Contingency: Covenant of Trust Book One

  Monday, December 5

  Bobbi sat at her desk, reading Molly Griffin’s notes from last week. She kept the kids on task and on schedule, accomplishing everything in the lesson plan, and even the choral reading scheduled for today. The kids probably didn’t know what to think.

  The feeling of inadequacy, the one Dr. Craig warned her to guard against, crept into her thoughts. She was embarking on a fresh start, he said. Her hands weren’t this sweaty and cold in August, though.

  As the morning progressed, she fell into her teaching rhythm, and all the other issues in her life dissolved away. Until Chuck slipped into her classroom. Just before lunch, he came in without a word, waved, and took a seat in the back of the room.

  The children buzzed with curiosity and Bobbi knew none of them, herself included, would be able to stay on track until they knew what was going on.

  “Boys and girls, this is Mr. Molinsky,” she said, motioning toward him. Several students waved, while a little girl in the back covered her mouth and giggled. “Why don’t you take a few minutes for silent reading while I see just what he’s up to?”

  She felt dozens of eyes on her as she walked to the back of the room to the door. Chuck took the cue and followed her out in to the hallway. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her hand still on the door handle.

  “Nothing. Tracy’s dropped her lawsuit. She’s gone.”

  CHAPTER 20 CRYSTALLIZATION

  “What do you mean Tracy’s gone?”

  “Left town, no forwarding address or number,” Chuck said. “Nobody knows where she went.”

  “And she dropped the suit?”

  “The court called this morning.” His blue eyes twinkled. “We were on the docket for next week.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand! God answered our prayers. We all prayed for God to bring this to a resolution, and now, we try to forget we ever heard of Tracy Ravenna.”

  It can’t be that easy. It’s never that easy. There’s got to be a catch. Why doesn’t he see that? Bobbi folded her arms across her chest. “You sure she’s not gonna show up at the law firm and shoot everybody, starting with you?”

  “Only men do that,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Which reminds me, you have a very conscientious office staff.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I had to leave my suit coat and I had to tell them exactly why I was here before they’d let me come to your room. Mr. Henneke almost frisked me.”

  Bobbi’s eyes opened wide and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’ll smooth it over with everybody.”

  “I’m glad they watch out for you like that.” He pointed toward her classroom door. “I didn’t mean to disrupt things. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks,” she said, pushing the door handle down.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually teaching before.”

  “There’s nothing magical about it.” Bobbi swung the door open and turned back to her class.

  Saturday, December 10

  Chuck stood in the cold wind, holding Christmas trees upright for Gavin to inspect and size up. He wanted a nine-foot tree, without a lot of branches close to the ground, full, but still with the triangular evergreen shape. Rita insisted on a strongly scented tree, but it couldn’t be too sappy.

  Chuck rubbed his hands together, then he grabbed the next prospect with one hand, shielding his face with the other. “You ever think about an artificial tree?”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Gavin stretched his tape measure out in front of the tree. “I think we have a winner!”

  “Hallelujah! I don’t know which one was going to kill me first—the cold or the lack of food!”

  “Let me pay for this and I’ll buy you lunch.” It took Gavin, Chuck, and one of the farm employees to wrestle the tree up on top of the SUV and get it tied down. Gavin then drove to a diner a few miles away. “They have great chili here.”

  “It’s inside,” Chuck said, blowing into his cupped hands. “I don’t care what they have to eat.” The place bustled as waitresses moved between their tables and the kitchen, so lunch arrived soon after they ordered.

  Gavin asked the blessing, then began mixing shredded cheese and diced onions into his chili. “How’s Bobbi?”

  “She went back to work this week, but there’s still something hanging over her. When I went to tell her about the lawsuit, I got no reaction out of her at all. You have any ideas what the problem could be?”

  “You.”

  “Me? But I fixed this.”

  “Not yet, you haven’t. I made you mad that day on the golf course when I suggested there was more to your affair than just sex. Has Bobbi asked you why you cheated?”

