Wings of Glass

  Callie Mae laughed bitterly. “Do you really think this is God’s plan for her? To live a life of abuse and degradation?”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the knees of his pleated dress pants. “No, I don’t think abuse was God’s will for the Taylors’ marriage, but then sin was never part of God’s plan for us, was it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You think God would really handcuff her for life to a man who cuts her down every chance he gets?”

  He turned to me. “Penny, did you pray about marrying Trent before you did?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing everyone would just shut up.

  “What difference does that make now?” Callie Mae demanded.

  “We make our beds without first seeking God’s direction. Then we blame him when things turn out badly,” he said.

  She huffed. “No one’s blaming God. The only person to blame here is Trent for abusing her and Penny for putting up with it.”

  Lela tilted her head, making her auburn hair swing over her shoulder. She looked maddeningly together. “We’re all sinners, Callie. If God can forgive us our trespasses, surely we can forgive one another’s.”

  Callie Mae stood. “Forgive, yes; allow ourselves to be further trampled on, no.” She unzipped her oversize purse and pulled out the Bible she carried around. She flipped through the Old Testament, cleared her throat, and began to read. “Deuteronomy 24 says, ‘Suppose a man marries a woman but she does not please him. Having discovered something wrong with her, he writes her a letter of divorce, hands it to her, and sends her away from his house. When she leaves his house, she is free to marry another man.’”

  I hung on to every word. Was it true? It came from God’s Word, so it had to be. I knew about the out for infidelity, but I never had absolute proof that Trent had been unfaithful, only strong suspicions. This was something different. Would God really permit me to remarry if Trent divorced me?

  Pastor Harold sighed. “That’s the Old Testament, Callie Mae. We’re under a new covenant now.”

  She slammed her Bible shut. “A covenant not of law, but of grace and forgiveness.”

  When Pastor Harold hung his head, I caught a glimpse of pink scalp through a thin patch of brown. “God’s Word clearly states that he hates divorce. This is mentioned both in the Old and New Testaments. You can try to twist God’s Word any way you want, but—”

  She gave him a look that was pure anger. “Twist his Word? Are you telling me I twist God’s Word?”

  His long eyelashes fluttered as his jaw dropped. “I’m just saying—”

  She pointed her Bible at me. “You’re just saying this child of God is supposed to stand by her man no matter how he treats her? She isn’t Jesus on the cross. No one benefits from her beatings. Her blood covers no sins. I don’t believe the God I know wants that for her. And last time I read the Good Book, there was only one unforgivable sin—and divorce wasn’t it.”

  Pastor Harold’s neck mottled. “And the last time I checked, neither was spousal abuse.”

  Lela patted her husband’s knee as if to placate him. “I have to agree, Callie. God doesn’t want Penny or little Manny to be in danger, and enabling Trent’s drinking and abuse isn’t helping anyone, including him. But what seems right to man isn’t always right to God.” She locked eyes with her. “Can we at least agree on that much?”

  Before she could answer, Trent’s car screeched into the driveway. My heart found my throat, and judging by the wide eyes and white faces, so did everyone else’s.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  EVEN BEFORE climbing the porch steps, Trent would know we had company. The Harolds’ Lincoln took up half the driveway, and Callie Mae’s sedan sat along the curb right outside the house. Trent’s walk through the front door was more stride than stumble, which told me that while he might be drunk, he definitely wasn’t plastered. I wasn’t sure if that was in our favor or not. There was no telltale crease between his eyebrows though, no flare of his nostrils or balling of his fists to indicate anger. Of course, the night was still young.

  As he scanned the room, his gaze fell on Pastor Harold and his wife, then on Callie Mae, before finally settling on me.

  I couldn’t shake the fear that maybe I’d jumped the gun with this whole intervention thing, but it was too late for regret now. All I could do was pray this would work when everything else had failed, and that you’d never have to know about that night or the man your father had once been.

