by Jenn Faulk
I nod again, waiting for him to go on.
“That was the worst part,” he adds, looking me right in the eye. “I felt so helpless. There was absolutely nothing I could do . . .”
“Then how?” I wonder at this, at how he did it if there was nothing he could do.
He lowers his gaze, and stuttering, stammering Peter is back.
“Do, uh . . . do you, uh . . .” He pauses again, and I give him the time he needs to get whatever it is out. Finally he looks back up at me. “Do you believe in God?”
I take a breath, thinking about this.
I’ve always believed that there is a God. It would have been hard not to, growing up in my family. After my dad died, I’m not sure what, if anything, changed regarding my faith because I was so young. Mom and Seth kept us in church, so I knew all the stories, all the things you’re supposed to know, and knew enough to know that just because someone says one thing doesn’t mean they mean it. When I was old enough to understand that my father hadn’t been living the same life he’d been preaching for others to live, given my half-brother and the affair I’d concluded my dad had been involved in while married to my mom, I began to regard the church and its people with some suspicion.
God was real, sure. But if that was how people who professed to know and love Him acted, then what was the point?
I didn’t have much to do with God, and He didn’t seem to have much to do with me.
But things are changing. I think of all the prayers I’ve prayed lately given all that’s gone on with Emma, with Brandon, with Peter, with Neil, and with me. God’s been there in a way I haven’t seen Him before.
I think I believe more than I did.
“Yes,” I tell Peter. “I believe in God.”
He closes his eyes again and takes another breath. The sigh he lets out this time is one of absolute relief.
Opening his eyes, he looks at me and gives me a little smile. I can tell that stammering and stuttering isn’t going to be an issue anymore.
“Well, good,” he says. “I do, too. I mean, I’ve always prayed and stuff, but . . .”
I look at him questioningly.
“But I never really heard back from Him. Does that make sense? Like, I just kind of prayed and then that was it. You know?”
I nod at him, because I do indeed know.
“And you remember how I told you that I have a hard time making decisions?”
I nod again.
“Well,” he goes on, “a lot of times I’ll pray and ask God to help me decide something, but He never does, you know? And so then I just do whatever and usually that winds up being the wrong thing.”
He pauses for a moment before saying, “But that day, when there were a million different places you could be and I had absolutely no idea where to go to look for you, I . . .”
He stops and looks at me hesitantly.
“Well, go on,” I say, laughing just a little. “I want to hear.”
“I . . . I’m afraid you’re going to think I’m weird,” he says sheepishly.
“Oh, Peter,” I sigh, grinning at him. “That ship sailed a long time ago. But I love that about you. All the weirdness.”
He smiles back, and then excitement grows in his voice. “God told me where to find you, Maggie,” he says. “I mean, Crystal picked me up and she said, ‘Where do we go?’ and I pointed and said, ‘That way,’ and she said, ‘How do you know?’ and I said, ‘I just do.’”
He looks at me as if hoping for some kind of reaction, but when he doesn’t get one, he finishes quietly, “And I just did. I don’t know how I knew. I just did. God showed me. He showed me which way to go. Does that make sense?”
God hasn’t been absent in all of this. While my inclination has always been to think of Him as looking at my situation and all the trouble I earn myself with a detached and condemning stance, maybe the greater truth is that He’s been in the midst of it all, working even my wrongs into good, so that I’ll know Him better than I do.
I can see Him in this.
And I have no trouble believing what Peter is saying.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “That does make sense.”
He gives me another relieved look and another smile. Then another kiss.
This is different. My hands in his hair, his hands on my back, pulling one another closer, our kisses deeper, more meaningful. What’s happened has changed things, and what we’re likely to discover and learn as we walk a new road of faith together . . . well, I think it’s just going to make everything even more incredible than it already is.
I smile even as our kiss concludes, and he reaches out and touches my face, our foreheads together, our breathing even and steady.
Together. Just like this.
“Hey,” he says, pulling away from me after a long moment. “Speaking of me not being able to make decisions and stuff, I have a question.”
“And I have an answer,” I say, reaching up to touch his lips with my fingers.
“Remember when I was asking you about how people know when it’s okay to break into someone’s house and fill it with flowers and candles and when it’s not okay? Like when is it romantic and when is it just being a stalker?”
“I remember that,” I say, nodding.
“And you said that it would probably do me a world of good if I defined things and clarified things with a woman before I made a move like that?”
“Yes . . .”
“So, I, uh, I just thought I’d better find out if there are any circumstance under which you would find yourself calling the cops on me or anything . . .”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing at this.
Seeing that this deflates him, I get on my knees, lean over, wrap my arms around him, and kiss away that bewildered look on his face. Once I’m sure he’s no longer offended, I back away, grinning.
“I’ve been through a lot,” I say, smiling at him. “I mean, I’ve seen things.”
He smiles a little. He has, too. We’ve both seen enough to last us a lifetime.
“So, it would take something big to make me call the cops,” I tell him. “And you . . .”
I watch him for a long moment as he smiles back at me.
“I think you’re just right,” I say softly. “So, whatever you want to do, Peter . . . you do it. I’ll love it. I love you.”
The smile stays on his face as he says, “I love you, too,” but then he tips his head at me questioningly and asks, “And if I propose, you’re going to say ‘Yes’, right?”
Most definitely.
I lean forward again, put my lips to his ear, and whisper, “I’ll say yes.”
I pull back and look at him to see his reaction.
“That’s what I thought,” he says seriously, “but then I thought I should probably clarify.”
I settle back into his arms, glancing over at the monitor again, watching Emma sleep. I think about what’s ahead for us, what Peter is planning, and all that God wants to do in our lives.
I can’t wait to say yes to it all.
~The End~
Thank you for taking the time to read Obsessed – we hope you have enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it! Be sure to read more contemporary Christian fiction from L.N. Cronk and Jenn Faulk by clicking on their names to visit their Amazon Author’s pages!
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