Paige Torn (26 page)

When was the last time I sewed, much less read my Bible or even a different book? I rub a hand through my hair, still thinking. I love to sew. I love to read. I love to work out, and goodness knows, by the way my jeans are currently fitting, I haven't even had time for that lately.

Layla is just looking at me, and I blink. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, what are you reading in your Bible right now?”

“Oh. Well, I haven't really had a lot of time lately.” I fidget, feeling the twinge of guilt that I hate. I hurry on. “But I've been serving. A lot. I figure that has to count for something, right?”

Layla swallows her coffee and shrugs. “I really appreciate all you're doing for me with this party, but if we weren't ever talking in the middle of it, I'd really miss you.” She shrugs again. “I know that I've asked you to do a ton and I really do need to stop doing that, but, friend — you also need to feel free to tell me no. I'll live, you know.”

I smile shortly at her.

“I mean, if you're sacrificing things like your devotional time for this …” She pauses and then shakes her head. “It's totally not worth that, Paige.”

I don't say anything. Just keep rubbing my coffee mug with my thumb.

Thinking.

What if service for God isn't the same thing as time with Him?

My stomach gets tight at that thought.

I guess Layla can tell how uncomfortable I am, because she switches to yet another uncomfortable topic.

“And then there's the matter of Tyler.”

I try to hold back the sigh.

“Spare me the dramatic sound effects, Paige. He obviously likes you. And for goodness' sake, I hope you like him. He's smart, he's sweet, he seems to have a good thing going with God.” She ticks the points off on her fingers. “If you tell me that he has asked you out and you've said no, I'll cry right here into my coffee.”

It looks like there are going to be some things I do not discuss with my best friend. Salty coffee is just no good unless there's a dose of caramel in there too, and this is just the plain stuff.

“Paige,” Layla says, her voice softening. She reaches over and grabs my hand, making me look her in the eyes. “Look, I've been waiting for a great guy to come along for you for pretty much forever. Especially since you seem to attract every weirdo in the state, including my brother.”

I smile. That is a long, complicated story.

“Just give it a chance. That's all I'm saying.” Then she nods. “Now. Go home. Don't think about the party or the banquet the rest of the night, okay? And actually, I don't even want your help until Friday night at the park.”

“Layla,” I protest.

“No, I'm serious.”

“You have way too much to do.”

“What?” She shrugs. “We've already done everything. The caterer is delivering, the florist is delivering, the chairs and table and dance floor are being delivered. The only thing I have to do is pick up the linens from Aunt MaryAnn and I'm done.” She rolls her eyes. “Surely I can accomplish that.”

She has a point.

I drive home and climb the stairs to my dark, quiet apartment. The silence has never really bothered me, but tonight, for whatever reason, it's so quiet that it almost feels loud.

I lock the door behind me and sit on the couch.

When did I get so busy?

I've always been one of those people who has a lot going on, but never like this. Last year, I worked forty-hour weeks, went on the occasional date on Friday nights, spent the weekends crafting, watching movies, hanging out with Layla, and then felt rested and ready for Monday.

Every week.

I used to be able to read my Bible for over an hour if I wanted to at night. I never fell asleep during a devotional.

Ever.

I sigh, close my eyes, and lean my head back.

“What should I do, Lord?”

I honestly can't see any way to cut anything out of my life — without letting someone down.

Again, Candace's words filter through my brain.

“A need does not constitute a call.”

What does that even mean?

I
arrive to work on Monday feeling haggard.

Which is not a word I like using to describe myself. Particularly since I immediately think of those awful troll dolls that were popular when I was a kid. I look at my reflection in my rearview mirror and wince.

I should have used more hairspray today. Not to mention more blush. My face looks stark and white.

“Wow, Paige …” Candace looks up from my desk when I walk in. She makes a face at me. “Sleep much?”

“I'm fine.”

She pulls a file from my drawer, stands from my chair, and walks over to me, frowning. “Don't take this the wrong way, sweetie, but when I was twenty-two years old, I looked a lot younger than you.”

Well, it isn't the sweetest thing she's ever said to me.

Peggy comes in then, holding a cup of coffee, her bifocals perched on the end of her nose. “Can you grab that Myerson file too, Candace?” She looks over and sees me. “Are you feeling okay, Paige?”

“I'm fine.”

“She's not fine,” Candace says to Peggy.

Peggy looks at me over her glasses, and I suddenly have a flashback to when I was eight and got sent to the principal's office for writing notes during class.

“I'm
fine
,” I insist.

Peggy just narrows her eyes at me. Then she exchanges a glance with Candace, who nods.

“Go home, Paige,” Peggy says.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Go home,” Candace says this time. “You are not welcome here.”

“Guys, listen, it's sweet of you to be concerned, but I'm — ”

“You're not fine,” Candace interrupts.

Peggy comes over and leans up against my desk. “Go home. Candace and I can take turns covering the phones today. Go read. Go watch a movie. Go take a bath. I don't care. Do whatever it is that you haven't had the time to do in the last six months.”

“I can't take off work right before the banquet. Are you kidding? Mark would kill me.”

Candace shrugs. “He won't kill you. Besides, you're working overtime all day next Saturday. Consider this part of your weekend.”

I stare at them, but they just calmly return my gaze.

“Bye, Paige!” Candace says, perkily. “Have a great day! Thanks for stopping by.”

Peggy grins. “See you tomorrow.”

