“You sound sure.”
“She’s a lot like Brad, and Brad would want to give you the opportunity to grovel and beg after you’d been sufficiently punished.”
“Brad wasn’t like that.”
“He was twenty or so years ago. It was your affair. He changed profoundly after that.”
Joel had a point, but was Shannon that calculating and manipulative? “She’s punishing us?”
“Probably just you, but she has to reassure Mom. Mom is an innocent victim.”
She’s always the innocent victim. “You think Shannon’s okay then?”
“She’s exactly where she wants to be right now, exactly where she planned.”
* * *
Relieved to be home, but no less exhausted, Bobbi left Chuck in the study with Jack and Gavin, and headed back to the kitchen, to the coffeemaker. Joel said Shannon was safe, that she would call soon. Bobbi trusted Joel, trusted him enough to send him on home. Now she just wanted a pot of coffee to sip while she waited for the phone to ring. And Rita, bless her heart, already had it brewed.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Bobbi said, “and you certainly didn’t have to do dishes.”
Rita dried her hands on the dishtowel, then reached for a mug. “Jack needed some company. We hated to leave him. How’s Chuck?”
“Fine, they said it was a muscle spasm. He’s got a stress test on Tuesday and they’re going to put him on some medication.”
“Thank God.” Rita set her mug on the kitchen table and took the seat across from Bobbi. “Baby, honestly, I was more worried about you than Chuck.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure how much more I can take.” Bobbi took a long drink from her coffee, relishing the warmth permeating through her insides, no matter how temporary. “I’ve been treading water, but I’m getting exhausted.”
“You haven’t taken time to grieve for Brad.”
“Shannon and Jack needed me. I couldn’t . . .” She looked away as tears formed. “And now Shannon’s . . .”
Rita reached over to hug her sister. “She’ll be back.”
Bobbi wiped her eyes. “Gavin says she’s the prodigal.”
“I don’t think so,” Rita said. “I think she’s like a wounded animal, and she’s got no idea how to deal with her heartache. She’s lashed out at everybody who got close, and finally she ran.”
“She should have talked to me.”
“Yes, she should have.” Rita let go of Bobbi and looked her in the eyes. “Now listen to yourself. You need to talk to somebody, too, whether it’s me or Chuck or somebody else.”
She swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “I’ll be fine as soon as we get Shannon home.”
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve done this much in a single day in my entire life.” Dylan dropped onto Shannon’s sofa and motioned for her to join him. “I’m exhausted.”
“I tried to warn you.” She sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him, consciously aware of the distance. “Thanks for hanging out with me and helping me carry my TV upstairs. Saved me the delivery charge.”
“Glad to do it. You’re amazing.”
“Not really.” Shannon felt her face flush. She hated that. It made her look like a little girl who’d never had a boyfriend. Which was true, but she still hated it.
“Seriously. Think about it. Yesterday, you were a kid at home, but today, you’ve got a place, a car, a little money in the bank. You’re a woman who’s got it made.”
“Hardly. When I call my folks, that’s when it’s really gonna hit the fan.”
“Your dad?”
She nodded and slouched a little closer to Dylan. “I had to do something, though. My dad . . .”
“He hates me, doesn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
“Well, it’s not rocket science. I got his princess arrested, and the big blow-up came after we went out.”
“I’ve never done anything wrong, but that doesn’t seem to count.”
Dylan twisted around to face her and eased close enough to take her hand. She knew she should pull back, but his hand was warm, comforting, and truth be told she wished he’d put his arms around her and let her cry. She wanted him to tell her this wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
“Your dad’s wrong.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, the very same way her dad always did. “You know, since he hates me anyway . . .” He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips lingering near hers.
Her head spun, and for a moment she thought she might pass out. Embarrassed at her pathetic inexperience, she kissed him back, imitating the most passionate kisses she’d ever seen in the movies.
His smile was dreamy like he was intoxicated, the same way he smiled at his party. “Did I say you were beautiful?” he whispered, and she felt his breath on her neck, in her ear.
“I’m sure I’m not the first girl you’ve ever told that.”
“I still mean it, and you are not a girl.” He leaned closer still and kissed her again.
“But, I can’t . . . ,” she sputtered as Dylan kissed her once more.
“You can,” he whispered, then slipped an arm around her. “You know you can.”
Chapter 8
Compunction
Sunday, June 29
Shannon sat in her darkened bathroom, hugging her knees, rocking herself in a pointless attempt to stop the next round of tears. Now you’re a woman, Dylan said. No, she wasn’t. She could hear her own angry voice spitting out the word “whore” at her father. That’s what she was. Not a woman. Defiant. Needy. Weak. She allowed Dylan to go too far.
Then he wouldn’t stop.
She pulled herself to the toilet and vomited. She never meant for it to be this way. A precious treasure she should guard, her father said, and she let Dylan Snider snatch it away. Last night she hungered for reassurance, for validation. He made her feel wanted, capable, and for a brief instant, empowered.
