The Crossing
Page 1
Praise for
The Crossing
“Serita Jakes has created a rich story about confronting the debilitating wounds of one’s past and standing at a crossroads of hope and healing—or ongoing suffering. Her characters take meaningful and relatable journeys, and they will serve as an inspiration for many to find the path toward wholeness.”
—DR. FRANK LAWLIS, best-selling author, consultant to the Dr. Phil show, and author of the revolutionary program PTSD Breakthrough
“An amazing story of hope, loss, and the unconditional love that brings us back to God. Serita Jakes has created a meaningful novel that tears at your heart while mending your brokenness at the same time. The Crossing is powerful storytelling.”
—PAT SMITH, founder and CEO of Treasure You and president of Pat & Emmitt Smith Charities
“The Crossing is captivating from page 1—a remarkable tale of betrayal, pain, and spiritual anguish. Her writing uncovers an important core message: how to find freedom from past hurts and wounds and move toward a life of forgiveness, healing, and Divine wholeness.”
—DR. TIM CLINTON, president, American Association
of Christian Counselors
“Serita Jakes’s The Crossing is so much more than you expect. She’s a brilliant woman of God, and this stirring novel will reach so many hearts and lives with its message of grace and healing.”
—LISA OSTEEN COMES, associate pastor, Lakewood Church in Houston, Texas, and author of You Are Made for More!
“First Lady Serita Jakes is a unique lady with a big heart. She has experienced hurt in her life; therefore, The Crossing is a perfect novel for her to write. She is a woman who loves much and wants to help others. This book will impact, and may even save, your life. I salute Serita and consider her one of my children.”
—DODIE OSTEEN, cofounder of Lakewood Church
and author of Choosing Life
“I hope whoever reads this book never has had to go through loss and suffering. But should you be faced with one or the other or both, Mrs. Jakes’s powerful words will help you through it because this story demonstrates God’s forgiveness, powerful healing, and unconditional love for us all.”
—JAMIE FOSTER BROWN, publisher, Sister 2 Sister magazine
“Serita Jakes has captured the true meaning of what it means to “wear the mask.” And the phrase ‘cover your sins and keep up appearances’ penned in The Crossing says it all. The depiction of the novel’s main character, Claudia, reveals the devastating and irreversible effects of untreated trauma and the dire consequences if left undiagnosed and untreated—as it does all too often. The Crossing hits home on these important issues in a down-to-earth and entertaining way.”
—TERRIE M. WILLIAMS, author of Black Pain
“A meaningful novel about loss, forgiveness, suffering, and God’s healing, unconditional love. A perfect read for women who have seen hard times. I highly recommend it.”
—PAULA WHITE, Paula White Ministries/senior pastor,
Without Walls International Church
THE CROSSING
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
Scripture paraphrases and quotations are from the following versions: The New American Standard Bible®. © Copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org). The Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The King James Version.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
eISBN: 978-0-307-73034-3
Copyright © 2011 by Serita Ann Jakes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
v3.1
To all who have been redeemed by His love, recipients of His mercy,
and amazed by His grace … Perfect Peace—Perfect Love
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Two
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Three
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Part One
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save from wrath and make me pure.
Prologue
TEN YEARS AGO
No one prepares you for this. Parents, teachers, professors.
Preachers, at least, try to make you aware of that final moment, just before your heart stills and breath stops.
If you die tonight, will you be ready? The two-dollar question anyone raised in church has heard a hundred times.
But when the time comes …
After the bullets tear into your body, while your blood spreads out across your new white shirt and your extra large Diet Pepsi splatters to the floor, as the man holding the gun screams at the kids on the bus to shut up or they’re next.
… will you be ready?
Now isn’t the time to ask why.
My body slumps to the floor like the strings holding me up have suddenly been cut. Somewhere, Claudia is crying. If she’s crying, she’s alive. Lord, she’s eighteen and searching. She’s not ready for life to end.
He’s nudging me with his foot. I pray he doesn’t check my pulse.
“Leave her alone!” The voice of a football player coming to my defense. Don’t be my hero, Casio, I want to say, but I can’t move, can’t speak. The gun fires.
No, not Casio.
A few students are screaming. Most are crying. But the noise of the passing train is drowning them out. Everyone except Claudia.
