Two Steps Forward

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Tonight I’m overwhelmed by that same kind of tearless grief again. Maybe I’m in shock. But I want to find words. I thought maybe if I started writing to you about my sorrow that I might find words to pray.

  I’ve failed, Jim. You were confident I would be such a wonderful mother for our baby. But I’ve failed you. I’ve failed her. By refusing to let your memory live and breathe in our home, I caused her more harm than I ever imagined. I was so selfish. I’m so sorry.

  She just called to tell me that she thinks it would be best for both of us if I go home, that she can’t handle feeling like I’m judging her, and she thinks I’ll just end up feeling neglected and resentful if I stay. I told her I love her and that I’ll always love her with all my heart. But loving her doesn’t mean I approve of the choices she’s making. She said she doesn’t need my approval, and she’s right. She doesn’t. But oh, how my heart hurts over our girl, Jim. How my heart hurts.

  Does it sound crazy to feel like our daughter has died? Like something inside me has died? She says I’m overreacting. Maybe I am. I don’t know.

  I thought that coming here was the right thing to do. I thought it was the loving thing to do. I thought God wanted me to come. I guess I was wrong. It was all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have come.

  God, help us. I don’t know what else to pray.

  Mara

  “Whaddya mean she’s thinking about coming home? What happened?” Mara tucked the phone under her chin and hung a clay candy cane Kevin had made in first grade on their artificial tree. Decorating by herself all afternoon hadn’t been nearly as fun as decorating at Meg’s.

  “She didn’t give any details in her email,” Hannah replied. “Just that things weren’t going like she hoped with Becca, and she was asking for prayer. Sounds like they had a bit of a blow-up, and Becca told her she thought it would be best if she left.”

  “Well, screw that! All because Meg tried to talk to her about her dad?”

  “No, Meg said she hasn’t even mentioned Jim yet.”

  “She’s not even gonna talk to Becca about Jim? That’s, like, one of the main reasons she wanted to go!”

  “I know. She said she’s going to think some more about it. She’s trying to figure out the most loving thing to do.”

  Mara unwrapped a nondescript clay ornament, this one made by Brian in kindergarten. It was probably supposed to be a tree, but he had never had any patience with art projects. She hung it toward the back on a bottom branch. “Well, she’s a better person than I am. I’d be saying, ‘The heck with this! I’m doing what I came to do, whether Becca likes it or not!’”

  “Yeah, it’s a tough one.”

  Mara sat down on the edge of the couch and stared at the half-­decorated tree. Poor Meg. “This was gonna be such a great thing for her, for both of them. She was so excited about it.” Mara reached for another tissue-wrapped ornament in the box. “Sometimes life sucks, you know?”

  “I know.”

  The garage door opened, and Mara heard a car door slam. “Ah, man! Tom and the boys are home.” She had lost track of time with decorating and hadn’t even thought about dinner yet. Crap.

  “Everything okay with them?” Hannah asked, unmistakable concern in her voice.

  “Yep. They were pretty quiet when they got home from their trip last night. No drama at all. Tom went to bed early, and the boys actually did their homework without complaining. Thank God for small miracles.”

  “I’m glad,” Hannah said. “I’ll keep praying. Thanks for letting me know about Charissa and John. That’s great news about the baby. And I’ll be praying for them about the house search, that God will guide them to a good place.”

  “Yeah. They’re hoping to find something else soon.” The kitchen door opened, and the boys entered, arguing. “Keep me posted about Meg, okay?” Mara said. “If she decides to come home early, I’m gonna be there at the airport with balloons or flowers or a big welcome home sign or something.”

  “Great idea. I’ll give you a call as soon as I hear more details.”

  “Thanks, Hannah! Talk to you later!” Mara hung up the phone, then closed and latched the lid on the red plastic storage box. She would have to finish decorating the tree later. “Hey!” she called as Kevin skulked past her, holding an ice pack on his nose. He stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “What happened to you?”

