Stepping Into Sunlight (12 page)

I’d helped Tom work with some troubled youth back at our church in Wisconsin, but none had been treated this harshly by life. Suddenly I saw Ashley’s fragile bones and haunted eyes instead of her don’t-mess-with-me disguise.
Lord, bring some loving
people into her life. Bring her some of the happy childhood she never
had.

Dr. Marci looked at me. “We help people who’ve been in long-term abuse situations as well as single traumatic events.” She directed a fond smile toward Ashley. “It takes a lot of courage to rebuild a life.”

Ashley’s lips flickered in a half-smile. “Clean for a year now.”

Henry nodded. “How’s the job?”

She used a few colorful words to describe it. “I ain’t gonna spend my whole life saying, ‘You want fries with that?’ but it’s a start.”

Camille fingered the scarf at her neck. “So how are you dealing with . . . you know . . . depression and stuff?”

Ashley glanced over at Dr. Marci who gave a nod.

“Still cutting. But only once this week.”

My stomach tightened. There’d been a girl in the youth group back home who found comfort in slicing her own skin. Her inner misery was so intense that physical pain actually brought a sort of relief. Ashley talked for a few more minutes while I struggled to imagine her life. I’d dress in black, too, if I’d lived through what she had. I was glad she’d found this support group.

“This is getting too heavy. Your turn.” Ashley turned toward Camille.

The classy woman pulled off her sunglasses. Yellow and green bruises framed one eye. “I called him today.”

A collective groan rose from the group.

She pursed her lips. “You don’t understand.” She seemed to remember I was there and turned toward me. “My husband.”

Tom’s gentle eyes flashed in my mind. I trusted him like no one else. How could a woman pick up the pieces from that kind of betrayal? I was here because I’d seen violence, but at least it wasn’t at the hands of someone I loved.

“A large percentage of violent crime is perpetrated by family members,” Dr. Marci said quietly in my direction. “It complicates the recovery from trauma.”

I’d expected a support group of people like Henry—victims of a one-time violent crime, trying to get past the way the shock had changed them. I’d never anticipated meeting people whose day-to-day life provided recurring trauma.

Camille played with a strand of her hair. “It’s not fair for me to walk away without giving him another chance.”

“It’s not fair for him to use you as a punching bag,” Henry said.

Dr. Marci took a sip of water. “Did you tell your counselor at the shelter that you called him?”

Camille dropped her chin and shook her head.

Ashley groaned. “Are you completely stupid? It took you months to work up the courage to get away.”

“Let’s stay constructive.” Dr. Marci remained calm and nonjudgmental. One of those counseling tricks. Did she ever want to shake one of the victims she counseled? “Camille, what feelings triggered a need to contact him?”

“I felt sorry for him.”

“And?”

“And . . . maybe I decided some of this was my fault.”

Henry and Ashley both started talking. Dr. Marci helped Camille unravel some of her feelings, with animated input from the others around the table. I sat back and played with my wedding ring. A quick glance at Bryan assured me that my child was doing just fine, so I turned my attention back to the group. As out-of-place as I’d felt when I walked in, there was no doubt these crime victims cared about each other. I’d just met them, and I already ached for what they’d gone through and wanted to see them recover.

“Okay, Penny. Your turn.”

Heads swiveled my direction.

My skin prickled, and heat rushed to my face. I shook my head. “Wow. Um. My problems seem so insignificant. I’m not sure I belong here.”

“So why are ya?” Ashley demanded.

“I . . . I’ve been having trouble sleeping and just don’t want to go out anymore since . . . it happened.”

“Tell us about when this started,” Dr. Marci said.

I stared at the table. “I was in a Quick Corner. A guy . . . Well, there was a crime.” I couldn’t go any further. If I pulled out one more fact the dam would break. The images would flood me again. “I’m not doing too bad, really. I just need some time to shake it off. I feel bad taking up your time.” I shot an apologetic glance at Ashley. “I had an easy childhood. I’ve got a loving husband, no career stresses. Just that one scary event. And I wasn’t even hurt. You’ve all faced things I can’t even imagine. I’m embarrassed to be here with my little issues.”

