The Secret Life of Sarah Hollenbeck

by Bethany Turner

  That’s probably what I should have said, because that was the truth. Ben would have understood that. He would have made sure that I understood that he loved me as much as I loved him, and he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Perhaps then we would have set some new ground rules, a date for the wedding, and started counting the days until we could finally be together in every way.

  But my return to the laptop had pulled my focus away from him once again. Everything I should have said to Ben? That was good stuff for my heroine to say.

  “Look, Sarah, if you’re having any second thoughts, that’s really something we should talk about.”

  My fingers froze on the keyboard.

  Second thoughts? Had he just brought up second thoughts? Why? Was he having second thoughts?

  “Well, you know, if you want to . . . I mean, I don’t want you to feel any pressure . . . But if you did already feel pressured . . . There’s certainly no obligation . . .” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t complete any of the sentences. I took a deep breath and swallowed down my tears and blurted out, probably a bit more harshly than I meant to, “It’s not too late to back out if you don’t want to marry me.”

  His mood was back. “Thanks. It’s good to know I have your permission to make my own decisions.”

  “There’s no need to be a jerk, Ben.” I was shocked that he was talking to me the way he was. I didn’t know what was going on with him, but I was suddenly a whole lot less interested in finding out.

  “I’m sorry, but it was just a stupid thing to say, Sarah. Of course I don’t want to back out. Why would you say something like that?”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Well, I don’t know!” I shouted. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

  “I brought up you having second thoughts, and you still haven’t said that you’re not.”

  “What, because I’m more likely to have second thoughts than you are? Why is that? What are you trying to say, Ben?”

  He growled under his breath before saying, “I’m not trying to say anything. I’m saying it. You’re clearly pulling away, and I think I have the right to know why. It’s okay if we have some regret about the way things happened, but shutting yourself off isn’t going to make it go away.”

  I’m sorry . . . regret? Second thoughts and regrets are very different things. Second thoughts involve decisions, but regrets involve actions.

  “Oh,” I said.

  I heard him take a deep breath, and I could almost hear him counting to ten in his head. While he worked hard to calm himself down, I reverted to the ways of my first marriage and did all I could to stay mad. He may have taken my subdued “Oh” as an indication that he had broken through, but I wasn’t done fighting yet.

  “Laura took off on Saturday night, Sarah. She hasn’t been home since.”

  Okay, that broke through. At least for a moment.

  “Kaitlyn has been staying with Laura’s mom,” he continued. “Apparently she’s called to check in a couple of times, and she said she just wanted to get out of town for a while, but I’m getting sort of worried. I’m not sure, but I can’t help but wonder if you were right about her. Do you think this has something to do with our engagement? Maybe she does have some leftover feelings for me.”

  I love men, and I love that man in particular, but men can be idiots.

  “Of course she does, Ben. She’s in love with you. It’s as plain as day to everyone but you. Every move she makes and everything she says is about making you love her! How can you not see that?”

  I felt like right then, in that particular moment, a battle was being waged for my soul. On my left shoulder was a little white angel in a broomstick skirt and a peasant top—in my imagination bearing a strong resemblance to Roma Downey. That little angel was telling me to be supportive and understanding, and to put aside all of my petty jealousies and insecurities. On my right shoulder was a demon in a sexy red dress and stilettos, looking a lot like early Stevie Nicks, but with fewer layers and less eye makeup. Stevie was asking me why Ben cared so much, and even planting the idea in my mind that Laura was just staying away in a last-ditch effort to win him.

  “Don’t miss an opportunity to shine God’s love,” Roma said in her Irish accent.

  Stevie just sang “Edge of Seventeen,” but it was somehow very effective.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said, sounding concerned enough to simultaneously make me love him even more and frustrate me. “I just can’t stop thinking that if that’s true, and she does think she wants to be with me, it probably wasn’t the best thing for it all to happen right there, where she could walk out on everything.”

  I should have felt guilty, and maybe I did just a little bit, but Stevie was winning me over with her incessant chorus of white-winged doves singing Ooo, ooo, ooo.

  “It’s been, what . . . fifteen years since you two broke up? You shouldn’t have to worry about what she’ll think or what she might walk in on. Besides, what was she doing there that evening anyway? It was completely inappropriate for her to be there, if you ask me.”

  Ooo, ooo, ooo.

  “I tried to make you realize how uncomfortable I was,” I continued, “but you didn’t even seem to care. She comes on to you right in front of me, all the time. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  Ooo, ooo, ooo.

  “If she can’t handle the fact that you’ve moved on with your life, maybe it’s best if she’s gone. It sure doesn’t break my heart to think of a Laura-free life.”

  Ooo, ooo, ooo.

  Roma and Stevie disappeared in a puff of smoke and glitter as Ben said, “You don’t really mean that.”

  Unfortunately for him, I did.

  “Laura’s a big girl, and if she’s finally gotten it into her head that she needs to move on from you, then good! I say we leave her alone and let her get that figured out.”

