Where Hope Begins by Catherine West (12)

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

—LUKE 6:37

Curiouser and curiouser.”

I underline the words in my book of Alice quotes.

I can’t shake yesterday’s scene with Janice from my mind. I didn’t sleep well, again, for thinking about it. Kevin went back to his hotel before dinner last night. He didn’t say much to anyone. The kids stood outside with him for a bit, watched him drive off, and returned to the living room with half-happy smiles. It seems they’re working things out with their father, and I’m pleased about that. But since Kevin showed up, I’m feeling more conflicted than ever.

After my shower, I dress, blow-dry my hair, and pull back the curtains in my room. Kevin’s car is in the driveway. I step back in a hurry and peek around the curtains. My brother appears and hops in, and off they go. My breath fogs the cold glass as I watch the car disappear out of sight. O-kay . . . now he’s apparently going out for breakfast with Paul. I take a moment to pray for that meeting. For both of them. But mostly for Paul. He’d feel so bad if he actually hit my husband.

Just as I’m about to leave the room, I see a thick black book placed on the bookshelf. I know it wasn’t there yesterday. It’s a scrapbook. And it’s heavy.

I sit on the edge of the bed with the book in my lap. And all I can do is stare at it.

My mother’s handiwork.

Mom has been scrapbooking for a few years now. None of us thought the hobby would stick because they rarely do. Watercolors, pottery, crochet and knitting . . . she’s tried everything. It became a running joke within the family—what weird gift would we get from Mom this year. I half expected some kind of framed collage this Christmas, but my present was a lovely cashmere sweater and a spa day at a nearby hotel. Which I’m grateful for. But this . . . I finally open the book and a handwritten note slips out.

                                                                        I love you, sugar.

                                                                        Mama

It begins with pictures of us in our teens, here at the lake house. Paul, Peg, and me, and Kevin. She’s catalogued everything in chronological order. My high school graduation. Our wedding . . . Once our parents got past the initial shock, arrangements were made as quickly as possible and we held a small ceremony that December with only family and close friends invited. I try not to laugh as I stare at the two starry-eyed youngsters standing on the front steps of my parents’ home, me with my just slightly rounded belly. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. But we didn’t care. Despite everything, we were happy.

Next is an assortment of photos of me at various stages of pregnancy. Shelby’s birth. Her first year. Me, pregnant again, with Zoe. She was a surprise—we hadn’t intended to add to our new family so soon, but by that time we’d settled into the routine of marriage and parenthood and we were quite excited. Then came Adam, planned and perfect, the boy to round out our clan. Pages and pages of memories . . .

I can’t absorb it all now, so I put the book away and head down for breakfast.

Later that morning I take a walk with Mom and we pop in to say hello to Clarice and introduce Mom to the puppies. Hope is ready to come home with me, but I’ve decided to wait until everyone leaves, when the house will be quiet again. Brock is nowhere in sight and I don’t ask for him. Part of me is relieved.

I show her the work we’ve done in the greenhouse, and Mom nods and smiles and tries to look impressed. Her idea of gardening is buying a flower arrangement from Whole Foods, putting it on the table, and waiting for it to die. Fortunately, she’s always hired extremely talented landscapers; her gardens never tell the true story.

We’re on our way back home, so I take advantage of the opportunity. “Thanks for the book.”

Mom pauses by the lake, turns to face me, her eyes worried. “Was it okay? Daddy thought it might be too much, too hard.”

“No.” I smile and shake my head. “It’s perfect. Really.”

“Savannah . . .”

I nod. I know what she’s going to say. I’ve known it since Christmas Day. “We don’t have to have this conversation.” I laugh it off, but she frowns and folds her arms against her forest-green down jacket.

“You know you’ve never been terribly good at hiding your feelings, darling.”

“I must get that from you.” I sigh, look away, and watch my breath curl in the cold air.

“I won’t ask if there’s something between you and Brock Chandler because I think that much is obvious. But I will ask if you’re positive you’re making the right choice.”

I turn back to face the questions in her eyes. “Mom.” I don’t like the worried creases on her brow because I know I put them there. And I know she’s right. “It’s all so confusing.” The sun parts the clouds and shimmers across the snow. I tip my face toward it and bask in the warmth. “It’s not something I went looking for.”

“How far has it gone?”

“Far enough.” I shove my hands in my pockets and find the courage to tell her what happened, and didn’t happen, that afternoon before Christmas. “And before you ask, I told Kevin on Christmas Day. Of course he thinks I’m trying to get back at him.”

