Contingency: Covenant of Trust Book One

  “Want a glass of wine, or a beer?” Tracy was already on her feet, padding to the kitchen. She was trim and fit, not at all like a woman who’d had two kids. Silhouetted by the refrigerator light, she fulfilled every dream he’d had.

  “I don’t . . .” Never mind. He watched her reach in the cabinet for the glasses, admiring the perfect curve of her back. As she walked back to him, she never dropped her eyes. His staring pleased her.

  She dropped beside him, poured a glass of red wine, and handed it to him. She poured a second glass, and set the bottle on the coffee table. “I have a bed. We don’t have to lay here in the floor.”

  “I should get going . . .” Suddenly aware of his dry his mouth, he gulped the wine.

  “Easy, there.” She smiled and arched an eyebrow as she refilled his glass. “You don’t want to go, though, do you?”

  “Honestly?”

  “I knew it.” She sipped her wine and set the glass on the table with the bottle. “You always do what you should do.” She slid her body against his.

  “Just this once, do what you want to do.”

  “You always do what you want to?”

  “Always.” She kissed him, the taste of wine still on her lips. He couldn’t resist kissing her again, then he stopped for another gulp of the wine, marveling that it was already taking effect. He hadn’t had a drop since college, since he became a believer, a believer who knew better than to be with a woman who was not his wife.

  He rolled over and sat up. “Look, I’ve . . . I need to go . . .” He reached for his shirt.

  “Chuck, you’re drunk. You can’t drive now. I won’t let you.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’ve had four glasses of wine in ten minutes. You’ll go to jail if you get pulled over.”

  “It hasn’t been . . .” He rubbed the back of his head and blinked. He could remember the first glass and when she poured the second . . . but four? Had he really? “I’m not drunk. I couldn’t be.”

  “All right, how many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Three.”

  “One.”

  He was sure he saw three. Maybe he shouldn’t try to drive just yet.

  Before Chuck opened his eyes, his brain registered something different. A different smell. Hotel in Kansas City? No . . . He forced his eyes open, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure where he was. But then he heard breathing, and it all crashed back into his consciousness.

  Tracy . . . He had . . . His life was over. Bobbi would . . . and who could blame her . . . No, Bobbi would never know. And this would never happen again.

  He snatched up his shirt and shoes without daring to wake Tracy. Mercifully, her body was covered as she slept on her living room floor, but the pillows and the blankets weren’t there when he fell asleep. He knew that much.

  His toolbox wasn’t anywhere close. He’d get new tools. Small price to pay. Wallet. Keys. Get out. But what about . . . what about locking her front door? No. If he woke her up, she’d start all over again, and he wouldn’t be able to resist her. Just get out fast.

  He checked his watch. Two-twelve. Six hours! How? How could he? He backed out of the driveway without starting the car, or turning on the lights, but as he put the BMW in gear he began to shake, great tremors in his hands, his legs. Freezing and dizzy, he blinked to keep his eyes focused.

  He never meant to . . . He just wanted . . . Sweat beaded across his upper lip and across his shoulder blades. And she . . . What was he supposed to do when she . . .? She was so. . . and she knew how to push all his buttons. If Bobbi knew he had any buttons, she didn’t care whether she pushed them or not. Tracy . . . it was like water in the desert.

  He slapped his face hard. “Bobbi is my wife. I love Bobbi. She’s the mother of my sons. We’ve been married eighteen years, for crying out loud!” But in eighteen years, she never made him feel the way Tracy made him feel. And Bobbi had never, ever made love to him like that. Never.

  But he was married. It was wrong. One hundred percent wrong. Totally. Wrong. And if Bobbi ever found out, he’d be paying for these six hours for the rest of his natural life. So, she could never find out. He’d be a good husband from now on, and she’d never have to know. No blood, no foul.

