Chapter 12
Brandon
The lower-case e on the front of Evie’s diary gazes at me like an evil, judgmental eye. It’s been sitting in the same spot on my kitchen island since I swiped it from her bedroom over a week ago, and I’m not sure what to do with it now.
Perhaps swiped is too strong of a word, but the proof’s in the pudding.
I accidentally stole Evie’s diary. Just the thought of her discovering that it’s missing—and that I’m the one to blame—makes me break out in a cold sweat.
She’s finally started opening up to me. She even visited me at the office on Monday morning, and she seemed .
. . intrigued by the idea of working for me.
That’s all I need, though—a little bit of interest. As hard as she might try to deny it, I can tell she still harbors feelings for me.
She puts on a good show, but she still looks at me like she wants me to kiss her, even when she’s insulting me.
I just need to figure out how to reel her back in and seal the deal.
My mind spins in circles, wondering how I’m going to do that as I throw my coat on and grab my Bible and notebook. After a moment of deliberation, I slide Evie’s diary toward me and stack it on top of my Bible before heading out the door.
I opt to drive to Maggie’s place since it’s so cold and windy outside.
Originally, I joined her weekly Bible study for personal accountability.
I needed friends who wouldn’t judge me for my past indiscretions, but who wouldn’t question why I’ve turned away from my former lifestyle, either.
I needed Christian friends—fellow believers who would support me in my pursuit of living my life in obedience to Jesus Christ.
But as I got to know everyone, I gained so much more than mere accountability partners.
My Bible study group members know me better than anyone else.
They understand me and my ongoing struggle with sin.
And it’s because of their unconditional love, support, and encouragement that I have not had premarital sex or viewed pornography in over three years.
Not since Evie.
She was my equivalent of rock bottom.
When I arrive at Maggie’s a minute later, my plans to return Evie’s diary to her bedroom are immediately foiled.
Evie’s home. I thought she’d be working late into the evening, like she normally does.
But she’s been using Maggie’s car for work, and it’s currently sitting in the driveway, frozen over with ice like it hasn’t been driven today.
Feeling defeated, I tuck her diary into my center console.
Maggie’s home smells like coffee and cookies when she answers the door. “Brandon,” she exclaims. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the dining room.”
The dining room is already abuzz with laughter and chatter.
A few people pause mid-conversation to greet me, but my attention has zeroed in on the dark-haired beauty looking stiff and uncomfortable in the corner of the room.
She’s not sitting at the table with everyone else, despite there being several open seats.
She’s stationed in a rocking chair with a million pillows propped up around her.
I grin as I approach her, excited to see her here. Her chest swells when we make eye contact, almost like she’s happy to see me, too. She flushes, her gaze falling to the Bible sitting on her lap.
I take the seat closest to her and lean toward her. “What’s with all the pillows, Spitfire?”
She rubs her thumb along the spine of her Bible, avoiding my eyes. “I fell at work yesterday.”
Oh, Evie . . . That must be why she’s here tonight—not because she wants to be, but because she has to be. And here I thought . . . had hoped—
“I wasn’t paying attention,” she continues, pulling me from my thoughts about her salvation. “I missed the curb when I was carrying a client’s groceries to the car. And, well . . .”
“I’m sorry, Evie.”
She sneers at me. “Oh, come on. I know you’re not really.”
My chin jerks back. “What? Of course I am.” Does she think I enjoy seeing her hurting?
“Right,” she laughs.
Shaking my head, I ignore her comment. “Are you taking some time off work then?” I ask tentatively, knowing it’s a sensitive topic. My tone says it all. Take care of yourself, Evie. Because if you don’t, no one else will. You won’t let them.
Her eyes glitter with tears, but then she blinks, and they’re gone. “Oh, come on, Brandon. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what this means.”
Before I can ask her to clarify, Maggie asks us to open our Bibles to Ephesians 4.
Evie’s brows furrow cutely as she glances around the room, watching everyone flip through their Bibles while she fumbles around in the Old Testament.
I lean in and help her find the correct book, and she gives me an odd look, almost like she’s baffled that I know my way around the Bible—despite knowing I’ve been a Christian for a few years now.
