One Tuesday Morning (6 page)

Jake kissed the back of Jamie's neck. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks.” Jamie was breathless, her cheeks red. “I could've gone on that way forever.”

Jake smiled, but her words left a pit in his stomach. Whatever she was running from, it still plagued her, just as it always had. They parked the jet ski and headed toward Larry and Sue, and the whole time Jake wondered about his wife. Would she run this way forever? Or would she be brave enough to slow down one of these days and let him catch her?

Not just him, but God as well.

****

Jamie and Sue stayed with the girls so the men could have a run on the water together. The women moved their beach chairs closer to the shore, and within earshot of Sierra and Katy.

“I swear Katy's grown two inches since the last time we did this.” Jamie shielded her eyes so she could see the little girls in front of them.

“She's taking after my side of the family.” Sue reached for a can of Diet Coke. “My mother's nearly six foot.”

“Lucky girl. She'll be first picked on the basketball team.” Jamie leaned back. “Not like us shrimps who had to work for every minute on the court.”

They were quiet then, and Sue stared out at the water after their husbands. “I love seeing them together out there.” She shifted her gaze to Jamie. “They're so much alike. Brothers almost.”

Jamie reached for a bottle of sunscreen, poured the warm white liquid into her palms, and worked it along her forearms. It felt hot and wonderful against her skin, erasing the deep cold from the ride across the harbor. “I like them working the same shifts.” She glanced at Sue. “They look out for each other.”

“Larry says Jake would never let anything happen to him on the job.” Sue chuckled. “Like Jake's somehow bigger than life.”

“Jake feels the same way about Larry.” Jamie set the sunscreen down in the sand. “They're quite a team.”

“Like twins, separated at birth.” Sue cast an easy grin toward the spot where the men were picking up speed and heading out for deeper water. “Even if they look nothing alike.”

Jamie took hold of the armrests and stared out at the horizon. Sue was right. The men looked like polar opposites. Jake six-two, lean and built with short dark hair and blue eyes. Larry moved like a tank, two hundred pounds of muscle on a frame that was barely five-nine in his work boots. His skin was covered with the kind of freckles that usually accompany his shade of red hair.

Jamie shook her head. “You should've seen them in high school. Mo and Curley all over again.”

“I bet.”

“Larry, the wild one … sensible Jake, the voice of reason.” Jamie dug around in the bag beside her, found a white visor, and slid it onto her head. A breeze washed over her, and she breathed in the ocean air. “You can't believe the crazy things they did back then.”

“Like what?”

Jamie closed her eyes for a moment and grabbed at one of a hundred memories. “Like the time Larry convinced the football team to run lines down here at the beach at midnight.”

“Midnight?”

“Yes.” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “In winter.” She chuckled at the memory. “The guys had icicles hanging from their hair before Jake rounded everyone up and told them to meet back at the school.”

“Hmmm.” Sue looked back out to sea, and Jamie followed her gaze. The men were just a dot on the distant horizon. “I wish I could've been there.”

“It seems like you were around back then.” From a few yards away, Sierra waved, and Jamie waved back. “You met Larry in college, right?”

“Our junior year. Third meeting of the campus Bible study.”

Something about the words soured Jamie's mood, and she fell silent for several minutes. Usually, she let it pass when Larry or Sue or even Jake brought up anything religious. But here, now, she felt suddenly compelled to ask. She turned to her friend and cocked her head. “Is it really that wonderful?”

Sue's face went blank. “What?”

“Church … Bible studies … you know, the God stuff.” Jamie's words were slow, thoughtful. “It's kept your attention all these years, but why? What's so great about it?”

“Uh-oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Jake's pushing you?”

“No.” Jamie laughed even as the tension built within her. “He hasn't done that for years. He knows better.” Her tone grew serious again. “I just wonder, I guess. Why bother? I mean we have so little time together as it is. Why spend Sunday mornings in some old building singing songs?”

Peace washed over Sue's face, and she took a sip from her pop. “It isn't about the building or the songs.” There wasn't a trace of criticism in Sue's voice. “It's about coming together and declaring as a group that you believe … that you desperately need a Savior and that the week wouldn't be the same without taking time to say so.”

