I was just Abby…a little on the quirky, eccentric side, artistic, sweet, but not enough. I was never enough. Dad wasn’t cruel per se and I always knew he loved me, but he preferred not to get involved in my life. It was around that time that I found the Lord, and even though my circumstances didn’t change, God lifted me out of that tomb, out of that grave of darkness that clouded my emotions and brought me into the light. For a long time, I depended on Him, turned to Him at every moment…leaned on Him. He was my best friend, my confidant, my King.
In the last few years, I’d pulled away a little. Not purposefully, of course, but it happened slowly over time. I didn’t spend as much time in prayer or in the Word. I still went to church faithfully—that never stopped—but my heart had grown somewhat indifferent to the things of God. Maybe it was because I was taking the Lord’s blessings for granted, or perhaps, in my drive for love, I’d allowed the world to shape my desire for a certain kind of man.
Nick enveloped the ideals and persona of a man of the world: handsome, charismatic, unattainable, and confident. I’d wanted to be with him for so long—still did—but in the quiet moments like this one, I had to admit we weren’t always like-minded in our pursuit of the Lord.
Maybe I was being too hard on him, but it had taken a long time for me to admit that to myself. I longed for him to wake up one day and realize where his life was going—realize I’d been a faithful friend and would make a loyal wife. But on days like this, I didn’t know what I wanted. I wasn’t sure if caring for Nick was the path God wanted me on.
The heaviness of my thoughts weighed me down, and just like that, I wanted this walk to be over with. I hurried home and got ready to leave—I was scheduled to help out at Northlake Senior Center, an assisted living facility for seniors who could no longer live on their own. My friend, Jenny, worked there as an activity coordinator, and a few months ago she convinced me to volunteer my time teaching art classes. I enjoyed it so much that I often did other activities with the seniors. Today, I would join them for Bingo. After changing my clothes and driving to the facility, I walked in just as they were passing around the Bingo cards.
“Perfect timing,” Jenny said with an easy smile. “Mrs. Pickerell was just asking where you were.”
Mrs. Pickerell glanced up and smiled at me. “That’s right. I was just saying, ‘Where’s my Abby?’”
I plopped down on the seat next to her and grinned. “I had a lot going on today with my painting, but there was no way I would miss Bingo with you all.” I scanned the table and noted the expressions of the others. Some were smiling right along with me, while others looked grumpy, or maybe they just weren’t feeling well.
We played the game, and I had to remind myself to bring my energy level down a few notches because everyone here moved at a much slower pace. Sometimes it took an extra measure of patience to move at that speed, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying myself. I liked this older crowd. They had wisdom and experience and many, many memories that they occasionally shared with me.
To my chagrin, I wouldn’t have volunteered my time like this if Jenny hadn’t begged me to teach a class when someone else backed out. Now, I found myself looking forward to Bingo night on a regular basis. In a way, it was comforting: I was able to provide companionship to them, and they, in turn, were affirming and affectionate at times, unlike my own parents who had always been distant.
When the game hour was over, and Jenny handed out prizes to the winners, Mrs. Pickerell turned to me. “Abby, would you like to stay a little longer and talk with me in the dayroom?” Her expression was so hopeful and childlike that there was no way I could ever tell her anything but yes. “Of course.”
We made our way to the dayroom and sat on a comfortable couch next to a brick fireplace on the far wall.
“I love that blouse, Mrs. Pickerell. The embroidery is exquisite.”
“Thank you.” She brightened. “My daughter bought the blouse and my granddaughter did the embroidery.”
“That is so sweet. They must really love you.”
“They do.” She looked pleased with my compliments, and then she did something I wasn’t expecting her to do. She reached over and gripped my hand. “Dear, something is bothering you. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”
My eyes widened at the change in conversation. Self-consciously, I ran a hand over my ponytail and forced a smile. “I’m perfectly fine. What do you mean?”
“You hide it well, but I’ve always been a student of human behavior, and I can tell something is off with you today.”
“Oh…well.”
“You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to, but I thought I would point out that I’m here if you ever need a listening ear.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pickerell. Is that why you asked me to sit with you? You thought I needed to talk?”
She nodded. “But don’t feel like you have to.”
She was extremely perceptive. I had been feeling a little down today though I’d thought I’d done a good job of covering it up. “That’s nice of you.” I liked her a lot, but I didn’t feel up to talking about Nick or the state of my spiritual life—two things that had been bothering me all afternoon. “You’re right. I am a little sad today, but I don’t feel like talking about it. Maybe another time.”
She patted my hand. “That’s okay. You know where to find me if you decide to talk about it later.”
She looked like she was about to get up, so I spoke quickly. “But I’d love to hear about your life. Tell me how you met your husband. I’m still single, and I love to hear those kinds of stories.”
“I don’t know how an eligible young man hasn’t snatched you up.”
