The Perfect Life

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  I got out of the car, taking my sweater with me, and locked it with the remote on my key chain. Then, Annabeth’s written directions in hand, I followed the path across the dirt road, between two more lots, to the rough-hewn steps that led down to the lake. There was a bench at the top of the steep hillside, and I settled onto it.

  Gentle waves slapped against the dock, making it rock and creak. The soft whine of a boat engine reached my ears, and I searched until I found the craft—little more than a dot moving across the water’s surface—on the south end of the lake where the resort town of McCall was nestled. Somewhere behind me, a woodpecker was ratta-tatting a message on a tree.

  But even with these sounds, the forest seemed blessedly soft and still. I breathed it in, welcoming the calm, wanting it to become a part of me.

  Jesus . . . I closed my eyes. Take control. I drew in a deep breath.

  It had seemed so important that I get away, to be alone and wait upon the Lord. I wanted to feel His presence. I wanted to hear His voice. Would He speak to me? I’d been content to read the Bible and be obedient but had never experienced what it meant to abide. I’d been content to let Him speak to others. Had I missed the chance to hear Him for myself? What was it that Jesus told the Jewish leaders? “My sheep recognize my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”Was I among the sheep who knew the Savior’s voice?

  “Here I am, Lord.”

  I lifted my gaze to the mountain peaks, then to the clear blue sky above them. A soft wind brushed against my cheek. Overhead, the lodgepole pines swayed. Below me, the dock creaked and moaned as water lapped around its edges. But in my heart, all was silent.

  Nightfall threatened before I rose from the bench and headed back to the cabin.

  The first order of business was to put away the groceries I’d purchased at the market in town. Then it was time to do bit of spring housecleaning. Annabeth had warned me that no one had been to the cabin since the end of January, and the layer of dust on every surface testified to it. I found the cleaning supplies and set to work.

  It felt good to expend the energy it took to clean the cabin. I vacuumed and mopped and dusted. I wiped down cupboards and countertops. I put fresh sheets on the bed in the main floor bedroom and hung clean towels in the bathroom. By the time I finished, complete darkness had settled over the forest. Silence was absolute. If anything stirred beyond the walls of that cozy cabin, I was unaware of it.

  There was no television to watch—just as well—not even a DVD player for movies. But there was a boom box and a nice collection of CDs, some instrumentals but mostly worship music. I found one of my favorite performers and put the CD in the player. After adjusting the volume, I headed for the kitchen to prepare a late dinner—a grilled cheese sandwich with fresh fruit.

  Half an hour later,my appetite slaked, I returned to the living room. The air had cooled sharply. It was time to try my hand at fire building. I’d never been much of a Girl Scout, but I thought I could handle this task. There was a cardboard box against the wall near the front door that was filled with old newspapers, another box with kindling, and, in a rack, enough wood to keep me warm throughout my stay.

  My first few attempts were pathetic, but at last I managed to get the fire going. I took an inordinate amount of pleasure from my success as I sank onto the sofa and watched the orange flames flicking at the split logs.

  For a time, I simply sat there, watching the fire, not thinking of anything, not feeling anything. Weariness tugged at my eyelids. I reached over to turn off the lamp, then lay on my side and pulled the throw from the back of the sofa over me,my gaze still on the fire in the stove.

  “Hear I am, Lord. Open my ears to hear You.”

  I awoke with a start, a dream lingering in disjointed bits around the edge of my consciousness. I tried to remember what the dream was about, but as I sat up, it slipped away for good.

  Embers glowed red inside the woodstove. I rose from the sofa, wondering what time it was, and made my way to the wood stack. After stirring the embers with the poker, I set several more logs into the stove and closed the door. In moments, the fire came to life.

  Brad and I should have accepted one of the many offers from the Sorensons to use their cabin. It would have been wonderful to be up here in the mountains, surrounded by the silence of the forest, drinking hot chocolate on the deck, our feet on the railing, or snuggling together in the double bed in the downstairs bedroom. We’d often meant to, but summers had come and gone without our following through.

