On 4/19 (On 4/19 and Beyond 4/20) (25 page)

While having dinner, he casually asked, “So, have you been to Rome?” He knew the answer already.

Resting her fork on her plate, and just as casually, she answered, “Not lately,” as if she were asked such questions every day. Inside, she was squealing with excitement.

Leaning in closer, reaching for her hand, he suggested, “I think we should go.” It was on her list of must-see places, one she contemplated when they decided on Australia. Since then, he knew he would take her. Once again they were not traveling during warm weather, but he suspected she wouldn’t care about the cooler temperatures.

From that moment on, Chelsea never picked her fork up again. She was so thrilled about the thought of going out of town with John, she skipped dessert as well. And of all places, she was eager to see Rome, a city that promised love and romance, exactly what seemed to be building stronger and more definite between them.

That night was a whirlwind of packing and preparation. John sat casually working on his computer while she tore through her room trying to decide what to take. Once, laughing at how flustered she was, he called out from the living room, “We’ll buy you some things there. Just take what you really need.” There was a moment of silence, as if she was contemplating that, but then her rampage began again.

The next day they were off, first to New York for two days, and then they flew to Rome. While in New York, he did have a few meetings, but from the time they left for the airport until they returned to L.A. eight days later, John completely blew off his responsibilities for the first time in over a decade. Other than a few urgent calls, he truly took a vacation.

The trip far exceeded their visit to Sydney. Every minute of every day they spent together. They saw the usual sights, including the Sistine Chapel, which was Chelsea’s favorite site in Rome by far. There, they spent over an hour looking at the beauty of the murals. Upon entering, she felt some strange sensation come over her, almost as if she knew she was about to experience a moment of a lifetime. Never one to normally be affected by art, the sight of the murals around and above her left her breathless. The fact that God had given such exquisite talent to one human being to paint “His story” for all the world to see was beyond comprehension. As a whole, the murals were so complex, that Chelsea hardly knew where to focus her attention. She would barely take in one image when her eyes were drawn to the next. Contained within the collage of murals, individually, each mini-story was flawlessly simple. Finally, after some time, Chelsea found that she had to hold her hand behind her head to support her exhausted neck due to looking up. She was not the only one to do so. It was mesmerizing for her and others around her.

Though she could hardly gauge his reaction early on, since she was so caught up in the moment herself, Chelsea eventually realized that John spent more time watching her reaction than viewing the murals. Once she realized his attention was so keenly on her, she found herself unable to enjoy the view as much.

“Stop,” she demanded. There was a look in his eyes that bothered her, and she wasn’t exactly sure why.

Smiling, drawing her near, and wrapping his arms around her waist, he asked, “What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I am. I admit it.”

“You are supposed to be looking up.”

“I’m looking at what matters.” The sense of urgency he had recently been feeling was becoming something much stronger than that, though he could hardly find a word to define it. He felt a sense of desperation to take all of her in, to capture each and every moment with her in his mind. He often studied her facial expression and mannerisms with the intent of recalling them later, when he would no longer see them in person. In a sense, he was drinking her in.

Unable to respond to such a statement, emotion getting the better of her, she instead leaned in and rested her forehead on his chest. Something had become strangely different about him. He was in no way distant; instead, he was so
near
that it was almost frightening, as if he knew something she didn’t, something tragic. Like watching a movie where one character is dying and they have some distant longing in their eyes, a longing to make the most of every moment. It was a look she’d seen once before. Such thoughts caused her to break down in silent tears.

John held her, knowing she was quietly crying. Unwilling to open the door on a conversation which might lead to talk of end times, he simply held her close and rubbed her back gently. Eventually, he whispered, “This is an overwhelming place. Isn’t it, Chelsea?”

