A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace Page 8

  John considered his promise now, in the light of all that had happened in the years since then. I still love You, Lord. I still believe . . .

  Remember the height from which you have fallen . . . repent and turn back to Me.

  John sat back hard in his chair. Where had that come from? It had been years since the Lord had spoken to him by bringing verses to mind. Maybe it wasn’t God. Maybe it was just his guilty conscience.

  It was true, his plan hadn’t worked exactly like he’d hoped. He’d started off with early devotions each day, but when Charlene made arrangements for them to meet in the mornings, something had to go. After a year of meeting with her, he no longer even knew where his Bible was.

  And prayer, well, he still prayed at family dinners and meetings and—

  He pictured Nicole’s startled face from a couple days ago asking how come they weren’t going to open the family meeting in prayer. John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. So maybe they didn’t say family prayers as often as before. Still . . . he was definitely a praying man, even if he hadn’t prayed much for the past few weeks. Months. Years . . .

  Repent and turn back to—

  The thought rattled around in his mind as though his conscience had no place to file it.

  What about the football games? Hadn’t he led a prayer before each contest as long as he’d coached at Marion High? Hadn’t he stood up to the powers of political correctness and decided that his team would pray even if no others did? Hadn’t he been a pillar of example for countless boys who had gone through his program?

  The image of Charlene standing beside him near the locker room on the Marion High field late that one night, of her in his arms as he kissed her, came to mind.

  So I’m not perfect. At least it was just once. It’s not like I haven’t had my chances.

  He remembered the time Charlene asked him to stop by on a Saturday morning the previous summer so they could share teaching plans for the fall. Abby had been out of town with Nicole for a soccer match, and Sean and Kade were doing chores at home. Charlene and Rod had no children, and by then Rod had moved up to Michigan and taken a high-tech job with an engineering firm. So John had known Charlene would be alone.

  He had knocked on the door that morning and found that it opened with little effort. “John, is that you?” Charlene’s voice came from somewhere down the hall. Her bedroom, no doubt. John had swallowed hard and forced himself to take a seat in her living room.

  “It’s me. I’ll wait for you out here.”

  Her answer was quick and lighthearted. “Come on back. My stuff ’s spread out on my desk.”

  Alert to the danger of the moment, John headed down the hallway toward the distant bedroom with mixed feelings. He and Charlene were already so close, such good friends, he knew he could trust her not to make a move. It was himself he was worried about.

  He reached the doorway and poked his head inside. “Hey.”

  At the sound of his voice she appeared from a closet area, her hair wrapped in a damp towel, her body bare but for a loosely tied bathrobe. She gestured toward a small desk covered with several sheets of papers. “Come sit down.”

  Had the warnings he felt been audible, the room would have been bursting with the clamor of bells and whistles. But since they were silent, he ignored them and moved closer, avoiding contact with her as he took the chair. As though she were unaware of the effect she had on him, she placed an arm casually around his shoulders and bent over the back of him, pointing out the plans she wanted to discuss.

  The smell of her shampoo and the occasional drop of water on his arm made him unable to understand even a little of what she was saying. After ten torturous seconds, he pushed his chair back. “I can’t do this.” He looked deep into her eyes and saw that no matter what she said next, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “The kitchen table then?” She smiled warmly, a smile that said she would not push him, would not force him to cross a line that made him uncomfortable.

  He nodded. Without another word he walked through the house to her kitchen table, where she joined him fifteen minutes later. The rest of the morning he was overwhelmed with an aching desire that had nothing to do with Charlene Denton.

  It had to do with his wife.

  And why he was spending Saturday morning here, in this stranger’s house, instead of side by side with the one woman he still loved more than life itself.

  Enough remembering. John stood up and scooped the papers from his desk into his hands. It was time to go home and find a way to get his work done there. At least then he wouldn’t be in Abby’s way. His presence only seemed to make her tense these days.

  Maybe I should go home and pray.

  Do it now, son, before another moment goes by.