  Her agonized words echoed in his head. Until you understand what you were looking for, what kind of connection you made with that woman, I can’t trust you. “Yeah, we’ve discussed it.”

  “I know you’re frustrated and you feel like she’s being difficult, but there’s a method in what she’s doing.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  “Trust is the key issue here, right?” Gavin glanced at him, and waited for his nod. “Even if she forgives you and you reconcile, Bobbi will not go back to the way things were before.”

  “I understand that. I’ve changed.”

  “I’m not denying that. I think Bobbi wants you to spell out what you wanted from Tracy so she knows you came up with it on your own. She won’t believe you if she thinks you’re parroting somebody else’s idea.”

  “But I don’t have the answer.”

  “What’s Phil doing with you?”

  “Making me list everything we’ve ever argued about to see if there’s a pattern.”

  “And?”

  “It’s mostly stupid stuff.”

  “What was the most recent thing? Before the affair?”

  “The BMW.”

  “Bobbi made you buy it?” Gavin grinned at him.

  “Funny. She hated everything about that car from the minute we pulled on the lot.”

  “That’s significant. Why?”

  “We were on our way to a restaurant for her birthday.”

  “A little inconsiderate.”

  “Yeah . . .” Chuck stared out the window, trying to recall where they ate dinner that night.

  “Wait,” Gavin interrupted. “You bought that car in March. When did Tracy start at the firm?”

  “February. Why?”

  “You bought that car to impress that woman, didn’t you?” Gavin squinted at Chuck over the rim of his glasses, and Chuck knew he used the tone of voice reserved for the seventh graders who ended up in his office.

  Chuck raised a hand to protest, but he knew better. Gavin nailed him. “Bobbi said it sent all the wrong signals. I convinced myself she meant the cost.” By the time he bought the BMW, he’d decided Tracy’s opinion of him mattered more than his wife’s. The affair had already begun.

  “So what else have you argued about?”

  “The biggest one was when Bobbi decided to stay home after Brad was born. It was a long, protracted disagreement that flared through the pregnancy.”

  “You didn’t want her to stay home?”

  “She just finished her master’s degree, like a week before. It seemed like a complete waste of everything she had worked for.”

  “So Brad wasn’t worth it?”

  “That’s not what I meant! Bobbi is brilliant, much smarter than I am—”

  “Obviously.”

  “Can I finish, please?” Chuck asked. Gavin motioned for him to continue. “Bobbi could do anything. It’s a waste for her to use her talents to change diapers and burp babies. Even teaching school, she’s not reaching her potential.”

  “So you want her to be the high-powered executive type?”

  “She certainly could,” Chuck said.

  Gavin laid his spoon down and looked over the top of hi
s glasses at Chuck. “You want Bobbi,” he said, “but you want her to be Tracy.”

  Chuck glared at him in stunned silence, but Gavin didn’t stop. “Your relationship with Tracy gave you the best of both worlds—a charming, devoted wife to take care of your family, and a successful, dynamic mistress to share your professional ambitions.”

  Chuck’s grip on his spoon tightened until his hand shook. From the very beginning, he tried to remake Bobbi, mold her into his ideal. She fought him every step of the way, so he gave up trying to love her. Then Tracy came along, and she fit his vision, but she didn’t love him. Bobbi loved him. He needed both women.

  “I’ll be outside,” he said, dragging his coat behind him.

  Chuck staggered over, sank onto the running board of the Explorer, and buried his face in his hands. His coat dropped onto the ground, forgotten. Dear God, this is despicable. How can Bobbi forgive this? How can You?

  Hearing the crunch of gravel, Chuck raised his head to see Gavin holding the car keys. “Let me unlock the car for you.” Chuck labored to put his coat on, then climbed inside, and leaned his head back against the headrest. “I didn’t say that to hurt you,” Gavin said before he started the car.