“Since when do you come to these?” she wonders when I turn my attention to my own Bible.
“Since I gave my life to Christ a few years ago.”
She studies me. “You never did tell me how that happened.”
Taking a slow, deep breath, I carefully consider what I want to say.
How I respond holds the potential to push her further away from Jesus, and I’ve already done enough damage as it is.
After all, it was the Pharisee’s hypocrisy that caused many of the Gentiles of Jesus’ day to stumble and blaspheme God’s name.
One of my greatest fears is that my own hypocrisy might cause Evie to turn away from God.
Although, my story is simple. After Teddy was born, the life I’d been leading became meaningless virtually overnight.
The first time I looked into Teddy’s ocean-blue eyes, so like my own, I realized I wasn’t the kind of man he could look up to or be proud of.
I was nothing like my own father. Timothy Wright was a gentle, sensitive, loyal man with a deep, abiding faith and a servant heart.
But everything I had done prior to Teddy’s birth was to serve me.
And while, yes, I had made a respectable career for myself, the truth was that my personal life was a wreck.
The trinity I worshiped was sex, status, and money.
I was a white washed tomb. I would show up for church on Sunday, see patients Monday through Friday, then hook up with a new woman by Saturday. Rinse and repeat.
Over the course of a few weeks after Teddy’s birth, I’d deleted the hook up apps from my phone and sought out the pastor to ask for advice about becoming a “better Christian.” He explained what it meant to give my life to Christ, and there, in that quiet meeting in his office on a random weekday, I was made new. Washed clean by the blood of Jesus.
God gave me a second chance I don’t deserve.
But I give Evie the Cliff Notes’ version. “I was tired of how I was living my life. I needed a change, but I didn’t have the strength to make that change on my own. I needed help.”
“And . . . God helped you?” She looks disbelieving, like she’s trying not to laugh.
I don’t blame her. To non-Christians, a total reformation of the heart and mind might seem preposterous, or perhaps even impossible—especially to the people who know you most intimately, who have seen you at your worst. But the spiritual experience of becoming born again is very real—more real than anything I have ever experienced with all five of my senses combined.
The love of Jesus is . . . life-giving. My new life bears no resemblance to the old.
And it has changed everything.
“He’s still helping me.” Lord knows I’m nowhere near perfect. Evie knows that better than anyone else in the world.
We gaze at each other.
“Well,” Maggie says. When I look her way, she’s watching me and Evie. “Now that everyone’s settled, should we get started?”
***
Throughout our study, Evie peeks over my shoulder periodically, looking both curious and perplexed as I take notes.
“I liked that this passage reiterates that we’re a new creation in Christ Jesus, and we should act accordingly,” Garrett says.
He’s a wise middle-aged man who, funnily enough, reminds me of my own father.
He’s become somewhat of a father figure to me in his own way.
He has discipled and mentored me many times over the last few years.
“Sanctification is a journey. One we’re equipped for through the consistent renewing of our hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
I find that encouraging when I want to fall back into bad habits. ”
“Me, too,” his wife, Wendy, adds. “Until Jesus comes again, we’re going to stumble and fall every now and again. Rather than remaining discouraged, we can repent and walk forward without shame because of who Jesus is and what He’s done for us.”
Maggie hums, pouring over the text. “And let’s not forget that even when we mess up, those mistakes draw us closer to Jesus. His power is made perfect in our weakness.”
A series of Amens echo throughout the room.
“One thing that stood out to me is that we’re called to forgive others because Christ forgave us first,” Sadie says.
“That’s a difficult one for me sometimes.
” She explains her troubled relationship with her mother, who has intentionally made life difficult at times.
“And it’s hard to constantly forgive her over and over. But seventy times seven . . .”
“What a great reminder, though,” Maggie adds, gazing at Evie. “To be forgiving—even if we feel someone is undeserving.”
Evie glares at her grandmother and shakes her head once. My stomach twists into a tight knot as I look down at my Bible. Has Maggie put two and two together somehow? Or worse—did Evie tell her what I did? And if so, why on Earth would Maggie be rooting for me?
What I did was unforgivable.
Maggie’s gaze shifts to me. “What about you, Brandon? What did you take away from this chapter?”