One
It’s strange. Since childhood, I’ve believed I would die in my sleep.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep …
In my mind’s eye, I picture myself sandwiched between Mama and Daddy as we knelt beside my bed, speaking the prayer together. It always seemed like they were sucking up all the oxygen, leaving me with none. I thought I might suffocate. But I could smell Mama so well. She hadn’t had her nightly bath yet, so she still smelled of southern cooking and a hint of Chanel No. 5. The smallest amount behind her ears and inside the crook of her arm was enough for it to linger wherever she wandered in the house. I loved the smell of Mama.
I remember the expression on her face when sh
e opened the box one Christmas morning. By the look of wonder, I knew she loved it. She blushed under Daddy’s admiring gaze as she dabbed some on her wrist and lifted her arm to his face. As I watched, a bubble, like the ones I used to blow with those huge pieces of sugar-coated bubble gum, started deep inside me and got bigger and bigger. It was a rare moment of sheer joy in our family.
A few years later, a pin of reality burst the facade, but in that moment … joy. I’m glad my mind took me back to that place, if only for a minute. I can remember Daddy as he was. And forgive what he became.
… and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
PRESENT DAY
Claudia
Claudia hated this moment. Stopped at the tracks, watching the lights flash and hearing the bell clang. First in line, as the wall forms in front of her. The whistle growing louder as the engine nears. The rhythm of steel against steel, the train racing by, beating in her ears. Other cars had lined up behind her, hedging her in. Suffocating. Blocking any chance of escape.
Could a heart really pound right out of its chest? She felt her breath coming in short bursts. Her phone beeped, but she couldn’t bring herself to look for it. Closing her eyes tight, she gripped the steering wheel.
Her chest hurt, and she could smell the metallic tang of blood. The rest of her senses picked up the sensation. She could taste the iron, way back in her throat, and her ears pounded with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Then her hands felt a sticky warmth—BJ’s blood, soaking her cheerleading skirt. The wetness spread over her legs. She gasped and stared down at her lap. Her Diet Coke had spilled on her light tan linen pants. Still, she couldn’t move.
No matter that the train had come and gone, still she sat, staring at the bare metal tracks. Her body shook all over. Vehicles sped around her, blaring their horns. People glared at her, some even shouting obscenities at her, but it was no use. She’d become paralyzed. She didn’t know how many minutes she sat there while the world swept by her, a still body in a raging storm.
A dull tap registered in her brain. She turned toward the sound and tried to focus on the man outside her window. He reached out and made another clipped, three-rap knock on the glass. Finally, recognition flashed, trying to convince her that everything was okay. She pressed the button and lowered the window for the waiting police officer.
“Claudia?” His voice sent a shiver down her spine. Images sped through her mind, blurring her focus. “Is there something wrong with your car?”
His voice was a little deeper now than it had been ten years ago, but she could still hear it screaming, “Leave her alone!” And then the gunshot. She could feel herself fading again …
“Claude!” He reached in through the window and shook her shoulder. “Come on, girl. I know what this is. I’ve been there too. But snap out of it. You’re in the middle of the street.”
She felt herself slowly ascending, as though swimming from the bottom of a deep lake. At the surface, a ragged, cold breath filled her lungs. “Casio.” Tears filled her eyes.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, his voice soft, taking her back to the days when he was quarterback, she was cheerleader, and everyone said they’d be America’s sweethearts. “Can you drive the car into the parking lot?” He pointed to the right where a mom-and-pop café sat practically empty.
She nodded.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
It took every ounce of willpower to slide the Tahoe into gear and drive toward the parking lot. Once she stopped, her lungs screamed and she could feel the breath-stealing, muscle-seizing horror of hyperventilation coming on. Casio appeared at the passenger side door. Clutching her chest, she pointed toward the glove box. “Bag,” she managed to gasp.
“What?”
“A bag. In there!”
“Oh! Okay! Are you okay? Hang on.” Casio opened the glove box and pulled out a paper bag, then brought it to her mouth. “Breathe. In-out-in-out.”
She did. Her lungs felt like they might burst as the panic spiked. “Oh, God. It’s just like that night.” A scream vibrated in her throat, and she squelched it before it could pierce the air inside the Tahoe.
“No.” Casio’s hand pressed against her clammy neck. “Now, listen, Claude. Keep breathing.” His smooth-as-silk tone calmed her and evened out her breath. She tried to focus on his tone. “This isn’t like that night on the bus. No one is after you. The person with a gun was after BJ. No one else. It wasn’t a random act or I wouldn’t have just been shot in the arm. Right? If that man was on a killing spree, we’d all be dead right now.”
His voice was beginning to soothe her, and slowly, the words sank into her muddled brain. She set the bag in her lap and filled her lungs with a cleansing breath. “Thanks, Casio,” she whispered and tried to smile. “You’re a hero.”
