The Breaking Point (28 page)

Lord …

She stood there, imprisoned in disbelief. Was this for real, or was it yet another one of his acts … a part played to perfection? She’d seen it so many times, watched him adopt whatever persona he needed to elicit just the right response.

No. The ragged sobs filling the room were no act. She would bet her life on it. She’d heard this sound—this agony,
this complete and utter despair—from Gabe before. Once before.

When they lost the baby.

The sound of his weeping floated around her, piercing the barriers she had so carefully crafted around her heart. And as they crumbled beneath the weight of his sorrow, she felt her knees give.

She landed on the bed, reaching for him.

“Gabe … Gabe, it’s okay.”

Her hands found him, tugged at him, and he came to her, burying his face in her neck, clutching her as though she were his only shield against whatever terrors were assaulting him.

Jesus, please
, give
him peace …

She held him to her, felt the shivering that had taken hold of him, and laid her cheek against the top of his head. His tears made their way down her neck, a river of agony too deep for words. She whispered words of reassurance, words of comfort, praying something would reach him, soothe him.

Jesus …

Almost without thinking, she started singing. Songs from her childhood. Songs that spoke of innocence and trust and safety. One after another she sang them to him, her hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. Finally she came to the one she loved most of all.

“Jesus loves me, this I know …”

She felt the power of those simple words, prayed Gabe felt it as well. He
loves you, Gabe.
He
loves you …
“Little ones to Him belong …”

Big ones too, Gabe. Especially big ones with terrified little ones deep inside them. Little ones who have been broken and beaten down until they’re too afraid to come out, to lift their faces to the sun and laugh again.

“They are weak, but He is strong …”

Come out, Gabe. Please, let that little boy inside come out and see that God is here, ready to protect him …

“He doesn’t.”

She stared at Gabe’s choked voice. “Who doesn’t?” She stroked his face, and he leaned his cheek into her hand.

“God. He doesn’t love me. He can’t.”

O Jesus. What pain he must be in to believe that.
“Gabe, of course He does—”

He pulled away from her, and she could just see his face in the moonlight pouring in through the window.

“How can He? Look what I’ve done to you. To us.” His voice caught, cracked. “How can He love me when I even hate myself?” His eyes sought hers in the darkness. “When I’ve made you hate me.”

The hollow, aching words tore at her, and she had to swallow several times before she could answer. Fear took hold of her, squeezing so tight she could hardly breathe.

She knew her silence was hurting him, and she reached out, spreading her hands on his arms, wanting to make some kind of connection, to let him know she was trying. She wanted to respond, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

He flinched, but she understood. He wasn’t rejecting her touch—he was stunned by it. She hadn’t touched him, hadn’t let him touch her, for longer than she could remember.

Gabe went still as she let her fingers trail down his arms to his hands, as she closed her fingers over his.

And still she remained silent. How could she give him the reassurance he needed? Was she supposed to just pretend the last few years never happened, that he hadn’t taken her heart, her soul, in his hands and shattered them with those terrible words that night?

Yes.

She caught her breath and looked to the ceiling. I
can’t … I can’t …

And as though they had been waiting in the wings for just the right cue, Ami’s and Conrad’s words walked onto the stage of her mind:
“Open yourself, Renee. Open yourself to the
One who seeks to fill you … You’ve embraced the enemies of your soul and they’re destroying you…. put those things out, open your eyes and heart … embrace truth.”
Truth. What was the truth?

But even as she asked that, she knew. She knew it as surely as she knew the man sitting in front of her was terrified, fully expecting her to speak the final words of death to their marriage.

“Oh, Gabe …” Her throat was thick with sorrow, regret. “I don’t hate you.”

Silence. Then soft, quivering amazement. “You don’t?”

She squeezed his fingers, leaned forward to press her lips to the backs of his hands. Strong hands. Hands she used to love to watch … used to love the tender feel of.

Her tears came then, a torrent of regret, of loss that she didn’t even fully understand. “I’m so sorry Gabe. I’m sorry I made you think … made you feel …”

His fingers pressed into hers. “Please, what I said to you that night …”

She shook her head, but he went on.

“Those stupid, angry things I said to you. I pushed you away. Please … please forgive me.”

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Couldn’t stand the distance. Couldn’t stand not being with him. Really with him. She pulled her hands free from his and shifted forward. His arms opened to receive her, and she buried her face in his chest. For a moment his arms stayed open, as though suspended around her, then, as if he couldn’t help himself, they closed, embraced her, cradled her.

“I’ve missed you.” The words whispered through her hair. “Oh, Rennie, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” It was all she could manage around the emotions crowding her throat. Now it was he who stroked her hair, her back, pressed soft kisses to her temple.

And when his lips found hers, when the kiss deepened,
for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t pull away. She leaned into him, surrendering, seeking, longing to find, just one more time, that place where they used to live. That place of love and laughter and sweet communion.

A place she thought she’d lost forever.

A
UGUST
1991

RENEE STOOD SURVEYING THE TABLE. IT WAS PERFECT.
Just one more thing to do.

She struck the match and lit the two slender tapers in the center of the table, then went to lower the lights. There. She was ready.

The clock on the wall chimed, and she went to check the steaks one more time. She slid the oven rack out from beneath the broiler and sliced one of the thick pieces of meat. Gabe was going to love this.