  Sydney peeked her head back around the door and held up my home phone while she pointed to it and mouthed “Kent.” I nodded and motioned for her to come in.

  “Look, Ben, can we please talk about this later? My editor is on the other line, and I’m supposed to be getting a few chapters of the new book to him today, and I just don’t—”

  “Sure,” he said—not coldly, but certainly not warmly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  I sighed. “Like I said, you could never—hello? Ben, are you there?” I pushed the Bluetooth further into my ear, certain the click I had just heard was just the symptom of a bad connection.

  “Sarah.” Sydney pushed the phone toward me.

  I pulled my link to Ben out of my ear and instead focused on Kent, and writing, and all of the other things I hadn’t managed to mess up in a matter of minutes.

  On Friday morning, I called Joe back, as promised.

  “Hey, kid, so what do you think? How long do you need to get this thing finished up?”

  It had been two weeks since Stevie had twirled and twirled her way to victory. It had been two weeks since I’d retreated into my former self, not caring who I hurt in the process.

  It had been two weeks since I had spoken to Ben.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave Joe the answer I knew he wanted. “I should have plenty of time to write. I’ll have it finished up pretty quickly for you.”

  “Great! I know the team will be thrilled. You’re going to revolutionize the Christian market, kiddo. Who knows?” He laughed. “You might even fix a few of those marriages torn apart by Stollen Desire!”

  Ooo, baby, ooo, ooo.

  16.

  Number 7,483

  “You and Ben really need to get this worked out so that I can throw you an engagement party,” Piper said over coffee at my house.

  It was Saturday evening, the day after I promised Joe lightning-speed productivity in completing what we both hoped would be my fourth bestseller. Sadly, the writer’s block that I had so feared was lurking down a dark alley—not a corner, heaven forbid—had jumped out, flashed its knife, and stole
n my wallet.

  “That was a horrible metaphor,” Piper uttered honestly and sympathetically when I’d spoken the thought aloud.

  See? Writer’s block.

  “Engagement party? Ha! I don’t even know if we’re still engaged.”

  I don’t know if it was the pressure of Joe’s statement about undoing the damage I had done or the pressure he was placing on me to get it done quickly, but something had stolen every ounce of creativity and passion that had been propelling me forward. I’d hung up the phone the day before, returned to my laptop, and then . . . nothing. I had a problem with that. A big problem. When my sadness and fear and depression, not to mention love and desire, weren’t able to be expressed vicariously through the lives of my fictional characters, they were left to churn within me once again, and I didn’t handle that well.

  “Of course you’re still engaged, dummy!” Piper smiled, but I couldn’t return the smile. “Has either one of you told the other that the engagement is off?”

  “We haven’t told each other anything!”

  “Well, then, there you go. It’s not off unless someone says it’s off.” She reached over and placed her hand on mine as I started crying for the 7,482nd time in the forty-five minutes she had been there. “This isn’t some insignificant relationship that just suddenly ends. You know that, he knows that. And most importantly, I know that. Therefore, we’re going to plan your engagement party, you and I. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  She stood up and started looking around my kitchen, lifting things up from the counter to look under them.

  “Piper, that’s ridiculous. We are not going to plan a party right now.”

  Her search continued, undeterred. “You’re a writer, woman! How do you not have any paper?”

  I couldn’t help but giggle a little as she looked under everything, including the refrigerator.

  “I don’t use a quill pen and parchment, you know.”

  Finally she found a pad of sticky notes and a pencil, and decided that would be good enough for the moment. It was easy to see her determination to plan a party as what it really was, and I appreciated it. I didn’t, however, believe it was going to do any good. She wanted to cheer me up, obviously, but she also wanted to help me through my writer’s block by getting me focused on the potential of things to come.

  My fictional characters had followed, largely, the path that Ben and I had been on. Things began in a blaze of glory, only to settle into a God-given and God-driven passion. And then, for two weeks, I had written through their darkness as a way of dealing with my own. They had their own version of the tithing controversy, and their own personal Tom Isaacs. They also had a Laura. But through it all, there could be no doubt that eventually it would all work out. Eventually the world would no longer be able to stand in the way of something so powerful it had rendered defenseless the barriers built by two people so previously beaten and battered by what love had done to their hearts. This was not a book that called into question whether or not our lovebirds would end up together. Of course they would. From the opening line, through all of the ups and downs, there could never be any doubt that there would be a happily ever after.

  But what sort of people would they become before they reached the finish line? Some scars would be healed, sure, but some new injuries were just as certain. It was all about the journey, not the inevitable outcome. But you see, I had already written most of the journey. For two weeks, I had written the journey. It was time for them to come out on the other side and face their glorious future together, and I didn’t know how to do that. There was no point of reference, and I feared that perhaps I had been a fool to assume that I knew how the love story would end.

  “Originally I was thinking an open house sort of thing, but would you rather have a nice sit-down dinner for a select few?”

  My lip quivered as I tried to hold it in.

