Mark’s tears rolled into a flood, dotting the paper. That’s when Pyper stopped to consider the words he had crafted. Did those sentiments come from tears? From regret? She stared at him now, brows puckered, head pounding as her stomach rolled and her heart turned over and over again while bile rose in her throat.
“I opened the bedroom door and found the window screen had been torn away. My wife refused to leave our daughter. She had climbed through shrubs and she had ripped metal netting from its frame on the window with her bare hands. She had hauled our baby over the sill to keep her protected. To get her away from a man who had already done serious damage.” Mark ignored the pages, looking straight ahead.
Pyper could barely breathe.
“My wife had nothing to her name. I saw to that. She had no purse, no money, no phone, only a church, a pastor, a group of friends and renewed bonds with her family to bring her back to God and to life again. And she did so with my daughter in her care. That’s my shame. That’s the sorrow I’ve fought to overcome, and even though I know I’m forgiven and redeemed by the grace of God, it eats at me every day. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve become a counselor, and that’s why I’ve completely changed the direction of my life. I know I can never atone for what I did. I can only rely on God for forgiveness, for mercy, and the second chance that places like Reach North can provide to others in need.
“My wife, my daughter, they found salvation and happiness with a man much better than the one I was back then, but the message I want to convey today is this: I also found salvation. I found a way back to goodness, to God’s love. You can, too.”
Mark’s passion, his power of conviction, drew Pyper’s reluctant focus until she broke away briefly to glance at her mom. Her mama’s chin trembled and her eyes sparkled against what Pyper could only assume was the shattered crystal of broken dreams.
“Don’t walk the same road I did. If you do, you’ll suffer the same way I did. You’ll lose the same way I did. Don’t let it happen. Please. Hold on to your soul. Live, don’t destroy. Let us help you find the miracle you need right here, in this haven for battered souls looking for redemption. You’ll find help here. You’ll find safety here. You’ll find a second chance here. All you have to do is surrender the darkness. Thank you for letting me share my story.”
Pyper’s ears rang. Accompanied by crashing applause, Mark returned to his seat and the emcee claimed the podium.
“Thank you, Mark, for a powerful sharing of what can, and will, be accomplished through the work of Reach North. Now, we’d like to welcome Chase Bradington, Pyper Brock, and a wonderful mix of their bandmates along with some gifted musicians who are part of the recovery program here at Reach. Chase, come on up!”
Chase stood right away and Pyper blinked when she heard their names. Zach slid a pair of stools into position while a stage tech moved mic stands into place. Somehow she stood. She sank onto the closest stool and Chase took over from there, slinging on his guitar, addressing the crowd with a warm smile and those clear, vibrant eyes.
“Hey, y’all. Thanks for the warm welcome. You know, I’m a lot more comfortable on a tall stool, with a guitar in my hands than I am talking to folks at the head of a reception room so I hope it’s OK for me to talk to you from here.”
Whistles and applause rang out. Pyper settled, gripped her microphone stand and made a height adjustment. All the while, she trembled to the core.
“Reach North, like other Reach facilities across the south, will be about reclaiming a life that’s good,” Chase continued. “It’ll be about community outreach and community service projects for young people. We need to catch problems at the start, through referrals from schools, from churches, through family intervention. We need to do whatever it takes to break the cycle of addiction. I’m another witness to the power that can be found in recovering from the war that destructive choices can cause, and I appreciate your support here today.”
Chase stopped there and his eyes sparkled, sheened by moisture. Pyper was a confused mess at the moment, but nothing diminished the empathy that swept through her, the love and gratitude for Chase’s rebound.
Why couldn’t she feel the same way about Mark Samuels?
There was no time for analysis.
Chase strummed the opening chords of “Forgiveness”. “I’d like to share the best piece of advice I ever received in therapy, and it came from the man sitting directly to my right, the one who just spoke, my sponsor Mark Samuels. He once told me, ‘The past is the past and nothing can be done to change it. The future can never be fully known, but readiness depends entirely on what we do in the here and now.’ Heed those words. Take them to heart and let them change your life like they changed mine. They’ll bring you to God’s hand, and they just might save you. Thanks.”
