by Dawn Mattox
I eyeballed the Glock with a rising tide of anger that he could be so lighthearted after putting me through hell.
“Sunny, you don't look well. You're all red. Do you need a Xanax?”
Good thing tomorrow was Sunday and I would have the whole day to repent for what happened next.
CHAPTER 14
Chance’s things were packed in the back of his truck. Amazing how men can fit everything they own into the back of a pickup truck, and a buddy will help them move for a six-pack. By contrast, women typically require a moving company with a big-rig, a crew of men to do the heavy lifting, and a credit card to cover expenses. We probably deal with emotions the same way. Men can stuff a lot of emotions into a small space, leave them there, and move forward over a beer and a ball game, where a woman might require a therapist, a support group, a dozen self-help books, and a bottle of wine never hurts.
“Sunny. Please. Let me say something before I go.” Chance moved next to me. Sunlight and shadows played across his rugged face as we stood on the front porch. He didn’t flinch or look down but searched my face as if looking for something he didn’t want to forget. My eyes narrowed in self-defense, and I pulled back, folding my arms over my chest to protect my heart. Chance drew in a ragged breath and poured out what I assumed was a rehearsed speech.
“I am ashamed of what I’ve done to you. I have spent the past six years of my life rescuing strangers, but I let the most important thing in the world—our marriage—die. Even worse, I killed it myself.” He stepped back, dropping his gaze and shoulders in a quiet gesture of defeat. “It’s all my fault. You’re everything to me Sunny. Everything I ever wanted or dreamed of.” His voice echoed the same anguish in my heart. “I hope you’ll forgive me someday. I pray that you’ll meet a man who deserves someone as special as you.”
“Nice speech,” I said sarcastically.
“I wish you would let me explain,” he pleaded.
“Then explain this!” I spat out the words as I threw the foil pack containing the condom that had been in his wallet. “Tell me, Chance! How many times have you pretended that I am someone else while having sex with me? Well now you're packed, and you can go shack up with your whore!”
Apparently, this wasn't turning out the way he expected. Chance poured out his heart and I slapped his face. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he struggled to control his next words.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot! You're perfect! You've never made mistakes,” he retorted with a tortured look in his eyes. “Right? right!” he demanded. “You're too good, too righteous to forgive me. No one has ever given you a second chance. Am I right?”
I wasn't sure if it was a question or an accusation, so I kept silent until the quiet was too much for either of us to bear.
“I'm staying at Pastor Mac's until I can get into my old place if you care to know,” he said, stepping back and turning away.
“Mercy, come!” he called to his dog and walked off with head held high, as he strode to the truck. Mercy whined in question, then jumped into the seat next to Chance. A huge lump formed in my throat when she turned to watch me through the rear window as they drove away.
I have never cheated on him! I told myself, struggling to maintain a sense of self-righteousness. An unwelcomed memory of a glowing, naked Travis intruded in my thoughts. That was different, I hastened to reassure myself. Nothing happened. Besides, Chance didn't just cheat—he lied to me!
And then, I was hit with another tidal wave of guilt, convicted over the volumes of secrets I have kept from my husband. Even I knew that withholding the truth is the same as a lie.
Sunday arrived. Shane left Ashley to go on a benefit motorcycle run. Chance was picking up Mercy's doghouse and then moving a few larger things from the house into a storage unit. I didn't want to be around to watch the fabric of our lives unravel, so I went to church with Ashley.
Mac probably wrote the sermon with me in mind. It was all about the power of forgiveness. To say the least, it was more than I was prepared to do.
“Morning, Sunny, I was hoping I'd see you today,” said Mac.
“Chance is missing church?” I queried, knowing full well he was at the house, but taking grim satisfaction in pointing out the fact that I was at church and Mr. Bible-Study Leader wasn't. God scores one-for-me and minus-one for Chance, I thought, feeling smug.
“Yes, I know,” said Mac patiently, refusing to take the bait. “He will begin teaching the Wednesday night Bible study I offered him next week. It's you I want to talk to. When is a good time?”