I laughed. “Maybe I haven’t let them snatch me up. I think I like being on my own.”
She chuckled. “I’ve been married and single and can honestly say that both have their advantages.”
“Which one do you prefer?”
She considered. “Each has its own season, its own time, and I wouldn’t trade one for the other. I enjoyed my freedom and married a little older than most in my day. Marriage was a wonderful thing, and after Thomas passed away, I thought life was over, but here I am, enjoying what the good Lord gave me. Life as a single woman definitely has its privileges.”
“How old were you when you got married?”
“Twenty-eight and my Mom was beside herself with joy. She thought I was destined to be an old maid.”
I tried my best not to scoff and was mostly successful since I camouflaged my reaction with a quick cough. Twenty-eight was nothing compared to thirty-five.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said with a sly grin. “You think twenty-eight isn’t that old, but in my day it was.” She smiled. “Most in my town got married by twenty-three, and even that was pushing it.”
“So, tell me how you met Thomas.”
She had a faraway look on her face. “He dumped milk all over my hair.”
My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
She giggled. “We were in first grade, and he was mad because I wouldn’t be friends with him.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I thought all boys had cooties back then.”
“So, you grew up knowing him.”
“Yes, and I never did think much of Thomas. As I grew older, I developed crushes on quite a few of the young men. Some even took to me, but I think they were afraid Thomas would beat them up after school if they showed too much interest.”
“That must have been frustrating.”
“Oh, it was, and I admit, I was a little picky back then. I had so many ideals, so many notions about what a man should be.” She patted her white curls. “I was an attractive gal, but I was no Marilyn Monroe. Still, I thought I could find myself a Tony Curtis.” She chuckled. “I finally wised up and married Thomas.”
My lungs deflated and my shoulders rounded. It sounded like she’d settled, but I wasn’t about to say that. “You decided to be practical about it.”
&nbs
p; She nodded once. “That’s right. Practicality was of utmost importance in those days. Women back then didn’t have the same privileges young woman of today have, not that women didn’t hold professional jobs, but it was much more difficult to obtain.”
“I can imagine.”
“Thomas asked me to marry him for the third time, and I decided he was my last chance at marriage, so I said yes.”
I felt a little sorry for her, but she seemed like a contented woman. Maybe it hadn’t been all that bad. I nodded and smiled, not able to think of an appropriate response.
“And he was the love of my life.”
I jerked back. “He was? I thought…”
“I never gave him much of a chance while we were both single. In fact, we didn’t date long either. We’d known each other all our lives and my mother was anxious to plan the wedding.” She smiled and had a faraway look on her face. “Once we were married, I got to see the real Thomas. The man I had overlooked all those years.”
“That’s a relief. I’m glad it all worked out.”
“Thomas was a quiet man, and I always took that to mean he didn’t have much to say when, in fact, he had a lot to say once he was more comfortable around me. After the wedding, he started to show his true colors. He was a man of strong principles, a hard worker,” her eyes twinkled, “and a very good kisser. He always had a kind word for me, and he was more devoted than any man I could ever hope for.”
“That’s amazing.”
An aide walked over and addressed Mrs. Pickerell. “It’s time for dinner. Would you like me to help you?”
Mrs. Pickerell turned to me. “It’s time for me to go, but I enjoyed talking with you, Abby. Don’t forget, if you ever need a listening ear, I’m available.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
When I got home, I was still thinking of Mrs. Pickerell’s story when I decided to call my dad. He hadn’t been returning my calls, and I hoped he was okay. The call went straight to voicemail, so I left a quick message. “Hey, Dad. Just calling to say hi. I know you’re busy, but don’t forget you have a daughter.” I laughed lightly. “Miss you. Give me a call.”
Chapter 8
Colin
After work, Wilhelmina caught up to me as I made my way to the staff parking lot. “Not so fast,” she said. “You’ve been avoiding me all day, and I want to hear how it went with Abby yesterday.”
“You spoke to her on the phone. I was there when you called, so you must have an idea.”
She put a fist on her hip and gave me a look. “I want to hear your version.”
I sighed. “It was nice. Abby is a lovely woman, and it was generous of her to help me out.”
“You like her a lot. It’s written all over your face.”
“Of course, I do. I already told you that.”
“And?”
“And what?” I picked up the pace, not feeling in the mood for this today. I sounded like a grumpy old man, but I didn’t care right now. Spending time with Abby had been helpful on the one hand, but in the end, it did more damage than good. After I’d gone home, thoughts of how I’d ruined things with Genevieve and would probably do the same with Abby haunted me. Not that there was a chance. She’d already decided I wasn’t her type.
“I’m looking for details.” Wilhelmina’s blue hair blew behind her as the wind picked up. “Give me something.”
“I need to smile more, make eye contact, and ask more questions. Oh, and I need a haircut.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Tell me how you got along.”
We were nearly to my car, and I was thankful this conversation was almost over. “We got along well, at least in my mind.”
