Healing Stones (44 page)

“I still don't think I can handle this, Porphyria,” he said.

She looked straight at him. “You can't. And that's the smartest thing I've ever heard you say.”

He tried to grin. “That's depressing.”

“Don't you start trying to hide under your humor again, Sully.” She searched his face, eyes tear-shiny. “Whoever said anybody could handle watching his wife commit suicide and take his child with her?”

Sully met her eyes squarely. “You know that's what happened. They reported it as an accident, but you know . . .” He swallowed, retasting the turnip greens, now soured in his mouth.

“That isn't what's still in there eating at you.”

“Isn't that enough?”

“It's enough, but it isn't all of it.” Porphyria settled against the wicker chair. “What else, Sully? What else went through your mind when she took herself over the side of that bridge?”

He shook his head.

“Don't lie to yourself.”

“Dear God—”

“And you sure can't lie to Him. Say it, Sully—and you can start to wake up from this nightmare.”

He swallowed again, against the pain that strained at his throat.

“Say it, Sully—”

“I didn't save her. I could have saved her, and I didn't! I let my whole family die, and I couldn't save them!”

Sully
put his face in his hands, but this time the sobs wouldn't come. His chest seized—his heart broke—but he couldn't cry.

“Let it go, son,” Porphyria whispered.

“I should have made her take the pills. I should have gone to Belinda Cox myself and told her to leave my wife alone. I should have quit school and stayed with her until I knew she was better.”

“That's a lot of shoulds. What about the coulds?”

Sully didn't look at her as he shook his head.

“
Could
you have made her take that medicine? Shoved it down her throat?
Could
you have stopped Belinda Cox from spewing her dangerous rendition of God? Gotten a restraining order?”

“I don't know.”

“Maybe you could have. Maybe you even should have. But, Sully, you have spent the last thirteen years continuing to do what you didn't do back then, with Lynn.” She reached over the remains of the lunch and put her hand under Sully's chin, lifting it like a child's.

“Now you've humbled yourself and admitted that you cannot handle this. What you can do is put God in charge, and let yourself be healed. Let yourself be forgiven for what you didn't do. Let yourself hurt while God soothes you and puts people in your life to comfort you. Let yourself open up to them instead of always being the one who fixes.”

Sully felt his face melt into her hand. “I thought that
was
my healing.”

She smiled sadly. “We doctors—we never take our own advice. Would you ever have let a patient get away with that kind of thinking?”

He was crying too hard to answer.

“You are an amazing doctor. You've saved thousands from living in desperation. That is God's work, but it can't heal
you
. What do we tell those souls who come to us wanting to be ‘fixed'?”

Sully mouthed the words with her. “The only way out is through.”

“You never went through until now. And here you are, still in one piece.”

“Am I?”

Porphyria put her hands to the sides of his face and smiled into his eyes. Her warmth eased through his skin and into his veins. “You're beautiful, Sullivan Crisp. A little scarred, but beautiful. Are you humbly willing to work through this now—with God?”

He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to hers. “Will you help me?”

“Ahhh. Those are the words I wanted to hear.” She planted a kiss in his hair. “I have the rest of my life to help you, and it would be an honor.”

Ethan sounded exhausted when he answered the phone, though he audibly tried to lift his voice when he heard mine.

“How are you, Demi?” he said.

“The question is, how are
you
?” I ran my hand across the folded newspaper, which I could no longer read in the shadows. “Have you seen the latest in the
Independent
?”

“I refuse to read that rag anymore.”

The near-bitterness startled me.

“I hear that,” I said. “But—this one got me thinking, and Ethan, there's something you should know.”

I told him about Zach's sudden appearance, complete with his revelation about the photographs, and ended with my suspicions about his authoring the letter. The silence lingered on for a moment longer before he let a long breath fuzz through the phone.

“Thank you, Demi,” he said. “That had to be hard for you to tell me.”

“I want you to be able to avoid any more of their traps.”

“We don't know for sure that you're right. I hate to think St. Clair and Estes would stoop that low, though I have no doubt that Archer would.”

“Exactly.”

He paused again, the quiet full of something more.

“I've hesitated in telling you this because I knew you felt bad enough.”

“Is it about Zach?” I said.

“Yes—unfortunately.”

His sigh curled around my insides like warning smoke.

“Before you—started seeing Zach . . .”

I silently blessed him for being so genteel.

“There was evidence that he had an affair with a student.”

My chest swelled until I could hardly breathe.

“We couldn't prove it, although St. Clair tried, believe me. Zach of course denied it.”

“You confronted him?”

“I had no choice, not with both Kevin and Wyatt Estes breathing down my neck. That's why I think you're probably wrong about any involvement between them and Zach.” Ethan's voice softened. “I know this has to make you feel—”

“It makes me feel validated for walking completely away from that scumbag yesterday. Today I know he is out of my life forever and I'm forgiven for ever letting him in.” I let the angry air out of my lungs. “And today is what I have right now. Today with God.”

I could feel Ethan nodding his peppery head and creasing the lines on his face into a wise smile.

“You're okay, Demi. You're better than okay, aren't you?”

“I think maybe I am.”

“Look, I'm sorry about that letter in the paper, but it sounds like this might be the end of that. I never wanted any publicity for you and Rich.”

“You know what?” I said. “It is what it is. I'm actually kind of weary of Rich's paranoia about people knowing. It won't be long before everyone is going to know there's something up between us.”

Ethan gave a soft grunt. “Does that mean you two are divorcing?”

“Looks that way.”

“I wish I could do something.”

“Just fight this thing that's happening at the college, Ethan,” I said. “I heard there's going to be a hearing.”

“A week from today.” His voice went wooden again.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Pray, Demi. Just pray.”

“‘Just' pray? Ethan, that's all there really is.”