  “I like that idea,” Piper continued. “What do you think? Just twenty people or so? Oh wait, Ben has a pretty big family, doesn’t he? What, two brothers? Do they have kids? Should we even allow kids or do you want it to be more formal than that? Oh, wait. That was stupid. I forgot about Maddie.” She laughed as she erased “Adults Only?”

  She looked up with a smile, which quickly faded as she saw my despair reach a new, unparalleled depth. “Oh, honey.” She set the pencil down, scooted her chair next to mine, and wrapped her arms around me. She held me and let me sob. The first 7,482 times I had cried, it had been relatively manageable, but I had been holding back. For two weeks I had been holding back.

  Number 7,483 was one for the ages.

  “I just can’t believe he hasn’t even called,” Piper said as I cried. “It may not be fair, but I can’t help but hold him to a higher standard. As my best friend’s fiancé it’s despicable, but as my pastor? Unforgivable.” I wailed further and buried my tear-covered face in her shoulder. “Actually, it’s the other way around,” she said softly as she rested her head on mine.

  Once I finally gathered enough composure to sit up, I thought it only right that I clear Ben’s name in one regard. “It’s not that he hasn’t called,” I said with a sniff.

  “What, sweetie?” Piper leaned in to try and decipher whatever words were attempting to make their way through the treacherous peaks and valleys of the land of despair and heartbreak.

  “It’s not that he hasn’t called,” I repeated a little more audibly. “He’s left me a million messages.” My exasperated eye roll quickly turned back into a trembling pout.

  Piper cleared her throat, clearly trying to understand. “I’m sorry, he’s called you?” I nodded my head. “Multiple times?” More nodding. “And yet you haven’t spoken to him in two weeks, why?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “I don’t know what to say!”

  Piper stood up in a frenzy, accidentally knocking her chair over as she did. She began to pick it up but realized she could make her point more dramatically if she left it right where it was.

  “Sarah Hollenbeck, I don’t even know what to say right now I’m so frustrated with you!”

  I didn’t understand what was happening. Just a moment prior my best friend had been my greatest comforter and a shoulder to cry on. All of a sudden, I found her to be just a tad bit terrifying.

  “What did I say? What did I just say about this not being some insignificant relationship? This isn’t junior high, Sarah. This man loves you and has invited you into his life and his daughter’s life. He has put aside the ever-so-slightly tawdry fact that you are known worldwide as the woman who put sex in the kitchen in the forefront of culture and has been prepared to proudly defend you at the church where he is the pastor.” She was storming all around my kitchen, arms flailing and guns ablaze. “And in case that’s not enough, please don’t forget about Maddie. She is his link to Christa and the symbol of the love they shared. He has raised that little girl without a mommy, and he’s done an amazing job. He has protected her and loved her and shielded her from all the pain that he knows all too well exists in abundance in this world, and yet from day one he has shared her with you.”

  I sniffed again. “Not day one,” I protested weakly, feeling my defense slip away.

  “Only because you ran away!” she shouted. “Good grief, Sarah! Call him.” I shook my head. “Call him!” She picked up the phone and handed it to me. “Call him now.”

  I took the phone, but I didn’t dial. “I don’t know what to say, Piper! I’ve never—”

  “What?” she interrupted me, not unkindly, but very emphatically. “Never had to be an adult? Never been with a man who cares enough to listen to what you have to say? Never had someone love you enough to not give up on you? Well, you’ve got it now. He’s not going to stop trying, and he’s not going to stop calling. But why are you making him prove that?”

  7,484.

  “I love you. You know that, right?” Piper sighed as she knelt down next to me. I cried, and though she did it silently, I knew she was praying. “All you have
to do is agree to stay in the fight, Sarah.” She lifted her head and looked up at me from her position on my kitchen floor. “You don’t have to have the answers. You don’t even have to know what to say to him. Just stay in the fight and let him love you.”

  I knew she was talking about Ben, but I couldn’t help but think that she also meant God. I mean, it’s Piper, so I’m sure she did. Why was I making it so difficult? Why did I always make it so difficult?

  I think that sometimes I forgot that I’d only been a Christ-follower for a matter of months at that point. Literally falling into your future husband, who happens to be the pastor, on your very first Sunday after salvation can tend to elevate your faith pretty quickly. My relationship with God was very similar to my relationship with Ben in many ways, when you really think about it. For both of them I had fallen fast and I had fallen hard. And with both of them, the beginning was easy. Everything was exciting and awe-inspiring, and it was easy to forget my past life and everything that I’d been desperate to escape. But then what?

  “The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’”

  Piper recited those words from Romans 8 to me, and I couldn’t help but laugh when she explained to me that “Abba” was Aramaic for “Father” and that the apostle Paul hadn’t actually been in the mood for a little “Dancing Queen.”

  “You don’t know that he wasn’t.” I smiled. “You don’t know that he and Timothy, or Barnabas, didn’t occasionally release a little tension among the Corinthians by belting out ‘Super Trouper.’”