Chapter 31
WEDNESDAY COMES AND goes without incident. It’s weird and completely unnerving. I mean, I sent the announcements home with the twelve students whose pieces I submitted, so Lexie definitely knows now that I submitted Mia’s gorgeous pottery piece to the show. So why hasn’t she said anything?
Maybe she had a change of heart. The vase Mia made really was stunning for an 8-year-old. Perhaps the photo I sent home made her realize her daughter has a natural talent with clay and now she’s super gung ho about pottery. Manicured nails be darned.
Yeah, I don’t think so either.
More likely she’s biding her time, establishing her battle plan before she throws her first grenade.
I didn’t see Luke much yesterday either since, like many churches, Wednesday night is only second to Sunday morning in terms of the number of activities going on. Religious Ed, small groups, Awana, all the things… so he was busy doing his Wednesday night thing. He did drop into the small group I joined last week (a women’s group doing a study on the book of Ruth), but since Belinda is in my group he left fairly quickly. She kept asking questions like if he had to pick someone in the room to be a kinsman redeemer for, who he would pick or if he’s ever felt protective of a woman the way Boaz had been protective of Ruth gleaning in the fields.
I would not be surprised if her next book is a modern retelling of the story of Ruth featuring a male character with the same cerulean eyes as Luke.
Gosh, he has nice eyes.
It’s 6am on Thursday morning and my nerves are wreaking havoc on my body. I’ve been up for two hours already, obsessing about my meeting later today. I already took Holly for a long walk, did a kickboxing workout I found on YouTube, read my favorite Esther chapters, showered, and did my hair and makeup. Eating breakfast sounds like a horrible idea. So there’s really nothing left for me to do but sit here on my couch and worry.
I’m doing an excellent job of it too. Who knew that the same exact thought could circle around in your brain this many times? What if the board votes against keeping me as a teacher at Grace Canyon? Round and round the question goes, like an out of control merry-go-round. I’m shocked I haven’t thrown up from the violence of the motion.
I keep trying to pray, but my intrusive thoughts keep butting in.
I just want to be at school so my students can distract me and simultaneously remind me what I’m fighting for. I want to be their teacher. That’s the point to focus on.
I’ve just entered another spin cycle with the question haunting my mind when my phone rings.
Who would be calling me this early? I look down and see Luke’s name on my screen. My heart leaps in my chest like it’s a dog trained to salivate at the sound of a bell, knowing a treat is coming. And yes, in this metaphor Luke is the treat. Incidentally I think this is not only true figuratively but literally as well.
“Luke?” I answer the call breathily, having managed to work myself up a bit as I processed the fact that he was calling me at 6am.
“Did I wake you?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“No.” I give a nervous laugh. “I’ve actually been up for a while.”
“I figured as much,” he says.
“I know why I couldn’t sleep, but why are you up so early?” I ask .
“For you, I think,” he tells me. “I woke up suddenly a few minutes ago and my thoughts went straight to you. I felt like the Holy Spirit was prompting me to call you and check in.”
My body melts into the couch and unexpected tears blur my vision. God is so good to me. I’m over here struggling with anxious thoughts and what does he do? Wakes Luke up and prompts him to call me.
“Thank you,” I murmur huskily to Luke. “This, I mean…you calling…I’m really nervous,” I finally spit out.
“That makes sense. Would it be okay if I give you some advice?”
“Sure.” I grab a tissue and dab at my wet cheeks.
“Play out the what ifs you’ve got circling around in your head.”
“Play them out?” I echo, not quite sure what he means.
“Yeah. Here, tell me one of them and I’ll show you what I mean.”
“Okay.” I heave a breath then spit out the question of the morning. “What if the board votes against keeping me on staff?”
“Good question,” Luke says. “If the board votes against keeping you on staff, then you will still have your job as a substitute until a replacement is found, correct? ”
“Yes,” I agree.
“Okay, so that’s the first part of your answer, but let’s keep going. If you have to continue on as a substitute what will you do then?”
“I don’t know—probably still try to apply to a teaching program. I really like teaching.”
“I think that’s great,” Luke enthuses.
“Well, sure, but the substitute job will end eventually, and then I’ll be unemployed and trying to pay for school.”
“True. Will Jill and Max kick you out if that happens?”
“No, of course not.”
“So you won’t be homeless. That’s good. Although, perhaps if you were to become homeless I could use the numerous Bible verses about caring for the poor to dissuade any potential relationship naysayers.”