  There it was again, that voice. Was it the same one that had spoken so regularly to him back when he was logging in his 3,640 church days? John dismissed the thought. He’d wasted enough time for one day without sitting alone in his office trying to sort it out before God. What was the point? He and Abby had made the decision to end their marriage. A decision they were not going to back down from.

  No, this time they were choosing to go it alone, without the help of Almighty God. He pushed his chair in and before he left, he caught sight of the Christmas photo one last time. Abby was such a beautiful woman. So full of life and love. At least she had been. Abby, girl, what happened to us? Did we just get busy and quit trying? Is that the legacy we’ll leave our kids, our daughter as she starts a life of her own?

  There was only the buzz of the overhead lights in response, and John let his gaze linger a moment longer on the image of his wife. Without thinking, he brought his finger to her face and traced it tenderly. I miss you, Abby. For the first time in years he was tempted to go home, sweep her into his arms, and tell her so, face to face.

  Crazy. He shook his head and the notion vanished. We don’t even like each other anymore. How can I be missing her? Answer me that, God, how?

  More silence.

  Figures. First Abby, now God. Next thing I know the kids’ll turn their backs on me. He stood still, feet planted, and ached for the happy family in the photo. What did I ever do to turn you against me, Abby? He gazed up trying to see through the fiberboard ceiling. Or You, for that matter. He flipped the light switch and headed into the cold, wintry night sure of only one very sad thing—whatever decisions he made about his future in the coming months they would not involve the two people who once upon a time had mattered more than any other.

  Abby and God.

  John had no idea how he and Abby had arrived at the decision to divorce, a decision that would virtually eliminate both Abby and God from his life. He only knew that they had. He thought about them— Abby, for whom he once would have laid down his life; God, who had willingly died to give him that very life in the first place. Abby, to whom he’d promised forever; God, who had promised forever to him.

  I was young and foolish.

  You were happy, My son . . . holy . . . set apart . . . Repent and turn back to—

  The bitter wind hit him square in the face, and he pushed on toward his car, ignoring the silent whispers in his heart.

  No, regardless of guilt feelings, he would not change his mind about the divorce. Abby was angry and hard and distant; she’d been that way for years. Even if they wanted to they couldn’t find their way back to the people they had once been, the lives they’d once lived. It was too late; they were too far gone. And if that meant losing God in the process, then so be it.

  He pulled the hood of his state championship jacket more tightly around his head and fidgeted with his keys. Besides, God probably had checked out on Coach Reynolds a long time ago. The thought took root as John climbed into his car and began driving, the entire time resisting an urge that was stronger than ever before: the urge to forget about everything waiting for him at home, to turn the wheel of his car and drive straight to Charlene Denton’s house instead.


  Eight

  THE WOMAN WAS DRIVING ABBY CRAZY, THREATENING to ruin the whole outing.

  Whose idea had it been to bring her, anyway? The afternoon was supposed to be a special time between Nicole and her, hours of gazing at wedding gowns, searching for the perfect dress.

  Instead, she and Nicole barely had a spare moment to exchange glances, let alone attempt breaking into the conversation. Be patient, Abby. Don’t make a scene. The woman—Jo Harter, a divorced, single mother and a nonbeliever—was Nicole’s future mother-in-law, after all. Maybe she was one of those women who talked a lot when she was around people she didn’t know well.

  “So, anyway, like I was telling Margaret at the office the other day, a girl’s got to wear white.” She was punishing her gum as though it were guilty of a crime. “I mean it doesn’t matter so much whether she’s already got the goods, if you know what I mean, but still it has to be white.” A quick breath. “I mean, look at Nicole’s complexion. The girl would be lost in something ivory or off-color. It has to be white; I absolutely insist.” She smacked her lips, rubbing in an excessive coat of lipstick, and sorted hastily through a rack of gowns.

  Nicole shot Abby a look. “Actually, I like white, but I’m looking for a—”

  “I found it!” The woman’s bright red hair stood out in stark contrast to the white dresses hanging on the rack. Her freckled face flushed an uncomfortable pink as she jerked a dress free. It had a high neckline, but the hem stopped short just below the knee, where the dress cut away and curved into three lacy trains that dangled from the back.

