Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Paisley
“You sure you’re up for this?” Greyson asked for the third time as he killed the truck’s engine. He shifted in his seat to eye me.
I sighed and leaned my head back against the headrest, studying the church’s red brick and white siding. “It’s Wednesday night, which is usually quieter. At least it was. I’m good to try.”
The line on Greyson’s forehead told me he wasn’t convinced, but he hopped out and jogged around to my side to open my door.
The simple act shouldn’t have made me giddy, but Jared had stopped doing that not long after we married.
Like once he won the prize, he didn’t have to put the effort in.
But here Greyson was, several years into marriage and still insisted on opening my doors.
I slipped out, careful to not let the refreshing north wind play fast and loose with my breezy dress. My phone. I patted my pockets and scanned the inside of the cab. Seriously? How many times can you lose that thing? It was even yellow for goodness’ sake.
“Pais, what is it?” Greyson asked.
“My phone. I can’t remember . . . I don’t . . . I just . . .” Did I even remember my purse? It sucked enough to lose my memories, but my short-term recall on object placement was equally shot.
“Hey.” Greyson’s warm hand cupped my shoulder and tugged me backwards. “I’ve got it. You left your purse at home and gave me the phone.”
My shoulders sagged in relief. “I feel so stupid,” I muttered.
Greyson’s hand trailed down my arm to squeeze my bicep lightly. “Don’t beat yourself up. The doctor said this was normal.”
I glared at him. “Doctor Toupee needed a new bedside manner. Nothing he said was remotely comforting.”
Greyson started coughing violently, but he was laughing. “Doctor Toupee?” he asked, in a strangled voice.
“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice his headwear.”
“I did, but only you would have come up with a name for him. C’mon.” Greyson tugged me out of the way to close the truck door, locking it, then reached for my hand absently.
I stared at him, confused.
After a moment, understanding lit his face, and he dropped his hand. “Sorry,” he said simply.
“Do we do that often?” I asked, following him across the parking lot to the front doors.
“What? Hold hands? Sure.” Greyson paused and glanced at me. “Pais, don’t worry about it, okay? Things are gonna take time between us. I know that, and I’m in no hurry.”
“How do you do that?” I demanded.
He blinked in surprise. “Do what, exactly?”
“Be so in tune with my feelings?”
Greyson’s smile was kind. “We’ve been together for almost six years. I’ve had time to study you, Mrs. Satterfield. I’m still learning you, and you’re my favourite subject.” And with those words, he ushered me inside.
Wait, he couldn’t just drop that and expect me to take it in stride.
That was a swoony line worthy of a romance book, and he wanted me to be cool about it?
But most of the congregation was already seated and Juliet was at the piano, waiting for Pastor John to announce the first hymn. We’d have to revisit this later.
The church had been remodeled since my earlier mental pictures but not enough to be unrecognizable. The floor-to-ceiling windows, vaulted ceiling, orangey-cream cushioned pews, and tan wood paneling with a glass block cross built into the wall behind the pulpit still remained the same.
The weight of a hundred eyes on us pricked my skin, and I almost pivoted on my heel to walk out.
Instead, I straightened my shoulders and gripped Greyson’s hand.
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. Just led me to the back pew in the corner, which was the darkest, avoiding direct light, and farthest from the piano.
I smiled my gratitude at him as I slipped into the pew first.
The Satterfield clan was scattered across the rows. Mama D caught my eye several seats up and beamed, Myles nodded, and Khia waved enthusiastically from beside Cal.
After the opening hymn, Pastor John opened up the floor for folks to pick a handful of favourites. The comforting old words rolled over my soul.
Once it was time for the sermon, I made every effort to listen, I promise, but the hum of the overhead lights, the heat pressing at my skin—thank you, broken air conditioning—and the rhythmic pulsing behind my eyes conspired against me.
The only words I heard from Pastor John were Worship in the mystery.
Praise in the mystery. Trust in the mystery.
They curled around me like a cloud, giving my tired heart a place to land.
God knew even when I’d forgotten. He knew no matter how lost I felt.
Nothing about my topsy-turvy life was taking Him by surprise.
My story wasn’t a mistake—it was still being written.
I could rest in the comfort of His knowing the mystery. But, Lord, it’d be fine by me if You wanted to share some of Your knowledge with me. Especially about Greyson. I’d like to remember again.
I sagged in the pew until my head rested against something warm and solid. I’ll rest for just a second. My eyes fluttered shut, and I was out.