Contingency: Covenant of Trust Book One

  “What’s impudent?” Brad asked.

  “It says shameless in the footnote. Believe me, she was.”

  “Did she really talk to you like that?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Chuck nodded, “and it worked, just like in this chapter.” He picked up his Bible to read again. “‘With her enticing speech she caused him to yield, with her flattering lips she seduced him. Immediately, he went after her, as an ox goes to the slaughter’. Immediately. Not even six months after I met her and I was ruined. ‘He did not know it would cost his life.’”

  Chuck closed his Bible. “Committing adultery should have cost me everything. If it didn’t kill me outright, it should’ve cost the life I’d made for myself. Your mother should have thrown me out. You guys should have disowned me.” Chuck emphasized each point, tapping the gearshift. “I should have lost my job, my health, everything. And for a while, I was sure I had lost it all.”

  “But you didn’t,” Brad said.

  Chuck smiled at his son’s attempt to put a good spin on things. “No, and that’s grace. Grace from God, and grace from your mother.” Chuck stared off across the parking lot. “I’ve tried to figure out why God is like that, why He can put up with me that way. I think, maybe, it’s so I can plead with you and Joel.” He turned and faced his son. “Please, please do everything in your power to make sure you never, ever have to look into the eyes of the woman you love, confirm her worst nightmare, and say, ‘Yes, I betrayed you, I didn’t love you enough to walk away.’” The tears flowed freely now, and Chuck didn’t try to stop them or hide them. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I would give anything to take it back.”

  Brad shifted in his seat. “I believe you,” he said at last. “It’s okay, Dad.”

  “Thanks,” Chuck said, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. “But it’s all up to Mom now. She’s got to believe that I’ve changed, that she can trust me again.” Chuck sighed, “So we counsel, and counsel, and counsel some more.”

  “Oh, you’ve changed,” Brad said. “I can tell.”

  “How so?”

  Giving a sly grin, Brad said, “You’re not as big a jerk as you used to be.” Brad gulped his Coke, muffling his laughter.

  “Thank you, Gavin. Neither are you.” He gave Brad a shove in the shoulder.

  “Why’d you call me Gavin?”

  “Because that’s the kind of thing he always says to me. It’s like a gift with him.”

  “Gavin has always been my favorite uncle, you know,” Brad smiled. “Seriously, Dad, if I’d gotten in a fight and been suspended last year, what would have happened?”

  Chuck shrugged.

  “If, and it’s a big if, you could have contained your temper long enough to talk, you would’ve stormed into Mr. McMillen’s office demanding somebody get fired. Then you would’ve been mad at me for a month.”

  “That bad?”

  “At least. Ask Joel.”

  “It’s a God-thing, then. Grandma said I didn’t have it in me to change that much. She’s right again.”

  They sat in silence for several more minutes. “Joel said you guys had a big fight last night.”

  Chuck sighed. “Okay, let me explain. First, it wasn’t a fight. A fight means we disagreed about something.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer.”

  “Thanks.” Chuck rolled his eyes. “There’s no disagreement. Mom’s right. Period.”

  “But she’s still mad?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “It never shows,” Brad said. “She’s very cool.”

  “That’s for your benefit, and Joel’s.” Chuck took a long drink from his Coke. “Truth is, Mom . . . Mom loves me, and she forgives me, even though I don’t deserve it. So . . . she’s able to be civil . . . well, more than civil . . .”

  “I’ve never heard you stutter like that.”

  “I hurt her so much. Every time we talk, I find out there’s a new, deeper layer of pain there.”

  “It’ll work out, Dad. I came around, and I never wanted to speak to you again.”

  Chuck had to smile. “Yeah, it’s just a long process. I get impatient sometimes, so I think we’re farther along than we are.”

  “Just be glad you’re not married to Aunt Rita.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She hates your guts,” Brad said. “Game’s starting again.” He reached over and turned the radio back up.

  Here to start the second half, Taylor will get the ball. Joe Dietrich set to kick it off for Canfield and Garrett Walker deep for the Eagles. Good kick . . . into the end zone, and Walker will let it go. So, the Eagles will start first and ten from their own twenty yard line.

