Chapter Fourteen
I opened my eyes. It was Sunday, a little past seven. My heart beat fast with that realization and I sprang out of bed, a bundle of nervous energy. I tended not to sleep long when something as momentous as my conversation with Samantha loomed over me. Outside, I discovered everyone already awake and my mom preparing breakfast in the kitchen.
"Good morning," she greeted me while whisking a bowl of cracked eggs for our customary Easter breakfast.
Shortly thereafter, we sat down around the table and my father blessed the food. We ate scrambled eggs, sausage links and homemade cinnamon rolls, and each food made its way around the table multiple times.
"Today would have been a nice morning for a sunrise service," my mom commented. For a few years my mom attempted to have our own sunrise service to celebrate Jesus' resurrection, followed by a large breakfast. Our church used to do such a thing, but attendance dwindled, so eventually they abandoned the idea completely.
"It was a nice morning to sleep in a little longer," my father countered. The service never really took off in our family either. Even Jordan struggled to support waking before dawn and stumbling through our woods into the meadow so we could meet the rising sun.
My mom glared at him. "Sleep in? You woke up at seven! If you woke up just half an hour earlier, we could have done it."
"Well, the boys would have had to wake up earlier too," my father said, shifting the blame to us.
"They were awake a little after seven too," my mom said, her steely gaze at him unabated. "I'm going to remember this next year when you all complain about needing to wake up early."
Seeing his lack of progress, Dad did his best to drop the subject. "Well, too late this year. Maybe next year."
We cleared away the plates from breakfast a little before nine. The church service began at ten, and if I intended to go and talk to Samantha before the service, I needed to leave. I didn't anticipate a long drawn out conversation. The longer we talked, the more she would think I was acting like her ex-boyfriend.
I put on some church clothes, which consisted of my new suit without the jacket. Instead, I pulled on a light coat and made my way to the stairs. My mom, dad and brother were gathered in the living room. They all looked up at me as I stood on the top of the steps.
"There's something I need to do in town. I'll meet you guys at church."
I stepped outside. Already it felt like it was in the fifties, and if the sun continued radiating its warmth, the temperature might touch seventy. I boarded my car and began the short drive to Elm Street, parking in front of her house.
Slowly, I walked from the car to the house. The neighborhood was quiet, except for a few random dogs barking. I knocked on the door. Inside, I could hear someone's footsteps approaching. A man in his fifties, with a large belly and thinning hair, dressed in a plaid bathrobe opened the door. He scrutinized me, seemingly annoyed that I interrupted his Sunday morning routine.
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.
"I came to see Samantha," I told him.
He still regarded me suspiciously, but eventually called out, "Sam! Someone's here to see you."
I averted my gaze from her uncle and waited nervously for her to appear. In a moment she emerged around a corner, dressed in a fleece top and sleep pants.
"Evan? What are you doing here?" she asked, with an expression a little too much like her uncle's. She was the Samantha from Friday - guarded, her face hardened. I almost bailed right then and there.
"Can I talk to you?" I shifted my eyes from her to her uncle as I waited for her response.
She glanced at her uncle, and said, "It's okay." He gave me one more look before disappearing back to where he came from. Samantha grabbed the door and pulled it shut behind her as she joined me on the front step.
"You could've called me to tell me you were coming." I couldn't discern if this was an accusation, or just a neutral observation.
"I thought you would've told me not to come, and what I want to say to you, I wanted to say to your face."
She looked at me as if to say, "Well, go ahead." I hoped to see some glimmer of positive recognition in her eyes before I spoke, that I was the same one who walked her to her door, held hands with her and kissed her. That Samantha might have been lost beyond recovery. I started talking anyway.
"I wanted to tell you that I'm moving back to Oleout Plains. When I get back to Harrisburg, I'm going to give my two weeks’ notice, and then come back home."
She looked angry. "Evan, please tell me you're not doing that for me. Like I told you Friday..."
"It isn't for you."
