The fall event schedule had been posted at her church and Brittany looked forward to the first meeting of the Divorce Recovery Group, optimistic she could learn from the other women and hopefully contribute as well. The group’s facilitator was Anita Burdick, one of the pastors at the church. She was a spunky, athletic looking redhead, with an irresistible sense of mischief about her. In spite of her mischievous demeanor, her strong suit was her empathy. She was a survivor of a brutal marriage that ended in divorce, and she was willing to expose her pain year after year to give other hurting women hope.
After Anita allowed the divorce to remain in her past, she felt called to attend seminary and become a minister. Her season of pain made her well suited to mentor hurting women; empathy was not something that could be learned in seminary.
According to Anita, this year’s recovery group was reasonably small, with only nine women attending. The church also hosted a divorce group for men that met on a different night, for obvious reasons. The church did not encourage co-ed mingling with people who were working through their rejection and the oft anger issues that accompanied them. Unlike many other churches, they did not have a single’s group, leaving the matchmaking to others.
To Brittany’s way of thinking, the size of the group was perfect, she wasn’t sure she could open up had it been any larger.
Looking around the circle of women she felt an immediate affinity with each one. Their varying backgrounds and age differences surprised her. She was one of the youngest in the group, with the majority of the women in their forties. Most had children and the majority of them were struggling in some manner.
The woman who sat beside her confided she was sixty-eight years old and newly divorced. Brittany quickly sensed she might be the most vulnerable one there. She had overheard her talking to Anita before the meeting, saying how her husband had recently left her for someone much younger and that she had been blindsided, never once having considered her marriage to be in danger. Additionally, she had never worked, they had no children, and she was alone with no other family to fall back on. Brittany’s heart went out to her.
Anita called the meeting together and introduced herself, suggesting each of them take a few moments to share with the group who they were and what had brought them there. A few of them said little more than their names, a couple started to talk, and once they began it became a torrent of emotion and words, and there were a few others were so emotional they couldn’t talk at all. Brittany kept her own introduction brief. She was also close to tears, but not for herself. The plight of some of these women was imponderable; one of them had five children and no job.
Midway into the meeting Anita suggested they take a break, cookies and apple juice had been put out on a table at the back of the room during the introductions. After some brief socializing, Anita used the second half of the session to share her own story. Her divorce had taken place fifteen years earlier, after years of intimidation,emotional and physical abuse. Some details of her story were so horrifying it was hard to listen, and even harder to believe it could have happened to the darling, freckled faced woman who was sharing it so openly with them now.
The divorce had nudged her to seek a higher purpose, and because of it she made the choice to seek Him rather than become a victim of circumstance, God endowed her with the credibility to say with assurance how God would use for good what each one of them was going through.
After the meeting, and half way to her car, Brittany turned back, wanting to say thank you to Anita. When she reached the meeting room she saw Anita bagging up the left over cookies and apple juice for the woman with the five children. Brittany stepped back into the shadows, sensing her life was about to take a paradigm shift.
When she tried to describe the evening to Jeanne later, it came out in rushes, while she tried to do justice to each of the women’s stories. There was so much misery in that one room. “Jeanne, it was sadder to me than the night when Craig left. It is like their agony attached itself to me.”
Jeanne nodded. “Somehow, when we go through a severe loss, there is within it the potential to enlarge us. Not in just one way, but in many if we let it. When Randy and I lost our baby, and found out we wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again, we were devastated. We still struggle with why the baby had to die, but it hasn’t made us want a child any less.” She took a deep breath, “Brittany, we are in the process of becoming licensed to become foster parents. You may be getting some new little neighbors.” She was smiling. “We have been praying about this for some time, and we can’t think of anything that we could do that might have more long- term impact for good.”
Brittany shook her head, incredulous. She had been so wrapped up in herself that she had forgotten about their loss two years earlier. She felt terrible she had no idea about the decisions her friends were making. “Dear God, forgive me, Jeanne! I had no idea. I don’t know what to say.”
But Jeanne only smiled. “It’s okay. That was our journey to walk through, you have been on a different path, and now the two are merging. As you said to me in the beginning of your saga, some things are just too private to talk about.” Brittany nodded, remembering the conversation. Jeanne continued, “I would have told you if I needed you to know. Randy and I needed time to really think this through. Not everyone will be supportive of our decision and we wanted to prepare ourselves for that. So, that is why we wanted to keep it private until we were absolutely sure this was what God wanted us to do.”
“I think people react badly because they don’t understand how God leads us to do things they don’t understand.” Brittany told her. “Even with the increase of divorces taking place in our culture now there, is still a stigma. I have come to realize that often we are all pretty eager to talk to each other about what we are going through, and it’s usually way ahead of when we include God in the conversations. Correcting that habit may be the most important lesson I have learned in my life to date.” She added, “And, I am absolutely sure that what I have been through will be used.”