  His hair was windblown, and his cheeks and nose were red from the cold. He wore his flannel shirt—which doubled as a jacket—unbuttoned, and his shirttail was half tucked into the waist of his well-worn jeans. He put on a plastic smile. “Hey, we’ve got some visitors. Penny, darlin’, you didn’t tell me we were going to have company tonight.”

  With that giant grin of his, Pastor Harold stood and stabbed his hand out toward Trent. “Mr. Taylor, I wish we were here under better circumstances.”

  Trent gave his hand a weak pump, then gave me a questioning look. “All right. What’s going on? Did someone die or something?”

  Pastor Harold shook his head. “No, nothing like that. We’re all here because we’re concerned about you.”

  When Trent shot me a side glance, my heart nearly leaped from my chest.

  “I want you to know,” Pastor Harold continued, hugging his leather-bound Bible to his chest, “that no matter what happens tonight, we have your best interests at heart. We are all sinners. Every one of us in this room. As such, we aren’t in a position to judge you. Just to encourage you to get help.”

  “Help?” Trent asked between clenched teeth.

  Motioning to the empty chair with his Bible, Pastor Harold said, “Please have a seat.”

  Trent frowned as he sat in the chair across from the couch.

  Pastor Harold retook his seat beside his wife and interwove his fingers through hers. “Shall we pray?”

  I bowed my head, afraid to look at Trent.

  “Lord, please give us the right words to say,” Pastor Harold began. “Let us all remember to speak in love, not judgment. We realize we are indeed our brother’s keeper, just as he is ours. Give us the means to help him help himself. In your Son’s precious name, amen.”

  All of us, with the exception of Trent, added our amen to his. When I opened my eyes, he was glaring at me.

  Everyone seemed to note the exchange, which made me feel vindicated. The Harolds had to see now I wasn’t just making the whole thing up.

  “I would like to read a passage to you, Trent. Would that be okay?” Pastor Harold asked.

  Trent held his hands over his mouth and nose like he was trying to warm them. “Is this about us not coming to church yesterday? It’s just because the baby’s not supposed to be in crowds.”

  “This isn’t about missing church, you moron,” Callie Mae said. “This is what they call an intervention.”

  “Please, Callie,” Nathan’s wife said softly. “This is a safe place. We’re not insulting one another here. Trent is our brother and we’re here in love.”

  “He’s not my brother,” she mumbled.

  Pastor Harold opened the Bible he’d been holding, pulled out a woven bookmark that reminded me of one of those Chinese finger traps, and handed it to his wife for safekeeping. “‘Don’t be drunk with wine, because that will ruin your life. Instead, be filled with the Holy Spirit—’”

  “I don’t understand,” Trent said. “If this is about my drinking, I admit I like a few beers now and again, but hey, even Jesus turned water into wine, right? What’s the big deal?”

  Pastor Harold looked up at him, then back down at his Bible. “‘For husbands, this means love your wives, just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by the cleansing of God’s Word. He did this to present her to himself as a glorious church without a spot or wrinkle or any other blemish. Instead, she will be holy and without fault. In the same way, husbands ought to love their wive
s as they love their own bodies. For a man who loves his wife actually shows love for himself. No one hates his own body but feeds and cares for it, just as Christ cares for the church.’”

  Trent shifted in his chair. “Did Penny say I had a drinking problem? You know you can’t really believe everything she says. She makes the Amish look like party animals.” He gave me a look I’d seen enough to know it implied a warning. “C’mon, Penny. Tell them.”

  “This isn’t just about your drinking.” My voice sounded more child than woman. “This is about your temper.”

  His jaw set. “That’s what this is about?” He jabbed a thumb toward me. “Oh, come on! I’ll be the first to admit I put my hands on her in the past, but that’s what it is—the past. Ancient history. I’ll bet you didn’t bother to mention that, did you, Penny?”

  Pastor Harold clamped his hands together on top of the Bible resting across his legs, then looked at Trent. “I’m sure you must realize abusing Penny is not the way God would have you care for his precious daughter.”

