An Extra Mile

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “Are the bookcases yours?”

  “No. Just the couch and the lamps. And all these books.” Oh, how she had missed her books.

  Nathan adjusted his glasses and leaned in for a closer look. “You’ve got good stuff here.” He fingered some of the book bindings. “We’ll find room, don’t worry. I can take my books from home to school and give you that office space. You can even put your chair in there by the front window, have a place where you can close the door. We’ll make it work.”

  Mm-hmm.

  She opened her desk drawers. These, at least, Heather had left untouched.

  Shocking.

  “Are you going to sort books here or just pack them all up?” Nathan asked.

  With her future in pastoral ministry still uncertain, she wasn’t sure what she might need. “Just pack all of them.” That was easier than deciding what to keep and what to leave behind. While Nathan cleared shelves, she cleared out her desk.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice called from the doorway.

  Hannah looked up. “Steve!” She hadn’t seen his car in the parking lot, and his office had been dark when they had arrived. So much for avoiding him while she packed up. She stepped around boxes to give him a one-armed hug.

  “I figured that was your U-Haul out there,” he said.

  Before she lost another opportunity at an introduction, she motioned toward Nathan. “Steve, I’d like you to meet my husband, Nathan Allen.”

  Steve smiled warmly and extended his hand. “If I’d known you’d be here tonight, I would have invited you both for dinner.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We were working all day at the house and finally got it cleared out. Or everything I need to clear out, anyway.”

  “Well, thanks for being willing to work with Heather on that. She’s very excited.”

  Feeling Nathan’s gaze on her, Hannah pitched her voice correctly. “I’m glad she’s worked out. It sounds like she’s been a great fit for Westminster.”

  Steve nodded. “She had hard shoes to fill, but she’s done a great job.” He glanced again at Nathan. “Your wife was a great colleague. It’s hard to let her go.”

  Nathan grasped her hand and held onto it. “Well, thanks for paying attention to the Spirit’s nudges. If you hadn’t given her the sabbatical, we wouldn’t have reconnected.”

  “Glad to be part of God’s plan.” Steve paused and then said, “You sure you won’t join me in leading worship tomorrow, Hannah?”

  “I’m sure, thanks.”

  He was looking at her not with the shepherd’s expression she had often seen as he ministered tenderly to the flock but with the senior executive’s expression she had glimpsed at staff meetings when he was issuing correctives. “I’ll be frank,” he said. “There are some people in the congregation—not many but a vocal minority—who think I forced you to resign, that somehow your sabbatical was part of some grand scheme to push you out in favor of someone—”

  Younger, she silently supplied when he hesitated.

  “—new,” he said, “or that you left because you’re angry or because something happened between us.”

  “What? Of course not!”

  “It just seems odd,” Steve went on, “the way you resisted having a proper send-off here. If there’s anything unresolved or unspoken between us, I’d like to talk it through.”

  Unresolved and unspoken. Yes, as a matter of fact, there was. And though Hannah resisted naming it—though her mind commanded her to disappear without naming any hurt or disappointment for fear of giving offense—her soul longed to speak the truth. If she didn’t take this opportunity to voice her struggle face to face, she might not get another. “Nate, maybe you can give Steve and me a few minutes together, alone.”

  To Steve’s credit he listened without interrupting, asking appropriate, clarifying questions. To Hannah’s relief he did not become defensive when she said that even though she knew he had her spiritual health in mind when he insisted she take a sabbatical, the way it was sprung on her had felt controlling. He also understood that his reluctance to take her part-time proposal to the elders had left her feeling unappreciated. “I think I wanted you to tell me that you so valued my partnership in ministry that you’d go to bat for me,” she said, “that you’d do anything you could to enable me to continue to serve here. Instead, you seemed eager to accept my resignation.”

