The One I Trust (23 page)

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” I said. “I didn’t do anything, Emily—”

But she wasn’t listening. She was already pushing her chair away from the table and stomping into the living room. She grabbed her school bag and her purse before storming out the front door and into the darkness.

HALE CALLED TO check on me again the next day.

“She left me.”

“What?”

“She
left
me,” I repeated.

“Like . . . for good?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Last night I mentioned that she might want to go see someone, and she stormed out of the house. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Have you tried to call her?”

“She’s not answering.”

“Did she go to work today?”

“I have no idea,” I said again.

“Well why don’t you call the school and see if she’s there?”

“I don’t really care if she’s there,” I said.

Hale was quiet for a moment and then—way too casually—he asked, “Where are you guys working today?”

I told him what store I was at, and I was zero percent surprised when he showed up at quitting time.

After I introduced Hale to Ray and they shook hands, exclaiming how they’d heard a lot about each other and both agreeing that it was great to finally meet, we said good-bye to Ray and I let Hale steer me toward his car.

We both got in and he pulled out of the parking space, heading toward the exit to the parking lot without saying a word.

As he waited to pull out into traffic, I turned and looked at him.

“You can’t fix this, Hale,” I said.

“I didn’t say I was going to fix anything.” He kept his eyes on the stoplight, not returning my look. “We’re just going for a little ride.”

I sighed and turned my head to look out my window.

Hale drove for about ten minutes, drawing closer and closer to the campus of NC State University. When he finally took a very familiar right turn off Western Boulevard, I turned and looked at him again.

He still didn’t look back at me, instead concentrating on weaving his way to the complex where we’d shared an apartment for three years. He found a parking space and pulled in, shutting off the engine. Both of us looked through the windshield and stared at our old home.

“Going to take me for a walk down Memory Lane so my future suddenly becomes crystal clear?” I asked, turning to him again. “Some psychiatrist trick you learned from your dad?”

He ignored me. Hale didn’t talk
about
his dad any more than he talked
to
his dad.

“We had a lot of good times here, didn’t we?” he asked, still looking out the windshield. A small smile played on his lips.

I looked back at our apartment and the memories flooded my mind: the turtle that for some reason the two of us decided would be good to keep in the bathtub . . . the surprise birthday party Drew had thrown for Hale (somehow managing to pack about fifty people into our tiny apartment) . . . the time the cops came because they were convinced that the fluorescent bulbs Hale had mounted in the living room for his dwarf banana tree were for pot instead.

But just as quickly my mind shifted to the day when Tori and I had walked through the door, showing off her engagement ring to Hale and Drew. Drew had clapped her hands in excitement and hugged both of us. Hale had hugged us, too, but . . .

I turned and stared at Hale now.

“You knew Tori was bad news,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

He took his eyes off our apartment door and looked at me, I think a bit surprised by my question.

“I . . .” He hesitated. After a moment of thought, he admitted, “There was something about her that I didn’t like.”

“What?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Yes you do,” I argued. “What was it?”

“I don’t know,” he said again after a few more moments of thought. “I guess I just never felt like she really loved you.”

I pondered that for a moment.

“Do you think I loved her?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t think that you guys had what Drew and I had. That’s all.”

I looked at him.

“You didn’t know she was crazy?”

He shook his head.

I thought for a minute.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to marry Emily?” I asked. “You thought we didn’t love each other?”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to marry her,” he said. “I just wanted you to pray about it first. It seemed like you were rushing into things pretty fast.”

I had no argument for that. I’d decided to marry Emily because she made me feel better than I’d felt in a long time and because I hadn’t had sex in over two years and because I really liked the way she looked in her silky blue tank top.

But had I ever really loved her? Had I ever really loved Tori? Did I really even have any idea what love was?

If love was what Hale had with Drew, then no, I hadn’t really loved either one of them. When Hale and Drew had looked at each other, you could
see
how much they loved one another. When Drew was dying, I knew without a doubt that if Hale could have taken her place he would have done it in an instant. I wasn’t sure I could say that about myself with either Tori or Emily.

“What about Anneka?” I asked, looking at Hale.

“What about her?”

“She’s not Drew.”

He held my gaze for a long moment and then turned to our old apartment again. I know he was thinking about Drew. He thought about her for a long time.

“I love Anneka,” he finally said, turning to me again. “I’m not saying she’s Drew and I’m not saying she’s my soulmate or anything, but she’s my wife and I love her. Or actually, I guess I love her because she’s my wife.”

“You love her because she’s your wife?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

“The whole point is that I’m supposed to love Emily because she’s my wife?”

He looked right into my eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah.”

“She’s
crazy
, Hale,” I said. “It’s the same thing that happened with Tori all over again. The only difference is that we don’t have a kid and things are going bad a whole lot faster this time.”

“You promised to love her in sickness and in health,” he reminded me. “That includes mental health.”

I let out a big sigh and shook my head.

We didn’t talk until he finally broke the long silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

I gave a small shrug and didn’t look at him.

“If you could go back and do things differently with Tori,” he asked quietly, “would you change anything?”

It was as if he’d taken a knife and plunged it straight into my heart.

Never proposed . . . never married her . . . never had Noah . . .

The knife twisted in my chest.

Stayed with her . . . helped her through whatever demons were raging through her tormented mind . . . loved her despite the madness . . .

I looked at Hale.

“I want to go home now,” I said.

