Up in Smoke (15 page)

He was right. There wasn’t much more that I didn’t like in this world than a person who didn’t have the nerve to speak directly. “I have to work. Let’s do Saturday. 2pm.”

“That’s fine. See you then. At my office, in the church.”

“See you then.”

Hanging up the phone, I stared out at the city of Spokane as I rested my arms on the railing. This city wasn’t going to be under my watchful eye for much longer, and if I wanted to enjoy these final years of my life, I knew a good relationship with my wife and my God were crucial. The idea of her spending my last years in the guest house made me feel sad more than anything else. A separated life wasn’t what I desired for us.

S
aturday soon arrived. Susan and I hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other all week. She kept to herself out in the guest house. I hadn’t even told her about the news of the early retirement. I figured she wouldn’t care or she’d show little interest in the information. After all, she was becoming quite accustomed to the new arrangement. The other night, I spotted a few of her friends over in the kitchen. They sat around the table playing bridge and chatting it up. She appeared happy, and it pained me. It also hurt how easy it was for her to not be in our house, in our own home. I, on the other hand, refused to believe this was the new way of living.

One of my eyes stayed partially shut as I ran the water in the sink to make a pot of coffee that early Saturday morning. Staring out the window as I let the water fill the pot, I saw the lights off in the guest house. I didn’t like her being out there, but if she wasn’t going to be living with me, it was the best place for her. I still worried about her safety, though. And that of my daughter. Sure, the kid was locked up, but that didn’t mean anything. Lincoln was still out, and he still had plenty of muscle in his pocket.

The phone on the wall rang. Stopping what I was doing, I set the pot down and went to answer it. It was my daughter, Beth.

“Hey, Beth.”

“Hi, Dad.” Her words sounded strained and worried.

“What’s going on?” I asked, leaning against the wall in the kitchen next to the phone.

“It’s Philip. He’s sick.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

“He has a fever that won’t come down. I haven’t ever seen anything like it. Is Mom there?”

We hadn’t told Beth about anything. She was in the dark. My eyes lifted up toward the French doors that led out the back and to the guest house. “Let me go find her,” I said.

Letting the phone dangle there against the wall, I headed out the double doors and out to the guest house. She didn’t answer the door. I opened the door and called out for Susan as I went through the kitchen and into the living room.

She wasn’t there.

Checking the two bedrooms, she wasn’t there either. I began to worry. Jogging out of the house, I went through the gate and to the driveway. Her car was parked.

I went up the front steps of the house and back inside to the phone. “I don’t know where she is, Beth.”

“What do you mean you don’t know where she is? Did you check the laundry room?” Beth asked.

I sighed. “She isn’t here.”

“How come you didn’t just tell me that from the beginning, Dad?”

“I didn’t know.”

“How did you not know that Mom wasn’t home?”

A child’s scream came through the phone. It was opportunity to escape the conversation. “You sound busy. I’ll have her call you when I see her.” Hanging up the phone, I ran a hand through my hair as worry began to take the steering wheel of my mind once again. Was it Lincoln? Did she get kidnapped? Heading back to the front door, I peered down both directions of the street.

Then I heard a noise from inside the house and I heard the French doors from the kitchen shut.

I ran through the house and back to the kitchen. I was relieved to see it was Susan.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Beth called.”

Susan sighed. “We need to tell her.”

I put a hand up as I came over to Susan. “We can wait. We don’t need to tell her right now.”

“For what? This is our life now until I get into a new place.”

“A new place?” I asked, surprised. “What’s wrong with the guest house?”

“I don’t need your watchful eyes on me. I see you peeking out at me all the time. Marge thought you were being super creepy the other night when we were playing bridge.”

“Marge said that?” Shaking my head and hurt by the comment, I said, “She knows me. Why would I be creepy to her?”

“I don’t know, Rick. I’m moving. I already have a place lined up. It’s available in the beginning of November.”

“Don’t do that,” I pleaded.

“You can’t stop me. I’m not yours to control,” she retorted. She grabbed for the door handle to leave, but paused. Looking back at me, she said, “I want that washer and dryer, by the way. I’m getting tired of waiting until you’re at work.”

“Why are you being so cruel?” I asked.

She let go of the handle and walked over to me. “Don’t you think it was cruel what you did, Rick? You left me in the dark. Not for a day or a week, but years. You lied to my face daily. You stole from us. You won’t even tell me the full story! You’re a liar and a thief, and I don’t know how you live with yourself, but I’m glad I don’t have to anymore!”

I could see through her cruelty and saw the pain behind her eyes. She was trying to keep a strong outward appearance, but I knew her too well. “I’m sorry for what happened, Susan,” I said in a soft tone as I lightly grabbed onto her arm.

She brushed my hand away and turned to leave.

“Where did you go?”

“When?”

“When I was looking for you . . . when Beth was on the phone a few minutes ago.”

“Went for a walk,” she said with a soft and hopeless kind of tone. She turned and headed back to the door and left. Watching her as she shut the door behind her and walked across the deck, my heart hurt for what I’d done to her.

Pulling my car into a spot in the church’s parking lot, a flood of memories came rushing into my mind. This church housed memories that spanned decades. Beth’s baby dedication, me leading the men’s Sunday school class, and our family growing up. Susan and I even led the youth group for a few years. We were so active and a part of the church family back in our younger years. Then it all changed. It was a slow fade, starting when we shipped Beth off to college. We stopped volunteering as much, and then we started to cut our church attendance to only Sunday mornings, eventually stopping altogether.

