The Forgiving Hour (17 page)

“Dear Jesus,” her mother said, “please get us there in one piece.”

Over the past two days, Sara had heard several little prayers like this one. Actually, they were more snippets of conversation than what she’d always thought of as prayer. Kristina hadn’t used to talk to God aloud, but now it seemed to be a normal occurrence.

Everybody’s changed except me.

That thought replayed itself in her mind throughout the remainder of the drive to Boise. But it wasn’t until her dad had parked the car in front of Sunrise Fellowship and they were all standing on the sidewalk beside it that Sara realized what she wanted to do. What she
needed
to do.

“Mom. Dad. Can I borrow the car?”

“Of course, dear,” Kristina answered.

“I mean now.”

Her mother looked at her. “But what about church? And the roads are so slick. You shouldn’t —”

“It’s important, Mom.”

Her dad took hold of her hand, turning it palm up. Then he placed the car keys in it and closed her fingers over them. “Drive careful. And don’t forget to pick us up at noon.”

“Couldn’t this wait?” Kristina persisted. “Whatever
this
is.”

“No.”

Her mother shook her head, saying, “Your brothers will be disappointed.”

“I’ll come visit your church another time. I promise. And we’re all going out to eat afterward. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So I’ll see them then.”

“Sara, don’t you —”

Jared laid a hand on his wife’s arm. “She said it was important. Let her go.”

Thanks, Dad,
she told him with her eyes.

With a nod of understanding, he drew Kristina away. Sara watched until they disappeared inside before moving toward the driver’s-side door.

Claire reacted as she always did when she saw a woman with short, dark-red hair. Her heart seemed to skip several beats, her stomach wrapped itself in knots, and a kind of fear coursed through her veins.

As Dakota turned the car into the church parking lot, Claire craned her neck to get a better look at the woman, but it was already too late. She’d disappeared into her car.

“See someone you know?” Dakota asked.

She turned toward him. “No.”

When would she get over feeling this way? For all she knew, that girl — Dave’s mistress — had changed her hair color, grown fat, whatever.

Maybe she died. That would serve her right.

“Is something bothering you, Mom?”

“No.”
At least, nothing out of the ordinary.

Less than fifteen minutes after leaving her parents at their church, Sara parked the car across from the small house on Garden Street.

Her heart raced as she stared at it, memories spinning through her mind. She remembered green trees and lilac bushes and colorful flowers in bloom. She remembered a gray pickup truck and a woman in the doorway.

And she remembered Dave and the death of her dreams.

Her gaze flicked to the mailbox, decorated to look like a Christmas package. In addition to the street numbers, there was a name:
D. Moss.

She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. He didn’t live here anymore.

And then she consciously and deliberately let it all go.

She let go of her romantic notions. Let go of the pain. Let go of her shattered expectations. Let go of everything that had held her captive, that had kept her a naive nineteen-year-old for the last three-and-a-half years.

Most of all, she let go of Dave. In that moment, she made up her mind to go forward and not look back.

“It’s over,” she whispered, still staring at the house. “It’s finally over.”

She knew there would be moments of regret, times when she remembered that spring and wondered
what if.
But no longer would she be held captive by it. She’d made a mistake. Now it was time to move on.

Thank God.

Relief filled her as she turned the key in the ignition. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but at least it no longer seemed to be just one of many unhappy tomorrows.

Sunrise Fellowship was packed that Sunday morning with members, guests from out of town, and visitors who only attended services at Christmas and Easter. They filled the pews and the extra rows of folding chairs that had been set up in the back of the sanctuary.

For Dakota, the morning was filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, there was his overwhelming joy in the Lord. He was filled with wonder at the truth that God Himself had chosen to leave heaven and come to earth to provide salvation for someone like him. On the other hand, there was his awareness of his mother’s discomfort.

Claire sat stiffly beside him, her gaze locked on the pulpit. But Dakota suspected she wasn’t listening to what Walter Drake, the head pastor, was saying. He wished she could hear,
really
hear. Maybe he’d made a mistake, talking her into coming with him this morning. Maybe she wasn’t ready.

Did I blow it, Father?

“Why don’t we all take a moment to get acquainted with those around us?” Pastor Walt said. “Introduce yourself to at least one person you don’t know.”

His mom shot him a look of pure horror as people stood and began shaking hands, hugging and greeting one another. He gave her a helpless shrug just before the woman in the pew ahead of them turned and held out her hand toward Claire.

“Welcome to Sunrise Fellowship. My name is Kristina Jennings. Is this your first time with us?”

“Yes,” Claire answered.

The woman proceeded to introduce Claire and Dakota to her husband, her three sons, and one son’s fiancée. “We hope we’ll see you both here again,” she added with a smile.