Chapter Eleven
It seemed impossible almost nine months had passed since the day. During that time Brittany had not had any communication from Craig, other than through his attorney and even that had stopped. Craig’s car remained in her garage; the last remaining vestige of the failed marriage.
After her and Jeanne’s conversation about her employer, Brittany decided she could cut her exposure to the more sordid aspects of her work in half if she took advantage of working at home; the gossip at the water fountain had become less than intriguing. While she was slugging through editing an article about “Menopause & Sex, Sex, Sex”, she heard her phone announcing an incoming phone call from Chandler & Associates. She could feel her heart rate speeding up. The day the white flower arrangement arrived at her office last spring was the last time she’d heard from Allan Chandler. She wondered why he hadn’t called her again.
Eagerly, she grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello?” a feminine voice replied. “I’m calling for Brittany Foster.”
Talk about deflation! Brittany could feel herself shrinking again. It happened every time. The call was a business call and it was his secretary calling.
“This is she.” Just get it over with, she thought, telling herself it was irrational to be disappointed.
“Please hold,” the woman said. Brittany felt her pulse rate increasing again. Hold for what?
A minute later a familiar male voice… “Brittany?”
“Yes.”
“How have you been?”
“Okay, I guess.” Come on, Brittany. You can do better than that!
“I need to talk to you about something. I thought we might discuss it over dinner.”
You thought what? What audacity! Suddenly he calls and wants to have dinner? When were you thinking?” Well, a four word sentence was pretty good and audacity wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Well, I have some news for you, so we might as well talk o
ver dinner. I was thinking tonight.”
Let me think; let me think…how does he manage to flabbergast me every time?
“Sure, tonight will be fine. Where should we meet?” She didn’t want to be too easy.
“Why don’t I pick you up at 6:30?”
“Perfect. I’ll be ready at 6:30.” It was immediately evident that she had no will, and now he knew it, too.
The call ended with her wondering how she could possible turn into a robot every time she came in contact with him.
Then she began obsessing about what she would wear. It had been a long time since she had thought about what a woman should wear to impress a man, but subconsciously motivated or not, she was intent on making that happen.
After manhandling nearly every garment in her closet and discarding one option after another. . When she had finished, her bedroom looked like it had been ransacked by a gang of thugs. She finally decided on dove gray linen slacks and an ivory silk charmeuse blouse.
She took a quick shower, mainly to wet down her neglected hair style. After her drastic haircut she now knew it was a myth that short hair was supposed to be easier to take care of than long hair. It took just as long to prompt the short strands into looking like they were windblown. To save time on most days she let it air dry and the cowlicks won, but not so tonight. After straightening her hair and applying her makeup, she put on a pair of pearl drop earrings that had belonged to her grandmother, deciding that would be the only jewelry she would wear. She didn’t want to hex the evening by wearing something Craig had given her. The next dilemma was whether to wear her favorite ivory jacket or a gold silk shawl a friend brought her as a gift from China. She chose the shawl. It would be easier to slip out of a shawl than a jacket, and knowing her, it was likely she would get her arm stuck in the jacket.
Shoes! What shoes? Thankfully she had gotten a pedicure a few days earlier; something she hadn’t been doing as often since she was watching her budget. Her toes wiggled with anticipation. It had been a long time; she would wear her silver Gucci sandals. She looked in the mirror, and she liked what she saw.
She picked up a snakeskin cross-body bag, and inside its small cavity she put her cell phone, lip gloss, and two Advil. After thinking about it, she removed her cell phone, putting it on the table by her bed. She started downstairs, turned, racing back to her bathroom. She rummaged through her perfume bottles on her dresser choosing her most expensive perfume. She dusted her hair and neck with it, remembering the lingering impression of his scent the night of their chance meeting at the gallery.
She was ready. And, this time she had the advantage of knowing how hot she looked.
***
When the doorbell rang she could see his profile through the frosted glass, and felt herself flush with anticipation. When she opened the door she was pleased to see he looked every bit as good, and smelled as expensive, as he had the last time she saw him. She’d almost forgotten that he had been to her house once before, but that time was late at night, and after too much champagne. She stood there, looking at him, dumb struck, there was no other word for it. But, whether she realized it or not, it was she who had him at a disadvantage this time. She looked stunning and he was equally dumbstruck.
“Hi.” She volunteered, tongue tied. One word.
“Hi, yourself.” He said, pausing to look her up and down. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you.” Three words—how pathetic.
There was no denying the electricity that crackled in the air this time, and it had nothing to do with word counts.
“Is there anywhere you would prefer to eat tonight, or should I choose for us?” He asked her.
