Kept (32 page)

Tracy stayed another hour before collecting her purse and keys. Miska followed her to the door. “So John four for Wednesday?”

“John chapter four.” Tracy paused. “Have you read it yet?”

“No.”

“You should read it.”

She thought of Dillan’s words in the gym, about Jesus raising someone from the dead. “Why?”

“Because it shows how much God loves us, no matter what we’ve done. Read it. Give me a call. Okay?”

“I will.” How could Dillan’s God love like that?

Tracy stepped into the hallway. “Thanks for the pizza—”

Dillan’s door swung open. He walked out, laughing over his shoulder at a smirking Garrett right on his heels.

Miska took in Dillan’s black shorts, gray T-shirt, and tennis shoes before she realized his laughter had faded.

Garrett eased his door shut. “Tracy.”

Her name floated in hushed, reverent tones.

Miska glanced from Garrett to Tracy, who pressed her teeth into her lower lip. They should have been more aware.

“Do you—” Garrett swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. “You got a minute?”

“Not really.”

“Please. Right here. Miska and Dillan won’t leave.”

Dillan looked up from his shoes as if to make sure she was staying.

Oh, his eyes, so warm and brown. His hair, a little long for him, so thick, so touchable.

She wet her lip as he neared her, trading places with Tracy who took a handful of reluctant steps with Garrett. Miska studied Dillan’s profile as he watched them. He wasn’t a man of many smiles. But when he did—

He ducked his head, then looked at her.

She flashed him a wan smile and glanced at Tracy.

Her friend listened to whatever Garrett was saying, but pain lay beneath her indifferent mask.

Poor Tracy. Poor Garrett.

She blew out a breath and looked back at Dillan. Still he watched her. Her stomach tightened. What did he think when he looked at her like that, all silent and indecipherable? “Going to the gym?” she asked.

“Running outside. I talked Garrett into living dangerously.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Uncrossed them and shoved his hands into his pockets. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“You?”

He nodded, looking down the hallway. “Can’t complain.”

She waited for him to say more, to lead this conversation wherever he wanted it to go.

He blew out a deep breath, then turned back. “You were at church again today.”

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I just—” He dragged his fingers down his neck. “I remember you laughing that off.”

Had she?

“One of those days you fed me.”

The day he’d admitted to being a virgin. She remembered the way she’d rolled her eyes and mocked him. She’d given him every reason to be rude.

He’d been nothing but a gentleman.

“Dillan, I’m so sorry for how I treated you.”

Straightening, he blinked. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Why are you always nice to me?”

“I’m not always nice to you. There’ve been times I’ve blown it.” He shifted again. “Why have you been coming to church?”

“Because it’s starting to make sense.”

His eyes roamed her face.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s such a change.”

“A lot
has
changed.”

“Like?”

Down the hall, Garrett listened to Tracy’s muffled words. “It’d be easier to list what hasn’t changed. Here I am, reading part of the Bible. And not just once. The thing has me hooked.”

“What part?”

“All of John so far. In the first chapter it was the stuff about the Word becoming flesh and dwelling with us. Then that verse that said God didn’t come to the world to condemn us because we were already condemned. I can’t stop thinking about that.”

“We don’t have to stay condemned, you know.” He cleared his throat. “What about chapter four? You read it yet?”

“No. Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason.”

“Tracy asked me that too, and I’m sure you know what’s in it.”

His soft laugh warmed her. “Busted.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Ever hear about the woman at the well?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, that’s chapter four.”

“Woman at the well—that’s pretty vague, Dillan.”

He pressed his lips together in a not-telling smile.

“You’re trying to up my curiosity so I read it right away.”

“If it works…”

“It won’t.” She crossed her arms and challenged him with a smile of her own. “I might get busy this week. My work, you know.”

“It would be your loss.”

“Really?”

He nodded, eyebrows arched.

“So convince me. Whet my appetite.”

