chapter
13
Forgiveness isn’t easy. Sometimes it’s more painful than the wound itself.
For some reason the words of my old therapist popped into my head. Probably because I’d been struggling for the past week that I’d been home. I had known that it wouldn’t be easy. I hadn’t known it would be this hard.
I sat at the kitchen table as Clark cooked my favorite omelet. He was rambling like we were fine.
“I’m so excited about this program,” he said as he set a glass of juice in front of me. “Jarvis Christian College is really trying to boost their enrollment. They got a grant and they’re working with us to identify candidates. They’re giving two of our boys full rides. Unfortunately, I’m having the hardest time finding some kids to take advantage of the opportunity.”
I tried my best to be interested. At any other time I would’ve been. But staying focused on the future—and not the past—was a struggle.
Clark set my omelet down and studied me.
“Am I boring you?”
“No,” I said, managing a smile. I told myself each day that, while I didn’t have to be happy and giddy, it did no one any good for me to walk around clutching my anger like a well-worn sweater. I remember the therapist telling me that there was a reason the front windshield was bigger than the rearview mirror. The past needed to fade away. “I think it’s really good what you guys are doing at the Boys & Girls Club. Who are you going to give the scholarships to?”
“I already have one kid on board, William Johnston. His friends call him Wiz.”
“Oh, I remember him,” I replied. “He’s the little freckled cutie-pie you had over for Christmas dinner one year.”
“Yes, him and Trey Ruffin. I wanted Trey because he has the book smarts, but he’s kinda just dropped off the radar and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. Wiz is excited, though.”
Any other time, I would’ve relished this quality time, talking about the things we loved. But it’s like the devil wouldn’t let me focus.
“How are we going to heal?” I finally said, immediately shifting the tone of the conversation.
Clark slid into the seat across from me and took my hand. “I don’t know. All I can do is make you the promise that I’m going to do whatever it takes. Pastor Ed wants us to come see him,” he said, referring to our minister. “If you prefer that we get a regular counselor, we can.”
I thought about it. Maybe we could do that after, but right now it was going to take a whole lot of God to help us get through this.
I lowered my eyes, determined not to cry. Why wouldn’t my heart cooperate with my head since I’d made the decision to forgive my husband?
“I don’t know how many ways to tell you I’m sorry,” Clark said. He’d been apologizing every day since I’d returned home.
I opened my mouth, poised to ask for more details about what had happened between him and Dawn. But something made me pause. Would any answer ever be good enough?
You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep rereading the last one.
I smiled as I remembered Clark’s words when he’d been trying to convince me to adopt—and I answered each request with a “but the baby we lost . . .”
Instead of asking about the past, I decided on neutral ground.
“Whatever happened to that grant you were getting from the Lawson Foundation to renovate the club?” I asked.
Clark leaned back. “Unfortunately, they wrote us a bad check that didn’t clear, and that we can’t collect on because they filed bankruptcy.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “So their debt just gets canceled? How shysty.”
Clark pointedly looked at me and replied, “Nah, the foundation does good work. Mr. Lawson has really tried his best.” He hesitated. “Just because someone really screwed up once and can’t repay their debt doesn’t mean they are a bad person and will never be able to get it right in the future. Bankruptcy is about canceling all their debts, giving them a second chance, and hoping they have learned a lesson from their experience.”
I stared at him, reading the undertones of his message. After a few moments I replied just as pointedly, “But bankruptcy doesn’t allow you to just start over as if nothing happened. You have no credit at all. You can’t borrow, you have to be accountable for your actions, showing the court that you are worthy of a second chance.”
He didn’t blink as he responded. “And anyone who really appreciates that second chance, and the fact that they don’t have to live in debtor’s prison for the rest of their lives, doesn’t mind.”
“So, the prisoner should just be set free?” I asked.
“It’s the first step to forgiveness,” he said. “In fact, that’s what forgiveness is. A person might not deserve it, but someone sees fit to give you a second chance, believe in you and give you a fresh start.” He stopped beating around the bush as he leaned in. “I thank you for coming back to me, Savannah. Now I pray for a fresh start. I want your heart back, and I’d like you to know that I will guard it until the day I die.”
We sat in momentary silence, and I resolved—in that moment—that I would choose the front-view window and not the rearview mirror.
“You know what I’d like?” I finally said, smiling at him.
“I’d like to finish breakfast and then go see our son.”
That made Clark smile, too. Our adoption wouldn’t be finalized for thirty days, but we’d immediately bonded with Franklin, and that little boy had given me more joy than I’d ever thought possible. I wasn’t just fighting to heal for me and Clark, I was fighting for that new child. Our son.
“I’d like that, too,” Clark said. He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and held my hand as we continued eating.
Clark was more than his mistake. He was right. Freeing him would set me free.