  It’s hideous; it looks half done.

  Abby resisted the urge to say so but cast a knowing look at Nicole. Oh, honey, I hope things’ll get easier for you two. There’s nothing more wonderful than sharing a friendship with your mother-in-law. Abby remembered Hattie Reynolds and wondered how the woman was doing. She was in the throes of Alzheimer’s disease and had been relegated to an assisted living home. It’d been months since they’d talked or even— “Well—” Nicole interrupted Abby’s thoughts and looked at the dress thoughtfully—“it’s not really what I had in mind, honestly.”

  Jo’s face fell. “It’s the absolute newest style, Nicole. Haven’t you been reading the magazines?”

  Abby was proud of the way her daughter handled the woman— patient, polite, but firmly determined to go with her own tastes. Nicole took the dress gently and placed it back on the rack. “Actually, I’m looking for a more traditional dress. White, yes. But also elegant, unforgettable, that sort of thing.”

  Jo nodded, slightly dejected, then turned her attention on Abby. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you . . .” She paused and Abby mentally braced herself. Jo was from North Carolina, and many times that day only a lack of oxygen had stopped the woman from going on for hours on every topic they’d hit on.

  Jo adjusted her head so that her eyes were level with Abby’s, her eyebrows raised dramatically. “That’s one fine man you’ve got there in that John of yours. Yes sir. Big U of M football star.” She waved a hand in the air. “I remember how it was. Me and Denny’d be wasting a day, nothing to do on the weekend, and we’d tune in to college ball. And that man of yours . . . mmhhhm.” She carried the sound out as long as she could and then grabbed a quick mouthful of air. “Best-looking quarterback I’ve seen before or since.”

  The ache in Abby’s gut took her by surprise. So what if John was handsome? That didn’t hold a marriage together any more than paint held together walls. “Yes, he’s always been good looking.”

  Jo gave Abby a quick once-over and grinned. “’Course, you’re not bad looking yourself. Must be nice, that’s all I can say.”

  Nicole—capitalizing on the fact that she was no longer Jo’s target— moved on down the rack, lost in private thought as she carefully checked out each gown in the section. Again Abby felt her frustration rise. This was supposed to be her time with—

  “How long you say you were married?”

  Abby blinked. Here we go. “Twenty-one years last July.”

  “Twenty-one years, eeeewwwhheeeee!” Jo sounded like a farm woman calling the pigs in at the end of the day. Her last, loud note lingered in the afternoon air, and Abby glanced about in hopes that they weren’t attracting an audience. Jo set her hands firmly on her hips. “You know what I think? I think twenty-one years is a miracle anymore.” She poked Abby roughly in the shoulder.

  Abby took the slightest step back and wished desperately that the woman would leave her alone. Don’t talk to me about miracles, lady. Those kind of miracles don’t happen to people like me.

  Abby worked to hide her discomfort, not that it mattered. Jo was too busy enjoying the sound of her own voice to notice much of anything else. She examined her fingernails, admiring the way the ends were perfectly rounded and painted burnt orange to match her blouse. “You know, I might even step foot in a church one of these days if I thought it’d get me my Denny back. Yes, sir, I believe I just might.” Her hands fell to her side and she looked straight at Abby. “You’re churchgoing folk, right? That’s what Matt tells me. Ever since he went and got himself saved, that’s the first thing he talks about. ‘They’re Christians, Mama.’ ‘She’s a believer, Mama.’ Seems like people making more and more a big deal out of spending time in a church building, but you know what I say?”

  Abby opened her mouth but didn’t have time to answer.