  He visibly bristled for the first time. “Whoa. That’s not what I remember from our conversation. What I remember is that I asked you about your sense of call. I asked you to consider whether you were feeling any sort of obligation to return to Westminster. I didn’t say you couldn’t return here in June. I never would have said that. I asked whether you were wholehearted about remaining here, or whether perhaps God was doing something new in your life. That’s what I remember.”

  “No, you’re right. I know that’s what you said.”

  “There wasn’t any hidden subtext to that, Hannah. I wasn’t looking for ways to get rid of you. But if you’ve communicated something else to people in the congregation . . .”

  “No! Of course not. I haven’t communicated with anyone about it.” If he was going to turn this around and accuse her of gossip or otherwise undermining the body, she wasn’t sure she could keep from bursting into tears. She pulled a throw pillow to her lap and fiddled with the tassels.

  Steve shifted in his chair, the faux leather squeaking. “Part of what I’m trying to do here is damage control. There’s already been hurt and misunderstanding, and I’m sorry for that, for the part I’ve played in it. But if we don’t do this ending well, it will cause even more hurt. And I don’t want that. This congregation has deep affection for you, nothing but appreciation and affection.”

  Affection? It hadn’t felt like affection, being cut off from communication about the life of the congregation for the past seven months. It hadn’t felt like affection, being accused by some of exploiting the congregation’s generosity by not returning to serve. And the one person who had maintained active communication during her sabbatical—Nancy—now refused even to meet with her for a cup of coffee. She could count on two hands the number of people from Westminster who had emailed her after she tendered her resignation, and there were even fewer who had bothered to send congratulations or well-wishes for her marriage. If this was what passed for affection, she didn’t want to see apathy.

  “We’d like to say a public thank-you in worship tomorrow,” Steve said, his voice firm. “At both services.”

  For their sake, his sake, or hers? She made sure not to audibly sigh her frustration. Though she hated playing the appearance game, she supposed she shouldn’t fault a senior pastor for attempting to unify the body and minimize collateral damage caused by the sudden resignation of a long-time staff member. For all she knew, he and the elders had had multiple conversations about how best to proceed. But the whole approach smacked of control.

  “I’d also like for you to participate in worship,” he said. “Call to worship, pastoral prayer, benediction—your choice. Let the congregation receive your blessing even as we pray God’s blessing for you.”

  Hannah stared at her feet. “I’ll sleep on it,” she said. But that night she didn’t sleep at all.

  Becca

  Becca turned over in a bed that was not hers, a bed that was not Simon’s, and groaned. The sunlight streaming through a window pierced her. She shut her eyes and covered her face with her arms.

  “’Morning,” a voice said. Too loud. She lifted one arm to see who was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink this,” Harriet said, handing her a mug.

  Becca didn’t have the strength to reach for it. She groaned again, the taste of vomit in her dry mouth causing her to gag.

  “C’mon, Becks. Wakey-wakey!” Harriet nudged her until Becca propped herself up on her elbows, her head tilted back against a pillow that reeked like a parking garage stairwell. She took one sip of black coffee and spit it out on the floor.

  Someon
e else in the room moaned. Becca squinted in that direction. “’Arrrry?” Pippa called from a tangle of blankets on the floor.

  “Here, pet.” Harriet kicked aside a pile of discarded clothes and offered Pippa the mug Becca had rejected. “I swear, you lot . . .” She plopped down on the edge of the bed again, causing Becca to bounce. Stop. Bouncing.

  Pippa cursed.

  “It’s your own fault,” Harriet said. “I told you you’d had enough. And you”—she poked Becca—“lucky for you I was there. You were a complete and utter madwoman, I tell you.”

  “With ridiculous dance moves,” Pippa added, rising unsteadily. “Wish I could dance like that.”

  The way the two of them kept talking about Becca’s dancing, she was pretty sure she hadn’t been doing ballet on the floor. “I’d change your mobile number if I were you,” Harriet said. “I heard you give it out to a dozen guys, and believe me, you don’t want some of them calling.”

  Becca groaned again.