His jaw clenched as he inhaled from a freshly lit cigarette and then passed it to her. “Yep, that’s what I am.” He expelled a stream of smoke. “A real hero.”
At the sarcasm in his tone, Claudia regretted her choice of words. She reached across the seat and took his hand. “We did what we could.”
“Too bad that doesn’t make the dreams go away.”
She stared into the horizon where clouds were beginning to roll their way. Silently, they sat, hand-in-hand, passing the cigarette between them, remembering that they shared a bond of pain and loss.
Somehow, for the moment, it made things calmer.
Victor
Embarrassment wasn’t a normal part of Victor Campbell’s MO. As a matter of fact, he’d been accused of overconfidence more than once during his rise to ADA. And the talk around town was that he’d be a shoo-in for DA if he chose to run. But as capable and on his toes as he liked to think of himself, he sat in awkward silence across from the clearly irritated event planner named Lindsey and fought an excessive need to squirm.
The twenty-something woman glanced down at an elegant gold watch wrapped around her delicate wrist. She seemed too young to be so put out.
“I’m sure my wife will be here soon,” he said, drawing on his lawyer voice.
But even his trust-me smile didn’t appear to soften her tough-as-nails demeanor. Rather, she looked across her desk with poorly concealed impatience, breathing in deeply, then giving a controlled exhale. “Mr. Campbell. I have another appointment in twenty minutes. If you’d like to call your wife again, perhaps we can check her schedule against mine and find a more convenient time to meet.” She punched in some keys on her computer. “My next available opening is …” She squinted at the screen and punched in another key. “Tuesday.”
Retrieving his BlackBerry from the jacket of his black “court” suit, Vic pulled up his own calendar. Claudia was going to hate waiting five more days, but it was her own fault. She’d just have to pull together the anniversary dinner of the year that much quicker. “That might work. I’ll call and find out why she’s so late. This really isn’t like her.” Or it hadn’t been until lately. He started to place the call, but hesitated, casting a quick glance at the attractive Lindsey.
Exhibiting surprising intuition, the young woman pushed back from her desk and rose. “I’ll give you a minute of privacy.” A tight skirt hugged her slim figure, and he quickly averted his gaze as he punched in number one on speed dial.
The phone rang four times then moved to voice mail.
He pressed his lips into a tight line. Of course she still wasn’t answering. Claudia’s erratic behavior had been escalating since suffering a miscarriage two years ago. He’d attributed it to postpartum depression, but lately, instead of getting better, she seemed to be getting worse. Being late for a meeting to plan the thirty-fifth anniversary of her parents in marriage and ministry was definitely over the line. How long would this go on? Part of the reason he’d fallen for her in the first place was her ability to organize and hold things together. Where had that Claudia gone, and good grief, when would she be back?
He ended the call without leaving a message a
nd pressed the number again. Still no answer. Shoving the phone into his pocket, Vic walked to the door.
In the foyer, he looked around, but didn’t see Lindsey, so he made the Tuesday appointment with the receptionist in Claudia’s name and headed for the elevator. The Lord knows he tried to be understanding, but the incompetence and inconsistencies Claudia was displaying lately were getting old.
Claudia
As Claudia pulled onto the street where her parents lived on the cul-de-sac, she stared straight ahead, her thoughts on the last hour, sitting with Casio, opening up to each other about that night on the bus. It had been almost a relief to rehash that night with someone who truly understood how she felt. Fleetingly, she wondered if she smelled like smoke from the cigarette she’d shared with him. She’d know soon enough. If her mother smelled smoke on her, she definitely wouldn’t let it pass. After all, it wouldn’t do for the daughter of Pastor and Mrs. King to be seen committing a sin of the flesh, would it?
The thought was so ludicrous she would have laughed if she didn’t want to cry. Cover your sins and keep up appearances. The unspoken rule, more sacred than the Golden.
She glanced at the clock. It had been an hour since she’d called her mother to let her know she was running a little late and to ask if she would please pick Emily up from school. She’d tried to get there sooner, but this episode, or flashback, whatever it was, had lasted longer than ever before. She simply hadn’t been able to move.
The familiar 1970s-Knots Landing homes slipped past her with their perfectly manicured lawns and respectable members of AARP sitting on porches or watering flowers out front. Claudia remembered days and nights when her parents gathered her into the backseat of their car and “took a drive” through streets of these nicer neighborhoods, dreaming of the day when God would “bless” their faithfulness. A house on the good side of town. Their reward on earth.