by T. E. Price
I chew on my bottom lip and mindlessly trace a heart on the bulletin. Humph. What is the point of stiff-arming Nations Church? This is a good church, and the people here are caring. They make God a priority in everything they do, so why can’t I get with that? I draw another heart and start shading it in. Connect Church hurt me, but should I punish this church because of that pain? And was it really an issue with Connect Church, or just the result of a brewing perfect storm? I run one hand through my hair and wrinkle my nose. The problem is me. I don’t want to let people get close to me … to learn about my life … to discover the shameful secret of my upcoming divorce. As far as anyone knows in this church, I’m Hallie Reed. Hallie McClain never existed in their eyes. I’d like to keep it that way.
Sarah leans over and whispers, “I don’t know what your plans are on Friday, but I would really love it if you could come to the outreach event and serve with me and Tom.” She sits back and raises one eyebrow as Tom exits the stage and moves to the seat beside her. My gaze flits between the doodled bulletin and the sparkle in my friend’s eyes. I smile at her and nod right as the pastor steps onto the stage and asks us to bow our heads in prayer.
* * *
“Wow, it’s really hot,” I say as I air out my newly acquired Nations Church t-shirt. Tom laughs, and I add, “Why do the t-shirts have to be black?” Tom’s response is lost to the distraction from the group. My eyes travel down my body. At least I wore white pants to pair with the outfit. As I lift my head, I notice someone approaching Tom to say hi, and I melt back into the sea of matching t-shirts as we wait for further instructions. Harrison is at the far end of the group, greeting a passing couple whose interest is piqued. I smile as I turn my head. Ah—Harrison. I’d bet money that he already mentioned something profound about a relationship with Christ. His evangelistic skills never cease to amaze me.
I roll my eyes and turn. My smile fades as I scan the outdoor patio currently being set up for lunch; the same patio that haunts me. My stomach grips. One little cigar label and I go crazy. I slowly release a sigh and start biting on a hangnail. That was a month ago, and I haven’t heard a word from Jonathan. If that was his cigar, he would’ve called to taunt me. Sarah thinks his silence could be good news, and the more we talk about it, the more I’m inclined to agree.
All signs point to the idea that Jonathan has given up … he’s accepted I’ve moved on. Could she be right? I search for Sarah, my listening ear, my advice giver, my friend. It takes me a moment to find her long ponytail as she leaves a group of women to move closer to Tom. The two are left alone. Tom kisses the top of Sarah’s forehead and gently lifts her chin to meet his face. They stare into each other’s eyes, lost in a moment. They have no idea I’m watching. My eyes lower as I shift my weight. My heart thuds as I press my lips together. By now, I’m used to being the third-wheel, so why does my heart ache? I shake my head. I’m glad they have each other, and when I’m around them, it’s hard to believe they ever dealt with any marital issues.
“Hey—thanks for joining us today,” the pastor announces across the crowd, his voice drawing me back to our task at hand. “It’s time to get started, so if you all want to grab some care bags in the plastic bins positioned behind you, then you can follow Tom and Sarah to the east as they navigate more toward the university, or Harrison to the west as he targets the more professional side of town. Or,” he continues, pointing both thumbs to his chest, “you can stay with me in this general region as we cover this area in the direction of Kerrytown. If you have questions, feel free to ask.” At that, the bustling group begins moving toward the black bags that match our t-shirts, each filled with our church flyer tied to the hygiene kits, water bottles, and snacks that we’ll be handing out to those we come in contact with over the next three hours. I clench my teeth. Oh dear. Do I go with Tom and Sarah or my brother?
“You’re coming to the university with me, right?” Sarah asks as she sidles up next to me.
“Uh, well, I was just thinking about that, actually. I’m not sure I’m prepared for an intellectual debate about Christianity with those students.”
“Don’t worry about that, you’ll be great. Besides, we’d really appreciate someone younger and a little more fashionable on that side of town. University students can be hard to approach, and some people are a better fit there than others.”
She nudges me playfully. I giggle, “Well, if I’m needed, I guess I can give it a try.”
“Yes,” she interrupts, “you’re desperately needed.” With a laugh, we both grab a couple of bags and sling the long straps over our shoulders, turning for the walk down Liberty to the other side of downtown. Tom, who’s just ahead of us, pivots, cups his hands, and calls, “If you’re heading to the university, follow me.” As he turns and starts walking, I follow, but somewhat reluctantly as I usher Sarah ahead of me. I’m not about to look like a ringleader alongside Tom and Sarah. They are the ones with all the answers … not me.
Dropping to the back of the crowd heading toward the university, I fall behind a group of younger women, chattering and laughing only a few paces ahead. As my shoes slap the pavement, I take one last glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is seated in that outdoor patio. Ah, empty. What else did I expect, it’s still early. I lift my gaze and ball-up my fists. Why is there a pit forming in my stomach? Jonathan’s probably not looking for me, he’s probably given up all hope that I’ll return to Oklahoma. But a small voice in the back of my head insists on harassing me. If he doesn’t think he’ll get me back, then why is he still serving at Connect Church? Why is he still trying to fool everyone?