  “Kyle Kilburn brings his troops up to the line in a three-wide outset. Danny Heatley, defensive back, in on this one for Brad Molinsky. Brad didn’t dress tonight. All right. Kilburn’s calling the signal. Still calling, takes the snap, drops back in the pocket looking for his man . . . throws it to Danny Heatley! Heatley’s got his man beat! He’s at the forty, across midfield. He’s got a man moving up on his flank . . . Heatley sidesteps him, and he’s gone. Thirty, twenty, ten, touchdown Taylor! Eighty yards Kyle Kilburn to Danny Heatley!

  At first Brad beamed, but then Chuck watched as deep dejection pulled his shoulders down, then his eyes, and erased the smile from his face. Danny played in Brad’s spot. That would have been his touchdown.

  “Wow,” Brad whispered, blinking at the radio. “I wish I could have seen it.”

  “There’s no guarantee you would’ve gotten a touchdown,” Chuck said. “Matson could’ve called a different play. Who knows?”

  “Dad, the game’s kind of a blow-out. Is it okay if we take off?”

  “Sure.” Chuck reached up and started the car. “It doesn’t help at all, but I’m so proud of you for being a man. Thanks for sitting with me, talking with me.”

  “You’re right. It’s not helping.”

  Chuck gave him a half-smile and headed out of the parking lot.

  “You’re home early,” Bobbi said when Brad shuffled through the front door. Propped in the corner of the sofa, she held a book in her lap, but couldn’t recall any of the plot from the hundred pages she’d read.

  “Wasn’t much of a game,” he said, turning the deadbolt. “Where’s Joel?”

  “Watching television. Is everything all right?”

  He dropped into the recliner across from her. “Why does God make it hard to do the right thing?”

  “You need somebody smarter than me for that one.” She closed her book and laid it aside. “What happened?”

  Brad explained about Danny’s touchdown. “God didn’t have to let Danny do that. I feel like God slapped me in the face after I did the right thing. Why would I ever do things His way again?”

  “I know what you mean. Right now, it seems like your dad is doing much better than I am, and he’s the one who committed adultery.”

  “Do you believe him? That he’s sorry and everything?”

  She weighed her answer carefully. “I’m trying to. If I say I believe him, then my actions have to back that up, and that’s where I’m struggling. I guess I don’t believe him enough to act like his wife again.”

  “We had a good talk.”

  “That’s good. You both needed that.”

  “Can I tell you something else?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

  “Always.”

  “I’ve never heard Dad talk about you like he did tonight. It was the way a guy should talk about someone he loves.”

  “Brad . . .” I don’t need this from my son.

  “I don’t mean it to sound like I’m pressuring you or anything. It was just different. So is there something you’re waiting on? Some sign? Then you’ll know?”

  “There are a couple of things hanging over us, yes.”

  “That’s why you’re still in counseling?”

  “Your father doesn’t understand why he cheated on me.” Brad flinched when she answered. br />
  “I’m sorry. It’s . . . I can’t commit to him with that unresolved.”

  “Yeah, he told me that, too.” He stood and stretched. “I’m going on up to bed. Goodnight.” He walked over and kissed her cheek, then left her alone.

  Bobbi slumped against the arm of the sofa. Lord, I feel like I’ve just moved into solitary. I’m getting further from the door rather than closer to

  freedom. It looks like you’re helping Chuck and leaving me to sort this out alone. What am I doing wrong?

  Sunday, October 16

  Brad took several deep breaths, and faking confidence as best he could, he stepped into the youth room to face his peers. A couple dozen teens in clusters waited for their worship time to start. Brad wiped his hands on his shirt and hoped his stomach settled before he tried to speak.

  Danny Heatley crossed the room to meet him. “So, how’s life in the slammer?” he asked.

  “I’ve had it worse. I’m grounded from everything, but I don’t get ‘the look’ every time I come downstairs.”

  “Man, I can’t believe you hit Burcham. That’s like something I’d do.”

