A House Divided Page 20

  Most of all, she cried for Benny. She cried for the bizarre desperation that had driven him to commit such a terrible act. The tears flowed for an indeterminable time. Finally, totally spent, she closed her eyes and whispered a desperate prayer. Dear God, please help me find the forgiveness in my heart you want me to feel for Benny. Please help and heal Benny, too.

  Peace washed over her as she felt the first stirrings of forgiveness for Benny. Maybe, someday, she might also find the strength to forgive the woman who’d taken August’s life.

  * * *

  Outside his condo, Mark sat in his parked car, staring into the darkness. He still felt frozen, as if he were walking in a dream. And oh, if it were only a dream, he thought as the reality of the day’s events gnawed at his soul. Yep, the news about Rardin had topped them all. The reality still hadn’t quite sunk in, but his greatest concern was for Rebecca, not himself. It appeared Rebecca had been even more so stunned than he. Devastated, actually. Then there had been that letter to her from Rardin. What had he said in it? But on second thought, was there anything the fool could say that would help soften the blow over what he’d done?

  He’d been sincere when he’d tried to assure Rebecca that there was hope in store for Rardin, a sure recovery, a means of overcoming the demons that had driven him. Yet as they’d driven back to her sister’s place in silence, he sensed she wasn’t interested in hearing his flimsy, though clinical assessment about Rardin and his future. Rather, he was certain it was their own futures—Rebecca’s and Mark’s—she wanted to hear about now. If he were a betting man, he’d bet his life on that.

  Later, inside the condo, he found a note on the kitchen table, written by one of his guests. It hadn’t been signed. The missionary couple presently occupying the condo was Pastor Jacob Eli and his wife Betty, and judging by the tone of the note, he assumed it had been composed by Betty. She said they had heard the news on the TV and they were ever so sorry. They hoped he’d help himself to the leftover grilled chicken, baked potatoes, green salad, and a raspberry pie in the fridge. They’d also taken the bed in the loft that night, so he could sleep in his own bed.

  How considerate, Mark thought as he carried a plateful of food through the French doors onto the deck. He suspected that by now almost everyone had heard the news on TV, and he wondered what their reactions might be. He sat down on a deck chair and attempted to eat, but he could only pick and prod at the food with an empty fork. Even the delicious smells failed to tempt his appetite.

  Later as he tried to sleep, he tossed and turned, his thoughts a crazy, never-ending maze. The coffee hour meeting that morning had ended on such a promising note, only to have been soured by Bandit’s poisoning, the fire, and finally Rardin’s confession.

  Then too, every time Mark closed his eyes, all he could see were tongues of orange-red flames, dark smoke billowing through the burnt-out roof. He could almost smell again its choking scent, taste the chalky grit in the back of his throat, and hear the shouts of the firefighters.

  Most of all, he could hear a little girl’s cries and see the horror on her mother’s face. Her beautiful, sweet mother. If only he could allow himself to love her the way she was meant to be loved. So what was holding him back? Did he think she’d desert him someday as his own mother had? Did he still believe the work that consumed him so was more important than a committed, loving relationship? What would it take to draw his priorities back into the right perspective?

  He sat up and switched on the reading light, reaching for his Bible on the bed stand. His favorite passages of scripture in Proverbs failed to calm him. He remembered his cell phone ringing back at the precinct. Should he get up and check to see whether the caller had left a message or wait until morning? No, he’d better look now. The call had come close to midnight, so it had to have been important.

  Bolting out of bed, he hurried barefoot into the kitchen. He snatched the phone out of the recharging cradle, scrolled through the menu, and punched in the message command. An all-too-familiar voice spoke back to him.

  “Hello, Mark. It’s Joan. Sorry about the hour, but I just couldn’t wait a minute longer to share my wonderful news. Everything’s happened so fast. Norm McIntosh and I are flying to Vegas next weekend to get married. Bet that knocks the socks right off you, huh?” She laughed. “Oh sure, he’s much older than I, of course, but what difference does that make since we’re both responsible adults? You would have been my first choice, of course, and I think you realize that. But I know you’ve got the hots for that tenant of yours, and I’m not willing any more to keep fighting for your attention.