  Trent sucked his teeth, making that awful sound that was part whistle, part slurp. “What I don’t realize is why my wife saw the need to drag y’all out here just so she could air out our dirty laundry—laundry that’s already been washed, folded, and put away.”

  “Penny,” the pastor’s wife, Lela, broke in, “why don’t you tell your husband the reason you thought it was important for us all to be here?”

  I hated being thrust into the spotlight, but knew, of course, it was necessary. Keeping quiet had never changed anything. Not for my mother and not for me. “You have done some changing lately, and I’m proud of you for that.”

  He pressed his lips together and tapped his boot impatiently against the floor. “Some changing?”

  “But the rage is still there,” I continued. “You’re like a time bomb just waiting to go off. When you drink, it gets worse. You know it does. I’m afraid you’re going to hurt me again. I’m afraid you’re going to do it in front of Manny, or that he’ll be caught in the crossfire one of these days.”

  He gave me a wounded look. “Do you really think I would do that? Do you really think I would hurt my own son?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Callie Mae said. “You hurt your own wife.”

  His gaze slid off her, to me. “I told you I would change, but you haven’t even given me the first chance to prove it.”

  I wrung my hands together, trying to focus anywhere but on him. “You’ve told me things were going to be different so many times.”

  He looked at me for the longest time, as silence fell thick as fog over the room. Finally, he stood and walked toward me. Everyone stood with him, preparing to protect me, I assumed.

  His anger seemed to melt away as he knelt in front of me like he was getting ready to propose. When he took my hand, I found myself completely absorbed, as I had been so many times before, into the flecks of gray in his otherwise-blue eyes. Eyes that could so effortlessly reach into my soul and either sear or heal me . . . and once again, I ceased to be anything in my mind but the woman Trent Joseph Taylor loved enough to marry.

  Your father looked so broken at that moment, Manny, and I couldn’t help but feel as though I had betrayed him. But I hadn’t, I reassured myself. This was as much for him as it was for you and me. “I love you, Trent,” I said, breaking the spell. “I know you want to be different, and you’re trying, but you can’t do it by yourself. You need help.”

  His eyes filled with tears as he continued to look into mine. “I need help? Is that what you think of your old man? You used to believe in me.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Taylor,” Pastor Harold said. “We all need to lean on our friends and family at different times in our lives. There’s no shame in that. We’ve arranged for you to leave tonight for rehab. It’s not far, just a few miles outside of town. All you have to do is agree to go.”

  Trent never took his eyes off me. “Is this what you want, One Cent? You want me to leave you and Manny and go away?”

  I set my palms on his cold cheeks. The smell of booze on his breath reminded me what needed to be said. “You’ve been through so much in your life, and the anger that keeps surfacing has to be dealt with once and for all. We’ve ignored it for too long. I don’t want Manny growing up seeing his mother getting beat. I don’t want him growing up thinking that sort of thing is right. What do you think that will do to him? What do you think it’s been doing to me?”

  He wiped his eyes across the heel of his hand. “Okay. You’re right. You deserve better than what I’ve given you, and I certainly don’t want Manny growing up the way I did. I said I was going to be a better father than what I had, and I guess it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.” He kissed my lips, then looked over his shoulder at the Harolds. “Okay. If this is what everyone thinks I need, then I’ll go.”

  When he stood back up, there wasn’t a dry eye. Even Callie Mae held a tissue.

  “I don’t know how we can pay for this,” he said, looking embarrassed. “We’re just getting by as it is.”

  Pastor Harold flashed another mouthful of white. “It’s all taken care of. This is why you have a church family. Let us bear this burden with you.”

  I was waiting for Trent to say the Taylors weren’t no charity case, but he didn’t. He just nodded. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. To us. So, how does this thing work, anyway?”