  “I just lost it.” Brad shook his head and glanced around the room. “So it’s all over school?”

  “Oh, yeah, but you’re a hero. Burcham’s needed that for a long time.”

  “I’m not a hero. I punched a guy.”

  “I know. I’m just telling you how it’s playing.”

  “I wish I’d seen your touchdown,” Brad said. Even though it should have been mine.

  “I hadn’t played offense since junior high. I had an interception that I ran back last year, so this was just my second touchdown. It was awesome. Eighty yards, man.”

  “I heard it on the radio.” Brad did his best radio announcer voice. “Heatley’s got his man beat. He’s at the thirty, the twenty, the ten, touchdown!” He raised his arms and Danny grinned. “I, uh, listened to the game with my dad.”

  “Your dad? I thought you were never speaking to him again.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Guys, finish up your snacks, we’re starting in sixty seconds,” Cooper DeWitt announced. He caught Brad’s eye, and gave him a nod and a smile.

  “Does Cooper know?” Brad asked Danny.

  “Are you kidding? He’s got more spies at that school than my dad. I don’t know how he finds out everything.”

  “Great,” Brad muttered as he and Danny grabbed seats against the wall.

  The youth pastor strode up to the front of the room and raised his hands, signaling the start of the meeting. “It’s good to see everybody out tonight. Megan’s back with us.” Cooper pointed to a petite blonde girl off to his right. “You’re through with treatments for a while, right?” She nodded.

  “I know the end of the quarter’s coming up, but all you guys are making straight A’s, so it’s no big deal.” Moans rippled through the group. “Somebody be sure and write that on the prayer wall, then.”

  Glancing back through the room, Cooper said, “I almost forgot. It’s the third Sunday, so we’ve got Larry and Julie Ayers helping us out. She made those incredible pizza things you guys snatched up.” Spontaneous applause and whoops erupted from the teenagers.

  Cooper let the clapping go on for a few minutes. “Now, we’re going to the throne room of God for an audience with the King. What are we bringing?” He got his notebook out to write down the prayer requests.

  Brad listened as several kids shared about family members dealing with illness. He wanted to speak, but he felt like his mouth was filled with sand. He coughed and swallowed, trying to get sound out of his mouth.

  “You okay?” Danny whispered.

  Brad nodded and resolved to say something after the next request, but a kid started a long story about a friend stealing his grandparents’ medications. Brad bounced his leg and waited.

  At last, there was a lull and Brad jumped to his feet. “Hey, I’ve got one,” he said, waving a hand. “Pray for my mom and dad. You know what they’re going through. They’re trying to do the right thing, but it’s still hard.”

  He wanted to stop there, but after a quick glance around the room, he gave the rest of his story. “I was so mad at my dad, I refused to pray for him. I wanted God to zap him, you know? A big lightning bolt or something. But the . . . events . . . of the last few days made me realize I was wrong. I’m going to pray for him, and I want you guys to, too. I want this to be over for them.”

  From where he stood, Brad could see Cooper grinning like a daddy showing off his favorite son.

  CHAPTER 16 CONFLUENCE

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Monday, November 21

  “Let’s see, I’ve got the writing folders caught up,” Bobbi mumbled as she sorted and restacked the papers on her desk in the after-school quiet. “Next week’s book is ready to go, so all I need are copies of the pilgrim thing, and I’ll be done. That’s if I can find the pilgrim thing.” At least it was Monday, and she could just go home without the extra pressure of making dinner for Chuck.

  “Ah ha!” she said, pulling the Thanksgiving story page from one of her stacks. “I haven’t completely lost my mind.” Before she could get out of her classroom to the copy machine, her cell phone rang. She dug it out of her tote bag and was surprised to see her sister’s name on the caller ID.

  “Bobbi, can we push dinner on Thursday back to four o’clock? Kara and John won’t be here until that morning, so I don’t think I can swing a noon meal.” Not the slightest hint of tension.

  “Four’s fine. What can I bring?” She could pretend as well as Rita.

  “Just the boys. I’ve got everything else. You could let Ann know.”

