Chapter 19
Evie
“Uh-oh,” Adam singsongs as I hobble down Grandma’s porch steps.
He’s gotten out of his car to greet me at the door like this is a real date—despite the fact that half the congregation of New Life Church is squished into his idling Honda Civic like clowns stuffed inside a clown car.
“Are you sure you’re up for tonight?” he wonders, helping me down the last step.
“I totally understand if you want to reschedule.”
I wave him off. Yes, I could cancel our plans, but I’ll have to agree to hang out with him at some point, and I’d rather not have that obligation hanging over my head.
“I’m fine, honestly,” I insist as he guides me toward the passenger side door.
“It was just a little fall.” One that has resulted in a bruise roughly the size of Africa. No big deal.
When Adam opens the car door for me, guilt needles my conscience. This might not be a date, but Brandon was right. Adam must still have feelings for me. I had that same hunch.
A freckle-faced kid who looks just shy of eighteen pokes his head into the front as I settle into the seat.
“Hi. I’m Davy.” He gestures to the two other kids sitting next to him.
“This is Matty, my little brother, and that’s Mitch.
It’s nice to meet you.” He extends his hand, and I reach back to give it a shake.
“I’m only five minutes younger than him,” Matty grumbles. “But he likes to rub it in my face every chance he gets.”
I laugh. “I’m Evie.”
“We know,” Davy says. He lowers his voice and ducks his head as Adam closes the car door, following him with his eyes as he rounds the car. “You’re the infamous runaway bride. The one Adam still stalks on social media.”
“Um . . .”
Thankfully, Adam hops inside the car, ending that dumpster fire of a conversation. “Are we ready?” he asks cheerily, looking between the four of us.
“Ready!” Davy shouts, offering two thumbs up as he sits back.
As if I didn’t feel awful enough about tonight, Adam is practically bouncing with excitement as he backs out of the driveway.
“So Phil and Abi said they’re gonna meet us there.
I think they’re bringing some new girl, Penelope.
” He turns to me, his hands tight around the wheel like he’s nervous. “Excited to meet some new people?”
I swallow. I can feel the amount of effort he’s putting into making small talk, and it pulls on my heartstrings. “So excited,” I lie, forcing a smile.
Really, I would love nothing more than to relax and enjoy a game of mini golf with Adam and his friends, but it’s hard to focus on anything but the constant ache in my lower back.
At some point, I’m going to have to bite the bullet and go to the doctor.
I can’t continue living like this. But .
. . I’m secretly terrified that a doctor is only going to confirm my worst fear—that there’s nothing they can do about a hole in my spine, and that I’m going to have to learn to live with chronic pain.
I’ve been a caregiver long enough to see that happen to one too many people.
But being told there’s nothing they can do about it can’t be worse than living with chronic pain and not knowing if there’s a solution, right?
The two-mile drive to the pedestrian mall outside of town is as awkward as I expected it to be. Apart from some small talk about work that Davy, Matty, and Mitch can’t partake in because they don’t have jobs, the journey to Putt-Putt Palace is uncomfortably quiet.
When we pull into the parking lot, a tall, dark-haired man flags us down. Adam pulls up next to his red pick-up truck and rolls the window down.
“Did you get my text?” the man asks, leaning into the car. He gives me a one-fingered wave, then smiles at the boys.
Adam shakes his head and fishes his phone out of his back pocket.
The man gestures toward the dilapidated, unlit sign hanging above the boarded-up entrance of what was formerly Putt-Putt Palace. “It closed down last spring, apparently.”
My mood soars. That’s two hours of my life I just got back.
The boys in the backseat moan and cross their arms, wiggling like restless puppies.
“Sorry, boys,” the man, who I’m assuming is Phil, laughs. He turns to us. “Did you just wanna head to McDonald’s and grab a bite, then catch an early movie? Or we could head back to mine and Abi’s place and play some board games?”
“I could go for some nugs,” Mitch mumbles, staring at his phone in his lap.
“McD’s it is.”
