She smiled to herself. It was the first time in her life she’d ever considered trying to attract a man’s attention. She hadn’t felt this good in years and, for once, CJ could actually say she felt hopeful.
Mrs. Davis had created another of her culinary delights. Sweet-and-sour meatballs were served on beds of steaming white rice, with stir-fried vegetables on the side. CJ couldn’t remember when food had tasted so good.
After lunch, Brad led CJ into one of the side rooms, dominated by a big-screen television. A VCR sat conspicuously on the coffee table, and Brad motioned her to take a seat.
“I found something really special. I know I promised to tell you everything ahead of time, so I’m going to explain myself here and now,” Brad began.
CJ looked warily around the room. Up until now, things had been going her way. She could only guess what Brad had planned. She watched suspiciously as he walked over to a handcrafted, oak sideboard and pulled open a drawer.
“I found a movie that had been made at one of the air shows when you were quite young. It’s a very personal film, devoted to your family, especially your father. I had it transferred to videotape and thought we could watch it together. Are you game?”
CJ paled a bit and sat back hard. She hadn’t even looked at photographs of her parents since the accident. “I don’t know, Brad. I mean, we’ve watched other videos and that went all right, but this is different.”
“Look, I promise I’ll turn it off if it gets to be too much. In fact, here.” He reached over and handed her the remote control. “You’re in charge.”
CJ stared at the black-and-silver remote in her hand. She was in charge? Since when? She would have laughed out loud if it weren’t for the serious expression on Brad’s face.
Taking a deep breath, CJ decided to risk it. “Put the tape in.”
The film started and for several minutes a narrator extolled the virtues of Douglas O’Sullivan in grand style. He told of her father’s birth into a flying family. Her grandfather had barnstormed in his early days and later maintained one of the better flying circuses in America. Doug O’Sullivan was just as much a natural at flying as his father had been.
CJ smiled when they showed photographs of her father and grandparents. “They called him ‘Scrappy’ when he was a boy,” CJ told Brad in a whisper. “On account of the fact he was so small.”
The narrator spoke of other events in the life of Doug O’Sullivan. A distinguished career in the military, an honored war hero, and later, one of the forerunners in organizing international fly-ins, where people from all over the country could compete for prizes and laurels in flight performance. That brought the narrator to the place where he introduced the background.
CJ vaguely remembered the scene. It was one of the gatherings at Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Here was competition at its best. The camera panned the painted wooden banner. INTERNAT’l EXPERIMENTAL AIR-CRAFT ASSOC., proudly labeled the top, and just beneath that, big, bold, yellow letters stated, Fly-In CONVENTION. Flags from several nations, including the U.S., Canada, Britain, and France, graced the top of the banner and added an air of patriotic festivity to the day.
CJ was mesmerized as the tape rolled back the years. She felt her stomach tighten as the camera zoomed in on a Curtiss Jenny biplane her father had called his baby. Usually, he flew the Jenny in ahead of the family while Curt and CJ’s mother, Jan, would fly in later, bringing all the needed supplies for their stay.
“Nearly one million people will share the experience of this fly-in, and over fifteen thousand planes will take off and land on this runway before the week is out,” the narrator was saying. The aerial view of the field was impressive, with row after row of planes anchored at the side of the airstrip.
“The numbers are staggering,” the narrator continued. “They must find it quite a task to organize all of these aircraft.”
“I’d imagine finding space to park the thirty or forty thousand campers that accompany folks here is more of a chore.” CJ tensed and gripped the arm of the sofa. The voice belonged to her father.
The narrator continued. “Doug O’Sullivan, you’ve been flying most all of your life, isn’t that true?”
“It sure is. Flying is my life,” he was saying. CJ forced herself to look at the screen as the camera caught the tanned, leathery face of her father. “Of course,” Doug O’Sullivan added, “I wouldn’t have a life at all if it weren’t for God. He’s always been my copilot and always will be.”
Tears blurred CJ’s vision. Oh, Daddy, she thought, why did you have to go away? Why did God take you from me?
“You have quite a family, I understand,” the narrator said. “I know folks would love to meet them.”
“Well, over here is my oldest, Curtiss.” CJ saw her dad put a possessive arm around Curt. “He’s seventeen and handles the second biplane in our simulated dogfights. I’m sure you’ll be able to catch us in the air later this afternoon.”
Curt hammed for the camera and answered the questions directed at him before the men moved on to focus on Jan O’Sullivan, Doug’s beloved wife. CJ felt her heart breaking. Her mother was radiant, youthful, and happy. She missed her so much, remembering their girl talks and the tenderness her mother had for her.
“There’s not a gal around who can beat her. She’s remembered by most for her multiple participations in the Powder Puff Derby,” her father was saying of his wife. CJ watched her father lovingly pull her mother into his arms. “A pretty, young, talented woman is always good for the show, right?” Doug winked at the narrator, then planted a firm kiss on his wife’s lips.
“Oh, Doug!” Jan exclaimed and feigned disgust. “You’ll have to excuse him for his lack of manners,” she laughed. “He’s eaten and slept biplanes for so long, he doesn’t know how to act in front of respectable people.”
The film broke away to some previously recorded footage of her parents’ earlier days as a team. The narrator told of the couple’s harrowing experiences and triumphant successes. CJ wiped away the tears with her hand, then gratefully took a handkerchief Brad offered her.
“Last, but certainly not least,” the reporter said, bringing the viewers back to Oshkosh, “is the youngest member of this flying team. I understand your daughter is only twelve, but already she flies like a pro.”
“She certainly does. She’s a great mechanic, too,” Doug O’Sullivan said with pride. He was seated beside the narrator beneath a tent awning. “CJ!” he called. It was more than she could bear. CJ softly sobbed into the handkerchief, not even aware that Brad had slipped his arm around her.
A twelve-year-old CJ appeared on the screen. She was giggly and pigtailed and totally devoted to her father. She threw herself onto her father’s lap in little-girl abandonment. Doug O’Sullivan tickled his daughter, until a laughing CJ yelled, “Oh, Daddy, stop!” Settling down, CJ faced the interviewer like she’d done it all her life.
“CJ O’Sullivan, I understand you have quite an interesting story behind your name,” the narrator said.
“My daddy named me after his biplane,” the little girl answered. CJ could barely hear the words. “I’m Curtiss Jenny O’Sullivan.” Until that moment, CJ hadn’t remembered even doing the interview. Now it all came flooding back to her.
“What a name and what a young lady!” the man replied.
“That she is,” CJ heard her father say. “She’s my special angel, and I love her very much.”
CJ, the little girl on the screen, giggled and kissed her father. “I love you, too, Daddy.” She laughed and danced away from the camera.
CJ, the woman, lifted the remote and murmured two words, “No more!”
nine
CJ broke down and cried with all her heart. Five years of pent-up loneliness and hurt came pouring out with the tears. Brad held her close, whispered comfortingly into her ear, and refused to let her bear the sorrow alone.
Little by little, instead of easing, CJ’s pain intensified. Then came anger and resentment that CJ could
no longer bury. Without warning, she pushed away from Brad and threw the remote control across the room. Her eyes caught the book on the end table, and she threw it, too.
Jumping up from the couch, CJ was like a wild, crazed animal, hurt and wounded so deeply that she refused to be consoled.
“He could have let them live!” she raged. “God didn’t have to take them. I lived! They could have survived, as well. Why? Why did I have to be left behind? It isn’t right! It isn’t fair!”
By this time, Brad had gotten to his feet and closed the distance between them. “CJ, you’ve got to calm down.”
“Stay away from me. Don’t touch me,” she managed to say between her clenched jaws. “I don’t want to feel better. I don’t want to be comforted. I can’t bear the way you’re looking at me now! I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want your sympathy.”
Brad froze in midstep. “Is that what you think I want to give you? Pity? Sympathy? Grow up a little, CJ. Your temper tantrum at God won’t change a thing. They’re still dead.”
CJ’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but the tirade halted, at least momentarily. Brad used the opportunity to continue.
“I care about you, CJ. I thought highly of your father, but he’s beyond caring about my devotion. He’s at peace with His Savior, and he would want you to be, as well.” Brad walked toward her in slow, deliberate steps.
“I want to give you many things, CJ, but pity is not one of them. Pity cripples and kills, and I will not be part of it. I offer you friendship. Take it or leave it, but please don’t spoil my heartfelt concern with your own self-pity.” He stood directly in front of her. He could see the terror and rage in her eyes.
CJ drew a ragged breath. Everything Brad had said was right. “I don’t want to be left behind,” she whimpered. “I have nothing. Even my brother ran away to be rid of me. I’m alone, and it scares me.”
Brad opened his arms, waiting for her move. CJ hesitated for only a moment, then threw herself into the welcoming embrace. “You’re not alone anymore, CJ. I’m here, and I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.”
CJ said nothing. It was enough just to hear the declaration of faithfulness. She reveled in it. She embraced it. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to feel the blanket of protection that Brad Aldersson offered her.
She lost track of how long they stood there, but finally Brad led her back to the couch and sat down with her.
“Being angry at God is probably the biggest guilt you’ve buried inside,” Brad whispered. “You wanted so much to be good in order to earn your way into heaven, but deep down inside, you knew you harbored this horrible thing. You blame God for taking your parents. You blame God for your pain.”
CJ nodded. He was right. How could he know so much about her? It was if she had laid her soul open for him to read, page by page.
“They’re gone, and I’m here,” she said hoarsely.
“But you aren’t alone,” Brad stressed.
“But I feel alone,” CJ responded, looking deep into his eyes. She placed her hand over her heart. “I’m alone and lost inside, and I don’t know how to find my way back.”
Brad reached out and took her hand. Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he pulled her hand to his chest. “You’re not alone,” he re-peated. “God never left you alone, CJ. You may have walked away, but He didn’t…and neither will I.”
When CJ had finally calmed down enough to meet with Brad’s approval, she made her way home and took a long, hot shower. Knowing she should call Cheryl but feeling unable to deal with her friend, CJ un-plugged her phone and went to bed early.
