Between These Walls (24 page)

And Hunter’s torment resided in that absence of knowing.

Most of all, he craved to know where God’s grace
ended.

As far as Hunter could tell, whatever actions that might ensue with Gabe entailed a series of choices, and once he made a conscious choice, Hunter didn’t know if God’s grace covered it. Could one decision today doom him for eternity? Hunter’s salvation had come from a heart response, not physical works. The Bible said a man’s actions could never earn his salvation; rather, salvation came as a free gift, by grace through faith, lest any man should boast.

If Hunter’s actions couldn’t
earn
his salvation, could his actions
sever
his salvation?

God knew Hunter’s faith was genuine. God knew how much Hunter loved Him from what felt like his whole heart.

Where does God draw the line between heart and actions?

Hunter’s torment mounted. He was confident he was safe so far. Nonetheless, he wondered if any actions with Gabe might serve as baby steps toward losing his salvation. If he consented to his feelings for Gabe, would he risk his own heart straying from God? Would he step outside the canopy of God’s protection? Is it possible for someone to wander so far, he falls out of grace? Could Hunter wind up in hell, forfeiting his salvation for eternity, and trace its root to involvement with Gabe or another man? Was Hunter on the verge of setting into motion permanent damnation before he understood the full consequences and without hope of recovery?

An image flashed through Hunter’s mind—an image of himself floating in darkness, writhing in pain as the fires of hell burned away his soul and worms ate at his body, knowing a reprieve would never come and the agony would last forever. Fear of what would come with each instant. Loneliness in knowing God had departed, the notion that he could never again feel the comfort of God’s embrace.

Fear shot down Hunter’s spine, a terror so severe, he wanted to thrash his head from side to side, desperate to shake the frightful thoughts from his mind. But he remembered where he was—surrounded by people—so he forced himself to settle down, despite the fact that his stomach wrenched and his jaw now felt sore from its clenched state.

This wasn’t the first time such images had traveled through his mind. Hunter had considered those pictures year after year, and he had endured them alone.

In moments like these, Hunter turned his attention back to God’s love, the love that had accepted and welcomed him years ago. God had known Hunter’s challenges and had wanted him anyway. Hunter trusted that love. He trusted that, somewhere along the way, mercy had to be available for someone like him. Not because he deserved it, but because it matched the nature of the God he knew.

With his eyes still closed and another heartfelt worship song fading into the background, Hunter lifted his hands, tilted his face toward heaven, a grateful man worshipping his Savior who sat high on His throne. Tears came forth in such abundance, he gave up on trying to wipe them away. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who wept during worship.

To anyone who might have noticed Hunter, they would have assumed this was a simple moment of worship, which it was. But it was also more than that.

For Hunter, it was a desperate cry for God to show up and give him wisdom: hands open and arms outstretched, the arms of a child racing into his father’s embrace. Pleading for his father to never abandon him.

CHAPTER 21

“Well, here it is,” said Ellen, unlocking the door on the passenger side as Hunter shifted the car into park. Together they climbed out and sauntered toward a view of, what appeared to Hunter, nothing.

The secluded property sat in Brecksville, a suburb located in what Cleveland-area residents called the west side. To reach the property, Hunter and Ellen had exited a freeway, driven through a series of main roads, then twisted and turned for another ten minutes along numerous side roads. Taking a deep breath of early November air, Hunter scanned the grassy plot of land with his eyes. He noticed it stretched several acres wide and about two acres deep, before hitting a thick, wooded area at the rear of the property.

If secrets took a physical form,
Hunter mused,
this would be the perfect place for them to hide.

Hunter zipped up his winter coat. The air felt unseasonably cool. Snow flurries had swirled outside his window the night before. Once December arrived, Hunter knew, any snow that fell would accumulate on his lawn and remain there through winter. It wouldn’t start to melt until March, and by then, he knew the pile would measure at least three feet in his front yard.

