32

Claire Bassett

Closing the door behind me, I took a small step to see past the entry wall into the room where he sat. At first glance, I feared there had been a mistake. I saw a man seated there, thin, older, streaked with gray. The receding hairline and hollow look to his face did not belong to the husband I had known.

But it was Andrew. I silenced the cry that tried to leave my mouth. Breath caught in my throat, and I forced myself to inhale and exhale. I had waited so long for this moment.

His eyes buried in a magazine, he had not yet seen me, allowing me time to take a deeper look. There were the features I knew so well, hidden in this stranger. As I took a small step into the room, he looked up.

Neither of us spoke but stared as if seeing a mirage. He stood and took a few hesitant steps toward me. I stepped into the room and met him.

“Claire.” It was a whispered plea.

I raised my hand to touch his face, feeling weathered skin, protruding cheekbones. I brushed a fallen lock of damp hair back from his forehead, unaware of my tears until his fingers found them, absorbing the dampness from my cheek. I hadn’t spoken, but he continued whispering my name over and over.

Andrew’s arms wrapped around me, drawing me to him. I rested my head against my husband’s shoulder, his cheek pressing into me.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” His sobs came, my hand circling his back, trying to still the racking that consumed him. Only once before did he weep in my embrace—the day of Ellory’s death.

We held each other until we both cried ourselves out.

I inhaled, remembering the scent of him, my fingers spread wide over the cotton of his T-shirt. He buried his face against my shoulder. I moved my hand to his hair, holding him there, never wanting him to pull away.

He stepped back to cup my face, and he kissed me tenderly. We moved to the chair where he had been seated, and I slid onto his lap.

A year’s worth of pent-up emotions collided inside of me, and I didn’t know what to do with them.

“Why, Andrew? Why would you leave me?”

Instead of answering my question, his tears returned. He lowered his head into his hand. “Claire, I think I need help.”

“You needed help then. Why did you have to leave?” I wanted to speak love to him, but I ached to have answers.

“The guilt was so huge, I couldn’t see anything that would help me but punishment.”

Were we still here? Still having this year-old discussion? “But it was an accident.”

Andrew took my hands in his. “It was my fault.”

“No, Andrew. You weren’t held responsible. The investigation found you faultless.”

He shook his head and squeezed my hand. “I’m not faultless.”

“Honey, you are. It could have happened to anybody. Ellory ran behind you.”

Andrew flinched at the sound of her name, pain visible in his eyes. His hands rubbed his head, and he held it as it sagged to his chest. His next words came so soft they were almost imperceptible. “While I was reading a text message.”

My mouth opened, and I tried to look into his eyes, but he refused to look at me. Had I heard him correctly? “What did you say?”

He made eye contact with me and spoke with clarity. “I heard a text message come in and reached for my phone. I was in my driveway. I glanced to read it while I was backing out.”

My throat burned with nausea. “Oh, Andrew, you never told me.”

“I never told anyone. They never asked for my phone, and I never offered it.”

“Oh, Andrew.” I held him.

“I was in my driveway,” he repeated.

A few minutes passed before either of us spoke again.

“Claire, I’m trying to do what needed to be done. The legal system had no justice, so I punished myself. I had to.”

I moved and sat on the ottoman facing him. “Why?”

“I couldn’t forgive myself. There was too much guilt.”

I tipped his chin so he’d look at me. “What did that accomplish? Have you forgotten everything you once believed?”

“God forgives. I know that. But there had to be a consequence.”

I stood again and paced. “Why, Andrew?”

“How could I go on and be happy like nothing happened? That isn’t the way it should work.”

I sat down on the ottoman again, taking his hand in mine, and softened my voice to counter the bluntness of my words. “Could you make atonement by punishing yourself? That was already done for you. Don’t diminish the cross by living in false humility.”

Andrew’s eyes widened, and his mouth gaped open. He started to speak but was stopped by a cry in his words. His eyes darted to the Bible on the table beside him. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer. “God forgive me. Is that what I was doing?”

A spark of hope filled me for the first time since that awful day.

Andrew opened his eyes and turned them toward me. “My guilt and confusion squeezed out the truth. It felt way too simple for the weight of what I’d done.”

“The beauty of the gospel is in its simplicity.”

Andrew leaned forward and captured my hand in his. “Claire, I’ve made such a mess of things. Would you take me back after all this?”

My hesitation stunned me. I had cried and prayed and searched, longing for this very moment. Though I felt the beginning of hope, I still stared at a year’s worth of rejection, the pain of being abandoned.

“Why didn’t you come to me? Why did it have to be me looking for you?”

He rested his head on the chair. “I figured you moved on—wouldn’t want me back after so long.” He studied me, presumably appraising my expression to see if his statement held any truth. Jonathan’s face flashed before me, a yoke of guilt.

“I’ve been looking for you for a year. I love you, and I want you back—want our family back. I know you’ve suffered, but I’ve suffered, too. You left me, left our children. I need to know what’s going to happen now. I can’t live every day wondering if you’ll take off again.”

Andrew sat forward, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands. “It was never you. I tried to run from myself, but I guess that doesn’t work. Grief doesn’t go away, but it does fade. I still grieve over what happened, and I still feel guilt. But it’s not the same intensity. It’s a numb grief.”

“We’d still have to have counseling, Andrew. There’s too much hurt for us to deal with alone.”

“I know. I guess I’ve left us in a financial mess.”

“We can’t think about that now. Counseling has to come first if we’re going to get past this.”

He reached and took my hand and his eyes reflected a lifetime of pain. “Claire, can you ever forgive me?”

I reached forward and stroked his cheek. Then I leaned in and placed my lips on his. “I forgave you long ago. That doesn’t erase the hurt. I need to know you’ll never leave me again.”

“If you’ll have me back, I’ll do everything I can to make things right.”

I needed an answer to my question. “I need to hear the words. Tell me you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise, I’ll never leave you again. Never.”

The tension left my face, my mouth forming the start of a smile. “Then please come home, Andrew. We’ve missed you.”

He drew me toward him, holding me again.

There was a soft knock at the door, and we pulled apart. Scott poked his head around the wall.

“Everything all right here?”

We both nodded. Scott nodded, too. “Well, I’ll just head on back next door.”

And he softly clicked the door closed.