This makes me laugh, but also brings to mind another of my biggest fears. “In all seriousness, Luke,” I hedge, “that might be the scariest part of my what if path.” “What do you mean? Which part?” he sounds confused.
“The you and me part,” I reply at a whisper. “What if they decide not to keep me on staff because I lied to everyone about my certification for so long? You’re already on probation; I don’t think people will be too fond of their pastor dating someone who got fired for lying.”
Luke is silent for a minute. I get that he’s probably processing, but the lengthy silence weighs heavily on me, bringing with it a whole new set of what if questions. What if he hadn’t thought of this? What if now he’s trying to figure out how to extricate himself from our relationship before the you-know-what hits the fan? What if he’s trying to figure out how to tell me nicely that this was fun while it lasted, but it’s time we parted ways?
“Hannah,” he finally says, “that is one what if question that you don’t need to play out the negative scenarios for, okay? I didn’t wait this long to go out with you just to run away at the first sign of trouble. I’m in this thing for the long haul.”
“Really?” The word comes out in a squeak. Pest control just arrived on scene and fumigated my brain removing all of the what ifs with one quick spray of the place. Whew. Talk about relief.
“Hannah, if that’s your biggest worry about tonight then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he reiterates the point.
My hands, which, I notice for the first time, were clenched into worried fists, relax, splaying flat on my thighs. But as I contemplate his words, my index fingers begin anxiously tracing circles on the linen material of my pants. Apparently the effects of the initial fumigation were not long-lasting .
“Hannah?” Luke prompts. “You’re not saying anything. Is there something else bothering you?”
“Luke,” I begin carefully, “the thing is…it’s not just the outcome of tonight that has me worried about things between us.”
“Oh.” His surprise is evident. “Why’s that?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as conviction grabs hold of my heart. Jill was right before. I can’t keep waiting. Luke basically admitted to being all in with our relationship, and I want to be all in too. That means I have to be completely forthright with him. I have to tell him about Marshall.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I force out the words. “Something about my past that,” I swallow, “that I’m not proud of.”
“Oh,” he says again. I imagine him adjusting his posture to listen more closely to whatever this bomb is I’m about to drop. “Okay.”
“Here’s the thing…” My hands shake as I speak, and I have the fleeting thought that it would’ve been so much better to do this in person–but there’s no turning back now. “I moved back to Tucson for a very specific reason, and it’s a reason that only my sisters really know about. When I lived in California I tried to make a career out of my pottery, and well, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Between that and the waitressing job I took to supplement my income I was barely scraping by .
“But then one day I waited on a table of people I recognized as professors from UCLA’s art program. One of them I’d had as a professor and he remembered me. He asked how my pottery was going, then introduced me to Marshall Donovan, a very well-known art dealer. He was…” I scramble around for the right words, “very attentive to me. Asked if I would want to get together and show him some of my pieces. At the time I was so flattered and excited for the opportunity that I didn’t think it was weird for such a big name guy to be interested in a nobody artist like me.” I cringe at the memory of how excited I’d been. How I’d gone home and called my entire family, certain I’d caught my big break.
“We met up and he loved my pieces. Just gushed about how special and unique they were. How he loved my use of color.” A humorless laugh escapes me as I recall how that bit of feedback got painfully thrown back in my face when I broke up with him. You use colors like you’re a small child, he shouted at me. It makes your work seem juvenile and unsophisticated. No one would’ve looked at your work twice if not for me.
“Anyway, at the end of the meeting he asked me out, and I said yes. Again, I was just so flattered at his interest. Him being who he was and all. Marshall Donovan—renown art dealer and collector. I was so stupid. So blind to the way he was manipulating me to get what he wanted.” Luke is silent on the other end of the phone. Insecurity plagues me, but I press on, needing to get this all out.
“Marshall and I dated for six months. Thanks to him showing some of my pieces to his contacts, my career started to take off. For the first time I was making real money off my art. It was amazing. Plus, I really thought Marshall and I were happy. Sure we had our problems. He liked things a certain way, so that’s how they always were. He didn’t like that I was Christian especially because it meant I wouldn’t sleep with him. That was really the only thing I ever stood up to him about. He did not like it. Pressured me a lot about it. Pushed things as far as he could with me.”
I think I hear a growl of displeasure on the other end of the phone. Still I press on. No need to focus on how close I came to giving in to Marshall’s demands. The point is—I didn’t, and that is a victory I clung to even when I had to leave California in shame and ruins.
