Keys To Redemption

by Erica Gilbreath

Chapter 14

  He took the tie and tossed it onto the dresser, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his blue, long-sleeved button-down shirt. He had no idea what type of church she went to or what the dress code was. More than anything, he couldn’t figure out why he’d even agreed to go to church with her. Sure, he wanted to spend time with her and he knew with their careers that could prove to be somewhat difficult. But church? Gospel songs, a choir, a sermon, prayer? He hadn’t been to church since he was fourteen years old. By then, his mother had finally given up and stopped forcing him and his brother to go. He hoped he was dressed right. He originally was going to go with a suit but that just seemed too formal. So he’d taken off the tie and suit jacket and untucked the shirt. The finished product of that wasn’t too bad. He looked casual enough but not too casual.

  He was a nervous wreck on the drive to Calvary Chapel Church. Only when he pulled into the crowded parking lot of the mega church did it really dawn on him what he had gotten himself into—he was getting ready to go to church, then afterwards take out a woman he barely knew but had become infatuated with. The thought caused him to run his hands through his hair with more force than usual. Unable to turn back now, he mustered up the will to exit the car. As he made his way to the large glass doors that led into the church, he tugged nervously at his shirt. Although it was a mere fifty five degrees out this morning, he was sweating bullets.

  With one foot through the front door, he hesitated at letting the second follow. After having avoided church for more than a decade, he could only hope that he wouldn’t burst into flames after crossing the threshold.

  Looking up, he caught sight of Evie; she was standing by herself just a few feet away. At that moment any thoughts of combusting quickly fled his mind, as did every other irrational thought he could conjure up. She was an attractive woman; he’d established that the first time they met at the hospital. There was no doubt in his mind that James had been a lucky man. But watching her stand there in a dress and high heels with her hair down and reaching passed her shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was in over his head. Still, it didn’t stop him from gazing at her from head to toe—he was a man after all.

  When he was just a few feet away, he compelled himself to make eye.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said with nervous energy.

  Stacy noticed she was a little breathless, and for some reason this boosted his ego a little bit.

  “I told you I’d be here. How are you?”

  “It’s a good day,” she said. “Well church is about to start. Should we go find seats?”

  Stacy nodded and motioned for her to lead the way.

  “I’m warning you though, I haven’t been to church since I was fourteen years old. My mother is probably turning over in her grave right now.”

  He whispered this as they sat down next to each other in a pew located in the middle of a massive church that was quickly filling up.

  Evie leaned into him and whispered back, “Well you got through the front doors without bursting in flames so I think you’re okay.”

  Stacy looked at her in surprise; she had thought the same as he had a moment ago. The fact that they had come to the same humorous notion comforted him. “I see we have jokes today,” he uttered back.

  Evie giggled. He liked the sound of her giggling. But what he liked even more was that he had been the one to make her do it.

  ___________________________________________________________________________

  The church itself was not as bad as Stacy thought it would be. It somewhat reminded him of the church his mother had dragged him and Greg to as kids—there was singing, scripture reading and announcements.

  This church was much larger, however, and the congregation was a mix of African Americans, Asians, Hispanics and Caucasians. The eclectic mix put him at ease, but it did nothing to stave off his lack of patience. Even though the activities leading up to the sermon only took about forty five minutes, Stacy felt as though he had been there for hours. The only thing that kept him remotely interested during this time were the occasional turns and smiles from Evie. She was sitting a foot away from him and it made it hard to concentrate. Evie, however, had no trouble; she seemed to be fully engrossed in everything that was going on. She bowed her head and closed her eyes for prayer, and sang along with the hymns without even using the hymnal book.

  Finally, the pastor made his appearance. He was a tall Hispanic man with a bald head and overwhelming presence. When he opened his mouth to speak, he commanded the attention of the congregation—even Stacy couldn’t help but be lured in by his voice. Listening to every word, Stacy was completely unprepared for what came out of the preacher’s mouth next.

  “No matter how terrible or how bad we think we are, or how atrocious and awful the things we have done are, God can forgive you and make you knew. He casts your sins far away and remembers them no more. Unfortunately, we as people sometimes can be our toughest critics. Long after God has forgiven us, we haven’t forgiven ourselves.”

  Stacy swallowed hard, as if he were trying to force something down his throat. Was this a joke? Did the pastor somehow find out about his past and engineer this little speech just for him? Unsure, he furrowed his brows and ran his hand through his hair as the preacher continued.

  “It says in Romans 7: 14-25, ‘We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.  And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good.  As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.  For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

  So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law.  But I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me.  What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?  Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

  So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.”

  Stacy sat forward. That was the scripture he read in his mother’s Bible a few weeks ago when cleaning out her room. As the pastor continued his sermon, Stacy tried to wrap his mind around what the man was really saying. If he really understood that Bible verse and the pastor’s explanation, then that would mean that God forgave him for what he did. But could God really forgive someone for killing another individual for no reason? Murder was one of the top sins in his own book. And after three years he hadn’t forgiven himself, so how could God forgive him? What was he thinking? He didn’t even believe in God, but even as Stacy thought these words he wasn’t sure if they were true anymore.