Steak and potatoes—his favorite. Well, nothing was too good for tonight.

She went back to the living room, sinking onto the couch, leaning her head back against the soft material. Music drifted through the room, and Renee let it dance over her.

Why can’t I relax?

Because you’ve waited so long for this night to come.

Yes, she’d waited a long time. Years. But it had been right to wait. She and Gabe hadn’t been ready to start a family, not until just recently. She was still young enough to have kids without too much risk. And things might not be perfect between her and Gabe, but what relationship was?

She could hardly believe all the years they’d endured of emotional tug-of-war. She had considered giving up, lots of times. But for all that Gabe drove her nuts, she knew she didn’t want to leave him. She loved him.

Speaking of Gabe …

She glanced at the clock, willing the knotted muscles in her shoulders to relax.
He’ll be here. We talked about it. He’ll be here. He wouldn’t forget this. He knows what it means to me.

With a nod, Renee leaned her head back again, listening for his key in the lock—and hearing only the ticking of the clock.

She was sitting on the couch, arms around her knees, when Gabe came home. One look her way, and he knew something was wrong. She had that pinched look … as if she had a headache starting somewhere at the back of her eyes. Great. What had he done now?

He didn’t say anything. Just went to put his lunch box on the kitchen counter and shed his jacket.
One time …
The thought rattled around in his head.
One time I’d like to come home and not find some kind of problem waiting for me.

He went back to the living room and lowered himself onto the couch beside her, but she stiffened.
Uh-oh. Bad sign.
He shifted, giving her more space. He’d learned the hard way not to crowd her when she was like this. Or to touch her. It never helped.

Funny, he’d always thought a man was supposed to comfort
a woman when she was upset. Do the man thing and fold her in his arms, let her know she was sheltered, protected. Didn’t Renee tell him that was one of the things she’d first loved about him? His strength?

Well, she didn’t love it so much now.

“You’re late.”

Her hushed words set the warning bells clanging in his head. Quiet was not good. When she got quiet, she was really steamed. He didn’t even try to explain, to tell her about the flat tire or the crazy traffic that had almost flattened him while he fixed the tire. She wouldn’t care. There was only one thing she wanted to hear

“I’m sorry.”

She turned to him, and he saw the emotions swirling in those green eyes. He loved her eyes. Even when she was angry—as she most definitely was now—they were beautiful, bright, expressive. They made him ache deep inside.

“We were supposed to talk tonight. I fixed a nice dinner …”

He cast a glance at the dining room table, and his heart sank another notch. Great. Candles … the china … “Ah, hon, I’m sorr—”

She stood with such abrupt force that he almost fell back on the couch. He followed her as she marched into the dining room and started stacking the plates, snatching up the silverware. Her movements were abrupt, jerky, like she had to fight not to throw everything in his face.

He frowned. What was going on?

“Rennie …” He reached out to let his touch tell her how sorry he was, but the moment his fingers caressed her arm, she exploded. The plates and silverware rained down on him, and he protected his face with his arms. A slamming door told him she’d stormed into the bedroom.

“What in the …?” He gave a spoon a frustrated kick, taking some satisfaction when it nearly imbedded itself in the
plaster of the wall. Muttering through clenched teeth, he stooped and cleaned up the mess. He made sure to gather the knives off the table and put them in the sink. No point leaving any weapons within easy reach.

When he opened the bedroom door a crack, he saw her on the bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and bleak. She looked so … hopeless. Worry vied with anger as he came into the room and stood looking down at her.

“Renee, what’s going on?”

She didn’t look at him. “You were
supposed
to come home early.”

Her bitter emphasis set his nerves—and his teeth—on edge.

“We were
supposed
to have a nice dinner. We were supposed to talk—” she paused, but only long enough to glare at him with burning, reproachful eyes—“about starting a family.”

That hit him straight in the gut, and as he stood there silent, understanding dawned on her features, and she jerked into a sitting position. “You … you
forgot!”

Her disbelief raked at him, scoring his conscience. The implication was clear: How could he have forgotten something so important?

Trouble was, he didn’t have an answer. Not one he was ready to give her, anyway. So he said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry.”

Well, what else could he say? That he’d forgotten because the last thing in the world he wanted to do was talk about this again?

She stared at him, and something in that intent look sent a momentary chill through him. But then the anger came, sweeping aside everything. Everything but resentment.

What right did she have to look at him that way? How many times did they have to talk about this? She wasn’t stupid. So why was she still pushing an issue that should be
settled? What would it take for her to get it?

There weren’t going to be any kids. Not now. Not next year.

Not ever.

The silence between them stretched on, growing heavier with each passing moment. A steady stream of things to say floated through Renee’s heart and mind—questions, condemnations, pleas. But they were all trapped inside, tangled in the emotions raging through her, emotions so desperate and intense she couldn’t even sort through them.

She’d never seen that look in his eyes before. That hard-edged, uncompromising glare. But she couldn’t deny what it communicated. Stark understanding settled over her, heavy, choking …

God … God …

It was all the prayer she could muster. Just His name, over and over, pleading. Almost against her will, the words she couldn’t let herself believe slipped from her suddenly numb lips. “You don’t want children.”