I said this so quickly and firmly that I caught her off guard. Her face softened just a bit.
"At least not entirely. It's more for me. Okay, it's probably fifty-fifty."
"But I told you there was no future for us Evan."
I didn't want to get into an argument. Thus, I basically conceded the point. "I know. Like I said, this was as much for me as it was for you."
"So what does that mean? Should I be expecting these visits from you more often?"
"No, this is the last one."
"You won't be calling me all of the time, showing up at the school, or waiting for me outside of class?"
"Nope." To prove this to her, I took out of my phone and deleted her from my contacts. "See, I don't even have your number anymore."
She still gazed at me skeptically. "So if you're not going to be pursuing me then why are you here now?"
"I just wanted to let you know, so if we ever did bump into each other in town, you wouldn't be surprised."
Obviously, she feared gaining another stalker, so I needed to be careful about coming across as too persistent. Conversely, I also didn't want to seem disinterested. There was such a thin line between harassing someone and fighting for the relationship.
"And I wanted you to know I was around. In case you ever wanted to talk, or something - I'll be here."
That seemed like the right moment to walk away. I turned toward the old schoolhouse, and took a step toward my car.
"Let me get this straight. You're going to quit your job, pick up and move five minutes away from me, and you're never going to call me, or try to win me back? You're just going to wait patiently for the rest of your life for me to come around?"
"Well, maybe not for the rest of my life. But yeah, that is the plan."
I continued walking away, but she wasn't quite done with me yet.
"Evan, why are you doing this?"
I could have spoken of Frankl's essential ingredients for a meaningful life. I could've told her about the Good Friday service, or my plunge into falls. That would've just sounded either pretentious or ludicrous, and I was pretty sure Samantha would've resented being my 'transcendent project'.
"I'm just trying to move toward the meaning," I said simply. "Good-bye Samantha."
Departing without receiving some positive omen from her felt hollow, but I chose not worry about that. Samantha was deeply broken, and one little conversation couldn't undo all of the things that had befallen her. I drove off without looking back.
A great crowd of people was passing through the glass doors of the single story, brick church when I arrived, just before ten. I followed them inside, took a program from the greeters, and easily located my family who were seated in our usual pew. Jordan saw me coming, and motioned to my parents to move down the row.
At that moment, the Pastor got up to speak.
"I'd like to welcome everyone here today on this Easter morning. Today we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ, which introduced new life into this decaying world. But this new life does not come all at once. We are still mired in the sin and death that have marred creation for so long. In many ways the resurrection is more like a seed, which has sprouted and started to grow all across the world. We have not seen the end of the resurrection yet, just a small taste of what is to come. So today we look forward in hope at the life of Jesus Christ th
at will consume all of this world. Stand with me as we sing praise to our God."
I found myself agreeing a little with the Pastor. Today was a day of new life for me too. Of course it had nothing to with Jesus or his resurrection. Moving back to Oleout Plains was a small seed, as was my conversation with Samantha. Hopefully these seeds would sprout in time too and bring with them a far reaching transformation.
After the service, we gathered in the kitchen to prepare Easter dinner. My aunts, uncles, cousins and grandma were coming over soon - as if we hadn't seen each other enough already that week.
"I'm going to move back to Oleout Plains," I announced, without introduction.
Jordan dropped the potato he was peeling and looked at me skeptically. Mom maintained a neutral expression and continued to season the meat, as if she hadn't even heard me. My father gazed inquisitively at me from the dining room table.
"Is this because of Samantha?" Jordan cut to the chase.
"Partly."
Jordan exchanged glances with my mom, but in an odd kind of way that seemed to convey, "I told you this would happen."
"I thought Samantha ended things between you guys?" Jordan asked.
"She did."
"So then why are you coming back for her?".
"Because I think she might change her mind about me someday and I want to be there when she does. And I think I can help her move beyond her past."
"Does Samantha know about this?"
"Yeah, I told her about it before the service."
"And what did she say?"