  His head begin to hurt as he tried to wrap his mind around the part of the Bible verse that stuck out to him the most: ‘I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.’ If he could put exactly how he felt that night and for the last three years into words, that was it.

  He turned slightly and caught Evie’s profile in his peripheral vision. She looked calm and relaxed, totally at peace as she underlined something in her Bible. He smiled to himself; his mother had always been underlining something in her Bible too.

  When church service ended and they stood up to leave Evie looked at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to ask him how he liked the sermon—he hoped she wouldn’t. He didn’t quite know how he felt about it, and he didn’t want to lie to her any more than he already had. But to his relief she didn’t; she simply motioned to the set of doors that marked
the exit. They were quiet as they fought their way through throngs of people.

  Once outside, before he could say anything, Evie turned to him and after scanning the crowd nervously said, “I’m sorry to do this to you, Stacy.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I really wasn’t planning on doing this right here and now but my mother is here and she’s on her way over here. She’s going to want to meet you. I’m sorry to spring this on you.”

  Stacy interrupted her with a laugh and a sigh of relief.

  “That’s fine, Evie. I don’t mind meeting her.” He watched as she seemed to visibly relax at his words.

  “You sure you don’t mind?” she asked

  “No, not at all.” Before he could say anything else a small boy seemed to come out of nowhere and fling himself onto Evie’s legs.

  “Mommy, Grandma said I could have ice cream if I was good in Sunday school. Can I? Can I?” the small boy cried.

  Stacy smiled figuring the little boy had to be her son, but his smile quickly disappeared when the boy turned around and looked at him. It was almost as if he had been punched in the gut. The boy was the spitting image of his father. Stacy faltered for a minute but caught himself just as Evie was saying, “Stacy this is my son, Jamie.”

  Pulling himself together quickly, Stacy bent down to put himself at eye level with the boy. He then smiled and stuck out his hand.

  “Hey Jamie, I’m Stacy.”

  Like any young boy who is being introduced to a stranger, Jamie was shy and slow to extend his hand back.

  “He’s a police officer,” Evie said to the boy. At those words, Jamie’s eyes lit up.

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked, quickly overcoming his shyness.

  “I do.”

  “Do you shoot bad guys?” Stacy cringed at the question and for a moment imagined God in the heavens looking down upon him, shaking his head and saying, ‘Look at what you’ve gotten yourself into.’

  “I try not to shoot anybody,” he managed to get out with fake cheer in his voice.

  “Well now, who is this?” A middle-aged, attractive brown-skinned version of Evie said approaching them.

  “Stacy, this is my mother, Madeleine Crowne.” Madeleine smiled warmly as she approached them and reached out to shake Stacy’s hand. He stood up and took her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Crowne,” he said.

  “Please call me Madeleine. So, this is him? The police officer?” she stated, clearly sizing him up.

  “I’m so sorry Stacy, I didn’t mean for you to be bombarded by the whole family. I promise this is all of them.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, actually meaning it, as he watched James Tyrell’s mini me stare up at him with his father’s eyes.

  “Nonsense,” Madeleine said.

  “Do you have a gun in your car?” Jamie suddenly piped up. As much as Stacy was disarmed by this little boys looks and his fascination with guns, he knelt down again and said, “I don’t think your mom wants you playing with guns. But I do have a set of handcuffs in my car if you want to see those.”

  “Ooh, Mommy can I go see them?” Jamie cried, jumping up and down in excitement.

  “I’m parked right over there,” Stacy said, pointing to his Chevrolet Tahoe parked a few yards away. He looked to Evie for approval, but he found more in her face than he was counting on: gratitude.

  “Thank you. Sure, Jamie, go ahead.” Jamie took off for the car, before anyone could stop him.

  As Stacy took off after Jamie he could here Madeline saying, “Well now, he’s just scored about ten points in my book.”

  Stacy was pleased by the utterance, but wasn’t sure if she meant for him to here that or not.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  “I’m really sorry about all of that. I really wasn’t planning on having you meet my family after only one date,” Evie said, later on, as Stacy drove up Muholland Drive towards the Getty Museum. There was a special art exhibit featuring the work of somebody named Georgia O’keefe that he was taking Evie to see. Some time ago, he heard Kelly say her work was for women, or something like that. He didn’t know if Evie was even into art, but when he mentioned they were going to an art exhibit she seemed pleased.

  “So, then this is a date?” Stacy said, looking over at Evie.

  “I guess,” she conceded.

  “And I would actually call this our fourth date,” he said.

  Evie crinkled her eyebrows out of confusion.

  “Our first date was when I saw you at Gabriel’s,” explained Stacy.

  Evie couldn’t help but laugh at this.

  “Our second date was when I rescued you on the side of the road after your car stalled. And then the third date was our luncheon. Now, this is the fourth.”

  “I hardly think rescuing me on the side of the road is a date,” she countered.

  “I count it as one,” said Stacy.

  Eager to transition the conversation, Evie asked if he was available during the week. Her mother wanted to have him over for dinner.

  “I’m free Friday. Is your mom a good cook? I haven’t had a good home cooked meal in a long time.”