Ashley picked at a cuticle, drawing a bead of blood. “Cut yourself some slack. When you aren’t used to people being evil, it’s gotta shake you up to see somethin’ like that.”

Her compassion made me catch my breath. “Thanks,” I said hoarsely.

The discussion moved on, but I tuned out. I’d hit my limit for openness with a group of strangers. Voices rose and fell, laughter erupted a surprising amount of times, and the water pitcher was passed around the table.

“All right, that’s all for tonight.” Dr. Marci managed to sound regretful as if she’d like nothing better than to spend more hours with our table full of misfits. Maybe she would. Behind her Dr. Phil jargon, she seemed sincerely caring. “You’re doing good work. We’ll see you next week.”

Camille pulled some postcards from her purse. “I’m still going to Wednesday night services at the New Life Mission in Chesapeake. It’s a great place. You’re all invited if you ever want to come.”

Henry grabbed one, but probably only to add to his collection of gum wrappers, pens, and other garbage in his jacket pockets. Ashley shook her head and sketched a wave as she strode out the door.

I accepted a postcard from Camille. “I live near the mission.” And if I hadn’t embarrassed myself so much when I dropped in on my walk, I might have considered going to the weeknight service.

Camille gave me a smile. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The room was emptying and I sprang to my feet.

“Penny, can I speak to you a minute?” Dr. Marci stayed in her chair.

Feeling like a student kept after school, I froze while the others left.

Dr. Marci pushed out the chair next to her and patted it. “I’m glad you came. Did you find it helpful?”

I stepped closer to her but didn’t sit. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Does the idea of counseling make you uncomfortable?” She tilted her head.

“No. Not at all. I need to get Bryan home.” I dug in my purse for the car keys.

“You waited a long time before asking for help.”

The keys cut into my palm as I squeezed them. Dr. Marci’s legs were blocking my escape, and it didn’t look as if she planned to move anytime soon. “Let’s just say it doesn’t work for everyone.”

“But you haven’t really tried yet,” she said quietly.

Muscles in my chest tightened, and I sucked in a tight breath. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

She nodded slowly, digested that. “I see. Well, I’d like to schedule an appointment with you.”

“Instead of this group?”

“In addition.”

Great. She must think I was a real mess, to need private tutoring. I shook my head. “I really don’t—”

“Mom? Are you ready?” Bryan held the doorframe and leaned into the conference room. “Did it work? Are you better now?”

All my reasons for getting help crashed back into my mind. “Almost ready, buddy.” I turned back to Dr. Marci and sighed. “When can you see me?”

“Let’s go check my appointment book. I think I have a free hour Thursday morning.”

On the drive home, my thoughts circled around the troubled souls I’d met at the group session.

“Mom, what was wrong with that one girl’s eyes? And did you see the metal in her head?”

“She was just wearing too much makeup. And the metal is like earrings. . . but just other places—like her lip and eyebrow.”

He was silent for a moment. “Cool. Can I get one?”

“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you ask Dad about that when he gets home?” Tom’s face would be something to behold, but he had it coming. He was the one that had prodded me to go to Victim Support Services.

“So when are you going to meet with my teacher? I told her you helped with all the plays at church.”

“Soon. I promise.”

“So you feel better?”

“I guess.”

“Then we should celebrate and have ice cream.” My little con man grinned at me through the rearview mirror.

“It’s already past your bedtime.”

He sighed, but without much genuine frustration. He seemed content to engage in the typical boundary testing of our relationship and let me win a round or two.

After he was tucked in for the night, I tiptoed out to the living room. A murmured prayer tumbled from my lips as I pushed Tom’s DVD into the player. Maybe I’d put it in upside down last time. With no labels, it was hard to know.
Let it work. Let the DVD
play tonight.

I crouched on the floor in front of the television and waited.

