You Don't Know Me (14 page)

Miriam had shown up at Helen’s house, bucket in hand, and if her sister wanted to cook here after picking another bushel of apples, Helen wouldn’t complain. She was sure Miriam intended to deliver a rebuttal after seeing Helen seated next to Frank in church this morning, but so far, she hadn’t mentioned it.

Her sister’s silence could drive Helen to her last nerve.

What was she to do? It didn’t help that the man had
handsome
written on him from head to toe. And he smelled good, spicy, armed with the cologne he wore to the dance. She’d spent too much time during the service remembering what it felt like to sway in his arms. Probably not appropriate thoughts for church.

But weren’t men and women designed to get married? To have
companionship? Frank made her laugh, and he came without preloaded opinions about her life, her reputation in Deep Haven. She liked the way he looked at her, as if he enjoyed listening to her. Even last night, when he walked her home after the volleyball game and came inside ever so briefly for coffee and another piece of pie. He’d asked about her life, her job—yes, she’d loved being a nurse, but not retirement so much. No, she hadn’t traveled much. Where would she go if she could go anywhere? Maybe Italy, but she liked Deep Haven, had never had much of a wanderlust.

And when he turned to her as he left, his hand braced on the doorframe, the desire to step up to him, to kiss him, to find herself in his arms—just like on the dance floor—nearly took her breath away.

She should thank her crazy, overprotective son for interrupting them and making a fool out of himself before she did.

Or not. She didn’t know what she wanted.

Nathan had even tried to sit between her and Frank today in church. But Frank got up and returned a few moments later, scooting in beside her.

Perhaps this was her second chance at happily ever after. Her only chance.

And Helen didn’t particularly want to argue with Miriam about it, but her sister had stood by her for so many years, welcoming her into her pew at church and even inviting Helen and Nathan to every family celebration. She just wanted her sister to understand, perhaps.

If not give her blessing.

“I mean, why not? You heard Dan today. ‘The Lord gives righteousness and justice to all who are treated unfairly.’ Maybe he’s saying that I need to ignore the gossip . . .” Helen lifted a warm
snickerdoodle from the cooling rack, broke off a piece, let the cinnamon sweetness dissolve in her mouth. Annalise’s recipe—perfection.

“It’s not gossip that’s kept you from being married all these years, Helen. It’s yourself.”

Helen pressed a hand against her chest to keep from choking. “What? You’re the one who’s always implying I shouldn’t get married again because I’m divorced. Because I’ve
sinned
.”

Miriam put the bowl in the sink, ran water into it. Although two years younger than Helen, she had a wiser and older air about her. Just because she’d been married for thirty-six years, had three children, hadn’t sinned a day in her pristine life . . .

“Would you agree that God hates divorce?” Miriam wiped her hands with a dishrag.

Here they went again. “Yes. But I don’t think that means we’re supposed to live punishing ourselves, never allowing ourselves to find happiness again.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.” Miriam opened the oven, placed the pan on the center rack.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have spent your entire life shutting out people, almost as if you
are
punishing yourself.” Miriam set the timer. “A man couldn’t get close to you if he tried.”

“That is not true. I don’t push everyone away.”

Miriam crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Please. You’ve spent thirty years making sure everyone knew you could take care of yourself. I’m not stupid, Helen. I was there when you caught Dylan cheating. I remember our conversation.”

“Me too! You told me to forgive that louse and let him back in my front door. All I got was the Christian answer, the legalism, from you.”

Miriam rubbed her arms. “Have you considered the fact that when you married Dylan, you said yes for better or for worse?”

“Not that kind of worse. Even the Bible says you can divorce if your spouse is cheating on you.”

“Yes, it does. That’s true. But . . .” She looked away. Widowhood had aged her, etching tiny lines into her face and adding a few pounds. But Miriam was still pretty with her dark-brown hair, gentle hazel eyes. Helen supposed there might be a second chance out there for Miriam, too. “I’m just wondering what would have happened if you had forgiven him.”

“Why would I do that? He betrayed me. And then look what he did. He turned to alcohol . . . and killed someone.”

Miriam nodded. “I know. And none of that is your fault, Helen. Dylan made his own choices.” She smiled at her sister as the aroma of the bread baking began to scent the kitchen. “But I’ve long believed that marriage isn’t just for our joy, but to make us stronger, better people. To change us into the people God wants us to be. And we do that through better . . . and worse.”

“How much worse are we supposed to take?”

Miriam took a hot pad and opened the oven. The bread was just rising. She closed the door. “I guess that depends on the worse. But I do know that during the worse, we draw nearer to God, and that’s a good thing. And maybe we even see His redemption of our marriage.”

Helen pulled out a plastic container, ripped off paper towels to line it, and started loading in the warm cookies. “That’s easy for you to say. You and William never had a quarrel in your life.”

“Actually . . . I fell in love with another man about ten years into our marriage.” Miriam said it without emotion, without drama. But it stilled Helen nonetheless.

“It was an office romance. Nothing happened except for a few flirtatious moments, but William and I were going through a distant, kid-focused time in our marriage. We’d forgotten the romance of our youth, and I let my heart be tempted.”

Of all the hypocritical—

“I stood in church one Sunday, surrounded by my family, and I realized that I was on the verge of destroying everything. It shook me back to myself.” Miriam picked up a rag, wiped the counter. “I remember the day when I told William. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have to, but secrets are cancer to a marriage, and . . . and I knew I couldn’t live like that. I wanted us to not just survive, but thrive. So I confessed what happened, expecting him to hate me, maybe even throw me out.”

Helen kept putting the cookies in the container, trying not to break them.

