Читать книгу Decidedly Married - Carole Page Gift - Страница 15

Julie was living on a high-tension wire, or at least that’s how she felt in the days that followed the Sunday barbecue. She was walking a tightrope between desiring to demonstrate godly, unconditional love to her family and at the same time wanting to strike out at them in anger for falling so far short of her expectations.

Perhaps she was most disappointed with herself, for she knew there was nothing within her that resembled the sort of love her pastor had described. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t summon that kind of love for the people she was most closely connected to—her husband, her daughter, her father? They were all linked by marriage or by blood, and yet sometimes she didn’t feel connected, not emotionally, not the way she should feel. She felt bound, tied, trapped at times, as if the yoke were too great, the responsibilities too heavy.

At times Julie wondered why God would even bother to tell His children to love Him and others so profoundly, in the gritty real world of flawed human hearts? Even the thought of trying to measure up to God’s standards left Julie feeling more discouraged than before. Perhaps that was why she so seldom scratched the surface of her faith; she knew she would be depressed by what she found.

And surely God understood that her life was too busy, too demanding, too overwhelming to worry about issues that apparently had no answers. After all, her daily routine was exhausting. Long hours at the office were consumed with idle, tedious, mindnumbing work; evenings at home were filled with cooking, cleaning, laundry, paying bills and collapsing before the television set for an hour of video pablum before bed.

Katie was rarely home these days, choosing to spend her evenings at the library—pray to God that’s where she was!—or out somewhere with Jesse. Many evenings she came home late, too late, leaving Julie dreading an accident as she anxiously watched the clock and listened for the sound of a car or the ringing of the phone.

Michael, too, was seldom home, his evenings filled with appointments to show houses when he wasn’t off renovating one of his own squalid fixer-uppers.

Julie had a feeling many of Michael’s so-called appointments involved Beth; whether professionally or personally, she couldn’t be sure. But several times when Julie played her answering machine she heard messages from Beth telling Michael she would meet him at this or that property at such and such a time. It all sounded so innocent Was it? Or were the two of them playing the scam of the century on Julie?

Why don’t you just come right out and ask him about Beth? she asked herself over and over. She knew she should; surely she couldn’t continue on like this, living with these terrible suspicions, not knowing whether she still had a marriage. But as difficult as it was living with the uncertainties, the truth might be even more painful. If Michael admitted he was having an affair, what then? A whole new series of choices would confront Julie. Should she forgive him? Would he want to be forgiven? Or would he want a divorce? And would she give him one?

On and on the questions might go, leaving her life shattered, ruined. No, she couldn’t cope with such issues yet. She wasn’t strong enough. It was all she could do to deal with the simple, surface issues of life, like what to fix for dinner or how much to pay on her credit card balance this month.

The nights were the most painful, for just when Julie wanted desperately to turn to Michael for confirmation of his love, when she yearned for the warmth and comfort of his arms and his kisses, she found herself pulling away, closing him out, turning a cold shoulder. How could she make love to a man—how could she give herself to a man—who could be betraying her in the cruelest of ways?

Worst of all, she couldn’t bring herself to answer him when he demanded, “What’s wrong, Julie? What gives? You act like I’m untouchable. What have I done to make you treat me this way?”

And when she made no reply, his anger would flare and he would punch his pillow or throw his covers aside and swing his legs out of bed and stomp out of the room. She would hear him slamming doors in other parts of the house or banging utensils in the kitchen. Often she would be asleep before he would steal back into bed an hour or half hour later, and sometimes she merely pretended to be asleep so that she wouldn’t have to deal with his anger and her own heartache.

Several weeks passed this way. Dreary, monotonous days merged together, indistinguishable, and fell away, shifting, desolate, and elusive as beach sand. One afternoon, as Julie drove home from work, she looked around, startled by how quickly spring’s warm, sunny days had turned into the hot, glaring, sunbaked days of summer. California’s climate changed only by degrees—warm, dry winters became hot, airless summers, but most of the time the weather was fairly pleasant, unremarkable, interchangeably overcast or sunny.

Much like Julie’s life. Except that these days were much more overcast than sunny. As usual, Michael was remote, Julie distant, Katie rarely home.

“Some family we’ve got,” Julie said aloud as she pulled into the driveway of their sprawling, custom-built two-story. “We live in the same house, under the same roof, and yet we all go our separate ways Our lives never touch anymore. Dear God, what’s wrong with us? Or is everybody like us?”

What did the poem say? “No man is an island…” But these days everyone was an island—distant, solitary, unreachable.

Julie parked her car and crossed her arms on the steering wheel. She was feeling stressed out as usual, her emotions blunted, her spirits deadened. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. She knew it, but she had no idea how to change it—or herself.

