One Prayer Away (22 page)

“No, you don't.”

“Please,” Beverly said, holding up her hand to stop Mitchell from saying anything further.

They paused while the waiter placed their glasses of water in front of them, but Beverly began again as soon as she knew he was out of listening range.

“First, let me say that I'm not telling you any of this to hurt you. I honestly don't think I can inflict any more guilt, misery, regret, or shame on you than you've already endured.”

Mitchell nodded in agreement but said nothing.

“As Virtue's therapist, I'm going to try and share as much of this with you as I can without breaking my code of ethics.” Beverly took a thoughtful breath and then continued. “I have to tell you that I was very impressed with you today. Virtue has never shared much about you other than the details surrounding the breakup of your marriage. Sometimes even when we professionals hear such disturbing stories, we create mental images of the antagonist that fits the wrong that they are accused of doing. You don't at all match the illustration that I'd drawn in my head.”

Accepting her words as a compliment, Mitchell smiled. But again, he remained quiet.

“It's been about five or six years since Virtue first visited Temple of Jerusalem. When I first met her she was, at best, a basket case. Still is, sometimes,” Beverly added with a shrug. “I've come to love that girl like my own daughter. In a way, she
is
my daughter. I just didn't give birth to her.

“I know her not being able to get herself to even look at you today was a bit unexpected from your perspective. It was unexpected from my perspective too. I had to convince her to accept your meeting invitation, and it wasn't easy. She fought it tooth and nail, but she was no match for Beverly Jane Oliver.” The smile that Beverly flashed was filled with triumph. Mitchell smiled too.

“Virtue has often told me about you, and most times she's in tears when she does. You hurt her, Mitchell. You hurt her real bad.”

Swallowing hard to relieve his drying mouth, Mitchell turned his eyes to the table. He knew he'd hurt Virtue. The
reccurring visions of the blood streaming down her face mingling with the tears that ran down her cheeks were visualizations that he would carry to his grave.

“I don't mean just physically,” Beverly said, reading his thoughts with accuracy. “I mean in
here
.” She tapped the left side of her chest as she spoke. “She wants everybody to think that the physical scar that she still carries on her head is the one that keeps her remembering the day you hit her. But I know that it's the one you left
here
that breaks her down.”

Mitchell turned away. It wasn't news that he was unaware of, but it wasn't information that he wanted to hear either. Beverly reached across the table, placed her hand on his, and then resumed her speech.

“I'm so glad that you sought professional help. Lots of men are too proud to see that they need help, so I know with all that testosterone and ego that you got in you, seeking help was a big step for you too. But most of all, I'm glad that in the midst of it all, you found salvation. Ain't nothing too hard for the Lord,” she said.
“Nothing.”

Mitchell forced a smile and nodded for the third time.

“I've asked Virtue a lot of questions about you over the years, Mitchell,” Beverly revealed. “I've asked her if she's still hurt, whether or not she's still angry, if she thinks she'll ever fully trust again. . . . I've asked her everything, and you know what? She's always been able to give me an answer. Her most recent meltdown came after she saw you in Dallas. She sat right in my office and cried like a baby. Sometime during my talk with her, I asked her if she still loved you.”

Her words captured Mitchell's full attention, and he looked straight into Beverly's eyes, not caring whether the hopefulness he felt inside showed on his face.

“She didn't give me an answer,” Beverly said. “Every other question I'd asked up until that day, she'd had no problem giving a response. But that one was different.”

“You think she still loves me?” Mitchell finally broke his silence.

“Do you still love her?”

“Yes,” Mitchell said with no hesitation.

Beverly smiled. “One thing I have never done in my life is encourage a woman to go back to the man who abused her. When I sat across from you at the table this morning and listened to you speak your heart to a woman who wouldn't even look at you, you won me over. Do I think she still loves you? Yes, I do. If she didn't, it wouldn't still hurt her
here
,” she said, tapping her chest once again.

They quieted again as their trays of food arrived. Reaching for Beverly's hand, Mitchell said grace; and when the short prayer ended, Beverly gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“It's not going to be easy, honey,” she said. “As long as she has that scar to remind her, Virtue is always going to be fearful. But I want you to know that I'm in your corner, and God has been known to answer more than a few of my prayers.”

“Thank you,” Mitchell said as she released his hand. “Another chance with Virtue is something I've prayed for for a long time. I think I started praying for that even before I found a personal relationship with God. After awhile, after about a thousand prayers with no result, I accepted the fact that she was gone forever. And I told myself that I didn't deserve to get that prayer answered anyway. I didn't deserve Virtue. So I stopped praying for that and started hoping for just the chance to tell her how sorry I am that I screwed up both our lives.”

Beverly picked up a french fry and twirled it in ketchup before bringing it to her mouth. “One thing I know for sure,” she said, still chewing her food. “We ain't never deserved anything that God has ever given us. It doesn't matter how good or how bad we think we've been. Everything God gives us is done out of His mercy and
grace, not because we deserved it. So, no, you don't deserve Virtue, but she don't deserve you either, Mitchell.”

Having never heard it put like that before, Mitchell pondered her words.