That was before he pinned her arms down.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father’s face. “All I ever wanted was to be sure that nobody ever hurt you.” Right now, she would give anything on God’s green earth to crawl up beside her daddy and hear him say everything would be all right.
The muffled sound of a distant song filtered into her bathroom. That song . . . That was her ringtone! Her phone! Could it be her dad? Could it work that easily? She gathered herself up and found her phone. It wasn’t her dad. It was Katelyn.
“Shannon! Thank God! Where are you?”
“I’m away.”
“I knew that much,” Katelyn huffed. “Listen, everybody’s flipping. You gotta go home.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to! Your dad went to the ER yesterday with chest pains!”
She gave him a heart attack. She thought all those horrible things about him, but chest pains . . . A new wave of guilt washed over her. What would happen if he knew . . . the rest of it? “Is he okay?”
“It wasn’t a heart attack, but they’re gonna do more tests. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come and get you.”
“I can’t.” He can’t know. He can’t find out.
“Of course you can.”
“No, you don’t understand. It has to be this way. Tell my mom I’m okay, but the less you know the better.”
“Why? What’d you do?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Dylan?”
Everything inside Shannon ached. How could it be that obvious?
“He’s there?” Katelyn asked.
“Not anymore.”
“Oh no. You didn’t . . .”
But she did. Her stomach twisted and she thought she’d vomit again. She hung her head, breathed deeply and squeaked out, “That’s why I can’t go home.”
“Your parents, they’ll understand. Your dad, he knows better than anybody—”
“I gotta go. Tell them I’m sorry.” Shannon clicked off the phone so Ka
telyn couldn’t call back, and made a mental note to pick up a new cell phone. She couldn’t risk any more calls or deal with any messages.
Katelyn would never be able to keep it a secret, either. If she couldn’t face her best friend, how could she possibly look into her father’s eyes or feel her mother’s soft hands on hers, and admit that she let Dylan Snider . . . do . . . that?
But when her parents found out, well, then it would make sense why she disappeared.
* * *
Chuck arrived at Preston Road Community Church early, while the Bible study classes were still meeting, so he seized the opportunity to slip into the auditorium for a few quiet moments alone. Bobbi understood he couldn’t sit at home waiting for the phone to ring. He loved that about her. But he understood she wasn’t leaving until she heard from Shannon.
Taking a seat in his family’s usual pew, he felt a smothering burden, as real as if sandbags were strapped to his back. Dear God, everything’s a mess right now, and I don’t know what to do. How can I find Shannon and get her home? I don’t even know where to look, and I’m concerned Bobbi’s sliding into despair. I have no idea what’s going on with Jack, because I’ve not taken the time to sit down and talk with him. The way everything has fallen apart in the last two weeks makes me afraid for my family. Are we doing something wrong? Are You punishing us? Is this . . . is it a curse that I brought on us?
Chuck felt someone sit down, so he raised his head. “Hey, Dad,” Jack said, then looked past him back through the auditorium. “Mom made me come. Said you needed the company.”
“Me? What about you?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted so he could cross his legs. “Things were just starting to settle down when Shannon took off.” He leaned back and stared at the front of the church. “Last night I was thinking, in some ways, it reminds me of physics class. You know, when you work a physics problem—”
“No,” Chuck said, “absolutely not.”
Jack looked his direction. “Well, just pretend for the sake of the illustration.”
Chuck could see Tracy’s sideways smile in her son’s. “I’ll fake it the best I can.”
“The first thing you do is define the problem,” Jack said. “You figure out what it’s really asking. Then you look at the information they give you so you can figure out what you really need and what’s a red herring.”
“Physics may not be as useless as I thought,” Chuck said, impressed by his son’s insight.
Jack shook his head. “I’m still trying to define the problem. Is it Brad, or Shannon or both, or something deeper that hasn’t occurred to me yet?”
Like a curse. Chuck felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, he saw his pastor standing with his hand extended. “Hey, Glen,” Chuck said, shaking hands.
“Any news?”
“No. You got a minute after the service?”
“Sure thing.”
“I’ll catch you up then.”
“Is Bobbi here?”
“No,” Chuck said quietly.
Glen nodded, and Chuck knew he understood. The pastor leaned across to shake Jack’s hand. “How’re you doing, Jack?”
“Fair.”
“Hang in there. You’ll never get over it, but you will get through it, I promise. Give yourself some time. It’ll get easier.”
* * *
Jack slumped back against the pew and watched folks file in for the morning worship service. Sure, it would get easier. Like nightmares only four nights a week? No, it was just like Shannon said—he was to blame.
He’d confessed it, begged God to take it away, and had wracked his brain to try and come up with a way to make up for it, but it was no use. God was giving him the silent treatment. Didn’t that prove his responsibility for his brother’s death?
The old guy who came into the mission couldn’t be his grandfather, anyway. That was just nuts. His mother’s dad, the ex-con, showing up here after all these years. Right. They should never have gone looking for him, especially that time of evening.