"She was less than thrilled about it. But that's okay. I think it's going to take a little time to get through to her. I might have to stay in the background of her life for a while."
Jordan sighed, perhaps as a reaction to imagining what he would have considered an extremely awkward conversation. "Are you sure this is a good idea? What if she doesn't change her mind?" asked Jordan, "How long will you be willing to stay in the 'background' of her life?"
"I don't know. I guess if she never changes her mind I'll move on." I didn't have a formal timeline, so would have to play that part by ear. However, I didn't fear this waiting. It was my own form of 'redemptive suffering'. I fully planned to patiently endure whatever Samantha threw at me initially as a form of poetic justice for mistreating Wendy and the other women in my life.
They could've asked me scads of questions, yet my mom simply asked, "When are you going to do this?"
"I'll go back to Harrisburg, give my two weeks’ notice, and start packing up my stuff." I saw no reason to put the move off.
Mom gave me a look that I had not seen in a long time. "Well, I'm really proud of you Evan. It takes a lot of courage to do what you're doing. Most other men would've just pushed the issue or walked away completely. I think you handled it exactly right, if you're going to go down this road."
This probably didn't negate the fact I was going to hell and she had qualified her praise a bit. Still, it felt good to have my mom back one of my decisions again. Jordan looked at her incredulously, but returned to peeling potatoes without another word. My dad continued to set the table. I actually would have liked to have known what he thought about my decision.
My phone vibrated, notifying me of a text. What I saw sent my heart racing.
"What is it, Evan?" asked my mom when she saw my expression.
"This can't mean what I think it means," I murmured. I met their curious gazes. "There's something I need to check."
I hustled from the kitchen, threw on my coat, and ran outside to my car. My pulse had not slowed since I first received the text - a picture of the waterfalls by my parents' house, sent by Samantha. No words explained what the message meant. I hoped it meant she was waiting there for me.
In a few minutes, I reached the access road to the falls. Samantha's car rested on the gravel shoulder. I parked behind it, and then bolted down the path to the rocks. She wasn't there. She had to be somewhere nearby. I glanced up to the cemetery, the only other place I could imagine she'd be, and rapidly ascended the hill.
I entered the cemetery, this time, fully within my rights to do so. Again, the proximity of the surrounding houses to the cemetery struck me. Death was sandwiched by life. Or life was interrupted by death. A solitary figure stood over a headstone, her back turned to me. I quietly approached her and took a place just behind her. Samantha stood in front of Loretta Scott Taylor's head stone again.
"I didn't know if you'd come," she said, continuing to face away from me.
I moved to her side. "Well, you could've given me a little bit more of an explanation. It was a little cryptic."
She met my eyes. "I didn't push you away because I didn't want to be with you, because I do."
I nodded slowly. "I know."
"If we had met in another life we could just have a normal relationship. But I'm not really a whole person anymore, and I don't think I ever will be. So I just don't think it's fair to you to give you tiny pieces. I don't think you'll be happy with that for long."
She looked back at the headstone. I wasn't certain how happy I would be with only pieces either. Then again, I had little more to offer Samantha, only for different reasons.
"I'm not sure that I'm a whole person. I mean before this week, I pretty much believed that life was meaningless, and I've screwed up every relationship I've ever had. So I don't think I have anything more to offer you than pieces either."
Samantha laughed softly. "Two halves will make a whole?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
She shook her head. "Well, my aunt seems to think that I was a little hasty in ending our relationship. She overheard your little speech to me, and was quite impressed. So she encouraged me to reach out to you and at least take a chance."
"You're talking to me now because your aunt told you to?" I asked, not in the position to be too picky about Samantha's motivations.
"My aunt is a very wise woman. She knows me well and she's been right before. She thinks it's time I try to move on."
At the moment I enthusiastically endorsed her aunt's wisdom. However, it did seem like she was easily impressed. I hadn't lived up to my noble words to Samantha yet. And my track record with women didn't exactly suggest I was capable of following through with my promises.
