The Perfect Life (25 page)

The forest was thick with shadows by the time I pulled up to the A-frame cabin with its cedar-shake roof and large weathered deck that wrapped around two sides. When I opened the car door, the mountain breeze brushed against my skin, the scent of pine needles teasing my nostrils. As I released a breath, some of the tension eased from my neck and shoulders.

I got out of the car, taking my sweater with me, and locked it with the remote on my key chain. Then, Annabeth's written directions in hand, I followed the path across the dirt road, between two more lots, to the rough-hewn steps that led down to the lake. There was a bench at the top of the steep hillside, and I settled onto it.

Gentle waves slapped against the dock, making it rock and creak. The soft whine of a boat engine reached my ears, and I searched until I found the craft—little more than a dot moving across the water's surface—on the south end of the lake where the resort town of McCall was nestled. Somewhere behind me, a woodpecker was
ratta-tatting
a message on a tree.

But even with these sounds, the forest seemed blessedly soft and still. I breathed it in, welcoming the calm, wanting it to become a part of me.

Jesus . . .
I closed my eyes.
Take control.
I drew in a deep breath.

It had seemed so important that I get away, to be alone and wait upon the Lord. I wanted to feel His presence. I wanted to hear His voice. Would He speak to me? I'd been content to read the Bible and be obedient but had never experienced what it meant to abide. I'd been content to let Him speak to others. Had I missed the chance to hear Him for myself? What was it that Jesus told the Jewish leaders?
“My sheep recognize my voice; I
know them, and they follow me.”
Was I among the sheep who knew the Savior's voice?

“Here I am, Lord.”

I lifted my gaze to the mountain peaks, then to the clear blue sky above them. A soft wind brushed against my cheek. Overhead, the lodgepole pines swayed. Below me, the dock creaked and moaned as water lapped around its edges. But in my heart, all was silent.

Nightfall threatened before I rose from the bench and headed back to the cabin.

The first order of business was to put away the groceries I'd purchased at the market in town. Then it was time to do bit of spring housecleaning. Annabeth had warned me that no one had been to the cabin since the end of January, and the layer of dust on every surface testified to it. I found the cleaning supplies and set to work.

It felt good to expend the energy it took to clean the cabin. I vacuumed and mopped and dusted. I wiped down cupboards and countertops. I put fresh sheets on the bed in the main floor bedroom and hung clean towels in the bathroom. By the time I finished, complete darkness had settled over the forest. Silence was absolute. If anything stirred beyond the walls of that cozy cabin, I was unaware of it.

There was no television to watch—just as well—not even a DVD player for movies. But there was a boom box and a nice collection of CDs, some instrumentals but mostly worship music. I found one of my favorite performers and put the CD in the player. After adjusting the volume, I headed for the kitchen to prepare a late dinner—a grilled cheese sandwich with fresh fruit.

Half an hour later,my appetite slaked, I returned to the living room. The air had cooled sharply. It was time to try my hand at fire building. I'd never been much of a Girl Scout, but I thought I could handle this task. There was a cardboard box against the wall near the front door that was filled with old newspapers, another box with kindling, and, in a rack, enough wood to keep me warm throughout my stay.

My first few attempts were pathetic, but at last I managed to get the fire going. I took an inordinate amount of pleasure from my success as I sank onto the sofa and watched the orange flames flicking at the split logs.

For a time, I simply sat there, watching the fire, not thinking of anything, not feeling anything. Weariness tugged at my eyelids. I reached over to turn off the lamp, then lay on my side and pulled the throw from the back of the sofa over me,my gaze still on the fire in the stove.

“Hear I am, Lord. Open my ears to hear You.”

I awoke with a start, a dream lingering in disjointed bits around the edge of my consciousness. I tried to remember what the dream was about, but as I sat up, it slipped away for good.

Embers glowed red inside the woodstove. I rose from the sofa, wondering what time it was, and made my way to the wood stack. After stirring the embers with the poker, I set several more logs into the stove and closed the door. In moments, the fire came to life.

Brad and I should have accepted one of the many offers from the Sorensons to use their cabin. It would have been wonderful to be up here in the mountains, surrounded by the silence of the forest, drinking hot chocolate on the deck, our feet on the railing, or snuggling together in the double bed in the downstairs bedroom. We'd often meant to, but summers had come and gone without our following through.

I walked into the kitchen and flipped the light switch. The harsh glare blinded me for a moment. After my eyes adjusted, I took the teakettle to the sink and held it under the faucet, then set it on the stove and turned the burner on high. While the water heated, I found a large mug in one of the cupboards and spooned a generous amount of hot chocolate mix into it.

My gaze lifted to the clock on the wall. A little past midnight.

I wonder if Brad's asleep.

