Staying true to his word, my father has allowed me space. Not a ton, several hours here and there on the weekends, but that time is mine. Soon, I’ll be alone for an entire weekend, and I’m so excited. The only requirement Dad has for me being left alone for the weekend is to meet with Pastor Hughes. I could think of worst hoops of fire to dive through so I agreed. He and I meet tomorrow.
Since Dad has given me space, I decided to dip my toe into being a part of the family again. My Friday nights are full of pizza, movie watching and then later, after my parents go to bed, spending time with Jesse.
Last Friday night, we watched the last movie in our Harry Potter marathon. Tonight is the start of the Star Wars marathon. Before starting the movie, Dad and I shared a long discussion as to whether we should start with Episode 1 or Episode 4. The entire time we debated, I knew we’d start with Episode 4 because that’s how the story should be told, but I found it oddly fun to tease Dad with the idea that Episode 1 should be the first.
To be honest, it was a test to see if he would lose his temper if I disagreed. He didn’t. Instead he laughed, and that returned my lost sense of safety in my home.
The credits on the movie roll, and my sister is sound asleep beside me in the recliner. She’s that sticky-skinned hot that happens when two people have been under the same covers for too long. My arm is numb, my leg aches, but I hate the idea of waking her up.
Mom giggles, and I glance over at her and Dad. They’re on the couch, cuddled together like they are two teenagers on a date. Mom is settled on Dad’s lap, and they have this expression of pure love as they look in each other’s eyes.
The sight is a hug and a pinch. This is what I want for my family, and I’m scared to have faith in what I see. Can it be like this forever?
This looks good and it feels slightly good, but Dad still wants me to stay in town for college. He still doesn’t want me to have a job. He still checks my cell every night. He’s changing, but how far does change go? Will it ever be enough?
Mom glances over at me, and she wears her real smile. My lips lift in return and that causes her to beam.
“Isabelle fell asleep,” I say in a soft tone so as not to awaken Sleeping Beauty. “I’m afraid if I stand with her, I’ll fall over.”
“I’ll put her to bed.” Dad kisses Mom’s lips, and I don’t look away like most teens would. Instead, seeing this is like rain on parched land.
Mom slips off Dad’s lap, he stands and he’s so gentle as he lifts Isabelle off of me. My sister rests her head on Dad’s shoulder as if that’s the place she is meant to be.
“You’re a good sister, Scarlett.” Dad readjusts Isabelle’s floppy arm.
“She makes it easy,” I say. Dad’s response is a smile of agreement, and I feel a softening toward him. He crosses the carpet of the finished basement then goes up the stairs.
“Tonight was fun,” Mom says.
“Yeah.” It was, and I hate the conflicted feelings that creates. I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. How is it possible to equal parts resent and love Dad? Will life ever be less confusing?
“I’m so happy you’re forgiving him, Scarlett. We’re becoming a normal family again.”
Mom uses the remote to find the next Star Wars movie so she misses how I flinch. I haven’t forgiven him. I’m still angry and sad and does that make me a horrible person because I’m not ready? I want to ask Mom, but I don’t. She’s happy, and I’m tired of being the person who brings this entire family down.
* * *
So far the conversation between me and the good pastor has been harmless. We discovered that we both love Netflix binging, and that’s led to a serious plot discussion.
“How are things with your dad?” Pastor Hughes asks.
I find myself taking a deep breath to answer, but then pause. “That was impressive.”
“What?” His feigned innocence act is awful.
“You got me talking, and then I almost answered a question I don’t want to answer.”
He chuckles then leans back in his chair. “I try. So let me ask a different question. Why don’t you want to answer the question?”
I pick lint from my blue sweater. “Can I ask you something instead?”
“Sure.”
“When people talk to you about what’s happening in their home, and bad stuff has happened, do you call the police?”
There’s an understanding that flashes over Pastor Hughes’s face that is sad yet comforting. As if he comprehends what’s going on in my mind, even if I don’t. “I’m what’s called a mandatory reporter. If there is abuse with a minor, I’m obligated to report it. Period. For an adult, I’m obligated to report it if the abuse is currently happening or if there is a credible threat of impending violence. Other than that, it’s confidential.”
Dad is no longer hitting Mom, and he’s not a current threat. I chip away at the pink paint my sister put on my pinkie yesterday. It’s odd and welcoming how Pastor Hughes allows me this silence to process this new information.
I have so many questions about my dad, and I do need someone to talk to—an adult who maybe has answers, but what if Dad is changing and then I go and say something that screws things up for us? What if Dad isn’t changing and Dad finds out I told? Either way, it seems better to talk in circles. “Can we talk about the hypothetical family like we did last time?”
“Sure. Hypothetically,” Pastor Hughes says, “what’s the dynamics of this family like?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess there’s a daughter and her dad can get angry.”