“We closed the deal on Saturday morning,” Ellen said, squinting her eyes and examining the property as through the lens of a dream. “Two months ago, we knew nothing about this land.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“The owner was a homebuilder. Brendan has worked with the guy on a bunch of projects over the years, so they cross paths on a regular basis. The guy owned this land and intended to build a house on it, but for several years, nothing happened.”

Hunter recalled, during his youth, when he and his family had considered moving and searched for homes around this area. They had looked at a couple of homes built by builders and had noticed a significant difference compared to other homes on the market. Unlike the standard features of a typical home, many builders had avoided neighborhoods and opted for standalone plots of land. They had poured money into all the details of the home and purchased the best of options which, as Hunter’s father estimated, the builders had bought at cost.

“Why did he give up on building the house?” Hunter asked.

“It wasn’t him,” said Ellen. “It was the guy’s wife who nixed it. After they’d owned the land a few years, they got a divorce. The wife got the land in the divorce settlement and decided to put it on the market. We bought it directly from her, a for-sale-by-owner thing. The guy mentioned it to Brendan in passing. Next thing we knew, Brendan was on the phone with the wife. Or ex-wife, I should say.”

“I wonder why they never built the house in the first place,” Hunter wondered aloud. “Why’d they wait all those years without doing anything?”

“I was curious about that too.” Ellen swept her foot along the grass, which hadn’t grown out of control but needed a final mowing for the season. “When she showed us around the property, we got to talking, and I asked her that question.”

“What did she say?”

“She doesn’t harbor cozy feelings toward her ex-husband, of course, but her explanation threw me. She said she’d felt trapped inside the marriage and couldn’t bear the thought of building a house to fill with lies. A house where the façade looks ideal and the fixtures are everything she’d dreamed of, but behind the front door—between those walls—the lies mount higher and higher. Finally, the day would come when she’d suffocate and die inside.”

“Sounds harsh.”

“Scared the hell out of me, that’s for sure. That’s how she put it, though: The lies would build inside that house till she’d suffocate and die. No way was she gonna let that happen—build a pretty house and put on her best show for the public, while inside, she’d crumble from the pressure between the walls of her lies. So after years of trying to gloss over the problems in their marriage, she told her husband she didn’t want what he wanted. All the deeper issues between them rose to the surface and escalated from there. Next thing you know, they got a divorce.”

Hunter drew his shoulders together to bring his coat tighter against himself.

“I never want one of those in my life,” Ellen murmured.

“Don’t want what?”

“A fucking house of lies,” she replied, no expression upon her face.

A gust of wind blew and the chill in the air seemed to plunge. Hunter shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at Ellen, whose face had grown ashen in the cold. Rosy patches had bloomed on her nose and cheeks. She appeared lost in reflection as she stared at the broad land before them.

As he pondered Ellen’s remarks, Hunter considered his relationship with Kara in light of the feelings he’d developed for Gabe. When honest with himself, Hunter had to admit he felt much more attracted to Gabe than to Kara. Yet, on the other hand, his relationship with Kara made sense: a woman, a wife, a family ... a future. And if not with Kara, with another woman. What was he supposed to do? Sabotage another relationship? Give up on the future he desired in his heart, a course he believed wiser, because of attraction to someone else—an attraction that might prove fleeting in the end? He wanted to treat Kara with kindness. If she knew the whole scenario, what would she say? Would she
want
him to give up on her? Given a different work schedule for Kara—less travel, more face-to-face time—perhaps the situation would be different. Perhaps this was a season of weakness, Hunter tried to tell himself. A temporary period, like the dry season at his sales job.

Yet, at some point in the future, a choice would be inevitable, Hunter knew. Kara or Gabe. Regardless of
why
he’d grown more vulnerable in recent months, a moment of decision would come. But maybe it wouldn’t come soon. Maybe he needed time to sort everything out, a season in which the best answer for everyone would emerge with clarity.

“When do you start building?” Hunter asked Ellen.

“We’ll break ground in the spring, as soon as possible, then shift as much as we can into high gear.”

