Faithful (11 page)

This time Daphne walked up and hugged Phyllis, then reached for a hug from Rod. Others mixed in as well with their hugs and good-byes.

Phyllis hung there a moment, waiting to wrap up their exchange. But those others kept coming. Seemed everybody was leaving at once, and the path to the door went past Rod. She watched him smiling, hugging, and felt a longing to hug him, too, just a customary quick one like everybody else. She had enjoyed their conversation—best she'd felt all day.

On the ride to Jasper's she'd called home and gotten an earful of attitude from Hayes. Cole had told him, “Dad, I don't see why you can't take us to church. You must hate God.” Hayes had never been challenged like that by the kids, and he blamed Phyllis for putting the idea in Cole's head.

“That's not what happened,” was all she could say with the women in the car. They'd discuss it later, and the thought of it weighed like lead on her mind. Tonight, at least, she'd felt free.

She looked at Rod again and felt something else—a connection. And it scared her. She grabbed her purse and the gift bag with its assorted goodies and followed Stacy out the door. She didn't know whether Rod would be there tomorrow or not, but given the flutters of her heart, she needed to steer clear of him.

Eight

D
ANA WOKE WITH
a start and sat straight up in bed, heart thumping. She'd had fitful nightmares in which she'd been running—no, fleeing—though she could never see from what or whom. Just running, stumbling, falling, running again in pitch darkness, no end in sight, her life a hairbreadth from certain extinction.

The phone must have awakened her, because she could hear it now in the distance. Breathing in and out slowly, she tried to get her bearings in the real world, but when she looked about her in the pale morning light, things only got worse.

She was in unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar anyway for first thing in the morning. The bright yellow walls, light honey dresser drawers, dolls, dishes, and a plastic kitchen brought the real-life nightmare of yesterday into sharp focus. She slid back under the covers. Her chest heaved, and she grabbed a crumpled tissue from the pillow and held it, knowing the tears would come.

When she finally went to bed last night, she lay there forever it seemed, weeping until her eyes burned and her nose chafed from blowing. It was the first time she'd been entirely alone since it happened. There was nothing to distract her from the images. They just played and played. Her husband kept lying in their bed with that woman, kept taking her hand and leaving with her, leaving Dana behind. It all moved in slow motion. She could see their fingers intertwine as he led her out. One, two, three fingers, until their hands were one.

She would never sleep in that bed again. She wished she didn't have to enter the room at all. She wanted it cordoned off like a crime scene with yellow tape stretched across the door. She wanted someone to declare it off-limits and chuck everything in there from her clothes to the furniture to her toothbrush. Last night she'd kept their bedroom door shut and slept in Mackenzie's room as is—clothes, teeth, and all, which felt foul because she had a thing about brushing and flossing three times a day ever since her dentist warned her she was on her way to periodontal disease. She kept thinking—and it made her cry all the more—that there wasn't one thing Scott's affair hadn't touched, right down to her gums.

She blew her nose as Scott's voice played in her mind.
“I want my marriage
.
”
The relief she felt when she first heard those words turned to anger overnight. “
I want my marriage.”
Why didn't he think about that when he was walking Heather to her car late at night after choir rehearsal? Why didn't it come to mind when their conversations veered into forbidden territory? There had to be numerous times his conscience told him to cut off contact, yet he kept traipsing willingly over the line. The first time he kissed her, the second, the third . . . Weren't there warning bells? And how could he throw caution to the wind and invite her into their home, their
home
?

How could you, Scott?

She grabbed a Beanie baby from the bed and hurled it across the room. So
now
he wanted to pick back up with his marriage, after he'd enjoyed his romp with Heather? Wasn't there a price to pay? Was she supposed to forgive him just like that? “Okay, honey, I understand. Now that you've had your fun and come to your senses, we can carry on.”

If he's even come to his senses
.

Dana pondered that a moment. He didn't exactly come to her and confess. He got caught. And Dana was to believe he was glad about it? That he could turn now from the desires and feelings he had for this woman?