He ran his hand down his jaw. “Okay. The woman at the well is a Samaritan. Jesus is a Jew. The Jews hated the Samaritans, and the Samaritans returned the favor. Their hatred for each other was so great that they wouldn’t travel through each other’s land.”

“Then how does Jesus meet this woman?”

“Read and find out.” He looked to the side, and Miska followed his gaze.

Tracy walked toward them, head down, while Garrett watched, shoulders slumped.

“Well, looks like that went…” He pressed his lips together and glanced her way. “See you.” He nodded to Tracy as he passed her, then gripped Garrett’s arm and turned him toward the elevators.

Once they disappeared into the lobby, she wrapped her arms around Tracy. “You okay?”

Tracy nodded and pulled away enough to wipe an eye. “He wants another chance. Can you believe it?”

Yes. Yes, she could.

Wednesday was half over before Miska worked up the nerve to face John four.

Why she’d held off so long—why she’d been afraid—she wasn’t sure. It probably had to do with Tracy and Dillan asking if she’d read it. What did it say that made them think of her?

While she ate lunch, she read about Jesus sitting alone at the well, tried to solve the riddle of him having living water, and reread where he told the woman all about her past—that she had no husband, that she’d had five husbands, that the one she had now was not her husband.

He knew.

If he was really God, then he knew. Just like Dillan knew—

No, Dillan could only guess that there had been others. If Jesus knew this woman’s past, he would know about Jared, Gordon, and Rob. He would know all the details about Craig, about Brandon, Evan, the second Craig, and Jon—

Sir, I perceive that You are a prophet.

He was no prophet. The only one who could know that information was someone who’d been there through it all. Someone who’d… who’d authored her.

More names ran through her head—high school boys, college men, men in New York, men in Chicago. Men who’d taken advantage of her. Men she’d taken every advantage of.

Tracy could read this and think of one name. This woman at the well could name six. Miska could double that—and still have forgotten some.

Like Alex, Todd, Kellen—

God, make it stop.

She wiped her nose on a napkin while she read that this woman worshiped what she did not know but that the hour was coming when true worshipers would worship the Father in spirit and in truth. “For the Father is seeking such to worship Him.”

God was seeking this woman who slept around in a day when sleeping around wasn’t accepted? He welcomed her?

It shows how much God loves us, no matter what we’ve done.

How could God love her like this? She closed the book and eyed it. How could he?

None of this made sense. Dillan talked about how God said to wait, to stay pure, yet here was this same God inviting
this
woman to be a follower. How could the two go together?

Look at Garrett. He lived more like the woman at the well, and it sure didn’t seem to be okay—

Understanding settled around her. This woman wouldn’t be allowed to follow Jesus and stay the same.

If she were to buy into this stuff, she’d have to change. Jordan, Tracy—they’d expect her to be like them, to live like them. What was the point? Dillan still wouldn’t value her.

Forget Dillan. How could God value her? No man ever had, not even her dad. This woman at the well was one thing. But Miska—she was another.

This Bible was messed up from start to finish. To be held in bondage to one man, to hold no power over him to keep the relationship fresh… People had a right to be happy, to move on when things got bad. And things
did
get bad.

Look at her and Mark, her and Kendall. Those relationships were over, and she was fine. She’d knocked a hundred thousand off her mortgage. Good move, financially. But if she bought into this John book, there’d be no more money, which meant she’d have to move back to the suburbs, get an office job, and answer to someone else’s schedule.

No. She wouldn’t change when she’d always be
this
woman to Dillan. To Tracy.

Maybe she could find someone else. She’d handled Mark and Kendall okay. If she met another man who’d take care of her…

She pushed away from the island. Tracy and Dillan’s beliefs were certainly intriguing—she’d give them that—but she didn’t belong. Ethan had made that clear. She could try to fit in, but she never would.

Besides, there’d undoubtedly been other women at other wells who’d said thanks, but no thanks—and she couldn’t blame them.

Because saying no to this God was the only real option she had.

All through small group, the seat beside Tracy—the seat she’d reserved for Miska—remained empty.