  He pulled in his driveway with a quick check around the neighborhood. Not a light on anywhere. Nobody would see him getting home after two-thirty. But even if they did, that was okay. Everybody knew the hours he worked these days. It was perfectly reasonable for him to work late . . . with his wife out of town. Especially with his wife out of town. That way he’d be home more when she was here. Of course. It made perfect sense.

  As soon as he stepped through his front door, guilt wrapped around him. He could smell Bobbi’s perfume, her coffee . . . He took the stairs two at a time and stripped his clothes off as soon as he got in the master bath, then cranked the hot water faucet until steaming water blasted from the spout.

  Clean, that’s what he needed. More soap. More hot water. He needed to get clean. He showered until he drained the hot water heater, and the shower ran cold. Condensed water dripped down the walls and fog rolled out when he opened the door. He wiped the face of his watch and frowned. Four o’clock already. His alarm was set for four-fifteen so he could make a ten-thirty meeting in Kansas City.

  He sighed and pulled out his razor, the razor that suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, lathered his face and started shaving. At four-fifteen, his cell phone rang, and he nearly jumped through the ceiling. He dug through the pile of clothes at the door until he found it. It was Tracy.

  “Hey, you left your toolbox here. Want me to bring it by?”

  “No! I mean, it’s not that big a deal. I’ll uh, I’ll get it some other time.”

  “I can bring it in—”

  “Really that’s not necessary, and I’ll be in KC today and tomorrow, so my office is locked.” And the last thing I need is for everybody to see you bringing in my toolbox.

  “Friday then?”

  Bobbi and the boys would be home from Detroit tomorrow night. He couldn’t while Bobbi was home. “Friday’s no good. If you don’t mind it being kinda late Thursday, I’ll just grab it then.”

  “How late?”

  “Probably eight or eight-thirty.”

  “Hardly late. I’ll be waiting for you. Thanks again for switching that fan out. And Chuck . . . I’ll have trouble concentrating today after last night. You . . . you blew my mind.”

  “It . . . uh . . . it was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was good.”

  “I’ll see you Thursday.”

  CHAPTER 15 TRANSPARENCY

  Friday, October 14

  Chuck waited as long as he could stand it, hoping his mother still woke before sunrise, when he dialed her phone number. Through the long night, Bobbi’s words echoed in his mind. I want to love you again without having to justify it to myself or anybody else. I want you to deserve to have me love you again. He didn’t deserve her love, not when he lied to her, not when he went behind her back pursuing the lawsuit.

  “What’s wrong?” Ann Molinsky asked as soon as she picked up the phone. “It’s ten til seven. You never call this early.”

  “It’s Bobbi, Mom.”

  “We’ve been over this before. I’m not getting in the middle.”

  “I know that. I need you to pray, hard.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t say exactly. I just . . . I have some critical decisions coming up very soon, and I need some wisdom.”

  “Psalm 37.”

  “How can you say that when you don’t know what I’m up against? Is that some one-size-fits-all psalm?”

  “No, but it changed your dad’s life years ago, and since you are Jim made over, I figure it’s a good starting place.”

  “Mom—”

  “Read it first, then call me back if you don’t find anything helpful.”

  “Mom—”

  “You need your answer from God, not from me,
or anyone else.”

  “Thanks,” Chuck muttered, and hung up. He slouched onto the sofa with his Bible, and found Psalm 37. He mumbled his way through it until the words leapt off the page at him.

  “Commit your way to the LORD, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass. He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday.”

  “I’m gonna hold You to this one, Lord.”

  Chuck spread the files from Tracy’s lawsuit and his countersuit across his desk and read through each one again. Walter Davis made it clear that this topped the list of priorities and he expected a quick resolution.

  Tracy’s evidence consisted of an answering machine message and a call to his cell phone, the one from that Sunday morning when he picked up his clothes. He couldn’t dispute the transcript. ‘I know. It was my fault.’ and ‘I shouldn’t have. That was wrong.’ She twisted the context, though.

