The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  Lorraine stood next to her car with her head down while shuffling through a pile of documents. “I stopped by to talk to you about some final papers,” she said, fanning them out in her hand. “It was right here a minute ago.” She turned back to the car for a look. “I need you to read...oh, where is that paper?”

  “Take your time, Lorraine,” he said, as he was in no hurry to read anything that had to do with ending their marriage. Not only that, but he was thoroughly enjoying the view of her derrière tipped heavenward as she looked under the seat for the elusive paper.

  “Here it is,” she said waving the offensive thing in the air. “I need to talk to you about this.”

  “All right then. Walk with me to the creek. We'll just leave these here for now,” he said, slipping the papers from her hand and putting them back in the car. “You can tell me all about them yourself.”

  She looked at the car, then at Dylan, then back at the car again.

  Dylan immediately hopped the porch stairs to grab another pole and his fishing gear and then hurried back to her.

  “I’m not here for fun and games, you know,” she said, acting hard.

  “I know, I know. Tell me about the papers. What are they about?” He guided her along, resting his hand on the small of her back, hoping they'd be halfway to the creek before she realized what had transpired.

  “Well, they’re unofficial documents. No lawyers were involved. They’re just my own personal statements concerning what I took from the house. The itemized list verifies that none of the things I removed were yours.”

  “Is that all? I don’t need to see it. If I had anything of value, you could’ve taken it anyway.”

  “Well, just so you know, I didn’t.”

  “Well, just so you know, you could have.”

  Lorraine gave him a curious sideways glance.

  “The rain has opened the mouth of the creek and the salmon are running,” he said to change the subject. He was glad that the creek was on the other side of the orchard behind his house. Not too far, but far enough away from her car, so that the longer they walked, the better he felt that she would stick around. So he kept talking, hoping she'd continue walking with him. “I'll clean any fish that we catch,” he said, “and you can take them home with you. How's that sound?”

  She snapped a dry milkweed pod from its stalk and split it further open, all the while acting as though she didn't hear him. She pulled the cottony mass from the pod, and cupped it in her hand, and then blew the fluffy wisps from her palm.

  When she puckered to blow them into the air, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her poised lips.

  “I’m coming with you, but only so we can talk about the papers, and because I haven't had fresh fish in a long time, and it’s good for you, you know.”

  Yes, he knew.

  The apple orchard behind his house merged to the secluded woods that led to the creek. Walking down the shaded path with twigs snapping beneath their feet brought a refreshing change of pace from the busy little town. The chickadees and meadowlarks chirped and sang in the distance. The air smelled fresh and clean from the previous rain that had rinsed the September sky, but the leaves now dry, crunched like corn flakes beneath their feet.

  “It’s so beautiful out here. Why didn’t you ever bring me before?”

  “Would you have come?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” he turned his head, questioning.

  “Probably not. I hate bugs, slugs, anything crawly,” she said, whisking a mosquito from her cheek.

  “There aren’t many bugs here that’ll do much damage. It’s the root snakes you have to watch out for.”

  “Root snakes?”

  “Yeah, there's one now,” he said, pointing to the ground.

  Lorraine yelped and did a quick little two-step before almost jumping into his arms.

  Laughing, Dylan steadied her, thankful for any opportunity to hold onto her. But when she realized that he was talking about the exposed roots of an old tree, she playfully slapped his arm.

  Dylan guided each step that she took. The footprints that she left in the soil were like the indelible imprint she’d left on his heart. She was a part of him and he was her knight, her prince, and her protector. When Lorraine stumbled into a hole or tripped over a vine, Dylan took her hand and led her safely back to solid ground. Her walk was secure from fallen branches and slithering snakes, as long as he was by her side.

  “The land is level on the other side of the creek. We'll have to cross here,” Dylan said.

  “Cross? Through the water? These are my new jeans. I don't want to get them all wet.

  “Don't worry. I've got my boots on. I'll carry you. Hop on.”