The next three hours fly by as conversations spark, needs of the homeless scattered in this area of town are met, and questions about our church and the service we’re doing in the community are asked. My heart lifts with each encouraging conversation, and a group that I was chatting with actually said they were looking for a church in the area, and that they would consider checking out Nations Church this Sunday. Exhausted and overheated, I check the time on my phone. Jeez. How is it that we are only minutes away from meeting Tom and Sarah? They told us to meet on this side of town before we head back to the corner of Liberty and South Main.
Navigating to the Diag, my eyes wander the diagonal sidewalks that mark this green space. What a great name for it…it’s easy to remember and trendy. My gaze lifts to the white stone and gothic style architecture of the many buildings surrounding me. This campus really is quite breath-taking. What if I was smart enough to attend here? I laugh at myself. Where did that come from? I never had a shot at attending a big university, Jonathan made that very clear. The echo of his deep voice repeats in my mind … Community College is all you can handle; a mid-level trainer is all you’ll ever be.
“Hey,” comes Tom and Sarah’s unified greeting from behind. I spin in their direction, then snicker. It’s not the first time they’ve said the same thing at the same time.
“Hey guys,” I reply.
“How was your afternoon?” Sarah asks.
“Great—it went really well. I saw you guys a few times, but you looked like you were deep in conversation, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Oh, I wish you would’ve. It’s always great to have someone join the conversation,” Tom offers.
“Yeah, well,” I start, diverting my gaze, “you were both talking with some university students, and I didn’t want to dumb down the conversation by joining.” Tom and Sarah have the brains to engage in seriously intellectual conversations with these students.
I shift my weight in the silence that follows, then lift my head and force a smile. Sarah locks her head forward and Tom tilts his face to the side in a professor sort of way, like he’s analyzing a petri dish. Oh come-on. They know me by now, it didn’t take Jonathan long to figure out I was dumb, and these two are way more academically advanced than Jonathan. “What are you talking about?” Tom asks. “You could never dumb down a conversation. You’re very intelligent, and you offer
tons of insight.”
With a roll of my eyes and a snort of laughter, I reply, “Not to these students. They’re so smart, and I’m just a small-town girl who doesn’t know anything.”
Tom rocks back, “That’s not true at all,” he declares, “and I would know. I teach these students.”
Sarah shakes her head and says, “Hallie, you’ve been through a lot, and I can only imagine these are lies that he has fed to you over the years,” I grimace. How is it that she goes straight to the heart of the issue every time? “But it’s time to put the past behind you. These students are no better than you. In fact, you could enroll here tomorrow and experience just as much success as any one of them.”
I lower my head, then Tom chimes in, “She’s serious, Hallie. You’re quite capable. You can do anything you put your mind to. You should know that by now, what with all that you’ve overcome in your past.” My friends’ voices remain confident, and the moment I lift my face, their bright eyes and smiles serve as my cheering squad. Hmmm. Maybe I am capable. I don’t have to be tied down to what I’ve been told in the past. I’m a fighter. Who’s to say I can’t enroll here?
Tom and Sarah turn and greet the others as they bustle up beside us. Tom sends them back down Liberty where we’re to meet up with the rest of our group while Sarah lingers by his side. Sarah’s face twists as she says, “Actually, I better go with those girls up there. They said they wanted to chat with me about something personal, and this might be the right time to do that.” She plants a quick kiss on Tom’s stubbly cheek than jogs to meet them.
A few more arrive, and they look just about as tired and sweaty as I imagine I do, but their spirits are high, and they’re eager to hear about each other’s experiences. “I think that’s all of ‘em,” Tom concludes, “I guess we should head over, too.”
I nod, and we bring up the rear of the group, our empty bags marking the productivity of our day serving the community. “So,” I start. Now’s the time to get to know a bit more about Tom, even after all Sarah’s shared. “Sarah mentioned a while back that you guys weren’t Christians when you got married.”
“Oh, yeah—she told you that, huh?” He laughs, then adds, “Actually, our story is kind of awesome. When we met ten years ago, I had just finished my PhD. She was working as a nurse for a while, and I fell in love with her at first glance. I knew I was going to move for my job, so after our second date, I asked her to marry me.” He chuckles and shakes his head, “I was shocked when she agreed, and we eloped later that month.”
“Wow—that’s pretty crazy. You guys barely knew each other … how did that work out?”
With a big grin, his dazed eyes stay locked on the sidewalk in front of us, as if remembering that time. “Honestly, it was great. We were so in love that we were willing to work through anything. Our parents were upset we eloped—and I come from an Italian family, so they were furious we didn’t have this big ceremony with our extended family, but we knew we made the right decision to elope. Family connections at that time were strained at best.”
We wait at a stoplight, then cross the road with the small group in front of us, dotting the sidewalk with our black t-shirts. People bustle by us and head to their shop of choice from the options that line this side of the street. The crowd thins a bit, so I ask, “I know Sarah’s family don’t believe, but what about yours? Are they Christians?”