On cue, fighting for control, Pyper picked it up from there. “In honor of those who fight the good fight, who push hard for healing, promise, and hope, Chase and I would like to dedicate the following song. It’s called ‘Forgiveness’. We hope you enjoy it.”
Applause became a warm vibration that worked around all the turbulence and gave her strength enough to sing. She started out OK, but for some reason she kept glancing toward Mark. When she did, her throat and heart would squeeze and her pulse would race. The melody built, the song hit an impassioned crescendo and the words jammed in Pyper’s throat, tears building against her lashes as she closed her eyes, fighting desperately to keep going as the song took her under and carried her away.
Chase, bless him forever, covered strong on the last verse when her voice went weak and began to fade. She hit the closing harmony, and they ended fine, but she had nearly lost it. When they took a bow and acknowledged the response of the crowd, Pyper knew Chase tracked her carefully, but her response couldn’t be helped. Stiff shoulders and edginess were punctuated by numbness, by a deadness of sensation that caused her to fold her arms against her mid-section.
Chase leaned in and whispered, “You gonna be OK?”
His breath brushed against her ear, skimmed her neck, warm and lush enough to chase off a building chill. Her heart fluttered through her chest, so many ribbons sliced and torn. She turned just far enough to catch the light of his eyes and longed to lean into him. Pyper shook her head and literally bit her tongue.
“Hang tight, crash. We’re in the homestretch.”
Not by a long shot, she thought, but she delivered an agreeing smile.
After the bulk of the audience disbursed, an informal press conference took place. Board members of Reach North were joined by key staff members, by Chase, Pyper, and a few of the more prominent financial contributors. Most of the questions had to do with specifics about Reach North—how many employees, how many patients were expected to cross the threshold, a bevy of supporters were mentioned and thanked.
After that, Petra Goode stepped to the forefront, and Pyper’s blood flowed to a bone-chilling standstill.
“Mark, this question is directed to you. First off, I want to congratulate you for not only an inspiring turn around in your life, but your mission to help rehabilitate troubled individuals and help them find a way home.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m a little surprised, given the roadway of success you established, that you didn’t acknowledge your daughter by name.” She hesitated, but Mark offered no comment.
Petra plowed ahead. “Especially since she sat not more than a few feet from the podium.”
Pyper’s skin flamed. Mark glanced her way, lines carved deep against his mouth and eyes. She braced.
“The story you shared left a good many of us in tears—your daughter included. Isn’t that right, Pyper? You seemed genuinely moved by your father’s story, and who could blame you.”
She dropped the explosive information so casually a few seconds of stunned silence beat by. But then, chaos erupted and nearly two dozen reporters launched into a feeding frenzy.
“Pyper…Pyper Brock is
Mark Samuel’s daughter?”
“Pyper, over here!
“Tyler, any comment? Pyper? Amy? Zach?”
Zach—poor Zach! Pyper turned toward her brother, reached desperately for his hand. He held on fast, but looked like the clichéd deer caught in headlights. Their physical connection was instinctive, but leagues away from soothing.
“Mark, have you seen Pyper before today? What have you said to her? Are you reestablishing contact?”
“What’s next for y’all?” Smug as could be, Petra positioned herself toward the front of the pack and dragged her photographer along with her. “Let’s get everyone together for a photo.”
A hungry band of photographers maneuvered Pyper and her family—Mark and Chase included—into alignment in front of the podium which bore the logo of Reach, the spot where Mark had stood and plead his case for understanding, for love and mercy. The thought launched, then dissolved like a crushed skeet target as questions continued to be lobbed.
“Pyper, how does it feel to be reunited with your father? Is this the start of a new chapter for the two of you? Tyler, are you pleased by Mark’s arrival in Nashville?”
Petra pushed sideways, deliberately blocking the reporter who had just spoken. “Pyper, your biological father, a remade, rededicated man who helps others conquer addiction, and the one who took Chase Bradington under his care at Reach. How much of a thrill is this? Hollywood couldn’t script a more eloquent storyline. How do you feel right now?”