I gape at them but they immediately set to work ignoring me. Candace starts writing down all the voice-mail messages, and Peggy leans over to check the e-mails.

After five minutes of being ignored, I finally walk out.

Now what am I going to do?

I stare into the sunlight of the beautiful spring-like day and suddenly feel completely giddy. I have the whole day to do whatever I want.

The
whole day
.

I don't even know where to begin. I climb back in my car and just sit there, feeling this huge mix of relief, excitement, guilt, and exhaustion.

I decide to tackle the exhaustion first and drive straight to the closest drive-thru Starbucks and get myself an iced venti caramel macchiato, and since it's a special day, I get extra caramel drizzled on top.

Then I go home. I change out of my skirt into a pair of yoga pants and a short-sleeve shirt, find my favorite fuzzy slippers, and grab my Bible.

First things first.

I read a couple of psalms while sipping my macchiato and then flip over to the New Testament. I turn pages until I am in Luke.

The story of Jairus and his daughter catches my eye.

I've read the story before, but I start reading it again. Jairus's daughter was very sick, so Jairus did the one thing he could to help her — he ran to Jesus and begged Him to come heal his daughter.

Jesus agreed and started that way, but on His way there, He got sidetracked by a frail woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. In the meantime, one of Jairus's servants came and told Jairus that his daughter had died.

I read it, my heart hurting for Jairus. He did all he could. He went to Jesus. He asked for help. Jesus even said yes.

And still his daughter died.

If only Jesus had hurried.

I swallow my coffee. Come to think of it, I can't remember a time when Jesus did rush. Even when one of His best friends was dying, it still took Jesus a good three days to get to Lazarus.

Why did He wait? Why did He go so slowly sometimes?

I leave my Bible open on the couch and go get my glue gun and my half-finished wreath. I know Jesus cared. The Bible tells over and over about how God is love and how Jesus loved.

So why wait?

I plug my glue gun in and wait for the glue to melt. I have the muslin rosettes all ready to go. It is a huge grapevine wreath, and I love the idea of little clusters of rosettes glued all over it.

Why did You wait, Lord? Why didn't You hurry and heal the little girl? Or Lazarus?

Jairus even had to stand there and watch while the woman who had been sick for twelve years — the exact age of Jairus's daughter — got healed instead of his little girl.

I bite my lip and press a rosette into place.

Jesus, that must have broken Jairus's heart.

I finish gluing the rosettes on the wreath and stand back, admiring it. It turned out exactly how I envisioned it several months ago.

I pick up my Bible again.

Jesus was speaking to Jairus. “Do not be afraid any longer; only believe, and she will be made well.”

I stare at those words for a long time.

Do not be afraid any longer.

Do not be afraid any longer.

Jesus didn't care. He didn't care about the things that didn't matter. He didn't care about the people pushing Him to do things on their timetable and not His. He didn't care about rushing around, trying to heal every person in the world.

He didn't care about pleasing people.

But He did care about Jairus. And He obviously cared about Jairus's daughter, since He then went to Jairus's house and raised her from the dead.

Maybe He cared so much that He waited to answer Jairus until the moment when every last hope was gone and all he could do was turn to Jesus.

Lord, I'm overwhelmed.

Gently, I hear His answer.

I need to cut some things out. I pull my planner out of my purse and look at the full weeks I have ahead.

And then I pick up the phone and dial. I start with Geraldine, the church secretary. “I'll only be able to teach the two-year-old class once a month now,” I tell her. It is more important right now that I have time for Jesus to teach me.

I call Rick.

“Hey, what's up, Paige?”

“I want to help the youth group girls, Rick, but I can't help them if I have nothing left to give.”

“I agree. Let's talk about you taking a full-time job here instead of working at the agency.”

“Not right now,” I tell him. “I need to work on me first. I can't come to Sunday school anymore. I need to be in church myself.”

Rick gives a soft laugh. “Atta girl,” he says after a minute. “This is exactly what I've been wanting to hear from you for the past six months.”

“Why did you keep asking me to do things then?”

“Because I really do want you to come work for the youth group. The girls adore you. You'd be a great asset to this ministry.”

“Not right now,” I say again.

“But maybe someday. Just pray about it, Paige. That's all I'm asking you to do. And it's about time you learn to
say no.”

I hang up with Rick and make myself a sandwich and sit down to watch HGTV until I fall asleep, somewhere around someone finding a new home with a great backyard.

I wake up at four.

And for the first time in months, I feel rested. I take a long, hot shower and then actually take my time blow-drying my hair and putting on makeup. I haven't played with makeup in months. I even experiment with some shimmery brown eyeshadow and decide it is actually kind of flattering on me.

I curl my hair into long, beachy curls and smile at myself in the mirror. This is the Paige I remember.

My sewing machine is sitting dusty and sad at the bottom of my closet, so I dig out the machine and the box of extra fabric I have and move it all to the kitchen table. Summer is coming, and a long time ago I bought some white eyelet fabric that will make a really cute skirt.

While I sew, I think. I pray. I listen for the first time in weeks.

“Do not be afraid any longer.”

“A need does not constitute a call.”

Sometimes it is okay to not please everyone.

At five thirty, I finish hemming my simple A-line skirt and pick up my cell phone.

“Hey, Paige,” Tyler says easily after two rings. “How are you?”

“What are you doing for dinner?” I ask him, feeling a little nervous. I have never asked out a guy — ever.