Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE CLASH, “SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO”
At eleven thirty, I woke up to vomit.
At midnight, I woke to the sound of Eve vomiting.
At eight the next morning, I lifted my heavy head from my pillow when I heard my parents arguing. That was a first. They didn’t argue with us in the house.
There had been a lot of firsts that week. Then I remembered the guitar, and I cringed as both my head and my stomach protested upon sitting up. I opened my drawer and retrieved the note.
Take your time. Be vulnerable. Feel everything. Then find courage in the face of fear. I love you, Sunday Morning .
—Satan
I laughed through my tears as I set the note aside and opened the guitar case. Then I slowly cupped a hand over my mouth. It wasn’t his guitar; it was a shiny new white guitar with a silver strap and “Sunday Morning” stitched into it. When I lifted it from the case, I uncovered an envelope. Inside, there was cash—a lot of cash.
Why did he give me a guitar and cash? It made no sense.
After throwing on a nightshirt, I sat on the bed and played my new guitar. It wasn’t long before the arguing downstairs stopped, and Mom opened my door, peeking inside and eyeing my guitar.
I paused my fingers, staring at her for a few seconds while I returned the guitar to the case with the envelope of cash. “Are you fighting about me?”
Before she could answer, my dad stepped into my room, too, and closed the door.
“I should have died,” I said, latching the case.
“Don’t say that,” Mom said.
“It would be easier for both of you.”
“Why do you think that?” Dad asked.
When I lifted my gaze to him, he kept his emotions well-guarded, unlike the day I came home from Nashville.
“I’m a whore,” I said.
Mom winced as Dad’s jaw clenched.
“That’s what you’re going to think.” I blew out a defeated breath. “And I don’t even care. Not anymore. Trying to please you, Matt, his parents, and God … it’s all too much.” I closed my tired, swollen eyes for a few seconds. “My faith has been tested, and I’m not passing the test.”
“Sarah—” My dad started.
I shook my head. “You can’t fix this. Not you. Not anyone. I can’t pray my way out of this awful feeling that everything I’ve believed about God is wrong. Is He indiscriminate or calculated? Is everything part of a grand plan or by chance? Because I can’t wrap my head around the idea that I’m here by God’s grace, and Heather and Joanna are not. Good people die every day, and evil people live. The only way I can imagine forgiving God is if I can believe that He did nothing. That He does nothing but give us free will to live. To make mistakes, even if they cost us everything. But if you want me to believe He has a hand in it, then I’m out. I cannot worship that kind of god.”
“I know you’re hurting, but it’s no excuse to?—”
“To what, Dad? Act out? Question God? Drink? Have sex out of wedlock? Go to Nashville with my boyfriend’s brother while my friends die in a car accident?”
Dad’s expression hardened as Mom covered her mouth.
“I never signed up for classes at the community college. I’m not going to college. I’m going to sing songs. Songs about sex and love. And sometimes I might drink. And I’m going to have all the sex I want. And I’m eighteen, so you can’t do anything about it.” I felt strong.
I felt like an adult.
“Then get out. Pack up your belongings and get out of this house,” Dad said with his hands fisted at his sides and the vein on his forehead pulsing.
“Peter, no.” Mom stepped in front of him. “Sarah, take a shower. And?—”
“No shower.” Dad grabbed my mom’s arm and yanked her out of the way.
I had never seen him treat her like that, so I internally recoiled.
“Get out of this house immediately!” He turned, dragging Mom behind him .
“Peter!” she protested. “That is our daughter. You’re not acting rationally. Just take a minute.” Her voice began to fade.
“If she’s going to disobey God and me, then she can suffer the consequence,” he said.
With shaky hands and tattered emotions, I shoved as much as I could into my backpack, quickly dressed, and carried my bag and guitar down the stairs.
“Sarah!” Mom chased me.
I reached for my car keys that I always had on the hook by the door. Then I remembered that I might have left them in the car after the funeral the previous day.
“Sarah! Stop.” Mom followed me out the door.
But when I reached my car, the doors were locked, so I turned.
Mom grabbed me and wrapped me in her arms while Dad looked on from the front porch, dangling my keys from his finger.
“It’s my car, Sarah. You’re eighteen. You’re an adult who has sex and disrespects God. Find your own transportation,” he said.
“Just apologize. Just apologize. Please apologize, Sarah,” Mom whispered in my ear while crying.
“Find courage in the face of fear.”
“I love you,” I said softly, pulling away from my mom.