Doubt blew across the barren places of Jamie's heart. “You actually want to be there?”

“Yes.” Sue's expression was sympathetic. “You should give it a try someday, Jamie. One Sunday wouldn't hurt.”

Jamie bristled at the idea. “If I believed in God, I'd go.”

“Oh.” Sue waited a minute before responding. “You still don't believe?” She motioned toward the girls. They had built a sandcastle and were digging a moat around it. “Even after having Sierra?”

“Meaning what?” Jamie didn't see the connection.

“Kids. The miracle of life.” Sue shrugged. “If anything convinced me God was real, it was holding Katy for the first time. There she was, a part of me and a part of Larry, all knit together perfectly. Only God could do that.”

For an instant Jamie understood.

She'd felt that same sense of wonder the first time she held Sierra. Every time she'd held her since then, for that matter. But it wasn't God she was sensing. It was life itself. As Sue had said, the miracle of life. Jamie dusted the sand off her ankles and met Sue's eyes. “If there is a God … why doesn't He put out fires before our guys have to fight them?”

A sigh slipped from Sue's lips. “This isn't heaven, Jamie. Nothing's going to be perfect here. But even still, God's in control.”

“But how do you know?” Jamie gestured toward the sea. “You and Larry and Jake talk about heaven like you've been there. But there's no guarantee. And if God's willing to let us suffer here on earth, why should I believe He has something better for me after I die?”

Sue spread her fingers over her heart, her voice barely audible above the ocean breeze. “It's a knowing, Jamie. A sureness, a certainty. With everything in me I believe in God, and I'm convinced that life here is just a shadow of what's to come. Earth is like a giant waiting area.” She pointed heavenward. “Up there, that's when real life will begin.”

They were quiet again. Jamie stood and stretched. “Sorry for the tangent.” She smiled at Sue. “Not exactly relaxing beach conversation.”

Sue worked her eyebrows together. For an instant Jamie wondered if her friend might say something to refute her statement. But instead the lines eased on Sue's face and she set her Diet Coke down on the sand.

“Any time, Jamie. If you ever wanna talk about God, I'm here. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jamie crossed her arms and studied the water until she spotted the distant jet ski. “Didn't see you at the funeral Sunday.”

“No.” Sue drew a deep breath. “I'm not much for fire department funerals.”

“But God's still in control, right? Even when a twenty-seven-year-old proby reels out a fire hose and falls over dead from a heart attack?”

Sue's eyes grew wide and Jamie chided herself. Her tone had been cold, almost biting, but she hadn't meant it that way. She wasn't trying to argue, just prove a point.

“I'm sorry.” Jamie reached out and touched her friend's arm. “You don't have to answer that.”

“No.” Sue cleared her throat. “I want to answer you.” She bent forward and hugged her knees to her chest. “Yes … God's still in control, even at a proby's funeral. Somewhere, somehow, God has a plan in all of it. Even if we can't understand that plan right now.”

“So God's in control … and you trust Him completely, right?” Jamie was baffled. This was the very reason she struggled with the notion of God. Because if there was a God, He wasn't fair. Some people lived untouched by tragedy into their eighties and nineties, while others—people like her parents or the proby—died tragic deaths with babies and loved ones waiting back home. “Even in death?”

“Yes.” Sue's voice was full, passionate. “Even in death.”

“Okay …” The argumentative tone was gone from Jamie's voice. In its place was a question that came from the depths of her soul. “Then, why don't I see you at the funerals?”

“Because …” Sue stared across the beach at Katy and Sierra. When she answered, it seemed to come from the very deepest places in her soul. “Because I can't bear to think that someday God's plan might include a fire department funeral for Larry.”

F
OUR

S
EPTEMBER
7, 2001

Laura pulled out of her driveway and turned her car toward the setting sun. It was a fifteen-minute drive to church, and she was grateful for the solitude. A handful of women were getting together to box up supplies they'd collected for an orphanage in Haiti. The church's college group was going to Port-au-Prince in a few weeks to paint the main building. The supplies would go ahead of them as part of an outreach.