  He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. Why would Tracy file a lawsuit when she knew it had no merit whatsoever? It’s not the money, because she knows she won’t get any, and if it goes forward, she’ll end up owing me.

  “God, You promised,” he said, then he took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed the bank. “What’s the payoff on my house right now?” he asked, once he got through the computer menu to a real person. “Just under eighteen,” he repeated, writing the number down in his planner. “Thanks. Now, can you transfer me to investment services?”

  A moment later, someone picked up. “Investments. This is Greg Harmon.”

  “Greg, this is Chuck Molinsky. Where do I stand today?”

  “Let me see . . . give me your magic number.” Chuck recited his social security number. “You look good. Three-twenty-five, roughly, and early retirement even with college looks very doable. Of course, that’s provided the markets stay decent and nothing major happens.”

  “What if something major happens?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I pull out, say, two-seventy-five?”

  “Bad things. Like a huge penalty to the IRS. You’d have to pull about three-fifteen to get two-seventy-five, then you’d have to save about sixty percent of your income to retire on time. I think early would be out of the question then.”

  His stomach rolled. Everything I’ve worked for. “Bobbi has to sign off on that, right?”

  “She’s on the account.”

  “How long does it take to get the money?”

  “A direct wire takes about ten days, and a paper check maybe three weeks.” Greg paused. “Chuck, I don’t know what you’ve got going, but I’d advise against this if at all possible.”

  “Anybody would. Even so, go ahead and send me the paperwork.” He hung up the phone and stared at the numbers he’d scribbled down. God, there has to be another way out of this. The alarm on his watch beeped. Time for Phil already? He stuffed the sheet of numbers in his pocket. Maybe after he blows a gasket because I lied to him, he can give me some advice.

  “Phil, before we wrap up, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.” Chuck swallowed hard and looked his pastor in the eye. “When we started all this, you told me I had to be completely honest. I haven’t been truthful with you or Bobbi about the lawsuit.”

  “You’re countersuing?” Phil asked.

  “I was. I mean, it’s filed, but I can’t go through with it.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Bobbi said something last night. She said she wanted me to deserve her love again.”

  “She doesn’t know about your countersuit at all?”

  “I’ve never told her directly, but I’m sure she does. I hoped I could get it all worked out behind the scenes.”

  “Behind her back.”

  “Yeah,” Chuck admitted. “She deserves better. I want to be the man she deserves, Phil, and if that means giving up everything I’ve got . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to pray. This is going to mean my job. I can pay off our house, but I don’t know what will happen after that.”

  “Do you care if I tell Donna?”

  “Please. I already called Mom, and I’m going to talk to Gavin.”

  “Excellent.” Phil smiled broadly. “It may be hard to believe right now, but Chuck, this is like standing on the mountain with Elijah in that moment right before the fire falls. I can’t wait to see how God works this out.”

  “You and me both,” Chuck said, wishing for a touch of Phil Shannon’s faith.

  Since leaving work, Chuck managed to cram in a counseling session and a stop at the doctor’s office before picking up dinner for Brad and him. Glancing at his watch as he parked his car, he mumbled, “Only twenty minutes late.” When Bobbi opened the door for him, he stepped into the study. “Can I talk to you for just a minute?” He held the test results folder in his outstretched hand.

  “What’s this?” Bobbi asked taking the folder and flipping it open.

  “Those are the results from all the testing you asked me to do.”

  She snapped the folder shut and handed it back to him. “Here, I don’t need these.”

  “Did you even look at them?” He reopened the folder and held it out to her. “It was all negative. Everything’s okay.”

  “I really didn’t think you’d do it,” Bobbi said, as she walked past him toward the kitchen.

  “So this was just a little test?” He strode to catch up to his wife. “A little hoop to jump through?” His voice cracked as his temper slipped closer to exploding.

  “No, I wanted to know that I wasn’t facing any future risk.” Bobbi pointed at her own heart, her jaw set, then she softened. “At least not any health risks. I don’t play games like that. How could you even think that I would do that to you?”