Even if sometimes I wonder if that’s why he stayed with me for so long…the thrill of the chase. The thought makes disgust twist through me, still I press on. Needing to finish what I started.
“He would disappear sometimes for a couple of days at a time, which was weird. And he never took me to his house. It was always my apartment or his office or restaurants just outside the city. I was so stupid,” I repeat as regurgitating all of this reminds me yet again of all the signs I missed. Shame is coursing through me. My body is practically vibrating from it. But I’m almost done. I just need to get it out.
“Then one day a woman showed up to my apartment.” I fight to keep the warble out of my voice and fail. “She told me that…that…she…” A sob is building in my chest and there’s a ringing in my ears. I don’t want to say the words. But I have to. “She was Marshall’s fiance?e. I’d been dating an engaged man with a live-in fiance?e for six months—” I break off crying in earnest now. I’m going to have to redo my makeup, that’s for sure.
Luke still hasn’t said anything. He must think I’m so horrible.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” I rush out through my tears, “but..I was scared and so ashamed of it. I mean, I broke up with him right away after that, obviously. But the fallout was huge. He was so upset with me. Called me self-righteous and told me to get off my high horse. Engaged isn’t married, he kept saying, like I was somehow overreacting to finding out he had a fiance?e. Then he started going on about all of the strings he’d pulled to get my work noticed and berating me for not appreciating that. He started badmouthing me around the art scene. Within a few days my career had gone up in flames. There was this scene at a big art show, where he showed up and demanded I take my elementary attempts at art and leave.” I shudder at the memory. “I basically had no choice but to move back to Tucson. I needed a fresh start in more ways than one.”
More silence. The deafening kind. The ringing in my ears has gotten louder. Really obnoxiously loud, actually—wait, no that’s not coming from my brain, it’s my phone. Luke is trying to FaceTime me!
I fumble around, trying to wipe dried mascara (not so waterproof after all) off my cheeks before answering, but not wanting the call to ring too long and click off.
Finally I hit accept. Incidentally even without black streaks across my cheeks, I don’t look great. Unlike Luke, who—first thing in the morning—just so happens to look exactly like the man I picture waking up next to someday.
Unfortunately I’m sure he’s never imagined waking up next to a woman in tears. Nobody wants that.
I mean, I suppose if they were rapturous tears that might be okay.
But enough about my imaginary life as Luke’s wife.
“I’m sorry,” I blubber because that’s all I can really think to say .
“Hannah,” Luke’s voice is soft but firm, “thank you for telling me about such a sensitive part of your past. For trusting me enough to do so. I’m just honored that you felt safe enough to share that with me.”
Okay. What? Those are all really nice words. Not at all what I was expecting.
“You did hear me, right?” I ask. “I dated a man who was engaged to be married, Luke. Married. I was practically a mistress!”
“I heard you,” he replies. “And it sounded to me like you made some mistakes, maybe missed some signs, but that at the end of the day, this Marshall person,” his lip curls in disgust around the name, “was largely to blame.”
“Well,” I flounder. “Maybe. But still, if this information came out…if people knew…they might not take the time to hear my side of the story. And I don’t want to be the source of some huge scandal in your pastoral career.”
“You know you’re awfully concerned about making me look bad. You do know that pastors aren’t perfect, right?”
“You look pretty perfect from where I’m standing,” I grumble.
“Maybe it’s my turn to be honest with you then,” he says, vulnerability shadowing his handsome features. This stills my spirit.
“Oh?” I breathe. “Honest about what? ”
You’re not the only one with shameful things in their past,” he tells me. “In fact, there’s something I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you too. I was planning on waiting until after tonight’s meeting because I didn’t want to add to your stress levels, but now that you’ve been so open with me I think it’s better I tell you now. If that’s okay with you?” he adds. “Again, I know you need to stay focused for this meeting, so I can wait if you want.”
“Um, I think now works,” I say, trying to hide my next level curiosity. I’m not proud of the fact that I’m desperate to know what the heck Luke could possibly have done in his past that has him looking so nervous. “Unless of course you’re going to tell me you stole a candy bar when you were seven or, I don’t know, used to have a jaywalking problem. Because those do not qualify as shameful things.”
Luke laughs weakly. “Uh, no. It’s neither of those. Although, over the years I’ve learned that however big or small the sin seems in our own eyes, God always desires our repentance. His grace may be a free gift, but we still have to accept it.”