Laura was on the planning committee.

Temperatures had spiked across the San Fernando Valley again, and that night as she made her way down the hill toward Thousand Oaks Boulevard, it was still ninety-two degrees. Laura rolled her window down and rested her arm on the door.

Originally, Eric had agreed to work with her on this project. But he hadn't had time once so far, and tonight's meeting was the last before the outreach. In the past Laura had gone to church angry, clenching the steering wheel, wondering the whole evening long why her husband wasn't with her.

But not this time.

Since his fiasco with Josh's birthday the other day, the two of them had barely spoken to each other. Tonight he was staying home with Josh, spending time with their son for the first time all week. Laura was grateful for the time alone. She turned right and settled against the back of her seat.

She knew what she was supposed to do. Go to church and help pack the supplies for Haiti, then come home and talk to Eric, tell him it was time to call a counselor. But this time the whole routine felt pointless and tiresome. They weren't kidding anyone anymore, not the people at church, not Josh, not God. Not even each other. Why make an appointment for counseling if nothing was going to change?

Laura squinted behind her sunglasses and flipped down the visor. If only she had the guts to throw in the towel, turn the car around and storm up the drive, find Eric, and demand a divorce. It was the only thing that would set either of them free at this point.

God … help me
.

The silent cry came from the depths of her soul and made the corners of her eyes sting.

Daughter … I am with you … I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you a hope and a future and not to harm you …

The Scripture came as easily as Laura's next breath, the same way it always had. Since she was adopted as a young teenager, she'd clung to the promise, believing that God truly knew the plans He had for her. Believing they were good. But what place did the words have in her life now? Good plans and hope? A future? The loveless routine she shared with Eric was hardly that. And what good could possibly come from their life together?

Then, like the streaky lines across the summer sky, the answer came. Josh, of course. Josh was the good that had come from the two of them. Back from a time and place when she and Eric had loved each other more than life itself. And Josh was the one who would pay the price if she asked for a divorce.

She turned her car into the church parking lot, pulled into a front row space, and turned off the engine. For a moment she sat there, letting her head fall against the steering wheel. No, she couldn't divorce Eric, not ever. He hadn't done anything wrong. He'd never cheated on her or slapped her or called her a bad name. He'd rarely said an unkind word.

The familiar sting in her eyes grew stronger. She whisked her sunglasses off and tossed them on the seat beside her. As she did, a tear fell on her jean shorts and made a tiny wet circle on the denim. She'd been looking forward to the time alone, but not so she could break down. This was no time to cry. The committee would be there in five minutes, and the next few hours would culminate months of planning and collecting. Their efforts would help dozens of children in Haiti have food and medicine and school supplies.

So what was the problem? Why did she feel like her world was falling apart, like a part of her heart would never breathe again?

Laura wiped her eyes and sniffed twice. The answer was obvious. It wasn't what Eric had done that made her miserable, it was what he hadn't done. What he'd stopped doing somewhere along the trail of years. Whenever it was that he'd stopped keeping promises, when he'd stopped taking her on dates or spending a few moments with Josh.

With Eric she shared little more than a functional business relationship. None of the love and passion she'd hoped to find by marrying the man, none of the magic they'd shared in their first few years together. But those weren't grounds for divorce—not even close.

She gripped the steering wheel.
God … there's no way out. Give me something, a sign, a reason to believe it'll get better one day
. She was trapped in a prison of pretense and promises, and unless Eric had a change of heart, her sentence would last a lifetime. Because being president of Koppel and Grant wouldn't be enough for Eric; neither would making a million dollars. There would still be one more deal, one more meeting, one more corporate account to conquer.

And those things would always take precedence over her and Josh.

She wiped her eyes and lifted her head just as she heard footsteps come up along the side of her car.

“Laura?”

She jerked her head up, and there, standing just outside her car door, was Eric's brother, Clay. “Oh, hey.” As quick as she could, she grabbed her sunglasses and slipped them back on. She managed a smile. “You scared me.”