Two Steps Forward

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  The group chimed their collective thanks and good wishes. Her knees only buckled after she reached the car.

  “Where’d all these cookies come from?” Brian asked. It looked like a cyclone had swept through the kitchen, scattering flour and sugar in its wake. The sink was piled high with dirty bowls and measuring spoons. A couple dozen snickerdoodles were on the cooling rack where she’d left them.

  “I took Christmas cookies to your dad’s office,” she said, observing Kevin’s quizzical expression, “and these are leftover. Help yourself.”

  Brian grabbed a fistful and disappeared to the basement. Kevin slowly removed his coat and hung it on a peg. The bruises were even more colorful today. She would be shocked if his nose wasn’t broken.

  He sat down on a stool at the counter. “Want some milk and cookies?” she asked.

  “Okay.”

  She poured him a glass of milk and arranged some cookies on a plate. How long had it been since he’d sat there with a snack she had prepared for him? Usually the boys took what they wanted somewhere else.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She stood at the sink and began running hot water. There was something strangely satisfying about rinsing out cookie batter from mixing bowls. Kevin probably didn’t remember helping her stir ingredients when he was little or licking the beaters after she deliberately left behind some extra batter with chocolate chips for him. Nowadays people were probably too worried about salmonella or something to let kids lick beaters.

  She opened the dishwasher and began loading. “Everything’s okay, Kev. I was able to get what I needed. We’ll work it out.”

  “Dad knows you know?”

  “One of the secretaries was talking about it right in front of us. So yeah, he knows I know.”

  Sounds of video game gunfire emerged from the basement. Good. For once she was grateful for Call of Duty or whatever game would no doubt occupy Brian for as long as she let him play.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Kevin shrugged. “Are we gonna have to move?”

  “I’m not sure what’s gonna happen.”

  “I don’t want to move.”

  “I know.” Now that the adrenaline rush of victory had subsided, her anger and hatred of Tom rose again like bile in her throat. Maybe she should call Dawn to see if she had any immediate counseling appointments available. Or Hannah, to ask her to pray. She was just about to reach for her phone when the garage door rumbled open. Kevin looked like he wasn’t sure whether to stay frozen in place or bolt up the stairs. Before he could make his decision, Tom stormed in.

  “Satisfied with yourself?” he snarled. “How dare you stroll into my office and try to make a fool out of me!”

  “How dare I? How dare YOU! I was just delivering Christmas cookies like I do every year.”

  “Yeah, right.” He motioned in Kevin’s direction, with a sweeping arm movement. “What a cozy scene this is, you little snitch, sitting there with your milk and cookies! I suppose you helped your mommy plot the whole thing, didn’t you?”

  “You leave Kevin out of this. You’re the one who should be apologizing! When were you going to tell me about Cleveland?”

  “Sometime before the moving trucks arrived.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “If you think you can just make a decision like this without consulting me, without taking the boys and me into account—”

  His phone buzzed with a text. “I am taking the boys into account,” he said as he typed a reply.

  Mara began counting silently to ten. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand. Four, one thousand. Five. “Kevin,” she said, trying desperately to maintain her cool, “maybe you could head downstairs for a bit while your father and I talk this through.” Looking relieved to be dismissed, Kevin took a final swig of milk and disappeared to the basement with his plate of cookies.

  “There’s nothing to talk through,” Tom said, hardly waiting for the basement door to close. “After years of putting in my time and working my tail off, I finally got offered my dream job as V.P. over sales. I start in January at headquarters. So it’s a done deal.” He stood, arms crossed, weight shifted onto his right leg. “Oh, and one more thing.” He took a snickerdoodle from the cooling rack. “Speaking of done deals, you and I are through. Expect to hear from my attorney soon.” He popped the snickerdoodle into his mouth. “Merry Christmas to me.”

  Hannah

  Tuesday, December 9

  10 p.m.

  Lord, have mercy.

  I suppose this was a likely outcome for a marriage as dysfunctional as Mara’s, but Lord, have mercy. Please. As soon as I got her phone call, I offered to go over there. I thought maybe it would be good if Tom saw that she had friends who would support her through this. But she didn’t want me stepping right into the middle of it. So we talked on the phone for about an hour. I was really worried about her physical safety, and she insisted again that she’s fine. She said he’s not stupid, that he’s got way too much riding on this promotion and wouldn’t do anything to risk it. I hope she’s right. Please, Lord, protect and defend her.

  I let her pour out her rage. It’s impossible to know how this will all play out. But she’s convinced Tom will try to take everything away from her, including the boys. I’m not so sure. From what little I’ve gleaned about him, he seems to be intensely selfish. I suspect that selfishness will trump any desire to be vindictive. He’ll probably want to cut and run and then show up on occasional weekends and play fun dad, just like Mara says he’s been doing ever since the boys were little. Mara thinks he probably has someone waiting for him in Cleveland and said she hopes she makes him miserable.