  “Now that I’ve had the chance to come to my senses, I realize Norm is the only man for me. He knows how to treat a woman right, especially when it comes to spending money on her and showing her a real good time.” She laughed again, then continued with a more serious tone. “Besides, he’s lonely. He’s been a widower too long now, and he needs me. After the wedding, we’re going to live in his house in Palm Desert. He’s decided it’ll be more lucrative to tinker in real estate there, and I agree. And just in case you don’t already know, his daughter, your ex-fiancée, is happily married to a computer engineer and living in the next town. It should be quite a cozy arrangement, don’t you think?

  “Sorry I can’t give you an official two weeks’ notice, boss, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Starting right now, just consider me out of there. Best of luck to you, Mark. You deserve it.”

  The message ended, Mark clicked off the power button, shook his head, and chuckled. Then he exhaled a sigh of relief. Another problem solved.

  After scrawling a note to his guests indicating his whereabouts, Mark left the condo and drove to the church. It was the only place left where he could be alone—really alone. Except for himself and the Lord, of course. Besides, he was certain his restlessness must be disturbing the couple. The upstairs loft was completely open, and sound traveled like greased lightening up to those vaulted ceilings.

  Inside the church, he settled into a front pew, knowing he indeed had some work to do. Soul work. And it would be much more arduous than any work he’d tackled before, even getting the halfway house pushed through.

  Now in the semi-darkened sanctuary, the cross above the altar somehow seemed larger than in daylight, a presence that seemed to reassure him. He sat ramrod straight and gazed up at it for an indiscernible length of time. Oh Lord, what is it you’re trying to tell me? he silently cried. Is the fire some kind of a sign? Aren’t my good works acceptable in your sight? Haven’t I earned enough points to absolve myself for driving my mother to the brink of self-destruction?

  The silence wrapped around him like a fluffy down comforter. Peace. Concord. The peace that passed all understanding brought a smile to his heart. Little by little, he felt the distressing voices from his past falling away like withered blossoms falling from a pod. And in the silence, those voices were replaced by a new voice.

  Mark, my faithful servant. You need not blame yourself. You were only a child, a scared and lonely child. It wasn’t your fault. And while you’ve indeed struggled to please me over the years, good works without true faith are nothing but ashes, just like the ashes you witnessed tonight. Fragile ashes. Strewn by the winds of time. Cast away now your unjustified guilt. Have faith and know I’m always with you.

  Bowing his head, Mark swallowed convulsively and wept.

  * * *

  Rebecca narrowed her gaze on the dark road ahead. Sleep had been an impossibility, even after she’d prayed for Benny. Oh yes, she’d found the much-needed forgiveness in her heart she knew would be pleasing to God, but there was an even larger issue at hand that was shredding her soul into pieces. Mark.

  Dressing hurriedly, she’d decided to go for a drive. Perhaps the solitude, the gentle rhythm of the tires against pavement, might soothe her frazzled nerves. She needed to think. Try to get her thoughts in order. Nothing else, so far, had worked.

  The maple-lined streets were quiet, with only a
n occasional car approaching from the opposite lane. A dog barked from somewhere in the distance. Off to the side, her headlights caught the sudden flash of a pair of small, nocturnal eyes, undoubtedly those of a cat or a possum or raccoon. She slowed, but the animal stayed put as she passed by. Thank goodness, she breathed. After Bandit’s poisoning—or whatever had happened—only hours earlier, she couldn’t bear to see another one of God’s creatures, no matter how insignificant, injured.

  Peering straight ahead, she silently prayed. I’m scared, God. So scared. And I’m asking your forgiveness for blaming you for taking August from me. I realize now that he was merely a victim of the collective human condition. I was wrong to blame you. My bitterness has not only fueled my dying faith, but caused me, too, to wither and die.