“Well, sir, since this is business”, she said, relaxing, “I will defer to you.” She hoped she looked calmer on the outside than she felt on the inside, and with some relief she could tell her sentence structure was getting better. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so fluttery with a man before.
He chose The Grille Restaurant on South Alfred Street in Alexandria. When he parked the car across the street from the restaurant and as they paused to cross the street, she felt his fingers resting on the small of her back, preparing to guide her. She hoped she wasn’t turning red again, because suddenly she was feeling very warm.
***
Their dinner was excellent. The service was slow, in a good way, giving them the opportunity to get to know each other outside of the reference point of her divorce. Over coffee and a shared dessert he asked her, “Aren’t you just a little curious about why I called today?”
“Well, a little?” she asked, wishing the reason away. She knew the reason was nothing less than her ex-husband, and that Craig was about to intrude in what had been, up to now, a lovely evening.
“Craig called me this morning,” he said, also realizing the intrusion.
She took a deep breath, waiting for the bomb to drop. “Of course…”
“I apologize if I worried you,” he said, aware that she had become suddenly guarded. “Actually this is good news, or at least that’s how I would receive it, were I you. It’s about the BMW.” She nodded, curious.
He continued, “Craig has signed the car’s title over to you, and he told me to tell you that it is yours to do with it as you wish. Obviously if you have the title there is no loan against it.”
She was stunned. “You mean his BMW is mine—that he is giving it to me?” Craig had purchased the car in September, two falls ago, so it was relatively new, and hadn’t been driven for over nine months.
“But why would he do that?” she asked him, incredulous. “All he has to do is hire a driver to drive it to Chicago, and it’s his.”
“He didn’t go into his reasoning, but it was clear that he doesn’t want to fool with it. I asked him the same questions you just asked me, but he rarely volunteers anything personal.”
She nodded. That would be just like Craig; just stick to business.
“If it would help, I’m sure I can sell it for you.” He offered. “I’m paid for my time so I’m compensated. I wouldn’t want anything from you for helping. Heck, I might even buy it for myself; I’m due for a new car. If you want me to, I’ll come over this weekend to take a look at it, unless you would rather keep it. You could sell your car instead,” he suggested, waiting to see how she would react to his offer to come by.
She decided not to remark about his offer to come over yet, leaving that for later. “Whatever the most expedient way to sell it is, that’s what I’ll do. I love my Audi, and his car would always remind me of him—so I’m begging you, please don’t you buy it.” The inference was pretty hard to miss, and she looked at him to see if he was reading anything into it.
“Since it hasn’t been driven in a while, I need to have a mechanic come over and look at it. I’m sure it’s due for tune up.” She moved on, “I’ve hated having it in the garage all this time, reminding me of things I want to put behind me. It was the one thing I couldn’t donate. No, let’s do this! Soon!”
She couldn’t believe the windfall, and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it.
They lingered after dinner, sitting at their table as long as they could, but neither of them was ready to go home. Instead, Allan suggested they go for a drive. They ended up in the area near the White House, looking at the familiar sites, only for some reason; tonight they seemed different to them both. He found a parking spot, suggesting they go for a walk, and while they were strolling, their hands touched and ten fingers magically found their fit.
“It’s getting late. I guess it’s time I take you home,” he suggested reluctantly, realizing it was after midnight.
“I suppose...” For the first time in forever Brittany didn’t want the evening to end.
In the car Allan told her, “Brittany, you need to know, I would have called you long before now—I wanted to, but you never responded to the flowers I sent you.” He turned sideways so he could see her face.
She shook her head, realiz
ing how she had misread his gesture. How could I possibly have thought he was mocking me? She wondered. “You know, I think I was confused by it. I wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic, or if it was for real. I was waiting to see what you would do next and I was disappointed when you didn’t call me again. I’m the one who owes you the apology. I should have been bigger than that, but I was still so raw.”
Unexpectedly, he chuckled. “I hate bringing him into this, but if you think about it, Craig is our matchmaker. I have spent weeks trying to find an excuse to call you, and today he gave me one.”
She shook her head, again. “Now, that is what might be called an irony.”
When they pulled into her driveway he got out of the car and walked her to the door. They stood outside, on her porch, looking at each other, dumbstruck again. With a harvest moon smiling down on them, she looked over his shoulder picturing the giant moon from the first time he brought her home.
Allen spoke first. “Well, since this was business I think we should shake hands, don’t you?” He held out his right hand. She slipped her right hand into it, and held on.
“I like a firm handshake,” he said, smiling at her. “How about we try a date next so I can kiss you?”
“I would like that very much.” She released his hand and smiled. “I would like to fix dinner for you here. Maybe after you check out the car you should come in and see my walls—and my etchings?” She could see he liked that. “How does around 4:30 Saturday sound?”
“Perfect,” he responded. “It sounds perfect.”
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