Getting out of my car, I headed for the front doors of the church. The parking lot was rather empty that day, and a chilly breeze was blowing in from the south. I pushed my hands into my jeans as I hurried my steps across the pavement.

I felt nervous that day. Not because I had a beef with God, but because I knew how out of control my life had gotten without Him steering it. God was a big part of my life at one point, and for many years, and now, He had a special little box in the recesses of my mind. It had only been a couple of months since I’d attended church, but I hadn’t let God steer my life in over a decade.

Going inside, my nerves settled as I made my way to pastor Conner’s office. Church always had a calming effect on my soul. It was the one place in the world that made sense to me.

Pastor Conner’s door was open as I approached it. I stuck my head in. He motioned me in and stood up, saying, “Come in, come in.”

Stepping into the room, I reached across his desk and shook his hand. The top of his desk was littered with notes, Bibles, a calendar and even a few sticky notes with scribbles on them that I couldn’t make out. “You look busy,” I said. Glancing over my shoulder back toward the door, I said, “I can come back.”

“No, no, Rick. This is what I like to call
organized chaos
.” He laughed as he moved a few of the Bibles and notes to the side. “How are you?” he asked, taking a seat.

I laughed. “Yeah, it’s a mess. I’m fine.” I sat down.

“I mean it. How are you, Rick? This isn’t a greeting where you just say ‘fine’ and keep walking. I’m genuinely interested in how you’re doing.”

“Well . . .”I replied as I processed the question. Scrambling through my thoughts, I couldn’t really give an answer, so I shrugged.

“Let’s try this.” The pastor put his hands on his table and said, “What hurts?”

I furrowed my eyebrows.

“You gotta open up, Rick.”

“Okay . . . my wife left,” I replied. My nose scrunched up as I sniffed. “She just up and left, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The pastor pulled one of the Bibles from the stack he had and set it on the desk. He opened it up and spent a couple of minutes searching, thumbing through the pages. Then he stopped, cleared his throat, and asked, “May I read something to you?”

I nodded. “Go ahead. But I don’t think it’ll do much.”

“You still believe in the Bible and God, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, annoyed by his accusation. “But I’ve been through the Bible multiple times.” I laughed. “You know that.”

“Well, the power is in the Word, Rick.” His eyes went back down to the pages and he began to read. “In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. Ephesians 5:28”

I tightened my lips as I furrowed my eyebrows at the pastor. “This isn’t the problem, here.”

He set the Bible down on the desk. “Go on.”

“I lied to her. Betrayed her. And it went on for years.”

“Mind me asking what you did?”

I hesitated for a second, but I knew I needed to confide in someone. So I spilled the beans. “I drained our savings account from eighty grand down to ten. Then I hid it from her. I was gambling it away.”

“Why’d you feel like you could do it?” Pastor Conner asked, bringing his hands together. His expression was soft, and he seemed genuinely interested and not just trying to pry.

“I spent my whole life serving. I have served Spokane as a firefighter, my family as a dad and husband, and God as a volunteer in the church. I just wanted one thing for myself. I genuinely enjoyed it, even when I wasn’t winning. It was fun, and if she didn’t know, I felt it wasn’t hurting anything. I know that sounds stupid.” I shook my head. “It just got away from me and I couldn’t control it anymore.” I felt relieved to admit it out loud.

Pastor Conner sat there silently, nodding as I spoke to show he was listening. “Can I ask you something, Rick?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Why the other night? Why were you so harsh? Cut off? Because you were going to gamble?”

I shook my head. “My gambling problem took a turn for the worse a while ago when I played poker with a couple of shady individuals. I was keeping it from her because we were endangered.”

“Sin has a way of leading us down paths we never intend on travelling.”

“Yeah. You got a good point there, Pastor.” My ear itched and I rubbed it between my index finger and thumb as I asked, “What do I do?”

“You have to rebuild.”

“That was seventy thousand dollars! I can’t rebuild that account! I’ve been trying, and that’s what got me into the shady stuff!”

“I’m not talking about rebuilding your savings account. I’m talking about rebuilding your marriage.”

“I’m old. I can’t rebuild.” I shook my head and looked off toward the wall. “Susan and I are too old for that kind of thing. Maybe we could do that when we were younger , but I don’t see that happening at our age.”

“You’re old, so you must rebuild,” he said, correcting me.

“What?”

“Susan is your wife, Rick. She adores you and always has.”

“I don’t see that right now,” I replied.

“I know,” he said. “You have to make her see it with your actions, and you have to tell her everything. Let her know your heart as you just did with me.”

“I don’t think she’ll be receptive, and I honestly don’t blame her.”

“Come on, Rick. We’re talking about Susan Alderman. She’s been to every woman’s conference this church has ever hosted and has counseled several dozen women in the church over the years. If anyone can get through this, it’s you two. Susan’s good for it.”

“You didn’t see how much I hurt her.”

“I did. I was there when you left her in the dark. At the hospital, and then at the house, I saw it all.” He leaned in. “I also saw a woman who loves you despite all of that. She wouldn’t be in pain right now if she didn’t love you, Rick.”

“If you think it’s possible, I’m willing to try. What do I have to do?”

Shuffling the papers around on his desk, he pulled his calendar out from the pile and set it on top. Clicking his pen, he said, “What’s a good day of the week to start counseling?”