  “Ooohh, but that one,” Pippa said, “what was his name? Benjie? He was fit. Care to share?”

  Becca did not remember a Benjie. “Did I—” She struggled to sit up in bed. “Did I, you know . . .” She rubbed her bare arms, knees pressed against her chest. She could not remember.

  “You were getting friendly,” Harriet said.

  It was Becca’s turn to curse. “How friendly?”

  Pippa stooped to pull on her jeans, one hand on Harriet to steady herself. “Lighten up. A wee snog, that’s all. Nothing serious.”

  “You told him all about Simon,” Harried added. “Loudly. Should have heard yourself, going on about how you’ve found your one true love.”

  Becca breathed a sigh of relief and checked her phone. Simon would be worried, wondering where she was. She scrolled through dozens of missed calls and texts from names she did not recognize. But among all the calls and texts, one number was missing.

  “Steady on,” Harriet said when Becca tried to rise too quickly from the bed. “Where are you off to?”

  Becca reached for her blouse—also covered with vomit—and winced. “Can I borrow some clothes?” She crumpled her skirt and blouse into a ball. “And use your shower?” She wanted—needed—to wash it all away.

  A stomach flu, her mother had insisted to her grandmother the morning after Becca’s first and, up until this morning, only hangover. Gran would have had a fit if she’d known Becca had come home from Lauren’s eighteenth birthday party drunk. Becca was so sick that night, she didn’t need a lecture. Her mother didn’t give one. Instead, she held back Becca’s hair and kept a cold cloth on her forehead while Becca vomited into the toilet bowl, vowing between retches that she would never do it again.

  She stared at the ads inside the Tube as she traveled to Notting Hill Gate. With any luck, Simon would still be asleep when she arrived. He loved to have a long lie in on weekends. When she arrived at the flat, she made sure the gate and door did not slam behind her. But Simon was not there. “Simon?” she called, making a quick round of the place. No sign of him. She texted. No reply. She made herself a cup of black coffee and sat down on the couch to watch television. Four DIY shows later, Simon still had not contacted her. But Benjie, Luke, Kristofer, Ian, and Freddie had, each with proposals of varying degrees of vulgarity—enough to make her want to shower again.

  Hannah

  “Can I bring you something for breakfast?” Nathan straightened his tie and smoothed his mildly rumpled suitcoat. “Yogurt? Cereal? Bagel? Anything?”

  The thought of food made Hannah feel sick to her stomach. “No, I’ll be okay.”

  He sat down beside her on the bed. “What can I do for you?”

  She wasn’t sure. She just wanted the day to be over. She still hadn’t decided what to do about Steve’s request for her to participate in both services, and she was running out of time. “What should I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “What I want to do is just hop into the U-Haul and drive home.” She was certain, however, that there was a wide chasm between what she wanted to do and what she ought to do.

  If we don’t do this well, Steve’s voice reminded her, it will cause even more hurt.

  “I don’t want to be there out of guilt,” she said, “but that’s about the best motivation I’ve got right now. Obligation and guilt.” And fear. Fear of causing not only hurt, but damage. Much as she wanted to disappear with minimal interaction with the congregation, she knew Steve was right. She needed to leave well. And if this was her best opportunity to express gratitude for their fifteen years of life together, then she needed to get over herself and do what love required. “I’m not sure what I can offer from an authentic place right now. No way I can lead the congregation in prayer. I haven’t even been praying myself. It would just be empty words.” As for standing up front and receiving their gratitude or commendation or prayers or whatever Steve had in mind for the beginning of each service, she wasn’t sure how she would manage that without disintegrating into a puddle.

  “What else did he offer you?”

  “Call to worship. I guess I could read the Scripture and just let it do what God intends it to do. At least my spiritual funk wouldn’t get in the way.”

  He did not reply.

  “He also offered me the benediction. But it would feel pretty weird to stand up there at the end of the service and pronounce a blessing without doing anything else.” Nate was looking at her with his I can see into your soul look that was so unsettling. “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just listening.”

