When Amelia woke on her sixth morning in the hospital, her first thought was of the chocolate-chip pancakes her mother used to make on birthday mornings when she wasn’t bedridden from depression. Where the memory came from she didn’t know, but it made her mouth water with craving as she stretched beneath the sheets. Her second thought was of how much she missed the six-hundred-count sheets she and Marcus had on their bed—a wedding present from Dane and Jill and much more comfortable than these. Her third thought was of how tired she was of being in the hospital.
The fact that she was still depressed was not the fourth, or fifth, or even sixth thought she had that morning. Her eighth thought was one of surprise: She didn’t feel nearly as desperate and despairing as she had when she’d first arrived. I’m actually getting better.
That small amount of improvement turned out to be just enough for her to see more clearly what her life had been like the last few months—what parts of it she could remember—and even though she was still depressed, she felt better able to think straight, and she had a lot to think about.
“You look … different.” Kristine set her breakfast tray beside Amelia’s and slid into the seat. Her mixed states had evened out and now she was just straight-up depressed. “Meds kicking in?”
“I guess so, yeah. I’m still depressed, but … not as bad, you know?”
“You’ll probably get to go home soon then.”
Amelia sat up from her slouch over the plate of lukewarm French toast. “What? But I don’t want to yet. I’m not ready.”
“Why not? Why would you want to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary?”
“Because I … I’m not sure I want to go back to my old life.” She let the words come out without too much thinking, just to see what she’d say. They felt right.
“What life do you want to go back to?”
Amelia pulled her fork through a puddle of syrup and let herself daydream. “One where I’m back in California. One where I’m not married to a pastor.” Though she did still want to be married to Marcus. With the heavy fog of the depression lifting, she missed him even more. “One where … one where I’m not a Christian anymore.”
“Wow. A really, really different life.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you can just do that. I mean, you can give yourself a makeover, or go back to school to learn to be something else besides a pianist, and I guess you can go back to California if you want. But I don’t think you can just up and stop being married.” She sliced her French toast in precise squares. “I’m not sure about the not-being-a-Christian-anymore thing, either. I mean, how do you just erase all that thinking from your head and start … not thinking that way?”
Amelia sighed. “I know. But that’s why I don’t want to leave yet. I need to figure out first how I can make that my new life. How I can get back to Cali, and shake off all the Christian thinking, and …” She couldn’t bring herself to vocalize what it would take to no longer be married, even though the thought of being single again was enticing.
And that was the moment the baby chose to make herself known.
“Oh my gosh.” Amelia’s hand dropped to her stomach, her eyes wide. She sat still, waiting to see if it happened again.
“What? What is it?” Kristine looked worried. “Want me to call the nurse?”
“No, no, it’s all right, it’s just …” Amelia bit her lip as the sensation came again. “I think I just felt the baby move.”
“Oh, wow. Cool.”
“Yeah.” Amelia tried to smile, but instead she felt tears welling in her eyes as her own version of mixed states began.
The baby’s existence had been obvious ever since her stomach had begun to swell a month ago. The fact that she was pregnant had never exactly slipped her mind. But actually feeling the baby move solidified its presence in a way that no other indicator had. She couldn’t make her plans without factoring in this new being. She couldn’t just up and leave for LA without knowing what she’d do for childcare and how she’d juggle the demands of both a job and a baby. And as Marcus had pointed out, he had rights too—if she left, she’d be separating father from child, and she couldn’t do that in good conscience.
Amelia scrubbed a paper napkin over her tearstained cheeks and stood. She had to get alone somewhere and think. “See you in group,” she said to Kristine, then returned her half-eaten breakfast to the tray cart and headed for the sofa at the far end of the community room. There was an understanding between the patients that sitting on that sofa was the equivalent of sequestering yourself in your bedroom—something that was not allowed on the ward during the day. She curled up in the corner and faced the window. I’m smart. I can figure this out.
A religion she no longer believed, a town she wanted to leave, a baby she didn’t want, and a husband she didn’t want to be with anymore. That’s not true. She frowned. What was it about Marcus, then, that made her want to leave? His workaholic tendencies? The pathetic way he chased after his father’s approval like an addict chasing his next fix? The way he wouldn’t take the hint and leave her alone?
No—it’s not him. It’s everything that comes with him. Marriage to Marcus meant living in Nebraska. It meant being a pastor’s wife. It meant having religion shoved in her face all the time. And it meant placing his desires ahead of hers. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him—she just didn’t love what it meant to be married to him now.
And honestly—she didn’t want him to have to be married to her. Not when she was full of doubt about his beliefs and couldn’t give him the support he deserved. Not when her mind could crack at any moment and send her back to the hospital. How much time had he lost at work already while he tried in spite of her to be a good husband? He deserved someone who could keep house and raise children and be a doting wife without stealing away to her piano to cope with her sadness or resenting the sacrifices she’d made for him. She didn’t think she’d ever be that.
“Amelia, your husband is here. Again.”