  “I know,” Chuck said. “It’s true, though. I thought I understood what happened, but you just crystallized everything.” He blinked back tears. “When Phil first started counseling me, he had me go through the gospels, and make a list of everybody Jesus came in contact with and how He treated them.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “John the Baptist was first, and I said Jesus validated his ministry. Phil asked me what Bobbi’s ministry is. I couldn’t answer him.”

  “It’s raising her sons, and teaching her kids, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, she just lights up when she talks about the boys. And I saw her in her classroom Monday. That’s her gift . . . and I’ve undermined her for years. I told her she didn’t have a real job, that there was nothing magical about teaching kids—”

  “Ouch.”

  “It’s worse. Monday, she said those very words back to me, ‘there’s nothing magical about teaching,’ and I didn’t catch it. I can’t imagine how deeply I wounded her.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “How do I fix this? How do I validate her?”

  “You listen to what she’s not telling you.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “She’s Tony’s daughter, and I never got a straight answer out of him. He’d say, ‘Got big plans this weekend?’ I’d answer him and he’d drop it. Years later, I realized he wanted me to ask him the same question. Then he’d tell me what job he had planned so I could ask him if he needed help. That was the whole point. He needed help with something and would not, could not, bring himself to ask.”

  “So Bobbi’s not being straight with me?”

  “Yes and no. She won’t invest the effort to talk to you if you’re only listening on a very superficial level, so she’s gonna test you. Like, she comes home and says she’s exhausted. What do you think she means?”

  “She’s tired?”

  “Too shallow. She means, she doesn’t want to have to fool with dinner, but she feels guilty about not fixing a homemade meal, so she won’t ask you to go out to eat. She’s hoping you’ll pick up the signal and suggest a restaurant. Then she has no guilt, and you get to be the hero.”

  “You’re serious? All that from ‘exhausted?’”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s insane. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe, but this is how Tony operated.”

  “Rita does this?”

  He laughed. “Rita blurts things out, and then regrets them later.”

  Chuck couldn’t wait to tell Bobbi the things he and Gavin talked about, but throughout dinner she seemed tired, not ready for a heavy discussion. Gavin says she’ll ask again when she’s ready. Wait for her.

  As he began loading the dishwasher, Bobbi handed him a red envelope. “Here, this came for you.”

  “It’s from work.” He tore open the end of the envelope. “Christmas party invitation—a wasted stamp.” He tossed it in the wastebasket.

  “You’re not going?” Bobbi asked.

  “I’m not going by myself.”

  “Aren’t you usually supposed to take your spouse to those kinds of things?”

  “You want to go?”

  “Your whole office knows what happened. I think we need to go. Together.”

  “But we’re not—” Chuck snapped his fingers as he looked for the right words.

  “Back together? I know that, but I need to face these people.”

  She knew what was in the envelope all along. She was setting me up to ask her to the party. Gavin was right. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty Friday.”

  The timer buzzed and Bobbi pulled the pie from the oven, and set it on a hot pad on the counter. Blueberry, Chuck’s favorite, made with fresh Michigan blueberries she bought at a roadside stand on the way home Thursday. Everything was ready. Potato salad, baked beans, steak fries, even homemade bread. With Chuck home on a Saturday, it was cause for celebration, and she went all out, even asking him to handle the grilling. He frowned and shook his head, but he eventually relented, and stood out there right now, flipping the T-bones. Brad held the basketball over his head playing a personal game of keep-away with Joel.

  She could see Chuck look over at the boys, and then get that characteristic twitch in his neck. The boys were simply behaving like boys, like brothers, but he would lose it if she didn’t intervene. She wanted Chuck to have a perfect day at home, so the two of them could enjoy an evening together. She’d bought a silk and lace gown in Detroit, and she was dying to model it for him.

  Tonight she intended to command his undivided attention.

  Chuck jabbed the fork into one of the steaks. She had to act fast. She grabbed a tablecloth and headed out to the deck. “Hey, guys! Things are about ready. Why don’t you go wash up.”

