by Stacey Weeks
Sweat dripped between her shoulder blades, making her damp, itchy, and even more irritated. William’s loyalty to Linda and his knee-jerk response of grabbing her arm was a frightening reminder of her volatile marriage. She needed to get out of here. Fast. And the only way to do that was to finish the job.
“I can do it. I don’t need anyone. I can take care of myself.” She muttered into the emptiness. Her emotional instability sent William’s remaining work crew scampering into the basement.
Chickens.
She welcomed the temporary silence. She could be as miserable as she wanted without needing to explain herself. She grunted and scraped the chair a few more inches. She gave it a final push and it skidded to a stop under the doorjamb. She looked back at her path and groaned at the scratch marking her trail. William was going to kill her. After all his work installing the old school floor. An exasperated breath whistled through her teeth. She yanked her sleeve over her wrist and swiped it across her moist brow.
“It looks like you could use a hand.”
She jerked her arms behind her and spun around. What part of I need to be alone didn’t William understand? She backed up two steps and positioned the chair between them. She reminded herself again that William was not Parker, but her body tensed anyway.
He eyed her warily as he approached. As if she were some unpredictable wild animal. His eyes widened as he assessed the scratch, but he kept his mouth shut. Maybe his first wise move all day.
He reached out for her and she shrunk from his touch. “Don’t.”
He jerked his hand back. “I’m sorry about the TV crew. About a lot of things. If I can just explain, I think you might understand what happened.”
Ryan and Josh wandered back into the room, most likely reassured by the sound of a male voice. “Hey, boss.” Josh gave a quick salute as they crossed toward a worktable strewn with tools.
Jenna held back a smirk at the way they both avoided looking at her. The emotional train wreck. She supposed she had thrown a bit of a tantrum, but wasn’t she entitled to be a little childish when her world crumbled around her ankles.
William raised a hand in acknowledgement of the men, and Jenna grabbed a piece of sandpaper and dropped to her knees and frantically rubbed at the scratch. She needed something to do with her hands. “You shouldn’t have come.”
He flexed his muscles, holding himself in a goofy body builder pose. “Come on, how can you doubt the integrity of the next home reno star?” His wobbly grin and hopeful look thawed a piece of her heart.
But only a small piece.
She clenched the sandpaper in her fist and fought to remain hard. Soft people got hurt. But his deep timbre raised an unwelcome vulnerability that had burned her in the past. The walls around her heart must be built of straw instead of steel.
“How about this look? Any better?” He grabbed a pair of safety goggles and slapped them on his mug, making another silly face.
She bit the inside of her cheek at the look Ryan and Josh exchanged behind William’s back.
He extended his hand down to her.
She rested on her heels and ignored his offering. “I don’t need a hand up, and I don’t need your help. In fact, I don’t want anything from you.” She didn’t say it to be cruel; she didn’t intend to hurt William with her words. She simply stated it as a fact, a fact she believed with her whole heart. She didn’t want or need anyone. And she never would.
William froze. Resignation slipped over his face like a mask and emptied the hope from his eyes. Deep disappointment rushed in and filled the void.
Jenna steeled herself against compassion.
William arms dropped to his sides and his shoulders slumped forward.
“Uh,” Ryan stuttered, “I’ll go see if Matt needs my help loading the truck. He hurried out to the foyer.
Josh hitched his thumb in the same direction. “Me, too. Heavy stuff.”
Jenna’s eyes slid shut. She didn’t want to see this side of William—this posture of humility. She wanted him to get mad. To push back. That was what Parker had always done. That was what she could handle. What she was used to.
Instead, he pulled off the silly goggles and plunged his hand into his pocket. He held a phone out to her without a word.
She straightened up and strode toward the table. She didn’t want anything from him. Were his ears plugged or something?
He trailed after her. “Jenna. It’s your phone.”
She had to listen closely to make out his soft words. “Where did you get it?” She hated how her voice wobbled.
“You left it here earlier. I really didn’t come here to bug you. I came to ask your forgiveness and to give you your phone and to tell you that your editor called and she said your column has been syndicated. You should notice a payment for it in your account in the next day or so.”
It wasn’t fair. Every time she thought she had William figured out, he did something like this. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense.
“Thank you.” She took the phone and shoved it into her back pocket. Then she turned her back to him and started picking up small tools, randomly stuffing them into the open toolbox. She didn’t know if they belonged there. She didn’t care. She blinked back tears. She hated feeling so out of control. It reminded her too much of Parker.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, 8 AM, sharp. Do you think, maybe, that by then, we can start fresh?”
“How am I supposed to work with you if I can’t trust you?” she whispered and finally turned around.
“I’ll earn it, Jenna. I promise.”
His sad smile tugged at her heart. She wanted to believe him. “Really? You’ll earn it?” Her voice grew shrill, but she no longer cared who was listening. “How? By secretly recording a personal meltdown for national television? What kind of man does that?”