  “They’re expecting you tonight,” Pastor Harold said. “We just pack what you’ll need, and then I’ll drive you there. Easy as that. You’ll stay for two weeks while you detox from alcohol, deal with your anger, and try to figure out the reasons behind both.”

  Trent gave him a sheepish smile. “Something tells me this is going to be anything but easy.”

  Pastor Harold squeezed his shoulder. “I expect you’re probably right. Easy or not, though, you’re doing the right thing. This one decision is going to set the course for the rest of your life. Now don’t you worry about a thing while you’re there. We—Lela and I—will look after your wife and son. All you need to concentrate on is getting yourself better so you can come back to this beautiful family of yours.”

  “You know,” Trent buried his hands in his pants pockets, “this feels right.” He chewed the inside of his lip, looking as nervous as I’d ever seen him. “I’m going to make one request, though. You’ve all had time to think about this, I expect, but it’s a little sudden for me, as you can imagine. I need tonight to say good-bye to my family and take care of a few things before I go.”

  Pastor Harold stopped smiling. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Trent turned to me. “Penny, I need a little time to say good-bye. Just tonight.”

  So relieved by his unexpected response, I would have agreed to about anything.

  I wiped at my wet eyes, then looked at the Harolds. “I think that’s a pretty reasonable request given that he’s going to be gone for half a month. Tomorrow, I’ll take him. First thing in the morning. Do you think you could call the treatment center and arrange that?”

  Callie Mae’s eyes turned into saucers. “No way. Either he leaves tonight, or you do.”

  “I know you’re just trying to look out for me,” I said. “But this isn’t your decision.”

  She huffed and gave Lela a look that made it clear she didn’t approve.

  The mood was on the upswing when we all said our good-byes for the night. Pastor Harold led us in a final prayer. Afterward, Lela waved us all into a group hug, which Callie Mae refused. She was the only person who didn’t look at all pleased with the way the evening turned out. After the Harolds left, she stood in the doorway trying to tell me something with her eyes as Trent looked on.

  When I leaned in to hug her, the furry collar of her jacket tickled my nose and I felt the stiffness of her body. “I’ll be fine, Callie. I promise.”

  She held me close and tight, like it might be the last time she would ever see me. I guess if I’
d been through what she had with Sara, I’d probably be thinking the same thing. As she started down the sidewalk, I noticed her purse still sitting on the floor by the couch. It was so heavy when I picked it up, I half wondered if she had packed the thing with bricks. Knowing how she felt about Trent, it wouldn’t have surprised me. As I rushed out the door with it, the brittle night air bit at my skin.

  “Callie, wait!” I called as I ran to her, waving the purse over my head. She looked right at me but still sped off.

  THIRTY-NINE

  I WATCHED Callie Mae’s taillights disappear down the road, then went inside. Even though Trent would be leaving first thing in the morning for rehab, I still thought it better to not have her purse lying around to tempt him. Not that he would steal, but when he’d been drinking, I’d learned anything was possible.

  I took her bag to the bedroom. When I set it down on the floor beside my dresser, something clunked against wood. Kneeling beside the bag, I felt the bottom of the fabric. Sure enough, the shape of a pistol emerged. Now it made perfect sense why she’d driven off without it.

  I shook my head at her lack of faith and slid the bag into the corner, farther out of sight. I couldn’t wait to return it to her with the satisfaction of knowing she would never again feel the need to protect me from your father.

  Peeking at you sleeping soundly in your crib, my heart nearly burst with joy. You were such a beautiful baby with your wisps of blond atop an otherwise-bald head, lying scrunched up on your side with your knees to your chest like you were still inside me. You had your pinky and ring fingers stuffed inside your heart-shaped mouth, sucking from time to time in your sleep as though you were dreaming of being fed. You were beautiful, Son—and life was perfect in that moment.

  With my all my heart I believed you were going to have a charmed life, with both a mommy and a daddy who adored you and each other. Trent was going to come home from rehab a changed man. He was going to be the father you deserved, the man I thought I’d married.