  I walked into the kitchen and flipped the light switch. The harsh glare blinded me for a moment. After my eyes adjusted, I took the teakettle to the sink and held it under the faucet, then set it on the stove and turned the burner on high. While the water heated, I found a large mug in one of the cupboards and spooned a generous amount of hot chocolate mix into it.

  My gaze lifted to the clock on the wall. A little past midnight.

  I wonder if Brad’s asleep.

  Turning toward the window above the small table, I brushed aside the curtain. All I could see was my own reflection in the glass and inky blackness beyond. I let the curtain fall into place.

  The teakettle began to whistle, the sound so sharp it hurt my ears. I grabbed it from the stove, opening the spout to stop the shrill noise—all the louder for the silence outside.

  Moments later, a mug of steaming hot chocolate in my hand, I returned to the living room and settled once again onto the sofa. I stared at the flames licking the inside of the woodstove. Warmer air reached toward all corners of the room and drifted toward the rafters of the vaulted ceiling.

  Father, I’m here. I’m alone. I’m waiting.

  The fire popped and snapped. I blew across the surface of the hot chocolate, then sipped. I tried to listen. Truly I did. I hoped to hear something in my heart, something profound and life changing. All was silent.

  My thoughts turned to Brad.

  I remembered him as he’d been when we were young and first falling in love—Brad, a track star in his senior year, and me, a sophomore cheerleader. I suppose I fell in love with his good looks and popularity first, but there was so much more to love about him, so much more I would discover over the years. He was bright; his thirst for knowledge was never quite quenched. He’d inherited a good work ethic from his father and tenderheartedness from his mother, both traits I was grateful for. He loved to laugh and was a great one for playing practical jokes, especially on his two younger brothers.

  I remembered how handsome he looked on our wedding day, waiting for me at the front of the church in that gray morning jacket. He was twenty-two and a new college graduate. I was twenty and, after two years as his fiancée, impatient to be his wife. I remembered the joy in his eyes as he watched my approach. I came to him dressed in white satin, and it pleased me that I deserved to wear the color of purity. We’d wrestled with desire in our years together. Often I was afraid I would lose him because I insisted we wait, fears that worsened when he entered college. But I didn’t lose him. We did wait. And at last I would be his.

  I remembered him as he was on the day Hayley was born. Wide-eyed, overwhelmed, overjoyed. When he held his daughter in his arms for the first time, the look of love in his eyes made me weep. And the same was true when Emma arrived two years later to the day.

  I remembered the many ways he’d changed—all for the better—beginning from the day he turned over his life to God.

  Perfect. Our life had been perfect . . . until Nicole.

  I set aside the mug, lay down on the sofa, and wept.

  Thirty-two

  THE NEXT TIME I AWOKE, IT WAS MORNING. SUNLIGHT filtered through the curtains over the large living room windows.

  I sat up, feeling a bit battered from sleeping so long on the less-than-comfortable couch. I tipped my head to the right, then the left, trying to work out a kink in my neck. Finally I stood. Arms overhead, I stretched, and a groan escaped me.

  Maybe a shower and a change of clothes would m
ake me feel better.

  Five minutes later, I stood beneath the spray of hot water, face turned toward the showerhead, eyes squeezed tight. Please, God. Let this be a better day.

  I’d come to the mountains to draw closer to God, to hear from Him, to find peace in the midst of the storm. But all I’d thought about was Brad. Last night, tears spent at last, I’d drifted to sleep while remembering the day Brad rented the office in the Henderson Building. I hadn’t prayed. I hadn’t read my Bible. I hadn’t done anything I intended to do when I left home yesterday.

  And if I wasn’t careful, I might start crying again.

  Turning my face away from the spray of water, I squeezed some apple-scented shampoo into the palm of my hand and rubbed it into a high lather atop my head.

