The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “And this,” Brad continued, moving his hand to the man’s shoulder, “is Paul Kay. He heads up the Boise Valley Council of Christian Churches.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Kay?”

  “Very well, thanks.”He glanced at Brad, then back at me. “I was telling your husband that Mike Sorenson has nothing but good things to say about In Step’s efforts to provide home ownership for the poor and disadvantaged. I agree with him that it’s a great opportunity for Christians to be the hands and feet of Jesus. I hope more people from our congregations will volunteer to work with In Step.”

  “That would be wonderful. No matter how many volunteers we have, we can always use more.”

  The doors to the banquet hall opened, and the crowd surged in that direction. Before I could become one of them, Brad drew me off to the side of the lobby.

  “Let’s wait a minute.”

  I smiled. “Nerves?”

  “Some.”

  “Honey, don’t you know? Everyone here admires you and what you’re doing. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “You bet I am, and I have plenty of reasons to be.” I kissed him on the cheek, making certain afterward that I hadn’t left lipstick behind. That wouldn’t do.

  “Mom. Dad. Are you ready to go in?”

  At Emma’s voice, I turned to watch our daughters and their husbands approach. “We’re ready.”

  “Good,” said our youngest, “because I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving,” Jason said, laughter in his voice.

  “I’m eating for two.”

  Hayley gave her sister a petulant glance. “At least you can eat without getting sick.”

  “Ah, Hay. I’m sorry.” Emma looked contrite. “I bet you’ll be over it any day now.”

  I slipped my arm through Brad’s. “Let’s go in.”

  We turned in unison, but before we could take our first step, the bright glare of lights from a news camera blinded me. I put up my hand to shield my eyes but lowered it at once, remembering the need to look poised and calm when approached by the press.

  “Mr. Clarkson, Greta St. James, Channel 5 News. This is a big night for you, a very great honor to receive the Humanitarian of the Year Award.” She held the microphone toward Brad.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Certainly all the recognition and the articles in the newspaper should bring in more donations to your foundation.”

  “Well, we hope so. More funds mean we can help more people.”

  Greta smiled.“Yes. I’m sure. But Channel 5 News has learned of an allegation that In Step has mismanaged charitable funds in recent years. Do you have anything to say in response?”

  Brad drew back an inch or two.“No, I don’t have a response. I don’t know of any such allegation.”

  “The paper quotes you as saying that it’s more blessed to give than receive. But isn’t it true that you personally receive rather generously because of the foundation?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  “Isn’t that why you need to increase donations? To cover generosity to yourself and other board and staff members.”

  “No, that’s not true.” Brad’s eyes narrowed.

  While Greta St. James might not know the warning signs, I did. My husband was waging a battle with his temper, and I wasn’t sure he would win.

  “In Step is a faith-based charity. Most of your supporters are good people of modest means who want to help those less fortunate. How would those donors feel if they thought they’d been duped?”

  “No one has been duped.” Brad’s grip tightened on my arm. “Please excuse us. We—”

  “Mrs. Clarkson . . .”

  I felt pinned by the reporter’s gaze as she turned her attention upon me.

  “You’ve worked with In Step too. Were you aware that there were questionable practices in regard to the organization’s finances?”

  The microphone came at me.

  Greta St. James wore a red blazer over a white blouse. Her hair was black and fell softly about her face and shoulders. She was young, perhaps in her late twenties, and her lipstick was the exact same shade of red as her blazer.

  Strange, wasn’t it, that I noticed such things right then?

  “Get that mic away from her!” Emma stepped between us, hands splayed before the camera lens, facing down the reporter like a guard dog. “My mother has nothing to say.” She turned toward me.“Mom, I think you and Dad should go in.”

  Some men appeared and shepherded the reporter and cameraman toward the exit. I heard one of them say, “This is a private function,” and that pretty young woman with the red lipstick and red blazer insist they had a right to be there.

  “Katherine?” Brad drew me around. “I don’t know what that was about, but whatever it was, it isn’t true. There’s nothing wrong at In Step.”

  “Of course not.”

  “The foundation’s accounts are all in order.”

  “Of course they are.”

  He looked over my shoulder. A frown pinched his brow. “What I can’t figure out is who would make such an allegation to the press? Why would anyone want to stop the good work In Step’s doing?”

  I grasped for a straw of comfort. “Maybe they misunderstood. Maybe it’s some other organization with a similar name.”

  It had to be a misunderstanding. That and nothing more.

  Three

  I AWAKENED AT 4:13 A.M. AND FOUND I WAS ALONE IN THE bed. “Brad?” I sat up and turned on the lamp. “Brad?”

  No reply.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to sleep a bit longer, but the events of the previous evening began running through my mind.

  After the encounter with that dreadful reporter in the lobby, nothing more untoward had happened. Yet the life had gone out of the evening for both of us. We smiled when appropriate. We laughed on cue. When Brad received his award, he said all the right things and thanked all the right people while I applauded and smiled. We looked as if everything was fine.

  It was a sham, a pretense. The evening was ruined for us both.