Nodding, she held on tighter as she listened to the steady rhythm of his strong heartbeat. She’d fallen so deeply and helplessly in love with him, that the thought of letting him go was no longer an option, as she’d become quite certain she could never live without him. No matter what a contract said, she’d fight for him until the very end. She would never just give up and throw in the towel as she’d once done. Over the next four-and-a-half months, she would do absolutely anything to make him love her.

The accommodations and restaurants of Rome were extraordinary. Chelsea sensed, though, that she was not experiencing a typical Italian
vacation. Everything John did he did to the absolute extreme. He took her shopping at some of the finest shops and for the first time since their trip to Sydney, asked her to model clothes for him. He seemed to get a big kick out of picking out clothes for her to try on. As much as he enjoyed it, it may have been more fun for her, not because she was interested in the clothing, but because of his silly side that day. He picked out some of the craziest, fashion-forward outfits that had them both rolling with laughter, clothes that may be worn on a runway but never in an everyday woman’s life. In a few instances, he picked out nice dresses, ones he wanted her to wear out to dinner while they were in Rome, but then the next thing she knew, the clerk was bringing her something John clearly had no intention of her wearing. She complied in trying it on though.

There were two ladies who helped them; both spoke flawless English. Assisting affluent clientele was obviously not new to them, so no matter how outrageous the outfit John chose, they were good sports about it. All in all, it was one of Chelsea’s favorite memories in Rome. His outlook that day seemed so much brighter that it renewed her sense of hope. He laughed most of the day and into the night when they had dinner at one of the finest restaurants in which they’d ever eaten. There, he was quite silly still, insisting they share cheesecake and make a competition of it. Whatever changed his demeanor, she was thankful for it.

They spent their final two days in Tuscany and stayed in an old farmhouse way out in the middle of a massive vineyard. Of all the moments they had ever shared together, at home or abroad, those quiet days alone in that rustic farmhouse were the most intimate and romantic she’d ever known. John was a different man entirely while they stole away together in the Italian countryside. During that time, he never took his phone out of his travel bag. Beginning with morning coffee and through their last moments together snuggled before the fire at night, his entire focus was on her.

It was there, their second night, that Chelsea encountered a surprising crossroad that nearly caused her to stumble and fall. Late one night, long after dinner and just before they were to head off to bed, she seriously deliberated doing
anything
to make him love her. For the very first
time, she considered making love to him. His desire for her was so evident, the room felt nearly electric. Often, as he kissed her, he spoke her name softly, digging his fingers into the skin of her back. In those early moments of consideration, she was nearly convinced that if he made love to her, he’d have to stay with her. Conviction came so strongly and heavily, the weight of it nearly crushed her. Intellectually, she knew that making love to John was not the answer. How many friends had she known to be taken under by such a lie only to discover no way back to the surface? Sex with John was not the answer. Sex had never solved one problem for anyone she knew. It was love. Only love could be what would make him hers.

That night, Chelsea went to bed with a terribly heavy heart. Mostly, she was disappointed with herself for even considering it. While the thought was not sinful, it spoke volumes about the deepest recesses of her heart. In some ways, the more she loved John, the less she leaned on God, so the thought of letting him go had become terrifying, as if it would truly be the end of her world. Her distance from God was becoming more and more obvious to her and was something she would seriously pray through until she could find her way back. Having had to once depend on God just to live and move and breathe after Tuck, she’d not so easily forget the One to whom she owed everything.

A verse came to mind, something about a crossroad, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember where to find it. Getting out of bed she had to do a search on her phone. It was from Jeremiah 6. She took out her Bible and found it. It said, “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” Underlining the verse, she had to believe it was God’s promise. No matter her desperation, she had to follow the “good way,” trusting that He would give her rest and comfort in the event that she lost John. If she hadn’t seen Him already come through, she would have a hard time believing it, but already she had found Him to be faithful.