  “How could you think I wouldn’t go through with the testing? I told you I would do whatever it took to make this right. I meant what I said.”

  “Yeah, and I thought you meant it when you said you’d be faithful until death.”

  “Since when do we get to eat in your car?” Brad asked as he moved the fast food sacks from the passenger seat and climbed in the BMW.

  “Since now, I guess,” Chuck answered. “Sorry I’m late. Phil and I ran over a little. I got super-sized, right?”

  “Yeah, and no onions.”

  “Of course not.” Chuck turned on the radio to listen to the pre-game. “They don’t give Canfield much hope.”

  “They don’t deserve it,” Brad smirked. “If we win by less than three touchdowns, I’ll be shocked.” They pulled into the stadium parking lot as the band left the field. “Dad, you’re not wearing any blue,” Brad said, then added with mock disgust, “and you call yourself a fan.”

  “I have blue eyes,” Chuck said.

  “Doesn’t count.” Brad opened one of the sacks. “This one’s yours.” He turned the volume up on the radio with one hand, and stuffed French fries in his mouth with the other.

  Taylor has won the toss and has deferred, so Canfield gets the ball. Taylor’s in their home blue jerseys and the Canfield Cougars are in road whites. Aaron Gibbs lines up the ball for the kickoff . . . and we are underway. High kick fielded at about the twelve-yard line. He makes it about five yards before he’s popped by Danny Heatley. Let’s see, that was Justin Page on the return for Canfield.

  “Yes!” Brad said, pumping his fist. The game proceeded as expected. Taylor scored each time they had the ball, Canfield punted or fumbled, so the first half passed quickly. While the announcer began reading off other local scores, Brad cleared his throat, “Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Chuck turned the radio down.

  “Why’d you cheat on Mom? You knew it was wrong.”

  “The simple answer—because I’m stupid. Stupid and weak. Stupid for putting myself in a bad situation, and weak for not walking away.”

  “So what’s the complicated answer??
??

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t still be in counseling with Phil.”

  “What do you guys talk about? How many times can you go over it?”

  “We don’t keep going over the adultery part. It’s more about what I need to do now, what I should have been doing all along. How to be a man, how to be a good husband, that kind of thing.”

  “You always loved Mom, though, right?”

  “From the moment I met her.” Chuck took a long drink from his Coke. He could still picture her that afternoon.

  “So, was she hot?”

  “Mom? You bet.”

  “The other woman.”

  “Let me tell you what she was.” Chuck sat up straight in his seat and his eyes narrowed. “She was no different than a prostitute on a street corner somewhere. She just expected to be paid in professional consideration at the law firm.” Brad’s eyes grew wider as Chuck pointed his finger at him. “I’m not denying that I was one hundred percent responsible for what I did, but she marked me for a fool from the day she walked in that office. Here, let me show you.” Chuck reached behind Brad’s seat and got his Bible.

  “You carry this around with you now?”

  “I had counseling today,” he answered, flipping through the pages. “Here it is. Proverbs seven.” Chuck held the Bible up to catch the parking lot lights. He scanned the chapter, deciding where to start. “Okay, let me paraphrase. Be smart and pay attention to what you’re doing, because there are women out there ready to destroy you, and they’ll use any means they can, especially sex.” He pointed and his voice rose in intensity as he spoke.

  Brad held his hands up. “Dad, calm down. You’re not in court.”

  “This chapter is exactly what happened to me. Exactly. Listen . . . here we go, the stupid idiot—that would be me—‘took the path to her house in the twilight, in the evening, in the black and dark night. And there a woman met him, with the attire of a harlot, and a crafty heart.’” He looked at his son. “I had no business being at her house after dark. I shouldn’t have been there at all, but especially not at night. Nothing good could come out of that.” He held his Bible up again. “‘So she caught him and kissed him; with an impudent face she said to him . . . I got all this ready just for you. It’ll be okay. No one will ever know.’”