Tom’s beautiful face filled the screen and I stifled my joyous whoop so I wouldn’t wake Bryan. This time I didn’t even consider stopping after the first message. I closed my eyes and savored Tom’s voice, pretending he was in the room, inches away. Then I leaned forward, ready for the next part of the recording.

chapter
10

“M
ESSAGE NUMBER TWO
.” T
OM
gave the camera the shy half-grin that I remembered from the first time he asked me out, or when he used to look up from playing his guitar for the youth group and catch my gaze across a room full of teens, or when he waited to see my reaction as I opened a birthday gift from him.

I touched the screen. What I wouldn’t give to feel the softness of his blond hair, or the sandpaper of the invisible stubble that he tickled me with at the end of the day. “This feels weirder than I thought it would.” He frowned. “Hey, you aren’t listening to this right after the first one, are you? I only have time to make a few of these, so spread them out. If you kept going, turn it off and wait at least a week or so.”

After a pause, he sat back and continued. “Okay. Penny. I hope this doesn’t sound like an empty platitude, but I have to tell you. I’m praying for you every morning. I say your name. I ask God to protect you and to be the arms around you when I can’t be. I pray for every part of you. I pray for the health of your body. For your mind and your emotions. For how tired you must feel at the end of a day of chasing Bryan around when I’m not there to play soccer with him and wear him out. I pray you’re eating well and staying healthy. I pray for your heart, that you’re making friends, that you’re feeling the support of the community there at the Navy base or at church. I’m praying that God brings some surprises into your life while I’m gone.”

He looked down and cleared this throat. “You didn’t want to talk about it, and I get that, but let me go there for a minute. If I’d gone through what you did, I’d be wondering why God let it happen. If you are”—he lifted his head and his gaze searched me—“it’s okay to have those questions. I’m confused, too.

“Be brave a little longer, okay? There are so many things wrong on this planet, but it won’t always be this way. And in the meantime, I’m asking God to make himself real to you.”

Why couldn’t he talk about something else? He’d always been a great sweet-talker, telling me how soft my skin was, how much he loved my long, thick hair, how when he watched me change clothes it drove him to distraction. He enjoyed making me blush. I didn’t want him being Chaplain Tom right now. I wanted romance, or dreams for our family, or even small talk. Anything but this spiritual depth that left me exposed.

“Hey.” His eyes lit. “How about if I bless you right now?”

He clearly wasn’t feeling my reluctance as he spoke to me through the television, so I gave a resigned nod. I couldn’t turn away from anything he wanted to say.

He held up his hands the way I’d seen him do so many Sunday nights when he led the contemporary service at our old church. The power of his faith was potent, especially in the face of my crippling doubt. His skin held a glow that wasn’t caused by the florescent lights in his office. His chest expanded with a deep breath, and he smiled right into my heart. “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you”—his hand slowly traced the sign of the cross—“and give you peace. End of message two.”

The words of his blessing fell over me like a warm ray of sun, and I clung to that benediction when I crawled into bed an hour later. My body curled into a tight ball under the quilt as the dark memories began their nightly invasion.

Block it out. Think about something else. Penny, you did a brave thing
today by going to the victim center. Tom would be so proud of you. Dr.
Marci will be able to help you. The Lord bless you and keep you—

The Lord bless—

The Lord—

An image played across my mind, of lonely, broken Henry clutching my gum wrapper. The victim center hadn’t cured him so far. Or the others. Would I end up like them? Would neighbor kids one day point when they saw me and whisper about the crazy lady with a hundred cats?

Or worse, would I continue this journey into depression like my brother? Would I—

Don’t go there.

But bleak scenarios continued to skip across my imagination, building on each other, escalating, crowding out my ability to remember any bright corner that life could hold. Stealing my hope.

How could one tragic event change everything inside me? I’d seen crime reports on the news all my life, but I’d never wanted to shut out the world and hide like this before. I’d attended my share of funerals and seen bodies empty of life, but the grief had never triggered week after week of nightmares. People all over the world faced worse than what I’d experienced and they didn’t crumble.

I should be stronger than this.

Was God as disappointed with me as I was with myself?

It was well after three in the morning before I managed to sleep.