  I tossed aside the bedcovers and got up, grabbing my bathrobe from the foot of the bed as I passed by. The house was chilly at this hour of the morning, and I was thankful for the thick carpet beneath my feet.

  Downstairs, I saw no light coming from beneath the door of the den, which meant Brad wasn’t working.

  “Brad?”

  “In here.”

  I followed his voice into the living room. He stood before the large window, the drapes pulled open. Moonlight fell upon him, silvering his hair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking about last night.”He looked over his shoulder. “I keep trying to figure out who might have made those accusations about the finances at In Step.”

  “The media loves a scandal. If there were any facts behind what that reporter said, we’d have seen something on the news last night.”

  He turned to face me. “I hope you’re right.”

  I crossed the room to stand before him. “Of course I am.”

  He stroked a hand over my hair. A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Being here. With me.”

  “Where else would I be at this time of the morning? Sleeping?”

  He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. At the moment, it seemed silly that either one of us had let Greta St. James spoil our evening. Now it was time to put her completely out of our thoughts.

  When the kiss ended, I said, “Want me to make coffee or are we headed back to bed?”

  “Coffee would be great. I don’t think I could fall asleep again.”

  I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed down the hall, flicking on the lights as I entered the kitchen.

  This was my favorite room in the house. It had been designed with entertaining in mind. Plenty of counter and storage space. Room for more
than one person to move around without getting underfoot. A large pantry. A spice cupboard. Two ovens.

  We’d had friends from church over two weeks ago. Three other couples, including our pastor and his wife. It was fiesta night. Mexican rice and refried beans. Fajitas with beef, chicken, and shrimp. Tacos. Sour cream and guacamole, green peppers and onions. Mexican fried ice cream for dessert.

  It seemed I could still hear the laughter as we gathered around the counter, filling our plates, joking about Mike’s super-sized fajitas, teasing Stan for adding ketchup to his tacos.

  What would they think if those rumors about Brad and In Step became common knowledge?

  I gave my head a shake. I needn’t worry about our friends. They knew my husband. They wouldn’t believe any of it, anymore than I did.

  Soothed by that thought, I ground the coffee beans, filled the reservoir of the coffeemaker, and started it brewing. Then I returned to the living room. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll check to see if the paper’s here yet.”

  Coffee. The newspaper. A quiet time with my Bible. Then off to church. An ordinary Sunday morning, like hundreds of other Sunday mornings that had gone before.

  Brad

  HE STOPPED MIDWAY DOWN THE DRIVEWAY TO THE PAPER box, raising his eyes toward the heavens. The night sky was inky black and spotted with stars.

  Why would anyone want to cause harm to In Step?

  The foundation paid him a comfortable salary, but it wasn’t exorbitant by any stretch of the imagination. It would never make up for those early years in In Step’s history when Brad had put much of the profits from his construction business into the charity’s bank account to keep it in the black. He didn’t want his salary to make up for it, either. That wasn’t why he did what he did.

  Tomorrow morning, he would give Stan Ludwig, his attorney, a call. He hoped Katherine was right. He hoped Greta St. James had her facts wrong and that Saturday night was the end of it. But something nagged at him, a feeling that there was another shoe left to drop.

  Lord, if there’s trouble coming, give me wisdom.

  He waited, still staring upward, listening for God’s voice to speak in his heart. In his eighteen years as a believer, he’d learned that the most important part of his prayers was the waiting and listening.

  As if it were yesterday, he remembered the day he’d read the verse in Jude that would birth his ministry: “And keep in step with God’s love, as you wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to show how kind he is by giving you eternal life.”

  Keep in step with Me, he’d heard God whisper. Show My kindness to others.

  That’s what he’d tried to do.

  He remembered that first year when he was getting In Step off the ground. It had required lots of faith and an ability to function well on fewer hours of sleep. He’d put in long days with his construction firm while Katherine cared for the home and looked after their girls—Hayley in first grade and Emma, at four, still home. After the children were in bed each night, he and Katherine had gone into the den to work and plan, strategize and budget, hope and dream. Not every vision Brad had for In Step became reality. Not that first year and not in the years that followed. There’d always been a need for more money and more volunteers.

  But all the same, In Step had grown and thrived. Thrived enough for it to become his full-time ministry.

  He remembered the sweltering August day in 1998 when that had become reality. The Realtor had taken them—Brad and Katherine—to see available office space in the Henderson Building. He’d known at once it would be perfect for the foundation. Katherine hadn’t been as sure. She’d worried a lot about finances after he’d sold his business to devote himself to In Step.

  He’d tried to assign one of the rented offices for her use so she could continue running In Step with him, thinking that would ease her mind about all the changes, but on that point she’d been adamant. Her place was with the girls.

  Now Brad wondered if she’d ever understood how much he’d missed her at his side. Not that he’d faulted her for putting her time and energy into their children, into helping them grow into the beautiful young women they’d become. Not at all. But still, he’d missed her by his side. He’d missed being able to run ideas by her in the middle of the day. He’d missed celebrating little successes with her, having her with him when he interviewed new recipient families, getting her opinion on possible home acquisitions.

