Old Fashioned

by Rene Gutteridge

  Amber turned, her chest heaving with more emotion than it could hold. She had worried about a lot of things concerning Clay, but she had never worried about another woman.

  How could she have been so stupid? Her stomach cramped with a stabbing pain of regret and remorse as she turned and ran, as fast as she could, her bare feet pressing onto dead, dry twigs that she never even looked down to see. The earth was not solid anymore beneath her feet.

  She kept going until she ran out of breath, on a street she didn’t know, lined with old, abandoned warehouses. She thought she was heading east and needed to go north, so she cut through an alley, but the shadows of the buildings trespassed the morning sun and hovered over her like dark hands.

  And she found herself unable to walk anymore.

  Amber slumped against an old brick wall, a couple of nearby cats watching her with little interest. Maybe this was what she deserved. But all she really wanted was to be wanted.

  She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Clay rushed into the house so fast that everyone, all at once, stopped and looked at him. He searched the crowd for David. A few guests kindly nodded toward the doorway of the bedroom. There he was.

  “David,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I’m here. I have the ring.”

  David scowled, he and Brad both looking Clay up and down as Brad adjusted David’s tie. “You look terrible,” David said finally, letting him off the hook. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look hungover,” Brad said with a suspicious grin.

  “I’m fine. Really. Just overslept.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Brad said. “I told him you were probably double-checking his wedding vows for theological errors or something. Making sure his ceremony is up to standards, without stain or blemish.”

  Clay tried a good-natured laugh, though it seemed there wasn’t a bit of joy left inside him. It most likely came out as a grimace, but he wasn’t about to look in the mirror at himself.

  David shot Brad a look. “Just let him live his own life.”

  “It’s fine,” Clay said, turning away from the mirror to slip on his vest. “Like you always said, Brad—eventually I’m going to crash and burn.”

  “And I hope I’m there to see it.”

  “Maybe you’re looking at it right now.”

  David and Brad exchanged glances, but Clay focused on getting his tie right.

  Brad stood next to him and turned toward the mirror, starting with the gel in his hair. “So you guys want to know what I did last night?”

  “No,” David and Clay said in unison.

  “For starters, the appeteaser, I pick up this crazy-hot chickapoo at the Brewhouse. Uber-tasty. Take her back to my room at the hotel—” Brad inserted a guitar sound.

  “Don’t do that,” David groaned.

  “Boys, it’s almost time,” a lady said, sticking her head through the doorway and clapping her hands as though they were children.

  “Sorry,” David said. “That’s Lisa’s aunt. She’s a wedding planner, so she’s taking this very seriously.”

  Clay walked to the window and peered out at the setup in the backyard. White chairs lined the lawn, perfectly straight like a marching band. There was a wooden arch at the back of the yard, covered in flowers. Even the grass looked to be groomed better than he was. Maybe he should fix his hair or something.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. David.

  “Wow, man, this looks incredible,” Clay said. “Beautiful.”

  “Thanks. All Lisa’s doing. I just show up, do what I’m told.” He grinned. “So is Amber coming?”

  Clay shook his head, stared out the window.

  “Okay,” David said in a tone that said he knew not to ask any more questions right now.

  Within a few minutes, the wedding planner/aunt had lined the guys up at the back door and led the bridesmaids in, partnering them with their groomsmen.

  Kelly stepped next to Clay. She looked stunning, her hair pulled back from her face, his favorite way she wore it. They stood silently, Clay only giving her a small smile of acknowledgment. He really wished he wasn’t having to do this.

  The music started and Brad and his bridesmaid moved toward the arch.

  Kelly slipped her arm around Clay’s like she was supposed to for the walk. And in the quietest voice imaginable, under the string quartet, said, “Clay.” The way she said his name caught him off guard, like hearing a favorite old love song or smelling homemade chocolate-chip cookies. The familiarity of her was his greatest temptation.

  He glanced at her even though he didn’t want to.

  “I was pretty stupid last night,” she said.

  He didn’t want to talk about last night. At all.

  “Clay, you could’ve done anything you wanted.” Her eyes watered and her voice trembled. “What I’m trying to say is . . . thanks for not . . . I mean, thanks for . . .” She caught her breath, looking determined to say what was on her heart. “Thanks for being a gentleman.”

  Relief flooded his heart. He actually smiled at her, the kind of smile that was safe and meant for friends.

  She laughed a little. “I can’t believe you slept in your truck. You didn’t have to do that.”

  Her wedding ring glinted in the sun. Clay felt the full force of regret for all those years before. Loss for not hanging on to a really good, nice girl. Guilt for having caused her so much pain. Gratitude that he wasn’t standing here in the aftermath of a terrible mistake made last night.

  The wedding planner gestured for them to go, so they did, arm in arm, until they parted ways to stand in their places.

  Little Cosie walked next, in her tiny formal dress poufed out like a ballerina’s skirt, a halo of fall leaves over her head. She tossed rose petals by the handful, relishing the attention and making everyone laugh as she intermittently and randomly threw out a scowl to a wedding guest.