Hale looked back at me with compassion in his eyes for a long moment like he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. He just nodded and started the car. He wasn’t trying to hurt me—I knew that—it was just that part of him coming out again . . . that 99 percent part that wanted God involved in everything he did.

When things had gone bad with Tori, I hadn’t worried for one second what God wanted, and Hale was trying to make sure that I worried about it now. He didn’t want me to get divorced again . . .

God hates divorce.

Of course I hated something, too, but nobody seemed to care about that. I hated the fact that God had let me marry two completely different women who were both mentally unstable. That’s what
I
hated.

I shook my head, trying to clear it of that thought. I usually tried really hard not to get mad at God because—more than anything else in the world—I wanted to see Noah again one day and I didn’t figure that God was going to be too keen on letting me into Heaven if I had a big chip on my shoulder.

Of course if Hale knew what I was thinking, he’d probably tell me that I didn’t have any right to be mad at God—that this was
my
fault because I hadn’t talked to God about it in the first place like he’d told me to. Hale would also probably tell me that just because I didn’t let myself yell at God or complain to Him about things that were wrong didn’t mean I was going to get into Heaven. I didn’t spend a lot of time talking to God about things that
weren’t
wrong, either. Basically all God was getting from me was some version of, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” And I knew deep down that that really wasn’t good enough.

As we rode along in silence, I knew Hale was praying for me. I also knew that I was probably supposed to be praying, too.

What if I prayed right now?

I have absolutely no idea what to say . . .

Even though God undoubtedly already knew that, somehow just saying it to Him felt very right . . . so I kept going.

I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to You about Emily before, but now I’m already married to her and I don’t have any idea what I’m supposed to do . . .

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I finished up with,
Please help me.

I hoped Hale was doing a much better job of praying than I was.

WHEN HALE DROPPED me off, it was almost seven, but Emily’s car was not in the driveway. There was a package leaning against the carport door, which probably meant that she hadn’t been home all day. It was an overnight package, addressed to me, and the return label said Chicago. I picked it up and let myself into the house, wondering what Charlotte could possibly have sent. I took my pocketknife out before sitting down on the couch to open it.

I carefully slit the end of the cardboard box and gently tipped it so that what was inside could slide out. When it did, my breath caught in my throat.

A Bible.

Twenty minutes earlier I had prayed to God for the first time in forever and now suddenly I’m sitting here with a Bible in my hands?

Shivers ran down my spine.

I sat and stared at it for a long moment. Then I noticed a small gap in the silver edges of the pages, so I let the Bible fall open to where Charlotte had tucked a card.

I opened the card and began to read what she had written.

Dear Reid,

I know this probably sounds weird, but I felt God telling me that He wanted you to have this right now. This Bible was my brother’s—your Uncle Greg’s—and my mother gave it to me a long time ago when I really needed it.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I want you to know that I’m praying for you. I hope you know that I’m here for you anytime you need me.

I love you very much.

Charlotte

Hale was praying for me and Charlotte was praying for me and most importantly God had told Charlotte to send me this Bible
yesterday
because He knew that I would need to be sitting with it open on my lap
today
.

A fresh set of shivers ran down my back.

God was right there with me. It was the first time in my life I had ever known that for certain. Tears filled my eyes, and it took a long time for them to clear enough so that I could actually see what was before me. I scanned the pages where Charlotte had tucked the card until my eyes fell on the following verse:

Woe to me because of my injury!

That was exactly how I felt—injured. I couldn’t remember the last time that I didn’t hurt.

My wound is incurable! Yet I said to myself, “This is my sickness, and I must endure it.”

Is that what God was trying to tell me? That I was supposed to endure the pain? I kept reading.

My tent is destroyed; all its ropes are snapped. My sons are gone from me and are no more; no one is left now to pitch my tent or to set up my shelter. The shepherds are senseless and do not inquire of the Lord; so they do not prosper and all their flock is scattered.

My sons are gone from me and are no more . . . the shepherds are senseless and do not inquire of the Lord.

Oh, Noah.

I hadn’t answered Hale when he’d asked me what I would do differently with Tori, but that knife he’d plunged into my chest and twisted earlier now cut my heart right out of my body. I cried and sobbed and buried my face in my hands and finally admitted that if I had talked to God about it first—if I had stayed with Tori and made up my mind to love her and to help her no matter what—Noah would still be with me.

I admitted that to myself and I admitted it to God and I had to slide the Bible off my lap so that it wouldn’t get wet because the tears just wouldn’t stop flowing.

I cried and I cried, but I was somehow still very certain that God was right there with me, and an incredible feeling of peace engulfed me even through my tears. When my crying finally slowed to a stop, I pulled the Bible back onto my lap and read what was next:

Listen, the report is coming—a great commotion from the land of the north! It will make the towns of Judah desolate, a haunt of jackals. I know, O LORD, that a man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.

A man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.

It is not for a man to direct his steps.

For the second time that day, I prayed to God:
I have been directing my own steps. I never ask You what You want me to do. I never seek Your guidance first. I do what I want to do and then I get mad when things go wrong . . .

And then I promised God that I wasn’t going to do that anymore.

My face now dry, I looked at the Bible on my lap and I looked around the home that I shared with Emily, and suddenly I knew exactly what God wanted me to do.

I also knew that I was never going to be the same again.

EMILY WALKED IN the door thirty minutes later.

She seemed different, too. She sat down in the chair nearest the couch, looked directly at me, and said, “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” I replied, surprised that she was meeting my eyes.

I looked at her carefully. She didn’t seem angry and her eyes weren’t bloodshot for the first time in days.