Ben sat in his truck, staring at the entrance to the gym. Half an hour before, he’d left a repair job about a block away. He’d been heading for home, but then he’d seen the familiar red vehicle with its large white decal on the back window and had made a sudden turn into the gym’s parking lot. It was probably crazy to wait here. In the past five years, Craig had refused every attempt Ben had made to talk to him. He’d disregarded Ben’s efforts to reconnect as well as his requests for forgiveness. Calling on the phone got him nowhere other than a few curse words in his ear, followed by a quick hang up.
If he could talk to Craig . . . If he could tell his old friend what had happened to him in recent years—what God had rescued him out of and what God was doing in his life today. If Craig could see what Ben wanted to do with the farm, what good could come from it, perhaps how Craig could benefit from it. But none of that would happen unless Craig would see him, unless Craig would hear him out.
You can’t blame him. You were a coward. You bailed on him.
Ben wasn’t sure if the voice in his head belonged to the Enemy or to his conscience. Whichever, he tried to push it away. It didn’t work. More memories tumbled in, proving the truth of the accusation.
“I was a coward,” he said aloud. “I did bail on him.”
After Ben got out of juvie, how many opportunities had he ignored to see his friend? Too many to count. Especially all of those times he could have visited Craig in the hospital. He didn’t even know how many surgeries his friend had endured. But Ben hadn’t gone to see him, at home or in the hospital. Instead, he’d tried to forget his friend and the accident that had changed both of their lives. Drinking had been his preferred method for forgetting. And after a while, getting drunk had become more important than anything or anyone.
Even now, it surprised him how many people he’d managed to fool through the years. He’d held down jobs and even impressed bosses. He’d managed to keep his grandparents from discovering the truth for a long time. He doubted his mom had seen anything amiss, but then she’d never paid too much attention to him, even when he’d lived at home. Once he was out on his own—as soon as he’d turned eighteen—she hadn’t cared what he did with his life. He’d isolated himself and done his drinking in private. At least he hadn’t been stupid enough to drive drunk again. That was a mercy.
But eventually the house of cards he’d built had come tumbling down. There hadn’t been any hiding the truth from the people closest to him any longer. Or from himself. He was an alcoholic, and his life had spiraled out of control. He’d needed help, and miraculously, he’d received it.
Closing his eyes, he drew in a slow, deep breath. He thanked God for his grandfather’s intervention, for his weeks in a Christ-centered recovery program, for the moment he’d been born again, for the year on the farm that had followed. It was there that he’d learned to live one day at a time, totally dependent upon the Lord. And only after all of that had he tried to contact Craig.
Step 9: making direct amends to persons he’d harmed wherever possible.
His first attempt to see Craig had been thrown back in his face. As had all the attempts that followed.
He opened his eyes again in time to see the automatic doors to the gym open and Craig roll out in his wheelchair. Even from where he was parked, Ben could see the strength in his friend’s upper body and the body mass that had been lost in his lower limbs. No one was with Craig, which meant he must be able to maneuver himself into the automobile and then get the wheelchair into it too. Ben had seen examples of the process on the internet, but until now he hadn’t known for sure if it was possible for Craig.
Ben reached for the door handle, then stopped, wondering if he was being fair. Craig wouldn’t be able to hang up on him or avoid him. He would have to listen, at least long enough for him to get into the car and drive away. Well, maybe he wouldn’t listen. But at least he would hear.
“God, am I doing the right thing?” He reached a second time for the handle, and feeling no check in his spirit, he opened the door. “Guide my words, Lord.” He walked in the direction of Craig’s car, getting there first.
Craig didn’t look up until it was too late for him to change directions.
“Hey,” Ben said.
It was a second or two before his friend’s expression said he’d recognized him. Not because Ben had changed all that much, he suspected, but because Craig hadn’t expected to ever see him again. He glowered at Ben but said nothing as he rolled the final distance to the car.
“Craig, will you give me a few minutes?”
“No.”
Strange how a single word could strike with such force.
Ben took a step back. “I know I should’ve been there for you after the accident, and I wasn’t. I’ll always be sorry for it.”
Craig grunted as he opened the car door.
“We were kids. I made a mistake. I was hoping . . . now that we’re men—”
“What? That we could put the past behind us? Maybe you can.” Craig pounded on his thighs with the heels of his hands. “But I’m stuck in the past.”
The bitterness in his friend’s voice cut Ben like a knife.
With a practiced motion, Craig hoisted himself into the car. Moments later, he folded the wheelchair and maneuvered it in behind the driver’s seat.
“All I want is a chance to talk to you. For us to talk to each other. Will you at least consider it?”
Craig answered by pulling the door closed.
Ben seemed to feel it slam in his chest and took another step backward. But as he watched his old friend drive away, he reminded himself how many doors had been slammed in his face—at least metaphorically—as he’d tried to get his equine therapy program started. But now things had begun to change. Now some doors had opened.
“Nothing is impossible with God.”
* * *
With fifteen minutes left on her shift, Ashley was refolding towels on a display when movement at the end of the aisle drew her attention. She pasted on a smile, prepared to greet a customer, but the smile faded when she saw Paul Redding.
“Hi, Ashley.”
She drew a breath, steeling herself. “Paul.”
“I wondered if you still worked here.” He smiled. “You never seem to be around when I’m shopping.”
It was an untrustworthy smile. She should have recognized that the first time he’d shined it in her direction. Pity she hadn’t. It would have saved her a world of hurt.
“You’re looking good, Ash.”
She hated it when anybody shortened her name like that—and she’d told Paul so in the past. He either didn’t remember, or he meant it to be a jab. She supposed it was the latter. “Was there something I can help you find?”
The smile disappeared. “No, thanks.”
It occurred to her then that the months since they’d seen each other hadn’t been kind to him. His eyes looked tired. His mouth was drawn. True, he remained roguishly handsome, but in other ways he seemed quite changed.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your work.” He pointed. “Wouldn’t want those towels to go unfolded. Important stuff.” Then he gave her a much less charming smile before turning and disappearing around the end rack.
Ashley drew in another breath, trying not to feel the insult. She hated that Paul could get to her like that. It hadn’t been until she’d broken things off with him that she realized how often he’d made those types of verbal digs. And even then, it had taken awhile to understand the many ways he’d manipulated her throughout their relationship. The many ways she’d allowed him to manipulate her. Both with flattery and with words meant to undermine and sting.
She should have seen it long before the night she’d found him drinking with Dylan.
“Ashley?”
She turned at the sound of her coworker’s voice.
“You okay?” Shelley asked.
Ashley nodded. “Yes.” She folded another towel. “Just finishing up. Almost time for me to head home.”
Shelley didn’t look convinced but left without saying anything more.
Her thoughts still churning, Ashley headed to the employees’ break room at the back of the store. She put her vest in the locker, punched out, then went outside without encountering anybody. Which was to her liking. Her mood was decidedly grim by this time.
Never again, she told herself. She would never make that mistake again. One would think, given a lifetime of experiences with her brother, that she could have seen what was right in front of her face.
Horses and dogs . . . and no men. As long as she had horses and dogs in her life, she could be perfectly happy—and have a lot less stress.