“In this family, does the dad hit the daughter?”
“No.”
“Does he hit the mom?”
I don’t answer and after a few beats he continues, “How does the daughter feel about the father?”
“She doesn’t want to talk about him.”
“Why?”
“Because while he’s changing, she’s not ready to forgive. Then you’re going to tell me that she should forgive him and that’s going to make me angry. I’m not in the mood for angry so why have the conversation?”
Pastor Hughes links his hands over his stomach. “Who do you think forgiveness is for?”
“The person who wants to be forgiven. They feel bad and they want to stop feeling bad so you forgive them to make them feel better. If I don’t forgive, then everyone else is mad at me for not forgiving because then I’m dragging out the issues. Then they blame me that no one can pretend the problem didn’t happen and they can’t move on in their pretend little lives.”
He subtly nods as if he somehow can commiserate with me, but I seriously don’t think that’s true. If he could understand, we wouldn’t be talking forgiveness.
“What if I told you forgiveness can be beneficial to the other person, but forgiveness exists to benefit you?”
“I’d ask if you’ve recently experienced a hard hit to the head or if you’ve taken part in recreational drug use in the past twenty-four hours. Not sure if they covered this in pastor school, but you should say no to meth.”
He chuckles and my lips twitch along with him.
“Let me tell you a story,” he says. “There was this young man named Jacob and he stole something very important from his brother, Esau. Esau was very angry and Jacob feared for his life so he ran away. He was gone for several years. Long enough that he had married and started a family, but one day God told Jacob to return home. Jacob was hesitant. He thought for sure if he returned that his brother would kill him.
“Listening to God, Jacob took his entire family and all his livestock and started on the long journey for his hometown. Jacob was fearful, though. He sent ahead messengers with lavish gifts to inform Esau of his homecoming.
“Finally, Jacob met Esau face-to-face. Jacob thought Esau meant to harm him, but instead Esau embraced his brother and welcomed Jacob and his family to live with him. God put it on both of their hearts to forgive, but God told Jacob to not live with his brother, but instead to live on the other side of town from him.”
“No offense,” I say, “but I’m not understanding the moral to the story.”
“Jacob spent years in fear of his brother. Could you imagine how that fear ate at him? I’m sure Esau spent many years in anger toward his brother, and I’m sure that anger ate at him, too. But when the two finally met, they were able to forgive each other for the terrible things that they had done to each other and were able to start new, fresh lives without that fear and anger.”
“Once again, all I’m hearing is you saying I have to forgive so everyone can live happily ever after, and I’m not feeling happily-ever-after-ish at the moment.”
“True, but you’re missing the important part. God didn’t force them to have a relationship. He didn’t force two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. He allowed space and time between the brothers before the forgiveness happened, and once they did forgive, He didn’t say they had to be friends again. In fact, He put much needed space between the two brothers.”
Pastor Hughes gives me an opportunity to speak, but I’m a prisoner of the town of Mute.
He leans forward on his desk. “If abuse happens in your home, I’m not telling you to accept the abuse. I’m telling you the opposite. Abuse of any type is wrong. If your father or your mother hit each other or if they were to hit you or your sister, you call the police. If you don’t feel like you can, then put it on me, and I will.”
“We’re talking hypotheticals,” I whisper.
“And I’m not. This is advice everyone, regardless of who they are, should know.”
I grab the arms of my chair as anger rushes through me. “But the mom will lie to the police.”
“Let her. That’s her choice, but it will put the family on the authorities’ radar. God does not want anyone in any situation that causes harm.”
“Then why this push to forgive?”
“Because you shouldn’t be consumed with anger and sadness, and a father’s sins shouldn’t destroy a child. Anger and sadness make it difficult to let love and joy into your life.
“Scarlett, hypothetical family or not, you’re sitting here today because your relationship with your father is complicated. Anyone could pick up on the tension between the two of you when you were sitting in my office together. I want to help you and I need you to listen to me.
“What I want you to take away from Jacob’s story is that forgiveness is possible, but forgiveness does not mean that you have to let that person back in your life. Forgiveness does not mean you condone or accept abuse. Forgiveness means that you’re going to be turning eighteen soon, graduating from high school, making choices for your own life. When you start fresh with a brand-new life, do you want to start that life full of anger, or do you want to focus on joy?”
What type of question is that? “Of course I want joy.”
“Then find a way to look at your father as someone who is broken and needs counseling and prayer. Forgiveness removes yourself from inside the situation and gives you the ability to look upon it with different eyes. God gave us free will. He does not like it when we choose to harm others, but that’s still a choice we can make. God teaches us forgiveness to help us realize that you aren’t responsible for someone else’s bad choices. That your father’s mistakes are his fault, not yours. That the anger only keeps you tied to the harm, not setting you free from it.
