Moments We Forget

by Beth K. Vogt

  She abandoned the volleyball bag by the front door. Laundry would wait—but not too long if she wanted to avoid a rank odor when she unzipped that bag. The other one she dumped beside her couch—right next to her coffee table, the top inlayed with varied sizes and types of wood planks—so she could spread her dinner and laptop and books out later while she studied.

  She’d never realized how much she needed a coffee table until the day early last summer when Zach showed up at her front door, a huge grin on his face, greeting her with a brief hello before taking her by the hands and dragging her out to his truck.

  “What are you doing? I’m not dressed to go anywhere.” Payton tried to pull away, to retreat inside so no one would see her in her old cutoff jean shorts, club volleyball T-shirt, and flip-flops, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

  “We’re just going to my truck.” Laughter laced his words. “I have something to show you.”

  She stopped resisting, allowing him to lead her around to the back of the truck, where the tailgate was lowered to reveal something covered by a black tarp.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “I can’t see what it is anyway. And you want me to close my eyes?”

  “Just do it, okay?”

  “Fine.” She scrunched her eyes shut. “There better not be an animal under there.”

  A swish of plastic and a brush of air against her skin signaled that Zach had removed the tarp. “Ta-da! You can look now.”

  Sitting in the back of the truck was a rustic square table in muted grays, whites, and blacks.

  Payton gasped, reaching to touch the edge that had been sanded smooth. “Zach. This is beautiful. What is it?”

  “It’s a coffee table. Do you like it?”

  “Of course I do. I love anything you make.” She scrambled to climb into the truck.

  “Whoa. Hold on there. What are you doing?” Zach wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her back.

  “I’m trying to get a better look.”

  “Well, you can do that when it’s in your house.”

  She stopped struggling. “In my house?”

  “Yeah. I made it for you—if you want it.”

  “If I want it?” Payton twisted to face him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “It’s gorgeous! I don’t have a coffee table.”

  Zach’s words were low in her ear. “I kinda noticed that.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t resist brushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

  “You’re welcome. My pleasure.” Zach’s eyes had warmed . . . and then he’d pulled away from her. Had he glimpsed the spark of longing in her eyes? “Let’s get this in the house already.”

  If she wanted it. Of course she wanted the coffee table. She hardly ate in her breakfast nook anymore—not when she could sit on her couch and see the one-of-a-kind table Zach had designed just for her.

  And be reminded to be careful about how much she wanted from him. How much she wanted for them.

  Payton turned away. She couldn’t think about that now. Not when she was this tired.

  It didn’t take long to undress and start a shower. Standing under the hot stream of water allowed her to rinse off all the details of the day. The faint echoes of the class lectures she’d attended. The blend of girls’ voices and footsteps and balls hitting the court from practice. The noise of the grocery store from when she’d stopped to buy some basic necessities. Yogurt. Apples. Grapes. Salad. Bread.

  Almost ready to face an evening of studying.

  The ping of her cell phone broke through her thoughts. Probably Zach texting to see if she was home. As much as she wanted to talk to him, she wasn’t going to rush these few, much-needed moments of relaxation.

  After exiting the bathroom, wrapped in her robe, her hair pulled up in a towel, she tapped out a quick text.

  Call you in five.

  She braided her wet hair—a volleyball girl’s go-to hairstyle—and put on a pair of gray sweatpants with a logo from the Colorado Crossroads tournament and a red Club Brio T-shirt. Then she settled on the couch with a bottled water and a packaged Southwest salad emptied into a large bowl and topped with the premade dressing. Zach was on speed dial and they were saying hello within seconds.

  “I’m starved, so I’m going to be munching in your ear.”

  “That’s okay. It’s still nice to hear your voice. Tell me about your day.”

  “Same as usual. Classes. Coaching. I’ve got at least a hundred pages of reading to do. And that paper to start writing.” She stabbed a fork into her salad. “Now tell me about your day.”

  “Same as usual here, too.” Even the sound of Zach’s voice talking about something as simple as his day was nice. “Work. Got a new project to start evaluating. And I’m hoping to check on things at Jillian’s tomorrow.”

  “Will you make the game tomorrow night?”

  “Of course. You know how much I love high school volleyball.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m not missing any of your games, Payton. I’ll be sitting in the stands, cheering for my favorite coach.”

  “Don’t cheer for me. Cheer for the girls.”

  “I can’t help it. The JV coach is my favorite.”

  “Cute. Very cute.”

  “Yeah, and she’s cute, too.”

  Payton shoveled a huge bite of salad into her mouth. This was what all their conversations were like. Friendly—and a little bit more. She knew Zach liked her as more than a friend. And if she were honest, she’d admit she liked Zach as more than a friend, too. But they hadn’t crossed that line. Not out loud, to one another, at least. They danced around it . . . got close . . . and then retreated. But in recent weeks, Zach’s questions were more frequent.

  “So what are you thinking about God, Payton?”

  “Can I answer any questions for you?”

  “What did you think of the pastor’s sermon on salvation?”

  She swallowed, forcing the strips of lettuce and cabbage down her throat. He meant well. Probably didn’t even suspect that, at times, his words pushed her into a corner.