Tears spark my eyes again, as the truth of his words hug my soul. How often have I refused His grace, deeming myself unforgivable?
All. The. Time .
How different would my life be if instead I received the gift and allowed it to transform me as God intended?
“Often easier said than done,” Luke adds ruefully. “I know it took me years to fully accept His forgiveness, and shame still tries to rear its ugly head from time to time.” He sucks in a breath. “Most recently with you, as I realized that if I wanted things to truly develop between us, I was going to have to tell you about my past. Sorry,” he hangs his head sheepishly, “I’m really building up the intrigue here. Mostly because I’m nervous.” He blows out a breath.
“Luke, unless you’re about to tell me you killed someone, I think we’ll be fine.”
He lets out a strangled laugh. “That’s an awfully low bar, Hannah, but thankfully I meet it. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Well, there you go. That’s good. Should I keep guessing? You know my imagination has already been busy concocting all sorts of crazy things.”
This time Luke’s laugh is real. But then he shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face. “Nah, I really need to just say it,” he tells me. His eyes rise to meet mine and despite us being on screens, I still feel a jolt of electricity. I really like Luke. Even as wild as my imagination can be, there’s not anything I could truly imagine him doing that would be a dealbreaker.
“So this all goes back to my freshman year of college,” he begins. “As you know, I played college football. We had a great season, made it to a bowl game with 10 wins. As a freshman starter, I got a fair amount of attention for my performance on the field. Like most college freshmen, it was my first time living away from home. The first real test of my beliefs and morals.” He clears his throat before continuing.
“And I had an inflated sense of pride about how well I was doing with that. I was going to church every Sunday, not partying on the weekends, keeping my grades up. Checking all of the boxes in my head. But then came the bowl game. I went down hard in the fourth quarter and had to be stretchered off the field. It turned out that I’d torn my ACL. I had to have surgery and the doctors told me it would likely be at least nine months before I could play again. I was completely freaked out. Thought for sure my college career was over. And I’d always imagined myself going to the NFL.” Luke’s voice is distant as he shares these memories with me, like he’s actually revisiting that time period in his head. I keep my gaze focused on him, my heart hurting for that younger version of him. I know a thing or two about your dreams taking a hit .
“Anyway, I was in a dark place. I stopped going to church. Stopped praying. My grades tanked. I started partying. A lot. I’d wake up in strange places. Not remembering anything from the night before.”
A tremor of dread shakes my body. Suddenly I think I know where this story is headed, and the ache in my heart grows.
“Then one day I woke up and there was a girl in my bed next to me.” Luke stops talking and I see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. He’s not looking at me anymore; his gaze is tilted upward, like he’s also confessing this to God. “I had no idea who she was, or how I’d gotten into bed next to her. But there she was. She didn’t seem to remember much either–nor was she bothered by that fact. She told me she’d had a good time, then grabbed her clothes and left. To this day I have only bits and pieces of memory from that night, but…” Another hard swallow. “Given our…lack of attire, I assume we had sex.” His voice breaks with emotion and, stunned as I am, I still wish I was with him so I could put a hand on his arm, offering him the comfort that only another person’s presence can really provide.
On a personal level, I’m shocked to find that this revelation of his is less upsetting than I would have thought. I mean, I’ve had some points in my life where my relationship with God was not my priority. As I told Luke, I stopped going to church for a while too. But even in those low points where I kept God at a distance, I felt a strange conviction to adhere to some of the Christian values my parents instilled in me. One such value being to save sex for marriage, as God designed.
When I was with Marshall it always bothered me that he not only wanted to have sex with me, but that I knew he’d had sex with other women. I told myself I was being silly; after all, the ways of the world are different from the ways of God. But, still, bother me it did.
Which is why the sense of peace I feel following what Luke just shared makes no sense.
I’ve already figured out that I care more about Luke than I ever did about Marshall. So where are the feelings of jealousy and insecurity? Sure, I can feel them simmering there below the surface, asking for me to pay attention to them. But there’s an emotion that’s even louder than both of those things, effectively blocking them out: compassion. That’s right, I feel compassion for Luke. I have the overwhelming compulsion to take care of his needs before my own.
But how can it be that in this weighted moment, concern for Luke is my primary emotion?
Because , a stirring in my soul seems to whisper, love does not envy…it is not self-seeking…it keeps no record of wrongs .
