Two Steps Forward

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “John, just—”

  “Just what?”

  “Just stop. Stop. You’re not helping. I’ll call you after I figure out what I’m doing.”

  She hung up and pressed a pillow over her face. She could see the scene with high-definition clarity, the raised eyebrows and speculative whispers when she hadn’t taken her place on the auditorium stage. Amber Dykstra, who had been scheduled to present second, had probably offered to present right at eight o’clock. With a triumphant smirk. She had been biding her time for years, ever since they were under­­grads together, just waiting for the opportunity to pass Charissa in class ranking and recognition. Well, she’d gotten her chance. No doubt she had capitalized on it, with smug satisfaction.

  Charissa pounded her fist on the pillow.

  How could she have slept through John showering, getting dressed, and leaving for work?

  And how could he have just let her sleep? She had been talking about this presentation for weeks now. For. Weeks. Hadn’t he thought it odd that she hadn’t picked him up from work? Or that she was still sleeping when he left the apartment this morning?

  Didn’t he know her well enough to grasp that she would have stayed up late and gotten up early to prepare for an occasion like this?

  How could this have happened?

  How in the world could this have happened?

  There would be no recovering from this kind of humiliation. Ever. Her heretofore impeccable record of achievement, her many years of steadfast striving and toil, none of it would matter. All people would remember about Charissa Sinclair would be her infamous failure to show up for a conference-style presentation. In fact, the department faculty would probably have a conversation about how she wasn’t fit to progress in the program. They were probably having that conversation right now.

  She reached for her phone again and scrolled through text messages.

  8:02 a.m. Message from one of her classmates. Three simple words.

  Where are you?

  The more Charissa considered the way forward, the more she realized that John’s quip about a sympathy bucket wasn’t a bad idea. After deciding not to shower or put on any makeup, she removed an old pair of sweats from the bottom dresser drawer and pulled her hair into an unkempt ponytail. Then she studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wanted to have this conversation in person, and she looked suitably bedraggled.

  She drove to campus and parked near Bradley Hall, where the English Department faculty offices were located. With any luck, she would be able to speak privately with Dr. Gardiner without running into fellow classmates in the hallway. She pulled down her knit cap as far as possible and wrapped her scarf in an extra loop around her neck to partially conceal her face. Head lowered, she jostled her way along the crowded hallway, rounded a corner, and nearly collided with a trio of peers huddled together outside Dr. Gardiner’s office.

  Charissa pursed her lips and threw her shoulders back.

  “Hey! There you are!” Trevor said. “What in the world happened to you?”

  “Yeah! Are you okay?” Amber asked with a saccharine tone. “We were all worried.”

  Yeah. Right. I’m sure you were. “Long story,” Charissa replied. She raised her fist to knock on the office door.

  “She’s not there,” Amber said. “She’s meeting with Dr. Allen.”

  Fabulous. No doubt Charissa was the subject of that meeting.

  Kimber, the classmate who had sent the “Where are you?” text, was the only one of the three who appeared genuinely concerned. “No offense,” Kimber said, her hand resting lightly on Charissa’s coat sleeve, “but you look like you feel awful. Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been sick all week.” True. “Just couldn’t get out of bed this morning.” Also true. Sort of. They weren’t entitled to any more information than that.

  “I’m sorry; that’s rough,” Amber said, but her words didn’t match the gloat in her eyes. “Bad timing to be sick.”

  “The worst,” Kimber agreed. “I know how hard you worked on your paper. I’m sure you can work something out with Dr. Gardiner. She’s fair.”

  Yes, Charissa thought. She was counting on that. While the rubberneckers pretended they had something other than Charissa to discuss, she seated herself on a bench, rested her head in her hands, and waited for Dr. Gardiner to appear.

  Twenty minutes later, safely ensconced behind Dr. Gardiner’s closed door, Charissa emptied her arsenal. She was mortified. Absolutely mortified. Never in her entire academic career had she had anything like this happen. She had never been late for an assignment. Ever. But she was pregnant. She’d had a miscarriage scare. She was suffering from constant morning sickness. Lay down for a nap yesterday because she was feeling sick. Alarm never went off. She was sorry, humiliated, didn’t know how she would recover from the embarrassment, wanted to make up the assignment. Somehow. Please.

  “I’m sympathetic, Charissa,” Dr. Gardiner said when she finished unloading. “Believe me. I know how hard it is to balance and manage every­thing. I was still working on my dissertation when my twins were born. And I’m sorry about this morning. But I really don’t see any way for you to make up the assignment. The presentations are done. The semester’s over.”

  “I know, but maybe I could just present to faculty? To prove that I did the work? I prepared all semester for this morning, Dr. Gardiner. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked. I’d really like the opportunity to demonstrate that.”

  “I know the caliber of your work, Charissa. You can submit your written paper to me for partial credit. I think that’s fair.”

  “But if I could just present—maybe to a couple of faculty members? If I could find a couple of people who would be available next week sometime?”