When hell freezes over, I thought bitterly. Apparently, all you need to do is commit adultery to get a promotion.
“Thursday? Here? Before the AA meeting?” Mac was solid as a storm door in the face of a tornado, but all I felt was the emptiness of having failed at a second marriage. I nodded yes.
“Great, I'll see you then.” Mac paused. “I'll call to remind you this time,” he added as an afterthought.
Yeah, great. I visualized yet another heavenly black mark against me for having a bad attitude and sighed. Oh hell, what's another checkmark? I figured God was probably running out of space next to my name by now anyhow. Then I caught myself. I did a quickie repent for my blasphemous thoughts and superstitiously followed up with a hasty “Sorry, God” to avoid being struck by lightning.
Escaping to the refreshment table, Ashley and I decided on a trip to Chico. The air had become less smoky as the Butte County fires slowly came under control, although tall columns of smoke still billowed from the northwest toward Mt. Shasta and Redding. We agreed to take two cars so she could grocery shop on the way home.
After a second last-cookie each, we headed out, stopping to pick up lunch from a little deli close to our destination. Ashley had a bean-thing wrapped in something green, and I ordered a chicken and bacon wrap with ranch dressing. She had Sun Chips, and I had yellow fingers from digging into my Cheezy Puffs.
“You hit him with what?” Ashley was aghast.
“A fully loaded waffle,” I replied as we hiked up beautiful Yahi Trail into upper Bidwell Park in search of Big Chico Creek.
“Was that before or after you shot him?” she asked, her expression incredulous.
“I didn’t kill him, just shot at him! Besides, I thought he was Logan. Chance doesn’t own a motorcycle. At least he didn’t have one when he left for Louisiana.”
“I’m glad you didn’t shoot Shane.”
“Shane wouldn’t ride up unannounced in the middle of the night.” I paused to reconsider. “He’d call first... right?”
“Well, he will now!” Ashley was a gentle soul. Some of her gentle ways reminded me of Starla, except Ashley didn’t have to “find herself.” She knew that she was a child of God.
“Watch out for snakes,” Ashley called as she jumped from rock to rock, safely crossing the creek’s cold, rushing water. You have to watch for snakes this time of the year. Rattlers are drawn to water.
We found a shady place and dove into our lunch. Ashley was thoughtful. “I don’t know which is weirder. Mark still speaking with Chance, or Mark wanting to make up with Paige. Mark must really love both of them.” Ashley commented.
“Mark heads Search and Rescue. Those guys are both married to their work. They'll get over her. Maybe. I mean, I still have to work with Paige. I don't like it, but I love my job more than I hate her. I'm not giving up my career just because... because...” I faltered, pausing to take a long drink of water, choking down the words that stuck in my throat. “Anyhow, they don't love her. They lust her. They all lust her. She looks like a porn star.”
Ashley laughed her carefree, musical laugh. “She isn’t any prettier than you.”
“Really?” Breadcrumbs spilled from my mouth.
“Absolutely. Besides, what good are great looks if you’re so self-centered, you can only love yourself? I think I feel sorry for her.”
“Ashley! I thought you were my friend. How can you feel sorry for that nasty, home-wrec
king skank?”
Ashley was unmoved. “Think about it. Seriously. Men just use women like her. She’ll never have a man’s heart unless she repents.”
Ashley could afford to be kind-hearted. She was married to a saint.
Who wants a man’s heart if the rest of him is being spread around? I mused.
“At least now I know why Chance turned down Mac’s offer to lead Bible Study a few weeks ago. I can't believe the nerve of him accepting the job now.” My tasty lunch was turning sour. “Like, God is going to forgive him just because he's do-gooding. What a hypocrite!”
Ashley nodded sympathetically. She was such a dear friend. My heart filled with gratitude.
We finished the wraps in silence and turned our attention to the remaining chips.
“Sunny, can I say something to you... as a friend?” she asked tentatively.
“Anything, Ash. You know that.” Something in the friend word didn’t sound too friendly.
“Okay. I know this will come as a surprise to you, but you have deeply hurt my feelings.”