“When we got married, they weren’t.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, then says, “In fact, my dad was an alcoholic, and my mother just barely put up with him. I grew up in an angry home. My parents were always fighting. I was an only child—I guess my parents had enough to deal with, so they broke the Italian tradition of having a big family. Finally, my little brother came along when I was twelve.” He chuckles, “I think Vincent was just as much a surprise to my parents as he was to me, but I was so happy to have a brother.”
“So, you’re a lot older than your brother, then.”
“Yes, he’s actually around your age—he’s twenty-five now, I think.”
My head tilts, “I just turned twenty-six, but that would make you—”
“Thirty-seven.”
My face turns to study Tom as I say, “You really don’t look that old—I never would’ve guessed you’re almost forty. Is Sarah that old as well?”
Tom grins, “No, Sarah is a couple years younger than I am, but we seem to fool a lot of people with our age. I guess we hold tight to our youthful features.”
“No kidding,” I chuckle. “I would never have guessed you both were that age. But I guess that makes sense, what with your careers.”
“Yes, that—and I had to grow up pretty quickly. It became clear that my parents were not able to cope with a baby, so I took it upon myself to help raise Vincent.” A light groan creeps out of his pinched mouth, “My father wasn’t exactly a good representation of how a respectable man should act, so I decided to be the kind of guy that my brother could learn from. It wasn’t that my dad was a horrible man,” Tom corrects, rubbing at his forehead, “it’s more that his alcoholism meant he was pretty absent for most of our lives. It really felt like my mom was a single mother, working to keep the family together. You could tell she held a grudge against my dad—they weren’t happy. Until …” he sighs heavily, “until it all changed.”
Approaching another stoplight, silence ensues. Again, we’re surrounded by others, but the crowd eventually dissipates as we cross the road. He offers a thin smile, then continues. “It was my brother’s senior year of high school, and he was very busy. He was the all-star athlete of his high school, and we were expecting him to get a scholarship. Vincent is such a talented athlete, unlike his book-worm of an older brother.” I laugh along with Tom, then he adds, “He came home from practice one evening and collapsed. Honestly, he was probably dehydrated and stressed—it was the middle of basketball season, and he was feeling the pressure of carrying his team through the season. My mom was at work, and my dad was at home, but he had already had quite a lot to drink that day. Unable to reach my mom, my dad decided to take Vincent to the hospital.” With a shrug of his shoulder, Tom shoves his hands into his pockets, “It was the middle of winter in Massachusetts, and my dad was drunk. Not the best conditions to be driving frantically to the hospital. As fate would have it, Dad hit a patch of black ice and flipped the vehicle. The vehicle rolled and eventually crashed the passenger’s side into a tree. Dad thought Vincent had died instantly. He doesn’t remember much, but he remembers his son’s limp body lifted out and transported immediately to the hospital. They had to cut a gash in Vincent’s throat in the ambulance for an emergency tracheotomy.” My tongue clicks against my teeth, making a quiet t’sking sound, and Tom jumps a little. He must have been caught up in the memory of it and almost forgot I was here. “Vincent was in the hospital on life support for a long time. He was in a coma, and we thought that would’ve sent my dad into a drinking frenzy far worse than before, but it had the opposite effect. My dad swore he was never going to have another drink again, and although it was hard—and it’s been a journey—to this day, he has kept that promise. In my parents’ misery, they had to turn to something, and surprisingly, they turned to each other, and then they turned to God.” My head swivels in his direction. “I know—I didn’t expect that either, and I honestly thought it was some kind of ridiculous trick … that maybe they thought if they could pray enough, God would deliver their son out of a coma.”
What a story. He’s got me hooked. “Did he ever come out of the coma?” I ask. “Is Vincent alright?”
Tom somewhat snickers, “Yes, he did.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “And it was definitely a miracle that he fully recovered. But before he came out of the coma, my dad—of all people—challenged me to turn to God, too. I was so angry … my dad had done this to my brother. I was the one who raised Vincent, I was the one who cared for him, but my dad was sitting there challenging me to pray for a miracle that would fix the mistake my dad had caused in the first
place. Instead, I chose to hold a grudge for a while, but Vincent wasn’t getting any better. So, eventually, I thought I might as well try this game with God that my parents appeared to be playing.”
We snake down the sidewalk, following the church group ahead of us. My feet shuffle along as he continues, “I didn’t know where to start, so I flipped to Genesis—I mean, it makes sense to start at the beginning of a book, doesn’t it?” We both chuckle quietly. “Well, I came across the story of Noah.” Tom leans down to adjust his shoe, fishing out a pebble, and the mention of Noah’s name makes me purse my lips—I miss my pastor. He helped me work through so much concerning my failed marriage before he went away on sabbatical. Randomly hearing his name used makes me realize how much I miss his guidance. Sure…he needs this time of rest, but a little part of me wishes he would return to the church to see how Jonathan is being accepted, even promoted, during his absence. My shoulders become rigid. It doesn’t matter. He won’t return until after the divorce papers are signed, and there’s nothing I can do about it.