Turning toward the window above the small table, I brushed aside the curtain. All I could see was my own reflection in the glass and inky blackness beyond. I let the curtain fall into place.

The teakettle began to whistle, the sound so sharp it hurt my ears. I grabbed it from the stove, opening the spout to stop the shrill noise—all the louder for the silence outside.

Moments later, a mug of steaming hot chocolate in my hand, I returned to the living room and settled once again onto the sofa. I stared at the flames licking the inside of the woodstove. Warmer air reached toward all corners of the room and drifted toward the rafters of the vaulted ceiling.

Father, I'm here. I'm alone. I'm waiting.

The fire popped and snapped. I blew across the surface of the hot chocolate, then sipped. I tried to listen. Truly I did. I hoped to hear something in my heart, something profound and life changing. All was silent.

My thoughts turned to Brad.

I remembered him as he'd been when we were young and first falling in love—Brad, a track star in his senior year, and me, a sophomore cheerleader. I suppose I fell in love with his good looks and popularity first, but there was so much more to love about him, so much more I would discover over the years. He was bright; his thirst for knowledge was never quite quenched. He'd inherited a good work ethic from his father and tenderheartedness from his mother, both traits I was grateful for. He loved to laugh and was a great one for playing practical jokes, especially on his two younger brothers.

I remembered how handsome he looked on our wedding day, waiting for me at the front of the church in that gray morning jacket. He was twenty-two and a new college graduate. I was twenty and, after two years as his fiancée, impatient to be his wife. I remembered the joy in his eyes as he watched my approach. I came to him dressed in white satin, and it pleased me that I deserved to wear the color of purity. We'd wrestled with desire in our years together. Often I was afraid I would lose him because I insisted we wait, fears that worsened when he entered college. But I didn't lose him. We did wait. And at last I would be his.

I remembered him as he was on the day Hayley was born. Wide-eyed, overwhelmed, overjoyed. When he held his daughter in his arms for the first time, the look of love in his eyes made me weep. And the same was true when Emma arrived two years later to the day.

I remembered the many ways he'd changed—all for the better—beginning from the day he turned over his life to God.

Perfect. Our life had been perfect . . . until Nicole.

I set aside the mug, lay down on the sofa, and wept.

Thirty-two

THE NEXT TIME I AWOKE, IT WAS MORNING. SUNLIGHT
filtered through the curtains over the large living room windows.

I sat up, feeling a bit battered from sleeping so long on the less-than-comfortable couch. I tipped my head to the right, then the left, trying to work out a kink in my neck. Finally I stood. Arms overhead, I stretched, and a groan escaped me.

Maybe a shower and a change of clothes would make me feel better.

Five minutes later, I stood beneath the spray of hot water, face turned toward the showerhead, eyes squeezed tight.
Please,
God. Let this be a better day.

I'd come to the mountains to draw closer to God, to hear from Him, to find peace in the midst of the storm. But all I'd thought about was Brad. Last night, tears spent at last, I'd drifted to sleep while remembering the day Brad rented the office in the Henderson Building. I hadn't prayed. I hadn't read my Bible. I hadn't done anything I intended to do when I left home yesterday.

And if I wasn't careful, I might start crying again.

Turning my face away from the spray of water, I squeezed some apple-scented shampoo into the palm of my hand and rubbed it into a high lather atop my head.

Brad would be eating breakfast right about now. I wondered if Emma spent the night with him. I hoped so. It would be awful if he fell while getting in or out of that wheelchair. And he was just stubborn enough to try to do something he shouldn't.

“I want you to stay involved with the foundation. You've been
with me from the start. It won't be the same without you by my
side.”
That's what Brad had said to me the day he rented the office in the Henderson building. But had I really listened to him?
Really
listened? Perhaps not. It had scared me a little, those changes he was making in our lives, selling his business, renting an office, depending upon the Lord to provide.

I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and the bath soap from my body, then turned off the water. At once, cooler air slipped around the shower curtain, so I hurried to wrap my hair in one towel and dry off with another.

For some reason, I thought of the Birches, a charming young couple—both of them mentally challenged—who'd been a recipient family of one of In Step's earlier remodels. Perhaps the sixth or seventh one that was completed. That was a few months before Brad decided to sell his construction firm.

I remembered the day he came home from work, bursting with excitement about the Birches. “Wait until you meet them, Kat. They're wonderful! Just the kind of people I want In Step to serve. The poor and the marginalized and the forgotten. Charlie works as a janitor. He's had the same job for a decade, and his boss says he's the most reliable employee he's ever had. They don't own a car because neither of them is allowed to drive. That little house in the east end that we're working on now will be perfect for them. Charlie will only have to walk two blocks to catch the bus.”