Winter in Full Bloom (36 page)

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? In case you’re nuts and you really do go home and take your life. That’s why.” She slapped her hand down on the armrest but missed.

“But if this really is all there is, then none of that matters, even this conversation. Even your affair. Even what we do when—”

“I won’t tell you to commit suicide … just in case,” she said in a whispery slur.

“In case of what?”

“Leave it be, woman.” Vontella mumbled a curse.

The alcohol was making her more angry than mellow. Or maybe I was upsetting her. Maybe the irritation came from the inconsistencies in her faith that had been brought to light.

“If you must know,” Vontella said, “I won’t convince you that suicide is good, just in case there is something out there. I wouldn’t want your blood on my hands. Adultery is one thing, but …”

“So, you have your limits on how far you’ll take your lack of faith.”

“I have my limits, so sue me.” Vontella lifted the tumbler off the table and tossed back the last of the whiskey, wincing as she swallowed.

She looked “full as a boot” as Marcus might say in his Aussie vernacular. I set the pillow aside and leaned forward, more curious than ever. “You must be a doubting atheist then.”

“Aren’t you a doubting Christian?”

“At times. I’ve had a few doubts … like when I found out my husband was having an affair.”

She chuckled. “Right.” Her laughter became a rattling cough.

“Somebody must have really hurt you in the past.”

“For me to be such a malcontent, you mean? Maybe. Well, my father was a lout. So, I don’t have a very high opinion of men.”

I could have guessed that one.

“It’s also hard to look up to a heavenly Father when your earthly father decimated your childhood.” Vontella’s eyes drooped even more. “I’m beginning to feel tired now. This disease doesn’t give me a lot of energy. At least wives will no longer have to be afraid of me. No man is interested in me now.”

If it were true, I couldn’t say that I was sorry about the last part. “I’ll go now.” I rose from the couch. “I do have one last thing to say.”

“Oh, yeah? What pray tell is that?”

“I forgive you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want your forgiveness.” Vontella spat out the words. “I have no use for it.”

“That’s fine, but your spirit might accept what your mind rejects.”

“Odd little aphorism. Like a pretty box with nothing inside.” She shook her finger. “That’s the same kooky thing your husband wanted to do. After our one-day affair, he asked for my forgiveness like he’d been the one to do something wrong. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying I would forgive him. Guess I should have, since he died. But that was all there ever was between us. That one day.”

One day. It had only been one day.
“I give you my forgiveness anyway, even if you don’t want it. Freely given, with no hot coals attached.” I picked my purse off the floor.

Vontella chuckled and shook her head. “If there is a God, He threw away the mold when He made you. ’Cause you’re one crazy chick.”

“True. I am.” I gave my purse strap a good twisting in my fingers. “There is a God, because He’s the One who’s kept my hand from slapping you, my mouth from screaming at you, and my heart from despising you.”

“Well, I’m glad for that at least.” Vontella followed me, rolling her way to the front door. “So, you’re not going home and kill yourself?” she added with a smile, but there was a hint of concern in her voice.

“No, this crazy chick is going to start a new life.” I smiled at her. “I’m going to propose marriage to the man I’m dating.”

Later at home
, the many scenes and conversations that I had been repressing, with Mother, Camille, Vontella, Marcus, everyone really, came frothing up in my emotions, threatening to smother me. I rubbed my neck and then unbuttoned the top buttons on my blouse. A dizzy buzz filled my head. Maybe I needed to eat, and yet I wasn’t hungry. So much had happened. Tragedy, miracles, betrayal, fury, and forgiveness, even for those who didn’t deserve it. What to do with it all? Maybe I could funnel it into art rather than have a nervous breakdown.

Perhaps the confrontation with Vontella was like the last mile of the traveler after a long journey. I felt grateful that Richard hadn’t given in to sin easily, but hearing about the details of his unfaithfulness was like touring Dante’s inferno. I knew that the seedy realm of adultery existed, and yet I had never been forced to see it up close. Until today.

In an attempt to escape too much reality, I went into my small music room—a place I rarely visited—and ran my fingers along the polished wood surface of my Baldwin Acrosonic piano. Dust collected on the tips of my fingers, and I fluttered it off. The room smelled unused as though no one was home.

But I was home now.

I sat down on the bench. Perhaps God had given us the arts to lessen the blows of life, to bring heaven close—at least as close as we mortals could get.

It’s been a long time.

Before I even played a note the music came to me, as it always had—but I’d learned to repress even that, even God’s inspiration, His music.

But no more.

I would call the piece “Haven”—a place where God meets us here on earth. There’d be green pastures and still waters in my piece, and it would be juxtaposed with dramatic chords, echoing the human condition. My melody would reflect the hope of redemption for Vontella, the prayer that I would fully forgive Richard, and a look at my own transgressions. Those daily offenses that separated me from God—the things that made me step away into the shadows, away from the brilliance and warmth of His perfect love. And lastly, the haven that would help me to find my way into the future, into that holy place called matrimony.

I lifted the lid and rubbed my hands together. I played a note and then another until beauty formed from chaos, just as it did that first day of creation. The passion of my soul flowed onto the keys. The melody started out wispy like the tiniest flutter of a petal, and then it became intoxicating mixed with thundering fury, and then finally satisfying, with a resolution, just like the release that comes from forgiveness.