Flashbulbs split Pyper’s vision into strobes. Overly-bright camera lights left her blinking, causing her adrenaline to push and rush at high octane.
Smile, she told herself. Don’t say a word, just smile, turn away, and vanish into private space ASAP.
“Thanks for coming out, y’all.” Tyler stepped to the front line of the battle zone, giving a wave, a smile full of easy warmth that Pyper knew masked a thousand shades of emotion. “We’ll have a formal statement later. For now, please keep spreading the word about Reach North—these folks are going to work miracles for troubled souls all over Nashville. That’s the newsworthy and important thing here.”
Space cleared fast as reporters chased deadlines with an incredible story to tell. Meanwhile, Pyper and her family were taken under the wing of Reach board members who led them to an empty conference room mercifully free of windows.
Tyler closed the door and rounded on Mark. “Quite the debut, Samuels.”
“Tyler…please, listen to what I have to say.”
“No, you listen to me. I’ll smooth this mess over with the press, but hear me loud, and hear me strong. Your story featured a pretty message about moving on in life, and I’m all for it. But I have a story of my own to tell. A story about two beautiful women you shamelessly battered. Twenty years ago, I spent a summer afternoon on a boat with Amy, Pyper, and my pastor, Ken Lucerne. We paid a visit to Lake St. Clair. It’s a spot I think you know well, right? That day is set in my mind with concrete because that’s when Amy told me everything. She told me all about the wretched way you treated her and an innocent girl. Your daughter, Samuels. It was evil, and for the first time in my life I couldn’t find strength enough to pray for a fellow human being. Didn’t even want to. I’ve come a ways since then, because Amy and Pyper have bloomed. But don’t expect me to welcome you in any way, shape or form. I said to Amy then, and I say to you now, eye-to-eye, you don’t deserve one precious second of the time God gave you with them. Steer clear of my family, Samuels. Steer. Clear.”
Pyper’s entire body quaked. She glared at Mark and couldn’t repress a closing shot of her own. She motioned to Tyler—her daddy. “Protection. Unconditional love. Absolute conviction of spirit. That’s what a father’s love looks like.”
She burned to reached up and strike Mark with a resounding slap; she stilled that impulse. What would change if she inked a red splotch of anger and recrimination against his skin? Nothing. She’d be lowering herself to his level. Curse it all.
All the same, she was on fire. Pyper’s chin wobbled; her eyes filled with hot, stingy tears. Spinning on a booted toe, she escaped the room with nothing but her dignity intact. The rest of her massacred heart scattered as dust across the ground upon which she fled.
19
“Tyler. Wait. Amy, Tyler…can I have a quick word?” Chase bounded after them, making fast tracks down a private hallway that led to the parking lot.
Tyler stopped. “Yeah. I think we should. Not here, though. Come on back to the house.”
Chase nodded, looked at Pyper. She didn’t meet his eyes. Her small frame pulsed with tension. “Pyp, can I give you a ride?”
“I’m gonna go with my folks. See you at the farm.”
That gave Chase the entire half-hour ride to Franklin to stew, for steam to build. He loved the Brocks, but this was wrong. The flat-out rejection offered by each and every one of them felt in no way to Chase like the kind of thing Jesus would preach in the face of heartfelt reform. Plus, if they found it so easy to shun Mark, what kept them from shunning him? How could he ever be trusted and welcomed without reservation to the heart of their family and Pyper’s life?
He drove, steady at the wheel yet wracked by turmoil as door after door slammed shut in his face.
His emotional temperature skyrocketed right up to the moment he turned onto the gravel drive leading to the Brock’s home. He tailed Tyler’s vehicle to a graceful curve that angled directly in front of the entrance.
He parked his truck, bowed his head, and prayed with all his might because temper threatened to overwhelm, and that wouldn’t do. Pyper’s agony wrecked him. Completely and totally wrecked him. Evidently she could forgive him for his role in the reckless, shameful death of a human being as wonderful as Shayne Williams, yet she refused to acknowledge any form of hope for change within the life of her biological father. How could that possibly be the case? His mental spin increased.