  Brian tossed his backpack onto the floor and answered, “He got into a fight in the locker room after the game.”

  “Derek started it!” Kevin said.

  “Yeah, well, you were, like, hogging the ball the whole time!”

  “I wasn’t hogging it. He wasn’t even open when I took that shot!”

  “Lemme see,” Mara said, grabbing his shoulder. Kevin reluctantly removed the ice pack to reveal a swollen, bloodied nose and bruises beginning to bulge under his eyes. “Is it broken?” she asked Tom.

  “Maybe. Can’t tell until the swelling goes down.”

  “What about taking him to the hospital?”

  “No point. Nothing they can do for him.” Tom took off his coat and flung it onto the back of a chair.

  “Coach Conrad suspended him and gave him ten hours of community service,” Brian said, sounding gleeful.

  Mara put her hands on her hips. “I thought you said it was Derek’s fault.”

  “Conrad is a moron,” Tom said. “I watched the game. Kevin wasn’t elbowing anybody. Derek’s a little whiner.” He held out his fist to Kevin, who bumped it without much enthusiasm. “Proud of you, son. You played real aggressive on the court today.”

  “Hold on a second!” Mara exclaimed. “What are you congratulating him for? He’s just been suspended for fighting!”

  “Yeah, and it’s an idiotic suspension. The coach will regret it. No one can sink three-pointers like Kev.”

  Kevin started to head upstairs. Mara called after him. “Wait a minute, Kevin! I’m not done talking to you.”

  Tom gripped her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. You’re done.”

  Mara spun around, nostrils flaring. “You’re right. I’m done.” She wrenched her arm away from him. “Figure out your own dinner.”

  Brian muttered something snide. Tom snickered. She was just about to tell them both off when she thought better of it. No way to win a fight against them, and this one could easily escalate. She stormed upstairs past Kevin, who had stopped on the landing, and shut herself in the bedroom, where she slumped into her rocking chair and wrapped herself in her favorite afghan, a tattered, crocheted, burnt orange relic from Jeremy’s childhood. God, I can’t do this anymore. I know Pastor Jeff says I’m supposed to be looking for what can be born in a place like this. But my family—my whole life is a stinking mess.

  She picked up her Bible from the floor, closed her eyes, and let it fall open to a random page, hoping something would jump off in bold letter print, some pertinent word from the Lord saying, HERE, MARA! READ THIS!

  Opening her eyes, she read the first thing she saw. Jonah. “But let people and animals be covered with sackcloth. Let everyone call urgently on God. Let them give up their evil ways and their violence. Who knows? God may yet relent and with compassion turn from his fierce anger so that we will not perish.”

  It was a superstitious, silly way of finding something to read.

  She closed the Bible and tried one more time.

  Second Kings. “A man came from Baal Shalishah—”

  She closed it again.

  She supposed she could revisit Hagar’s story and meditate on God being the God who saw her, the God who watched over her life with an attentive, loving eye, even when it felt like she was alone in a desolate, wilderness place.

  Or maybe she should just go straight to the story she and Katherine had talked about last week, the story of the angel Gabriel greeting Mary and telling her not to be afraid. She turned to Luke 1 and read the line that caught her attention before, the line she intended to be praying with all week. She had forgotten. “Do not
be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.”

  Yeah, right. Who was she to think she could insert her own name into such a blessing? She sure didn’t feel very favored. Even with all her pondering the past couple of months about what it meant to be loved and chosen rather than rejected, most days it still seemed impossible to believe, especially when nothing changed at home. If anything, the stress with Tom and the boys seemed to be worsening. Favored? Pregnant and filled with Christ’s life? What a joke.

  There was a knock on the door. “Mom?”

  “Come in.” She put her Bible down on her lap. Kevin appeared, still holding the ice pack on his face.

