Read Contingency (Covenant of Trust) Online
Authors: Paula Wiseman
Contingency (Covenant of Trust) (23 page)
“Great, that didn’t take long,” Brad mumbled. “Wonder how many other messages are flying around?”
“Did you get three days? Nathan wasn’t sure.”
“Tell Nathan, yes, including Friday’s game,” Brad said, wandering into the kitchen for a Coke.
“Guys, how about tacos?” Bobbi followed them to the kitchen, and pulled a pound of hamburger from the refrigerator.
“Tacos would be great!” Joel said. “I’m starved!” Then turning to his brother, he asked, “So who’d you hit?”
“Joel, that’s not important,” Bobbi said. “It was wrong. Brad admitted that, and he’s taking the punishment.”
“And Mom forgave you?” Joel asked.
“Yeah, so?” Brad finished off the can of Coke.
“Boy, it would be a lot tougher if you were in trouble here
and
at school. It’s a good thing your family accepted your apology and forgave you.”
“I’ve learned my lesson, Joel. You can shut up now.”
“So you think forgiveness is the way to go?” Joel asked with a sly grin.
“Yes, Joel. You were right about that, too, okay?” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “I told Dad I’ve been a jerk. We’re cool.” He turned and headed up the back stairs, but poked his head back around the corner. “Owen Burcham,” he said, and disappeared.
“No way!” Joel scrambled up the steps behind him.
Bobbi shook her
head and smiled at the boys. Brad seemed in curiously high spirits for a kid facing a three-day suspension. Of course, she found it difficult to muster any parental anger or even disapproval at him. Who could fault him for reacting to pressures Chuck had brought on all of them?
The hamburger sizzled as it browned in the skillet.
I can’t blame everything on Chuck. That’s a cop-out.
Brad had the responsibility to walk away from that fight. He knew it was wrong. Just like Chuck.
Dear God, they’re the same. They both knew that what they were doing was wrong and they did it anyway. Why can I give Brad a free pass then, and not Chuck?
*******
Thursday, October 13
Bobbi left school
by three-thirty and took the long way home so she could stop by the coffee shop, Dear Joe, to pick up a bag of fresh roast. Today hadn’t been an especially bad day, but after Brad’s suspension yesterday, dinner with Chuck tonight, and parent conferences coming up, she needed a dependable supply of therapy.
She found a parking place close to the door for a change. In the morning, the place was packed, full of professional types, calling out orders, and carrying out gallons of coffee, one cup at a time.
Through the afternoon and evening, though, Dear Joe became more of a coffee house, where college students and an occasional professor would drift in and out for a super espresso. This afternoon, three kids huddled in booths as far away from each other as possible. Each had a stack of books, notebooks, a twenty-four ounce Joe for stamina, and an mp3 player to block out the world. If only it were that simple. If only a midterm was the most stressful thing she had to face.
The owner of the shop, Clay Bartel, looked up from wiping down a counter when she walked in, and flashed his patented million-dollar smile. “I was about to put out a missing persons bulletin on you,” he said, tossing the towel to the counter behind him without turning around to look.
“Call off the search party, then. I’m here.”
“Hey, my regulars are like family. Are things okay?”
“Fine.” She looked in his eyes and knew that somehow news about the affair had made it to the coffee shop. “Just busy.”
“Yeah, how’s that roomful of monkeys treating you? What are they, second-graders?” A few years younger than Bobbi, full of charm, and with an easy-going manner, she often wondered why he wasn’t running a Fortune 500 company instead of a string of coffee shops.
“They are wonderful. Best thing going on these days.”
He didn’t comment, but his eyes lingered on hers a moment too long. She looked away and he moved on to business. “What can I get for you this afternoon?”
“I just need some fresh roast to take home,” Bobbi said, although the richness of the brewing coffee tempted her to have a cup to go as well.
“All of our Europeans are on sale this month, and the Moroccan is our feature.”
“I’ll take the Bella Florentina, then,” Bobbi said. “Can’t beat a sale.”