She spun on her impractical high-heeled boots and left the armchair, the scraped up floor, and William alone. She fled down the stairs into the foyer and leaned against the wall, finally giving in to her tears.
Ryan and Josh, caught off-guard, retreated into a corner in the foyer when she’d stormed in. They muttered something about needing to get home for dinner and escaped through the door, leaving their jackets slung over a nearby chair back.
William’s heavy feet pounded down the stairs and he careened around the corner wild-eyed and ready to race through the door after her. He slammed to a halt when he saw her. “I thought you left.”
She shook her head and held out her arms in front of her. “I can’t handle you chasing me like this. I can’t do this. I can’t—”
“Jenna.” He caught her fingertips and gently tugged them toward his heart sending a tsunami surging through her insides.
She stumbled closer.
“I can’t.” She pushed against his solid chest to force some distance back between them and gulped a breath of air as she spun around to face the wall. “I thought I could work with you, but I can’t. I can’t handle feeling out of control.”
“Jenna?” His voice was whisper soft. “Jenna, I’m leaving now. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come. I have a lot of things I want to say to you, to explain to you. But before I do, I think I have some things I need to confess to God and seek His forgiveness. You’re right. I’ve made mistakes. Maybe too many to forgive. But you have my word that I will do whatever it takes to make this right. You deserve better than this. Better than me.”
She didn’t turn toward him, but she could tell by his footsteps that he had walked passed her and out the door. It clicked shut with a scary finality. Parker would never have humbled himself like this. But William wasn’t Parker. His quiet retreat proved it.
But something was going on with William. He was holding out on her. She felt it in her gut.
She fingered her botched hair, refusing to consider that her teetering emotions were more about her ruined hair than an actual belief that William would intentionally hurt her.
She pushed off the wall a
nd entered the washroom. Jenna pressed her palms onto the countertop and focused on her image in the mirror. A glorious tuft of hair stood at attention as if ready to salute. It crowned her red-rimmed eyes, drippy nose, and smeared makeup. She turned her head to the right angling her chin hoping the reflection would change.
The tuft simply swayed in metrical time with her movements. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, adding a swollen mouth to her lengthening list of unattractive attributes. She was definitely going to be the new punchline at Booney’s.
Maybe she had some sort of product that could tame the beast in her purse. She dug around and found a nearly empty tube called Slicker and squeezed a dollop onto her palm. She smeared it over her unruly clump of hair and pasted it down. Against all laws of gravity, the hair immediately rose again to its full height, mocking her efforts.
“Ugh!”
She read the small print on the side of the tube. Heat activated. She hurried out the door and up the stairs. She tossed the tools around on the long table until she finally found her heat gun. For once, she gave thanks for the chore of removing old wallpaper.
She blasted the offending strands. The paste hardened the hairs down in a new smooth position. She might have a hair helmet, but at least it lay flat.
She turned around and smacked forehead first into a wall of muscle. She stumbled back.
“I’ve got you!” Austin, their drywall guy, grabbed her upper arms to keep her from falling over. “You all right?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Her cheeks warmed. She thought everyone had left. Did he see her fixing her hair with the heat gun?
“Hey, since you’re still here, can you take a look at something? I came back tonight to maybe finish off a section of wall.”
“Sure.” Pushing thoughts of William from her mind, she followed Austin into the sanctuary to a small section of exposed wall.
“Can I cover these pipes? I need to finish up, and I wanted to be sure the plumber no longer needed access. I couldn’t find William, or I would have asked him.”
“That’s because he was busy playing movie star,” she muttered under her breath.
“What?”
She swallowed her irritation. She should probably call William and ask, but her pride wouldn’t let her. “Go ahead. It’ll be fine.”
“All right. I’ll close it up right now and turn the water back on before I leave.”
Perfect. They’d easily meet their deadline at this pace. In fact, they’d likely finish early. And that meant that she could wrap up this job and hightail it out of Bayview for good.
Not a moment too soon.
11
“Bye, Austin.” Jenna waved. “Thanks for getting that done.” And for not asking why I used a heat gun on my hair.
She wandered back up to the sanctuary for one last look around. There wasn’t much else she could do until the drywall that Austin had mudded and taped was sanded.
She should be able to paint in a day or two. If things were wrapping up in Bayview just like she hoped, why this hollow feeling inside?
She fingered her hard helmet hair and sat on the back pew. When did everything get so difficult? She kicked out her foot and it brushed against something under the pew in front of her. She bent down and pulled out a worn leather book.
She traced her fingers over William’s inscribed name on the leather. What was it doing here? She sighed. The bible sat heavy on her lap. Once she would have taken great comfort in the ancient words she held in her hands, but that was before God said, “no.”
She laid the book beside her on the bench, and a folded note slipped out and drifted to the floor. She picked it up, intending to slip it back inside unread, but the words caught her eye.
God, all the days planned for Paul were written in your book of life before one of them came to be. I believe that with my whole heart. I’m praying this is not his final chapter. I’m praying You have many more pages in his book. But ultimately, you are the one who chooses who lives and who dies. And even if he dies, I will trust You.
