Chapter 19

Emma was dreaming of the prom—fighting over who had to dance with Evan—when Andrew’s frantic voice dragged her out of sleep.

“Mom! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“What?” She peered at the alarm clock, uncomprehending.

“It’s 9:05! I missed the bus.”

She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Andrew. Get dressed as fast as you can, and I’ll make you toast to eat in the car.”

By the time she signed him in at the school and drove back home, it was after 10:00. She thought about showering for work, but figured it was too late. She’d log in on her laptop later and send in the direct deposit orders for the Friday payrolls.

Averting her eyes from yesterday’s dishes in the sink, she made herself some coffee and choked down half a bagel. She set her plate and mug next to the full sink and trudged to her room for Rachel’s journal.

First, she took it to the living room, but that reminded her of her fight with Joe, so she carried it out onto the back porch instead.

The late morning sun warmed her shoulders, but a cool breeze made her hug her bare arms as she read, and she actually appreciated Trixie’s warm body draped over her bare feet.

                Friday 1/22/99 PM

Erin came by on my planning period today and asked why I’ve been avoiding her. I didn’t have the energy to deny it, so I told her about moving out.

She said exactly what I knew she’d say, what I’d been trying to avoid hearing: “Have you prayed about it?”

“No,” I admitted. And then I told her about the porn and about everything else wrong with our marriage. “I think the whole thing was a terrible mistake. We never should have gotten married so young,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows and gave me the hint of a smile. Her question echoed in my ears. “I don’t want to pray about it,” I whined. “Surely God doesn’t expect me to stay with him after…. Doesn’t pornography count as adultery?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Why don’t you ask God about that? He’ll let you know what you should do.”

I can’t stop thinking about what she said. But I don’t feel like talking to God. I’m hurt and humiliated and angry—maybe angry at Him too. Why did I have to end up in this mess? Why did I have to lose two babies? Why should I have to stay in a marriage that makes me miserable?
                 Sunday 1/24/99 PM

I wasn’t going to church today, but Erin came and picked me up. I know now that God sent her.

I cried through most of the music. I felt so alone, surrounded by joyful people worshiping God. I longed to experience that connection with God, but I felt sinful and dirty. I was afraid to reach out to Him.

Pastor Daniels preached out of John 8, on the story of the woman caught in adultery. The Pharisees wanted to stone her, but Jesus said, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” 

When he read those words, I saw Evan’s face. Jesus’s words cut me deeply, and I realized what a hypocrite I’ve been. How can I hold Evan’s mistakes against him when I’ve been guilty of so many sins myself?

I felt naked before God, shamed and without excuse. But then Pastor Daniels went on with the story. All the woman’s accusers went away, and she was left alone with Jesus. “Neither do I condemn you,” He said.

I felt as if only Jesus and I were in the auditorium, and He was speaking directly to me. My guilt melted away, and my heart felt too big for my chest.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to Evan, or if he will even want to talk to me, but I have to try. I have to forgive him.

Emma wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She thought about all the years she’d been holding the affair over Joe’s head, pushing him away and punishing him over and over. If she could forgive him now, would their marriage have a chance?

Her cell phone chirped. When she saw it was a text message from Joe, her heart skipped a beat. Could this be a sign?

But her hope evaporated when she opened the message. All he said was, “Coming around 6 to get clothes.”

Still, at least she’d see him again. Maybe she could convince him to stay and talk.

***

“When are we eating? I’m starved,” Andrew whined.

“Soon,” Emma repeated for the third time in 15 minutes. She set the last food-encrusted plate into the dishwasher, filled the soap dispenser, and started the heavy cycle. Stirring the potato soup, she glanced at the clock again: 6:47.

“What are we waiting for?” Andrew snatched a handful of grated cheddar, and Emma slapped his hand absently.

She didn’t want to tell him his father was coming because she doubted he’d sit down and eat with them, even if it was his favorite soup. Besides, she was beginning to wonder if he was coming at all.

She pulled two bowls down from the cabinet. “Why don’t you go ahead and set the–”

The front door swung open just then, and Andrew tore off down the hall. “Is that you, Dad?”

She pulled out one more bowl and followed more slowly. She found Joe standing in the hall, wearing the same clothes he’d left in. Andrew clutched him in a fierce hug.

