Chapter 15 #2
“Take it in my office,” he said. He helped her up as she answered the call. She followed him down a hallway into a room he hadn’t shown her yet. It was small, organized, and very dreamy, with two whole walls of books.
“Hello,” she finally said to her mother.
“Where are you? A bar? You know better than to be in a place like that. Full of sin.”
Beth closed her eyes, pressing her fingers hard against her temple. Her mother’s voice was sharp, the same voice that had carved her down to pieces for most of her life. “No, Mother. I’m not at a bar.”
“Well, it sounds like it. All that noise in the background, laughter, carrying on. It’s a wonder you can even hear me. Tell me you’re not living in sin. Because I don’t care what your excuses are, Bethany, it’s wrong. You’re too old to be repeating the same mistakes.”
By same mistakes, her mother meant the one time she’d used a bathroom at a bar when she’d been a teenager.
Her stomach clenched. For a split second, she almost told her.
About the fire. About how everything she owned had been reduced to ash.
About how she had woken to a shadow standing over her, a hand pressed against her mouth.
How she suspected that the shadow belonged to her ex-husband, the one her mother still believed she should be living with and obeying.
About how she’d spent three days in the hospital.
About Aaron. But she stopped herself. What good would it do?
She was sure her mother would find some way to spin it that she’d sinned somehow and this was God’s punishment.
Her mother hadn’t believed her about Ian.
Not when she’d whispered to her about the first time he’d shoved her against a wall.
Not when she’d tried to explain the bruises.
Not when she’d cried down the phone, begging her to just listen.
Her mother had dismissed it all, accusing her of being dramatic, of twisting stories, of exaggerating for pity.
And now, none of it mattered. Because to her mother, the only thing worth mentioning was sin.
“I’m not living in sin,” Beth rasped, though her throat ached from the lie she knew her mother was already writing in her head.
“I should hope not,” her mother huffed. “The Lord won’t bless you if you keep making the same choices.
You’re not sixteen anymore. You’re twenty-six.
At your age, you should be living decently, honoring God with your life instead of chasing after men that are not your husband.
Honestly, Bethany, sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever learn. ”
Beth stared at the rows of books in Aaron’s office, her chest tight.
She wanted to scream. To tell her mother that she had learned.
That she’d learned what it was to love the wrong man, to lose herself, to crawl back inch by inch until she could breathe again.
She wanted to shout that she had nothing left, not even a photograph, not even a quilt. She had nothing.
Then a burst of laughter reminded her that just upstairs sat two rooms full of new things. Her things. Purchased with love by the people out there that really loved her.
Somehow, that gave her the strength to finally blurt out, “I lost everything in a fire four days ago, Mother. I’ve been in the hospital after someone—I suspect it was Ian—tried to kill me.”
A pause. Then a scoff. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. What is it really, this time?”
Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. She had cried too much already.
“Ian tried to kill me four days ago. One of my coworkers rushed into my apartment and saved me. I was in the hospital. My voice is raw because of the smoke inhalation. The sounds you’re hearing…
those are my coworkers celebrating me coming home.
They purchased things for me, like this phone.
Things I lost in the fire. I don’t have Daddy’s quilt that Grandma gave him.
It’s ash. I don’t have my wallet or driver’s license.
It’s ash. I lost everything. I almost lost my life. ”
There was a brief silence.
“Well, I don’t have time for this,” her mother cut in briskly. “I just wanted to remind you that Pastor Allen is holding a revival meeting next month. You’d do well to attend. God might forgive you yet if you start putting Him first.”
The line went dead a moment later.
Beth lowered the phone slowly, her hand trembling. The silence of Aaron’s office pressed in on her, warm and safe, and yet she felt small. So very small.
She sank down into the soft leather chair that faced his desk, clutching the phone in both hands.
Her mother’s words still echoed in her ears, but for the first time, they didn’t sting the way they used to.
Not here, not surrounded by people who had just filled her empty arms with clothes and comfort and love.
Her mother’s words no longer mattered. She no longer cared. Opening her phone, she clicked the screen until she found her mother’s contact and then happily blocked her number.
She was done with that old life. Bethany Ellison had died in the fire four nights ago. She was something else now. She wasn’t Bethany Thorne either. She was just… Beth now.
She was shaking, as tears rolled down her cheek, but at least she wasn’t broken.
Strong arms wrapped around her and for once in her life, she didn’t jump at the shadows. Instead, she buried her face against Aaron’s chest and cried until she fell fast asleep in his arms.