people who are staring at us. Theymeetmy gaze for a second, then quickly busy themselves in response.
Turning back to Jonathan, I reply in a low, trembling voice, “I’ve asked you not to use that kind of language around me.” Too late. I regret my appeal as the veins in his arms become prominent with the tightening of his fists. This is about the time he starts to lose control. My skin prickles from my fingertips to my toes. I set my mug down and get up from my chair. This is done. I’ve got to leave, to escape, to get out while I still can. I’m indifferent to the money. Only my safety matters. In a sudden flash, Jonathan grabs my arm and yanks me to my seat. I crumble under his physical demand as my eyes clench shut. I swipe at an escaped tear. Don’t do this—don’t cave! You’re strong, Hallie—get up and leave! I turn slowly toward the window and look out. I can’t do it. I can’t fight against this terrifying man. Another tear falls.
Jonathan runs both his hands angrily across his bristled head, “Look— I’m sorry. I just get so angry when I hear that everyone wants us back together—everyone but you. What about your friends, like the people at church, do they know?” I shake my head. He throws both hands in the air as I brush away my tears, pinching my quivering lips together. “Just move back home and I’ll buy you a car.”
My heart sinks. I’ve lost control of this conversation. I should’ve known this would happen. I should’ve been prepared for his manipulation. Heat rises to my cheeks through thick swallows as my face turns away from the window. This conversation is through, he’s not going to give me the money unless I move back in with him, and I can’t even pretend to agree to that. Then, Jonathan reaches across the table and strokes my shaky hand. My breath catches in my throat. I can count on one hand the times he’s touched me gently in our marriage.
“Just think about it, Hallie,” he says, his voice a low whisper. I look down at our hands. The ring! Has he noticed it’s missing? Will he ask where it is? Can I lie? My breathing quickens as I give his hand a light squeeze. He releases his grip, and I slide my arm back across the table.
Phew! Bullet dodged. My face didn’t give it away…my weak smile must have been his focus. He throws his weight to one side, takes a check out of his pocket, lays it next to my hand, then leans back in his chair. Was that all it took? One weak smile that was meant to cover up an empty ring-finger? I run my tongue slowly across my lips and reach for the check. It’s all here! My heart leaps. I got what I came here for and without the violence I had expected only moments earlier. I get up to leave, but he puts up a hand, making sure he doesn’t touch me this time, but stopping me in my stride nonetheless. “Before you go,” he adds, “I just want you to know that I’m trying to make some changes. I’ve been waiting for your divorce papers, so when you called, I figured that you must want to work things out between us.” Out of nowhere, he rubs at his nose. The drugs must be having a greater impact than I would have guessed—he’s always been sketchy and somewhat unpredictable with his emotions, but the drugs seem to be taking their toll.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, my heart thumping hard in my chest as I pinch the check between my finger and thumb. He can still change his mind. His eyes flash with the same blind fury that frightens me to the core of my being. “I have to work, remember?” I add with a shaky squeak.
“I just,” he rasps through bared teeth. Then, he takes a deep breath and starts over, “I just want you to know that I’m going to get things right. It’s part of my New Year’s resolution.” Somehow, his words puncture my heart, like a balloon deflating in my chest. It will take more than a lifetime of resolutions for this man to get his life back on track.
“I think that’s a good place to start, but don’t do it for me,” I reply. His fists clench. He is teetering on losing control again. “All I’m saying,” I add quickly, “is that you should get things right for your own sake.” My mind goes blank. I have nothing else to encourage him with, so I walk toward the door, pausing for a moment, then offering my gratitude. “Thanks for the check,” I mutter just loud enough for him to hear. “Maybe it would be good to go back to church, Jonathan. Not Connect Church, but your old church. Your family attends that church, and maybe they can help you get on the right track.” With that, I exit the building. My grip tightens around the check that I had to sacrifice so much for, but my shallow breathing deepens with every step I take toward my work. Thank you, God. I got out of there safely.
* * *
I pull up to Connect Church in my new Toyota Corolla … or at least new to me. The dark gray body of this dependable car caught my eye while I was car shopping with Ainsley yesterday, and thankfully, Jonathan’s check paid for it. With a smile glued to my face, I gingerly shift my car into park. Is there anything that can dampen my spirits today? To my dismay, Rita’s Jeep pulls into the next parking spot. Maybe so. I take a moment to gather my belongings, my head ducked partially out of sight. She gets out of the car, wearing an obscenely tight shirt, as her seven-year-old son immerges from the back seat and races toward the entrance. Go on—follow your son. But she doesn’t, my new car has apparently caught her attention. I fiddle with my keys for a moment. She’s not going to leave—she’s seen me, and now she’s waiting to chat. Ugh. I reach for my Bible, open my door and offer a curt greeting. “Well,” Rita taunts, “someone got a new car.”
“Yep, I bought it yesterday,” I reply, squinting in the sunlight as I click the lock button on the key fob and begin walking to the church building. Can this conversation be over, now?
“There’s no way you could pay for that car with your measly job.” My eyes widen. That wasn’t fair—accurate, but unfair, nevertheless. Without waiting for my response, she adds, “So, did the church help you pay for that car? I saw the way you were talking with Pastor Chip last week. Was that because he agreed to help pay for this if you sing on the worship team more?” At this, my mouth falls open. Now she’s gone too far. She snorts and rolls her eyes. “It’s no secret that Pastor Chip likes your singing voice the best, although I don’t know why.”
“Honestly, Rita,” I bark. “I don’t think it’s any of your business how I paid for my new car.” My voice begins to shake, but I continue anyway. I’m going to speak my mind. “Just so you know—the church didn’t pay a penny for that car. And I have just as good of a voice as anyone else on the worship team. I use my gifts for God, not to get help with my personal circumstances,” I throw back at her. If Rita is privy to Chip’s preferences, does that mean Becca could be too?
Rita laughs, her shrill pitch drawing the attention of the welcome committee standing in the entrance of the church building. “Wow, you sound pretty defensive. If it wasn’t the church helping you pay for that car, may
be you’ve got a secret lover who has deep pockets,” she retorts with a playful tone. And yet, there’s nothing playful about any of this. “But like you said, it’s none of my business.” Her nose crinkles with a smirk as she saunters off to find her son. My eyes narrow. I take a deep breath. What did she mean about this secret lover nonsense? I’m over it—what do I care if Rita thinks the worst of me? She’s not God. I shake my head and stitch a smile on my face as I walk toward the auditorium. This morning was going so well. I’m not going to let that unwarranted conversation bring me down.
I make my way to the front row. Whew. I’m glad I’m not serving on the worship team today. Take that, Rita. There are others that sing on the worship team. I’m not the best…or the worst. Becca and Ainsley are already standing on stage with their mics in hand, preparing to start worship as the clock ticks down on the large screens positioned on either side of the stage. Chip grabs for his guitar and scans the auditorium. His eyes land on me for a brief moment, then his gaze flits to his wife and slides down to the mic she’s holding. The lump in my throat returns. Is it me, or have I somehow gotten myself into something so much deeper than simply volunteering to sing on Team B?
Swoosh. Somebody brushes my side as the seat next to me fills. That’s weird—no one should be … the air leaves my lungs. My eyes bulge. This can’t be! Jonathan stares back. A reckless smile spreads slowly across his dangerous face while he reaches for my hand and locks it in a death grip. The worship music begins.