At McDonald’s, a petite blonde woman that I recognize from Bill’s Baked Goods sidles up to me as we get in line.
“Hey, I’m Abi. And this is Penelope.” She gestures to the tall, dark-haired beauty standing next to her.
“She just moved to town and has been coming to our Bible study these past few weeks, so you’re not the only newcomer.
” Penelope offers a shy smile, then glances behind us before quickly looking down at her feet, her cheeks flushing with color over something.
I glance back and realize Adam is staring at her.
Interesting.
Abi smiles at me, and it’s the kind of smile that puts an outsider like me at ease. She points at the tall, dark-haired man. “And that’s my husband, Phil.” She tilts her head suddenly. “And you must be Evie—New Life Church’s infamous runaway bride.”
I sigh. Does the whole town know?
“I won’t ever live that down, will I?”
“Probably not,” she agrees, laughing softly. “But I’m proud of you.”
My eyes widen as I do a double take. Never in my life has someone expressed that they’re proud of me for walking away from that chapel. “What?”
She shrugs. “Marriage is a huge commitment, and you spared yourself and Adam a lot of heartache by admitting that you weren’t ready, you know?
” My eyes continue to widen in utter disbelief.
Once she notices the gobsmacked look on my face, she straightens.
“I’m sorry! All I’m saying is I respect that, and you shouldn’t feel bad.
” She pauses. “If you feel bad. Not saying you should.” She cringes.
“I’ve just totally put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I? ”
I chuckle. “No. You won’t believe how badly I needed to hear that, actually.” I lower my voice, even though Adam is too wrapped up in his conversation with Phil to be eavesdropping. “You’d think they all learned I was a witch or something when they found out I was missing. Especially his mom.”
Abi laughs once. “Was it poor timing? Totally.” I wince. “But hey, nobody’s perfect. Life happens. People make mistakes. And you were so young.”
The grace Abi is extending me is completely unwarranted. I had plenty of time to think through my decision to marry Adam, and I still left him standing at the last minute. If anything, my actions demonstrate how much of a heartless coward I was. Adam deserved—deserves—so much better.
He deserves someone like . . . I glance over at Penelope.
She has a floral-covered Bible clutched firmly in her hands, and she’s wearing a modest pink sweater dress, her thick hair twisted into a complex up-do like she spent hours learning how to perfect that very hairstyle.
She looks like the kind of girl who prays through every decision and hears back from God on a regular basis.
In short, she’s probably nothing like me, and she’s probably everything Adam’s parents would’ve wanted for him.
And she’s exactly the type of girl someone like Adam deserves.
“Are you Bill Benson’s daughter, by chance?” I ask Abi after a moment, eager to shift the spotlight off me.
“That’s me.”
I’m in the presence of royalty. “You know that man makes the best chocolate chip cookies this side of the Mississippi, right?”
She grins indulgently. “So I’ve been told.”
“What’s the secret ingredient? Everyone has one.”
“Prayer,” she says instantly, as though she really does believe that.
“Prayer, huh?” Prayer has never seemed to work for me.
Abi is silent until we’ve gathered our food and found a spot away from the guys.
“I love them to pieces,” she says, waving a fry around as she studies the men.
“But there’s too much testosterone in our Bible study group.
” Penelope laughs. Abi’s focus shifts to me.
“You should join us sometime. See how you like it.”
“Me?” I squeak. Abi nods. “Oh, uh, thanks . . . but no thanks.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds. “I get the feeling that you had a question about prayer earlier,” she says, gazing at me. “When we were in line. But you didn’t ask.”
I lean back. “Um . . .”
“Go on,” she insists, smiling patiently.
“Well,” I start, pulverizing a fry between my fingers. “It’s never worked. At least, not for me. People always talk about God performing miracles . . . and I keep waiting for Him to do the same for me.”
“What’s the miracle you’ve been praying for, if you don’t mind me asking?” she inquires gently.
“Well, that’s the thing. I haven’t been praying for it. Not since I was a kid, actually.”