  “Do you think I should go to the hospital or something?” he asked, his voice muffled. Standing there in the doorway, he looked less like the sullen, obstinate teenager she had battled against the past few years and more like the little boy who had decorated himself with SpongeBob SquarePants Band-Aids.

  “C’mere. Let me take another look.” He sat down on the edge of her bed and tilted his face toward her. He looked awful. “Did your dad already give you Tylenol or something?” Kevin shook his head gingerly. That figured. “Okay. Here—lie down and keep your head up on the pillow. I’ll get you something for pain.”

  She went to the bathroom medicine cabinet, filled a Dixie cup with water, and brought him two capsules. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  She sat down on the foot of the bed and tried to figure out what to do. “Stop coddling them!” Tom’s voice demanded inside her head. She and Tom had always clashed over opposing philosophies of raising boys. Years ago she had contended against him over whether Brian needed stitches after a nasty fall off his bike. She lost the battle, and Brian had a jagged scar on his forehead, which Tom insisted was a badge of honor. He would probably say the same thing about a crooked nose.

  Kevin was lying perfectly still, eyes shut, ice pack pressed against his face. Just when she thought he had fallen asleep, tears began to trickle down his cheeks. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

  She took the ice pack from him. “Right. That settles it. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  “But Dad said—”

  “I know what your dad said. I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked.”

  Kevin trailed her downstairs to the kitchen. Brian and Tom were nowhere to be seen, and the coat Tom had flung onto the back of the chair was gone. “Where’s your dad?”

  “They went to get pizza.”

  She fetched her keys from the peg and retrieved her coat from the closet. “Text him and tell him where we’re going.” Mara thought she saw wariness in his eyes. “Tell him I said you have to go.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed the message.

  After a ninety-minute wait in the ER, the doctor sent them home with instructions to keep applying ice, take pain meds as needed, and wait for the swelling to go down. “Make an appointment for him to see an ear, nose, and throat specialist in about a week,” he said. “And if you’ve got a recent picture of him, take that in so that they can do a comparison of the nose.”

  “What about feeling like he can’t breathe?” Mara asked.

  The doctor shrugged. “There will be swelling inside the nose. Breathe through your mouth.”

  “Dad’s gonna be mad,” Kevin said in the car. “I should’ve just listened to him.”

  “Don’t you worry about your dad. I’ll handle him.” She made sure she sounded braver than she felt. Kevin was right. Tom would be furious, not only because she had defied his authority, but because he would now have the financial consequences of an unnecessary trip to the hospital. She swore, but only to herself. It would be weeks—months, maybe—before she’d live down his “I told you so!” On top of that, just chalk up one more reason for Kevin to trust his father’s judgment over hers. She swore again, this time audibly.

  From her peripheral vision, she saw Kevin turn his head to look at her.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Life always seemed to conspire against her. If Kevin hadn’t gotten into a fight in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this. And if Tom hadn’t habitually encouraged so much aggression in them, so much fierce competitiveness, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She was always paying the consequences, always taking the brunt of other people’s sh—

  “Mom?”

  “Mmmhmmm?”

  “Dad told me something while we were on our hunting trip, and I just wanted to know if it’s true.”

  Mara glanced over her shoulder and made a lane change. “What did he tell you?” she asked, with as much vocal control as possible.

  Kevin was staring out the car window. “That you didn’t want me. That he married you because he was afraid you were gonna have an abortion.”

  Son-of-a—

  She caught herself before she unleashed a string of expletives out loud. Control yourself. Her hands clamped like a vise on the steering wheel while she silently counted to ten. One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand, four, one thousand . . .

  How dare Tom—

  Five, one thousand, six, one thousand, seven, one thousand . . .

  She fixed her eyes on the road. Talk about a landmine.

  Eight, one thousand, nine, one thousand . . .

  Maybe there was no getting around it.

  Ten, one thousand.

  Jesus, help.