"Even my uncle thinks I should give you another chance, and I can't think of another guy he's thought that about."
I remembered her uncle's suspicious surveillance of me when I knocked on their door earlier in the morning and was surprised to know he endorsed me too.
"Evan, if we do this, you have to promise me that if this all falls apart, and causes more pain than its worth, that you'll walk away from me." She gazed at me very sternly. "Do you promise?"
This was not the stuff of wedding vows, though it was still an opening into her life.
"Sure, I'll walk away from you if I have to." That was one thing I had proven myself good at over the years.
Another moment of silence came.
"So are you my girlfriend now?" I asked.
"Do you need me to pass you some sort of note in study hall or something?" The slightest glimmer formed in her eyes. I could see Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday slowly creep back into her face.
"Given the last few days, it would actually help quite a bit if you did."
The glimmer moved to her cheeks and mouth. "I'm sorry - my life is kind of like that. I wish I could say there won't be more days like that, but that just wouldn't be true." She put her hand on mine.
"Well, if we are going to do this, then I need you to promise me something too - that you'll try as hard as you can to make this relationship work, with however much of you there's left. Do you promise?"
"I'll try."
"Because I think I could walk away from you, but only if I knew we had really tried, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."
I supposed all relationships began this tenuously, even if the two parties were unaware of how easily their bond could
be severed. We were simply being upfront about it.
Samantha's gaze returned to Loretta Scott Taylor's headstone.
"Beloved wife, mother and friend," she read aloud. "No matter what happens from here on out, my life can never be labeled so simply. They should put an asterisk next to the word 'mother' for me."
That explained why Samantha paused over Loretta Scott Taylor's head stone; in that long departed life she saw a simplicity that she would never possess herself. A single tear formed in her eye. After the emotional vacuum I witnessed in her as we departed Skaneateles, the tear was a welcome respite. She leaned into me and wrapped her arms around me.
"Whatever else happens to you, you will be beloved. And there won't be an asterisk next to that." Samantha didn't argue with me, though didn't receive this statement with any kind of positive emotion either. Somehow I would have to prove to her that asterisk didn't exist. She clung more tightly to me, perhaps trying to hang on to the notion her life could turn out all right in the end.
As I held Samantha, I looked down at the headstone next to Loretta Scott Taylor. Edward Charles Johnson - presumably no relation to Loretta Taylor. Edward Johnson lived 71 years, and passed away in 1979. What really caught my attention was the inscription under his date of birth and death - "For God hath put eternity in the hearts of man, but he cannot fathom it."
Ecclesiastes again, the same verse Pastor Tim quoted to me on Good Friday. This verse suggested all meaning in life lay beyond what we could see, feel and touch - even the present moment that Samantha and I shared. A familiar feeling of despair crept onto the horizon, as if carried by the breeze that was just starting to pick up. If this despair was part of the larger force of entropy that governed all of human existence, it stayed distant for the moment. There in the tiny cemetery, we held our embrace under the Easter sun.
I hope you enjoyed Traditional Gravity.
Please leave me a review.
Click Here to receive a free short story.
About the Author
Steve Armstrong lives with his wife and two daughters in Westchester County, NY. He grew up in upstate New York and graduated from Binghamton University with a BA in English. Steve also holds a Master of Divinity of Degree from Bethel Seminary. For the last 13 years, he has been on staff at First Baptist Church of Tarrytown. Although he has mostly retired from recreational sports, if you toss a Frisbee his way, you’ll likely convince him to play.
Connect with Steve Armstrong:
facebook.com/stevearmstrongbooks
stevearmstrongbooks.com.
Other Titles Available from Steve Armstrong
The Sequel to Traditional Gravity, available on Amazon!
Jordan Chambers is an oddity – a young, upwardly mobile man who works in New York City, who is also committed to a celibate lifestyle. His co-workers and younger brother continually remind Jordan just how strange that is. Every day. Especially his co-workers. But Jordan is okay with that. As a man of faith, his life is rich, full, and under control. Soon, he plans to leave his successful corporate career to become a Pastor. Everything seems to be falling into place nicely.