  I suggested she talk to someone at Crossroads or at her church to see if they have some legal connections. She had already done some online research before she talked to me, and she said there’s a six-month waiting period before any divorce can be final. I know the Lord made a way for me to be here in Michigan for multiple reasons, and I’m glad Mara is part of that. I’ll be able to walk with her through this process, and I’m grateful for that privilege. By the time I get ready to head back to Chicago in June, those six months will be just about up.

  I prayed with her on the phone, and I offered her the verse from John 1 about the light shining into the darkness and the darkness never being able to overcome it. I didn’t say this to her, but I’ll say it here. I’m actually relieved that Tom is leaving. Really relieved. I hope she eventually reaches a point of being able to forgive him and pray for him, and I’m praying for God to strengthen and form her through this. But honestly, I’ve been worried about her all week. She told me once that she’d never initiate a divorce because she’d already done enough to make God mad at her. I want her to know your love for her, Lord. Your love and tender care for her. Please don’t let her become enslaved to resentment and bitterness. She’s got such a long road ahead of her. Help me to be alongside her as she goes through the grieving and forgiving process. I’m glad Katherine and her counselor will be walking with her through this, too.

  She said tonight that she’ll probably end up at Crossroads again, since there’s no way she can afford to pay the mortgage on the house even if Tom does let her stay there. I told her not to jump to conclusions, to wait and see what kind of document Tom’s attorney draws up. And I told her that no matter what happens with the house or the boys or needing to look for a job or anything else, that she has a community of sisters who will be caring for her and loving her through this. She started to cry at that. She’s had to walk alone for so much of her life. Thank you for going ahead of her, Lord, and preparing the way for community. She’s going to need it.

  Mara told me last week that she’s been asking Jesus to come and be born in the mess. That seems like a perfect prayer for her tonight. So come, Lord Jesus, and be born in this. Even in this.

  eight

  Charissa

  Charissa was unlocking their fro
nt door when Mrs. Veenstra, their nosy semi-retired neighbor, emerged from her apartment across the hall with two cardboard boxes. “I saw the mailman leave these outside your door,” she said. “He ought to leave packages at the office, but no! He insists on leaving them in the hallway where someone could trip over them. So I took them inside for you.” She handed them to Charissa. “You’ve been getting a lot of packages lately.”

  Yes, they had.

  Despite Charissa’s multiple reminders to John about their agreement not to spend a lot of money on Christmas presents or things for the baby, packages arrived almost daily. If he was racking up credit card debt again, she was going to be furious. She only found out after they were married that he was still paying for pizza, books, and car payments he charged to high-interest cards in college. Not that she had much room to complain. He was making aggressive progress on the debt; she was contributing nothing to their income; and he was the one whose parents had offered to help them buy a house. Still, she probably ought to take more control over all their finances. Just because they would be getting help with a down payment didn’t mean he could disregard their budget. She was going to have to lecture him again.

  Her cell phone rang, giving her a good excuse to avoid any further probing inquiries from the neighbor. “Hi, Mom.” She shoved the door shut with her hip and set the packages down on the dining room table.

  “Hi! Are you at the library?”

  “No, I just got home.” Charissa took off her coat and hung it up in the closet. “I thought maybe I’d lie down for a little while before I go pick up John from work.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well, nauseous all the time. I just feel worn out.”

  “Well, that’s all part of being pregnant,” her mother said without any hint of sympathy. “Make yourself a yogurt smoothie. And make sure you’re taking iron. You’re going to need to keep your strength up.”

  Actually, a yogurt smoothie almost sounded appetizing. Too bad she didn’t have any bananas. She suddenly had a craving for bananas. She went to the cupboard and removed the blender.

  “When’s your big presentation?” her mother asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll be so glad when it’s over.”

  “You ready?”

  “As ready as I can be. I feel good about the paper. Really good. But there’s no guarantee I won’t feel sick. I’m just hoping it’s one of my good mornings.” John had joked that she should take a sympathy bucket up to the podium with her. She hadn’t been amused.

  “You’ll be fine,” her mother said. “You’ll outshine them all, like you always do.”

  For the past few days Charissa had listened with a critical and comparative ear to other Ph.D. students present their papers and respond to questions. With only three presentations remaining, she was fairly confident she would receive her usual accolades. As long as her body cooperated.

  She heard her father’s voice in the background.

  “Your father says to make him proud. And he wants to know if you’ve found any other properties to look at.”

  “Nothing yet. I just haven’t had much time to think about it. John keeps searching online but hasn’t found anything he likes as much as the other one.”

  “You’ll find something,” she said.

  Yep.

  Charissa heard her father’s voice again. “Your father says I need to get off the phone. You know how he gets before he flies anywhere.”

  Their trip. Charissa had forgotten. They were flying to Greece to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary and to visit some relatives on her mother’s side. “Tell Daddy hi. I hope you have a good time.”

  “We will. I’ll call you after we get settled. Good luck tomorrow, sweetie. You’ll be great.”