Dakota didn’t bother to tell the woman that he was here every Sunday, usually sitting in the balcony. If he did, then he’d feel like he was pointing out that his mom
wasn’t
here every Sunday. And from the look on her face, he thought it was better to say nothing.

Claire was, indeed, angry. Rebellion raged inside her. She hated the sanctimonious smile on that woman’s face, a look of I’m-better-than-you. Why? Because this Mrs. Jennings needed a religious crutch? Well, Claire didn’t need one. She was just fine, thank you very much.

For the rest of the service, Claire continued to simmer, her gaze returning again and again to the large family seated in front of her. To the woman and her husband and her three sons and the soon-to-be daughter-in-law. To a whole family, a family unscarred by a husband’s unfaithfulness, by a father’s desertion.

And bitterness multiplied in her heart.

PART 3

Loneliness

God makes a home for the lonely;
He leads out the prisoners into prosperity,
Only the rebellious dwell in a parched land.
Psalm 68:6, NAS

EIGHTEEN

J
UNE — FOUR-AND-A-HALF
Y
EARS
L
ATER

“So? What d’ya think, Mom?”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to know.”

“Ah, come on.” Dakota grinned, looking more like a youth than like a man. “It’s the perfect bachelor pad. Great place to bring all those girls.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.

“No self-respecting female would set foot through that door.”

Her son laughed.

She pivoted slowly, memorizing every dreadful detail of the studio apartment, a converted room on the third floor of a one-hundred-and-ten-year-old house in the north end of the city. The linoleum in the kitchenette was curling up in the corners. The tile grout around the sink was green with mold. The ugly carpet reeked of stale cigarette smoke — or something worse.

She longed to ask him why he was so determined to move out when he had a perfectly good home in a nice neighborhood where he wasn’t charged rent and had someone to cook for him. But she already knew the answer. They’d been over it numerous times.

Dakota was twenty years old, and he wanted a place of his own. He was ready for it. Deep down, she knew he
should
be. It was normal. But it didn’t make letting go any easier. She counted herself lucky that she’d kept him at home as long as she had. For his first two years at the university, she’d been able to hold their precarious finances over his head. But with her new position at Best Homes Real Estate—and the new salary that came with it—plus Dakota’s recently awarded full scholarship, she’d lost that advantage.

“This isn’t Siberia, you know,” he teased, still grinning. “It’s only across town.”

Reluctantly, she returned his smile.

“And I’m not exactly the type to be having wild parties, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

No, he certainly wasn’t the type for that. In her wild and woolly youth, she would have labeled Dakota a square. A Jesus freak. She supposed there were worse things for him to be.

He put his arm around her shoulders, leaning down from his lofty height, making her all the more aware that he wasn’t her little boy anymore. “I’m glad you’re going to miss me.”

“Who said I’m going to miss you?” she blustered. “I have every intention of changing your bedroom into a den or something. Maybe I’ll take up sewing again.”

“Sure you will.”

She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. It was either that or burst into tears. She had no desire to be one of those clinging, cloying mothers, and she had all the symptoms of becoming precisely that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his expression somber now. “I’m not going to disappear. I’ve got a phone, so I’ll call you. I’ve got a car. I’ll come see you. Often. I promise.”

She nodded. She knew his intentions were good, but she also knew how seldom that “often” more than likely would happen. He would be busy with classes and his job and his church. And girls! They would probably call him twenty-four hours a day, now that he wouldn’t have a mother answering the phone for him.

After another squeeze, Dakota released her and started opening the boxes he’d carried in earlier. Claire watched him for a moment, then went to the kitchenette and unpacked the pots and pans he’d purchased at the thrift store that morning. Next she checked the shallow cupboards. The one next to the sink held three stoneware plates, all of them chipped, six plastic glasses, and two discolored coffee mugs that looked like they’d been around since the discovery of coffee beans. The cupboard above the stove held a box of macaroni and cheese, two boxes of Rice-A-Roni, three cans of tomato soup, and a loaf of wheat bread. The tiny, under-the-counter refrigerator contained a half gallon of skim milk, a six-pack of storebrand colas, a tub of margarine, a bottle of ketchup, a small jar of Miracle Whip, and a package of thick-sliced bacon.

If this is all he has to eat, he probably will come home often.

As Claire closed the refrigerator door, her gaze alighted on the slender gold chain on her right wrist. A poignant smile curved her mouth. Dakota had used his hard-earned savings to buy the bracelet for her for Christmas a few years ago. Like it was yesterday, she could see the way his blue eyes lit up with excitement and anticipation as she’d opened the unexpected gift. She’d had him put it on her wrist right then, watching as he fumbled with the clasp, and she’d rarely taken it off since. The bracelet was lovely, of course, but the reason she wore it always was because it came from Dakota, because she knew what he’d sacrificed to give it to her.