“One pound or three?”
“Just one. I’m the only one who drinks it.”
“Chuck still hasn’t come around?”
“Chuck will never come around.”
Not just on the coffee.
Bobbi reached in her purse for her billfold. “Oh, and here’s my card, too.”
“Chuck doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He looked in her eyes again, then punched a hole in her card. “All right, your total is ten seventeen, and with that filled-up card, you’ll get a free pound next time. I also put in a sample of the Moroccan, too, so you can try it.”
“Thanks,” Bobbi said, taking the bag and dropping her billfold back in her purse. Was Clay Bartel flirting with her, or just being friendly? Had it been so long since she’d received any attention that she no longer knew how to respond?
Forget Clay. Focus on dinner, Bobbi. You gotta figure out something. Chicken ... That’ll work, right?
Head down, thoughts a million miles away, Bobbi almost collided with a woman just outside the door. “I am so sorry,” she began apologizing, when she recognized Lorraine Kinney.
“No harm done,” Lorraine said. “It was a near miss.”
“You come here often? I didn’t know you were a gourmet coffee fan.”
“I didn’t either. I stopped on an impulse. Do you have time for a cup?”
Bobbi hesitated and looked at her watch. She didn’t want to stay. Making pleasant casual conversation would take energy she needed for dinner with Chuck. Lorraine, of all people, would understand if she opted out.
Then again, running into her, literally, couldn’t be just a chance meeting. Lorraine could identify with the pain Bobbi lived with day in and day out. “Sure. Let me put my bag in the car.”
Once back inside Dear Joe, Lorraine asked her, “So, what do you recommend?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What do you like?”
“I have no idea.”
“Try the Gazebo blend,” Bobbi said. “Minnie or Molly.”
“A Molly what?”
Bobbi smiled. “Those are the sizes. Minnie is small, a normal-sized cup of coffee, then Molly, Bill, and Joe.”
“You came back!” Clay said. “Made my day.” His blue eyes twinkled and Bobbi almost believed him. “It’s the brew, isn’t it? Had to have it, right?”
“As a matter of fact, give me a brew and a Gazebo, both Minnies.”
“That’s the Moroccan.
You
will love it. A strong Turkish base, spiced to perfection.”
“You should do commercials,” Bobbi said.
“I’ll consider it, then.” He set the cup on the counter. “Try that and tell me it’s not the best cup of coffee you’ve had this week.”
Bobbi took a long sip. “It is very good.”
He nodded. “You know, I can tell a lot about a woman by the coffee she drinks.”
“How many times have you used that line?” Bobbi lay the money on the counter and picked up the two cups.
“I didn’t intend for you to buy my coffee.” Lorraine said.
“I know that. Consider it an introductory cup. That’s how we get you hooked.” Bobbi glanced up at the ceiling. “Don’t sit there. The vent will blow down on us.”
“You know your way around a coffee shop,” Lorraine said, taking a seat at a table away from the vent.
“I’ve been here once or twice.”
“I gathered that much from the guy at the counter.”
“Clay? It’s in his financial interest to make sure everyone is loved and appreciated.” Bobbi glanced back toward the counter. “I never take cream or sugar, so I didn’t think to ask if you needed it.” Bobbi handed Lorraine a cup and sat down.
“I’m fine. How long have you been a coffee connoisseur?” Lorraine could have passed for Bobbi’s mother. Deep lines around her eyes and across her forehead testified to the trials she had faced. While the difficulties in what she called “her real growing up years” hadn’t embittered her, they made her reserved and cautious, traits she had in common with Bobbi.
“I’ve drunk coffee since I was fourteen. In college, I started drinking the flavored kinds, but in grad school, I found the good stuff.” An awkward pause hung over the table, signaling the end of small talk. Bobbi resigned herself to the ‘you think you have it bad, at least your husband didn’t leave’ speech. Lorraine surprised her.
“You feel utterly alone, don’t you?” Lorraine asked.
