THE NEXT MORNING, I AWAKENED BEFORE DAWN, MY HEART hammering, remnants of a nightmare wrapped around my throat, choking me. I gasped for air.
“Kat?” Brad’s hand closed around my upper arm.
I turned my head. Even in the shadows of night, I knew he lay on his side, facing me.
“Bad dream?”
“Yes.”
He drew closer, his head now next to mine on the pillow. “It’s going to be okay.” The fingers of his right hand twined through the fingers of my left. “It’s going to be okay.”
We hadn’t eaten dinner the previous night. We hadn’t watched the news or answered the telephone when it rang. Instead,we took refuge in our bedroom. We took refuge in each other. We took comfort in the old and familiar. And for a time, the troubles surrounding us retreated. For a time, I could almost believe my life was perfect once again.
But it couldn’t last. Even my dreams knew that.
“I’d like you to go with me on Monday,” Brad said, his voice husky.
“Go where?”
“To the office.”
“Why?”
“The board meeting was called for nine a.m. I’ll ask the directors to approve an unpaid indeterminate leave, they’ll vote, I’ll get my personal belongings, and we’ll come home. It won’t take long.”
Although he sounded matter-of-fact, I wasn’t fooled. His heart was broken.
He rolled onto his back and drew me closer, my head now resting on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady thrum of his heart. My memories were filled with thousands of mornings that had begun much like this one, my head near his, our hearts beating as one, words softly spoken before the start of another day.
Much like but not the same. Nothing would ever be quite the same again. Couldn’t be. Nicole had changed all that.
I started to pull away.
Brad tightened his arm. “Don’t, Kat. Please.”
Had he held her the way he held me now? Had he stopped her from pulling away from his side, ever whispered her name in the dark?
Unwelcome images filled my mind.My nightmare revisited.
“There’s no way I can prove what I say is true. There’s no way to prove what she says is a lie.”His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Unless she confesses the truth, it will always be her word against mine.”
I preferred things to be black or white. That was my nature. I wasn’t comfortable with shades of gray. But that’s where I lived at the moment—in a world gone the color of slate.
He slid his arm from beneath my head, rolled to the side of the bed, and sat up. “I’m going to take my shower.” A few moments later, the bathroom door closed behind him.
Outside, the sky blushed with the promise of dawn, staining the blinds a pale pink. Another morning I might have gone to the window to observe the sunrise. I might have hummed a praise song as I witnessed the advent of another day.
This was not another morning. I had no songs inside me.
I got out of bed and slipped into my robe. Bare feet carried me down the stairs. I stopped to turn up the heat to take the chill from the house, then thought better of it. If Brad was out of work for long, we might not be able to afford extra heat.
I leaned the top of my head against the wall next to the thermostat. “Jesus, I’m frightened. I need Your help.”
Peace in the midst of a storm. Wasn’t that what believers were promised? So why was I drowning in fear instead? Why did the future look so black?
I entered the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Then I went into the family room to await the machine’s final gasp. My gaze fell on the end table to my left. There was my Bible, untouched since the previous Sunday.
I lifted the leather-bound book from the table and placed it on my lap. I didn’t open it, didn’t turn on the lamp. Instead, I allowed the stillness of morning to surround me, and I hoped it would bring an equal calm to my heart.
Wisdom . . . Discernment . . . Patience . . . Strength . . . Never had I needed those attributes more than now. Never had I felt so far from having them.
Where are You, God?
No sound. No touch. No sense of peace.
Only turmoil. Only aloneness.
Brad entered the kitchen. I watched as he took two mugs from the cupboard and set them near the coffeemaker. He drummed his fingertips on the countertop, then turned and walked to the telephone.
“We’ve got messages on the machine,” he said, punching the button.
The monotone voice of the recorder gave the date and time.
“Mom and Dad.”Emma.“Are you guys home? Call me when you get this.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
Again, the monotone voice.
“Brad? Evan Daniels. I got the message about the board meeting on Monday. Think it’s a good idea. We need to clear the air. But I’d like to talk to you before then if we can. Call me at home. I should be around most of the weekend.” A pause. “Oh, and sorry you’re having to go through this.We’re praying for you.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
I hugged my stomach.
The machine again, reporting the time of the call.
“Brad. It’s Stan Ludwig. Got your message. I’ll be at your office Monday morning a half hour before the meeting. There are some details we should work through before you talk to the board. If you’ve got any questions or concerns, call me over the weekend. And remember to stay away from the press. They aren’t going to let up. I suggest you stay close to the house until Monday. Might be a good idea to stay home from church tomorrow, just in case the media is waiting for you there.”
Click. Bzzzzzz.
The coffeemaker gurgled and gasped. I forced myself to breathe.
Years ago, I heard a friend say to her husband, “Be careful what river you go down because I’m in the boat with you.”
Today I understood what she meant. My life was joined with Brad’s. When we married, two became one. What he did or didn’t do had a direct impact on me. I was in the same boat with him. The rapids were rough, and water was rushing over the sides, attempting to swamp us.
Was there any hope we would survive?