  Lorraine tapped her index finger on her lips and hummed in hesitation, making it obvious that she was weighing her options: the water, Dylan, or retreat to her car. A moment passed and then she stood behind him and reached over his shoulders. And as he lifted her upon his back, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and clasped her hands in front of his chest, then clicked her tongue, and said, “Giddy-up!”

  Dylan sloshed through the water, and she held on tighter then softly hummed into his ear, “Carpentry agrees with you.”

  He hoisted her up to get a better hold, but her silky words of admiration and her warm breath upon his neck, almost undid him. He tried to keep his attention on where his feet were stepping, but his legs almost gave way in the process. He steadied himself before reaching the far side of the creek, and then clumsily set her down on a grassy knoll. Pausing, Dylan crouched low with his arms resting across his knees and his hands dangling in-between, as he looked down at the ground. He slowly lifted his head with his eyes fixated on Lorraine, his jaw set, his gaze unyielding, while trying to catch his breath.

  Lorraine stood motionless, eyes wide, watching his recovery.

  “Don't look so surprised my little china doll. Although I'm a Christian, I'm still a warm-blooded man who’s very much alive, and very much in love with you.” Dylan languidly stood and tipped Lorraine's chin to close her slightly gaping mouth, then slowly said, “But I will wait for you.” Then, he turned away and opened his tackle box to attach a bobber to her line. He immediately changed the subject to quell his heated desire. “This is the best spot on the creek,” he said, glancing down the creek bank.

  Appearing desperate to quench the tense situation, Lorraine reached into the tackle box and held two similar looking lures up to her ears, and said, “Do you like my earrings?”

  Dylan smiled, “They’re very alluring.” And then he winked and handed her a pole. After attaching a bobber and bait to his own line, he watched her from the corner of his eye, to see how she would do.

  Lorraine stood firmly in place with her feet apart then whipped the pole over her head as though driving a team of horses. The line sailed over the creek to the other side, where the hook landed and snagged in a bush.

  Dylan’s shoulders shook as he tried to contain his laughter, but he couldn’t resist teasing. “We're not heading out in a covered wagon, Lorraine.”

  She pouted like a little girl, and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Dylan waded across the creek to retrieve the hook from the bush. On the next try, he stood behind her and held her hand in his own, to show her how to cast the line. He touched his cheek to her hair and closed his eyes and dreamed. Oh, Lord, she smells so good. His senses absorbed every intricate detail about her. The way her back swayed against his chest. The lithe movement of her arm, the gentle curve of her hand in his, as he guided the pole in a graceful swing as though doing a ballroom dance.

  Then, with the snap of his wrist and the press of a button, he released the line, and the bait plunked into the gurgling creek. “It's all in the wrist, my dear. It’s all in the wrist,” he said, letting her take control of the pole.

  After casting his own line, Dylan propped his pole against a rock and sat down on a velvety patch of emerald moss. He leaned against an old
tree stump, with his forearms resting on his raised knees, and his hands dangling between. Time seemed but a moment with her at his side, as he reveled in the blessing. Is this what it’s like in Paradise, Lord? Leaves of crimson and gold; Jays and cardinals flitting from trees; and the woman I love here with me. Thank you for this small glimpse of Heaven.

  The two of them sat for over an hour, Dylan watching Lorraine more than the tip of his pole, Lorraine sitting cross-legged on the shore, seeming to enjoy the relaxing reprieve.

  And then her bobber began to wiggle, slightly at first, and then it plunged under. “Lorraine, you've got a bite! Pull back! Set the hook!”

  She jerked the pole back and spun the reel as the tip arced to a half circle. Dylan sprung to his feet to help, while Lorraine reeled and pulled until the fish broke the surface of the water.

  “I got one! I caught a fish!” she screeched.