“Joe,” she said, raising her eyes to his for a moment and then staring at her feet. “We were just sitting down to dinner. Will you join us?”

“It’s potato soup!” Andrew interjected.

“No thanks. I already ate. I just need to get my things so I can get settled in.”

Andrew looked from Joe to Emma and back again. “Settled in where?”

Joe looked at Emma when he answered. “I signed on an apartment yesterday. They had a vacant unit, and they let me have it today.”

“An apartment?” Emma repeated. “But… it’s so soon.”

“I have to have a place to stay. And it doesn’t make sense to pay for a hotel.”

Andrew slid down the wall, and then squatted on his heels. “You’re leaving us?” His voice sounded strangled.

Joe ruffled his hair. “It’s nothing to do with you, son. I just need to… be on my own. But you can visit me whenever you want.”

Andrew sprang to his feet. “I’m coming with you!”

“Sweetheart, you have to stay here,” Emma said. “You have school.”

“Actually, the apartment’s only a block from the school.”

Emma’s breath came too quickly, in shallow gasps. “But, your traveling…. What about when you’re out of town?”

“He can stay with me when I’m in town and with you the rest of the time.”

“But he needs his routine. He needs stability.”

“I’m going with Dad,” Andrew said, running for the stairs. “Wait for me! I’ll get my clothes.”

“Joe, you can’t just take him like this. Not without–”

“Without what? Court papers? I have as much right to him as you do.”

Emma pushed down her defensiveness, lowering her tone. “No. I’m not ready to go to court.” She reached for his hand and clasped it between both of hers. “Joe, please. Can’t we talk about this?”

He sighed and pulled his hand free. “It’s too late, Emma. There’s nothing left to say.”

She didn’t let herself follow him, just stood with her back pressed against the wall and watched him make several trips to the car.

“I’ll have Andrew call you tomorrow,” he said as he helped Andrew carry out his clothes, pillow, and Xbox game. “Give your mother a hug,” he said, giving him a gentle push.

Andrew’s arms dangled limply when Emma put her arms around him, but she squeezed him anyway, pulling him onto his toes. She didn’t let go until he patted her back awkwardly.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” she choked out, trying to keep her voice steady as she followed them out onto the porch.

“’Bye Mom,” He kept his eyes on his feet, so he didn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes. But as Joe pulled out of the driveway and drove past the house, Andrew watched her through the window, his forehead pressed against the glass.

She waved feebly as the tears overflowed and splashed down her cheeks. A pain sharper than she’d ever experienced drove her to her knees. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to rub away the suffocating weight bearing down on her heart. The work of breathing felt like more than she could do, maybe more than she wanted to do. But one shallow breath followed another. 

***

Emma wasn’t sure how long she'd sat sobbing on the porch steps, but when she heard the neighbors’ garage door opening, she pushed herself up and hurried inside before she could be spotted. Over a bowl of scorched soup, she flipped open Rachel’s journal.

                Monday 1/25/99 AM

I called Evan, but he said he wasn’t ready to talk. What am I supposed to do? How can I apologize if he won’t speak to me? This isn’t right!

God, please help me remember to pray today when I am anxious. Give me peace that surpasses my understanding.
                 Tuesday 1/26/99 PM

I’m not feeling much peace, but I am doing a lot of praying. In fact, I’m feeling much closer to God. Could it be that this is where He wants me?

I tried to call Evan again tonight, but the answering machine picked up. I didn’t leave a message because I didn’t know what to say. I pictured him staring at the phone, refusing to answer. I was tempted to keep calling back over and over, like an obsessed teenager, but I wouldn’t let myself. I know I need to give him some space.
                 Thursday 1/28/99 PM

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve wrecked my life. Just like that. I threw it all away at the first excuse that presented itself.

Honestly, I think it was already wrecked long before I walked out. Not just my marriage, but everything.

I know the Bible says God works in all things for my good, but I don’t see how this can ever turn out good.
                 Saturday 1/30/99 PM

I had this uncontrollable craving for boxed macaroni tonight even though Mom had made fried pork chops for dinner. I tried to talk myself out of it, but I couldn’t stop fantasizing about that buttery orange sauce, so at 8:30 I finally gave up and drove to Martin’s—where I ran into Evan at the checkout line!