“He forgave me, Helen. And God redeemed our marriage.”

Helen turned and held out the container. “I think I need you to leave, Miriam.”

Miriam looked at it, then shook her head. “I’m not surprised. That’s what you do when people hurt you. Kick them out of your life.”

“Now, please.”

Miriam took the container. “I want you to be happy, Helen. I loved seeing you dancing with Frank. But I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt again.”

“I won’t marry a man like Dylan.”

Miriam set the cookies on the counter. “You’ll marry a
man
. By definition, they will drive you crazy.”

Funny. But she wasn’t laughing.

Miriam opened the oven again, where the bread was starting
to form a crust. The smell could make Helen’s eyes water. “Are you ready to commit to ‘for better or worse’ with Frank? Or anyone?” Miriam met her eyes. Gave her a smile. “I agree. God
does
give second chances. And He does protect us—even fixes the unfixable. Especially when we stand firm in our commitments. Frank seems like a nice man, but the biggest question is, are you ready for your second chance?”

Her words made Helen’s eyes burn, tightened her throat. “What if it’s my last chance?”

Miriam took out a cooling rack for the bread. “William loved my apple bread.” She took off the oven mitts. “It’s got a little while left to bake. I’m leaving it for you. Thanks for the snickerdoodles.” She turned to Helen, pulling her into a hug. “God loves you, Sis, and He wants His best and highest for you.”

Crazy, Helen actually thought she might cry.

She pulled away.

“Helen, you’re bleeding!”

Helen’s hand went to her nose, came away stained with red.

Miriam tore a paper towel and Helen pressed it against her nose, tipped her head back. She felt Miriam’s hand on her elbow, helping her to a chair at the kitchen table. “It’s probably this dry weather,” she said.

Miriam went to the sink, grabbed a cloth, dampened it, and returned. Helen checked her nose as she switched the paper towel for the cloth.

“Really? Are you sure?”

Helen recognized the fear in her sister’s eyes. “Yes. I’m fine. I had a checkup just three months ago. Still cancer free.”

But Miriam’s smile seemed forced. “Maybe I should stay.”

“I’m fine.” Helen pulled the cloth away. “See, it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“I would feel a lot better if you’d go to the clinic tomorrow.”

“Miriam—”

“Please, Helen.” Miriam pressed her arm. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”

Helen washed her hands, her nose, wiped her eyes with a towel. “Thank you for the bread.”

The fragrance lingered long after Miriam left, long after the bread finished baking, the harvest sweetness twining through her small house. Helen ran a bath, loading it with sea salts, and lit a candle.

Miriam’s words hung around her like a noose:
Marriage isn’t just for our joy,
but to make us stronger, better people. To change us into the people God wants us to be. And we do that through better . . . and worse.

Helen undressed and sank into the bubbles up to her chin.

If she closed her eyes, she could still remember that night she had confronted Dylan on his cheating. Nathan crying in his room, twelve years old, looking like he might be six, in the fetal position with his football clutched tight to him.

I’m sorry, Helen—it was a stupid mistake.

Just like mine was, marrying you.
Every time she remembered her words, they stung her afresh, and she recoiled from them now. Would she ever erase the hurt on Dylan’s face from her memory? The way he shook his head, the slam of the door as it rattled their home to its foundation?

She had climbed into bed with Nathan and listened to Dylan’s car fade into the night.

What if she had forgiven him?

Dylan had a way of making her laugh that sloughed off
the problems of her shift at the hospital. How many times had she arrived home late and found a pot of chili on the stove, little Nathan curled in his daddy’s arms as they watched college football?

A stupid mistake.

Like turning him away that night, months later, when he’d begged yet again for her forgiveness. No wonder he’d tempered his pain with too many beers. Taken that curve at Cutaway Creek too fast.

Her fault. A mistake she could never repair.

Helen climbed out of the water, blew out the candle, and wrapped a towel around herself.

Maybe, if she had it to do all over, she would have paused for one moment before she threw him out, thought about her life instead of her broken heart, and listened to his apology.

Given him a second chance.

For better or worse.

Yeah, well, at the time,
worse
felt insurmountable.

She drained the tub, then pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants, a sweatshirt, her wool socks. A glass of tea, popcorn, and a movie would erase the memories.

Perhaps it was the shadows or the heat of the bath in the cool of the house, but her head spun as she walked into the family room. She had to brace her hand on the doorframe to right herself.

Tea, yes, and a slice of bread. Miriam did make excellent apple bread. Helen filled the kettle and lit the stove.

Her hands shook as she took out the bread and grabbed a knife. She put it down, held her hands together.

The sense of the room tilting made her grab the counter.

And then she felt the trickle of moisture down her face into her lips.

She grabbed the washcloth from the sink and held it to her nose as she stumbled onto a kitchen chair, pinching back the blood flow.

The lighthouse clock in the kitchen ticked off the seconds. The minutes.

Maybe it was too late for second chances after all.

Annalise felt bruised. All the way through to her bones.

Bruised and mocked by Pastor Dan’s message.
“The Lord is compassionate and merciful. . . . He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve.”

Except with her. Because this felt harsh.

Annalise dumped the gnawed chicken wings into the trash, then set the tray in the sink. She squirted dishwashing liquid onto it, turned the hot water on full blast. The barbecue sauce from the wings needed soaking to work free.

Behind her in the next room, opposite the kitchen, her family cheered on the Sunday night game. The Eagles were down against the Patriots by one touchdown late in the third quarter.

Based on the roar of her crowd, the Eagles had just managed a fantastic run. Or catch. Or something. Not that she cared oh-so-much about football, but Nathan loved it, so she did too.