  Dylan grabbed the net and scooped up the flopping fish. “Yes, you did, and it's a beauty. I'll bet it weighs at least three pounds.” He set the netted fish on the leaf covered ground then watched Lorraine as she clapped and hopped, and then threw her arms around his neck. A poignant joy stole over him, as a flood of emotion welled up inside at the memories the childlike act evoked. She’s doing it again, Lord. She’s turning my heart to mush.

  Lorraine’s glittering eyes met his, and her smiling lips nearly touched his chin as she wriggled in his arms, and said, “Oh, Dylan, that was so much fun! I want to catch another one!”

  Just a matter of inches, that's all. It would be so easy for him to tip his head down and kiss her sweet lips and mold his body close to her own. His lips grazed her forehead as his senses whirled a tornado of emotion, and he whispered, “Do you know how much I love you, Lorraine?”

  The words were more of a declaration than a question, and he felt her knees go weak. A slight little quiver, but there nonetheless, and then she let go of his neck. She stood there dazed with her mouth opening and closing like the silent fish in the net, and then she turned away.

  Lord, I want to be with her forever. Help me. Dylan bent down, picked up the fish and turned the hook back and forth out of its mouth. “You know, Lorraine, every year the female salmon lays her eggs in a little creek like this one.” Dylan pointed by nodding with his chin. “Once the fish grow to a certain size they head out into the lake where they spend the rest of their lives. The remarkable thing about these fish is that even though they swim miles away from their birthplace, they'll return to the original stream where they were born to lay their eggs.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Dylan threaded the stringer through the salmon’s mouth and gills. “The thing that’s even more amazing is that after the female lays her eggs, she dies. She gives her life so the species will survive. This reminds me of what Jesus did for us.”

  Lorraine pulled a leaf from a low hanging branch and twirled the stem between her finger and thumb. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Jesus had the whole universe at his disposal, sort of like the fish having the whole lake, yet He chose a remote place, this world, where His main purpose in coming would be to die, so that we can be born into God’s kingdom and live forever. He knew this just like the salmon does when it returns to the stream of its birth.”

  “I still don’t see why He had to die.”

  Dylan brushed a strand of hair away from Lorraine’s forehead. “Some people may sin less, but no one is sinless. No one, that is, except Jesus. Since we can't reach God through our own efforts, He reached down to us, by giving us his perfect Son to bridge the gap between God and mankind. This, my dear, is why Jesus died and why He’s like the mama fish that gives her life to bear offspring.”

  Lorraine looked away. “I don't like all this talk about death. Can we go now? It looks like it’s going to rain anyway.”

  Dylan sensed her uneasiness and let the subject drop. He gathered the poles, the net and the flopping fish. “Hop on,” he said, while juggling his gear and hoping the waters would part like they did for Moses at the Red Sea. But instead of the waters parting when he took a step in, Dylan lost his footing and Lorraine slipped from his arms into the freezing creek. She let out a wail that made his hair stand on end, as he threw the fishing gear onto the creek bank and then lifted her up. He quickly unzipped his jacket, opened it wide and pulled her inside to warm her. “I am so sorry!”

  The frigid water set her teeth to clacking like a wild set of castanets. She buried her nose on his chest to absorb his warmth and to stop her shivering. She was so close to him now that he could feel her heart beating, as her body trembled against his own. He drew her in close as he caressed her back like a gentle baker tenderly kneading bread dough.

  When she finally stopped shaking, her body relaxed for a long moment in the warmth of his embrace. “Come home with me and I'll cook dinner for you.”

  Lorraine blinked and straightened as though she’d just snapped out of a deep and tranquil trance. She exhaled a slow breath, smoothed her hair back, and gave herself a shake awake. “Well, the idea of driving home like a sopping wet sponge doesn't appeal to me, and I'm so hungry right now, I'd even try sushi.” She eyed the salmon on the stringer and managed a slight smile.

  Dylan pulled his coat off and then draped it across her shoulders as they walked back to his house.

