An Extra Mile

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Tiffany seemed too stunned to reply. But after Mara strolled away, she watched from her peripheral vision as Tiffany whispered at length in Tom’s ear.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Jeremy asked once they were out of earshot.

  Mara felt like her knees were going to buckle. She wove her arm through her son’s to steady herself. “Yeah, fine.” But there was no way she and Kevin were going to be at the house that night when Tom dropped off Brian. “I was so busy getting dessert for the others, I forgot to get something for myself.” She let go of Jeremy and returned to the buffet. She was going to enjoy every bite of a piece of that chocolate layer cake. To celebrate Easter. And victory.

  Hannah

  “Are you coming with us, Hannah?” Jake asked as he put on his shoes.

  No, not for the first time he saw his mother. “I think it should just be you and your dad today. I’ll meet your mom another time, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But thanks for inviting me.”

  “Yeah.” He stood a few feet in front of her, posture erect, arms stiff at his side.

  “Okay if I give you a hug?” she asked. He nodded. “I’m proud of you. I know this is a big deal.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ready, bud?” Nathan asked as he entered the kitchen.

  “I guess.”

  He patted Jake’s shoulder. “Okay, we’re outta here.” He kissed Hannah on the cheek. “Be back soon.”

  She nodded and said, “Jake, how about if the three of us pray together before you go?”

  Jake stared at the floor. “Yeah, okay,” he said, offering one hand to his father and the other one to her.

  According to Nathan, who returned home with the first report forty-five minutes later, Laura was already inside when they drove up. As he described the scene, Hannah pictured it: a mother scanning for a son she hadn’t seen in years, looking in the opposite direction and not noticing that Nate and Jake were in the car watching her.

  “Jake said he thought she looked nervous, and he was right. All the bravado she’d had in our phone conversations, all that was gone. She was just sitting there in the booth, fidgeting with her hands. Waiting. Watching.” And for the first time ever, Nathan said, he put himself in her shoes and thought about how hard it would be to reenter a child’s life, how much she had missed with him, and how that guilt must feel soul-crushing at times.

  Hannah hadn’t considered that either, all the gifts Laura had lost. Forfeited.

  Nathan took her hand in his. “I always told myself that she abandoned Jake and didn’t look back. That was the narrative that justified my resentment when she reappeared. But I never thought about her regret. And when she saw him—when she saw me walk in with him—the tears welled up in her eyes, and she raced toward him and then skidded to a stop because Jake put out his hand to greet her with a handshake, not a hug. And I saw the pain on her face, Shep, this awful agony on her face that she tried to recover from. But it was there. And even if we hadn’t had that breakthrough yesterday, today would have shattered my heart. I’ve been saying for months that we’ve got this long road ahead of us, not even thinking about what it will be like for her to try to form a relationship with him.”

  Hannah took a deep, steadying breath. This moment was not about her, she reminded herself. It was good that Nathan was feeling compassion for Laura, good that he saw the reality of her struggles, good that he had shifted from wanting to punish to wanting to encourage. It was good.

  And so hard. She didn’t want to shut down Nathan’s story, didn’t want to say anything that would keep him from confiding his thoughts and feelings to her in the future. But oh, how hard she fought to stay deeply attentive to him while her own wounded places were tapped again.

  He brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Are you okay?”

  She wanted to be. She wanted to rejoice and give thanks that Nathan and Laura could move forward as Jake’s parents, work together for his flourishing, discuss his struggles, and find a new equilibrium as exes who didn’t resent and hate one another. She wanted to be okay.

  “I will be,” she said, and leaned her head against his chest.

  Easter Sunday

  5:30 p.m.

  Another opportunity to practice honesty with Nate. I didn’t want to make it about me, but there was no concealing my grief, and he said he was grateful I didn’t try to hide or work it through on my own.

  I told him it felt easier to me when the two of us were allies united against a common enemy. I knew how to support him in his anger because I was angry, too. And it was easier when I was the one encouraging him a few months ago to find ways to wash Laura’s feet. Now that he’s kneeling, I’m struggling. I hate that I’m struggling, but I am.

  I should be happy they’ve forgiven one another. I should be grateful for God’s work of healing and transformation. Instead, I feel threatened and insecure. I’m sorry, Lord, but that’s where I am. Meet me here.

  Nate apologized for disregarding me again, for not thinking about how this could wound me, for only thinking about the removal of his anger and the deepening of his compassion as an answer to prayer. I asked for his forgiveness for my insecurity, because that says as much about my view of him as it says about Laura. I need to trust his love and commitment to me. I do trust it. I want to trust it even more.

  We pledged honest communication as we move forward, that neither one of us will conceal what’s stirring in us in the deepest places. I know God can use this to shape me, to shape us. If wounds are getting tapped and are painful because of the tapping, then there remains something to be healed. Help me trust your slow healing work, Lord, and the promise and beauty of resurrection.