  She puffed her cheeks up and blew out the air like a gradually deflating balloon. “It’s true that I got pregnant with you before we got married,” she said slowly. “And it’s true that your father was afraid I’d do something drastic, because I was pretty desperate back then.” Kevin had turned slightly toward her. Even in the darkness of the car, she could see the distortion of his profile. “But that had absolutely nothing to do with you, Kevin. That was all about me.”

  He turned away again toward the window. Jesus. Help. Please.

  They were approaching an intersection at a strip mall. Instead of proceeding straight, she turned left into the shopping center and parked in front of a Subway. With the engine still running, she unbuckled her seatbelt so she could turn and face him. “Kevin, look at me.” She touched his chin lightly. He turned toward her. “I’ve screwed up a lot in my life. Done lots of things I regret. Things I’m ashamed of. But you are not one of those things. Okay? I mean that.”

  He remained silent, eyes downcast.

  Wait a minute.

  Wait one blasted minute.

  “Is this why you got into a fight today? Because of what your dad said?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I dunno.”

  Much as she wanted to press for details, she refrained. He would shut down if she pushed too hard.

  “I’m sorry, Kev. Very sorry. I wish your dad hadn’t said that to you.”

  “Just don’t tell him I told you, okay?”

  When he lifted his eyes to look at her, Mara saw unambiguous anxiety. She hadn’t seen that look in Kevin’s eyes in years, not since Tom had used a belt to punish him whenever he misbehaved as a child. “The belt never did me any harm as a kid,” Tom always insisted above Mara’s protests. “I’m not raising sissies in this house!”

  She had forgotten. Or more likely, she’d blocked it from her memory. Tom had tried to hit Jeremy once too, but Jeremy was scrappy and fought back. Just thinking about that scene again made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d almost had to call the police that night. “I won’t tell him,” she promised. “Don’t worry.”

  She fastened her seatbelt again and backed out of the parking space.

  “Dad said something else.”

  I’m sure he did.

  “He said he got a new job.”

  She slammed on the brake. “What?”

  “He got a new job. A promotion.”

  “What? When?”

  “I don’t know. He told me yesterday. They want him to move to Cleveland.”

  “Cleveland!” That’s where the company was headquartered, so Kevin
probably had his facts straight. What the—

  “Yeah. He told me not to tell you.”

  Another driver blared his horn at her. She blasted back, twice as long.

  “I don’t want to move to Cleveland,” Kevin said. “All my friends are here.”

  Keep calm, she commanded herself as she maneuvered out of the parking lot. Keep very calm. “Did he say when this is supposed to happen?”

  “After Christmas sometime.”

  He couldn’t do this. Tom couldn’t just make a unilateral decision like this and uproot them to Cleveland. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him.

  “Does Brian know too?”

  “I don’t think so. Brian can’t keep secrets. Dad told me on the drive home when Brian was asleep in the backseat.”

  Mara directed every ounce of available energy into speaking with a steady voice. “I’m sorry, Kev. Your father never should have put you in this position. I’ll talk to him and figure this out.”

  “But then he’ll know I told you!”

  “Okay. Right. Don’t worry. I’ll figure this out. Promise.”

  Thankfully, when they arrived home, Tom was so deeply engrossed in some “epic boxing match” on ESPN with Brian that he said little to either one of them, apart from landing some targeted jabs about being glad there were real men left in the world who weren’t afraid to make or take a punch. Kevin withdrew upstairs with some leftover pizza. Mara microwaved a frozen dinner before retreating to her room to call Hannah for advice and prayer. God, just show me what to do. Please.

  Hannah

  “You okay, Shep?” Nathan asked. “You’ve had quite a Monday, between stuff going on with Charissa and Meg and now everything with Mara.”

  “Yeah, it’s been quite a week,” Hannah replied. A week very reminiscent, in fact, of her rhythm of ministry at Westminster, when she moved seamlessly from one crisis to another. It never failed. The Christmas season always seemed particularly fraught with intense pastoral situations, with heightened stress, acute emotions. It was a season of magnification, the highs and the lows.