“Yeah, I do. Nobody gets it.”
“I doubt I do either. I’ve wanted to talk to you since Chuck went before the church, but the timing was never right.”
“I haven’t exactly been approachable.”
“This is survival. There’s no energy for anything else, least of all social graces. You do what you have to do to get through a day and that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Bobbi murmured. “So what was it like when Dean left?”
“I was crushed,” Lorraine said, taking a sip from her coffee. She spoke quietly with a gentle humility. “He was such a liar,” she said, shaking her head. “I had no idea. I didn’t even know he had a secretary.” She glanced away, betraying the fact that her own naiveté still embarrassed her. “I had just turned thirty. Todd was seven, Christie was four, and Donnie was two. The first year, I thought I would die, or at least lose my mind. We moved back in with my parents, all four of us in one bedroom. Then I found a decent job, and the kids and I settled into life without him.”
“I know it wasn’t as easy as you just made it sound.”
“No,” Lorraine sighed. “But Dean was an adult and he made a decision that I had no control over. I had to live with the consequences, but there wasn’t anything I could have changed, or done differently.”
“You still love him?”
“It’s complicated. I haven’t spoken to him more than a half dozen times, and he makes me so angry, I could bite through a nail. On the other hand, he’s the father of my children, and I was genuinely happy when we were married.” She looked away for a long moment. “I’d like to know if he ever loved me.”
“What about forgiving him?”
“It took me fifteen years. I heard a sermon about Samuel when God told him to go make Saul the king. I don’t even remember the point of the sermon, but one of the verses was ‘they haven’t rejected you, they’ve rejected Me.’ That’s the summary—Dean didn’t reject me, he rejected God. God is my defender and avenger, and this is between Dean and God, not Dean and me.”
“So how do you get through it? How do you live with the hurt day after day after day?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. When I look back, I don’t know how I did it.” Then she raised a hand. “Well, I know how I did it—it was all God.”
Bobbi sipped her coffee in disappointment. Was that the best anybody could tell her? You just get through it. “Then, when does it stop hurting?” Bobbi asked, hoping for something concrete, something she could grab hold of to get her through this storm. Pray this prayer, or read these verses ... anything.
“The truth?” Lorraine asked, allowing the slightest smile to form.
“Oh, no,” Bobbi said, closing her eyes and returning the smile. “It doesn’t, right?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Lorraine finished off her cup of coffee. “Bobbi, I wouldn’t presume to give you advice, but if you’ll let me, I want to say two things.” She waited for Bobbi’s consent before continuing. “God gave Job his family back, but He never removed the pain of the loss from Job’s life. Second, Chuck is a good man.”
“That’s all?” Bobbi asked.
“Anything more would be meddling, and I wouldn’t do that for the world.” Lorraine smiled and stood to leave. “The coffee was wonderful, thank you. Let me throw your cup away.”
Bobbi handed over her empty cup. “Lorraine, I have to tell you, I was a little hesitant to talk with you. I figured you’d tell me I didn’t have it so bad, to suck it up, and go on. I’m sorry.”
“You know, the Bible says God never puts more on you than you can bear, right? You are carrying as much as
you
can right now. Whether or not that’s more or less than what I can handle is irrelevant. Suffering is not a contest.”
*******
Bobbi arrived home
as Brad started the last lap of the front yard with the lawn mower. She waved at him and went on in the house to start dinner. Joel sat at the kitchen table finishing his homework. “Mom, I need the computer unless you can tell me the top three exports for each of the European Union countries.”
“Hi, Mom. How was your day?” Bobbi teased.
“Hi, Mom. How was your day?” Joel repeated, rolling his eyes.
“Fine, thanks,” Bobbi answered. “Yes, you can use the computer. Dinner’s in about an hour.”
“You know,” Joel said as he packed up his books, “this would be much simpler if I had a computer of my own.”
“Nice try,” Bobbi said.
“I have to try,” Joel said. “You’d be disappointed in me otherwise.”