“Lord, we need a miracle around here,” she whispered, “a touch of Your love, something from You to draw us together and help us love one another the way You want us to love.” She felt tears sting her eyes. “And, dear God, please help me to love You more, too. I know I don’t give You much of my time these days. I’m sorry. Help me to do better.”

That evening, while Michael showed a client a house and Katie was out with Jesse, Julie sat curled on the sofa in the cozy retreat just off their bedroom and read her Bible for the first time in days, the verses in Psalm 36 speaking poignantly to her heart.

How precious is Your loving kindness, O God!

Therefore the children of men put their trust

Under the shadow of Your wings…

For with You is the fountain of life;

In Your light we see light.

Julie read the words over and over. They described the way she yearned to feel about God and her own home and family. But were such lofty emotions possible only in Scripture? Or could she experience such satisfaction and pleasure in her everyday life with her family?

“Lord, is this the miracle I asked for this afternoon? Will You break through the hardness of my heart and help me love Katie and Michael the way You want me to?”

Even as she prayed, she felt a pervasive warmth rippling over her, a growing sense of well-being. Yes, life was going to get better in the Ryan household, she was sure of it! She and Michael and Katie would grow closer than they had ever been. Somehow, God would give her His miracle!

When Michael arrived home later that evening, Julie was waiting for him, dressed in her most alluring peignoir. She went eagerly into his arms and turned her face up to his with a welcoming smile. He stared at her for a long moment in baffled surprise, then kissed her soundly.

“What’s going on, Jewel?” he asked as she pressed her cheek against his solid chest.

She looked up and gave him a slight pout. “What do you mean? Can’t a wife give her husband a little kiss?”

He chuckled. “Doll baby, there was nothing little about that kiss. You haven’t greeted me like that since—to tell you the truth, I can’t remember when.”

She slowly loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I know, darling, and I’m sorry. It’s been way too long.” She felt suddenly as if she were acting out a scene in some tawdry movie—the glamorous seductress tempting the unsuspecting boy next door, or some other sleazy, half-baked plot “Michael, I’d like to make it up to you,” she said softly. “Do you remember how it used to be, when we were first married?” This was crazy. She even sounded like an actor reciting lines from a play. But if this was what it took to win Michael back, to convince him she loved him…

He pulled his tie off from around his neck and tossed it on the bed with an exasperated sigh. “There’s nothing I’d like better, Julie, than a little romantic romp with my wife, but this just isn’t you. Come on. What gives?”

She sat down on the bed and ran her palm over the silkysmooth sheet. “Don’t analyze everything, Michael. You’re spoiling the mood.”

He removed his cuff links and pulled off his shirt. The furrow of doubt in his brow was already giving way to a crinkly smile. “You win, Jewel. Heaven forbid that I’d spoil such a rare, wonderful mood.” He sat down beside her and drew her against him, kissing her hair, her earlobe, her neck. “But I’d still like to know what inspired it I’d like to bottle it and save it for a rainy day.”

“Why a rainy day?”

“Rainy, sunny, twice on Sunday, I don’t care. I just don’t want to let magic like this get away.”

She closed her eyes dreamily. “It’s been here all along, Michael. Maybe you just haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I would have noticed. Where has this spicy little coquette been hiding?”

“Really, Michael!” she chided. It didn’t seem appropriate now to quote from Pastor Brady’s sermon on love, so she said simply, “I’m not some steamy vamp. You’re my husband! I want us to be closer.”

“So do I, Jewel.” He kissed her tenderly—a slow, warm, inviting kiss—then glanced toward the door. “Where’s Katie?”

“Out with Jesse. Where else?”

“Then it’s just the two of us?”

“For at least another hour.”

“Perfect,” he said, guiding her head down on the pillow, his face above hers. “Now where were we?”

The telephone jangled on the bedside table, shattering what would have been a very delectable kiss. “Don’t answer it,” said Michael.

“We’ve got to,” she replied. “It could be Katie.”

He sat back. “If it’s not an emergency, hang up.”

“I promise.” She rolled over, grabbed the receiver and said a clipped hello.

There was a long moment of silence, then a woman’s voice broke from the other end, sounding muffled, distraught and vaguely familiar. “Is Michael there?”

“Yes, who’s calling please?”

The woman spoke over a choking sob. “It’s Beth. Beth Chamberlin.”

The roof of Julie’s mouth went dry. Without a word she handed the receiver to Michael.

“Yes, Beth? What’s wrong?” He stood up and turned his back to Julie. “For crying out loud, how did he know where to find you? Did you call the police? All right, I understand. Listen, make sure the doors are locked. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He slammed the receiver into its cradle and flung on his shirt, hurriedly buttoning it as he strode toward the door.

“Where are you going?” demanded Julie

Michael stopped and stared at her, as if suddenly realizing how suspicious his rapid departure looked. “I—Beth needs my help.”