Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series (26 page)

She saw Glen check his notes and raise a hand, counting off his points. He was wrapping up.

“
Israel was told not to be afraid of the past or the future,” he said. “They were told to stand still and not make things worse by trying to do things on their own. Finally, Moses told them to look for God’s deliverance. God was going to do something incredible and He didn’t want them to miss it. God was going to rescue them from peril, defeat their enemies and bring them to the other side.”

He leaned away from the podium and grinned. “Now, parting the Red Sea is kind of hard to miss. Think, though. Are you missing your deliverance? See, that’s one reason you have to stand still. Where is your deliverance coming from? What avenue is God using to pull you out of your situation?”

Bobbi dropped her eyes.
He’s not. He’s not rescuing me.

“
Maybe you’re thinking, ‘God delivers those other people, but He’s sure not doing anything for me.’”

Bobbi stiffened, refusing to move, refusing to give any signal that she even heard Glen’s words.

“
Let me tell you something you can take to the bank. God would not have brought you here if He could not finish the job.” Glen tapped the podium loudly, emphasizing the last few words. “You think God was caught off-guard when the Egyptian army showed up? You think He hadn’t thought out how He was going to get this whole nation across the water?” Glen shook his head. “You think your circumstances are a surprise to God? Or maybe He’s having to rethink things before He intervenes?”

He’s not going to. He’s had months, and things keep getting worse.

Glen leaned on the podium and spoke quietly. “Here’s the thing. God said, ‘Move forward.’ That’s what got this miracle going. Israel trusted God’s character, His faithfulness. They believed God would do what He said He would, and they moved forward.” He closed his Bible. “What’s keeping you from moving forward? Are you afraid it’s going to be worse than it already has been?” He paused and looked out over the congregation.

That was twice. Two times Glen Dillard read her thoughts. At least he made eye contact with people across the aisle and not with her.

“
Does bondage sound better than possibly drowning? Don’t be afraid. You’re not going to drown. I know some of you—it’s taking everything you’ve got just to hold the line. Aren’t you tired? Stand still. Let God do the work.” He stepped out from behind the podium. “Or perhaps you’re wondering where God is. He’s deserted you. At least it seems that way. Keep watching. You’ll see Him do great things. Now move forward. Let’s pray.”

Bobbi bowed her head and let herself breathe. Glen made it sound ridiculously simple. Just have faith. Just trust God. Please.

The invitation music started and Chuck slipped his hand around hers, steadying her as she stood. It wasn’t that simple. She had to resolve how a good, loving, heavenly Father could snatch her son away. She had to settle that before she dared ask Him to bring Shannon home.

After the last prayer, Chuck mercifully led her toward the nearest door, doing his best to shield her from everyone. They were about to step outside to the parking lot and freedom when Glen called to them. She took a deep breath and tried to smile as Glen shook her hand.

“
Bobbi, you’ve taken a huge step today. I’m glad you came. I know it was very hard.”

He knew? He had no idea.

“
Can we get together and talk? The four of us? You and Chuck and Laurie and me?”

“
I’m not ready for that.”

“
When you are ready, I want you to know that no matter what you’re wrestling with, whatever questions or thoughts you’ve had, I would be honored if you would trust me and Laurie enough to let us walk through this with you.”

“
I trust you.”

“
Then what’s holding you back?”

“
I don’t know,” she lied. “Give me a little more time.”

* * *

ONE MONTH LATER

Saturday, October 25

Bobbi stood at the back door and watched the steady rain fall just as it had done all day yesterday. The pelting stripped the trees in the back yard of their leaves, reducing them to bare limbs. She held her cup of coffee close to her lips, trying to wring some consolation from the aroma, from the warmth.

This morning, after a month of supervision, Chuck finally left her alone. Not because things had changed. Nothing ever changed. Jack came home from college last night, so for his sake, she got to pretend that she wasn’t under constant supervision, that she wasn’t bribed or dragged to church every week, that his dad still went in to work every morning. Until this afternoon.

Chuck flatly refused to tell Jack anything, leaving it all in her lap. He made it clear she had one chance to explain everything to Jack alone. Otherwise he’d sit in on the conversation. Jack would never hear her if that happened.

Jack was a sensitive kid. He would understand why she couldn’t go on like this. He felt the same way not so long ago. He would grasp why she didn’t trust God with her health, or with Shannon . . . not after what He did to Brad. How could she call on a God who twisted every prayer she’d ever uttered for her son into that one unspeakable answer? How could she trust that He was good, that He loved her, that He was working everything to His glory? She couldn’t.

The hall clock chimed eleven. Chuck and Jack would be home from the cemetery soon. This past Monday marked thirteen years since Jack’s mother died, and visiting her gravesite was his primary reason for coming home. He alone remained singularly devoted to Tracy Ravenna. He never whitewashed the woman’s flaws, but he loved her fiercely in spite of them.

She sipped her coffee, but it was shame that warmed her. Forty-seven years ago today, her own mother had lost her battle with cancer. She passed that day in the waiting room at University Hospital with Gavin, while Rita and her father spent the last moments with her mother. She never got to tell her mother she loved her. She never got to say good-bye.

That’s the way it was with Brad. And then again with Shannon.

Hearing the front door open, Bobbi brushed a tear away quickly, took a deep breath and prepared to fake her way through lunch.

* * *

Chuck dropped the last of the lunch dishes in the dishwasher, then made some sorry excuse about needing something from the home improvement store, and he disappeared. He expected the conversation to be over by the time he returned. Bobbi wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and found Jack in the family room, trying to decide which football game to watch.

“
Jack, can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“
Sure.” He turned the television off and scooted over to make room for her on the sofa. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too.”