“You’re starting
this
spring? When do you plan to complete it?”

“September.”

“Isn’t that your wedding date?”

“We’d finish the house around the same time. It’ll be a tight fit with work, wedding plans, and now building a new house. Talk about pressure.”

“Pressure doesn’t always serve you well.”

“You can expect me to be a crazy bitch by the time it’s all over. But I know you’ll love me anyway, so you’re kinda screwed.”

With that, Ellen burst out with a raspy laugh, the kind you’d normally expect from a chain smoker. Hunter chuckled along with her because he knew every word she’d uttered would come to pass.

“But in the end,” Ellen said, “we’ll have a sparkling home ready to move into after the honeymoon—if he keeps me around after my crazy phase, that is.”

“So what happens next?”

“Now that we know the exact dimensions of the lot, Brendan can get blueprints drawn up. That’ll involve a lot of back and forth, but we have a general idea of what we’re looking for.”

“Since Brendan speaks their language and understands the regulations and code requirements, shouldn’t the process move along faster?”

“We hope so. In the meantime, he and I need to pick out everything from siding to fixtures to carpet. All the options you take for granted: How many cars we want the garage to fit for the future. Paint colors, shingle colors, roof style. Everything.”

“Kind of like planning your wedding, only ten times bigger.”

“Geez, it all seems to grow bigger the more I talk about it,” Ellen said. “One enormous hot-air balloon in my face.”

Ellen tapped her foot nonstop.

“But it’s
good
pressure,” said Hunter. “I mean, you’re happy, right?”

Ellen paused. “Yeah ... yeah, I’m happy.” After another beat, she shot Hunter a mischievous grin. “I’m sure I’ll feel like crawling into a corner once all the pressure sets in, but yeah, I think I can say I’m happy. I have someone to love. Life doesn’t get better than that, does it?”

Ellen wrapped her arm around Hunter and gave him a hug from the side. And with that, the two old friends, shivering in the northern Ohio wind, headed back to the car and closed themselves into its warmth.

CHAPTER 22

The next day, Hunter had a job interview with a small company in Aurora, a community adjacent to Hudson’s eastern border. The interview, which he hoped had gone well, wrapped up by the middle of the afternoon. Since he was so close to home, he decided to head back to his house, where he would spend the rest of the afternoon researching job openings online.

As he drove down Hudson-Aurora Road, Hunter passed his old high school on his left and peered out the window. The school day had ended minutes earlier. Swarms of teenagers departed the building. Cars snaked through the parking lot and lined up at the exits. It reminded Hunter of one February morning at that school, during his junior year.

Hunter’s lunch period arrived around 11:30 a.m. that semester. Randy and several other friends had the same lunch schedule. Each day, they met at the same table in an atrium known as the Commons. Through the windows that lined one side of the Commons, Hunter could see the parking lot filled with students’ cars. Mounds of white lined the perimeter of the lot, snow that had fallen that winter, which the maintenance crew had plowed to the side and now sat several feet high. A cool, gray sky hung overhead, an entity with eyes that observed and saw everything that occurred under its watch, which, for Hunter, ushered in feelings of imprisonment.

Teenagers sat around small, round tables that speckled the large, airy room, while several other teens approached and hovered around those who sat. Some who hovered munched on a bag of chips; others killed time, skipping out of study hall while claiming a trip to the restroom.

The tables seemed to reflect unwritten rules about who sat with whom. Hunter noticed he could summarize each table with a label: jocks, choir members, band members, future MIT alumni. While Hunter hung with the athletic crowd, he made an effort to talk to individuals regardless of their activity interests or social statuses, and he never understood why middle and high school students gravitated toward social segregation. Beneath their layers, Hunter supposed, they all shared similar insecurities, fears and struggles. At least, he
hoped
he wasn’t the only one who possessed them.

Voices echoed throughout the atrium, their sounds bouncing from the walls and performing acrobatic maneuvers beneath a ceiling that stretched two stories above the ground.