  Lorraine stepped out of her wet clothes and into the shower. The warm spray soothed her skin, but she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that enveloped her. This was the first time that she'd been in their house in almost two years, and she found it odd that after being here, it seemed as though she’d never left. But she did leave, and she was determined to leave again as soon as the meal ended and her clothes dried. She shampooed her hair and washed off the creek water, and then after toweling off, she hastily slipped on Dylan's robe and a pair of his socks.

  As she threw her wet clothes into the washer, she smelled onions cooking from the next room. She pulled the robe closer and tied it snugly, while peeking around the corner into the kitchen. “Something smells good. Need any help?”

  Dylan stood at the counter in a set of clean clothes, slicing tomatoes for a salad. Potatoes were frying, thus the source of the onion smell, and the salmon was under the broiler. “Although, it looks like you've got things pretty well under control.”

  “You can set the table.”

  Lorraine knew her way around the kitchen, but she saw the pained look on Dylan's face, as he watched her scan the room. All of her things were gone, all of her things that made the place cozy and warm. She thought of her itemized list.

  The place was livable the way that it was, neat and clean, but very simple, very plain. The homey touches were missing, because she was missing. It felt strange being here after all this time, walking around the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboard, looking for silverware and dishes, and whether she realized it or not, she set the table the way that she used to, she on the left, he on the right.

  She walked to the window and drew a heart in the steam, but quickly wiped it off with the heel of her hand. It was pouring outside. The storm clamored like a boiling teakettle as the thunder rumbled in the distance.

  She walked by the living room door. Hesitating, she reached around and flicked on the light. “You painted.”

  “It needed it.”

  “White. I like it.”

  “Eggshell white, leftover from the church library.”

  “You did a good job. It looks nice in here.”

  “Thanks,” he said, opening the broiler to check on the fish. “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “Good, I’m starved.” Lorraine stepped into the living room. Passing an end table, she affectionately stroked it as though remembering some long forgotten memory. Surprisingly, there was no dust. She raised an eyebrow, impressed.

  On another table sat a framed picture of the two of them. She walked over and picked it up, remembering the day it was taken. Recently married. Fourth of July. Her parent’s picnic. The pho
to brought back a flood of memories that made her question her judgment in coming here. This was the house where they shared the same meals, the same memories, the same bed. She silently promised herself again, that she would leave as soon as possible. Looking out toward Dylan, she discretely set the picture back on the table.

  When she returned to the kitchen, a button suddenly shot across the floor and a cat skidded after it, and then bumped into the wall. The kitten jumped onto a chair then swatted the object from the higher pinnacle, but missed.

  “You haven't met my roommate yet. Lorraine, this is Misty. Misty, Lorraine.” The kitten appeared too busy for introductions as she jumped back on the floor and batted the button back and forth between her paws after it ricocheted off the wall.

  Lorraine laughed. “You have a cat?”

  “Not just any cat, my dear. Misty's an extraordinary cat,” he said, while flipping the potatoes in the skillet. “Why, she's faster than a speeding button, more powerful than a loathsome rodent, and able to leap small bureaus in a single bound.”

  Lorraine shook her head and groaned in imaginary pain. “I can see such a change in you, Dylan. I don't quite know what it is or what to make of it yet, but you seem so different now.”

  Dylan lit two small candles in the center of the table and then pulled a chair out for her. “Thank you,” she said, sitting down.

  “It’s because He’s working in me.” Dylan walked to the counter, picked up the salads and set one in front of Lorraine and the other at his place.

  “Who is?”

  “The Lord.” Then he set a basket of Italian bread near the candles. “It’s all His doing.”

  Lorraine glanced up at Dylan curiously, as he set the plates down. “At your service, my darling wife.”

  She was ready to protest, ready to correct him, but he’d already sat down, bowed his head and began to say grace. Lorraine didn't quite know how to respond to this uncharacteristic deed, but she bowed her head anyway and stared down at her thumbs, while listening to Dylan say a soft and tender prayer of thanks for the food, and for her.