She wanted to say ‘yes.’ She wanted to give in to the pull his words, his conviction, his evidence stirred in her, but it was all so much so quickly. As Trevor pointed out how he believed God had steered and guided them and paved the way for them to meet again and clear out the ugliness between them, she, too, was looking back at her own life and seeing mile markers along the way to this day as well.
The connections they shared were undeniable. She’d truly believed that day she’d stormed from the church that she’d never see the guy again, but over the last several years, he’d become friends with her sisters and would soon be practically family when Vic married Juliette. She pretty much had no choice but to forgive him—they’d be bound together by marriage, and Phoebe would do nothing to stand in the way of her sister’s happiness with Vic. But she wanted to forgive Trevor. She saw the change in him, saw that it was genuine, and saw that he, like Juliette, attributed it to God.
She’d known all along that Gia believed in God and lived fully in that belief. She never shoved it down Phoebe’s throat—not the way Renata used to do all the time—nor did she ever come across as anything other than exactly who she was.
And Phoebe knew that her parents—her beloved Maman and Papa—would give anything to know that she was committed to Christ. They, like Gia, had been devout believers with huge hearts.
She saw the change in Renata, too, and although her sister hadn’t come right out and said so, the softer side of her had come out of her brokenness when she lost her husband. Renata had birthed four boys before Charise and would never have asked Phoebe to be there in John’s place for any of them. Yet, because of the changes in Renata, her heart had been softened toward Phoebe right before Charise was born, and Phoebe had been the sister Renata had called to share in the joy of the birth of her baby girl. That sounded suspiciously like the kind of thing God might orchestrate, according to Trevor’s logic.
Trevor. He’d come back into her life at this moment when she so desperately needed someone to talk to, someone to pull her out of the pit of misery she was wallowing in. Of all people, she never would have chosen him, but he was the perfect person for the job, when all was said and done. He already knew what had happened in her life. He already knew the worst of her story—maybe not the tragic ending, but he already knew the tragic course she’d set on. And yet, here he was, sitting beside her, holding her hands, telling her that God had brought them together, that he had become the man she needed him to be, touching her the way she longed to be touched, with something more than lust or power or manipulation…with kindness instead, with tenderness, with love—
She jerked her hands out of his grasp and stood so quickly she got a little lightheaded and had to brace herself on the armrest behind her.
“Whoa. You okay?” Trevor asked, getting to his feet beside her. He reached for her but she dodged his touch and headed toward the table.
“Yeah, I just need a drink. You want yours?” Her voice was too bright, too cheery. “Or maybe more coffee?” She hoped he’d choose coffee. Then she could escape for a minute to try to wrap her head around the insane thoughts spinning out of control in her mind.
“Water is fine.” He followed close behind and she could hear the concern in his voice. She moved around to the far side of the table to keep it between them; she wouldn’t be able to think if he touched her again. She needed a break. She needed fresh air, or at least air that she wasn’t sharing with Trevor. She took a long swig of water, making a concerted effort to tamp down the panic rising up in her.
“You know, Trevor, you’ve given me a lot to think about,” she began. “I’m glad we talked. Thank you.” She accidentally dropped the bottle cap and when he came around the table to pick it up for her, she practically leapt back so he wouldn’t brush against her. She tried not to even touch his fingers when she took the little white lid out of his, and she stopped looking at him when she saw the hurt in his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, sidling a few steps away from him. Out of reach.
“Phoebe, don’t.” So many emotions flooded those two words. The way he said her name made her want to fling herself into his arms and never let go.
“I—I think you’d better go,” she murmured. “I need—I need—” She broke off, not knowing what she needed. “I need you to go, please. I need—I can’t think with you here. With you touching me. You make my head spin.”
In two steps, he was around the table, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders, drawing her slowly, carefully, closer, until her rested his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and said, “I’ll leave. I will. But don’t run, okay? Don’t leave me. I don’t want to wait another decade to find you again, but I will.” He drew back the tiniest bit so he could look at her, then his hands moved up the column of her neck, his fingers slipping into the hair at the back of her neck. His palms cupped her jaws and lifted her face, one thumb smoothing over the curve of her bottom lip.
And then he lowered his mouth to hers. It was only a kiss. But in that brief touching of his lips to hers, she sensed his hope, his fear, and his promise to her. I’m not going anywhere.
She wanted to promise him the same thing, but she couldn’t find the words. And when he stepped back and made his way to the front door, she wanted nothing more than to beg him to come back, to kiss her again, to hold her close. Dance with me, her heart cried out. Stay with me, her body echoed. “Pray for me,” she whispered, surprising herself.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll never stop.” He stepped out into the night and pulled the door closed behind him.
Phoebe stood rooted to the spot, her legs trembling beneath her, her blood pounding in her veins. Go after him! Go after him! Stop him! But she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. This was about more than Trevor and his unnerving certainty about them. This was about more than her mixed emotions toward him.
This was about more than her resistance to see Baby Charise. About more than her longing to see Lily, about more than the ache in her heart for her mother.
This was bigger, broader, all of those things combined and more.
“God? Can you hear me?” She sounded like a child to her ears. “I don’t want to run anymore. But I don’t know how to stay. I don’t know how to stop. I’m so—I’m so afraid.”
The spacious room reverberated with silence, but as Phoebe waited and listened, it seemed to fill with something—or Someone—more. With a sense of deja vu, Phoebe remembered the way this felt; like she was standing on holy ground. It was exactly how she’d felt when she first entered that church the day after Mother’s Day. What had Trevor said? Like she could almost hear God breathing beside her.
“Are you there?” she asked into the hushed stillness. “Will you show me that you’re who you say you are?” She knew it wasn’t that simple. God wouldn’t flip on the television to interrupt a newscast like she’d seen in the movies. He wouldn’t spell out his name in the stars, or turn a jug of water into wine; after the week she’d just endured, that sounded like the worst sign ever.
But she’d just spent the last several hours with a man who claimed God spoke to him in some way. Over and over, Trevor said God told him to do or say something, to obey or act. If God could communicate with Trevor on a regular basis, to the point that the man seemed to do nothing without first getting God’s approval, why wouldn’t he make himself real to her in some small way? She wanted so desperately to believe in him, to trust him, but she also wanted so desperately to know that she could, that he was who he said he was, and that he would be there for her.
She heard Trevor’s voice in her head: I’m not going anywhere.
“I need you to promise me the same thing,” she whispered to God.