He didn’t know. He still couldn’t bring himself to pray for guidance. Or even open his Bible. All he could see both in the heavens and on the pages was his failure.
And his plate was so full ...
“I depended on Sean a lot around here. Rachel’s gone every day for school, and Ben’s just not big enough to help with larger jobs.”
“I know. Having to care for me didn’t help. I didn’t help.” She closed her eyes and slowly opened them. “I’m not trying to put more pressure on you. But I know you heard Ben as well as I did this morning.”
She backed into the room and motioned him inside. “I don’t want them to hear us.”
He followed and closed the door behind him.
“I’ve asked God to show me what to do next. Then I worry maybe He’s just not talking to me, because of all I’ve done wrong. But that can’t be what’s happening, because that would make Him just like my mother and I know He’s not like her.”
She looked at him with trust, with need, depending on him for answers he didn’t have. If he were honest, answers he’d never had. Even before Ben was born, before his wife had changed into the Julie who constantly sniped at him, Rick hadn’t taken seriously his role as spiritual leader in the home.
A pressure built in his gut and shook his soul. Julie thought God wasn’t speaking to her because of all she’d done wrong, and Rick wasn’t speaking to God because he was mortified at what he’d failed to do.
“How do we fix our little boy?” she asked. “And Rachel. And Sean. And us.”
He’d thought he was being a good parent. By giving Sean room to learn about life on his own, when Julie rode him about taking on adult responsibilities. By cutting Rachel slack when Julie nitpicked her over her attitude and schoolwork. He’d even told himself Ben had been unaffected by the atmosphere in their home.
He’d prided himself on his patience. His ability to wait and “hang in there” and approach life from a slower pace, and let Julie wear all the “bad guy” hats of discipline and planning and the tasks that came with running a household.
Yet he now saw patience was simply the label he had used to cover the truth. He’d never been engaged with his family. Never been active and intentional. Before Ben he’d coasted because life had been easy, and after Ben he’d just maintained the fringes, justifying his inaction with Julie’s behavior. He’d lived reacting.
“Where do we start? With the children or with us?” She reached for his hand and he watched her twine their fingers and squeeze.
A knock sounded on the door behind him. “We’ll figure it out,” he said.
“Daddy?” Rachel knocked again. “Ben’s done with the water buckets. Can he help me now? Since you’re, you know, not?”
Rick opened the door and held a hand up to his daughter.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said again to Julie. He watched timid relief drift over her face and knew he was the world’s biggest liar.
His daughter’s arms were crossed, her eyebrows raised in a look so classically Julie his memory flashed with a series of identical images. Realization hit him like a punch to the gut—Rachel wasn’t mad at him, she was asking a question because she didn’t know the answer.
How many times had Julie asked a question, and because she’d sniped at him earlier about something else, he’d refused to answer, or been hurt because he’d decided she meant him harm?
“Ben can help you now.”
He coached Ben, then returned to sweeping the concrete walkway, which was now a muddy stream. Behind him, the arena gate opened and closed. Boots walked across concrete.
A skid. A female yelp.
He dropped the broom, turned, offering help. Angelina slid. Rick missed catching her by inches. She landed on her hip and elbow.
Rick knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
Her blouse was ripped at the forearm. She wasn’t bleeding from her arm, but when she touched it she winced.
She shifted. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt.”
“You shirt’s ruined.”
“It’s one of many. It doesn’t matter.”
He sat back on his haunches. “You really should consider wearing different boots.”
“These are fine. They’re old and durable. I’m just clumsy.”
She attempted to stand, slipped again, and Rick caught her arm.
“Ouch,” she said, gaining her balance.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She blinked at him. “I know that. You’re the kindest, most patient and nurturing man I’ve ever known.”
He let her go, knowing he’d fooled everyone, including her. Everyone but himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Julie’s Monday morning was not going smoothly. Sometime during the night the electricity had blinked off then back on. Not long enough to wake anyone, not long enough for the fridge to defrost, but long enough for the clocks to lose their memory. Which meant the bedside alarm did not sound when it should have.
She stood by the stove, waiting for bubbles to form on the homemade pancakes on the griddle. She should never have asked Ben what he wanted for breakfast. The child always requested pancakes, unless he was ill. Then it was the standard chocolate-triangle toast.
Rick had roused their daughter this morning, but Rachel hadn’t yet emerged from her room. How did a parent hurry her children along without sounding angry and accusing? Julie flipped over the browning pancakes and realized she’d never learned the skill of kind correction; it had never occurred to her that she needed to.
How many other things had she either learned wrong or not learned at all, before becoming a wife and mother?
Too many, she thought, scooping batter for a second batch. Almost twenty years of marriage, most of that spent being a mother, and she didn’t have a clue about something as critical as fixing a communication problem with her own children.
She wished she could call a time-out, simply stop time and freeze her family. While they were stuck she’d educate herself, study and practice what to say and how to say it. Which was a ridiculous wish and proof she was stalling and making excuses.
Every time she looked at Rachel’s face, she froze. Completely petrified, a hundred times worse than the worst stage fright she’d ever had.