She heard the note of irritation in the nurse’s voice and knew it was directed at her. She knew everyone thought she was an ingrate for not at least letting him say hello, but she needed to have her plan figured out before she saw him, or he might talk her out of it, even if he didn’t know what she was planning. All it would take is for him to be himself—loving, sweet, gentle, smart, funny—and she’d be right back to where she’d been before: caving to his ideas and letting him set the agenda. She couldn’t let that happen again.
Amelia looked to the nurse, who watched her with a critical expression, and shook her head. The nurse sighed, relayed the message and hung up, muttering to herself. She almost changed her mind, just to stop the nurse from thinking poorly of her, but she held fast to her decision by chanting “New life, new life, new life” to herself under her breath. That nurse didn’t know what Amelia was up against.
Amelia joined the group-therapy session despite knowing it would reflect well on her recovery and count another point toward her being released sooner rather than later. The focus of the group was learning coping skills, and when she was out on her own again she was going to need those. No more running back to Marcus if she was depressed. She had to learn how to handle her illness on her own.
When therapy was over and she’d reentered the community room, the desk nurse called to her and waved a white envelope. Amelia rolled her eyes and accepted it, then retreated to the couch again to read Marcus’s latest missive.
Dear Amelia,
You should see it outside today, it’s absolutely beautiful. Well, I’m sure you can see it, I’m sure they’ve got windows there somewhere—I just wish you could come out in it. Doesn’t sunlight help with depression? I’m pretty sure I’ve read that before; they really should bring you guys outside more often.
So, guess what I came home to last night? A cleaned apartment and dinner cooking. Remember how I told you a couple days ago about the talk Ed and I had about the church being a community that takes ca
re of its members? Well, I don’t think I told you how many people offered to bring me dinner and help out with stuff at the apartment if I needed it. Pretty much the entire elder board. Ed knows the details of why you’re hospitalized, but I told him not to tell anyone, so don’t worry, you can tell people on your own time. All they know is that you’re in the hospital—I think a lot of them assume it has something to do with the baby. Anyway, point being, Ed asked me to drop off a spare key at the church before coming up here yesterday, so I did, and when I got back the place had been cleaned and a crockpot of stew had been left on the counter.
I know you haven’t been all that enamored with New Hope, but I really think things are going to be changing there in big ways. Not necessarily on Sunday mornings, but in the way people relate to each other, in the way the church functions … Who knows, maybe Sunday morning will change. Point being, I think you’ll feel more at home there in the coming months. I can see us both forming some really great friendships there. It’ll definitely make things easier when the baby comes, too.
A lightbulb went on in her head. Amelia quickly scanned the rest of the letter, not letting herself dwell too much on the last paragraph of the note that was filled with all the “I love yous” that might make her doubt herself. She folded the letter and put it back in the envelope as the wheels turned.
Everything was falling into place. Marcus had a supportive community full of people who could take care of him and the baby. Better them than her—who knew what kind of damage she’d do as a parent, or as a mentally ill wife. She’d done enough damage already. She could wait until she’d recovered from the birth and then just … leave.
The flood of relief brought a smile to her face. She had a plan. She had a while to wait—almost five months, but with the end in sight she could do it. It would give her time to sort out the details, stash money away, and start looking for jobs and a place to live.
And Marcus … poor Marcus. She knew this would crush him. But he’d be crushed either way—might as well get it over with now rather than five years down the road when she snapped from regret and resentment, and they’d lived that many more years of their lives together. It was only going to get worse from here on out.
Really, she would just be putting him out of his misery.
CHAPTER 13
Marcus sealed yet another note in yet another envelope in the comforting stillness of the hospital chapel. He’d wrestled with God—and with Ed’s voice in his head—on the way there this morning, nearly deciding to just make his customary call to the psych ward and then go home. Surely Amelia was sick of him trying to contact her when she obviously didn’t want to talk. How far was he going to let this go before he finally gave up?
But then he’d think of Ed’s words, and imagine from her perspective the day when he didn’t call or write. Now that he’d taken it this far, to stop would send a completely different message than he would mean to, and the last thing Marcus wanted was for her to think he’d given up on her.
As had become part of the routine, Marcus remained in his seat with the note beside him on the pew, letting his thoughts toss like stones in a rock tumbler in the hope they’d polish into something that made sense. Truth was, this reprieve from real life had become a good hiding place, but he knew once Amelia was released he’d have to face it all again. He needed a plan.
First he had to decide whether or not he’d stay in Nebraska if it really made that big of a difference in Amelia’s emotional state. He’d come to really like Wheatridge, but knowing how miserable it made Amelia, it would be cruel to stay. Yet the thought of going back to California—the cost of living, the pace of life, the politics—left a bad taste in his mouth, especially without a job lined up first.
But what kind of job do I even look for?
The door to the chapel groaned softly as it opened, and Marcus glanced back to see who was joining him in the normally empty room. A tall man, gray at the temples and holding a Bible, zeroed in on Marcus and approached him with an outstretched hand. “Pastor Ryan. I don’t want to disturb you; just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need prayer or a listening ear.”