Her arms began to tremble as the scene flashed through her mind, when she first walked in, and Scott had his hand behind Heather's head and—

She hopped out of bed and stood on Mackenzie's sunflower area rug. Sleep wasn't working. Lying in bed awake wasn't working. No. It was consciousness that wasn't working, and the ability to think, feel, and remember. Everything was painful. Every place was painful within the home and, she could already imagine, outside. She knew for sure she wasn't going to church this Sunday, or the next. Might never return.

She'd been a member of that church for more than twenty years, but Scott had ruined that too. How was she supposed to enjoy a worshipful experience with Heather in the midst? And how would they deal with the fallout from Scott's affair?

There was no way they could continue as leaders of Marriages for Christ. She loved that ministry. They had helped organize classes and social events for married and soon-to-be-married individuals. Her favorite was the program they'd started in which couples married a minimum of five years would mentor younger married or engaged couples. Dana loved talking to younger women, encouraging them in their roles as wives. She had met with many women in troubled marriages. Always she exhorted them to trust God in their circumstances. “He's the God of the impossible,” she liked to say, “and He's faithful. He'll never put more on you than you can bear.”

Dana unfolded a tissue in her hand, close to shreds, and wiped her nose. Her own words rang hollow now. She believed them, but they hung in the outer reaches of her mind, too far to touch the trembling and the tears. Too far to lift the weight of betrayal that was crushing her heart. She understood now why those women would tell her to come down from the clouds and get real. Those verses she had lived by for so long sounded like mere platitudes. Why couldn't she bring them closer?

Why did God feel so far away?

The second the question came, the answer followed, and she fell to her knees, her head hitting Mackenzie's sheets.

She hadn't prayed.

From the moment of that awful encounter yesterday till now, she hadn't once lifted her heart up to God. Her heart raced with self-examination.

Why wasn't prayer natural and automatic, as it used to be? She used to pray about everything, especially in the season following Mackenzie's birth, when she left her position in marketing to care for the baby full-time. It had been a step of faith. Without her salary, they had to cut way back and hope for enough to cover expenses month to month. But Dana and Scott had prayed about the decision together and knew it was what they wanted to do.

Daily Dana prayed for God's provision, for help with unexpected bills and managing the household budget. She'd prayed as she made her grocery lists, asking God for economical meal ideas. She'd held adorable pink sweaters and tops and cute frilly dresses in the clothes store, praying,
Okay, God, does Mackenzie really need all of these, since she'll grow out of them in a couple of months?
Prayers for protection, prayers that their baby would know and love God, prayers for wisdom and guidance in raising her. Always prayers.

By the time Mark was born, Scott had been blessed with a couple of promotions, improving their financial situation. Dana wasn't praying as much for provision, but as she held the new baby in her arms, her prayers poured forth for his physical and spiritual well-being, as they had for Mackenzie.

Surely she'd been praying in the years since then. But when did the spontaneous fellowship with God slacken? How could she have gotten to this point—turning inward instead of upward in her time of greatest need?

The house phone pierced her thoughts as it rang for the third or fourth time. She looked at the clock—7:15. Probably Mackenzie wondering when Dana would pick her up from Trish's.

And realization dawned.

Mackenzie had an eight o'clock hair appointment . . . for Stephanie's wedding. She'd been worrying about church on Sunday, but she needed to be at church
today
. Sighing, Dana stood and paced the room. There was no way she could be around people. No way could she smile and act happy with Scott at her side. And they'd
have
to show up together. How would it look if they didn't? Their son and daughter were both in the wedding. And Mark and Mackenzie would never understand if their parents weren't there, together.

Now the doorbell was ringing, as if someone were leaning on it.
What in the world ?
Dana ran her fingers through her hair and descended the stairs as Scott came bounding up from the lower level. He'd slept in the guest room. In sweatpants and a T-shirt, he stopped at the top of the stairs and allowed her to pass. She avoided his eyes and opened the door.