  Charissa hung up the phone feeling jealous. She hadn’t been to Greece since high school. Not that she could manage the travel or tolerate the smell of garlic, dill, and other spices that seasoned her favorite Mediterranean cuisine. In fact, even the effort required to make a smoothie seemed too much at the moment. She changed out of her jeans into a pair of sweats, closed the blinds to darken the bedroom, and set her alarm for forty minutes.

  John tried several times to reach Charissa on her cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail. “She’s probably at the library,” he said to Tim, who had dropped by the office to show him some wood stain samples for kitchen cabinets he and Jenn wanted to install.

  “How about grabbing a bite to eat,” Tim suggested, “and then we can head over to Home Depot? I want to show you some of the hardware and lighting I was talking about.”

  “Sounds good.” John texted to let Charissa know he wouldn’t need a ride home from work, then walked with Tim to his car.

  “So everything was good with the ultrasound?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah, the doc said it all looked normal. She feels awful, though. Wish I could do something to help, but there’s not much I can do. Except try not to add to her stress.”

  “When does she finish for the semester?”

  “Soon. She’s got a big presentation tomorrow and more papers due next week, I think. I can’t keep track of it all. I’ll just be glad when she’s off for Christmas. Maybe she’ll be able to relax and enjoy life a bit. And we can get back to house hunting.”

  Tim unlocked the car. “I’ve known her almost as long as you,” he said. “No offense, bro, but I don’t think the word ‘relax’ is in your wife’s vocabulary.”

  When Tim dropped John off at home a few hours later, the apartment was dark, and Charissa was sleeping so soundly she was snoring. Good. If she could just get a full night’s rest, her stress level might improve. Rather than risk awakening her, he changed clothes in the dark and went out to the couch to sleep.

  Charissa rolled over in bed and looked at the clock. Eight forty-five. EIGHT FORTY-FIVE! No! She had slept straight through her alarm. The bedroom was dark, and there was no trace of John. Maybe he had stayed at the office to work late when she didn’t show up. Why hadn’t he called? She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand and discovered she had turned it off. She dialed his number. “I’m so sorry,” she said when he picked up. “I guess my alarm didn’t go off. Are you at the office?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Tim and I ended up going to Home Depot, and then he brought me home.”

  “He what?”

  “He drove me home. You were snoring so loudly I decided to sleep on the couch.”

  “What?”

  “I said you were snoring, and I didn’t want to wake you up, so I slept on the couch.”

  Charissa bolted upright, looking at the clock again. No. Please, please no! “What time is it?”

  “Uhhh . . . Eight forty-seven.”

  No, no, no no no. This couldn’t be happening! It was morning. Eight forty-five in the morning! She threw off the covers and sprang to her feet. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I said, you were sleeping so soundly that—”

  “No! I mean, why didn’t you wake me up this morning? I’ve got my presentation, John! I had my final presentation at eight o’clock!” She clasped her neck and started walking around in circles. This couldn’t be happening. This was a nightmare. A real-life version of her worst nightmare. “I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up!”

  “Whoa!” John said. “Why are you yelling at me? I don’t know your schedule. I figured you had set your alarm.”

  In all her years of schooling, Charissa had never once missed a deadline. Ever. And she’d certainly never overslept and missed class, let alone a final presentation in front of her peers and an adjudicating panel of faculty members. She felt like she was going to vomit, and for once, it wasn’t because of the baby.

  “So you, what? Just left this morning without even checking with me? You knew I had my presentation today!”

  “I left really early, Charissa. To help with a project at work, remember? To make up some time
? We talked about this. I even took a taxi so that you could have the car.”

  She was done. Finished. Her heart was racing; she felt clammy and lightheaded. Oh, God. Help.

  “I’m sorry, Riss. I didn’t know your presentation was at eight. I just knew it was sometime today. I’m sure they’ll understand. Can’t you call somebody?”

  Even if she skipped a shower, there was no way she could get to campus in time even to plead for the opportunity to speak out of turn. The final presentation of the morning was scheduled for 8:40. In fact, she could see it now: they would be shrugging at one another and packing up their papers, wondering why Charissa Sinclair hadn’t shown up for her most important assignment of the semester. Possibly of her academic career.

  She was done. Done for.

  Her head was buzzing; the room was starting to spin.

  “Riss?”

  Help.

  “Riss? Lie down, okay? Are you all right?”

  She lay down on the bed again and stared up at the ceiling, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Charissa? Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I said, they’ll understand. You’ve had a lot going on this week. Things like this happen.”

  “They don’t, John—not to me, they don’t.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen? So you get a zero on a presentation. It’s not like they’ll kick you out or take away your fellowship or something.”

  “You don’t know that. You have no idea how competitive it is. No idea.”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll make some allowances for you. It’s not like you’re slacking off. You’ve got a good excuse.”

  “That has nothing to do with this! You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t get any of it.”

  “Yeah, I get that you overslept,” he said, his tone no longer sympathetic. “And I get that you’re acting like this is the end of the world—”