“I hurt your feelings? What... how..?” I was surprised.
“Do you know what today is?”
“Sunday?” I was pretty sure it was still Sunday.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Do you know what month it is?”
“I think it is still June.” Probably. Most likely.
Ashley threw up her hands. “It’s June eleventh.”
“And...?” I shrugged.
“Duh! Sunny. How could you forget? June seventh is my birthday.”
My tired brain tried to compute.
“You really hurt my feelings. You’re so insensitive. I always remember your birthday. I always get you something nice.”
Silence. Shock.
“Aren’t you going to say something? Aren’t you even going to wish me a happy birthday?”
My world was falling apart. My husband had cheated on me, and I had almost cheated on him. The mountains were still smoldering, and my just-in-case evacuation bags were still packed, waiting patiently by the front door. Here I sat, in need of comfort, getting a tongue-lashing and a guilt-trip from my best friend. Just shoot me! My life is in crisis, and Ashley is thinking about balloons and bows.
“Hmm... I don’t know what to say.” I was still stunned. She was borderline angry and 100% offended. I handed her the rest of my bag of Cheezy Puffs. “Happy birthday, Ash.”
Annoyed, I stayed behind after Ashley left. I needed to be alone to think, and home was feeling more like a house these days. “I am lonely, Lord. But I would rather be lonely forever than forever hurt by the people who are supposed to love me.”
Are we not Christians? Didn’t we just finish sitting together in church for an hour listening to Mac talk about forgiveness? Ashley can’t forgive me, and I can't forgive Chance. What a sorry bunch we are. This Christianity thing isn’t at all like I thought it would be. I thought we were supposed to be blessed. At the moment, faith felt like a burden. It seemed unfair that the rest of the world could party-on, happily cheating, sexting, and indulging every form of lust, while I was tormented with guilt.
I had believed that Chance was my blessing from God after years of Logan’s abuse. Now I worried that God would punish me for almost having sex with Travis. I settled back, sliding into the black hole of depression. Today I had lost my two best friends.
Another huge sigh escaped as I cradled my head in my hands. I didn’t know the human body could hold so many tears. I knew I could walk away from Chance and Ashley. But if I walked away from God, where would I go?
I gave myself some time. It felt intrusive to look at people’s burned-out homes too soon. I didn’t want to catch families wandering amidst the ashes and ruins in shock, or worse, weeping in each other’s arms. Two weeks after the fires were officially out, I took the five-mile drive past Concow Lake.
Living in a forested community that has been ravaged by fire, is something like waking up to find yourself trapped in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Hitchcock was the master of horror back in the days of black & white TV—before Stephen King was around to paint gruesome in living color.
All the mountains, trees and charred earth as far as the eye could see were dressed in black and white and every shade of gray. The smell of smoke and ruin lingered, having permeated everything organic and the very air you breathed. The landscape was surreal. Naked trees looked like ghosts rising from the ashes, jutting fingers into an opaque sky. Beneath the silhouetted backdrop, lay the ruins of homes, dreams, and family history. Dead. All dead.
The once cheery little creek that had danced beneath a canopy of green now choked with burnt matter and strangled all life. What struck me the most was the crazy, haphazard pattern left by the fire. No wide swaths. The fire had snaked its way along in a branch-lightening pattern, striking homes here, partial properties there, and skipping others entirely.
The whole effect weighed on my heart as I drove back toward the church and my meeting with Mac.
Mac was there, and I was relieved to discover that Chance wasn't. But then, Chance would be teaching on Wednesday nights and this was Thursday, about a half hour before the church hosted AA meetings. I opened up our conversation by telling Mac about the drive to Concow and what I had seen. I knew he dealt with trauma survivors all the time and he wisely reflected, “One thing I am sure of; some people will come out of this hating God. They’ll ask, 'What kind of loving God would do such a thing to me? Why me? Why not the druggies next door? I am a good person! If that is God, then I don’t want him.' Other people will draw closer to God and say, 'Thank you, God, for sparing our lives. Thank you for all the days that you gave us in our home. It hurts to lose our home, but we are grateful in the certainty that you will provide for us.' Same problem— processed two different ways.”