Marcus smiled and shook his hand. “Pastor Marcus. Thanks for the offer.”
Ryan’s face lit. “What church, if I may ask?”
“New Hope, down in Wheatridge.”
“Wheatridge, eh? Visiting a parishioner?”
“Ah, no. My wife is here.”
Ryan’s face softened with concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
“She’s not talking to me,” he admitted without thinking. He gave a sheepish wave of his letter. “I show up here every day and write her a letter and then pray like crazy that she’ll finally call me, but she doesn’t. She … she tried to kill herself. And she’s pregnant. And—” Marcus clenched his jaw, embarrassed to have shared so much with a stranger. “Suffice it to say, things are … difficult right now.”
Ryan sat in the pew across the aisle from Marcus and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus.” His tone was sincere, and Marcus was surprised how comfortable he felt talking to a virtual stranger. “I’d be happy to pray for you both.”
“Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.” Ryan bowed his head and began to pray, and Marcus tried not to let his emotions get the better of him as he listened to this fellow pastor intercede with such conviction and passion for a total stranger and his wife. He was drawn to Ryan’s kindness, and when the man uttered his “amen” and looked back to Marcus, Marcus took a chance. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Ryan smiled. “It’s why I’m here.”
“It’s not about my wife—well, who knows, maybe I’ll talk about that, too. But, if you don’t mind me asking … how did you know you were supposed to be a minister?”
Ryan settled back in the pew as a nostalgic expression came to his face. “I came to the Lord at an early age, and was the only believer in my family for a long time. As early as ten years old I remember thinking about being a pastor, but without the support from my family I didn’t have the courage to pursue it. But the idea—or, God, more accurately—wouldn’t leave me alone.” He shrugged and spread his hands. “I went into business and should have loved it, but I didn’t. Same with education. It wasn’t until I was almost forty that I finally went to seminary. So I guess the answer to your question is that, in the back of my mind, I always knew it’s what I was supposed to be.”
Marcus nodded slowly, trying to mask his disappointment. He’d hoped for a more illuminating and relevant answer. “Thanks for sharing that.”
“You’re welcome. And how about you? How did you know?”
Marcus gave him a rueful grin. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand dollar question I can’t seem to answer.”
Ryan chuckled knowingly. “So you’re not sure why you became a pastor?”
“No, I know exactly why. I just know now it was the wrong reason, and I’m trying to figure out if I’m supposed to be one or not.”
“Ah, I see.” Ryan studied him as he idly spun his wedding band around his finger. “Is there something in particular, besides your original motivation, that is making you question things?”
Marcus nodded with a rueful grin. “Yeah—the fact that I hate the job.”
“Oh, yes, that will do it!” Ryan settled in the pew, an arm thrown over the back. “I went through that, too, when I first went into ministry.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I was a director of spiritual growth at a fairly large church. It was a new role, so the board only had ideas of what they wanted from me, no previously tested programs or anything. I’d had visions of working directly with the congregation, either one-on-one as a kind of spiritual counselor, or with small groups and Bible studies—but the reality was that I spent almost all my time in my office researching other churches and what they’d done and trying to get a program together that the board liked. They wanted things their way, I wanted t
hem my way, and neither of us was getting what we wanted.”
“So what happened?”
His warm smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Well, eventually I pretty much threw up my hands and said, ‘Seriously, God? All those years of dogging me to go into ministry and this is the job You had waiting for me? What gives?’”
Marcus laughed. “Yes! That’s exactly how I feel. I had all these dreams of what it would be like to be a pastor, and so far it’s nothing like that at all. I spend all my time listening to people who want to gripe, trying to help heal people who were wounded by the old pastor, trying to get ministries off the ground that people seem to want—though once I do no one seems to care—and then somewhere in there I’m supposed to research and write sermons. And I keep thinking that, if I was really supposed to be doing this, it would be easier. I’d enjoy it more. I’d see some actual results, rather than seeing a bunch of blank faces staring up at me on Sunday morning.”
Ryan was silent for a moment, then leaned in again, hands clasped, and spoke in careful tones. “Marcus—may I make an observation?”
“Yes, please, by all means.”
He went silent again, then said quietly, “I think maybe you’re going about things all wrong.”
Marcus felt his defenses rise. He’d expected an observation about the church, not about him. “How so?”
“It sounds like you’re taking an awful lot of responsibility for these people.”
“Well … yeah. Of course I am. I’m their pastor; I am responsible for them.”
Ryan shook his head. “No, that’s not how I meant it. You’re responsible for providing the things a pastor should provide, yes—but I meant you’re taking a lot of responsibility for their reactions. It sounds as though you think you’re failing because people aren’t reacting the way you think they should. But you can’t control their actions—that’s their job. You can’t change their hearts—that’s God’s job. Your job isn’t to make these people better—it’s to …” He paused, then shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Well, I don’t know what your job is. That’s between you and God. But I’m confident it’s not what you think, because what you’re striving for is impossible.”
Composing Amelia Page 23