As I finished up the last notes of “Haven,” I had a sense of freedom. In that liberty of spirit I could see a future scene playing out before me—I would run into Marcus’s arms, and this time, we’d both hear the merry chatter of guests—the guests who would attend our wedding.

In Melbourne I’d said, “You have to know yourself to have hobbies … be a friend to yourself.” Maybe I knew myself a little better now. Maybe I could be a friend to myself. But I did know this too—I wanted the piano to be more than a hobby.

I ran my fingers across the keys like a breeze flowing over silk. “My eighty-eight little black and white companions … how I’ve missed you.”

Forty-eight hours after my confrontation
with Vontella, I stood in front of the magazine shop in Terminal E just outside of security at Houston’s Intercontinental Airport.

I knew what I was about to do. It was an extraordinary step for Lily Anne Winter. I would tell Marcus I not only loved him, but I was ready to marry him.

Today. Now. Whenever he wanted.

Only one hitch remained. Marcus was late. Thirty-one minutes late to be exact. I’d checked my watch, and it was correct. I’d checked the board for flights, but the information had disappeared off the screen. If the plane were merely delayed, it would still be listed. Wouldn’t it? Had he come in early, and I’d missed him? But he would have texted. We both knew where to meet. There could be no misunderstandings.

I slid my coat off and sat down on the bench outside the store, but my twinge of panic got bigger and scarier like those blow-up monsters on people’s lawns at Halloween. One ugly thought played over and over in my head—Marcus had changed his mind.

Maybe he’d gotten back into his routine there, met with his friends, got involved with his church, and Melbourne had worked its way back into his heart. He’d canceled his flight and stayed. Perhaps he thought I hadn’t proven, after all, that I could be the kind of person who could ever trust again. Maybe he thought I was a lost cause. That my husband’s infidelity had ruined my faith in men and in the loveliness of married life.

With jittery fingers, I texted Marcus—again. If he’d decided to stay, wouldn’t he have called or texted? Maybe not. Maybe he surmised that a clean break was the only way. But did people really disappear into foreign countries? Marcus had done that very thing a year ago.

Wanting to feel closer to him, I felt around in my pocket for the origami lily he’d made for me. It had been the last thing he’d touched. I pulled it out and twirled it under my nose as I did the day he’d left. What had he said to me? “Never forget that you’re my lily. I know I won’t. Whenever I miss you I’ll make one of these.” How many flowers had he made while he was in Melbourne? I wanted to envision his apartment full of paper lilies as he packed his belongings. Marcus had also promised to call, and except for the last few days, he’d been faithful. Eventually, though, his communications had dwindled to a brief text or two. Perhaps he’d just gotten busy with wrapping up his life there, tying up loose ends.

I slipped the lily away into my pocket and gripped the edge of the cold metal bench. Funny, we’d begun our life together on a bench. Now I prayed this wouldn’t be the place where it would end.

But I’d been mistaken about so many things—I was notoriously wrong, in fact—even about Richard. Although what my husband had done with Vontella had been a painful breach of trust and a terrible sin, I’d thought he’d given in to adultery easily with little remorse. But it had taken Vontella three years of manipulations, a master plan, to make Richard fall. And then he’d obviously felt terrible enough about their one-time fling that he’d begged her to forgive him. I would like to think that he was asking for my forgiveness in a way. Perhaps he would have done that very thing had he not died of a heart attack. Yes, I would give Richard the benefit of the doubt. Something I hadn’t done before.

My hands ached, so I let go of the bench. The warmth of blood made it back into my hands, and I relaxed a little. Marcus had turned out to be one of the kindest, most down-to-earth, most amazing creatures God ever made. And if that weren’t enough, he’d even been Miles Hooper thrown in the mix. He’d made me fall in love with him, so deeply and dearly. But what if it all ended with me on this bench?

And I was left alone—without him?

Oh, Lord, could Marcus have come into my life just to be a friend?
True, he’d shown up at the perfect time, when I needed help, and he’d been suffering with the same issues, which was an uncanny turn of events. Miraculously, we’d worked it out together. It seemed like the perfect divine setup. Jesus with skin on as they always said, and now was it time for him to go?

Oh, God, please don’t let it be.
I love him.

I checked my phone for texts. Still nothing. I glanced around at all the people, zooming around. All going somewhere important. Many of them headed into the arms of someone they cherished. Hadn’t Marcus used that very word with me? Cherished? A person like Marcus doesn’t leave someone high and dry after making that kind of declaration. Then I remembered the last thing he’d touched—it hadn’t been the paper lily—it had been my lips. And in that kiss had been such promise. It couldn’t have been a final goodbye. The kiss hadn’t merely embodied the joyful remnants of our past days together, but it had celebrated our future. Hadn’t it?
Oh, Lord, this constant vacillation is driving me crazy.

Trust.

That one word echoed in my mind, so I invited the word into my heart. Just as I had gotten over my fear of flying and moved on from empty nest and so many other travails, I also had the ability to learn to trust people again, even after a heartbreaking, life-changing event. People had the potential to let me down again, but the One who held the controls never would. Since faith was a choice, I would choose to trust the harness. I would trust the One who was love and who’d made me for love.