“And God can make something good come of this?” I asked.
“The Bible talks a lot about dividing,” he explained, “wheat from weeds, sheep from goats, and family members from one another. I think it’s not so much what happens to us in life, but what you do with what happens that counts. People will either grow from their problems or be eaten alive with bitterness.”
“I guess the same could be said for my marriage.” It just slipped out. Mac looked at me kindly. “I've been talking with Chance almost every day since he first left for Louisiana. I guess you could say, I knew about the affair before you did,” he confessed.
My head spun. “Does everybody know?”
“I don't do business with everybody. I do business with God.” Then he went on to talk about the fall of man, temptation, and sin. He assured me that forgiveness is “not about letting someone get away with something, but letting go,” but laying the burden of heartache at the foot of the cross.
The session concluded as Pastor prayed over me and my marriage. I figured God heard Mac’s prayer, but Mac was flying solo as far as I was concerned; none of that “Where two or more have gathered in my name” for me. I turned a deaf ear to Mac’s prayers for my marriage as I blamed both God and Chance for my predicament. The hour was late. I said “Good night,” and we would “talk again soon.”
I was a vessel overflowing with resentment. Hadn't I been punished enough in life? Hadn't I loved Chance more than anything? In fact, hadn’t I loved him more than everything. I had loved my husband more than... well... more than God himself.
God might forgive him, but I never would.
CHAPTER 15
I sat in my car and pondered the difference between humility and humiliation. I suppose that humility is a choice, and humiliation is something forced upon you.
It’s about the same difference as great sex and forcible rape. So there I was, sitting outside of the lab, waiting for blood tests to see if I have HIV, Hepatitis, or some other sexually transmitted disease.
How many men has Paige slept with? And how many diseases have those men caught from other women (who had other men) and passed along to her? The math was frightening.
<
br /> “Sin,” it seemed, was a communicable disease. I wondered how other many women my lying-cheating-no-good rotten husband had slept with.
Lord, I miss him. It was an emotional conundrum and my heart twisted before I could correct myself. What I missed... was the feeling of love that I thought we had shared.
I reminded myself for the hundredth time that I had been faithful. I already decided that Travis didn’t count. I mean, we didn’t actually do the deed, so technically I was still a faithful wife by default. And, it wasn't for lack of opportunity. My job frequently took me out of town to conferences for days at a time, usually in the company of sexy DA Investigators. Detectives who lost their wedding rings on the first day of the conference, then cleverly find them on the way home.
Feeling wounded and soiled in places that cannot be reached except by death or salvation, I waited for the hospital lab to finish off what was left of my pride. Crying in the sanctuary of my Volkswagen, I realized that if I had been bleeding in the flesh instead of the spirit, my car would look like a crime scene.
I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew it included getting away, fast. I soon found myself rocketing through the mountains to the winding narrow road that leads down to Dark Canyon and the Lake.
What... Not possible... Crap! I slammed the brakes. Great plumes of noxious black smoke filled the air as I screeched to a stop. I’d mistaken the largest snake on the planet for a fallen tree branch.
“I hate snakes!” My eyes narrowed. “You are so dead!” I flipped a dangerous U-turn on a blind corner and headed back down the road, eager to put the snake out of my misery.
Visualizing Chance, I paused to take aim—then charged like a pit bull protecting a cash crop—pedal to the floor. The snake never knew what hit it. It was like flying over a Wal-Mart speed bump doing sixty.
Looking back, I wasn’t even certain it was a rattler. We have bull snakes that look just like rattlesnakes, minus the rattles. I braked for a closer look. Good Lord... it was still moving! I flipped another U, driving like a crazy woman going the wrong way in the wrong lane, launching airborne over the snake again; crying out in grief this time, instead of rage. Not grief for the snake, but for myself. I wanted it to die—but not really. Swerving back in my lane, I was stunned to see all six feet of the snake in motion, slithering across the road: Snakezilla!