  Then Lisa came through the back door. She looked beautiful, seeming to soak up all the sunshine. Her dress drifted around her like the gorgeous, foamy peaks of white-water rapids.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off David.

  The justice of the peace began the ceremony, but Clay could only stare out at one lonely, empty seat in the yard. He imagined Amber sitting there, watching him, smiling at him the way only she could, giving him a look that said he looked adorable and goofy all at once in his tuxedo.

  He glanced at Kelly, who smiled gently at him. It was irony at its fullest. He’d finally become everything she’d hoped and prayed he would. But only after he’d sown such destructive seeds into her life. The best girl he ever knew was now wrapped up in sorrow and dismay, in a life she would’ve never hoped for herself. And it sealed their fate: they’d never be able to be together.

  Clay fixed his gaze upon the grass and never looked up again.

  AMBER CLUTCHED THE CORNER of her pillow and prepared herself for another bout of crying. It would start and stop on a whim, so she’d not ventured out of her house all day. Instead, she stayed in, tried to stay busy, considered taking up four or five different hobbies. But nothing brought her peace. She’d soon end up on her bed, crying again, clutching her—

  She threw the pillow down. No. She wasn’t going to be that girl. She had to be strong.

  But she wasn’t. She wasn’t strong at all. That was the point of the money jar, wasn’t it? To run when she couldn’t face things anymore? As she lay on her side, she looked at it, sitting innocently on her bedside table. Sometimes it seemed to call her name.

  She hopped up from her bed, scorning herself. “Get a grip!”

  As she dried her face and put her most comfortable and snuggly pajamas on, Amber noticed the Bible she’d bought, sitting on the counter, barely cracked open. She didn’t know a lot about religion, but she did know that book wasn’t going to do much good unless she read it. It had seemed, once or twice, to call her name too.

  She got comfortable on her bed and started flipping through it.
Her eyes roamed over the words, for hours it seemed, searching for something, anything that would help her. It was all so confusing, so . . . heady. And so much of it didn’t make sense. A talking donkey? What was all this? Where were the passages on love? She needed something to hold on to, something that told her she wasn’t alone.

  Clay loved this book. But why? What made him read it every day? What made him want to become a good person—the best person—despite everyone making fun of him? What kept him that way? There had to be something in here that had caused his change of heart.

  Eventually Amber found herself reading more of the back of the book than the front, studying the words written in red—she figured out that the red was when Jesus spoke. And she wanted to know this Jesus, but He talked about cutting off hands and poking out eyes and it all seemed so bizarre to her. Except she knew there was something to it.

  Further in, she read a lot about holiness by a guy named Paul, who was apparently writing a lot of letters to people from prison. And she found a passage on what love is supposed to be. Kind. Patient. Hopeful. But even though she wanted all that for herself, and wanted to give it too, it seemed impossible. How could she ever be this good? Do all the right stuff, all the time? Be good enough to deserve someone’s love?

  She was about to shut the book and put it away when one last line grabbed her attention. As she read these words, her heart swelled with a hope she’d never had before. A peace, so palpable it felt like her soul had been warmed by fire, caused her to grow very still. She had never felt anything like it, had never known a time when there wasn’t a worry that pricked her heart in some way or another. She read the words again, out loud, though even when she’d read them silently she could clearly hear them as if they were being spoken right in front of her.

  “‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’”

  That was what she’d wanted to hear from Clay—from any of the men in her life. Those were the words. Clay had never said them, but here was someone who was saying it to her, right now, right here in the dark, candlelit room of her apartment.

  “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” The words burst through her heart, a soundless, underwater wave. Her whole body relaxed. Her mind calmed to a standstill. And she knew something immediately, a wordless truth that was so real it was as if God had come down to stand in front of her and proclaim it. Was this what love was supposed to be? How it was supposed to be?

  This man. This Jesus. He would come after her. He would chase her. She knew instantly that He’d been chasing her for a long time.

  And tonight she would let Him catch her.

  Amber stood, compelled to go draw water in her tub. She climbed in and slid down, water the temperature of peace resting at her chin. And then, without taking a breath, she let it swallow her whole.

  When she emerged, she felt light. And clean. She felt new. Delighted in.

  Something enormous had changed in a place within her that she was never really sure existed.

  For a long time after her bath, she sat on her bed, wrapped in blankets, and smiled. She’d been forgiven of all that she’d done in her life. Instantly. It amazed her. He amazed her, this man who knew all of her and still wanted her.

  Minutes passed. Then hours. She dwelled deeply in her thoughts with God, talked openly with Him as if He sat right there in the room with her.

  After a while, she knew what she had to do. Before she could really move on, she had to make things right with Clay. She had to forgive him, even if she didn’t understand him. It was easier to forgive when your own debts had been paid.

  As Amber drove to his house, the emotions she felt for him returned with each corner she took. Only God knew what she’d find when she got there, but Clay deserved to know what he meant to her. So he’d messed up. There was forgiveness. There was mercy. He had introduced her to this Bible, to these words. She had to say thank you at the very least. But she wanted to say more.

  It was early evening when she knocked gently on the door. There was no answer.

