The Spindle Chair

by Shellie Arnold

  If only they could stay like this, right here—just the two, no, three of them. But life didn’t work that way. Hadn’t she noticed yesterday, when looking at their wedding pictures, how much she had changed? How much Pierce had changed?

  How naïve that she’d never considered—while planning their wedding, choosing a gown, even during their honeymoon—that moments like these wouldn’t always happen easily.

  At three o’clock she woke him with a kiss on the cheek and dressed for their appointment.

  Later, Pierce drove with one hand, held hers with the other. She hadn’t been out of his sight or his reach—literally—since he found her in the nursery that morning. Now his tightening grip, his sweaty palm, revealed his struggle to her.

  “I’m fighting, Laurie. I’m really fighting to make myself do this.”

  She turned his hand, rested it on their baby. “Thanks for fighting for us.”

  ***

  “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Crane.” Dr. Eric Goodnight, a trim, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses, extended a hand to Pierce and motioned him and Laurie to an over-stuffed couch. They sat.

  The room didn’t feel like a doctor’s office. Probably because the dark-paneled space with its deep shelving resembled a library and occupied the main floor of the man’s restored, hundred-year-old home.

  “Your father and I met in seminary. I’d originally planned to become a minister, then continued on to medical school. Now I minister to ministers, and others, of course.”

  “And you stayed in touch with my dad?”

  “We had a very successful arrangement. He referred to me those he thought needed more than he could give. I sent him those who had no clue about God. Maybe you and I can continue doing the same.”

  Didn’t Dr. Goodnight realize why he and Laurie were here?

  The doctor stood up. “Laurie, trade seats with me,” he said.

  Now Laurie was to Pierce’s right, in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t see her directly without looking away from the man now occupying the other end of the suddenly shortened sofa, a man who was way too observant for Pierce’s comfort.

  “I’m pretty good at reading people,” Dr. Goodnight said. “And you’re wondering what I think of you, if I’ve already judged you.” He paused. “I’ve found that most Christians, particularly ministers who find themselves in a situation like yours, have done more than enough judging of themselves. In most instances, it usually doesn’t occur to them that God still has a plan for them, is still orchestrating their circumstances, and wants to continue using them in ministry. They tend to let their imperfections blind them to their potential.” He looked directly at Pierce, stood and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder. “Excuse me for a moment. And call me Eric.”

  Pierce knew he was being given an option. To leave or stay. To try or give up.

  But when he looked at Laurie—his sweet wife, pregnant with their child, the woman he had made love with just hours ago—refusing help didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  He grabbed Laurie’s hand. “Laurie, I need us to pray. Right now.” She barely nodded her agreement before he bowed his head.

  “God, Father. Thank You for not leaving me. Thank You that Laurie didn’t leave me.” His voice broke. He opened his eyes and studied her shocked face. “I thought we had a great marriage, God. I thought we were really close. But now I see that we can be closer, and I want that more than I want my past to stay buried. Help me. Help us.”

  He held her until Eric returned.

  “So. What do you want to tell me?” The doctor placed three bottled waters on the coffee table and sat.

  Pierce shifted. “Well, this is all my fault.”

  “Not all—”

  Pierce raised a hand to stop Laurie, and faced Eric. “Yes, it is. Laurie simply reacted to what I did. She believes she reacted wrongly, but nevertheless, if I hadn’t done what I did, there would have been absolutely no reason for her to do what she did.”

  A slow smile came to the counselor’s baffled face. “Okay. What did you do?”

  Pierce told him everything, from the way his mother died to being sent away. “To me, I went to sleep with one life and woke up with another. I didn’t remember my mother’s death, specifically. My new parents were good to me, and I wanted to be good so I wouldn’t be sent away or given away again. Sometimes I didn’t want to go to sleep at night. I was afraid I might wake up somewhere else and have to start all over again. Their home was fancy compared to the farm. Inside bathrooms, air conditioning, they even had a television.

  “When I did wake up alone at night, the only thing I thought to do was go by their bed. They had a rug, like the one I used to lie on by my mama’s bed.” He shook his head. “It seemed like my place, you know? That’s probably crazy.”

  “No, it makes perfect sense.” Eric opened a water, handed it to Laurie.

  She rose slowly, blushed. “Actually, I think I need a restroom first.”

  “That way.” Eric motioned with his hand as Pierce continued in a low voice.

  “I’m still completely afraid when I think of Laurie in labor. The fear is … inexplicable.”

  “It controls you?”

  Pierce nodded. “Yes.”

  “We’ll need to talk more, of course.” He paused, waiting until Laurie returned and seated herself. “You’ve described several responses to trauma. Compartmentalization, memory suppression, and memory repression. What happens is that memories of this type can be triggered—opened or revealed, if you will—by other events. In your case, Laurie’s miscarriage, then the move, and now the pregnancy. The emotions connected to those memories return also, and can cause problems.”

  “I feel so flawed. Can I even be a good father?” He looked at Laurie then back at Eric. “What does this mean for my credibility as a pastor? I have a wife to provide for.”