  Brad dropped the basketball and jogged toward the deck.

  “That’s not where that goes,” Chuck snapped, pointing at the ball.

  “But we’re coming right back after dinner.”

  “And you can get it out of the garage. Discipline, Brad.”

  “It’s a waste of time to put it up if I’m gonna get it right back out in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll get it,” Joel said. “I’m closer.”

  “Joel, don’t touch that basketball. Brad, come back here, pick up that ball, and put it in the garage.”

  Bobbi nodded at Brad. He huffed and rolled his eyes, but trudged back across the yard.

  “Can I open the garage door for him, Dad?” Joel called.

  “Are you trying to be smart, Joel?” The back of Chuck’s neck reddened.

  “No, Dad, I’m trying to speed this up. I’m starving.”

  Chuck turned back to the steaks without answering, and Joel yanked the garage door up. Bobbi winked at the boys as they passed her to go inside, then she spread the tablecloth out on the picnic table. “The steaks smell wonderful.”

  “Thanks.” Chuck carefully transferred them to the platter. “Are the boys like that when I’m gone?”

  “Like what?”

  “Disrespectful.”

  “Disrespect—?” Bobbi stopped herself. She wasn’t going to argue with him today. “The boys are on their best behavior when you’re gone.”

  “Good.” He set the platter on the table and stretched a leg over the seat of the picnic table.

  “I made tea and lemonade.”

  “I’ll just have water.”

  Bobbi walked back into the kitchen and began pouring the drinks, muttering under her breath. “I said ‘I made tea and lemonade.’ I made it—”

  “Mom, how soon is Dad leaving again?” Brad asked as he shuffled back in the kitchen with Joel close behind.

  “Guys, be patient with him. A few more weeks and this case will be over.”

  “And then he’ll be here all the time. Great.” He
slumped against the counter.

  “Brad!”

  “Mom, you heard him. That’s psycho.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” She pointed across the counter. “Grab the potato salad and take it outside. Joel, you get the baked beans.”

  “I’d rather get the pie.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m guarding the pie myself.”

  “Rats.”

  After carrying everything outside, they sat down to eat. Chuck picked up his knife and began trimming the fat from his steak.

  “Aren’t you gonna pray, Dad?” Joel asked.

  “Oh . . . yeah . . . sorry.” Chuck laid his knife across his plate and bowed his head. “Uh . . . Lord, thank You for this food, for the hands that prepared it. Bless it in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Short and sweet. Yes.” Joel reached for the basket of fries. “Make sure you eat a lot, Dad, so you’re way too full for dessert.”

  “What’s for dessert?”

  “Something yucky. Mom brought it from Michigan. I’m sure it’s no good anymore.”

  Bobbi shoved Joel’s shoulder and smiled. “I made a blueberry pie.”

  “Wow, how did I rate that?” Chuck asked.

  “I hadn’t made one in a long time. You’re overdue.”

  They ate in near silence for several minutes, with only a few comments about the food. Chuck reached for a second helping of potato salad. “Hey, how’s baseball going, Brad?”

  “Uh . . .” He looked at Bobbi in a panic. “Uh . . . well . . .”

  “Brad’s not playing baseball this summer,” Bobbi said.

  “He what?”

  “He wanted to concentrate on football.”

  “So all the gear, all the camps . . . that’s just thrown out the window?”

  “May I be excused?” Joel said.

  “Yes.” Chuck never took his eyes off Brad. “What’s the story, Brad?”

  “I . . . Well . . . I went to . . . uh . . . spring practice, and Coach said . . .”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Coach Matson said he thought I could play varsity at wide-out if I worked at it.”

  “Varsity, as a freshman?”

  “I’ll be a sophomore.”

  “So, nine years of baseball, all-star at second base, all down the drain for a hint of a promise from a coach who probably says the same thing to every kid?”