Ben arrived and she served him at the bar instead of the table.
“Hey, buddy. Um, think you can eat fast enough for us to leave in ten minutes, but not so fast you choke?”
That wasn’t so bad. He even grinned and nodded and quickly started eating.
Then her daughter walked in. Tell her you’re sorry for hurting her. Tell her you’ll try to do better—
“Do we have any real maple syrup?” Rachel leaned over the bar and looked at the clock.
Say it.
Julie glanced over her shoulder. “What?”
“Forget it.” Rachel wrapped several pancakes in a paper towel and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge.
Tell her what she means to you.
“I’ll get my backpack and be in the car. You can sit up front, Ben. I’ve got homework to finish on the way to school.”
Her cell buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Torn, Julie checked the screen.
“My Julie! It’s Carmine!”
She glanced back at Rachel, who was already on her way to the garage.
“You must call me as soon as you get this,” Carmine’s message continued. “Tell me you are recovered. Tell me you are better. Thad Bartell is eager to hear you. Ciao!”
“I’m done, Mom.” Ben hopped down. “I’ll brush my teeth in less than forty-two seconds.”
“Forty-two, huh? Go ahead and take the full minute.”
He scampered off. She packed his lunch, added an extra snack. They joined Rachel in the car.
Ben chattered, barely taking a breath, all the way to day camp. Apparently this Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday would be fraught with field trips—to the local fire station, the police station,
even to Benson’s Hardware store downtown, which contained a huge storage basement. One fortunate child would get a ride on a forklift, and of course, Ben hoped his name was drawn.
She dropped off Ben, and suddenly had complete privacy with her daughter. The perfect opportunity, but Rachel was intently working on homework. What was the best choice here?
Too soon they reached the school and Rachel went inside. Something inside Julie wanted to catch up with her daughter, just for two minutes. But what were the right words? Truly, she didn’t want to upset Rachel at the start of her school day, and she couldn’t afford to waste her voice on the wrong words.
Julie pulled to the exit and stopped, debating. Turn left and go home, or turn right and drive to the ENT’s office, on the off-chance Dr. Lilly had an open appointment slot to speak with her. Was there anything else Julie could do besides being on constant voice rest, to increase her chances of singing again?
She turned right and gunned it. She should call ahead to the doctor’s office, she knew she should, but she didn’t want to be told no.
She waited an hour, then another twenty minutes before being called back to Dr. Lilly’s office. The prognosis was the same.
“Google Screamer’s Node and Singer’s Node,” the specialist encouraged. “There’s no sign the nodules are malignant, but if they remain they become nodes. The nodes would have to be surgically removed, which can cause permanent damage. In addition, once nodes appear, the likelihood they’ll return is extremely high, which again, causes more damage.”
Julie drove home. She went inside, walked to the piano bench, and stared at the black and white keys until they blurred to gray. If her silence couldn’t save her voice and wouldn’t save her family, what was she to do?
She went to the kitchen. Sat at the bar and called Laurie.
“Hey! Saw it was you on the caller ID,” Laurie said. “I’ve got like, five seconds. I’m at the pediatrician’s office with Hope. I just can’t get her diarrhea under control. What’s going on?”
“Quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“How do you hear God? Like how can I recognize it’s Him?”
“Well, sometimes I feel a peace, then maybe, a new idea or a strong impression. Have you ever read about Elijah? When he fled from Jezebel? I or II Kings, I think.”
“I don’t know.”
“Find it. Read it. It talks about how God speaks in the midst of trouble.”
“I’ve got trouble, all right. Laurie, I think I’ve hurt Rick even more than I hurt Rachel, Sean, and Ben. I’ve got such a mess here, I don’t even know how much damage I’ve done.”
“Wow. You’ve got to pray, Julie. Like you’ve never prayed before. God will walk you through growth and change like He did me and Pierce, but you really have to listen and pay attention. You can’t react like you have before. You can’t behave like you have before.”
“You mean stop and pray in the middle of a disagreement?”
“Well, yeah. Can you think of a better time? That way you don’t make the mess bigger.”
“Before the accident I hardly ever prayed outside of church or meals, or when asking for something I wanted to happen.”
“But God wants to be close to you, Julie. You can talk to Him anytime, especially about what’s most important, which is your family. I gotta run. Call me later if you need me.”
“I will. And, Laurie? I’m really glad we started becoming friends last summer. Bye.”
Julie hung up. She’d never thought of talking to God during a conflict. The idea somehow seemed ... wrong? Unholy? How would one even recognize His response?
She got her Bible. Sat at the bar and found the story of Elijah running from Jezebel in I Kings 19.
Wind ... earthquake ... fire. Tragedy, terror, even busyness or a heart pounding with fear—any and all could completely drown the low whisper, unless one knew what to listen for.
A low whisper—Julie hadn’t recognized it. Exactly like her first Sunday morning back at church, when she’d been talking to Laurie and felt questions deep inside.
Would you trade them? For the life you thought you wanted, would you trade them?—meaning her family.