“Did she seem to warm up to you?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
She smiled slyly. “I did, but as I said before, I’m looking for your version of things.”
I stopped walking so quickly she nearly bumped into me but moved back just in time. “What did she say about me?”
“Do you really want to know?”
I thought about that for a few seconds and how it might feel to learn the truth. “No.” I saw my vehicle in the distance and forced myself to place one foot in front of the other. Whatever she had to say was sure to be a disappointment, and I didn’t need that right now.
Wilhelmina jogged to keep up with me. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you just a little curious?”
“Not really.”
“You are. You totally are. I can see it on your face.”
“How many times are you going to say you read something on my face? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to bait me into sharing my feelings.”
She lifted both hands in the air. “You caught me red-handed, but I’m dying here, Colin. You’ve got to give me a crumb.”
I stopped walking again. “Fine.” I would never hear the end of it until I gave her a small detail. “There were moments when Abby seemed attracted to me. She might even like me…a little.”
She nodded and smiled. “I spoke with her again once she got home, and she said she enjoyed talking with you.”
“She said that?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, well, that’s good.” I shifted impatiently and glanced at my car.
Wilhelmina frowned. “I thought you’d be happier than that.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m still in the friend zone. That has not changed unless I’m missing something.”
Wilhelmina opened her mouth and then promptly closed it.
“That’s what I thought.” I turned and strode to my car, taking large steps to hurry things along. When I finally got there, I took out my keys.
“Colin, I’m sorry if I upset you.” Wilhelmina hurried to catch up with me. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look concerned.” Her ability to read expressions was eerily on target.
“I’m not really sure why I’m doing this…with Abby, I mean.”
“Are you hoping to win her over?”
“I don’t know what I’m hoping, but I want to see her again, regardless of the reason.”
Wilhelmina clasped her hands together and smiled gleefully. “You really, really like her, don’t you?”
“All right, that’s enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Colin, wait. I’m only asking because I care, and I want you to find someone. You deserve that. It’s time.”
“Look, I know you care, but it’s doubtful I have it in me to make her happy.”
“What do you mean by that?” She said it a little loudly and passersby turned to look at us. She lowered her voice. “Tell me.”
“People don’t change. They are who they are. Personality is hard-wired, a matter of genetics. This is who I am, and I’m not sure I have what it takes to make a woman interested. That’s the bottom line.”
“Hard-wired…genetics…give me a break. You have what it takes.”
“Do I need to remind you of the many studies dealing with twins and behavior? Genetics play a huge role in the way we respond to things.”
“Put away your scientific brain for just a second,” she said. “God changed your heart, made you a new person, didn’t He?”
I nodded and jingled the keys in my hand, wanting desperately to leave.
“Then stop using genetics as a crutch. Your father is not the only man to get a divorce. And you’re not him.”
“He was divorced three times, and everyone who knew him says we’re very much alike.”
“You’re scared. I get it. But you’ll never be him because the Colin I know has a heart of gold.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. There are two more sessions with Abby, and that’s it. How am I supposed to convince her—”
“You don’t have to convince her of anything. Just be you. At the end of session three, ask her on another date. If she doesn’t want to go that’s her loss.” She licked h
er lips and glanced to the side. “I know this is hard for you, but change is uncomfortable. You have to persist through the discomfort to get what you want. Let your guard down. Allow her to see the man that you are inside.”
“I’ll try.” We said our goodbyes, and I headed home.
By the time I drove up my driveway and parked, I was feeling a little better. I’d worked myself up over this Abby thing, and I needed to give it a rest. Whatever happened, it was in God’s hands, and I could trust Him.
I ate a quick dinner and then picked up my Bible, along with the Bible study workbook I hadn’t touched yet, and headed out to my back porch. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light that I could read outside. The workbook was on Understanding Christ’s love, and I had delayed the study too long. I read the introduction, and it said the mission of the study was Ephesians 3:17-19. …so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
I had a feeling I would never fully comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth of the Lord’s love, but I wanted to try. Once I turned to the first chapter, it asked me to read the whole of Luke twenty-two. I followed along, riveted, my eyes glued to the page when I got to verse forty-four. Jesus was praying in the garden of Gethsemane, preparing for His inevitable death, and He was in so much agony over what He knew He would endure that He sweat drops of blood.
I had read that before, but I hadn’t heard an explanation for it. The workbook had a commentary section that said Jesus suffered from hematohidrosis, a medical condition that occurred when someone was under extreme levels of stress. Apparently, the capillaries that went to the sweat glands could rupture causing blood to pour into the sweat glands. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but it made me think about how much agony Christ must have been in at that moment. Earlier, He had prayed that the Father would take that cup of suffering away from Him, but in verse forty-two He said, “Not my will but Yours be done.”
Blind Date with a Billionaire Professor (Blind Date Disasters) Page 8