Taking the Plunge

by J. B. Reynolds

  He paused, then leaned in close, looking into her eyes. “All I’m asking for is this.” He gestured around the room. “Spending some time together, having dinner, going for a walk with Corbin. I’m not asking to move in. I just want another chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

  The tears came then and she put her hands over her face so Lawrence couldn’t see her cry. She felt the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm, and again he said, “I’m sorry.”

  They stayed like this for a moment, frozen in time, until Kate shuddered and moved her chair back, pulling away.

  Wiping her eyes, she said, “I think I’m going to go now. Thank you for a lovely meal.” She stood up.

  “But I’ve got dessert in the oven. Apple crumble.”

  She gave a thin smile and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to pass. I’m feeling really tired.”

  Lawrence regarded her for a moment, then dropped his head. “Okay.” he said, standing. “In that case I’ll see you to your car.”

  “Sure,” she said simply, and waited for him to retrieve her jacket. She slipped it on and he opened the door, laying a hand on her shoulder as she passed through. They walked in silence along the path, her stomach churning, Lawrence following just behind, his presence making her skin prickle. As she unlocked her car he held his arms out.

  “Hug?”

  She paused, considering, then shook her head again. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise. I understand.”

  She opened the door and slipped into her seat.

  “Thanks for coming, Kate,” he said, his hand resting on the door frame. “I know it was hard and I… appreciate the effort.”

  “Thank you.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but no words came. She pulled the door shut and started the car, then fastened her seatbelt, her eyes on the rear-view mirror.

  “Can I see you again?” called Lawrence through the window.

  She backed down the driveway without answering.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The following morning, having returned from a run that had left her feeling tired but determined, Kate dialled Evan’s number again. After several rings, he answered.

  “Hello, Kate,” he said, his voice cold and distant.

  “Oh, hi.” She paused, her heart leaping into her throat, then croaked, “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

  “It’s your third time this morning. I thought it must be important.” A muted rustle came down the line, followed by the question, “What do you want?”

  She took a swig from her water bottle, gulping, and said, “I need to see you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “You complicate things.”

  “So? Life is complicated.”

  “Not any more.”

  She gasped, the wind rushing out of her as if she’d been kicked. “How can you be so cold?”

  “I’m not trying to be cold. I just need you to understand that I can’t see you again.”

  She sucked in a breath, holding it, her stomach clenching, then said, “I just want to talk.”

  There was a long pause. Maybe this was a bad idea. She stared at the receiver, wondering whether she should just hang up. She bit her lip, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Finally, Evan spoke.

  “So talk.”

  “Lawrence wants us to get back together,” she blurted, and instantly wished she hadn’t. It was why she’d called — she wanted to see how he’d react — but now that the words were out, it seemed stupid. Of course he doesn’t care. Why would he?

  “Maybe that’s a good thing. Corbin will appreciate it.”

  “Corbin will, yes, but I’m not sure I will. Look, Evan…” She wavered, chewing her lip harder. It’s now or never. “I just want to say — I like you.”

  “Like? I thought it was love.”

  “I told you, I got carried away in the moment. I enjoyed our time together and I think you’re making a mistake, tossing it away.”

  “Well, I don’t. I’ve made my decision and I want to move on. I suggest you do the same.”

  “What?” she said, her voice rising. “Take Lawrence back? You thought he was an arsehole.”

  Evan sighed. “Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes us guys just can’t see what’s in front of us. We don’t appreciate the things we have.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “You two’ve got history, Kate. He’s Corbin’s dad. Maybe you should give him another chance.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. How could I possibly trust him after what he did? You need trust in a relationship.”

  “I don’t know. But how will you ever know if you can trust him unless you give him the opportunity to prove it?”

  Kate paused again. Right there was the crux of the matter. Evan was right, but the real question was whether she wanted to provide Lawrence with that opportunity. Tracy’s words rang in her head — Once a cheater, always a cheater. She wasn’t sure how to get past that.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “I’d rather give that opportunity to you.”

  Silence. A long, awkward, spiky shaft of silence. The empty hum of the phone line narrowed and spun and sharpened, drilling through her eardrum, deep into her—

  “I’m tempted, Kate — I really am. But that’s the problem. You confuse me. With you in the picture, the waters are muddied, and I don’t want that.” He sighed, loud and long, and in that sigh she could hear his pain and doubt, more than words could convey. “What I do want is for you to leave me alone. Please… don’t call me again.” With that, he hung up.

  She threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and bounced off, the back popping open and spilling batteries onto the carpet. Slumping into her armchair, she felt the tears welling again and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Oh, God, what is it with all these fucking tears? She was tired of crying, wanted to be stoic and strong, but her eyes always failed her.

  She ran into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. There were bags under her eyes and her mascara was smudged. After running the tap until the water steamed, she washed her face, rubbing away the tears, the make-up residue, the grime of her pain and shame. She ran her fingers through her hair, then heard the doorbell ring. She turned off the tap, and cocked her head, listening. Another ring followed, and with a final glance in the mirror she zipped up her running jacket and went to answer it.

