Stepping Into Sunlight (19 page)

Suddenly hungry for more words from God, I opened the drawer of my nightstand and took out my Bible, turning to the Psalms I had been reading weeks earlier. My bookmark rested at Psalm 62, and I settled on the edge of the bed as I read the first verse.
“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.”

Well, I certainly hadn’t found rest anywhere else. Then my eyes caught verse eleven
. “One thing God has spoken, two things have
I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving.”

I read it again and again. How could I wrap my mind around this riddle? Was God too weak to stop evil? No. He was strong. Was He too cruel to care about protecting me? No. He was loving. Even if He never explained the way this played out in my life, maybe, just maybe, I could learn to live with that mystery.

Later in the afternoon I tackled a different mystery. I cleaned Tom’s DVD again, then tried to sneak up on the new message by fast forwarding, and eventually the third message played. I breathed a word of thanks to God for this precious bonus after all the other work He’d done in my heart today.

“Message three.” Tom glanced down, and for the first time I noticed some three-by-five cards on his desktop. There was something irresistibly sweet about him preparing note cards for these brief broadcasts. I scooted close to the television and hugged my knees.

“Promise not to gloat with this next one, Pen. I’m gonna admit something tough.” He cleared his throat then charged ahead. “From the first day I told you I felt called to the chaplain program, you’ve been so great about not worrying. You said you would choose to trust. That if this is the calling God has given me, you won’t let your mind circle on the fears of things that could happen.”

He ducked his chin, but I still saw the rueful smile. “I never realized what I was expecting from you. It was easy to tell you, ‘Don’t worry, God will take care of me.’

“Until I was on the other side of the equation.

“I’ve gotta be honest. After the shooting, I had a hard time fighting back fear. For me to head into danger is part of the job. We deal with it. But when I pulled up at the gas station and saw you sitting at the curb with all those police cars, the ambulances . . .” His voice grew thick, and he swallowed. “I could have lost you. It tore me apart. And I’ve had to wrestle with the picture in my head every day since.

“I didn’t want to tell you before I left. I was busy being strong for you, and figured that my fears were the last thing you needed. But I just want you to know, I finally realize what a huge gift you’ve given me . . . how much courage it has taken for you to be my wife and trust me into God’s care when I’m on deployment. And I’ll be telling the men and women on the ship, too. Reminding them that their families back home deserve respect and gratitude for their courage.” His eyes met mine. “I’m proud of you, Penny.”

My heart expanded, throbbing with strength. Over his words, my Father whispered an echo of confirmation. So undeserved after my failure at the school this morning—but so welcome as a glimpse of the person I could become.

Tom ran a hand over his face. “Whew. Okay. Enough of that.” He laughed. “I wish I could tell you this tape will self-destruct in five seconds. This is a little too mushy. The next one will be lighter. I promise. Now turn off the DVD.” He sketched a wave, and reluctantly I hit the Stop button.

chapter
16

A
FTER
I
EJECTED THE
disc, I cradled it in my hands. “Thank you, Tom,” I murmured. “How did you know what I needed to hear?”

So much for regaining my fragile grasp on sanity. I was sitting in my living room talking to a shiny polycarbonate disc. I put the DVD on the top shelf. I needed to get back to work trying to be worthy of the respect he had for me.

I pushed to my feet and fought against the familiar wave of fatigue. A cup of tea might help. I headed for the kitchen, pulled the fridge door open, and stared. Lunchtime had snuck up on me, but I wasn’t very hungry. It was too much work: making a choice, assembling a meal, chewing, swallowing. I’d missed a lot of meals lately. The good news was that I’d lost my extra ten pounds of padding. Even my spandex workout pants hung loosely around my hips. Maybe I should write a book.
The Post-
Traumatic Stress Diet
.

While I dunked the tea bag, I noticed the phone’s message light. I’d finally caught up on answering all the tormenting messages, and now another one had come in? With a sigh, I hit Play.

“Penny! Call me!” Cindy’s voice held breathless intensity. “You’re never going to believe it. How—”

Her voice was cut off by a baby squeal with an operatic vibrato. My niece had some powerful lungs.