“I don’t want you to forgive your father to make his life easier, I want you to find forgiveness so you can move on with your life without your father’s demons becoming yours.”
I shift in my seat as my nerves demand for me to run, but as much as I want to run, I need to stay. I need answers. I need to know what to do. I’m nervous, I’m sick, I’m dizzy, but more important, I’m desperate. “Mom . . . Mom says Dad is changing. Dad says he’s changing, too. Is he? Is change possible?”
“I can’t answer the question as to whether or not he’s changing as I don’t counsel him. Even if I did, I couldn’t betray my trust with him, but I will say that I do believe that change is possible. Over the years I’ve seen many broken people who never thought they’d find joy be happy again. The question I have for you is, do you think your dad is changing?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “He’s not angry anymore.”
“I need you to hear me on this,” Pastor Hughes says. “Letting go of your anger and sadness does not give your father permission to hurt you or your family. I pray daily he is changing, and that you find peace. But you finding peace does not mean that you or your family are punching bags. There are no more second chances when it comes to abuse. Let me say it again: if your father hurts your mother or hurts you or your sister, you call the police. Do you understand?”
I slowly nod as I attempt to comprehend all he’s said. Letting the anger go doesn’t mean Dad has permission to hurt me again. It’s such a strange concept that my brain disconnects.
“A part of my job is to discuss what is called a safety plan with people who are in complicated relationships. It’s a plan of how to stay safe if you find yourself in a dangerous situation and a plan in case you need to leave home.”
I’m so overwhelmed that I can do nothing more than listen. Pastor Hughes continues to talk about the plan and then he talks about websites he wants me to visit, websites to show me that help is available, but suggests doing so at school or at a friend’s house.
I listen, yet I don’t because I’m still lost in the last part of our conversation. It is possible? Can I let the anger go? Can I let go of my sadness? I honestly don’t know.
* * *
There are several suitcases in the foyer and not a single one of them is mine. I sit on the steps, and I’m so stinking excited that my knee bounces. Dad is taking Mom and Isabelle to Atlanta for the weekend, and I’m staying here by myself, which is the most fascinating and exhilarating experience of my life. I’m not staying home either. I’m heading into Lexington with Jesse to go apartment hunting and to tour the University of Kentucky. Life is absolutely amazing.
In a suit, Dad walks out of his study and places his laptop bag near the pile. He takes in the baggage then looks at me. I don’t glower in return—that’s a major improvement for me. The anger I’ve been holding on to is becoming harder to muster, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Can I bring you anything back from Atlanta?”
“An ice cream sundae?” I ask.
Dad grins. “Not sure that’s going to travel well in my suitcase.”
I snap my fingers in a fake dang it.
“Seriously, though, do you want anything?”
“I don’t need anything, but thank you.”
Mom and Isabelle walk down the stairs, and Mom’s verbalizing a nonstop list of who I should call if there’s an emergency, and whatever random thing that pops into her head.
Isabelle gives me a wet kiss on the cheek, and my mom gives me a long, warm hug. Dad, on the other hand, gives me space. He has kept his word. He’s going to counseling, he seems to be listening to me, seems to be listening to Mom and he seems to be . . . changing. Like Pastor Hughes, I do believe change is possible, but I have to decide if change is possible for my dad.
“Be safe if you go out with your friends or if they come over,” Dad says. “Either way, let your mom know of your plans. Otherwise, call us if you need anything.”
His hands shake, and I think of what it must have been like for him to wait for a phone call from his sister that would never come. Just the idea hurts. I can’t imagine having lived it.
I walk across the foyer and hug my father. It takes a moment before he hugs me back. I close my eyes and revel. As a child this hug was the favorite part of my day. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed having a real home.
I pull back, and my chest tightens at the sight of Dad’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”
The emotion in me is so powerful that I only say, “Thank you for giving me space.”
“You’re welcome.”
Yes, I do believe change is possible. For me and for him.
“When you get back,” my palms sweat and my skin is clammy, “I’d like to talk to you.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
About my job, about Jesse, about how I don’t want to lie anymore and how I’d like him to, maybe not approve, but deal with my choices. “Things like how I’d like to get my driver’s license and a few other things. Maybe we could talk about them with Pastor Hughes.”
Happiness spreads over my dad’s face. “I’d love to.”
“You’re okay with letting me get my driver’s permit?” I’m testing him because if he’s not okay with me driving, then he won’t be okay with Jesse, my job or UK.
“It’s time, but we’ll discuss this more in counseling, okay?”
I’m absolutely blown away because it’s happening—he’s changing. “Sure.”
Dad says a few other things, reminding me of important numbers and where they will be, and then he finally leaves. Standing alone in my house, I’m filled with a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, we can be a family again.
I wrap my arms around myself because while that hope is uplifting, it is possibly the most terrifying emotion I have ever felt.