Jordan’s sense of contentment is threatened when the young and beautiful Amanda begins working for his company. Unsurprisingly, he finds himself very attracted to this new woman. Surprisingly, she also seems interested in him. Perfect, right? There’s only one problem – Amanda doesn’t seem to share Jordan’s faith, which is the most important attribute he is looking for in a woman. As coincidence keeps pushing them together, and their attraction to one another begins to spill over, Jordan begins to wonder what kind of life he truly desires to live. Will he keep his religious convictions and remain on the course he’s charted for his life, or will he set those principles aside to pursue Amanda?
Everything Was Left Behind
In the midnight hours of April 24th, a prophecy fails and its prophet falls.
Pastor Graham Wilcox boldly predicted Jesus would return to earth on April 24th to rapture His faithful. But, when April 25th arrives, the world is the same, except for Wilcox, who is found dead. His gruesome murder rocks the community where Wilcox lived and the families who frequented the small church that he pastored.
To uncover the truth behind the murder, the skeptical Detective Daniel Seitzer must go to the place he dreads most: church. Along with his religious partner, Seitzer wades through a myriad of rumors, secrets, and strange connections as well as an astonishing number of people who had motive to kill Wilcox. Is the killer one of the pastor’s own congregants, or a shadowy figure on the periphery of the church connected with a powerful pharmaceutical company?
For Seitzer, a grieving widow, a multi-million-dollar company, and a faithful but broken family, the truth behind the events of April 24th will either set them free or bury those who have been left behind.
Read the first chapter of Everyone Was Left Behind now!
April 24 ended in the most anticlimactic fashion.
The minute and hour hand met at twelve, signaling the start of a new day. Jesus did not appear. No trumpet sounded. The skies did not part. As Pastor Graham Wilcox crossed the invisible boundary into April 25, he realized he had been mistaken. Like everyone else, Wilcox had been left behind.
But how had he been wrong? Wilcox checked the time on his phone on the off chance the clock on the wall was fast. No—it was actually two minutes slow. After the last of his dejected parishioners departed, the Reverend retreated to his office, where he revisited the reasons for his prediction of Jesus’ return. His vision of evil crawling across peoples and nations until it established a chokehold on the entire world had seemed so clear. As did the various numbers Wilcox had traced through scripture, which all pointed to April 24, 2016 as being the date of Jesus’ return. But the day had unfolded like any other. For the briefest of moments, dark clouds had consumed an otherwise pleasant spring afternoon, but the ominous skies faded as quickly as they had arrived, without shedding one raindrop or producing a single clap of thunder.
Wilcox sat at his desk and stared at the webcam attached to his computer, searching for the right words to say to all his brothers and sisters who had believed his prediction and to all the critics who had spent the last year mocking him. His emotions were volatile—a powder keg of disappointment, confusion, anger, and guilt. Yet, even in that moment, Wilcox’s mental filter began to organize these feelings through the lens of his tenacious faith in God.
He turned the camera on and began to record the message fermenting in his soul. The pastor’s unwavering belief in the ancient promise of Christ allowed him to speak with resolve. Now that he had worked through his initial weakness, he stared at the camera in a way that bordered on defiance.
A noise in the back of the empty church interrupted him. Wilcox stopped recording. He waited for someone to emerge from the back room —perhaps some straggling congregant struggling with Jesus' failure to appear. When no one appeared, the Pastor rose to investigate the sound. But before he could even take a step forward, Wilcox came face to face with the evil he had been railing against—the shadow surreptitiously spreading across the world. Though he had foreseen this darkness, witnessing it so clearly with his own eyes surprised him.
The intruder’s hand tightened around the gun. Unable to move, Wilcox stood frozen in place.
“Why are you doing this?” Wilcox asked.
His assailant squeezed the trigger in reply. Graham Wilcox’s last thought was that perhaps he would get to see Jesus after all—just a little late.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends