by Diane Moody
Finding the novel, she plopped it in her lap and flipped through the introductory pages to the first chapter. By the time the 737 screamed off the runway into the air, she’d read the first sentence four times. As the darkened sky swallowed the silver bird in flight, she slowly closed the book and exchanged it for the journal. Thankful for the empty seats beside her, she caressed the worn cover gently in her hands, tracing the rounded edges with the tip of her finger.
My life is pressed between the covers of this book.
For some reason, the realization hit her hard. For as long as she could remember, she had recorded the details of her life. Sometimes the entries stretched page after page as she relayed significant events. Others were brief—sometimes nothing more than a simple phrase or thought or a single lyric from a song that touched her. But it’s all here. The story of my life.
Yet even now, as the plane’s vapor surely trailed the expanding distance behind them, Annie knew what she must do. She swallowed hard and opened the journal.
I’m engaged! I can’t believe it! The most wonderful man on the face of the earth wants to marry me! How can that be? It was so romantic—the way he proposed, surprising me below my balcony. Even the neighbors got in on the act. Yes, David McGregor, YES!! I will marry you!!! And I will follow you to the ends of the earth . . .
A slight smile tugged at her mouth, the memories rolling over her in a gentle wave. David had been such an unexpected joy in her life. Hard to believe they once lived such a fairy tale existence. She ignored the nagging swell of her heart rate, refusing to think beyond the entry. She continued revisiting the special moments of her life, occasionally skipping notes here and there, sometimes several pages at a time.
David’s first Sunday as the new pastor of Tall Pines Community Church. We were so nervous! I got up early to make his favorite breakfast but he couldn’t eat a bite. But he was AMAZING once he got to the pulpit. His voice was a little shaky at first, then he found his stride and spoke like he’d preached every single day of his life. I was so proud of him!
Her stomach muscles tensed. She remembered the glow of those early days of ministry, happier times now filtered through far too much resentment. I was such a naive fool back then.
She flipped through the pages, then paused to read the December 20th entry from just over sixteen years ago when a little guy named Max joined them quite unexpectedly.
We’re parents! I can’t believe it! It all happened so fast. I only wish we could’ve met his birth mother or at least find out why she picked us. Max is only 8 months old and absolutely adorable. Father, thank You for letting us be Mommy and Daddy to this little guy. He’s the best Christmas gift—and first anniversary gift—we could ever ask for!
Annie could see the sparkling eyes and curly brown hair of the little boy who stole their hearts. Definitely a case of love at first sight. How was it possible this same bundle of joy was now driving? Shaving, no less!
She read on.
My back is killing me. I had 15 four-year-olds in Sunday school this morning and none of my helpers showed up. It never fails. How can they be so inconsiderate? It wouldn’t be so bad except I can’t get around very well right now. Baby Jeremy is due in three weeks, and I feel like a beached whale. Oh Lord, forgive me for being so frustrated with these folks. I’m sure they had their reasons.
“Would you like some lunch?”
Annie blinked out of her nostalgic cocoon as the flight attendant extended a small basket toward her. “Oh . . . yes, thank you.” She slid the ribbon bookmark to her page in the journal, dropping down the tray table from the seat in front of her. She reached for her billfold, pulling out sufficient bills to pay for the meal.
She hadn’t noticed the flurry of activity in the plane as passengers removed plastic wrapping from thick deli sandwiches, potato chips, and oversized sugar cookies. As if on cue, her stomach growled, reminding her she’d forgotten to eat breakfast that morning. She took a bite of the turkey and provolone sandwich, silently praying over her meal. Then, taking a deep breath, she gazed toward the panoramic view out her window.
Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe things really aren’t as bad as they seem. If only I’d taken more time to stop and breathe once in a while. If only I’d forced myself to take a few breaks along the way, go to the beach like I used to. Soak up the warm sunshine and feel the sand between my toes.
“Beverage?”
The friendly attendant had returned with a drink cart. “Yes, please. Mineral water with a twist of lemon?”
“Sure,” the uniformed brunette answered, popping open a bottle and pouring it over ice in the small glass. She tucked a wedge of lemon on the rim and handed it to Annie.
Later, all remnants of her lunch removed, Annie retrieved her journal and opened it once again. She turned to the place she’d marked with the thin satin ribbon, working her jaw again. She skimmed through more of the entries, memories and details of a marriage and a family that somehow lost its way.
The night David arrived half an hour after Jessica’s birth.
Even now, more than five years later, the resentment gripped a secret place in her heart. He’d apologized a thousand times. No, it wasn’t his fault. Jessica had arrived two weeks early. There was no way he could have known when he left town for the convention. But by the time her contractions began, she knew he would never get back in time. She’d tried to be gracious and accept it, but somehow the apologies weren’t enough. It was so much more. For the first time, as if in living color, she saw the literal reality of what their life had become.
The church owned David McGregor.
And he allowed them to do so.
Of course, he never had enough time to stop and ponder anything so close to home. They kept him much too busy. Annie still believed he was a good decent man who loved her and loved their children. So what had happened? How had David let it come to this? How had she let it come to this?
Annie had asked those questions more times than she could count. Rocking little Jessica, she would voice those concerns to David in cross whispers when he came home late at night. His response? A blank stare. Too tired to face a confrontation, he would nod his head, apologize, then shuffle off to bed. By morning, he would cling to her in bear hug embraces, grovel in more apologies, and make all kinds of desperate promises. But she knew things would stay the same. He would be sucked back into the relentless vacuum of his chosen profession.
She might as well be a single mom.
The thought sent a familiar grip circling her head. She reached for her bag and the migraine medication she lived on these days. The bitter pill melted under her tongue as she waited for relief. She tired of the beleaguered journey through the pages of her life, but she kept on. She was searching for something—anything that would help her find her way back. Anything that could give her a clue. Her body begged for a nap, but she picked up the book once more, passing months of entries as she neared the last few handwritten pages.
Last year’s Mother & Daughter Banquet . . . As chairman of the annual event, Annie had barely seen her daughter and mother-in-law that night. Two bites into her salad, she was whisked away to attend to another emergency. It wasn’t until the end of the banquet she spotted her disappointed daughter, still sitting at their table, stirring her cold potatoes in a pile of mush. Annie sat down beside her, stroking the long blonde curls before pulling her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to desert you and Gran.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. It wasn’t any fun anyway. Can we go home now?”
She could still feel the sting in her eyes at the honesty of Jessie’s statement. All that work. All those months. But Jessie was absolutely right. It was no fun at all. It was a mother and daughter celebration, but this mother had spent only five minutes with her daughter. Five minutes. Suddenly, the truth pierced her heart: Jessica got crumbs that night—Annie’s crumbs. The same kind of crumbs Annie got from David.
What goes around comes around.
Annie exhaled a hushed moan, rolling her neck to stretch out the kinks. Enough of this. But there was one page more she must read. She didn’t want to read it. She had to. The words written there were still fresh, lettered only seven days ago.
Today, I drew a line in the sand. It is the line that divides all my yesterdays from all my tomorrows. I will no longer be who I have been. I am through with that life. I have to get away. I have to, or I will lose my mind. Tonight I made reservations for a flight to Colorado. I leave one week from today. I’m borrowing Christine’s cabin while she’s overseas right now. There I will figure out what I’m going to do. I will open my heart to God and ask for His help, but I will no longer remain as I am. Something happened today. And when it did, something snapped inside me. I needed David desperately. But he was gone. He always is. He was ministering to a hurting family in our church. They needed him. How typical. And how utterly ironic.
Annie slammed the book shut. She dropped her face into her trembling hands. Oh God, no. Not here. Don’t let me fall apart. Not yet. She squeezed her eyes and pressed her lips together, steeling herself against another wave of emotion, this one trying desperately to pull her under.
High above the earth in a plane arcing over the Midwest, Annie knew she must come to grips with who she was and exactly what she was doing . . .
A pastor’s wife, running away from home.
CHAPTER 2
Seminole, Florida
“It never fails,” Caroline McGregor mumbled. “The closer it is to school dismissal, the higher the chance for rain.” She pulled her car into the long curling line of vehicles behind the school building. The afternoon downpour hastened windshield wipers into rhythmic frenzies, like so many metronomes all out of sync with one another.
Caroline put the car in park and relaxed. Absently running her hand through her thick white hair, she tucked renegade strands back into the loosely woven French braid. Realizing she’d forgotten to put on her lipstick, she dug in her purse for the tube then adjusted the rearview mirror to see herself. She didn’t care much for mirrors. They seemed a necessary evil to anyone her age. The hazel eyes looking back at her seemed weary and strained, the crow’s feet feathering from them more numerous than she remembered. She blew out an indifferent sigh and concentrated on applying the lipstick to her open lips. Tossing the lipstick back in her purse, she gladly shoved the mirror to its original position.
Peering out her side window, she could tell the storm was socked in for the rest of the day. Something was bothering her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but her soul was troubled. She glanced at the building impatiently. “C’mon, c’mon . . . ring the bell.”
Tall Pines Christian School, a private school spanning kindergarten to twelfth grade, was an extension of the large metropolitan church for which it was named. Sharing the same sprawling campus in Seminole, Florida, both church and school boasted a growing membership in this middle-class area, a bedroom community on the Gulf coast sandwiched between Clearwater and St. Petersburg.
Routinely, the elementary wing of the school launched into the ritual known as Rainy Day Procedure on days such as this. A mass of teachers in yellow slickers huddled beneath oversized umbrellas, escorting each young scholar to his or her family car with Mom at the wheel. The cars advanced at a snail’s pace but it was a small price to pay for curb service and staying out of the rain.
“Jessica and Jeremy McGregor, please,” Caroline called out to the teacher on duty who approached her car. She heard the names of her grandchildren repeated on the battery-powered megaphone by the haggard teacher. In only a matter of moments she spotted her two grandchildren knotted under one of the umbrellas. They climbed into her car with a barrage of eager, breathless questions.
“Gran! We didn’t know you were picking us up today! Where’s Mom?”
“Can we go to PJ’s, Gran?”
“Can we go to PJ’s and then to your house?”
Always happy to see her grandkids, Caroline felt her apprehension ease. She laughed as she pulled out into traffic. “Whoa—slow down! I can only answer ten questions at a time. Put your seat belts on, then Jessica, you first.”
“Where’s Mommy? How come you’re picking us up?” Jessica’s head full of blonde curls bounced with her animated questions. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with excited curiosity.
“Your mother called early this morning and asked me to pick you up today. She said she had some things to do and wasn’t sure when she’d be back.”
Jeremy, at the wise old age of eight, followed with another torrent of questions. “Will you take us to PJ’s for a donut and some hot chocolate, Gran? We haven’t been there in forever!”
Caroline glanced at the review mirror to peek at her youngest grandson. His light brown hair, shaggy in its usual disarray, covered his head like a dust mop. The stubborn cowlick atop his forehead stood at attention. She loved that cowlick, an inherited gift from her late husband. The resemblance sometimes took her breath away.
“In forever?” Caroline feigned dismay. “Why, I can’t believe how cruel your parents are! I suppose I’ll have to report them to the DEA.”
Jessica wrinkled her face. “What’s a DEA?”
“Donut-Eaters Anonymous. It’s a non-profit support group for deprived children like you. A huge organization, in more ways than one, I might add.”
“Ah, you made that up!” Jeremy countered. “There’s no such thing . . . is there?”
“Okay, so you caught me. I confess. But I must admit this weather sure makes a hot cup of coffee sound good.”
“All right!” Jeremy cheered.
“As long as we’re back in plenty of time before Max gets home. I don’t want him to come home to an empty house.”
She stole a glance in the rearview mirror again just as Jessica rolled her eyes. “We never know when Max will get home so don’t worry, Gran. We’ll have lots and lots of time.”
Caroline smiled at her granddaughter. To a five-year-old, a sixteen-year-old brother was nothing short of a constant aggravation. And while there were occasional, stolen moments when Jessie truly adored Max, she never hesitated to remind her parents and grandparents of any possible shortcomings she might discover.
“No kiddin’, Gran,” Jeremy added. “Max thinks he’s so cool now that he can drive. What’s the big deal about driving anyway?” Jeremy shook his head, rolling his eyes just as his sister had. “I mean, what difference does it make how you get somewhere—whether you drive or your mom or dad drives or your grandmother drives? It’s only a car, for crying out loud.”
“It may not seem like such a big deal now, but when you get to be Max’s age, believe me—you’ll be counting the days until you can get your license.”
“Hey, Gran, speaking of coffee, can I have a cup of coffee too?” Jeremy asked, his voice sounding mysteriously deeper. Caroline laughed at the sudden change of subjects. Keeping up with these two was like following the moves of a ping pong ball in a championship tournament.
“You know, like the time you fixed me a cup at your house,” he continued. “That was pretty cool—you ’n me discussing real important stuff over coffee.”
She recalled the mug of mostly cream and sugar with only the slightest trace of coffee. “Yeah? Like what kind of ‘stuff’?”
“Don’t you remember? Stuff like what I wanted for Christmas, what kind of PlayStation games you needed to look for. Stuff like that.”
“What a memory. Just like your father. Jeremy, you are truly a gigabyte brainchild. Well, I tell you what. You stick with hot chocolate today and we’ll save the coffee for your next visit to my house. How about you, Jessica? What kind of donut are you going to have today?”
“PJ prob’ly won’t have any left but I want a chocolate one with sprinkles.”
“Jessie, you’re so boring. You always get the same thing. Dull, dull, dull,” Jeremy lectured, playfully dumping her backpack onto the floor of the car.
“You’re such a creep!�
�� Jessica slugged her brother in the arm. “Gran, look what he did to my backpack!”
“C’mon, you two. Either get along or I’ll head straight to the house sans donuts.”
Jessica gathered her belongings. “Will Daddy be home for dinner tonight?”
“As a matter of fact he’ll be home all night. Your mom said he doesn’t have any meetings at church tonight, so he should be home in plenty of time for dinner.”
Caroline pulled into the vacant parking lot. “Here we are. Looks like we might have PJ all to ourselves. Now watch the puddles, kids. Let’s make a run for it!”
“Good-morning-how-you?”
PJ Ludwinski always greeted his customers the same way, with those same exact words, no matter what the time of day. The McGregor trio made their way through the glass door, their arrival announced cheerfully by the jangling bells on the door. An ancient radio was playing a rousing rendition of Roll Out the Barrel, to which the crusty Polish owner and sole employee danced a jig as he made his way to the counter. “Ah! My McGregors! Come in! Come in!”
The popular neighborhood donut shop was by no means fancy, but to Caroline’s grandchildren, it was magical. Souvenirs from around the world hung from dusty rafters above, most of them gifts from faithful customers. Colorful piñatas, beer steins, a flock of artificial parrots, and too many hats to count. A Polaroid gallery of loyal customers covered the back wall. Toddlers with chocolate-smeared smiles. Construction workers in hard hats. Wrinkled senior citizens, many long since gone to the Donut Shop in the Sky.
Yes, PJ’s boasted a rich legacy. Greasy, but rich.
On this late and rainy afternoon, Jessica hurried to grab a seat next to her grandmother along the counter. Jeremy busily spun himself around and around in circles on the vinyl-covered stool—never mind that he’d been told not to spin on his stool each and every time they came to PJ’s.