  “As I said, we’ll need to talk much more. Some folks with this issue isolate themselves. Harm themselves. Develop addictions or have any number of negative responses. You, on the other hand, seem willing to face your trauma and deal with it. Since you’re a believer, what I’m about to say should bring you comfort and hope: God wants to heal you. To do that, He has to reveal the pain and its source. If you trust Him to guide the process and utilize the help He provides—Laurie, myself, His Word, your parents—you will heal.”

  “I dream a memory almost every night now, sometimes repeats. Last night I dreamed more about the bus ride.”

  Laurie placed her hand on his shoulder. “I knew you were dreaming. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Pierce shifted in his seat. “Eric, should I wake her every time? Isn’t that a bit ridiculous?”

  “Not if it’s how God chooses to orchestrate your healing. Why don’t you tell us the latest memory?”

  ***

  As Pierce recounted last night’s dream, Laurie listened.

  Would she ever know the difference between his quirks, his personality, and his coping mechanisms? Did it matter? She’d thought he simply didn’t like the taste of eggs, but his retelling of his mother’s death explained why the smell distressed him. Now he’d revealed a clear aversion to the color green, because of the bus seat.

  She felt her eyes widen with comprehension. Pierce didn’t own one green shirt. They’d never owned a green chair, a green rug, even a green bath towel. He’d always suggested other colors when she’d asked. Come to think of it, years ago she’d exchanged a green kitchen rug for a different color, because he hadn’t liked the one she bought.

  “Laurie. Let’s talk about you,” Eric said.

  She took a breath. “All right.”

  “When you scheduled this appointment, you shared your background both personal and professional. You live your life proactively. Putting yourself through college right after your parents’ death. You’re an interior designer—you take other people’s wants and needs, turn them into ideas, and change their environment to accommodate those wants and needs.�
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  “I never thought about my life that way, but, yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  Pierce looked at her. “She can absolutely make things happen. Not in a bad way, in a good way. She sees a need and she’s right there.” He reached for her hand. “It’s one of the things I love about her.”

  Eric smiled, then folded his arms and leaned back. “That will probably be your biggest obstacle in this situation, Laurie. You’re a very compassionate person. You get joy from relieving others’ discomfort.” He shook his head. “But you can’t fix this for Pierce. In my opinion, more memories will surface—in God’s timing—some happy, some not so happy.”

  She swallowed. “And we’ll have to deal with them as they come, with no guarantee I’ll have Pierce in the delivery room with me.”

  Pierce rubbed her hand. “Laurie, I’m going to try. I really am.”

  “Listen to me,” Eric said. “In a situation like yours, the goal can’t be about a timeline or delivery date. The goal has to be staying open to God and open to each other.”

  Stay open to God and each other. Eric’s words looped through Laurie’s mind as she and Pierce drove away from Eric’s office. She thought of their lovemaking earlier that morning. It had been so complete. Lovelier, better than ever.

  She raised her fingers to her face. She didn’t look the same as before. She was fat. Pregnant fat, but still. At least one pink sliver of a stretch mark edged her belly button. He had to have noticed.

  Of course he’d noticed. She almost rolled her eyes at herself.

  “Can I ask you something?” How could talking about this be so difficult? She had not been self-conscious about her body since their first delicate weeks of marriage. Not that her physique had been perfect before. But she couldn’t tell if her insecurity came from the emotional distance that had been between them or the physical changes in her.

  His beautiful eyes, so intense, glanced at hers and held a moment. She saw the brighter specks that sparkled like diamonds, then he looked back at the road. What did he feel and think now when he looked at her?

  “Was everything, um, all right for you, earlier I mean? I don’t look the same.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  She saw the wheels turning in his brain. Then concern etched his face.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “It was wonderful.” And different.

  They passed thriving peanut fields that rustled in the hot evening breeze. A huge, swirling, pink-and-orange sun hung low in the distance, a beautiful beacon guiding them directly to Daniel and Kay’s home.

  What if Pierce went through all of this—facing his past, talking through it, the counseling—and remained crippled inside? She’d seen marriages crack because of a disappointment, then crumble as the crack became a canyon.

  If Pierce couldn’t be with her in the delivery, would she be able to forgive him? Would he be able to forgive himself?

  She couldn’t afford to think that way. Pierce had come a long way in the last week. Hopefully this was indeed a new beginning for them.

  “It’s good that Eric gave us direction, a place to start. Don’t you think?”

  She waited.

  “Pierce?” What was going through his mind? “I think it’s a good idea to get more details about the adoption from your parents.”

  She bit the inside of her bottom lip. If she invested all of her energy in him and their marriage, would she have any strength, any moments left to think about her baby? To actually enjoy being pregnant?

  They drove on. Almost thirty minutes in the car together, and Pierce had spoken maybe ten words to her. She gently pried the hand closest to her off the steering wheel and held it in hers on her stomach. Still he said nothing as he parked in front of his parents’ home.

  “Pierce, honey, you’re squeezing my hand again.”

