Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bram
M y footsteps echo in the empty lobby of the church as I make my way to Pastor Woodhouse’s office. I wipe my clammy palms against my jeans when his office door comes into view.
I’d been caught off guard when he called me first thing this morning to ask if I’d stop by after lunch. I’m sure it isn’t anything to worry about, but the pit in my gut says otherwise.
Lifting my hand, I rap a quick knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Pushing the door open, I keep my eyes focused on Pastor Woodhouse’s balding head. He’s bent over a stack of papers, his pen scribbling furiously across the pages.
I clear my throat. “Afternoon.” Without looking up, he motions for me to come inside. I sit, the tension in my shoulders tightening.
After what seems like forever, Pastor Woodhouse stacks his papers together, places his elbows on the table, and finally, focuses on me.
“Bram, thank you for coming in.”
“Anytime. I hope everything is okay,” I say the last part with a question in my voice. The suspicion that I’m here because there is indeed something wrong is confirmed when Pastor Woodhouse levels his gaze with mine.
“I have some . . . concerns.”
I arch a brow and clear my throat again. “Concerns? About what?”
Pastor Woodhouse reclines back and taps his fingers on his desk. “Regarding you and Quinn. Tell me, Bram. How are things going?”
I spread my hands, feigning innocence. “We were just here the other day. Nothing has changed since then.” I pray he doesn’t hear the bitter undertone of my voice. Ever since the day I apologized for taking advantage of her, there has been a strained tension hanging around the house.
Our easy nights of watching TV while I rubbed her feet have been replaced with Quinn staying at her mom’s house until late. Every time I ask if she wants me to go with her, she says no. By the time she arrives home, she scurries off to bed before I can open my mouth. Not that I’d know what to say anyway. I still can’t get my mind off the fact she’d been crying to Julie about that night. It makes me feel like the worst sort of jerk.
Plus, I’ve been trying to give her space since Jovie was reunited with her dad. It’s been hard for Quinn to lose her, and I want to respect Quinn’s need for space to process everything.
It isn’t all Quinn though. The few nights she’s been home, I’ve been so nervous and unsure of how to act that I end up running off to the beach with my surfboard. I’m afraid if I have to be tortured by her presence for one second longer I will lose all inhibitions and take her back to my bed.
My pulse kicks up at the thought of holding her in my arms again. I want a real marriage with Quinn. And not just the physical intimacy part. I miss her light laughter floating through the house and her easy smile that is brighter than the sun.
I miss my wife. And the longer this disconcerted energy between us continues, the larger the gaping hole in my heart grows. I thought I didn’t know what love was, but I’m starting to see . . . it’s Quinn.
She’s warm and bright. Alluring and captivating. Selfless and kind. Everything is better when she’s around.
She’s my home.
And I’ve ruined it all.
“So things still are that bad, eh?” Pastor Woodhouse keeps his steady gaze on me. I thought we did well in our monthly meeting with him last week. He didn’t say anything to either of us. We played the part. Holding hands. Laughing. Smiling at each other—though Quinn’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes.
Apparently, I was wrong.
My jaw clenches as I crack my knuckles. I don’t like lying to anyone, especially not to my pastor. And I need to talk to someone if I want a chance to right the wrong I’ve done. Even if I’m still not one hundred percent sure what that is.
Peace flows over me, and I let out a ragged breath. “Things are . . . complicated.” I go on to tell Pastor Woodhouse everything. And I mean everything. I didn’t intend to tell him about Lois, but suddenly I’m admitting that I was in love with my best friend for years but ended up marrying her sister so she could have health insurance.
After laying it all out on the table, I scrub a hand over my face. “Gosh, I’m such a jerk,” I mutter.
Pastor Woodhouse lifts a bushy brow. “Hmm . . . it’s certainly—”
“Complicated,” I interject.
He makes a sound of agreement, inclining his head. “Let’s begin with Lois.”
A sick feeling swarms in my gut as my shoulders stiffen. “Okay,” I manage.
“Are you still in love with her?”
“No,” I reply firmly. My mind and heart have been so full of Quinn that I’ve not lingered on Lois. And when she does happen to pop into my mind, my feelings toward her aren’t the same as they once were. Shifting in my chair, I lean forward. “I don’t think about her anymore. And if I do, it’s in relation to her being my sister-in-law.”
Pastor Woodhouse nods. “Good. Because if anything is going on there, we need to have a different conversation. Adultery is a big deal, son.” He levels a heavy look at me.
“I know, Pastor. Truthfully, I don’t think I was ever in love with her. And since proposing to Quinn and marrying her, I’ve been praying and trying to focus on being a loving husband to her.”
Wagging a finger, he replies, “Ah . . . about Quinn. I must say, Bram, I’m surprised that you haven’t realized what’s going on yet.”
I blink at him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I ask, “What’s going on?”
He barks a laugh and shakes his head. “Bram, I admire that you are trying to do right by Quinn. But have you thought that maybe by trying to do right, you may have actually done wrong by her?”
“Pastor, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong. But you say that the night of the storm, Quinn asked to sleep in your room with you?”
I nod in response.
“And then, when you thought you should go to the couch, she asked you to stay?” He raises a brow at me, but I still haven’t grasped whatever knowledge he thinks he’s bestowing upon me.
“Yes . . .” I drag out, my face heating.
“Then the next morning, you left her before she woke up, and then the first time you see her after”— he clears his throat and waves his hand— “you apologize to her.”
I rest my chin on my hand as I process his words. I won’t admit how long it takes for the light bulb in my dimwitted brain to turn on, but given the fact I had to have someone else flip the switch to begin with, you can probably guess it isn’t quick enough.
My eyes widen. “Oh,” I breathe out, sitting up straight.
“Oh,” Pastor Woodhouse mimics in a sarcastic tone.
“Bu-but . . .” I gulp. “Are you suggesting that-that Quinn wanted to be with me?”
His eyes twinkle as he crosses his arms. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you based on the information you gave me. But what you need to do Bram, is go home to your wife and talk to her. I know these conversations can be difficult. Heck, they’re difficult to have for couples who’ve been married for years and are madly in love with one another. But if you don’t talk to her, you will lose her.”
A new fire spreads throughout my body. A purpose. Here I’ve been sitting around thinking I was giving Quinn the respect and time she deserves when what she truly deserves is a candid conversation with her husband.
And if Pastor Woodhouse is wrong—oh, I hope he isn’t—then I will continue giving her time and space.
But if he’s right?
A slow grin forms on my face as I stand. “Thank you, Pastor,” I say, extending my hand to grip his.
“Anytime, Bram. Now you go to your wife and I’ll call your dad and ease his mind.”
My feet halt in their tracks. “My dad?”
He harrumphs. “Why do you think I agreed to marry you two on such short notice?”
“I thought it was because we agreed to monthly counseling.”
He arches a brow at me. “And whose idea do you think that was?”
My jaw slackens. “Dad’s?”
Pastor Woodhouse chuckles. “Bram, your dad came to me as soon as you came to him. We’ve both been praying for you and Quinn.”
I’m shocked speechless until he waves me on. “Go on, Bram. Go talk to your wife.”