“Luke,” I whisper his name, then say it again louder, “Luke. Please look at me.”
Luke rubs at his eyes and takes a long, shuddery breath before finally looking at me.
“It’s okay,” I say simply.
“What?” he croaks.
“I said, it’s okay. Thank you for sharing that with me, but if you thought you’d scare me off, you were wrong. I still want to date you.”
“You do?”
I nod. “I do. Sure, it sounds like you made some mistakes,” I echo his earlier words, “but I assume you’re not still having sex with random women, right?”
Luke barks out a surprised laugh. “Uh, no. That morning was a turning point for me actually. A wake up call. My suitemate at the time ragged me out pretty badly for the whole thing; then, if you can believe it, he invited me to go to church with him. I sat in the back and sobbed through the whole service. But I came back the next week, and I also joined the Christian group on campus. I stopped partying and drinking. I started praying and reading the Bible again. My faith came back to life as Jesus changed my heart and made it His.” He drags in a breath.
“And I also stopped dating altogether. It just kind of felt wrong after what I’d done.” He aims a pointed look my way. “Kind of like this woman I know and her pottery.”
I choke on my own spit. “I…me… pottery… ” I sputter nonsensically.
“Don’t even try and deny that part of why you stopped was as some sort of misdirected punishment for what happened with,” he wrinkles his nose like Marshall is a bad smell, “that guy.”
“I wouldn’t call it misdirected,” I reply a bit huffily.
“You should still be throwing pottery, Hannah,” Luke states. “You clearly have a passion for it.”
“Says the man who apparently didn’t date anyone for years and years because of one mistake.”
“Yes, well, unlike with you and your pottery, I also sort of lost interest in dating. I didn’t feel like it was missing from my life.” His eyes lock with mine and a thousand sparks fly through my body. “Not till I met you, that is.”
“Oh, Luke,” I breathe. Goodness. What is happening to my hand? It’s fluttering around by my face like I’m the newly crowned Miss America trying to remember everyone I need to thank. I’m completely swept away by Luke’s romantic statement and my hand can’t handle it. “You are so lucky you’re not here right now or I’d be smothering your face with kisses. ”
Luke starts to get up. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
I giggle. “Thank you again for telling me,” I say softly. “I know how hard that must’ve been.”
Luke nods. “Yeah, but as a wise woman once said,” he points a finger at me, “the power sin holds over us is weakened when we bring the sin to light.”
“Wait, me? I said that?” It does sound familiar, and I really have been on this confession kick lately. Still, I didn’t say that to Luke, in fact I’m pretty sure I said that to—
“Eloise Helensby came into my office last week to tell me that she was the one who let that frog loose in the sanctuary during chapel earlier this year,” Luke expounds on his statement. “When I asked her what made her decide to come forward, she told me you said that to her class and it stuck with her because of all the guilt she’d been feeling.”
“Oh, poor thing.” My hand—which thankfully has stopped its fluttering— goes to my heart.
“On the contrary, she’s lucky to have an art teacher like you.”
“You mean a substitute art teacher,” I correct.
“For now,” he says.
“I hope so.” My hands go to fidget with my hair. “I honestly won’t blame the board if they vote against me. I did lie, after all. It’s not unreasonable to not want a liar teaching your children. ”
“You know,” Luke muses, “when I first felt the call to become a pastor, I was sure there’d been a mistake. That I hadn’t heard God correctly. How could someone with such a sordid thing in their past be called to the role of teaching other Christians? But the more I prayed about it, the more I felt God reminding me through His word that he frequently uses imperfect, messy people. So long as we have willing and repentant hearts—that’s all He really asks. So, even if the board does vote against you, that doesn’t mean God is finished with you. You’ve already shown yourself to have a repentant heart and a willing spirit, now it’s time to see what He has in store for your life. I’m no prophet, but I’m pretty sure it involves dating me,” he adds with a wink and we grin stupidly at each other for a few minutes.
“Have I told you how much I like you?” I finally ask him.
Luke laughs. “We’ve got quite a while before either of us have to leave for work–care to elaborate?”
We settle into an easy conversation until Luke finally has to get off and actually get ready for work. My worries are long gone as I head out to my car and set off for Grace Canyon. Everything is going to be fine.
For once the words feel like a true statement rather than empty words meant to try and comfort myself. I play out new scenarios in my head as I drive, picking a new favorite what if question: What if this thing between Luke and me lasts forever?
Best what if question ever.