For several hours, she stared at the ceiling. Her head was flooded with images from the past. In spite of how she tried to block their entry, the memories were there, and they forced her attention from every corner of her mind.
Tossing and turning, CJ struggled to find peace. It was clear that God was dealing with her, she realized, but what did He want? Abso-lution? He certainly didn’t need forgiveness from her. After all, God hadn’t held the grudge all these years; CJ had. God was innocent of the ugliness that bred contempt within her.
God was innocent!
The words hit her like a wall of stone. God had done nothing wrong. CJ was to blame for her own misery. She had allowed Satan a foothold, and now she was paying the price. Misery, paranoia, phobias, loneliness, anger—these were all things by which Satan could benefit. His purpose was served in these scornful attitudes—his and no one else’s. CJ didn’t have a life to call her own. She served those feelings as clearly as angels served their Lord in heaven.
No, she reasoned, God doesn’t need my forgiveness, but I need
His.
Yet, even knowing her need, CJ couldn’t bring herself to ask for forgiveness. She felt the wall of protection going up around her. God, she rationalized, would understand just where she was coming from. God knew what pain she’d suffered and the battles she’d had to fight. And ultimately, CJ told herself, God has allowed everything that happened to me. How could He still be a loving and merciful God and do that?
There was no peace for CJ that night. Nor in the nights that followed. She refused to plug her phone back in, and when Brad finally showed up at her door, she told him to go home.
CJ moved restlessly from room to room, never leaving the apartment for any reason. She wanted to make things right. She wanted to believe God was sovereign and righteous and loving, but her heart felt hardened with each day that passed, and her mind told CJ she was justified to feel that way.
When finally she could bear no more of the alienation she’d created, CJ cried out to God, “I don’t know what You want from me! You’ve already taken all that I loved. What more can I give?”
The resounding silence only made CJ feel worse. She paced a bit more, then settled down at her desk. Pushing up the roll top cover, CJ’s eyes caught sight of her Bible. She hadn’t picked it up in days. Now, even though she fought the urge, CJ reached out and opened it.
Lamentations, a requiem of sorrow, greeted CJ’s eyes, and she was drawn to the words that were spread out before her in the third chapter. “So I say, ‘My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the Lord.’ I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Her eyes backed over the words, “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.” CJ not only remembered them, she wore them about her like a suit of armor that kept her from feeling or thinking or living.
CJ forced herself to concentrate on the last sentences: “Therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.” She stopped.
“But I feel like they’ve failed,” CJ whispered. “I feel consumed.” She read the last words: “They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” CJ put her head upon the Bible and wept softly.
“I do want to believe that. I do want to trust You, God. I don’t want this thing between us. Forgive me,” she cried. “Just send me a sign. Show me what I must do in order to heal. I give up, God. I give up. There’s nothing left.”
It was almost startling the way peace began to infiltrate the rock-hard wall she’d placed around her heart. Slowly, CJ composed herself and got up. She’d wasted a great deal of time, not only during the last few days in her fight with God, but in her struggles against Him for over five years. What now? Recognizing the situation didn’t make it disappear.
CJ wasn’t surprised by the knock at her door, nor by the fact that it was Brad. Brad, however, was astonished at CJ’s ragged appearance.
“Are you all right?” he questioned with a critical eye. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, with dark circles spoiling her perfect complexion.
“Yes
and no.” CJ pulled back from the doorway to add, “Want to talk about it?”
Brad smiled in a slight, almost impish way. “What do you think?”
CJ wearily stepped aside, letting Brad close the door behind him. She took herself to the couch and collapsed. Brad followed her in mute scrutiny. His face bore the concern that poured out from his heart.
CJ glanced up and almost laughed at his expression. “I look pretty bad, don’t I?”
“Actually, you’re a welcome sight. I was afraid I’d have to tear down that door. What have you been doing with yourself these past few days? You don’t look like you’ve slept or eaten.”
“I haven’t,” CJ admitted. “But I have been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Fighting.” CJ’s reply said it all.
“And who have you been fighting?” Brad questioned softly. The worried look faded into compassion.
“God. Myself.”
“Who won?” Brad asked with a grin.
“Who do you suppose?” CJ countered with a laugh.
“Are you ready to try again?”
CJ pulled her knees up under her chin. She looked like a little girl, so vulnerable and lost. “I have to be,” she answered. “I promised to go on.”
“So now you’re pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, is that it?”
CJ raised her head and shook it slowly. “I have no bootstraps,” she replied. “All that is left in me is this weak, very tiny flicker of hope. Hope that God is really Who He says He is and that I can rest in that.”
Brad reached out and squeezed her hand. “He’s all that He says and much, much more.” Spying her Bible on the desk, he got up and walked over to retrieve it. “Lamentations?” he questioned, not really needing an answer.
CJ shrugged. “It’s what I opened up to. I read from chapter three, through verse twenty-three.”
A Wing And A Prayer: Truly Yours Digital Edition (Truly Yours Digital Editions) Page 7