  Suzanne took one look at her and said, “Oh, hun, have you been crying?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  She opened her arms and pulled Kate in, squeezing hard. “I can always tell when a girl’s been crying. Tell me all about it.” She released Kate from her embrace and guided her inside. Pointing at the dining table, she said, “Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  “Ahhh, I’m not sure I—”

  “Nu-uh. You don’t have a choice. Tea for tears.”

  “Well, let me—“

  “I said sit down! I know where everything is. I’ve seen you do it often enough.”

  Kate fell into a chair, pushed by the force of Suzanne’s words, sitting in silence as Suzanne switched the kettle on and found the teapot. As stubborn, pushy and prudish as Suzanne could be, it felt good to be fussed over. She forced herself to relax.

  Spooning tea leaves into the pot, Suzanne said, “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  Kate rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Evan doesn’t want to see me again.”

  “Really? You were all hot to trot last weekend.”

  “Well, now we’re not.”

  “What happened?”

  “I told him I loved him and he freaked out.”

  Suzanne stared at her, eyes bulging like cue balls. “You told him you loved him? What were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t mean to. We were having such a good time — it just popped out.”

  Suzanne laid teacups and saucers on the counte
r. “Have you got any baking?”

  Kate nodded. “In the pantry. Brownie — Corbin’s favourite.”

  Suzanne found the brownie and arranged four slices on a plate. “How old is Evan?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Twenty-four years old, and a recently separated mother-of-one tells him she loves him. He’s a snowboard instructor, and a good-looking one at that. I’m sure he’s got pretty young things fawning over him on a daily basis. No offence, hun, but why would he want a serious relationship? Of course he’s going to freak out.” She took a bottle of milk from the fridge. “What do you think he saw in you?”

  Kate scratched her head, considering the question. “I’m not sure. We just seemed to hit it off. And he was so good with Corbin.”

  “A couple of play-dates does not a father make.”

  “I know that. I just really liked him, is all.”

  “Which he took advantage of. What he saw in you, darling, was a notch in his belt. A chance to tick cougar off his list of conquests.”

  “I’m not a cougar!”

  Suzanne snorted. “Oh, yes you are. And I’m not blaming you. Your husband wronged you and you were on the rebound. Anyone can understand that.”

  “I was not on the rebound.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, Suzanne said, “Yes, you were. And you know what? Maybe it was for the best.” The kettle boiled and she filled the teapot, swirling the leaves around inside. “God works in mysterious ways. Maybe you needed to get this out of your system before you could move on. And now that your little fling has ended you can.”

  “It wasn’t a fling,” said Kate, tapping a finger on the tabletop.

  “Sure it was. You were thinking with your vagina and not your head.”

  “Pardon?”

  Suzanne smiled. “I’m not a robot, Kate. I have urges too, you know. Three kids is testament to that.” She stopped stirring the teapot. “Did you have sex with him?”

  “No,” said Kate, frowning. “You interrupted us, remember?”

  “Well there you go.” Suzanne’s smile stretched wider. “God gave you some entertainment without you even having to break your marriage vows.”

  “What have my vows got to do with anything? Lawrence destroyed those.”

  “I’m not talking about Lawrence — he’ll have to answer to God in his own fashion. It’s your relationship with God that concerns me.”

  Kate rolled her eyes, but didn’t reply.

  Suzanne poured two cups of tea, then delivered them and the plate of brownies to the table. Sitting down, she said, “Lawrence may have abandoned you, but God hasn’t. Everyone goes through tough times. Remember Job? God’s just testing your faith.”

  “Please,” said Kate, raising a hand, “don’t go mentioning Job. What God did to him was just sadistic. I prefer the kinder, more generous New Testament God, thank you.”

  Sipping her tea, Suzanne said, “Speaking of Lawrence, how did it go last night?”

  Kate frowned again. “What, has he not called you to tell you all about it?”

  “Not me. Your mum, maybe. I only got involved because she asked me to. But I do think it’s good that he’s reached out.” Suzanne lowered her teacup to the table, a glint in her eye. “So, tell me more.”

  Kate shrugged. “There’s not much to say. He wants another chance.”

  “Well, that’s good. At least he’s come to his senses.”

  “Is it? I don’t know. I feel like I’ve moved on, and I don’t want to go back — not to the way things were. Anyway, I don’t see how I can trust him. Once a cheater, always a cheater — or so says Tracy.”

  Suzanne grunted in disgust. “I wouldn’t be taking advice from her.” She tapped the rim of her cup, looking at Kate with a concerned smile. “I know it’ll be hard but people can change, Kate. Don’t think of it as going back to the way things were. Think of it as making a fresh start. Set your expectations right from the outset.”

  Kate rubbed her eyes again, then slowly slid her hands down her face. “I’m not sure it’s that easy. I’m not sure about anything.”

  Suzanne nodded thoughtfully. Then she said, “Why don’t you come to church with me? Put the decision into God’s hands. I’m sure it will help to give you some clarity.”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t think so. I can’t stand the thought of all those eyes on me, judging me as I walk through the door.”

  “You won’t be judged.”