  “You’ll have other opportunities for presentations. Plenty of them. But this one is over.”

  “Please, Dr. Gardiner. I think I’ve got extenuating circumstances.”

  “And I’m taking those into consideration by permitting you to submit your paper for partial credit.” She opened her gradebook to a particular page and ran her finger horizontally across a row. “Don’t worry. Even with partial credit, you’re not going to fail the course.”

  FAIL! Who had said anything about failing the course? She knew she wasn’t going to fail the course! This was about maintaining her honor and reputation. This was about respect. Admiration. The chance to redeem one stupid mistake in an otherwise flawless record of academic achievement. And though it shouldn’t matter—though she felt juvenile for caring about it—her heart sank at the thought of losing her 4.0. All the years without a single A- on her transcript, all the years of perfection going back to her very first report card in fourth grade. She had worked so hard. So. Hard.

  She tried to speak with a measured tone. “Please. I don’t want this blemish on my record. If there’s any way I could just—”

  Dr. Gardiner closed the book and set it back down on her desk. “I’m sorry, Charissa. I’ve given you my decision.”

  “But—”

  Dr. Gardiner reached for her coat and slipped her arms into the sleeves. They were done.

  Charissa thanked her for her time and shuffled down the hallway to her car. She was done.

  Utterly and completely undone.

  Mara

  “I hate him.” Jeremy slammed the official divorce complaint down on the coffee table. “All I can say is, it’s a good thing he’s not here. A really good thing.”

  Mara leaned back on the sofa and stared at the twinkling white lights on the Christmas tree. She had spent the past couple of days looking over her shoulder wondering when the summons would arrive, half expecting Tom to try to catch and shame her in a public place. When the doorbell rang at noon on Friday, she was almost relieved.

  “I don’t understand all of it,” she said.

  “You’re going to need to get an attorney, Mom.”

  “I don’t have money for an attorney.”

  “Well, y
ou’re gonna need one. A really good one. I can ask around at the office, see if anyone knows anybody.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”

  “I do worry, been worried about you for years. I always wished he would just go away. Looks like he’s not going without trying to screw you over.”

  “I could’ve told you that before I saw the papers.”

  Jeremy muttered something under his breath and put his feet up. “Do Kevin and Brian know yet?”

  “Tom took them both out for ice cream. What he told them, I don’t know. But Brian came home raging that he doesn’t want to have to stay here with me, and Kevin came home saying he’s glad he doesn’t have to move to Cleveland. Tom’s not stupid. He knows he can’t take care of the boys during the week, especially with a new job. He just wants to show up on weekends like he’s always done and be the fun one. I’ve got a feeling Brian will do everything he can to make life hell for me. Bet I haven’t even begun to see what he’s capable of.”

  “Like father, like son,” Jeremy said. “I’m so sorry. You know I’ll do anything I can to help you. Abby and I will do anything we can.”

  Mara pressed her hand to her heart. “I know. Thank you for always being my ally.” She reached for his mug. “How about some more coffee?”

  He shook his head and stretched slowly. “I gotta go. I promised Abby I wouldn’t stay long. She’s convinced her water will break and she’ll go into full-blown labor when I’m not around.”

  “Well, you tell her to keep me on speed dial for anything she needs. I mean it.” They rose together and walked to the kitchen. Jeremy put on his coat and gave her a long embrace.

  “You gonna be okay?” he asked. “You don’t think Tom will try to pull anything this weekend, do you?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. His company’s giving him a furnished apartment in Cleveland, and he’ll spend most of his time there. He’s moving some of his stuff out of here on Sunday, after they get back from skiing. And I’ve got some friends who are gonna be here while he’s doing that. So I’m good. Or at least as good as I can be right now.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, honey. Thanks for coming by.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too. You call me as soon as there’s the slightest sign of my granddaughter making her grand entrance, okay? Bet she’ll be early.”

  “That’s what Abby’s hoping for. She’s so ready to be done.”

  “I remember what that feels like.”

  In fact, she thought as she watched Jeremy drive away, she was feeling a bit like that again. Ready to be done. But this battle with Tom had only just started, and she wasn’t sure she had any fight left in her. No doubt he was counting on that.

  She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to read the Verified Complaint for Divorce again: “There has been a breakdown in the marriage relationship to the extent that the objects of matrimony have been destroyed and there remains no reasonable likelihood that the marriage can be preserved.”

  Well, there was no debating that particular point, was there?

  In fact, had there ever really been a marriage to preserve?

  She and Dawn had talked about it in her office that afternoon, not long after the summons happened to arrive. “Maybe I jinxed myself,” Mara had said. “I was just telling Katherine last week how I hated him and how some days I wished he would just go away. And now I get what I wished for. Except I see now how much it’s gonna cost me. Why did I ever marry him in the first place?”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because I was desperate.”

  “Desperate how?”

  “Desperate to do whatever it took to make sure Jeremy would be safe.”

  “You loved your son.”

  “More than anything.”