“Shhh. Hold on a minute, sweet pea. Let me put the phone down. Mommy’s coming.”

The screaming rose in pitch and Cindy blew out a breath in frustration. “Call me right away. I mean it.”

I shuddered. Whatever it was that had Cindy’s knickers in a twist, I didn’t need any more drama. If it were that important, she could have told me. I hated when people left messages of urgency without bothering to give the information they claimed was so life and death. Besides, I’d had a rough morning, and still needed to come up with my kind deed for the day. Then I had to plan weekend activities for Bryan. A new DVD and popcorn would keep him happy tonight, but he wouldn’t put up with a hermit mom for two solid days. Cindy would have to wait.

Carrying a second cup of tea to the living room, I went online and placed the week’s grocery order. The Internet was an amazing place. I searched out fun things I could do with Bryan, working hard to ignore the fear that crept up my throat at the thought of venturing out again. There was a park with a great climbing structure only a few miles away. The image of my son tumbling from the school’s playground equipment flashed in my mind. I clicked away from that page. A zoo in downtown Norfolk, some museums, lots of historic sites, and a nearby arcade. I printed out info on several options so Bryan and I could look at them together.

Next, I popped in to the official Web site for Navy chaplains and skimmed through the news, trying to feel some sense of connection to Tom. Instead of getting insights into his new role, I was reminded of the full width of the ocean between us.

It was my own fault for not getting involved at the Navy base. Mary Jo had tried to draw me in, but I’d avoided her. When Tom had made plans to enter the chaplaincy program, I imagined myself working by his side, comforting Navy personnel and spouses. My intentions had been torpedoed, but it wasn’t too late. With a few keystrokes, I did a search for Weblogs of military wives.

Heartfelt stories on various blogs stirred my compassion. I wasn’t the only Navy wife who sometimes felt lonely, deserted, and confused. The comments sections were the most revealing. Women shared words of encouragement, advice, and comfort. This was something I could be part of from my own living room.

I pulled out my yellow notebook and wrote today’s goal.
Offer
words of support to strangers on computer discussions.

Lost in cyberspace, clicking from one post to another, I missed my cue of the lumbering bus engine. Once again, Bryan’s small fist pounded against our door and sent me scurrying to unlatch it.

“Hi, sweetie. How was school today?”

He shrugged and dropped his backpack in the middle of the entryway. “Fine. I’m going over to Jim-Bob’s.”

I knelt and squeezed him. “Bryan, ‘May I please go play with Jim-Bob?’ ”

He wriggled free. “If you want, but we’re making a skateboard ramp, and I didn’t think you liked skateboarding.” He darted back out the door.

I straightened and squeezed the bridge of my nose. His jacket sleeves were knotted to his backpack straps. I untangled them and held the jacket for a moment, breathing in his little-boy scent of chalk and gummi worms. Parents are supposed to celebrate a child’s steps toward independence and self-reliance. Bryan had his own friends and interests, and didn’t want to linger on the threshold with his mom. That was a good thing.

Still, I felt a touch of desperation. Bryan wasn’t only learning independence. He was being forced to parent himself—to detach from the tangled, incapable mess his mother had become. I couldn’t will away the panic attacks, nightmares, and agoraphobia—or the effect those things had on Bryan. But I could try to make it up to him.

I placed an online order for pizza, prepared a new kid’s Netflix movie, and arranged my printouts of fun weekend activities.

Later that night I wiped tomato sauce off Bryan’s chin and settled back against the couch. “So should we go to the zoo? Or how about this park?” On the television, Nemo struggled to find a way out of the fish tank.

Bryan hitched one shoulder in disinterest. The whole evening I’d identified with Nemo’s dad, trying to find my son again.

“You don’t want to go to the zoo? You loved it when we took you to the one in Milwaukee.”

He shifted away and pulled his feet up onto the couch. “Whatever.”

The word stung. I grabbed the remote and hit Pause. “Bryan, what’s going on? Don’t you want to do anything fun this weekend?”

He picked at a hole in the big toe of his sock and didn’t look at me. “Sure.” His lack of enthusiasm was so out of character, I touched his forehead with the back of my hand.