“And you know something else I know for sure?” she said, adding more food to her mouth. “I know that sometimes in life we give up on God too quickly. Just when He's about to bless us, we give up. Sometimes it's prayer number one thousand and one that gives us our miracle. Don't you ever give up on God, Mitchell, 'cause sometimes what you're asking for is just one prayer away.”

Nineteen

O
nly six days were left until Christmas, and signs of the holiday could be seen all around the city of Dallas. There had been hints of the approaching festive day ever since Halloween ended nearly two months earlier. The city, as usual, had skipped right over Thanksgiving and gone from being decorated with ghosts and goblins to being covered in trees and tinsel. Blinking lights were everywhere, not to mention rows of stores that displayed signs to lure in gullible shoppers who would buy now and pay for the rest of their lives.

For Mitchell, Christmas had gone from being his favorite holiday to the one he dreaded the most. Now the day was a constant reminder of what he'd lost, but years ago, he'd eagerly counted down the days. When he was a child, Grandpa Isaac and Grandma Kate would use the little money they had and turn their house into one fit for the North Pole. Colorful lights could be found in every corner of their property, including in the hedges, on the rooftop, in the trees, around the pillars on the porch, and
throughout the inside of the house. Every year his grandfather purchased a live tree from one of the local sellers. Once they set it up inside, the entire house smelled like fresh pine. Then on Christmas Eve, his grandmother would begin the task she enjoyed the most: cooking. Kate had always baked a large turkey and ham to match. There would be candied yams, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, cranberry sauce, yellow rice, and enough cakes, pies, and banana pudding to feed a small army.

None of it went to waste, though. All of his grandmother's busybody friends would stop by to trade the latest gossip and to eat. And Isaac's stogy-smoking, card-playing friends who lived in the neighborhood would pay their visits as well. Mitchell often wondered if any of them actually cooked for the holiday. With the mounds of food they ate at his home, they couldn't possibly have room to eat again when they returned to their own. He didn't mind, though. When the neighbors came by, so did their children and grandchildren. On Christmas, Mitchell felt like he had dozens of friends, although most of them he only saw one time of each year.

Even as he'd grown into adulthood, Mitchell favored Christmas over other holidays. Being that he hadn't been brought up in the church, Christmas was never about the birth of Jesus. Mitchell was a grown man and had given his life to Christ before he really knew the true Christmas story. Up until then, Mitchell had always thought that
Little Drummer Boy
, the touching animation that he'd seen many times on television, was factual. Every now and then, Chris would still bring up the story for a good laugh when people who hadn't heard it before were around. As embarrassing as it was then, sometimes Mitchell laughed too when he revisited the day that he flipped feverishly through his Bible to try to prove to his new best friend that the little boy carrying the drum really had gone to Jesus the night He was born to play music for the Savior.

When he had met Virtue and, for the first time, had someone he loved with all his heart to buy gifts for, Mitchell's appreciation for Christmas increased even more. He'd bought gifts for girlfriends before Virtue, but when he looked back, he could only label them as “flings.” None of them came close to capturing him like Virtue had. Buying for her brought him joy. It was only befitting that they get married on Christmas Day. That year, she was the only gift he needed. And unwrapping her . . .

A car blew its horn and snapped Mitchell back to himself. The traffic light in front of him had turned green, and he'd been too engrossed to notice that he was holding up the people behind him who were trying to get to their Monday morning meetings and to the jobs that awaited them. Looking at the clock on the dash of his Tundra, Mitchell realized that he needed to be in a hurry as well. It was already ten minutes past opening time for Jackson, Jackson & Andrews.

Parking his truck, Mitchell felt a flutter in his stomach, and the mixed emotions he'd been battling since Thursday resurfaced. Yesterday he'd mustered up the courage to tell Chris but couldn't find him. Apparently Mitchell hadn't been the only one who decided to get away for the weekend. When he had arrived back in Dallas yesterday afternoon, he stopped by Chris's house, only to find him gone. Church services would have long ended before then, so Mitchell figured that Chris must have gotten away to celebrate his return to full health. And in doing so, he must have left his cell phone behind. That was the only explanation he could figure as to why Chris hadn't returned any of his phone calls.

“Good morning, Barbara,” he said as he stepped into the warmth of the foyer and removed his jacket. “How was your weekend?”

It was the way he always greeted the faithful secretary on Monday mornings. Although he hadn't met most of her
family, Mitchell knew the names and ages of each of Barbara's children. She spoke often of how disappointed she'd been in the way they'd turned out. Her oldest son was unwilling to work, so he'd formulated an on-the-job accident and had himself declared permanently disabled so that he could stay home and still collect a monthly check. Barbara's second son was a professional thief. He stole from store warehouses and then sold the items at a discount rate out of the back of his truck to patrons at hair salons, nail shops, in mall parking lots, or wherever he could unload them. Her only daughter enjoyed the finer things in life, but did so by using her body and her children. She made it a point to only date wealthy, married men. She had three children from three different relationships, and she collected a nice sum of hush money every month from each of their fathers. Generally, on Monday mornings, Barbara was glad to unload the burden of whatever new drama had unfolded over the weekend. But today Mitchell's question got a different reaction.