No doubt Pyper was a beautiful soul, instinctively giving and kind and spirited. Certainly he understood why her fear and anger ran so deep. Despite his allegiance to Mark, he had given Pyper the necessary leeway to release twenty-years of pent-up hostility so she could come through it renewed and then release it forever.
Chase thought things over and shored his courage. The battle would be one of the toughest he had ever faced, but two pain-wracked lives—two strong-willed hearts on opposite sides of a jagged, barbed-wire fence had collided.
Maybe God could help him intercede. Perhaps God’s purpose here was to use him to help smooth the storm-tossed waters between the people he had come to love. Suddenly, instead of feeling trapped, Chase sensed a mission building.
But could he remain steady enough to see it through?
They convened in the great room. When Amy crossed the threshold, Chase watched her run gentle fingertips against the edge of the fireplace mantle, where silver-framed photos rested. For a time she lost herself in family snapshots, formal portraits of Zach, Pyper…
And within her eyes crested an ocean of sadness that twisted his stomach, because he didn’t think they were going to like what he had to say.
“Excuse me for being torn between two sides here, but I don’t think you should have treated him so harshly. Why are you painting him with the lines of a brush that’s decades old? What right do you have to do that? It’s not fair, and it’s not worthy of the people standing in this room—the one’s I’ve come to know and care for so much.”
Pyper crossed the room, headed for her mother’s side, but she drew up short and stared at Chase. Zach stood not far away, brows furrowed, arms crossed, gaze pinging from one person to the next as he visibly attempted to sort things through.
Tyler stepped into the tense and building void. “Chase, you’re right to be loyal to him. I don’t discount the ways he helped you find your way, but I need you to hear us out on this. You need to understand that—”
“No. There’s no need for an explanation. I get it. You’re all about second chances; you’re all about
redemption; you’re all about that feel-good, all-encompassing word forgiveness, right up to the point when it involves someone who’s hurt you deep. Well, I know Mark far better than you, and I respect him. He worked hard to overcome. I can relate to that struggle because life forced me to walk his same walk. He’s a troubled, flawed man who tells me he’s working hard to be what he needs to be, what he wants to be. I had my doubts about his arrival, and I know how he hurt y’all. But after his witness today, after the way he accepted his cross with grace and humility, I feel he deserves a chance. Why did you lash out at him without knowing thing-one about the demons he’s slain?”
“Demons!” Pyper rounded on him. “The demons he’s slain? Chase, that man is a wrecking ball! Any demons he faced, he brought on himself!”
“Absolutely, and those demons will lurk over you as well, Pyper—over all of you—if you storm off and refuse to give him the time of day. That kind of judgment I don’t want or need. It’s toxic, unfair, and it certainly isn’t Christian.”
“Chase!”
Pyper’s cry mixed pain and anger; the realization registered then evaporated.
Temper erupting, he pressed forward through lightning strikes and storm clouds he could taste in the air. “The man you hate so much—and don’t even try to hide from that truth—is the man who helped me, and nothing but God led Mark Samuels to Nashville. If you can’t see that, then you don’t understand all the words you use about seeing His hand in our lives, and recognizing His actions, His interventions.”
Pyper’s eyes filled, and Chase rebuked the resulting stab of pain.
“That damaged man found healing; that damaged man repented and worked hard to restore himself. I’ve learned a lot from his journey, and he pulled me scratching and clawing from a black hole. I’m sorry for what he did. Truly I am.” His gaze roved Pyper’s precious face, then moved to Amy. “What he did to you and your mama is reprehensible, but you should look at who he is now.” Chase focused on Tyler and Zach as well. “All of you need to see his redemption rather than his past. He’s covered by grace. He’s loved. He’s forgiven. Right?” His gaze landed square on Pyper’s bewildered face. “Just. Like. Me.” He invaded her space. Fire burned in his chest, stirring an all-over ache as he strove to drive home his point. “Or do you believe Jesus would leave an honestly repentant man cowering in the sand, covered by sin?”
Forgiveness Page 17