  Evie explained to him that Madeline grew up in Louisiana and being a good cook was a pre-requisite for all women in the area of New Orleans where she lived.

  Stacy was delighted to hear this.

  “So, thank you for entertaining Jamie. He can be um….very excited about things sometimes,” Evie said as they pulled into the parking lot of the Getty.

  “He seems like an exciting kid,” Stacy agreed.

  “He’s a handful; I might as well say it. I have no idea how to raise little boys.”

  Stacy shut off the car, unfastened his seat belt, than turned towards her.

  “You don’t think you do a good job, mom?”

  Evie didn’t look at him; instead, she looked out the window. Stacy knew immediately that he had hit a soft spot.

  “It’s hard, I admit. He’s into everything right now and I don’t know how to channel all of that excess energy. My mom and I can only do so much with him. And with me working so much and my crazy hours as a nurse, sometimes I think I come up short.”

  She looked at him suddenly and it was as if she realized she was telling him these personal things.

  “Never mind, I’m just talking. You ready?”

  Wishing the moment would pass quickly, Evie hurried to gather her purse and other belongings. She had hoped it would signal that she was ready to get out of the car, but Stacy wasn’t done with her yet.

  “My dad was in the Air Force. He married my mom right before they shipped him overseas to Germany. They spent just enough time together for her to get pregnant with me, then he left. She didn’t have a whole lot of family out here in California, they were all back in Kansas, where she was from. My dad didn’t have any living relatives close by, so she was mostly by herself. I was six months old when he came back, and he stayed just long enough to make my brother. He went back to Germany, leaving my mom to pretty much raise us by herself for the next few years. When he came back for good I was about four and my brother was three. She used to tell me those were the hardest years of her life and more often than not, she questioned whether she was a good mother and if she had done right by us those years she was alone.

  “She told me that one day my brother and I had given her a particularly hard time, so she took us to the park and was sitting on the bench watching us play while she quietly had a nervous breakdown,” he continued. “It was during that moment a woman came over and started talking to her. She told me that the woman talked endlessly, but there was one thing she remembered from that whole conversation, one thing that stuck with her for years. She said that only good mothers question whether or not they are doing right by their kids. A truly bad mother, or one that didn’t really care, wouldn’t question their motherhood.”

  Sta
cy watched Evie’s face carefully looking for any sign that he had overstepped his boundaries, but once again all he saw was that thing again—gratitude . Very much misplaced, he thought to himself.

  “Thank you,” she finally said.

  With Evie at a loss for words, Stacy made a move to get out of the car. She followed him and as they made their way up to the tram that would take them to the museum, her mind began to churn as it searched for something to say.

  “Your mother must have been a strong woman.”

  “She was, although she didn’t look like it and she wouldn’t tell you she was.”

  He continued, “But then again, it’s usually the ones who don’t consider themselves the strongest that usually are, isn’t it?”

  Not speaking a word, Evie turned to him and grinned.

  Once inside of the museum, Evie asked him which art exhibit was being featured. When he told her, she gave him a funny look.

  “Are you familiar with O’keefe’s work?” she questioned.

  “Um, not really. Are you? A friend of mine recommended her.”

  “You could say that,” she stated in response, donning a half smile and a raised eyebrow.

  Stacy was not really an art fanatic and wasn’t familiar with any artist’s work except maybe Van Gogh, so he really didn’t understand the funny looks Evie kept giving him until they made their way into the gallery and he was staring at a painting called Grey Line With Black, Blue and Yellow. Its shapes, though artistically done, bared a striking resemblance to a woman’s intimate parts. As they continued through the art gallery Stacy became increasingly uncomfortable.

  After a while he felt like he should say something. “So um, O’keefe’s work is, uh, interesting.”

  Evie bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Did you know this was the type of stuff she painted?”

  “No. Clearly I wouldn’t have taken us to this exhibit if I had. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Now where’s the fun in that? I didn’t want to spoil this lovely outing you planned.”

  “Spoil it?” Stacy looked at Evie incredulously.

  “What did you want me to say? Oh, hey Stacy, just in case you didn’t realize it Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings are part of the woman’s feminist movement and the majority of them are flowers that bear a striking resemblance to….”

  Evie, too embarrassed yet highly amused, covered her mouth before she could let the word slip out.

  “You can’t even say it!” Stacy hissed.

  Almost on cue, they both burst out in laughter and thought that turning away would halt it, but instead they had rotated in the direction of the painting, which only sparked more amusement.

  After getting control of herself, Evie explained that O’Keefe was in fact a popular artist.

  Still, Stacy folded his arms across his chest and couldn’t help but think what an idiot he was. He really should have done some research about the artist before dragging Evie here. At least she hadn’t gotten the wrong idea about him.

  “I am officially embarrassed now. Do you want to leave? We can go somewhere else…..anywhere else,” he offered.

  “Are you kidding? There are two more rooms of her paintings that we haven’t seen yet. It’s not every day you get to look at paintings of flowers that look like lady parts. Plus, we have to get your money’s worth.”

  “Lead the way then.”