  Yes, God, August was my first love, and no one can ever replace him. But now I’ve fallen in love with Mark. So has Wendy in her own little-girl way. Mark has stepped into my life and unknowingly shown me that it’s possible to start over again. She faltered, struggling against the knot growing in her throat, then continued. I don’t like living in fear. I’m frightened for both Mark and myself. I’m especially frightened by the energy that drives Mark, because it appears as if he’s allowing it to destroy himself.

  She braked at a four-way stop. She backhanded the trickle of moisture coursing down her cheek and gulped back a new onslaught of tears. How could she ever bring herself to tell Mark good-bye forever? How could she move back to California where she might never see him again? While part of her still wanted to run, the other half yearned to stay, to plunge forward in her love for Mark, no matter what. And as far as Wendy’s safety went, Rebecca realized there would never be any guarantees, no matter where they lived, even here in this “safe” little town.

  A verse of scripture buried somewhere deep in her memory floated to the surface. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

  Suddenly she felt as if someone were cradling her in a warm, soft pillow. Light flooded her soul as if the very windows of heaven had been flung open. Oh God, thank you! She knew in an instant she could claim that light as her own, not just for today, but always. She could begin anew in the Lord. She could claim once again the life of faith and embrace fully whatever lie ahead.

  And with or without Mark, she would remain strong.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following Monday as Rebecca carted an armload of empty, nested cardboard boxes out from the trunk of her Saturn—she’d just picked up more from the extra storage room at the Chamber—she paused to stare longingly at the Glasgow house. Such a grand old Victorian, she mused. Such a treasure trove of memories.

  Sighing, she narrowed her gaze on the front porch covered with the purple wisteria clinging to a trellis, the intricate scrollwork with the blue and teal borders. Her home. The place where she and August had first met, where they’d exchanged their wedding vows. For nearly three fleeting months, she’d had the privilege of living there. But that’s all it had ever been. A privilege. A mere, brief interlude—not necessarily her right as August’s widow, nor the result of a crazy compulsion to cling to her memories.

  It was early, shortly past eight a.m., and already a hint of fall hung in the air. The mornings were cooler. Days were getting shorter. Soon school would begin, and she knew she mustn’t waste any time in getting Wendy back to L.A. and enrolled once again. She wanted her to start on time, right when the rest of the children would be starting. Goodness only knew, Wendy’s life had been filled with too much turmoil already, and getting started back in school even one day late certainly might prove another strike against her.

  Then, too, there’d been the delicate task of talking to Wendy about Benny.

  “Benny’s been a very good friend to us,” Rebecca had told her gently the morning after the fire. “But he’s having problems right now. He may have to go to jail for a while. We don’t know for sure just yet, of course, until after his trial. The important thing for you to know, sweetie, is that he will also be doing what he has to do to get his life back together. Benny wants to get well.”

  “Will we ever get to see Benny again?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure, Wendy.” Rebecca gulped. “We’ll see. It’s too soon to know now. But I do know he loves us very much.”

  To Rebecca’s surprise, her daughter had received the news with more maturity than she’d expected. “I know sometimes people do things they don’t really mean to,” Wendy had said sagely, her eyes wide and moist with tears. “Tonight when I say my prayers, I’ll talk to God about Benny, too.”

  For a long time afterwards, they’d simply embraced, then cried together. What Rebecca hadn’t explained yet to her daughter, however, were her plans to move back to L.A. For the time being, she would deal with one problem at a time. She would ease into that later.

  Now Rebecca lifted her gaze to the easterly sky. Splashes of pink and gold stained it from beneath a bank of billowy white clouds. A breeze stirred the top limbs of the maples. Birds chirped. A block over, someone was revving his car. An elderly couple strode by with a dog on a leash. They were holding hands.

  “Good morning,” they chorused, smiling.

  “Such a perfect morning for a walk,” Rebecca said, smiling back.

  “Yes, and isn’t the sunrise beautiful this morning?” the woman asked.