Jack glanced over at his dad, but he was paying close attention to the announcements or whatever. Maybe this afternoon he could catch his dad for a few minutes and tell him he wasn’t going back to college in the fall. Then his dad, the professional negotiator, would try to talk him out of it. Let him try.
The decision made perfect sense. For starters, he didn’t want to be on campus. On top of that, he was unsure what direction his life was supposed to take, so why waste time and money taking classes that might be useless?
He opened his Bible on cue like he was following the sermon, but he couldn’t focus. He wished he could talk to Brad one more time. Brad knew how to coach him through anything, even dropping out of college. Who did Brad talk to when he needed advice?
He twisted in the seat and laid his Bible beside him, but his cell phone jabbed into his hip. He glanced at his dad then reached in his pocket and moved the phone over. Just touching his phone brought his other secret to the forefront of his mind.
Last night, while his parents were at the hospital, he checked the calls on Shannon’s line. He knew who her accomplice was. If he could find out from Dylan where Shannon was and bring her home, that would be enough to make up for everything. After church, he’d seize this one shot to redeem himself.
* * *
As soon as the last prayer was over, Chuck left the auditorium through one of the side doors and took the long way around to Glen’s office, detouring through as many empty corridors as possible. He pushed Glen’s door open and took a seat. Glen startled him when he strode in a few minutes later. “That was fast,” Chuck said, shaking Glen’s hand.
Glen smiled. “I must’ve made everybody mad, so they didn’t want to speak to me.” He took a seat behind his desk. “So what’s the latest?”
“Shannon’s still not home. Joel’s convinced she’ll call Bobbi today.”
“We’ll pray that she does. How’re you and Bobbi holding up?”
“Bobbi’s at her limit. I don’t know how she’s keeping it together.”
“Same way you are, I expect.” Glen leaned up to the desk. “Which reminds me. I understand you were in the ER last night with chest pains and never bothered to call your pastor.”
“Because it was nothing. A muscle spasm.”
Glen frowned. “Well, I’ll cut you some slack this time.”
“I’m glad somebody is. You know, I didn’t hear much of your sermon today.”
“What else is new?”
Chuck smiled but then dropped his eyes. “The . . . the prodigal son was across the page.”
“That was more helpful than anything I had to say. What’d you find out?”
“More questions. Is that how we’re supposed to handle this? Just wait it out?” Surely not. He couldn’t sit back and wait for Shannon to come home.
Glen sat in silence for several moments then folded his hands. “Chuck, can I be real honest with you?”
“Always.”
“I feel categorically unqualified to tell you what to do. Laurie and I only know the grief of never having children. I can’t tell you how to handle a wayward one.”
“But I want you to,” Chuck said. “You know God’s Word, you follow His leading. I trust your counsel.” He felt the weight of another door closing. “I need your advice, Glen.”
“Thank you, but who am I to tell you not to turn the city upside down looking for Shannon? Maybe you should ask Gavin about this one.”
“You expect me to believe you’ve spent your whole ministry dodging parents?”
“No, I just think you could get more credible advice.”
Chuck frowned. If Glen wouldn’t touch the situation with Shannon, would he tackle something as crazy-sounding as a curse?
“May as well ask the other one,” Glen said. “I can tell you got something else running around in your head.”
Chuck sat up straight and took a deep breath. “Shannon . . . she said all of this— Brad’s death, her
rebellion, even Joel and Abby’s infertility—all of it was the result of some judgment against me for the affair. That it was a curse.”
“What a thing to tell a grieving father.”
When Glen dropped his eyes and took a deep breath, Chuck braced himself for the yes.
“The answer is yes and no,” Glen said at last.
“Great.” Chuck slumped back in the seat.
“Now, hold on. Before you take all this guilt on yourself, hear me out. It’s an oversimplification to say action A causes result A to the exclusion of all others. Bad things happen as a result of a combination of things.”
“But one of those things is judgment.”
“Not always judgment on us. It could be someone close to us, and we’re caught by the fallout. Sometimes we’re completely innocent and just a victim. It’s impossible to say for sure.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I know. It’s a gift.” He leaned back in his chair. “Thing is, on the surface, Shannon’s got a point. You committed a grave sin with lasting, far-reaching consequences.”
As if Chuck needed reminding.
“But to say your action is responsible for her willful rebellion . . .” He shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished. “Plus, it’s presumptuous to declare how God has chosen to deal with His children. You ever feel like Job?”
“Yesterday, yes.”
“Job’s a perfect case. He never understood why all those tragedies happened in his life. Everything his friends said was theologically sound, but none of it was applicable. In the end, his conclusion was, ‘God is God, and I’ll shut up now.’”
“So is that a hint?” Chuck asked. “Do I need to go?”
Glen smiled and shook his head. “Remind me to pray more for Bobbi. She has to deal with you all the time.” Then he leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “You ever see one of those mosaic pictures made out of a whole bunch of little pictures?”
Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series Page 9