  If she had to do it all over again, maybe she would make the exact same choice. They both had benefited from Tom’s financial stability, no doubt about that. Good income, nice house in an upscale neighborhood, good schools.

  “I never loved Tom. You know that. I don’t remember what vows I said in front of the justice of the peace, but if there was anything about love in there, then I was a big, fat liar. I know that makes me sound terrible, but it’s the truth. I didn’t love him. He didn’t love me. It’s been no life together, that’s for sure. Just been using each other all along. And now the game’s over. He wins.”

  “What does Tom win?” Dawn asked.

  “Everything. He’ll buy some big fancy new house with that huge promotion of his and have all the toys and goodies to go with it. So then he’ll have even more to impress the boys with whenever he decides to swoop in and be hero-dad.”

  Dawn sat back in her chair and cocked her head to one side. “Poor Tom. Sounds like a pretty empty life.”

  Poor Tom!

  Honestly. Sometimes Dawn said the craziest things.

  Hannah

  Friday, December 12

  5:30 p.m.

  So much for my plan to journal every day. I’ve been so preoccupied with things going on with Mara and Meg that I haven’t taken the time. Mara is coming with me tonight to hear Nate sing Handel’s Messiah with the faculty-student choir. It’s been years since I sang it. Seminary, probably, when Nate and I both sang in the choir.

  I talked to Mom and Dad yesterday. Mom sounded tired. I think as much as she was looking forward to being with relatives, it’s taking a toll on her. She said she wished I was going to be with them for Christmas. She didn’t say it, but I know she wonders why, when I’m free for Christmas for the first time in years, I’m choosing to spend it here. I haven’t said anything to them about Nate. Just not ready to. I told her I’d love it if she and Dad came out for a visit in January or February, but she said she’s done enough traveling to last her for the next few years. She’s hoping I’ll come visit them for a couple of weeks.

  Nate says discernment is all about taking the next faithful step, guided by love. So what does Love call me to do? I don’t know, Lord. But you are Love and Lover, and I want to hear your voice.

  Just remembered something the Lord revealed to me years ago. I was so anxious about knowing his will, so eager to be obedient. Worried I wouldn’t hear correctly. Then it hit me. I was putting all of my confidence in MY ability to hear God, instead of placing confidence in HIS desire to speak in a way I could understand. It seemed like such a simple thing, but it was life-changing. Huge paradigm shift. Like a big burden was lifted off of me, and I began to relax a bit. Putting confidence in my ability to hear God places the burden of responsibility on me. Putting confidence in his ability and desire to speak to me places the burden on him. He knows me well enough to know what will catch my attention. So help me rest in you, Lord.

  Meg emailed to say she’s decided to stay in England, at least for now. She still hasn’t given any details about what’s going on, but she said she wants Becca to know that she loves her, no matter what. I’m proud of her for staying. Sounds like she’s trying to take that next faithful step. Empower her, Lord. And help all of us to be guided by love, not driven by duty, guilt, or fear.

  Charissa

  “I’ve never felt so humiliated,” Charissa said to John after Tim dropped him off at their apartment Friday evening. “Worst. Day. Ever.”

  John raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing.” He opened the refrigerator and inspected the shelves.

  “It’s a big deal, John. A really big deal.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just said it wasn’t the end of the world. And it’s not.”

  “It will be when I lose my funding.”

  “Whoa!” John cast a glance at her over his shoulder. “Who said anything about losing your funding?”

  She slammed her laptop shut and planted her elbows on the dining room table. “Just wait,” she said. “You have no idea how competitive it is. You should have seen Amber Dykstra today, should have
heard her phony, ‘Oh! I’m so sorry, that’s so hard, terrible timing to be sick, blah blah blah.’ Wish I could wipe that stupid sneer off her face.”

  John closed the refrigerator and moved on to the pantry. “You’re not going to lose your scholarship just because you missed one presentation.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

  He looked like he was going to say something before swallowing it instead.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No—you looked like you were going to say something. Say it.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I love you, Riss. I do. And I care about the things that matter to you. But honestly, there are bigger things happening in the world right now than this.”

  “Not in my world, there aren’t.”

  He motioned toward her with his index finger. “My point exactly.”

  “Thanks a lot for your support. I appreciate it.”

  “I am trying to support you. But all you seem to see in everything is your own reflection. It gets old.”

  Fine. So he was back to her self-centeredness again. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being proven right by disappearing in an angry huff. She decided to change the subject. “More packages arrived yesterday.” Her tone was deliberately accusatory.

  “I saw them. Thanks.” He closed the pantry door and took an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

  “We agreed not to spend a lot of money on Christmas or the baby right now, remember?”

  “I remember. Those were gifts for my parents. A small thank-you for their down payment offer.” His tone was equally barbed. “I forged your signature on the card.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  She had forgotten to thank them. How could she have forgotten that? She hadn’t even remembered to send an email. Great. Not only had she just proven John’s point again, she’d also no doubt firmly cemented her in-laws’ impression of her as being aloof and self-absorbed. Great. Just great.