  “It certainly is.” Rebecca watched their backsides grow smaller as they came to the end of the block and turned the corner. She sighed. Her heart swelled with envy. How many years had the happy couple spent together? she wondered. How many joyful moments had they’d shared, not to mention the trials and sadness that had helped them grow in their love and commitment to each other?

  She blinked rapidly. Yes, in another week or so, whenever she could make the necessary arrangements, she and Wendy would be leaving. The burdensome prospect of packing up their belongings and moving back to L.A. lay heavy on her heart, but she had made up her mind. She could face her friends there again. She could even face Benny at some point in the future. That was, after his sentencing had been determined and he was finally released from jail. But most of all, she could make a new home there for Wendy and herself. That’s what really counted the most. A new home. A clean slate—like painting all the walls white to start over.

  You have to do this. It’s for the best, Rebecca silently vowed. She closed her eyes momentarily to calm herself, then opened them again. It may not seem that way now, but someday you’ll thank yourself for having come to your senses about Mark and your safety here.

  Last Saturday morning, Mark had picked up a fully recovered Bandit from the veterinary clinic, then announced he’d be heading out –of town for the rest of the weekend. He’d never said where he was going, and she hadn’t asked. Meanwhile, Wendy and Jodie had been more than happy to “doggy-sit” back at Missey’s place where Rebecca and Wendy had continued to stay.

  Rebecca threaded her way now down the sidewalk on the side of the house to the stairs that led to her apartment. The air was still heavy with the acrid smell of smoke. When would it ever clear? The previously tidy lawn was trampled from the heavy footfall of the firefighters and the thick hoses they’d hauled across the yard.

  She stopped walking, then set the boxes down. The gazebo where she and August had exchanged their wedding vows seemed to beckon to her. Miraculously it had been spared from the fire, though it was smudged with soot on one side. She drew close and stared beneath its arching latticework, but in her mind’s eyes, she saw only August.

  “My husband,” she whispered. “You were my first love and our child’s father. You were such a good man. Though I’ll always hold the memories of our life together close to my heart, my heart is filled with new hope now. I’ve made peace with my past. Our past. And I’ve made peace again with my God, too. I’m ready to move on, and I realize that’s what you’d want me to do. I must make a new life for Wendy and myself. Good-bye, my d
arling.”

  She stood there for an immeasurable time, holding her head in her hands, weeping. The sun burst forth from beneath a cloud, warming her back and shoulders—and suddenly she knew. She knew August did indeed desire for her to love again, what she’d just uttered was more than mere rhetoric. It was true. The tears flowed, and the more they did, the more the yawning ache in her heart began to close. Yes, she’d been healed. She was free to love again—if only the object of her new love would love her in return.

  Reaching into her purse for a tissue, she dried her eyes and sighed again. Well. That was that. It was time to go upstairs, perhaps for one of the very last times. Undoubtedly Mark would be receiving the final okay from the county any day now and the house would be torn down—and that was good. His work needed to go through, his commitments honored. But as for Wendy and me, we might as well get it over with and leave as soon as possible. There’s nothing to be gained by waiting.

  Inside, she crossed the living room. Already the place looked so empty, so forlorn. Packed, sealed boxes lined the walls of living room. Several more were stacked on the kitchen counters. Morning shadows lay across the carpet. The only sound was the tick-ticking of the mantle clock and the soft whirring of the fan in the attic.

  As she entered the kitchen and plopped the boxes on the floor, visions of Mark filled her head. She remembered the endearing way he’d donned an apron, wearing it twisted to one side, as they’d baked chocolate chip cookies. She pictured his half smile as he’d dug in with both hands to mix the dough, the twinkle in his eyes as he licked his fingers, all the while instructing Wendy not to follow his example. She could almost hear their voices, their laughter, and Wendy’s squeals of delight. What a delightful, carefree day that had been, followed by an even more enchanting evening. Oh, if there could only be more enchanted evenings ahead, more tomorrows. Enough to last a lifetime, their lifetime together.