“No fever. Are you feeling okay?”

He pulled off both socks and shoved one into the toe of the other, then began using the sock club to whack the arm of the couch with casual thumps. “Can we just watch the movie?”

I pulled him onto my lap. “In a minute. What’s wrong?”

He flung his head back and narrowly missed clocking me in the mouth with his hard skull. “You said you were going to talk to my teacher about the play. You never even came in to see my room. You keep saying we’re going to do stuff, but we never do.”

Guilt hit me with more force than a head butt to the jaw. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m getting help, and I really think I can handle a little fun this weekend.”

He leaned away and slanted a look up at me. “How about if we go to the pet store? Know what? Dad thinks we should get a pet. It would cheer you up.”

I laughed. “Okay. We’ll visit the pet store. But maybe we should wait for Dad to get home so he can help choose a pet.”

Bryan shook his mop of hair, sending flecks of dust airborne. “Nah. I know what kind he likes. He doesn’t like snakes.”

Thank heavens.

“Or cats. But he loves horses and great big dogs.”

I tickled Bryan’s ribs. “Sorry, hon. I was thinking of something smaller that you could keep in your room.”

“A rat?”

I cleared my throat and nodded toward the screen. “Maybe a goldfish? Your own little Nemo?”

“We’ll see.” He shifted toward the couch cushion beside me and nestled against me as we finished the movie.

After I tucked Bryan in bed, I settled at the computer and found the closest pet store. If we went early, before it got busy, I should be able to manage. I had to. Bryan needed this.

Night shadows coated the living room, and headlights occasionally flickered across the windows as cars drove down our street. I wrapped Tom’s big jacket around me like a bathrobe and opened my e-mail program.

Tom’s messages had arrived faithfully, but did little to broach the distance I felt. Tonight he dug deeper.

Hey, shiny Penny,

Just a quick moment to check in. I miss you and Bryan every
minute. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed exploring the new neighborhood and
that Bryan has made new friends. The work is a challenge, but I knew
it would be. Some days I know I’ve said just the right thing to a kid
who needed encouragement. Other times I feel useless and wonder
why I’m here.

How have you been feeling? Really. Don’t get me wrong. I love
your e-mails. But I can’t tell how you are. I really want to know.

Play some John Denver and think of your Rocky Mountain boy,
okay? Miss you. Tom.

A few thin tears glossed my eyes as I smiled, surprised to still have any tears left in me. I took a moment to cue up a CD of John Denver music before composing my answer. Somehow the music helped me resist my usual chipper message. Words poured from my heart.

Hi, Tommy-boy.

You said you wondered how I’ve been feeling. I’ve been numb. I
can’t seem to remember how it feels to be happy, interested, hopeful.
I’m sick to my stomach half the time. Strange sensations like electric
shocks crawl through my intestines at odd moments.

No matter how hard I try not to think about the shooting, no matter
how I block it out with music, a television show, or even humming to
myself—my body remembers. It shudders with memories that I don’t
want, but can’t seem to erase.

You know what it is? It’s that I can’t trust people anymore. I took
it for granted. Sure I know the church teaches we’re all sinners, but that
was theoretical. The people in my life have been basically nice. Maybe
nice to the point of phony at times, but safe.

Now I’ve seen a vulgar truth that I didn’t look for, like stumbling
over a porn magazine on a park bench. The image sears the mind no
matter how fast you turn away.

The bullet didn’t enter my head, but the image did. The image
of evil. Of callous disregard for life. The terrifying truth of my own
helplessness and the world’s unpredictability.

Can I ever go back? Can I ever walk through a grocery store without
my shoulders crawling up toward my ears in fear?

Maybe I’m not numb, after all. It hurts. Isn’t that weird? I came
through without a scratch, and yet the pain of a bullet would be better
than this. That man—that boy—wanted to kill me. No one’s ever
wanted to kill me. Well, except for Cindy back in fourth grade when I
painted her Barbie Dream House green.

I guess you’re facing that, too, aren’t you? There are people over
there who want you dead. Do you feel as lost as I do?