This preoccupation with your accomplishments or your failures leaves no room for you to be totally enamored with God alone.
JEANNE GUYON
LIGHTNING FLASHES IN sharp, jagged bolts above the city. Rain beats against the panes of floor-to-ceiling glass.
"Someone's ticked." I shiver and walk to the wall behind me and turn up the thermostat. I was invited to attend a party hosted by Urbanity this evening, but I declined. I've turned down every invitation I've received lately. With this storm raging, I'm glad I've adopted the hermit lifestyle.
I shake my head. "You're going to have to get a life, Andee."
I sigh.
Nothing holds any appeal.
I hear my computer ding in my office and walk in to check my e-mail. "Well, hello Lightseeker. Where've you been hiding yourself?"
I open the new post and read:
Dear Readers,
My name is Jenna Durand Bouvier . . .
"What the—?" I read those words again, but struggle to assimilate the information. Anger prods. "What an idiot." I'm not sure if it's myself or Lightseeker—no, Jenna—I'm speaking to.
I continue to read:
You have known me as Lightseeker because I've feared revealing my identity. But this evening, I'm choosing to crucify fear. And there will be no resurrection. Illumination came as I fully surrendered my will and my ways to God.
For many weeks I've considered what it means to take up my cross and follow Jesus. It seemed like an impossibility. It means, for me, standing back from all I've known. Standing back from my life, hands open, and offering all to God. Standing back from my own understanding. Standing back from owning responsibility that wasn't mine to own. Standing back from enabling, encouraging even, the sins of another.
Stand back, Jenna. I have heard God's command for me, over and over.
Tonight, I also stand back from omission, and claim my God-given identity. I am Jenna Durand Bouvier. I am God's child. I am His unique creation. And I am standing back from everything and everyone who has something other than God's purpose in mind for me.
Tonight, I stand back from my life—which means I will walk away from my life.
I will walk into the unknown. Down a dark and winding path. But I will not walk alone. He will illuminate the path ahead, one step at at a time.
I finish reading and I want to stand and cheer for Lightseeker. "You go, girl!" But I want to strangle Jenna. How can they be one and the same?
How could she correspond with me, knowing it's me, and not reveal herself?
How could she betray me like that?
How could she betray—
The thought smacks me in the face. "Well, there's irony for you." Sam mews what I interpret as agreement. "Hey, whose side are you on?"
I wander around the penthouse trying to make sense of what I now know. Hadn't Jason told Jenna about the way I let him go—okay, the way I dumped him? Yet, she still responded to me. Still . . . treated me with respect. Or maybe she didn't know. Maybe Jason kept that to himself, too embarrassed to let on that he'd been dumped. But no, that's not Jason's style.
I make the circle through the living room, kitchen, and back through the office, ending up in the living room again. Then it hits me. The who of Jenna's posts—the person she is walking away from tonight is Brigitte.
I think back to the first encounter I witnessed between them that morning in the solarium at the Bouvier home. I recall Brigitte's anger and disrespect. But I also remember earlier, the moments before Brigitte made her debut as the wicked witch. Jenna's . . . peace. My sense that she was somewhere else—something else—ethereal was the word that came to mind.
Now I understand. Okay, understand might be a little strong. I don't get it, but I know, having read her posts, that her peace that morning came from an encounter with God. "I hope you can find that happy place tonight, Lightseeker. And stay there."
I assess her reality—and then feel sick.
The reality? She's walking away from the Bouvier estate—and that's a chunk of change. And where's she headed? Back to Daddy, I assume, who is now owned by Brigitte.
Thanks to me.
I sold you out, Lightseeker.
The same way I sold out Jason.
I sabotaged not just myself, but I also destroyed the Durand family. What will they do?
Somehow, I figured they'd always have Jenna—and all that Bouvier money—to fall back on. But no. They'll have nothing. Again, I clamor for a solution, a way to fix what I've destroyed. A way to redeem the situation.
And myself.
Only one thing comes to mind, but the implications are . . .
I shake my head. I can't risk it. If I give Bill Durand the money to pay the note, Brigitte will figure it out. She'll know where the money came from. She's too smart. Too savvy.
And she'll destroy me.
My career.
Everything I've worked for.
"What's done is done, Andee. And boy, did you ever do it."
I land on the sofa, pull my knees to my chest, and sit with my self-contempt. I know God is supposed to be all about forgiveness, but how can He ever forgive me for this?