She hadn’t known then that the soft voice could work hand-in-hand with a strong impression, that God had been speaking to her spirit.
Like the voice she’d thought she heard this morning.
God had been answering her prayer. The I need help—I don’t know what to say to my daughter prayer she’d prayed over a week ago.
Tell her what she means to you the Voice had said.
Rick came in for lunch. “Whatchya reading?”
“A passage Laurie told me about this morning. Did you know God can speak in a low whisper?”
“Can’t say I did.” He gathered sandwich fixings. “You were gone a long time this morning.”
“I went back to Dr. Lilly’s.”
He slapped bread and meat together, cut the sandwich in half, rinsed the knife, and placed it back in the knife block. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.” Slowly, he took the first bite.
“My only hope—only hope—of ever singing again starts with complete voice rest until the blister and nodules are gone. And that’s just the beginning. Having surgery would be even worse and offers no guarantees. She assures me the nodules will come back, possibly more quickly each time. Constant voice rest will be mandatory and again, not guarantee success.” She looked up at him. “Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“But I need you to.”
“No way. Either way you’ll blame me—”
“I won’t.”
“Let me finish.” He set aside his sandwich. “Or I’ll blame me. I miss the way you look when you sing, Julie. I miss how happy you were then.”
His cell rang.
“Can you not answer that?” she asked. “Please?”
“It might be important.”
He answered. She could vaguely hear a computerized voice as he listened. Then he ran out the front door.
“What’s wrong?” Julie sprinted after him, her heart pounding, then stood beside him outside, following his gaze to the north. In the distance, black smoke rose into the sky like a fierce dark angel.
“The call was a recording, wasn’t it? One of those new emergency recordings.”
“Come on. Let’s go.”
He didn’t have to tell her. Women’s intuition had never been her strong point, but as she ran behind him back through the house and out to his truck, something inside her knew.
Rachel’s school was on fire.
***
Julie lived through seven of the longest minutes of her life as they drove to the school. They crested the hill at the edge of the middle school property and shock smacked her. The fire was enormous.
Thick smoke billowed up into the heavens, black fists punching a clear blue sky and blocking the sun. The top half of the four-story main building—a structure she and her husband had visited less than two weeks ago—blazed like a freshly struck match.
The truck screeched to a stop on the slope outside the fenced campus. Julie threw open the passenger door, ran full-out toward the gate where a crowd of parents gathered.
The roar was deafening, a relentless thunder like a hundred bass drums. Four large fire trucks, other smaller emergency vehicles, several police cars, and ambulances lined the circle driveway inside the fence. Shouts echoed between the various officers.
Rick grabbed her arm. “We can’t get any closer.” He pointed to the officer standing inside the gate. “See that cop?”
“Stay back, folks,” the officer told the group. “We’ll get you information as soon as we can.”
An ambulance pulled away from the building, no siren blaring, no lights flashing.
Julie’s heart seized. “That means whoever’s inside is already dead, doesn’t it? They’re not in a hurry because the person’s already dead.”
&nbs
p; Her knees disappeared. Rick caught her around the waist.
“You don’t know that. Maybe they’re being released because they’re not needed.”
He led her back to their truck, lowered the tailgate, and pushed her to sit. Still standing, he checked his phone. “No new calls.”
Wind blew up the hill in their direction. Ash swirled like gray confetti. Heat followed, pressing like thick fog. She felt her face warming.
Cars and trucks were lining up on the road now, the occupants exiting, running toward the inferno as Julie had done. They clumped with others at the gate where the officer stood.
“Do you know anything?” a passing man asked Rick.
Her husband motioned to the nearest police car. “They’ll let us know as soon as they hear something.”
High on the building, windows exploded—crashing cymbals. Glass rained down outside the incinerating structure and new flames reached for the sky. Emergency personnel ran and shouted to each other on bullhorns.
“Rick!” Julie jumped down, grabbed his hand, pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and watched the school burn.
Looking down at the disaster, she couldn’t believe how loud it was. The strange gusts of wind. The water surging from the hoses and hitting the old brick building in a pounding, continuous stream, which seemed to shake the ground. The fire’s rumble as it thrashed out from window frames. A portion of the flat roof bubbled and collapsed, the top brick rows of the front wall fell inward.
She closed her eyes. It was all too much to take in. And her only daughter might be trapped somewhere in there, injured and needing help. Why hadn’t she taken the few extra seconds this morning to encourage Rachel? To tell her daughter how much she meant to her?
Rick pulled away. “Here comes Pastor Crane.”
She opened her eyes. “Pierce is here?”
“No. His dad. Daniel. Maybe he still serves as Fire Department Chaplain.”
Bible in hand, the retired preacher approached. Julie scanned the older man’s face, looking for any indication she should start grieving. But he had the same kind yet mischievous expression he always did, as he pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit gum from his pocket and popped two strips in his mouth.
Several feet away, he raised a hand in greeting. “We don’t know much yet, except the emergency alert was incorrectly worded. You all were supposed to go to the new high school up the street.”
Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series) Page 23