She nods, still waiting for me to elaborate. For some inexplicable reason, I get the sense that she’s a safe place. A soft spot to land with heavy truths. Someone I can trust.
“My mom,” I whisper eventually. “After my parents divorced, I used to pray that my mom would come home. And that they’d get back together.” My eyes cloud with tears. It sounds very juvenile out loud. “But that’s dumb.”
“Not dumb at all,” Abi affirms.
Penelope reaches out and squeezes my hand. Her kindness is so unexpected that an errant tear slips from my eye. Frantically, I wipe it away, embarrassed. And here I was, judging her for her perfect hair just minutes ago.
I’m an awful person.
“I guess it just hurts to know that she’s out there, living her life without a care in the world that she has no communication with me or my brother, Jamie, whatsoever.
Does she not know how much that hurts? Or does she just not care?
” I huff, surprised at how much I’m unloading on these venerable strangers.
“I just don’t understand why—if God can perform miracles—that He never did that for me.
I mean, I got baptized and everything, so technically I’m one of His children, too, right?
” I pause, considering as I gaze at my reflection in the dark window beside us.
“Have I done something wrong? Is He mad at me? Does He not want me?”
Emotion wells up inside of me, and my chest swells with sudden indignation and pain, like a geyser threatening to blow. Nobody wants me. The realization is bleak. Not my parents. Not Brandon. Not even God Himself.
Why?
Abi and Penelope are silent for so long that I fear I’ve said too much.
“Sorry, that was probably T-M-I,” I mutter, laughing shakily. “Forget I said anything.”
Abi reaches out, and I stare at her outstretched hand for a moment, uncertain.
She lifts it, insistent. Hesitantly, I bridge the gap between us and take her hand in mine.
Her skin is soft and warm, her touch confident and calming, just like Penelope’s.
I feel a tender kind of warmth wrap around my heart as they mourn with me.
They bow their heads, and I know it would be rude not to reciprocate, so I do the same, heart pounding. “Heavenly Father,” Abi begins quietly, and a ball of emotion bobs in my throat. Does God listen to and answer Abi’s prayers? And if He does, why not mine?
“Thank You, Jesus, for bringing us together today. Thank you that Evie has given her life to You, despite the distance she might be feeling from You.” I sigh deeply, and she squeezes my hand.
“Lord, please show Evie that she is Your beloved child—one that You’ve gone to great lengths to pursue and bring into Your fold.
Help her see that You are the Good Shepherd, and You died to have a close relationship with her, Father, because You love and cherish her beyond measure.
More than any human ever could or ever will. ”
Suddenly, I hear Pastor Mark’s voice. He is a good, trustworthy Father who always pursues His beloved.
A muted sob breaks from my chest. Shame forces me to duck my head, fearful others might overhear. What is wrong with me? I never cry, and most especially not in public. But . . . to be able to pray with such conviction that God loves you and hears your prayers like Abi—what must that be like?
A pair of hands settle over my shoulders. I look up to find Adam standing over me, his head bowed and his eyes shut as his mouth moves in a silent prayer of his own. Phil, Davy, Matty, and Mitch are also standing nearby, their heads bowed, their hands extended toward me.
I groan quietly. How much more embarrassing could this get?
Abi’s voice grows stronger as if she’s actively resisting my embarrassment.
“Lord Jesus, help Evie understand that Your love knows no bounds. Root and establish her in Your love. Help her grasp what is the length, the width, the height, and the depth of Your everlasting love. People might let us down, Father, but help her understand that You never, ever will.”
She’s quiet for several moments, and I wonder if it’s over. Peeking an eye open, I glance around the restaurant, wondering if people are staring, and that’s when I notice him.
Brandon.
He’s sitting across from a woman on the opposite side of the restaurant, and I realize with a flash of horror that he must be here on a date.
McDonald’s, though? Really?
His gaze shifts in my direction.
Quickly, I clamp my eyes shut and duck my head—just in time for Abi to finish her prayer. “In Jesus’ name, Amen.”