  “Are you there? Open up.” She knocked again, leaning against the door the way she’d dreamed of leaning against his chest. “Please open this door.” Her knock was barely a tap now. “Please . . .”

  Nothing.

  Amber felt her chin trembling with everything she needed to say. It came tumbling out even though all that stood there to receive it was a wooden door. “I don’t want normal. I want you.” She pressed her forehead against the door, tears rolling down her face. “Do you know what I did on my honeymoon? I cried myself to sleep, trying to figure out why my brand-new husband was more interested in watching . . . He didn’t touch me. He didn’t want to touch me.” She put a hand on the door. Listened for him. Then she stepped back. “And that’s not your fault. You’re not him.”

  The door opened suddenly. It was barely cracked, as if there were a safety chain holding it, but there wasn’t. Clay squinted as though he were looking into midday sun. He looked awful, still wearing his wedding attire. She’d never seen him look so despondent. But here he was, and she needed to say what she needed to say. It wasn’t going to be easy, fetching the truth, working through it.

  “Why did you let her in?” It wasn’t the best lead-in, but she had to know.

  He blinked, seemingly lost.

  “I saw her leaving this morning. That was Bible girl, wasn’t it?”

  A flicker of recognition passed over his face, but he didn’t say anything. Fine. She could do all the talking.

  “Was anyone else here? In the house?” That was the obvious question, wasn’t it?

  “No.”

  Amber caught her breath, tried not to show her hand. “You were alone together?”

  He nodded, his eyes watering. She tried to hold on to what she’d read, about God never leaving her. But she felt left at this moment. And it was doing nothing short of wrecking her soul—even while she was trying to forgive.

  “Just for a moment,” Clay said, and then he smiled a little, shaking his head.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I slept in my truck.”

  Amber tried to process. He slept in his truck? Which meant . . . that was why Kelly stopped at the window of his truck. “You didn’t . . . ?”

  “Almost.” He looked at his feet. “I thought about it.”

  “Do you want to be with her?”

  “No.” His response was more firm than she anticipated.

  Amber clutched the doorframe. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

  His eyes watered again, which made her eyes water. She didn’t like to see this man cry.

  “I have a theory,” she said gently. “Maybe love doesn’t have to be perfect to still be worth it. And you don’t have to be perfect for me to . . .” Love you.

  “You don’t know all the things I’ve done.”

  “I know more than you think. As far as I can tell, we’re all big, pathetic, messy piles of . . . I won’t finish that sentence in honor of you. But I’ve been reading that Bible you like so much.” She sighed, trying to find the right words. “You’re worth it. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

  But he didn’t look like he believed her.

  “I am not sure if I should be with anybody. At all.”

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, but his body language told her that wasn’t a good idea. So instead, she asked again, “Why didn’t you come after me?”

  “I did.”

  Something about the way his lips moved into a straight line and his eyes absorbed all the light away told her that he knew something.

  “I went to Carol, who sent me to the Brewhouse. I ran into Trish. She told me you hooked up with some guy.” Now his eyes went narrow with accusation. “Who?”

  Amber stiffened. She hated the way he was looking at her. “I don’t know his name. I never asked for it.”

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  The question wounded her more than she anticipated, but s
he held a steady expression. This seemed like an emotional standoff, and she wasn’t going to back down. “Would it make a difference?” she asked.

  He just stood there, no consolation even hinted at.

  “Ouch.”

  “Amber . . .”

  “I was ready to forgive you, no matter what.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Isn’t that the whole idea? Isn’t that the Good News?”

  He looked like the most broken man she’d ever seen. “You make it sound so easy,” he whispered.

  “You make it sound impossible.”

  “If I had betrayed everything I said I believed in, that would make a difference.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “But it wouldn’t mean that it wasn’t true. Just because you fell, got it wrong, made a mistake.” She shook her head, realizing it was like talking to a brick wall. “You sure know how to talk the talk. What do you think I did last night? You tell me.”

  Again, it was like being stabbed in the gut. His expression said everything. He really wanted to know, and it was really going to make a difference to him.

  She backed away from the door, from him. “Nothing happened with that guy. We left the bar. We went to his hotel room. He opened the door and I just stood there, staring at my feet. All I could think about was you. I never even went inside.”

  There wasn’t even relief on his face. Just a hardened, broken man who lived in a black-and-white world, looking at a woman who was fifty shades of gray. She stared at him, right into his soul, the best she knew how. He had been her goodness as recently as this morning. The only goodness she’d ever known. Slowly, she was making the separation—Clay wasn’t God.

  But this still hurt.

  Amber turned and walked away. Didn’t look back once. She never wanted to see him again. And she was certain that, as soon as she could get out of town, she never would.

  MAYBE IT WAS WHAT crazy felt like, but Clay couldn’t lose the voices. Night had settled over him, even before the sun went down, and all he heard were the girls’ cheers and chants—giddy over the stupid, ridiculing things he said to them. They’d flaunt themselves, and he would let them. Encourage them. Somehow, with just his words and a microphone in front of him, he’d get them to take off their clothes. And then when they did, he’d treat them like trash, like they weren’t even worth a conversation. Inexplicably, they’d come back. Over and over. In droves.