  “Ann . . . volunteered to work. She’s staying in South Carolina.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll miss her.”

  “What about Chuck?”

  “What about him?” The edge returned to Rita’s voice. “He’s not invited?”

  “I didn’t think he would want to be here with things still so strained.”

  “I have dinner with him three times a week. It’s no big deal anymore.”

  “Even so—”

  “Four o’clock, then. We’ll be there.” Bobbi clicked the phone off, almost hanging up on her sister. With Rita, the issues were black or white, choose her or Chuck.

  Bobbi made her copies, locked her desk, and headed home. Just one more half day. She longed for the holiday weekend. Teaching sapped every bit of her strength. Her students enjoyed the morning game of reminding Mrs. Molinsky what they did the previous day. If only it were a game.

  She let herself in the empty house and dropped her bag by the stairs. The boys had gone home with Jeremy and Nathan Schoenberger, and wouldn’t be back until after nine o’clock. Dinner for one required far too much effort, so she pulled one of Joel’s vanilla fudge Pop-Tarts from the cabinet. She carried it and a half glass of milk to the living room, and collapsed on the sofa.

  She watched as twilight and then darkness overcame the last light in the living room. Like a heavy, dark blanket . . . a smothering blanket . . . The mantel clock chimed the half hour. Time passes, day after day, and nothing changes. Nothing ever changes.

  Bobbi pulled the afghan around her. This is how Daddy felt, isn’t it? Hopeless . . . And he gave up . . . How tempting. No more fighting. No more trying. No more struggling. But where would Brad and Joel find themselves in twenty or twenty-five years after growing up with a mother who couldn’t cope?

  She reached for the phone, then hesitated. She couldn’t call Ann. Not Rita. Certainly not Chuck. She had one option. She dialed the Shannons, praying that Donna would answer, but after two rings, she hung up. Donna has enough going on. I just need a good night’s sleep.

  Within moments, the phone rang. “Bobbi, I saw where you’d called,” Donna said. “Did you need something?”

  “No, I dialed your number by mistake.”

  “Is everything all right, Honey?”

  “I??
?m fine,” Bobbi lied.

  “Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t. The boys are at a movie and I . . . well, I told them I’d be at home.”

  “Sure, I understand. You sound like you need some company. Can I bring a coffee to you?”

  Could she take that risk? Could she afford not to? “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Bobbi answered the door and Donna began apologizing before she even stepped inside. “I got to Dear Joe and realized I never asked you what kind of coffee you wanted.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I’ll drink any kind,” Bobbi said, trying to smile. “Any kind of coffee, that is. All those other things are for sissies.”

  “I got my two favorites and you can have your choice.” Donna opened the bag. “There’s hazelnut and cinnamon breakfast.”

  “Hazelnut. What do I owe you?”

  “Not a thing. It’s on me.”

  “At least let me have your jacket, then.” She hung Donna’s jacket in the hall closet. “We can sit in the living room.” Bobbi switched on a lamp and she and Donna settled on opposite ends of the sofa. Where do I start? How do I begin?

  Donna rescued her. “How are you?”

  “The truth?”

  “That’s up to you. I could probably guess, though.”

  “So I’m not doing such a good job hiding everything after all.”

  “You might be. Let’s just say I have an inside track.”

  “Phil?”

  “No, Phil never tells me what you discuss in counseling. He either says, ‘we had a good session’ or ‘keep praying for Bobbi and Chuck.’”

  Bobbi stared into her coffee cup. “I feel like I’m losing my sanity. I can’t remember anything. I can’t concentrate. It’s all I can do to get through a day.”

  “How are things with Chuck?”

  “I don’t see how it’s ever going to be resolved.”

  “Does it seem kind of pointless to keep going through counseling?”

  She couldn’t tell her counselor’s wife, ‘yes, it’s pointless.’ “It’s not Phil’s fault. He’s gracious and understanding, but we’re not getting anywhere. I know he’s aggravated with me.”

  “No, he’s not, but he does know you’re not making a lot of progress.” Donna took a long sip from her coffee. “Honey, can I be real honest with you?”