I hung up wondering where all this certainty came from. And then I closed my eyes, and I knew.

CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX

A
udrey and Jayne pulled in just before the sun sizzled down over the horizon—not a moment before their curfew. I smothered a smile as I picked my way over the blackberry hedge and tried to do a firm mother-thing with my face, but they were giggling so hard, I gave it up and giggled with them.

“What are you guys up to?” I asked.

Audrey faced me, clutching a plastic Wal-Mart bag.

“I bought this cute maternity top, and Jayne says I look like Big Bird in it.”

She yanked an impossibly yellow garment from the bag, and I shoved my fist over my mouth so I wouldn't guffaw.

“It's great,” I said. “But, honey, what's with the feathers?”

Jayne absolutely squawked, and I would have, too, if we hadn't suddenly been blinded by a headlight beam. I shaded my eyes to see
who was barreling up our pine-needle-paved road on a Harley.

“Who's that?” Audrey said.

Jayne's laughter died, and she backed toward the door. Her face took on an I-have-to-hide-now look that sent prickles up the back of my neck again.

“We better go in,” Jayne said. “It's my dad.”

Audrey nodded as if that were somehow clear and stuffed the Big Bird blouse back into the bag while she hustled behind Jayne. The screen door closed behind them as Rich killed the motor next to my Jeep.

I didn't want to look at him. I could feel the tension in his step as he marched toward me, and I didn't want to see it in his face.

“I have to talk to you, Demitria.”

Those were the words I'd been wanting to hear for two months— but not the tone. “As your wife, or as one of your rookies?” I said.

He stopped at the edge of our stoop and stabbed a finger toward me. I put my own hand up before he could open his mouth.

“If you want to talk to me, I'll listen. If you're going to lecture me, I'm not interested.”

He dropped his hand, but his eyes still glared in the feeble yellow porch light. “You interested in me knowing that you are still lying to me?”

I rolled my eyes. “About what?”

“How can you stand there and play innocent with me?” He jerked his head sideways, ran his hand down the back of it.

“What?
What are you talking about, Rich?”

“You told me you were through with Archer—and then you meet him, right out in the open where anybody can see you with him— including your son!”

I froze. The bookstore—across from the teahouse.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Christopher did not see what he thinks he saw.”

A curse ripped from Rich's lips. “He saw you talking to him, Demitria—he heard him yell something about what you did for him in
bed.
”

“He called me a—he yelled at me because I told him I never loved him and I never wanted to see him again.”

“For how long this time, Demitria?” Rich's voice stretched beyond shaking, beyond anger. “You've been seeing him all this time, haven't you? All the time you've been telling me how much you want us to get back together, you've still been seeing him on the side.”

“No. I—have—
not. Listen
to me, Rich.”

“Don't try to tell me Christopher was lying.”

“He only heard part of it.”

“Wasn't that enough?”

“It was completely out of context.”

Rich swore again, this time slamming his hand against the post that held up our overhang. “I hate that! Don't try to make this sound like it wasn't what it was, because I'm not buyin' it—not this time.” He put his thumb and index finger close to each other. “After the other night at the hospital I was this close to believing that I oughta take you back.” He hissed. “This is it, Demitria.”

“This is what?”

“I'm done. I want a divorce. You'll hear from my lawyer.”

I didn't say a word as I watched him stalk to the Harley and fire it up and fishtail through the pine needles to get away from me. When the taillight disappeared I sagged against the pole he'd slammed his hand into and felt the vibration of the anger he left behind. I slid down to the stoop. The doorstop rock dug into my back, but I left it there.

This was the moment I'd feared since the day Rich had turned to me with that brown envelope in his hand. I'd been so sure that I would die if it came to this—that my fear would turn on me and chew me up and leave me in pieces I could never put back together. But I was still here. I was still whole. I was so sad I couldn't even cry—but as the wash of nothing-left-to-do swept over me, I merely sat with it.

He'd been so close, Rich said. So close to believing he should take me back.

And then Zach.

Mission accomplished, Dr. Archer. You got Rich away from me for good, just like you wanted.

The rock in my back was suddenly unbearable, and I ripped it out and squeezed my hands around it.

“I hate you, Zach Archer!”

I brought the rock behind my head and tensed myself to throw it. But I couldn't let go.

You have to, Demi.

The whisper cleared a path in my head.

You have to tell everyone that you are forgiven.

Not by Rich. What good was—

You cannot be completely forgiven until you forgive.

I stared at the rock, wondering for a crazy moment if the thoughts were coming from it. In an equally crazy way, I supposed they were. The very rock I'd been throwing at myself I couldn't throw at anyone else.

Not even Zach Archer.

I put the stone back in its place and ran my fingers over the paint bumps. It was going to take time. It was going to take the Easter-Christ.
But Demi, no matter what it takes, you have to.

I pulled myself up and opened the screen door. Jayne and Audrey were huddled together on the couch, faces halfway between guilty and frightened.

“You okay, Mom?” Jayne said.

“You heard.”

“Enough.”

“I'm okay, sweetie. We'll talk when I get back.”

I grabbed my purse.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To find your brother,” I said.

I hadn't been to Olympia College since freshman orientation back in August, and I barely remembered where the library was in the eclectic gathering of buildings that could be identified by decade. Christopher's truck was parked in the lot, next to a funky quadrangle that housed the designated smoking area. Even in my stiff-legged anger, I thought of the graceful slopes and sweet gardens of Covenant Christian College—and that made me homesick—and
that
made me angrier than ever.

The front door to the library suffered as I yanked it open. I climbed the steps to the mezzanine to survey the clumps of students below, and I found my son sprawled at a table in a corner, one lanky leg parked on the chair opposite him as he bent his head over a textbook. He needed a haircut.