  Brad would be eating breakfast right about now. I wondered if Emma spent the night with him. I hoped so. It would be awful if he fell while getting in or out of that wheelchair. And he was just stubborn enough to try to do something he shouldn’t.

  “I want you to stay involved with the foundation. You’ve been with me from the start. It won’t be the same without you by my side.” That’s what Brad had said to me the day he rented the office in the Henderson building. But had I really listened to him? Really listened? Perhaps not. It had scared me a little, those changes he was making in our lives, selling his business, renting an office, depending upon the Lord to provide.

  I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and the bath soap from my body, then turned off the water. At once, cooler air slipped around the shower curtain, so I hurried to wrap my hair in one towel and dry off with another.

  For some reason, I thought of the Birches, a charming young couple—both of them mentally challenged—who’d been a recipient family of one of In Step’s earlier remodels. Perhaps the sixth or seventh one that was completed. That was a few months before Brad decided to sell his construction firm.

  I remembered the day he came home from work, bursting with excitement about the Birches. “Wait until you meet them, Kat. They’re wonderful! Just the kind of people I want In Step to serve. The poor and the marginalized and the forgotten. Charlie works as a janitor. He’s had the same job for a decade, and his boss says he’s the most reliable employee he’s ever had. They don’t own a car because neither of them is allowed to drive. That little house in the east end that we’re working on now will be perfect for them. Charlie will only have to walk two blocks to catch the bus.”

  It wasn’t long, a month at most, before the remodeling was finished and a low-interest loan secured. Soon after, we took Charlie and Mary out for dinner to celebrate. They were just as wonderful as Brad said and so deserving of their cute one bedroom cottage.

  I frowned at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. When was the last time Brad and I took a recipient family out to dinner? Several years at least. Maybe as many as five or six. But celebrations still took place. Brad made sure of that. Many of the In Step employees attended the dinners and luncheons. Contractors and bankers went at times. Occasionally donors were there, too.

  Only somewhere along the way, Brad had stopped asking me to be there.

  I went into the bedroom and sank onto the foot of the bed.

  In those early years, I met all the families who obtained homes through the efforts of In Step. I knew their stories—the unwed mom who wanted a safe home for her child, the divorced woman piecing her life back together after beating an addiction to drugs, the mentally challenged Birches.

  When had I stopped learning their stories? Had Brad stopped telling them to me—or had I stopped listening?

  Brad

  “DAD?” EMMA APPEARED IN THE FAMILY ROOM DOORWAY. “Mike’s here.” She glanced over her shoulder as the pastor stepped into view.

  “Hey, Mike.” Brad motioned his friend forward. “Didn’t expect you to come by again this week.”

  “I thought maybe you could use some company.” Mike sat in the easy chair.

  “If you two will excuse me,” Emma said,“I’ve got some things to do in the other room.”

  Brad wasn’t fooled. His daughter was making herself scarce so the two men could have a private conversation. He was grateful.

  He looked at Mike again. “I guess you know Katherine went away for a few days.”

  “Yeah. Annabeth told me.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  Mike gave a slight shrug at the same time he nodded.

  “If it weren’t for my ribs and that blasted cast, I’d be out looking for her.”

  “I know you would.”

  “And I take it you’re glad I can’t.”

  “From what little Annabeth told me,Katherine needed some time alone to work things through.”

  Brad released a deep sigh. “Yeah, she did. We both did.” He lowered his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about how things got to be like this between us.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Mike lean forward in the chair, forearms braced on his thighs, ready to listen.

  “Somewhere along the way,we stopped sharing certain parts of our lives. I don’t think either of us realized it until now. At least I didn’t.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. It’s not like we weren’t happy. It’s not like we didn’t love each other. But I must have failed her in some way or else she would have trusted me more when trouble hit. Don’t you think?”

  Somehow, he meant to earn back that trust.