  Kate raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, so maybe a little. But that’s only because people are jealous that your life is more interesting than theirs. Besides,” Suzanne said, glancing at her watch, “if we get going, we can sneak in early and you can pass judgement on everyone else as they come in.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready to set foot in that place again. It’s funny — your husband cheats on you and people think you must’ve done something wrong, that you must have some character flaw that drove him away. Mrs Hibble told me exactly that.”

  Suzanne snorted again, nostrils flaring. “That old dinosaur! Her opinion is hardly representative.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Maybe others didn’t say it to my face, but they were thinking it all the same. At least she had the guts to be honest about it.”

  “Come on, Kate, you’re being paranoid. It’ll be good for you to get out and socialise. Don’t you miss it, the fellowship?”

  Kate shrugged. “I miss the singing.”

  Suzanne smiled. “Then come for the singing. Please?”

  “What if Lawrence turns up?”

  “He won’t. He doesn’t come when he’s got Corbin. Guess he feels there’s better things they can do with their precious time together. But I tell you what — you get washed up and I’ll call him to make sure.”

  Kate swirled her tea and stared out the window. A bird was pecking at something on the lawn. She took a sip, feeling the warm liquid run down her throat. The bird flew away, a long worm dangling from its beak. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll come.”

  Suzanne clapped her hands. “Great. I know it’ll be good for you. Now, let’s get you in the shower — I can smell your sweaty armpits from here.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Kate approached the entrance to St John’s. Bright sunlight shone through the naked branches of the trees planted alongside the old church, casting dappled shadows over the stonework. The air was still and crisp, the only sound the chatter of birdsong. Her lips felt dry, and she reached into her handbag for her chap-stick. She felt nauseous, untied, afloat, but took comfort from the solid form of Suzanne walking beside her.

  The pastor, Jim Winton, stood in the vestibule. He was a small, lean man in his early fifties, with thin grey hair and a short grey beard. A bundle of nervous energy, he shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting. This energy came through in his sermons, which tended to be lively affairs. A fisherman in a previous life, he was no prude, but knew his audience intimately and was aware of their boundaries, so while his lectures were sometimes risqué, they still covered the old tropes without being truly controversial. Born in Scotland, he had emigrated to New Zealand as a child but still spoke with a strong Scottish accent. When he saw Kate, his eyes lit up.

  “Welcome, Kate! Wonderful to see you,” he said, pumping her hand and breaking into a toothy smile. “It’s been a while.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been busy lately,” she said awkwardly.

  Jim winked at her. “Of course. No Corbin today? Where is the wee fella?”

  “He’s with Lawrence.”

  “Oh, aye? Well, that’s good. And how is Lawrence, if ye don’t mind me asking?”

  “Oh, he’s fine, I guess.”

  She wasn’t ready for that conversation. When she didn’t elaborate, Jim said, “Well, in you go, love. I’m truly glad you’re here with us this morning. And you too of course, Suzanne.” He waved them in.

  Inside, the room was cold despite the glow of the gas heaters mounted on the walls. She
and Suzanne sat at the back, waiting as the room steadily filled with people. Some glanced in their direction, and Kate saw looks of surprise and lips moving in hushed commentary. The dreaded Mrs Hibble entered, black-rimmed glasses perched on her bird-beak nose, and when her eyes found Kate’s, her expression soured and she leaned towards her husband, whispering and pointing. Others were more welcoming. Kate’s friend, Lisa Carrington, a tall, elegant, auburn-haired woman, came through the doors with her husband and clan of wholesome children in tow, saw Kate and strolled over. They embraced and Lisa sat herself and her entourage down next to Kate and Suzanne. Another couple, Kevin and Joanne Spicer, sat in front of Kate with their two children, turning to greet her with smiling faces. Kate was only vaguely acquainted with them, but they were a friendly, if slightly odd family, and their warm reception seemed genuine.

  When Jim finally walked down the aisle to stand at the lectern the room was two-thirds full. Like most rural churches there was a dearth of young adults, but Jim’s warm and positive manner had attracted a number of families with young children to the congregation, and there was a healthy population of elderly regulars.

  He stepped to the microphone. “Welcome, everyone, on this beautiful winter’s day. It’s wonderful to see some new faces in the congregation today,” he said, his eyes drifting around the room, “as well as some familiar ones, returned from recent absences.” He locked eyes with Kate and smiled. “Now, everyone, please turn to page 137 in your hymn books. Let’s give these people, both new and old, a rousing welcome to our family!”

  Accompanying him on stage was the church band, consisting of acoustic guitar, bass, drums and keyboards — a further example of Jim’s efforts to broaden the appeal of the church. However, in deference to the older members of the congregation they were volume-limited, and their repertoire, especially during the Sunday morning service, was largely traditional.

  The bass player, a skeletal, long-haired youth called Kendall Rodgers, seemed particularly pained by the restrictions. He prowled around the stage in skinny black jeans and T-shirt, his acne-ravaged face contorted with barely contained desire. He looked as though he might, at any moment, turn his amp up to eleven, leap on top of the speakers and scream down from on high at the children and old ladies sitting below.