  Becca

  Becca had one visitor Sunday afternoon, Harriet, who wanted her to know that she had not been a co-conspirator in the affair. “I was as stunned as you,” she said from the doorway, and then looked as if she wished she could take that statement back. “I mean, I had no idea anything was going on. I promise.”

  It didn’t matter. In two weeks Becca would leave it all behind her, return to Kingsbury for the summer, and hope that for the rest of her life she would associate London with something other than betrayal and regret. She was determined to do everything she could to enjoy the city before she said goodbye, and that meant not hanging around her flat or wondering if Pippa was hanging around Simon’s. When her phone buzzed with a text, she excused herself from any further conversation with Harriet. “How are you?” Claire wrote.

  “Ok.”

  “Meet for tea?”

  She might as well. Claire sent the address of a café near Trafalgar Square. “One hour?”

  Becca wrote back, “See you there.”

  If Becca had known that Café in the Crypt was located at St. Martin in the Fields, she might have said no. She hoped Claire wasn’t attempting to manipulate her into going to some worship service. That wasn’t going to fly. Maybe she’d suggest the café at the National Gallery instead. It was just across the street.

  “Hey!” Claire greeted her at the steps of the white steepled church. “I’m so glad you could come. Have you been here before?”

  “To the church? No.”

  “They host a lot of classical concerts here, so I wondered if maybe—”

  “No.”

  “Well, the café is lovely. Probably a bit chilly to sit outside, but the crypt is open.”

  Becca followed her into the back of the church and down a staircase to a room with brick vaulted ceilings and plenty of atmosphere. She was surprised she hadn’t heard of it before. “They do jazz concerts here sometimes,” Claire said. “Good food too.”

  As they made their way toward the cafeteria-style line, Becca glanced down at the floor. Tombstones? Real ones? Was this some kind of bad joke?

  “You okay?” Claire asked, correctly interpreting her body language.

  “When you said crypt, I wasn’t thinking literal crypt.”

  Claire covered her mo
uth with both hands. “Becca! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking!” She looked mortified. “Want to go outside instead? Or somewhere else? The museum? They’ve got a café there. Come on.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Becca had been in Westminster Abbey plenty of times, and it had never bothered her. But that was before—

  “You sure? Because we can go somewhere else.”

  “No. This is cool. I’m fine.”

  “My treat, then, to make it up to you.”

  The food smelled good, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Yeah, all right,” she said, and she picked up a tray.

  “Sorry I freaked out,” Becca said as she finished off her bowl of soup. “It’s just, graveyards . . .”

  “No, I know. I get it. You don’t have to apologize.”

  “It’s been hitting me hard today, how I’ll be going back to Kingsbury now for the summer and how I’ll have to sort through all my mother’s things, and I know it will hit me all over again that she’s gone. Especially having to be in that house all by myself. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it.”

  “Have you got other family to help?”

  “No. No one. My mom had one older sister, my Aunt Rachel, but she’s not around at all, hasn’t even returned my phone calls lately, so I’m on my own.” Almost immediately the words floated through her mind: I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood. She bit her lip. And now there was no one to watch over her. Not Simon. Not Rachel. No one.

  “What about your mum’s friend, the one you mentioned that got married. Helen?”

  “Hannah.” She needed to email Hannah and let her know her plans had changed. Hannah had offered to help, plenty of times. In every email: Whatever you need. Maybe she would take her up on the offer. What other options did she have? “It’s just that I had already told her I wouldn’t be coming back at all, and I really don’t want to have to tell her everything that happened with Simon. She’s a pastor, and I don’t want her pastoring me, you know? I mean, no offense—I know you go to church and everything, but I’m just not interested in hearing about God right now.”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Claire said. “I think I’d be disappointed too.”

  Disappointed? Is that what she was? Becca swallowed a bite of her apple crumble and said, “I think you’d have to believe in God to be disappointed by him.”

  They left the café as people were entering the sanctuary for an evening service. “Since it’s Easter,” Claire said, “I think I’ll stay.”

  Easter. Becca had completely forgotten about Easter. Her mother had always loved Easter. That’s probably why she had picked those Easter verses for her funeral and for her tombstone. You live. You die. You live again. That’s what her mother believed. That’s what Hannah believed. That’s what Claire believed.

  “Want to come with me, Becca?”

  Had Claire not been listening? Had she not heard her specifically say she wasn’t interested in church or in God? “Not my thing,” Becca said. “Definitely not my thing. But you go enjoy it. And thanks for dinner.”

  Call it disappointment, call it anger, call it stubbornness: if Jesus himself were to stand in front of her and speak her name, Becca still wasn’t sure she would believe.

  Charissa

  “You awake, Riss?”

  Charissa rubbed her eyes and yawned. What time was it?

  John sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve got a couple of visitors.”

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost six. Had she really been asleep all afternoon?

  “Mara and Kevin are here.”

  Mara. She rolled over quickly to get up.

  “Whoa!” he said, thrusting out his arm. “Bed rest, remember? Take it easy.”

  Right.

  Right.