  They were fine.

  She was fine.

  “So are we still on for Friday?”

  “Friday?” Payton searched her mental calendar. “What’s happening Friday?”

  “We were planning on going to see a movie—”

  “Oh no . . . I can’t. The C, JV, and varsity teams are all doing a combined pasta dinner and game night. You know, a bonding thing. We have that all-day tournament on Saturday. We aren’t going to be out late, but I have to go. All the coaches will be there.”

  “Sure. I get it. We just crossed wires on that one.” A pause and then, “Church on Sunday still?”

  “Of course church on Sunday. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll meet you there.”

  They chatted for a while longer, Payton crunching salad in Zach’s ear, before they said good night. The air always seemed to electrify between them during the last moments of their conversations, whether they were face-to-face or on the phone. Somewhere between their “good-byes” or “good nights” or “talk to you soons,” other words lingered unspoken.

  She’d told the truth when she’d agreed to go to church with him on Sunday. She wanted to go. In the past months, she’d gotten to know the people at Zach’s church. The music was familiar, the words like “by His wounds we are healed” and “Immanuel, God with us” and “walking on water” no longer puzzling. The pastor’s laid-back demeanor helped her relax, and at times his sermons made her laugh or touched a place deep inside her—a phenomenon she still didn’t quite understand.

  The one thing she was still trying to figure out was where she stood with God. How to find her way to Him. Not just follow Zach or be pushed by him, but how to find her own path.

  The ache in her chest was a combination of “have to” and “want to.”

  And it distanced her from the man she loved. The man she was in love with—but she only admitted that to h
erself.

  She knew her good-bye sounded absentminded as if she’d already left the conversation. But she also knew Zach would overlook it, thinking she was tired. Which she was.

  What he didn’t know was that she wasn’t studying. Wasn’t writing her paper. She’d left her laptop and books in the living room and gone to her bedroom to remove the metal lockbox from the top shelf of her closet, where she kept it.

  Correction. Not a lockbox—a time capsule she and Pepper had made and then hidden on their sixteenth birthday, determined to unbury it twenty years later.

  And then Pepper’s death had changed their plans. Changed so many things.

  Maybe it was silly to still keep the box locked as if someone were going to come and steal it. Pilfer the contents. Who else would want what was inside? A collection of her and Pepper’s team volleyball photos—varsity and club. A newspaper article about them that mentioned their nickname of Double Trouble. The handwritten lists of dreams they’d written when they were sixteen—the summer before Pepper had died.

  And . . . the small diamond cross necklace Pepper had left for her—and that she hadn’t discovered until a few months ago—along with her sister’s note that said, For when you know Jesus like I do.

  The unexpected gift Pepper had hidden in the time capsule was now tangled up with Payton’s love for her sister and her love for Zach and all of her questions about God.

  She didn’t want to make a decision just to wear the necklace for Pepper.

  She didn’t want to make a decision just so she could be free to have a romantic relationship with Zach.

  Believing—or not believing—in God should be simple. But it wasn’t.

  The weight of the delicate gold chain seemed to press against her fingertips, until she let it slip back into the metal lockbox. She started to close the lid, but then she retrieved the necklace and hung it on the corner of her mirror.

  It’s not that I don’t believe in You, God. I do. I just don’t know why I believe in You.

  Was what little faith she had for Pepper? Was it for Zach?

  Faith had to be for her and God. Not them.

  But she didn’t want to disappoint either of them . . . and Pepper wasn’t here anymore. Not even in her dreams.

  This was all messed up. Like running and jumping again and again to check her vertical. How high? How high?

  She wasn’t doing it right.

  The cross glinted in the overhead light. Those were real diamonds. How was she supposed to determine if her faith was genuine?

  All she did know was that now, the way things were, the way she was, she couldn’t have what . . . who . . . she wanted.

  Waking up was a slow, pleasant process these days. A drifting up from deep slumber until I became conscious of light filtering into my bedroom, touching my closed eyelids. I stretched beneath the comforter and sheet, no longer afraid of the unwelcome pressure of my first thoughts. Months ago, the remembrance of cancer would shock all remnants of sleep from my body, even as I clutched the blankets closer and tried to recall one of the positive thoughts from Harper’s glass jar. Then it was the remembering of loss—the loss of my breast. The loss of Geoff because my doubt and fears had shoved him away.

  But almost a month after the fact, the recall of losing my job wasn’t enough to disrupt my sleep. It was an unpleasant memory, but I no longer tried to shrug it off or push it away.

  I’d gone to bed the night before, determined that if I fell asleep early enough—before Geoff got home—I’d get up before he left for work this morning.

  But I hadn’t.

  And that realization jarred the contentment of the morning. His side of the bed was empty, the covers tossed back. I rolled over onto my side, pulling his pillow close and inhaling his scent, grasping a vague memory of him snuggling close and whispering, “I love you, Jilly,” and me mumbling, “Love you, too,” sometime late in the night.