  “I say more power to ’em. And you know what else? If I thought it’d get me my Denny back, I’d probably take it up, too.” She refueled instantly. “Matt didn’t tell me what you folks are exactly, anyway. You those Pentecostals or Presbyterians or Baptists or door-knockers or TV-watchers or what? ’Cause I don’t have nothin’ ’gainst any of it; I want you to know you heard it from me first. Right here. Out of the horse’s mouth. Don’t want no arguing about religion when it comes to the kids’ wedding.” She hesitated, actually giving Abby a chance to speak, but Abby wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, what is it? Which one are you? ’Course you don’t look like a door-knocker, and I mean that as a compliment.”

  “We belong to a Calvary Chapel, actually.” The woman’s a lunatic.

  Be prepared in season and out.

  Abby was inwardly shocked at the words that filtered through her mind. I can’t even make my marriage work, God. You can forget me being prepared with this woman, especially if she’s going to keep on— “Calvary Chapel . . .” Jo gazed at the store ceiling for a moment. “Sounds like a Christmas shop.” She gasped. “Wait a minute! I think I know the kind. They the ones that get all wild and start laughin’ and runnin’ around in circles?”

  Despite her frustration, Abby had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. That’d be great, to make her think it was true. “No, nothing like that.”

  Jo shifted her weight to one foot. “So what’s the deal with the Calvary Chapel folks? What’d y’all believe? All that hellfire and brimstone stuff everyone’s always talkin’ about?” She caught herself quickly. “Not that I care, really. Never bothered me all that ‘Gotta-get-your-ducks-in-a-row-Lord-might-be-comin’-back-tomorrow’ stuff.” Despite Jo’s words, concern flashed in her eyes. “I mean it’s okay for you and all, but I’m a very busy person. Sundays are my cleaning days, really.”

  Tell her the truth, Abby.

  The voice was so strong and clear Abby wondered if Jo had heard it, too. Out of habit more than anything else, she looked tenderly at Jo. “Our church is like a lot of churches. We believe in Jesus Christ and that the Bible is the only infallible Word of God.”

  Jo seemed intrigued and she was silent nearly two full seconds, something of a record for the afternoon. “You really think so, huh? Smart woman like you?”

  Abby nodded. She did, didn’t she? She might not have been living like she believed it, but somewhere deep in her heart she knew His Word was truth.

  Everything on earth will pass away but My word will remain forever.

  Longer than Abby or John or the fact that th
ey’d chosen to divorce. God’s Word was eternal. “Yes, I believe it.”

  Jo’s jaw dropped. “Huh. Well, you and me’ll have to have ourselves some down-home, old-fashioned, long, drawn-out conversations on that one. Especially between now and the big weddin’ day. Denny and his new wife are split up now, and don’t I know he was the best thing ever happened to me. I’m gonna lose ten pounds and dye my hair between now and then just to get his attention. And he’ll come all right, know why?”

  Abby studied the woman’s hair and realized the red wasn’t natural after all. “Why?”

  “’Cause ever since Matt’s been into this God stuff, Denny’s been into it, too. I think he’s actually startin’ to believe it. Nothing wild, mind you, but Matt says it’s almost like there’s something different in his tone. Something that wasn’t there before.” Jo smiled broadly and Abby noted that the woman must have had her teeth bleached. They were whiter than the wedding dresses.

  If she weren’t so obnoxious, Jo would almost be a pretty woman— but if she had talked like this during the years she was married, Abby could only congratulate Denny for having had the good sense to leave.

  What God has joined together let no man separate, My daughter.

  Fear washed over Abby, and she felt the holy admonishment as strongly as if God had appeared and spoken it to her face. What was wrong with her? When had she begun feeling so jaded and cavalier toward marriage? The situation between John and her was one thing, but to agree so easily with divorce? Just because a person talked too much?

  I’m sorry, God, I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

  Nicole was fifteen feet away and she held up a dress. “Mom, what do you think?”

  Abby cocked her head and studied it. High lace collar, fitted bodice, narrow waist, and a traditional skirt that glistened with sequins and lace. She pictured Nicole in it and smiled. “I like it.”

  Nicole glanced at her watch. “We still need to eat and I have to meet Matt in a few hours. Maybe I’ll ask them to hold it for me.”