  There were times when Brad longed for the old days, when he wished it were just the two of them again, dreaming away in the den.

  Right now—as he waited for that other shoe to drop—was one of those times.

  Four

  I’D BEEN A BELIEVER SINCE I WAS A CHILD. UNLIKE MANY people, I couldn’t point to the calendar and say that was the day or the hour when I accepted Christ as my Savior. It seemed to me that I’d always been a Christian, that following God had been a constant in my life from the beginning. Not a very exciting testimony, I suppose, but I was thankful it was mine. Better that than the troubles I’d seen others go through before they found God.

  Entering church that morning, I saw countless friends and acquaintances. You couldn’t be involved in the same church for more than two decades without becoming part of a large family. Of course, nearly everyone had seen the article about Brad in Saturday’s paper, so there were plenty of pats on the back and words of congratulation as we made our way through the lobby.

  We were almost to the entrance of the sanctuary when I heard Emma’s voice.“Mom. Over here.”

  I turned and saw her standing with Jason in the line at the coffee bar. I waved to let her know I’d seen her.

  “Let’s wait for them,” I said to Brad.

  He nodded, and we stepped to one side so we wouldn’t block the doorway.

  We didn’t often see Emma and Jason at the first service. They much preferred to sleep in and go to third service. Sometimes I worried how the two of them would make it through life with their laid-back attitudes. But at least they were in church. During Emma’s rebellious teen years, I’d sometimes despaired that she would ever live right before God.

  When they caught up with us, Emma gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I kissed her cheek. “How about you?”

  She grinned.“Ready to go another round with that reporter if you need me to.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  “I hope you’re right. She was awful.”

  A few more adjectives to describe Ms. St. James popped into my head, none of them charitable. Oh, how I would love to give her a piece of my mind for ruining last night for all of us. But I didn’t want to dwell on such thoughts, so I took Brad’s arm and said, “Let’s go in, shall we?”

  We walked to our usual seats in the center of the sanctuary, about ten rows back from the stage. From here we enjoyed a comfortable view of the pastor when he preached, as well as the screens where worship lyrics, pertinent Scriptures, and PowerPoint presentations were displayed.

  Brad didn’t sit right away. He shook hands, patted shoulders, and passed around a few hugs, smiling all the while. I swear, the man knew everyone, even in a church the size of ours. Unlike me, he never forgot anyone’s name, even if he hadn’t seen them in months. And he always remembered to ask about other members of a person’s family.

  No wonder everyone liked him.

  As for me, I’d fallen under Brad’s spell the first time we met. When he turned those gorgeous hazel eyes in my direction, God’s warning not to be unequally yoked with an unbeliever went straight out of my head. My heart was done in by his charm and that thousand-watt smile of his.

  Despite my disobedience, God showed great mercy. He’d seen us through those somewhat rocky early years of marriage. He’d given us two healthy baby girls, and finally he’d drawn Brad into the kingdom.

  I watched my husband as he shook an elderly man’s hand and leaned closer to hear what the g
entleman had to say. From Brad’s expression, you’d have thought nothing in the world was of more interest than what the old man told him.

  It was a miracle, really, the caring man Brad had become. His home life hadn’t been the best when he was growing up. His father, Roger Clarkson, was successful in business but emotionally distant from his wife and three sons. His mother, Teresa, put up with Roger’s philandering ways in exchange for the comfort his money provided.

  Once, about a year before we married, I had reason to wonder if Brad was as caring and thoughtful as I’d made him out to be. We’d had a fight. A bad one. I no longer remembered what it was about. Something silly, no doubt. But for two weeks afterward he didn’t call me. Then I learned from a friend that he’d been seen at the movies with another girl. Oh, how my heart twisted at the news. I thought I’d lost him. When he came to see me a few days later and asked my forgiveness, I was quick to give it; I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

  And in the end,my fears were put to rest. I hadn’t been mistaken about Brad’s character. Even before he came to Christ, he had a generous, giving spirit. He’d been a faithful husband, a loving father, and a good provider for his family.

  The worship team took their places on the stage, and Brad headed for our row. He sat beside me and reached for my hand. As he squeezed it, he gave me a smile. My heart fluttered in response. I had much to be thankful for.

  Five

  ON MONDAY MORNING I MET EMMA AND HAYLEY AT THE mall when the shops opened at ten. Our first stop was the maternity store.

  “Isn’t this cute?” Emma asked as she held a pair of bibbed shorts against her belly.“Perfect for when it gets hot this summer.”

  Hayley rolled her eyes. “You’ll not only look like you belong in a barn, you’ll look as big as one.” She poked through a rack of separates.“You’re lucky. Since you don’t work, you can wear whatever you want. I need clothes that are suitable for the office. After this week, I won’t have anymore time off until I go on maternity leave, and I don’t want to wear the same three outfits for the next four or five months.” She glanced at the shorts again. “And I wouldn’t be caught dead in those.”