She looked utterly crestfallen, red-eyed and sobbing. I turned and trekked down the driveway to the road.
It took me two hours to walk to the Corys’. In another life where God wasn’t despicably cruel, randomly plucking innocent lives from the earth, I would have walked to the neighbor’s and called Heather to come get me.
But I’d never call Heather again .
The sun left me parched. I’d sweated every ounce of water from my body in the July heat. By the time I reached their door, I had nothing to lose, so I rang the doorbell.
No one answered.
“Sarah?”
I turned as Wesley trotted toward me, pulling a dirty hanky out of his pocket and wiping his forehead. Sweat burned my eyes, which were red and swollen from the tears that accompanied the anguish of my two-hour journey.
“Is Isaac here?” I sniffled.
Wesley furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Darlin’, he left last night. Matt is at baseball practice, and Vi went to town for groceries. Is everything fine?”
I nodded quickly, but my emotions and the heat got the best of me. “N-no.” My bottom lip quivered as I lost it.
“Oh, no. Uh …” He took my bag and guitar from me. “Come in the house,” he said, opening the door.
I pressed the back of my hand to my snotty nose and headed into the house.
“What’s with all the stuff?” He set my belongings in the entry before getting me a glass of water and a box of tissues. As I sat at the kitchen table, I fought to get control of myself.
“Thank you,” I murmured, taking the water and tissues. “I can’t go home. I’m no longer welcome.”
Wesley pulled out a chair and sat down. “I find that hard to believe.”
Blowing my nose, I nodded. “It’s true.” Pursing my lips, I tried to calm my breathing. “Where did Isaac go?”
“Dunno.”
“Is he coming back?” I drank the water, gulping down the whole glass.
Wesley took the glass to the sink and refilled it. “I don't know that either. But if I were to take an educated guess, I’d say no.” He set the glass on the table and sat across from me again.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. I couldn’t imagine Isaac not coming back for me.
“Her funeral is today,” I said.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as the lines along his brow and at the corners of his eyes deepened, and he averted his gaze. “Yes,” he whispered.
“I’m glad she’s dead.”
He winced before offering the tiniest nod.
“Did you love her?”
He ran a finger along a scratch on the table. “I cared about her if that’s what you mean.”
When I didn’t respond, he risked a glance at me.
I shook my head. “You do it for love, or you don’t do it at all.”
He hummed. “Are you speaking from experience?”
I shrugged, wadding the dirty tissue in my hand. “I don’t know. I wasn’t married when I cheated.” I studied his reaction, having no idea if he knew anything for certain about my weekend with Isaac. There were so many unknowns.
Did Matt tell him about the barn?
Did Vi know about Brenda?
I hated the secrets.
“Cheating?” With a slight grin, he shook his head. “Sarah, you’re right. You’re not married. You’re a young woman finding your footing in the world. Unless you’re doing something with a married man, I don’t think you qualify as a cheater.”
“That wouldn’t make me a cheater. It would make me a homewrecker. ”
“I suppose.” He pursed his lips. “Not all affairs wreck homes.”
“How can you say that?” I canted my head to the side.
“Because I have a wife and two sons.”
“And a dead mistress.” As soon as I said the words, I wanted to take them back.
Wesley’s eyes reddened again as he swallowed hard.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why do that to your wife? Why risk it?”
He rubbed his temples. “It’s not as simple as you think.”
“I’m listening.”
Wesley shook his head. “I appreciate your willingness to listen. You’re a good person, Sarah. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. But some things are personal, complicated, and far from what they seem on the surface.” He rested his elbow on the table with his chin in his hand. “You don’t deserve the burden of my life or the story of my marriage. I’m a flawed man who lost my way after something happened. It’s not an excuse for anything that I’ve done. And the pain and—” He fisted his hand at his mouth and shook his head.
The tears fell, and his body trembled.
I wasn’t expecting that level of reaction. Did Vi leave him? Was it all about Brenda?
“I’m sorry,” he said with a strained voice. “I’m so sorry.”
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
He rubbed his eyes, and the pain in them said otherwise.
“Can I ask you for a favor?”
Wesley dug his hanky out of his pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. “Anything.”
“I need a ride to a motel in town.”
“You can stay here. ”
I shook my head and chuckled. “No. I can’t.”
After a few seconds, he nodded. “I’ll get you a room.”
“I have money. I just don’t have a car.”
“Sarah, you really should go home.”
“I didn’t run away.” My heart ached as I reached for the hard truth. “My dad kicked me out because I’m a flawed human.”