Lost and Found (41 page)

Only one thing comes to mind, but the implications are . . .

I shake my head. I can't risk it. If I give Bill Durand the money to pay the note, Brigitte will figure it out. She'll know where the money came from. She's too smart. Too savvy.

And she'll destroy me.

My career.

Everything I've worked for.

"What's done is done, Andee. And boy, did you ever do it."

I land on the sofa, pull my knees to my chest, and sit with my self-contempt. I know God is supposed to be all about forgiveness, but how can He ever forgive me for this?

Seek to be clear and transparent, only what God wants. As you do His will you are made ever more pure and transparent.

JEANNE GUYON

I THROW BACK
the covers and climb into bed. Man, it's been a long day and it's time to put it to rest. "Hasta la vista, baby." I reach to turn off the lamp next to the bed just as Tess wanders in. She stops at the door and looks at me.

"You're in bed?"

"Nothing like stating the obvious, babe." I flip the light off.

"Hey, wait. You've got to read this."

I sigh and sit back up. My stomach growls, my head aches, and my patience is thinner than thin. I switch the lamp back on and take the piece of paper Tess hands me.

"Lightseeker?"
Finally
.

"No, Jenna Bouvier."

I look at Tess and then back at the blog she's printed. "What?"

"Read it."

I read the first line of the blog and my heart stops. "Whoa . . ."

"You didn't know?"

I look up and read pain in her eyes. Oh, man, not cool. "Yeah, I knew, but . . . babe, I couldn't tell you."

She looks at the ground and seems to think. When she looks back at me, she nods. I reach over and pull back the covers on her side of the bed and pat the mattress. "Come here." She hesitates, but then comes and crawls in beside me. I put my arm around her shoulders and she settles in while I read the rest of the blog.

"Whoa . . . dude." This is what I've been praying for. I don't know what went on to get her to this point, but baby, she is depending on God and following Him. I lean over, kiss Tess on the cheek, and then lift my hand for a high five.

She gives me a half-hearted five. "So . . . did you know she was going to do this?"

"Nah, this is between her and God." I sit up straighter and turn so I'm facing Tess. "I knew something was up. Not because she told me, but because . . . well, I just knew."

"God told you?"

I look at her and see she's serious. She wants to know.

"Yeah, God told me. I mean, not in so many words, not like a booming voice from above. But I knew it here." I pat my chest. "That's why I've been fasting. I felt like God said Jenna was heading into a storm and that He wanted me to fast and pray for her."

I hold the blog up. "I'm guessing this is the storm." I look back at the blog and smile. "Looks like she's weathering it."

"Yeah, but . . . what will she do?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

I look back at the blog post and read the last few sentences again. Then I look back at Tess and see compassion in her expression. I reach out and put my palm on the side of her face and then lean in and kiss her. When I pull back, I look her in the eyes. "Yeah, she'll be okay. God is with her, Tess. She's following Him. He'll lead. He'll provide. But that doesn't mean it will be easy."

She nods and is quiet for a minute. "I think . . . we should . . . pray for her. You know? Right now. Together."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Okay, let's do that." I put my arm around Tess's shoulders again and pull her close and then we both bow our heads and I listen as my wife . . . prays.

Dude, my wife
prays!

When she finishes, with her head still bowed, she elbows me letting me know it's my turn. So I pray for Jenna—pray for continued strength. Pray for God's provision. Pray for her future.

After I say "Amen," Tess and I lift our heads and look at each other. Her emerald eyes glow. I suck in my breath and reach for her face. I hold her face in my hands.

"You've never looked more beautiful." I watch as a blush creeps over her freckled cheeks. "Your eyes . . ."

They're smoldering. Ignited by My Spirit, Matthew.

She puts her hand over mine. "Babe? Are you okay? Are you . . . crying?"

I swallow. "Yeah, I'm okay. More than okay." Then my stomach rumbles in a big way and Tess giggles.

"Let's eat!"

"Really? Can you?"

I nod. "Yeah, I think I just got the green light. It's time to break my fast." I throw the covers back, leap out of bed, and race Tess to the kitchen. As she pulls leftovers out of the fridge and puts them on a plate, I stand and look out the kitchen window and see a full moon peeking through angry clouds.

There's a break in the storm.

But it hasn't passed.

My only desire is to completely give myself up into the hands of God without any idea of turning back or of fear of what may happen.

JEANNE GUYON

I POST MY
blog just before leaving. I pack up my laptop, close the suitcase, and lift it from the bed to the floor. I wheel it to the door of the suite and open the door. I slip out and close the door, careful not to make any noise. Then I wheel my suitcase down the hallway, holding my breath as I pass Brigitte's rooms. I head for the elevator, certain that any sound I make is lost in the deep pile of the plush carpet. I reach the elevator and push the button and wait for the—

"Where do you think you're going?"

I jump. Every nerve in my body comes to attention. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, then turn to face her in the dark hallway. "I'm leaving. I won't sign your agreement. I won't stay here."

She takes a step toward me, and my heart hammers.

But I don't back away.

"Who do you think you are? You're nothing!
Nothing!
Without
me!
" She spits her words at me, and droplets of her saliva spray my face. In that moment, a new realization becomes clear: not only is she battering me with her words, but she is also attacking the Spirit who lives within me.