The paper trembled in her hands. This was personal, so very personal. But she couldn’t help but feel as if she was supposed to find this note. Supposed to read William’s words. Would he mind?
I’m sure anger will come, God. But right now, more than anything else, I need to trust that You know what You’re doing. If You were not on Your throne when Paul was hurt, then You have never been on Your throne. And I choose to believe You reign.
“This is wrong.” Her hands and the letter dropped onto her lap. William should have vented, not blindly accepted fate as God’s will. His astonishing words muddied everything she had thought about God. How could he trust God like this?
“This is unnatural.” Her head shook as if independent from her stone-stiff body. Her heart denied everything she read because when she applied his words to her own life, she felt nothing but regret. She wanted to retreat but where? William’s words rocked and challenged the weak and childlike theology she had based her life upon thus far. She devoured the rest of the note.
I admit that I’m still struggling. But even if it feels like You let me down, even if it feels like You turned Your back on Paul that day, I know I can trust You. You are all I have left, but You should be all I really need.
Jenna’s insides raged like a stormy sea. She pulled at her shirt collar. The room was suddenly too cramped and the air too hot to breathe. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this.
She flipped open the bible to replace the letter and it opened to a bookmarked section. A highlighter had marked Psalm 56:8: “You have kept count of my tossings, put my tears in your bottle.”
Her breath caught. God saved her tears? Was it possible that God did hear her prayers? That He not only heard, but collected each and every tear she had shed for her baby and marriage?
She flipped to the next bookmarked page and consumed the highlighted text. Psalm 139. The beautiful text nourished her starving soul, as did William’s handwritten words in the margin.
God is familiar with me and all of my ways. He acts on my behalf, loving me no more on my best days than He does on my worst days. His love is based entirely on who He is.
She gently closed the book.
Did she believe that? That God’s love for her was not dependant on her ability to trust more, act more, pray more, or be more—but was based on Him?
Could she believe it now?
Was it possible that God walked so close to her during her struggles that she blamed Him when He wanted her to lean on Him? Her eyes slipped closed.
William’s handwritten note, coupled with the scripture she had just read in his bible, left no doubt that God had chosen today to speak directly to her. About her own inability to trust Him when her child died, how she never even tried.
Forgive me, God.
Peace surged through her spirit and she had a vision of one day holding her beautiful baby in eternity. She suddenly knew, without a doubt, that William was the honorable man that Tucker claimed he was. William had changed. She had to speak with him, to tell him that she had finally made her peace with God.
But first, she wanted to do something for the man who had indirectly brought her back to God. It only took a half a second to make a decision.
She pushed some buttons on her phone and connected with her online bank. “Yes, can you tell me if a lump sum was deposited into my account today? I’d like to use it to make a payment on a friend’s loan. How do I do that?”
She pulled out a small notepad and pencil from her purse and recorded the instructions. “Should I do this online, or can I take care of it with you right now? Wonderful! Thank you.”
She did some fast math in her head. If she used the entire advance from the syndication, she had just enough to make two payments on William’s farm. For a brief second she wavered. What about the people Parker scammed and her debt to them? She’d commit the rest of the syndication money to them. If William really was a new man in Ch
rist, as she suspected, then she owed a bigger debt to him for not giving up on her.
She disconnected, ripped off the paper with her number confirming the transfer had been made, and slipped it in her wallet. She needed to call William. Giddy with joy, she fumbled through his numbers.
“William, we need to—what? Where? I’ll be right there.” She grabbed her jacket and rushed out the church doors.
~*~
She hit the brakes as she passed his truck a mile later. His beat-up beast rested lopsided on the side of the road, handicapped by a flattened tire. She pulled off the highway ahead of him and approached the driver’s side window. His forehead rested against the steering wheel.
“What happened?” She popped her head through the open window. Was he praying? For her?
“A minor confrontation with a wild turkey.” He never even lifted his head.
“It looks like the turkey won.” She nodded toward his flat tire. “Can I assume you are stuck here because you don’t have a spare?”
“No spare.”
“I guess you’re riding with me.” She could barely contain the inner joy bubbling to the surface as he got out of his truck and followed her to her car. She had so much to tell him.
~*~
What changed her tune? William followed Jenna to her car, noting an undeniable bounce in her gait. Something had cheered her up since he left the church. Maybe just his leaving had done it.
She flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Come on.”
Something was up. Way up.
Hope surged, but he squashed it flat as they got into her car. Jenna had made it perfectly clear that they had no future, professional or personal. He couldn’t have it all. He wouldn’t save the farm. He’d never work with Jenna again and he definitely wouldn’t fall in love.
Love? He wasn’t in love. Was he?
She started the engine and slowly pulled into traffic.
It didn’t matter anyway. Jenna wasn’t looking for a reason to stay, she was looking for a reason to leave. And he’d given her plenty. If he was smart, he’d take advantage of her current benevolent feelings and apologize. Who knew when the emotional tide would turn?