  “Sorry. What kind of soap do you buy?”

  “What kind of soap?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For dishes, clothes, or us?”

  He paused, obviously not understanding her response. “Us.”

  “Whatever’s on sale, I suppose. Although you said you don’t like Ivory.”

  “Is that the white one?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it’s white. You told me it made you itch.”

  “I think that’s what my mother used. The smell makes me think of her.”

  “Oh, Pierce. If only I’d known.”

  “Will you tell my parents about our appointment with Eric? I really don’t think I can talk anymore right now.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  ***

  At dinner, Pierce ate in silence while Laurie shared with his parents the details of their meeting with Eric.

  “This is a little weird for me,” he finally said to Daniel and Kay. “Coming over to talk with my parents about my father.”

  Kay lowered her fork. “Why?”

  Reluctantly, he looked at her. “Well, doesn’t that upset you? Being reminded that you’re not my real parents?”

  Daniel swayed back in his chair, motioned to pictures of Pierce displayed on every possible surface throughout the room. “We are your real parents. We have been since you were small.”

  “But we’ve never talked about this before,” he said, and noting Kay’s distressed gaze, he didn’t want to talk about it now, either.

  “Pierce, we told Laurie,” his mom said. “We thought your mother had been dead for a long time, and that you were too little when she died to even remember her. It never occurred to us to ask you. We owe you an apology for that.”

  “But he contacted you before she died.”

  Daniel answered. “Yes, Luther came to see me weeks before he sent you to us, after church one Sunday. Later, we met him at a lawyer’s office. We didn’t have personal contact other than that. The lawyer was reputable and explained we’d have to pay the appropriate fees.”

  Pierce’s throat clenched tight. “And you signed papers, never having seen me.” He closed his eyes.

  There had been a wall inside his mind, which had separated that life and this life. That time and the time after he came to live with Daniel and Kay. The barrier now lay in ruins, but the idea of joining the two time periods, merging them into one lifetime, terrified him.

  His mouth went dry. Maybe kids from broken homes felt this way, as if someone turned their emotional equilibrium upside down. Once someone’s parents divorced, once he separated his parents in his mind, how difficult it would be to see them together, talk to one about the other.

  He wiped his hands across his face. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to look at this.”

  “You were an answer to prayer for us, Pierce,” Kay said. “For me. A miracle. I know it might seem strange now, but we’d been trying to have a child for years, much as you and Laurie. We didn’t know you, but we already loved you. We couldn’t possibly say no.”

  Daniel leaned in and pinned him with a dead-on glare. “Not knowing what happened to your brother and father, this is just my opinion. But you can still choose to look at us and see God’s provision for you.” He cleared his throat. “Son, what’s your biggest worry?”

  Pierce grabbed Laurie’s hand. “That I’ll never get past it all. That I’ll watch Laurie die while having my child.” He hung his head. “Sometimes, I just want to know if Mama’s still there, buried by the pigs.”

  He struggled not to fidget under his parents’ concentrated attention. He’d never said those words to anyone, had barely admitted them to himself. A part of him even wished he’d never told Laurie. Couldn’t he have gritted his teeth and forced himself to be there when she gave birth?

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said. His wife and parents exchanged looks, then they all nodded and finished the meal in silence.

  They left shortly after dinner and drove home. “Do you have to pull away from them simply because of wha
t you’ve remembered?” She hung her blouse in the closet. “They love you the same, treat you the same way they always did.”

  He paced at the foot of their bed. “How many people know?” What had he been thinking, talking so openly about a past he himself still didn’t understand? “Who knows, Laurie?”

  “You asked them to tell the church board and Gilbert. Everyone supports you and is praying for you. No one wants you to throw away your ministry simply because—”

  “Because what?” He stopped, planting his feet like a warrior braced for battle. “Because I don’t know what I’m doing? Because my whole world’s gone haywire?”

  “Not your whole world. Not us. We—” she waved her hand between them, pointed at the baby. “We don’t have to lose everything between us. Change only cost Jesus what was no longer needed. That’s what you said on Easter Sunday. The time to send the Holy Spirit had come, so Jesus didn’t need to live here on this earth any longer. God is changing you and restoring your memory so you can deal with it.”

  She slammed a drawer and slid a nightgown over her head. “If we lose us, it will be your doing, because I’m not leaving you.”

  Frantic, he grabbed her shoulders. “Why do you still want to be with me?”

  “Because I love you,” she said. “Even when life’s not perfect, or you’re acting like a jerk.” She shrugged away from his hold. “Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom. Again.”

  If we lose us, it will be your doing, she’d said. He sank to the bed.

  “Don’t you think I know how you feel?” she said softly, from the bathroom doorway.

  His eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “I’ve lost people too. I lost my parents. The baby I miscarried. You think I don’t know what it’s like to grieve? To feel lost? I was alone for three years before I met you. No parents, no family. No one. It insults me that you think I can’t relate and won’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about it that way. I never knew when I’d have another dream, and I didn’t know what they meant, only that they made me afraid.”