“Are you?”

I shrug and kick at the snow. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe it’s more that I . . . that I like being with someone who makes me feel special again.”

“Well.” Mom slips her arm through mine and we start walking again. “You’re all grown up now, perfectly capable of making your own decisions, but this worries me. You’ve been hurt enough.”

“By Kevin.”

“Yes. Which is why it’s not a good idea to barrel headlong into a relationship with a man you barely know. Because that’s what this is, Savannah. And it’s dangerous.”

“I know.” She’s not telling me anything I haven’t told myself. “I don’t intend to continue it, Mom. Believe me, it caught me completely by surprise. But I’m not stupid. I know I’m not in a position to be in a relationship with anyone.”

Mom nods, stops, and stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t know if I should tell you this. I wasn’t planning on it. But . . . yesterday, before Kevin left, he asked your daddy and me into the study. You were still in the kitchen.” She runs a gloved hand over her face with a shaky sigh. “At first I didn’t think Michael would agree. You know how angry he’s been with Kevin over all this. But he heard him out. All I can tell you, sweetheart, is that that man is filled with regret. He’s sorry and—”

“Mom, don’t.” I don’t want to hear it. An awful lump sticks in my throat. “What if he was just telling you what he thought you wanted to hear?”

“And what possible reason would he have for doing that?” Contrite anger inches into her tone. My mother has always had a soft spot for Kevin. “Savannah, if the man still intended to divorce you, do you think he’d be up here? Do you think he’d bother giving any of us the time of day? I don’t condone what he’s done, not in the least, but I believe he’s trying to make amends. And I also believe he still loves you.”

I yank my arm from hers and take a step back.

I can’t look at her. Because I don’t want to believe what she’s just said. I don’t want to hope, because before I allow myself to do that, I need to deal with what’s happened.

All of it.

“I don’t know how to forgive him, Mom.” And there it is.

The very idea of forgiving Kevin resembles something the size of the Hubbard Glacier in my mind. A few years ago we took an Alaskan cruise. I’ll never forget the feeling of standing on deck, staring at that massive stretch of blue ice, cold sea swirling around it. Every now and again blocks of frozen water would break away with a horrendous crack, the splash shaking the huge ship I stood on. And I remember feeling incredibly small, and in complete awe of God’s creation.

“Janice says I have to take him back. That it’s my duty.”

“Janice has some overzealous ideas.” Mom laughs, then gets serious again. “The choice is completely yours, darling. You don’t have to take him back, but I do believe, at some point, you need to forgive him. For both your sakes.”

“He hasn’t asked for my forgiveness.”

“No.” My mother’s eyes fill with sudden tears. “Perhaps he hasn’t. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t offer it.”

Paul returns just before lunch, a myriad of Christmas leftovers Mom, Janice, and I throw together. Kevin takes off without coming in and I’m okay with that. My brother picks at his meal in silence, not eating much, then disappears upstairs and stays there for most of the afternoon. Paul and Janice are leaving early tomorrow morning, and I want the chance to talk to him again before that. I hope he’s all right. Knowing how close he and Kevin were, I know he’s had a hard time with all this.

Haven’t we all?

Paul finds me in the kitchen later that night, nursing a cup of tea at the table.

His smile apologizes without words. He joins me at the table, bringing two glasses and a bottle of brandy with him.

I smile back and raise a brow. “Rough day?”

“You could say that.” Paul’s smile is his best feature. He’s always been more of the bookish type. He could pass for a college professor instead of a preacher. But he’s also a champion wrestler, something only a few people know. As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t put those skills to use since entering the ministry. I hope he didn’t try any of his old moves on Kevin this morning.

“Want to talk?” I ask, because I know he’s going to anyway, and he’s probably not sure I want to hear what he has to say.

“Don’t look at me like that. He asked me to meet him. I couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to say no.” He corrects himself and slides a generously filled glass toward me, and we offer a silent toast.

“Is Kevin okay?”

Paul shrugs, his eyes shimmering under the overhead lights. “I think he will be.”

“Are you okay?” My heart aches for him, for what their conversation must have cost him. Cost them both.

“I’m better than I was yesterday. Kevin and I have needed to talk for a long time. I thought about hopping on a plane a ton of times, you know, after you first called to tell me what was going on. But I was too angry. I didn’t trust myself not to plow him into the ground.”

“You didn’t . . .” For half a second I can still imagine that scenario.

Paul laughs and shakes his head. “No. We just talked.”

“Tell me what to do.” It’s a pointless request, but I make it anyway.

