by Nicole Young
Sam Walters dashed from her place in the band and almost knocked me over with her hug. “Tish! I’m so glad to see you!”
I laughed with pure joy over her exuberant greeting. “Your brother finally broke me down. So here I am.”
I squeezed into a soft-cushioned pew next to Brad. At least a hundred lively people, many with children, filled the sanctuary. It certainly differed from the stiff, formal church of my upbringing. The pastor even gave a children’s sermon.
“When you’ve done something wrong, what do you want to do?” the pastor asked.
“Hide,” said a young boy.
The congregation chuckled.
The pastor continued, smiling. “You want to hide because you are afraid of getting punished. And because your parents love you, they put you in time-out. It’s your mom and dad’s job to make sure you learn right from wrong. But God’s job isn’t to punish you. His job is to love you. Never be afraid to go to God and tell Him what you did. He will help you do the right thing the next time because you were brave and came to Him. Remember that God always loves you no matter what.”
I struggled for self-control. Wasn’t that my story? I’d done wrong and was afraid to tell God. The court had been my parent and given me time-out. But God had never stopped loving me through any of it. Sadly, I’d only punished myself more by pushing Him away in shame. But He’d always loved me. He still loved me, no matter what.
Through watering eyes, I could barely make out little-kid bodies going back to their seats. I put a hand to my temple, pretending to rub at a headache, and coughed to disguise my sniffles.
After the service, Sam’s band buddies joined Brad and me for a Coney Deluxe. I laughed more than I had in years. But behind the smile was an ache. Rawlings would never be more than a pit stop as I ambled through life.
February arrived before I got all my loose ends tied up and was ready to pass the keys to the Victorian back to Rick Hershel. Feeling something like reverse déjà vu, I signed the seller’s papers, putting the Victorian back in Rick’s hands. I hated to contribute to his obsession, but with the profit from the sale, combined with my returned bail money, I had enough for a hefty down payment on my next place. He’d made a good offer for the Victorian, considering the improvements I hadn’t gotten around to making. Guess he loved the house more than anything. But I wasn’t about to mention that to his new wife, who’d forked over 50 percent of the down payment.
From what Dorothy told me, Rick’s ex had moved back to her hometown in Ohio. She was happily living in her maintenance-free condo on the golf course, and glad to be back from her yearlong trip to Uganda. She’d apologized for not writing sooner, but she couldn’t find the time with all the demands placed on the medical team she’d headed up in Africa.
Twenty-four hours after signing the papers, I was packed and ready to depart. I looked at the clock on the dash of my new SUV. Time to go if I was going to make it to my destination today.
I put the Explorer in reverse and backed out of the garage. Over my shoulder, I took my last look at the rear of the Victorian. The siding had never gotten that paint job I’d envisioned. The house still looked as haunted as it had the day I’d arrived in Rawlings.
But I knew the inside had been cleaned and painted. I’d left a blank slate, the perfect canvas for all the great ideas the new owners could come up with.
A fist pounded on the hood. I turned to look ahead. Brad stood in front of the Explorer, hands on hips, as if daring me to run him over.
I rolled down the window. “What are you doing?”
He came around my side of the car. “Tish. Don’t leave. Give it another day.”
I stared at him. Tears threatened to roll. I blinked them back.
“Hey.” I touched his cheek with my finger. “I want to get there tonight.”
“C’mon. You know what the forecast says. Wait until tomorrow.” Maybe his eyes gleamed brighter than usual, but not from tears. Couldn’t be from tears.
“Brad.” His name came out a whisper. “I’m going. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
He held my eyes captive for a moment. Then he leaned in the window and touched his lips to mine. I closed my eyes. I treasured the warmth of his breath, the softness of his skin. Maybe I could stay in Rawlings. Brad and I could work things out. I didn’t have to go digging up the past anymore. I could let it lie, embrace the future, never look back . . .
Brad pulled away, his eyes searching mine.
“I have to go,” I said. Off in the distance came the sound of a whistle. I put the car in drive, hoping to beat the train.
I steered past a classic teal Buick, parked at the museum next door. The old curator waved to me from the front porch. I stopped and rolled down the passenger window.
“Take good care of Deucey or Grandmother will haunt you,” I said with a smile.
“I’ve been looking for a new girlfriend. Your grandmother still available?”
I laughed and waved.
I turned left onto Main Street.
I crossed the railroad ties with barely a tremor.
“Goodbye, Rawlings,” I whispered as I accelerated and headed north, toward the Upper Peninsula, my childhood home. There I’d rest and relax and recover from the months and years of tragedy that had bombarded my life. No more bodies in the basement. No more power-hungry, murderous ex-wives. Just peace and quiet and fresh air.
And maybe, after a while, I’d even forget the brown-eyed man who loved me.
Acknowledgments
Thank you:
To the women of ACFW Critique Group 15 for your honesty and encouragement.
To Janet Kobobel Grant for choosing my entry for “Kill Me If You Can” as Best of Show at the 2004 ACFW Conference. What a blessing that has become!
To family and friends who encouraged my writing habit and stood by me through tough years.
and
To God who makes all things possible.
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