  “I told her I’d check on you, see if you’re up for her coming back here to see you for a minute.”

  Charissa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced. How she wished she could take a quick shower and wash her hair.

  “You want me to ask them to come back another time?”

  “No, no, it’s fine. Tell her to come. Please.”

  Moments later Mara entered the room carrying a wicker basket tied with pink ribbons. “Easter delivery,” she said.

  Grace, grace, and more grace. Charissa pushed down the lump in her throat and reached for Mara’s hand. She didn’t deserve a friend like this.

  “Mara, forgive me. Please. I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for the way I acted toward you.”

  “Well, there is, actually. I should have asked you before blabbing my big mouth to everyone.”

  “No. John asked you to help spread the word for prayer, and you did. I need to get over myself. Truly.” In so many ways, that’s what she needed. Grace to get over herself. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Mara said. “Forgive me too?”

  “Yes.”

  Mara handed her the basket and kissed her on the cheek. “Just a few goodies to keep your spirits up.”

  “Snickerdoodles?”

  “Mara’s famous snickerdoodles, fresh out of the oven. And some cashews for protein. And cheese, the British kind you like.”

  How Mara remembered that, Charissa had no idea. “Thank you,” she said, peering into the basket. “Can you stay and visit?”

  “Just long enough for Tom to drop Brian off at the house. Don’t want to be there when he arrives.”

  Charissa replied with her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I’ve got lots to tell you,” Mara said.

  Out in the family room John asked Kevin which video games he liked to play, and Kevin replied with a list. “Some of my favorites!” John said. “I’ve got all those.”

  Charissa reached into the basket for a cookie. “So,” she said, offering the plate to Mara, “tell me everything.”

  Weekends would be easier, Charissa thought as she watched John pack up his briefcase early Monday morning. At least on weekends she wouldn’t be mentally rehearsing all the classes she was missing. “You sure you have everything you need?” he asked.

  She lay back on the couch and eyed her computer, the stack of books, a selection of snacks, and a pitcher of water on the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

  “A mug. I’ll get you a mug.”

  She was going to say that she would get it herself but then remembered she shouldn’t. This bed rest restriction was going to require far more discipline than anything else in her life up until now, and she would have to fight the temptation to cheat when John wasn’t monitoring her. Keeping Bethany in mind would help with that, she hoped.

  He filled a mug with water and brought it to her. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Call if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Go. You’ll be late.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, then stooped to kiss her abdomen. “Be good, Bethany. Stay put. Both of you.”

  If only it were that easy, she thought as she watched him back the car out of the driveway. She reached for her computer and skimmed through her email, aware of her continued agitation about the sheer number of people who had heard the news and were “keeping her in prayer.” Let us know what we can do to help, a few of them said. Maybe if they really wanted to help, they could offer something specific she could accept or reject.

  Judi had also written again. Though Charissa had heard John tell his mother multiple times on the phone that there was nothing they needed right now, she was evidently finding that difficult to believe. I can be there in just a few hours. I hate feeling helpless.

  Right. Join the club.

  At least her own mother was accepting the boundaries without arguing. She was busy with work but would happily rearrange her schedule if Charissa needed her, she had said. Charissa had assured her she was fine.

  She was just about to close the inbox when a new email appeared from Dr. Gardiner. “Substitute,
” the subject line read. Charissa clicked on it, expecting to see the name of some graduate student sliding in to take her place. Instead she read, “Nathan Allen is willing to take your class. He can start tomorrow.”

  She exhaled slowly. That was good news. With all of his other commitments, she had never considered the possibility that he could sub for her. As painful as it was to relinquish her teaching, at least her students would be in the best possible hands. She spent the rest of the morning editing her lecture notes, emailed the document to Nathan with a word of thanks, and then polished a Milton paper until it shone. One day down, she thought as she heard John’s car pull into the driveway, another seventy or eighty—God, help me—to go.

  eleven

  Hannah

  The text from Nathan on Tuesday morning asked if Hannah could meet him on campus for lunch. He had an idea he wanted to run by her, he said, and he wanted to talk with her about it face to face. Once she finished running errands and paying bills, she headed to the university.

  All along the campus walkways, gray trees were erupting in color, some bursting into pink, white, coral, or burgundy blossoms, others garbed in tentative, astonished green, as if not yet convinced of their resurrection. Swollen tulips in raised beds awaited the command to open, while white and yellow daffodils swayed in a rippling breeze. Overnight, it seemed, the earth had undergone a profound change. Even the browns of the dirt had been transformed from the sleeping brown of death to a reddening brown, a hopeful and livening brown, expectant and waiting and full of possibility.

  He is risen indeed!

  Nathan met her inside the campus center. “Everything okay?” Hannah asked.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “I thought maybe something happened with Laura or Jake.”

  “No, it’s not that. Though she did email a little while ago to say how much she appreciated the time with him, and she looks forward to more. So we’ve got that to negotiate.” He stared up at the sandwich board. “Give someone an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”