Paul’s amused laughter fills the warm kitchen. “Not a chance. I learned that lesson a long time ago.”

“Right.” When I was around nine, I got so sick and tired of my brother bossing me around that one day, after he commanded I turn off the television and go put the dishes away like I was supposed to be doing, I punched him in the stomach. He stopped telling me what to do after that. “If I promise not to punch you?”

“Savannah.” He rolls his eyes, drinks, and puts down the glass. “This is something you and Kevin have to work out. I can’t tell you what I’d do or what I think you should do. All I can do is be here for you, and trust that as you pray and think more on your situation, you will find the right answers.”

“Is that what you told Kevin?”

“Yes. Among other things.” He looks away, but I see his eyes mist over.

“Sometimes I think walking away would be easier.” I swirl my glass and watch amber liquid spin in circles, the way my thoughts have been doing all day. “If he’d just stayed with Alison, I could have started over. But now I don’t know which end is up. I don’t know what he wants.”

“I think you do know that.” Paul locks his gaze on me, smiles in that gentle way of his, and I can’t look away.

“He wants to reconcile.” It’s what I wanted weeks ago. But now . . . “What if I don’t?”

Paul’s gaze stays steady. “It’s your choice to make, Savannah. But if you both decide your marriage is worth saving, there will be work.”

“We’d have to go back, wouldn’t we? Rehash it all . . . talk about . . . about Shelby.” My hands begin to tremble and I slide them onto my lap.

“Grief manifests in many forms, Savannah. Sometimes it pushes people together. In other instances, especially in the death of a child, it can drive them apart.”

“Exhibit A.” I press my teeth into my bottom lip. Anger won’t do any good. I know that. But the moment I think I’ve conquered it, it charges back for another round. “Do you think our marriage is fixable? Have you seen couples go through this?”

“More times than I care to remember.” He splays his hands on the table, his eyes full of compassion.

“Do they stay together?”

“Some.”

“How?”

My brother pushes his fingers through his hair and shrugs. “Counseling. A lot of hard work from both parties. Patience and the willingness to rebuild the relationship, gain back the trust. I’m not going to sit here and tell you it’s easy. It’s not. And sometimes, no matter how hard a couple tries, it doesn’t work. Sometimes what they’re dealing with is too self-destructive, too damaging, and too dangerous. In some cases, they are better off apart.”

“You advise people to get divorced?” I wonder if Janice knows this.

“No. But I don’t condemn them if that’s the choice they eventually make. Yes, in a perfect world, happily ever after might exist. But we don’t live in that perfect world yet. Do I believe miracles can happen? Sure. But we have to step aside and let them. The answers aren’t always obvious. And sometimes things don’t happen the way we want or intend them to.”

“Tell me about it.” I finish my drink and rub a hand over my eyes. “It’s hard to look at him and not see her. Not think about what he did. I want to move past that, but I’m not sure how. I don’t know when or if that will happen.” Exhaustion is getting the better of me. But maybe I’ll sleep better tonight. Talking with Paul always helps.

He nods, his face grave. “I imagine that will be one of the biggest obstacles for you to overcome. For Kevin too. He’s going to have memories that won’t go away. He’s going to hate himself for a long time, Savannah.”

“He should.”

Paul props his elbows on the table, rests his chin over his clasped hands, and studies me through tired eyes. “I need to ask you something. I don’t want to hurt you, but I believe it’s something you need to think about, and work through. If you want to save your marriage, if you’re willing to fight for it, this must be dealt with.”

“Okay.” I give a shaky sigh, sit back, and grip my elbows. Then I remember what one of my therapists said about body language and how it can be perceived and make a tense situation even worse, so I let my arms go limp, breathe deeply, and fold my hands in my lap instead. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“Do you believe Kevin holds you responsible for Shelby’s death?”

“What?” The question shoots from my mouth like a gunshot, my blood pressure shooting right along with it.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said! What I want to know is why you said it. Did he say it? This morning . . . did he tell you . . . No, never mind. I don’t want to know.” This was the last thing I expected to hear. Not from Paul. I have to calm down or I’ll lose it. But I don’t want to calm down. I don’t want to sit here a minute longer. I don’t want to have this conversation.

“Savannah, breathe.” Paul is annoyingly calm while I am frantic.

I study my shaking hands, twist the rings on my finger, and think about the gold wedding band on the chain that sits on the dresser upstairs. And suddenly it’s all too much.

“I can’t do this. Not now.” I push my chair back and rush from the room. If there had been a door to slam I would have slammed it. Hard.