Mackenzie, Mark, and Trish bustled inside with the cool morning air.

“Daddy!” Mackenzie said, hugging his waist. “I didn't see you before we left last night.”

“I know. I missed you guys,” Scott said, pulling Mark into the embrace.

“Mom, we've been calling for forever,” Mackenzie said, reaching to pull Dana into the group hug as they often did.

Dana took her hand and squeezed it, hoping it would be enough.

“Why didn't you answer?” Mackenzie continued. “We even called from the car a few minutes ago.” She looked fresh as the morning sun, bright and, Dana could tell, brimming with excitement about the day. Her chestnut hair hung high in a ponytail, and she wore jeans, a long-sleeved lilac top, and a light jacket.

“I'm sorry,” Dana said. “Mom and Dad were still in bed.”

Separate beds
.

“We decided to just come on over,” Trish said. “Mackenzie said they needed to get home to get ready for the wedding.” Trish gave Scott the eye as she added in a low voice, “And I needed to check on you anyway. Not answering the phone got me nervous.”

Mark dropped his overnight backpack on the floor. Two years younger than Mackenzie, he was thicker and already weighed more than she. He had dark hair like the rest, with his own brand of zest. Where Mackenzie's showed on the social side, his showed in a need for constant movement. “Dad, do we have time to throw the ball out back?”

“We have all the time in the world . . . later this afternoon. Right now we've got to go get haircuts.”

“But I don't have to be there until eleven thirty.”

Scott put a hand to Mark's shoulder. “By the time we get to the barbershop and get back, it'll be time to get you dressed and over to the church.”

“We have to be at Grandma Claudia's by ten o'clock, Mommy,” Mackenzie announced. “All the ladies are dressing there.”

“Okay.” Dana was thankful she and Scott were on different tracks. She wouldn't have to deal with him until she got to the church.

Mackenzie stepped closer. “What's wrong with your eyes, Mommy? They're all red.”

“Oh. It's just . . . maybe allergies.”

She thought a moment. “I thought you get that in the spring.”

“Can I have some orange juice, Mommy?” Mark was already heading to the kitchen. “I'm thirsty.”

Dana exhaled. “Sure, honey.”

“Me too.” Mackenzie ran after him.

Opening the door, Trish said, “I've got to get back home, but I'll see you at the church.”

“Thanks for taking care of the kids, Trish,” Dana said.

“You're welcome,” she said.

Scott nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Trish rolled her eyes at him and closed the door.

Dana turned to go in the kitchen.

“Dana.”

She kept walking.

“Dana,” he said louder, and she stopped so Mark and Mackenzie wouldn't think something was wrong. “May I talk to you a moment, please?” He moved into her peripheral vision. “A quick moment?”

She crossed the foyer and walked well into the living room, outside of the kids' hearing. They rarely used this room, a space decorated with creamy white walls, a taupe sectional, and an oversized square, wooden coffee table.

The phone was ringing again as Scott tried to stare into her eyes. Dana refused to cooperate.

“I wanted to tell you that I spent most of the night praying and reading the Bible,” he said. “It was unbelievable. God is showing me some amazing things.”

Whoop-de-do
.

“I really feel like I'm plugged in again, like He's guiding me.” He paused. “He's with us, Dana. And He's
for
us. I know God will see us through this.”

Dana pierced him with cold eyes. “Because of you, I couldn't pray at all last night.” In that instant, she'd decided Scott was the reason she hadn't prayed. She was too distraught. He had messed that up too. “I feel
dis
connected from God. I feel alone.”

She hated to cry again, but it started up anyway. “I feel like He left me on a dirt road in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, and I've fallen into a pit. Because of
you
, I can't see hope anywhere in sight.”

Scott tried to brush a tear from her face, but she swatted his hand.

“Dana, I'm so sorry. Please, let me—”

“Mom, we've got to get ready.” Mackenzie breezed back from the kitchen and took to the stairs. “I'm going to get my dress.”