“
What about?” Yes, she was stalling.

“
Things seem weird. Like there’s something going on. Like between you and Dad.” There was a hint of panic in his eyes.

“
Not exactly.”

“
Not exactly?”

She shifted and took a deep breath gathering what little resolve she had. “Sweetheart, after thinking about things very carefully” —she flipped up the corner of the afghan—“I’ve decided . . .”
Look him in the eye. You have to look him in the eye.
“I’m not going to treat my cancer.”

“
What do you mean not treat it?”

His painfully earnest questions were worse than Chuck’s angry protests. She couldn’t stay with her script if he made her explain every statement. “I mean,” she said, then her throat seemed clogged. She coughed and slowly raised her eyes back to his. “I mean, I’m not having surgery, and I’m not taking chemotherapy or radiation.”

“
But won’t the cancer kill you if you don’t do those things?” His eyes begged her to say any other word than the one she intended to speak.

“
Yes.”

For an agonizing minute, he didn’t move except to blink slowly. Then he asked softly, “You want to die?”

“
Yes.”

“
Why?” he whispered.

For a hundred thousand reasons that made no sense to anyone but her. “It’s too much, Jack. I hurt every minute of every day. I’ve lost my son, and my daughter—”

“
What about Joel?” he snapped. “What about me? I’m not worth living for?”

“
It’s not about you—”

He jumped to his feet, towering over her. “Yes, it is! I’m your son!” He snatched up the remote control and slammed it on the sofa. “Or at least I thought I was.” He turned away and paced over to the television and gripped the top of the entertainment center. “Is Dad okay with this?”

“
Things are a little strained between us.”

“
Strained? I bet they’re strained,” Jack said sarcastically. “I’m surprised he hasn’t brought the hospital to you.”

If it were possible, Chuck would.

Jack shook his head, his jaw clenching, his neck flushing the way Chuck’s did. “It makes sense now. He stood there and cried today. . . . I’ve never seen him cry like that. He wasn’t crying over her. It was over you.”

“
Sweetheart, I can’t expect you to understand—”

“
Don’t call me that!”

The words, the rejection in them, bit her. Jack didn’t grasp what she was trying to get across. It was like tearing Chuck’s heart out again, and the only way she survived that was with stone-cold anger.

“
How can you do this to me?”

“
No, it’s God doing this to you. He’s the one running things. He’s the one who took my kids and He’s the one who gave me this disease—”

“
That’s a cop-out! He doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”

“
I can’t get rid of this hurt, Jack. My only option is to shorten the time I have to deal with it.”

“
Your only option?” Jack stood and walked across the room, staring at the ceiling. “That was a real exhaustive search, I bet.”

“
Excuse me?” In the thirteen years Jack had lived with them, he had never been disrespectful.

“
What else have you tried? Who have you gone to for help?”

Bobbi stared at him, her own jaw clenching.

“
That’s what I thought.” Jack shook his head. “You know, you’re just like my mother.” He jabbed a finger at her as he spoke, his voice rising in intensity. “You’re choosing to be angry and bitter. You’re nursing it. There’s help all around you, and you refuse to accept it!”

He shook his head again and said quietly, “You do what you want. I don’t need a mother.”

Jack stormed out of the family room leaving Bobbi shell-shocked, and moments later, she heard his bedroom door slam.

This was all wrong. She didn’t mean . . . He took it wrong . . . She had to explain . . . She rushed upstairs and from the hallway outside his room, she could hear movement and shuffling. “Jack? What are you doing?”

“
Packing.”

Dear God, no. Not him, too. “Why? Where are you going?”

“
I’m going back to school. For good.”

“
You’re upset with me, but please don’t do this to your dad—” She flinched when he jerked the door open.

“
Me? What you’re doing to him is way worse. You have no room to talk to me about taking other people’s feelings into consideration.” He went back to throwing his clothes into his gym bag. “I see where Shannon gets it. She got it in her head that everything was my fault and that was the end of it. No reasoning with her.”

“
Sweetheart—”

He whipped around to face her, his eyes, Tracy’s eyes, blazing. “I said don’t call me that,” he growled, jabbing his finger at her again. “You know, your pain, your feelings are more important to you than anything else in your life right now. That makes ’em your god.” He flipped his gym bag around and yanked the zipper closed. “Well, I’m not worshipping at that altar. Tell Dad I’ll call him when I get there.” He pushed past her and was down the stairs and out the door before she could react.

“
Ja—” She rushed to the window in time to see his car screaming away from the house. “Jack . . . don’t . . .” Chuck would never forgive her. She couldn’t blame him. She steadied herself against Jack’s dresser, as her next breath worked to force itself into her lungs. It was this place. She was going to smother if she didn’t get out. Now.

Holding the wall, then the banister, she staggered downstairs, dug her keys from her purse and left. She drove through the rain, jamming the accelerator to the floor. At the first red light she hoped she shut the front door. Was the light at Danbury and Wright green? It must’ve been. She didn’t remember stopping and she didn’t hit anybody.

She had no idea how many streets she’d been on, or what route she had taken when she found herself drawn to the cemetery, to Brad’s gravesite. She hadn’t been there since they buried him. She rolled slowly down the narrow cemetery road and parked her car. She could see his marker just a few yards down.

Ignoring the rain, without an umbrella or even a jacket, she got out and walked down the grass row to the place where they had laid her son to rest. She reached down and lightly touched the cool granite, tracing the letters. BRADLEY JAMES MOLINSKY.

They named him after Chuck’s parents. Bradley was Ann’s maiden name, and Chuck’s father was Jim. They liked Bradley James because they were afraid he might end up being called Jimmy. Brad was a good, solid, masculine name, Chuck said.