  Thirty-three

  I CARRIED A LAWN CHAIR DOWN TO THE LAKE AND perched it near the end of the dock. It was warm enough for me to wear a sleeveless top and shorts, although every so often, the breeze off the water caused goose bumps to rise on my bare arms and legs.

  I’d brought my Bible and a notebook with me, just in case, but I’d ceased trying to control the direction of my thoughts. I let them go where they willed. I seemed to be on some sort of mental and emotional treasure hunt, scrounging for clues that would lead me to my final destination.

  I’d learned something about myself while sorting through old memories, and it wasn’t very flattering. I was more concerned with appearances than I should be. I was more concerned that I look spiritual than that I truly be spiritual. How could I change that? I’d been a Christian all of my life. I’d thought I was a good one.Why hadn’t I wanted to know Him more? Why had I settled for less than He wanted to give?

  “Come with me, Kat.”

  The words floated into my mind like a piece of driftwood carried on the currents. They caught my attention and wouldn’t let go.

  “Come with me, Kat.”

  At first, it was Brad’s voice I heard. He wanted me to come with him to look at the repossessed houses In Step might buy. He wanted me to come with him to see the homes as they were remodeled and restored. He wanted me to come with him when he handed the keys to the new owners.

  Come with me, Beloved.

  This time, the words came not from the past but from the present, from a deep, secret place inside my heart. My breath caught in my chest. I felt a warm breeze circle me, enfold me. And I knew. Somehow I knew. It was the Lord, touching me with those words.

  Come with Me, Beloved. Trust Me.

  I imagined myself standing on the edge of the dock, arms stretched out at my sides, eyes closed. I pictured myself falling backward and knowing I would be caught before I hit the water.

  When was the last time I’d trusted anyone so completely? Had I ever?

  “I’ll trust You, Lord, if You’ll help me. Starting today, I’ll trust You.”

  It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and the forest was alive with the sounds of families ready to celebrate the unofficial beginning of summer. They began arriving in the early afternoon and continued throughout the evening. Car doors slammed. Parents called to children. Children shouted to their dogs. Dogs barked as they chased after squirrels and chipmunks.

  Wrapped in a comforter, I sat on the deck until after nightfall. Through the t
rees, I saw lights come on as my newly arrived next-door neighbors settled in. I imagined the wife dusting, sweeping, and wiping down countertops, much as I’d done the night before. But she wasn’t alone. Her husband was with her. Maybe her children too.

  I missed them, my family—Hayley and Emma and Brad. Hayley, too much like me, concerned with appearances, careful to keep her emotions in check. Emma, full of compassion, passionate for God, and prone to wearing her heart on her sleeve. And Brad . . .

  “Oh, God, I want our marriage to be what You want a marriage to be. Will You teach me to trust?”

  I lifted my gaze, up past the tall, swaying pine trees to the star-studded heavens beyond. So vast. So surprising. What had I read? That there was a star out there in the universe that was larger than earth’s orbit around the sun. Something like a hundred million miles in diameter. A star we would never explore but could only look at from afar. A star among countless other stars, more than all the sand on all the beaches in the world.

  All that, God had breathed into existence.

  And yet He thought of me. He thought of me and saw me and cared for me and was with me. I’d prided myself on living for Him, but I never let Him in. Not really. I’d wanted Jesus as Savior but never let Him be more—Maker,Master, Father, Friend.

  “Thank You, Lord, for catching me when I fall. Come in and change me.”

  Thirty-four

  I WAS WASHING THE BREAKFAST DISHES THE FOLLOWING morning when Brad called, his distinctive ring on my cell phone causing me to stop and stare at the device, which I’d put on the kitchen table earlier.

  Should I answer it or not? At first I thought that whatever he had to say, it could wait a few more hours. There was so much we needed to talk about. Too much to say over the phone. And yet . . .

  I dried my hands on a dish towel as I stepped closer to the table. The phone stopped ringing. I lifted it, flipped it open, closed it again.