  We were okay. Busy, but okay. The attempted conversation about adoption had stood between us like a sentry, blocking me from going back to the way things were before Geoff said no to adopting, while also stopping me from moving forward, to seeing some sort of compromise. But we’d found our way back to each other. There was an ache in my heart, a longing unfulfilled, but I was used to those. This was marriage, after all. Ups and downs. Arguments and making up. We’d have other arguments in the future, and we’d get past those, too.

  As I continued to lie in bed, sleep crept back in. My eyelids were getting heavy and I pulled the comforter closer. Maybe I’d sleep a bit longer . . .

  No.

  I tossed the covers aside, the cool air causing me to shiver even as Winston’s faint yip from the kennel in the other bedroom summoned me. Time to get up. I had things to do, even if the most pressing demand was our dog.

  I’d established my new staying-at-home-because-I-don’t-have-a-job routine. First, take care of Winston. Let him out. Let him in. Feed him. Repeat the out and in routine. And once he was happy, I could take care of myself.

  I indulged in a longer-than-usual shower, hoping the guys wouldn’t show up to work on rewiring the house before I was done, and then debated a few moments on what to wear. My closet had too much business wear and too few casual items, but the budget didn’t allow for a shopping trip anytime soon. Dressy jeans and a short-sleeved blouse would have to suffice.

  At least I accepted the way my body looked now . . . even the absence of one breast. I didn’t like it, but I no longer turned my back on the mirror when I got dressed, before I put on my breast form. If my husband could love me as I was, then I could at least face myself.

  It was time to follow up on the reconstructive surgery consult Dr. Sartwell had ordered. That was my next step. When I’d first been diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t realize how my life would fall apart and then become one long journey of trying to find my way again.

  But no one was singing, “Follow the yellow brick road,” and I was no Dorothy gifted with ruby-red slippers allowing me to click my heels and whisper, “There’s no place like home.”

  No, I was the one looking for courage.

  I held my blouse and bra in one hand, tracing the scar . . . my scar . . . with my fingertips before pressing my hand against the beating of my heart. What did they say? Courage didn’t mean you weren’t afraid.

  The house was still as I pulled a makeshift breakfast from the mini fridge in the dining room. Milk for my bowl of cereal topped with slices of banana. Winston nipped around my heels, and I let him out into the backyard again with a “Go on and bark at the birds.”

  When someone knocked on the door, I expected the electrician, ready to continue rewiring the house. Carrying my bowl, I answered the door and found Zach waiting.

  “Good morning.” He offered me a small wave.

  “Good morning. I’m surprised to see you here.” I stepped back.

  Zach remained on the front steps, his eyes scanning the area behind me. “Where’s the team?”

  “Not here yet.”

  “That’s not good. I thought they’d be here.”

  “It’s still early.”

  “Not that early.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Let me text someone.”

  “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Well, if Zach wasn’t coming in, I guessed I could step outside and eat my breakfast standing on the steps.

  After sending a message to rally the troops, Zach stuck his phone in his back pocket. “They got pulled onto another job that has to be finished today. They hope to be here this afternoon.”

  “That’s fine.” Not that I could complain . . . or finish the work myself.

  “How are you doing with the renovation?”

  “We’re making progress, so I’m not complaining. And everyone has been nice. I don’t worry about having them in the house, thanks to you and Allen Thomas approving them. I appreciate that, especially since I’m home all day now.”

  Zach
leaned against the wrought-iron railing. “How are you adjusting to not working?”

  “It’s fine . . . I mean, right now the renovation is distracting me. And not having to fight through work is a relief. I’d been struggling during chemo and radiation. The last few months things had only gotten worse.”

  “Are you looking for a job?”

  “No. Payton didn’t say anything?”

  “Should she have?”

  “No, I guess not.” I stirred my cereal. At least one of my sisters respected my privacy. Although telling Zach about my decision to stay home wasn’t the same as telling him that I couldn’t get pregnant. “It just doesn’t make much sense to go job hunting, does it? I’d get hired and have the same problems. The reality is, I doubt I’d get a decent recommendation from my last job.”

  “I understand. It sounds like you’re making the hard, right decision.”

  And that was all he said. No offering advice or trying to fix the situation. Or trying to fix me. He didn’t go all spiritual on me and start talking about God or offering to pray, which would have made me uncomfortable, since I’d never prayed in my life. Not by myself or with anyone else.

  Standing here, talking about what was going on in my life, it was like we were friends. And why couldn’t Zach and I be friends? Casual friends. Zach was someone you could trust. Geoff and I did trust him. I could see why Payton liked him. . . . More and more, I hoped Payton and Zach would move past friendship to romance.

  “What’s that smile for?” Zach tilted his head to one side.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  I’d let my thoughts get away from me, and evidently they’d shown up on my face. Payton could figure out her own relationship. I wasn’t a matchmaker.

  “Driving down here, managing our renovation, it’s not too much of a hassle for you, is it?”

  “No. I’m good. Glad to help.”

  “We appreciate it. Even though I’m home now, I don’t want to take this on.”

  “I don’t expect you to. Well, I’ll let you get back to your day.” Zach pulled his keys from his pocket. “Are you coming to Payton’s volleyball game tonight?”