The way my stomach flip-flopped reminded me of how I felt when he used to sack groceries for me in that very line. For a minute we just stared at each other, but then he spoke first. “How are you?”

“I miss you,” was all I could think to say.

A bald guy with a beer belly and a cart full of junk food came up behind me and said, “Do you mind? You’re blocking the line.”

Evan pushed his cart to the cereal aisle, and I followed.

“How have you been? Are you eating okay?” I asked, sneaking a peek at the stack of TV dinners in his cart. But before he could answer, I burst into tears. “Please,” I blubbered. “Let’s get back together.”

He said no, but the hint of a smile curved his lips. He said he doesn’t want to rush into anything like we did the first time. “I want to date you,” he said. “And when we both know that you want to be with me—if you want to be with me—then we can talk about it.”

“Okay,” I sniffed, torn between embarrassment and relief.

And then he asked me to dinner tomorrow night! I haven’t been this excited about a date since… ever, I guess.

I just now realized: I never even ate the macaroni!

Emma closed the book with a sigh and wiped her raw nose on her sleeve. And they lived happily ever after, she thought, surprised at how easily the old jealousy reared its head. The sick dread in her gut told her there’d be no happy ending for her and Joe. She’d ruined everything, and now she had to take her punishment.

It would be easier if she had a friend like Rachel’s Erin, but there was no one. The handful of friends she’d made over preschool play dates had drifted out of her life when she went back to work—not that she’d ever let any of them close anyway.

She closed her eyes and remembered her mother holding her on the stairs the night before she’d left Indiana. “I want my mom,” she said aloud, but she made no move for the phone. Ellen had enough grief over Rachel without shouldering Emma’s load. And what could she possibly say that would help?

No, there was no one to talk to. She’d have to take care of herself, just as she always had. Only this time she didn’t think she had the strength. She pushed her full bowl away and laid her forehead on the cold glass tabletop.

“Oh God,” she groaned. “What am I going to do?”

She drew in her breath. What about God? What if?...

She sat up and looked at the ceiling, focusing on the chandelier. “God? Are you there?” she whispered, forgetting that there was no one to overhear her, no one to think she was crazy.

She wondered if she should kneel, but the tile was cold against her feet, so she folded her hands instead and closed her eyes. “God,” she went on, louder this time, “I don’t know if you’re real, but Rachel sure thought so. I know I haven’t talked to you much before. I guess I thought I could handle things on my own, but… I’ve really made a mess of everything. And now I’m all alone. Maybe I deserve that, but…”

Breaking into fresh sobs that shook her whole body, she laid her head on the table again. Though her words were garbled, she continued her prayer. “If – if you’re real, God, I could use a f-friend now.”

Trixie whined at the back door just then, and Emma laughed through her tears. “That’s not who I had in mind.”

But she got up and opened the door. Trixie stepped on the rug with one paw and held the other out in front of her, looking left and right and then up at Emma.

“No, this isn’t a trick,” Emma said, holding the door open wider. “Now get in here before I change my mind.”

Trixie made a slow inspection of the kitchen and then settled onto the rug by the door. She cocked her head to one side and studied Emma earnestly, as if to say, “Tell me all about it.”

Emma shoved the dog over and sat cross-legged on the rug beside her. “It all started on the night of the prom,” she began.

Trixie laid her head on her knee, and she scratched behind her ears while she talked. After she’d told the part about Joe leaving and taking Andrew with him, she took hold of Trixie’s snout and lifted her head level with her own. “So what should I do?”

Trixie yawned audibly and stood to stretch, laying her head on her front paws and pushing her hind end toward the ceiling.

“You’re right,” Emma said, peering at the microwave clock. “It’s almost midnight. We really should get some sleep.”

She pushed herself into a squat and rubbed both of Trixie’s velvety ears. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

Trixie put both paws on her shoulders and planted a sloppy kiss on Emma’s lips, knocking her onto her bottom. Emma jumped up, wiping her mouth. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, opening the door and slapping the dog’s rump. “Get out of here.”

But she smiled as she washed the stink off her hands. “Thank you, God,” she said as she walked through the empty house to her room.

I wish I could understand you as well as I do Trixie. What good did it do to pray if she couldn’t hear God talking back?

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