Dillan fought to keep his attention on Austin. He was supposed to give the intern feedback, after all, supposed to coach him through two months of leading the singles’ study. But his mind kept wandering to where Miska might be, to what had kept her away tonight.

When the discussion ended and people milled around, Dillan caught Tracy’s eye.

Her lips turned up, but her gaze reflected his concern.

Something had gotten in Miska’s way.

“Will you shut that thing up?”

The gravelly male voice opened her eyes. Miska blinked at her closed closet.

Behind her, the bed shifted, and she held still. Her shirt and bra lay scattered nearby. Last night’s skirt lay closer to the door.

What had she done?

Somewhere her phone rang.

She eased up and held the covers against herself.

A dark-haired figure rolled over in her bed, his arm covering his head.

The phone rang again, close to her door.

She slipped out of bed, hoping he wouldn’t look her way. Beneath her skirt lay her bag, half-buried. She rifled through it, a headache knifing between her eyes. The call ended as she found the phone, a number she didn’t recognize displayed across the screen.

The man cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

Faint memories of Friday evening came to her—memories of the man she’d danced and flirted with. That man had been blond.

“Hey.” He sat up, palming his eyes. “You hear me?’

She glanced at her phone. “Eleven-forty.”

He moaned. “A whole morning wasted. Remind me not to get so drunk next time.”

Next time? After he’d declared her a waste? “Don’t puke in my bed.”

He lay back down and rolled over.

Who was this guy?

Her phone chimed. A text—the same number.
Need to talk to you asap. Call me. Dillan

How had Dillan gotten her number?

Her phone chimed again, and she jumped.

The text was from Tracy.
You ok? Dillan’s looking for you.

What was going on?

She tried to text back, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. She tossed the phone at her purse. It’d be easier to go next door and see what had gotten into Dillan.

The man snored softly.

She grabbed her underwear and bra and slipped into them, hoping she hadn’t done anything too awful.

Woman at the well. Her mouth twisted. What did God think of this? He had to be done with her—if he’d ever been concerned with her to begin with.

In her closet she slipped into yoga pants and a workout shirt, but her reflection in the mirror stopped her. Her hair was a Medusan mess, more evidence of a night of things she couldn’t remember. She grabbed a hair tie and fought it into some resemblance of decency. But then there was the smeared eye makeup. She rubbed away what she could. She looked puffy and—

So what? She grabbed a breath mint from her dresser top. It was just Dillan needing something.

She crept away, easing her bedroom door shut. She’d take care of it, then get the drunk out of her home.

Someone pounded on her front door.

Could the man not wait another minute? She ran for it, head pounding with every step. She needed Advil right away—Advil, food, and water.

The pounding came again, loud enough to wake the man in her room.

She yanked the door open.

Dillan lowered his fist.

Garrett stood behind him, hands on his hips.

Dillan’s breath escaped in a rush. “You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay.” She stepped into the hall and let the door bump her backside. “Some people sleep in on their day off.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow.

Whatever. She crossed her arms and glared at Dillan. “What’s got you all hot and bothered?”

“We need to talk.”

“So I gathered. Talk.”

“Not here.” Dillan eyed the empty hallway. “Can we come in?”

With some stranger in her bed? “Just tell me.”

“You don’t want me to tell you here. Not where people can hear.”

“There’s no one out here, Dillan. Spill it already.”

Garrett leaned forward. “Miska, really. Can we—”

Her headache grew. “I don’t have time for this.” She turned to go. “Tell me now or—”

“Darcie Scheider is dead.”

Dillan’s words hit like fists. Her legs failed, and she fell against the door.

He caught her wrist and arm while Garrett’s hand shot above them, holding the door steady.

“Darcie’s…” She couldn’t say it.

“We just heard. They found her this morning.”

Her legs wouldn’t work. She clung to the doorknob. Darcie was dead? Suspicions and
what-if
s began to form, but she shook her head, a fist against her mouth.