Roiling anger bubbles within.

I take a step toward her and see her hesitate. "No, Brigitte. No. I am nothing without
God
and I will no longer allow you to stand in the way of His purposes for me. I'm leaving. You can't stop me." There is a calm control to my voice that I know is not my own.

As I turn to step into the elevator, she grabs my arm, her nails digging through my wool sweater. She raises her hand to slap me, but I dodge her and yank my arm out of her grasp. Rage is scrawled across her red face.

"I'll
ruin
you! And your family!"

There is no point in arguing with her.
Now
the game is officially over.

And, probably for the first time ever, she has lost.

But she won't accept defeat.

I turn, pull my suitcase into the elevator, and push the button to close the door. As I do, I see her reach for a vase. She lifts it above her head and, just as the elevator closes, I hear a shattering against the door.

When the door opens on the bottom floor, I hear her footsteps on the stairs above, her rant continues. I pull the suitcase out and head down the hallway leading to the garage. I walk out the door, punch the button to open the garage door, and then head to the back of the Range Rover Sport—Gerard's car. He bought it for himself. It's paid for—and now it's mine. I open the back latch, lift my suitcase inside, and then slam it closed. As I head for the driver's side, the door between the garage and the house opens.

Hannah stands there. "Go!
Go!
" she hisses at me.

Stunned, I stare at her. She turns back and looks at Brigitte charging down the hallway behind her and then blocks her from entering the garage.

"Go!" She hisses again over her shoulder.

I get into the car, shut the door, and turn the key in the ignition. And then I back out of the garage. My heart pounds in my chest and I struggle to catch my breath. My hands shake on the steering wheel.

I'm at peace, my body just doesn't know that yet.

I am following Him.

When I catch my breath, I press the button on the steering column that activates the phone and give it a voice command: "Call Bill Durand."

When my dad answers the phone, my sense of relief gives way to a fresh onslaught of tears.

"Bill Durand. Hello?"

". . . Dad . . ."

"Jen?"

I gulp back tears and take a deep breath.

"Jen? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Dad, I'm . . . coming home. I'm . . . leaving. I want to come home."

My dad is quiet for a moment and then his sigh whispers through the phone line. "It's about time. Does Brigitte know?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

The concern in his voice brings new tears. "I'm still in the city. I'm . . . I'm just leaving. Dad, I . . . need to talk to you, and to Jason, tonight. Is Jason there?"

"He's here. We had a late meeting this evening and he decided to stay over."

"Okay. I need to make a quick stop and then I'll head that way."

"Jen, take it slow. Drive careful."

"I will. And Daddy . . . pray. Just . . . pray."

"I already am. See you soon, baby."

I click the button, hanging up the phone, and lean back in my seat. It's been a dozen years or more since my dad's called me
baby
. Our relationship changed after I married Gerard. I got caught in Brigitte's web, and hiding the truth from my dad and Jason took more energy than I had. So I detached. Not completely, but more than I care to consider.

But my dad will welcome me home with open arms. He will understand, I know. I just pray he will also understand the choice I made and its ramifications for Azul. As I have all evening, I place it in God's hands again.

I make my way to the Golden Gate Bridge, cross it, and head for Marin County. Before I turn off and head for Napa, I pull off the freeway and pull into the parking lot of a drug store.

I dash inside, searching the aisles until I find what I need. I take it to the register, pay, and then ask for directions to the restroom. I need to confirm what I already know to be true. I take the bag with the pregnancy test in it and head in the direction the cashier pointed. As I do, I count backwards in my mind to the last night Gerard and I spent together at the chateau.

I smile.

Afterward, as I walk back to the car, I have my first moment of doubt since leaving. I'm walking away from a vast fortune—from lifelong provision for my child. But then, I consider the alternative—raising my child under Brigitte's roof and rule.

No.

Oh, no.

This amazing gift, in God's perfect timing, is yet another affirmation.

Anticipation and awe fill my soul.
Oh, Lord, thank You. Thank You.
Tears slip down my cheeks as I climb back into the car. He will walk with me. And He will provide—not only for me, but also my dad and Jason.

And my unborn child.

IT'S JUST AFTER 11:00
p.m. when I turn onto the gravel driveway that leads to the house. A full moon shines above a bank of clouds, casting shadows on the vines along one side of the driveway. I recall my sense that a season of pruning was ahead.

It has arrived.

God is pruning away all I've known and in its place He offers Himself.

When I pull up to the house of my childhood, the front door opens and my dad and Jason meet me at the car. Jason opens my door for me and as I get out, my dad wraps me in a hug.

"Welcome home, Jen."

Jason reaches over and kisses my cheek. "Do you have a bag?"

"It's in the back."

As Jason unloads my suitcase, I walk with my dad into the low-slung ranch house and feel the pangs of loss. I can't imagine my dad anywhere else. Or without Azul to run. Yet, I trust God has a plan.

I follow my dad into the living room and Jason follows behind us, leaving my suitcase in the entry hall. Dad and Jason spread out on the sofa and I take the easy chair across from them—the chair that used to be my mother's. I look at my dad and brother and realize they both look as tired as I feel.