Besides the spiritual aspect of her near stumble, Chelsea saw something so remarkable in John, yet another quality that drew her in deeper and more fully. She was less inhibited than usual as
they kissed, more aggressive, and as if sensing her lack of intended restraint, John took the high road. Finally, grabbing her arms and pushing her away, he breathlessly demanded, “Go to bed, Chelsea.” It wasn’t a statement up for discussion. At her bedroom door, his hands trembled as he gently touched her face and gave her one last tender kiss. That was the moment that truly caused her heaviness of heart. It was the look in his eyes. The awareness of him knowing a tragic secret was back. Gone was the silly, playful John who’d been with her since leaving the Chapel.

John sat alone on a garden bench looking up at the stars. Chelsea was long asleep, but as for him, he was much too burdened to try and get any rest. There was something different about their earlier encounter. He saw a side of Chelsea that truly scared him. It was almost as if she were surrendering to him, offering herself to him. He sensed it, felt it in the way she responded to him. Had he been in the crazy state he was in New York, that could have been a disastrous combination, a combustible one. The night before they flew out, he was so desperate for her that he actually had to get away and take a walk to clear his head. This night though, he’d had a great amount of restraint, a more level head. When he sent her to bed, he did so for her own good. After all, a man could only take so much. Having her in his arms, and with her kissing him more passionately than he’d ever known of her, he felt an unusual sense of falling. He’d come to make up his mind firmly about future things, but her lips tended to unravel his resolve.

After making her cry at the Sistine Chapel, and without question it was his mood that caused it, he’d tried to lighten up the atmosphere. So far, he had done pretty well at it. They had shared some fun and amazing times together, ones he wanted her to look back fondly upon, not look back with remembrance of his moodiness. No matter his outward appearance though, inside, he was in complete turmoil. He was so completely in love with her that he questioned how he would ever go on without her. If he thought his life was empty after Tracy’s death, he could only imagine with dread what Chelsea’s loss would bring. That was what kept him awake night after night.

Two days before Christmas, they flew out to Breckenridge to ski. John had asked her to go even before Chelsea found out that Christmas at home was basically canceled. Just a week before Christmas, her parents told her they’d decided to travel so that her mother would not have to be home with sad reminders of her first Christmas without her father. Bobby and Caitlin were each going to their in-laws. Her younger two siblings were going with her parents, but oddly enough, they didn’t invite her to join them. Chelsea decided if it weren’t for being with John for the holiday, she might have gotten her feelings hurt that her entire family was deserting her for Christmas. But because she would get to spend several days with him skiing, far away from the un-Christmas-like atmosphere of L.A., she was happy, almost relieved that her family bailed on her. Often, the reminder of it possibly being their only Christmas together surfaced, but when it did, she focused instead on the moment. It was becoming a learned behavior, and she was getting rather accomplished at denial.

On their first day away, they spent the morning skiing and afterward had lunch at the ski resort. It was Chelsea’s first time to ski, but John was patient and stayed with her on the bunny slopes until she gained a bit of confidence. By the afternoon, he had her out on a more challenging slope, and to her surprise, she found she was quite the natural. Often, John told her how proud he was of her and that he was a bit jealous of her energy and ability. It was such times that she knew their age difference was more glaring to him.

They were staying in one of the most beautiful cabins imaginable. It was, like John’s usual style, over the top. There were nine bedrooms with only two of them occupied. The two of them rattled around the enormous place, causing echoes to reverberate around the vaulted ceilings. As beautifully rustic and ideal as it was, however, it felt rather isolated, almost too quiet. Situated on the side of a mountain, the sprawling log cabin overlooked a beautiful valley below. With snow laden pines surrounding it, it was the ideal place to spend Christmas. The afternoon before when they arrived, Chelsea walked in to find the cabin was already decorated for Christmas with a tree and lights and fresh garland strung everywhere. John had arranged for it to be done prior to their arrival.
Everything he did was considered down to every last detail. Even though she never mentioned it, when he asked her to go skiing during Christmas, it had crossed her mind how the absence of a tree would take some of the joy out of the holiday. As if reading her mind, he knew. He always seemed to know.