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  “I’m not you, so—”

  “No, I know.” They’d had conversations like this before. “If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”

  He took a slow breath. “Watching you, watching all of this, it brings back memories of leaving my own church years ago. With all the shame swirling around Laura’s affair and my own anger and resentment about everything, I wanted to disappear out the side door. Like you. But a wise friend told me the same sort of thing Steve told you, that endings are crucial. Benedictions are important. Celebrating the good that’s been shared in ministry is important, even when not everything can be resolved the way we want it to be.”

  “But with all the rumors circulating about my credibility, my integrity—I hate the thought of standing up there in front of people who think I tricked them or manipulated them or that I’m a hypocrite, a liar. I don’t know what all they’re saying about me.” She shouldn’t care so deeply. But she did. She didn’t know how to keep company with Jesus as he surrendered his reputation. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get past her own ego, release what others thought of her, and crucify her pride. She couldn’t.

  As the minutes ticked by toward a decision she didn’t know how to make, one phrase pursued her. Keep company with Jesus. If she had to stand in front of the congregation, where could she best keep company with the One who understood her wrestling and resistance, her sorrow and emptiness? Where could she serve without being the center of attention?

  Suddenly, she knew. There was one place, one place she had always loved to stand. She picked up her phone and dialed Steve’s number. “May I preside at the communion table with you?”

  There was a moment’s silence before he answered. “That’s the perfect place to serve together.”

  To spare her the drain of pre-service narthex encounters, Steve offered Hannah and Nathan the small prayer chapel adjacent to the sanctuary. “You can stay here and then slip in during the gathering song, if that sounds okay.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “I’m assuming you don’t want to sit up front with me?”

  No, she didn’t want the vulnerable exposure of facing the congregation for the entire service. “I’ll sit with Nate in the front row.”

  Steve scanned the printed bulletin. “All right. I’ll summon you forward after the announcements to offer a word of thanks for y
our ministry and say a prayer for you. Then I’ll invite you to join me at the table after the sermon.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Steve glanced at his watch. “Short prayer?” Hannah reached for Nate’s hand on one side and Steve’s on the other, then tried to stay focused as Steve asked that everything spoken, sung, and prayed would bring honor and glory and praise to the Most High. “And Lord, I thank you for bringing Hannah and Nathan here this morning. May she be encouraged and strengthened by our time together. Give her ears to hear the good words spoken over her life, not just by me but by you. In Jesus’ name.”

  Hannah sniffled and murmured, “Amen.”

  “Amen,” Nathan echoed, and kissed her wedding band. “You okay?” he asked after Steve left the room.

  “I hope so.” She smoothed her gray slacks with clammy palms. “Why do I feel like I’m going to a funeral?”

  Nathan stroked her hair. “That sounds like a really important image to ponder,” he said as they walked hand in hand to the front row.

  six

  Becca

  At lunchtime on Sunday Simon finally texted to say he had spent the night at Nigel’s flat after the quiz night went late and would meet Becca for dinner. “I’ve booked us an evening cruise,” he wrote. She had been coveting one of those, and he knew it. What a guy. She would make sure she was appropriately “glammed up,” to quote Pippa, as secret restitution for her carpe diem disaster. Humming, she rifled through her side of his closet for something suitable to wear. With her favorite blouse splashed with vomit, she didn’t have many options. She texted Pippa: Need to get an evening gown asap.

  Pippa replied: Know just the place.

  “I wouldn’t go long,” Pippa said. “Go short. Tight.” She thumbed through a rack of slinky cocktail dresses. “Here—this one. Look how fab this is.” She held the sequined silver one up to Becca’s shoulders. “You’ll look great in this.” It was the sort of dress her mother would have fainted over, and not in a good way. Becca took it to the dressing room and tried it on. “Hope Benjie isn’t there,” Pippa teased, peering over her shoulder into the mirror.