CHAPTER 8
Well… that was… something,” Beth said, glancing up at Bryce with a soft, uncertain smile.
He returned it with a quiet breath. “You okay?”
She nodded slowly, then added—more to the sidewalk than to him—”Thanks… for sharing all that. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
Bryce’s voice was steady. “It wasn’t. But it was important that you knew.”
She looked up at him then—really looked—and for a split second, her heart stuttered.
Because for the first time, she saw the man who could’ve walked away was choosing her, choosing to stay.
She held out his travel mug. “Ready for round two?”
He took it, brushing her fingers with his. “Lead the way.”
As they stepped outside, the silence stretched—not heavy, just… full.
Beth breathed in the crisp air, still not sure if she should say more or just let the quiet stand.
But ready or not, life had a funny way of moving forward.
“Alright then—Mom’s making her Saturday lunch specialty: CST wraps.”
“CS-what?”
“CST. Cucumber, sprout, and tofu. We may want to hit a drive-thru on the way.”
He gave her a look. “You eat tofu?”
Beth laughed. “Only when I’m home. We were raised on it, but… let’s just say it’s not a personal favorite.”
Until today, Beth had never realized how massive and intimidating her parents’ front door was.
She felt like a taller, darker Alice in Wonderland—and half-expected the door to open and swallow her whole.
Although, maybe it would be better if the floor did open up, then she wouldn’t have to introduce her husband to her parents.
How awkward.
Perhaps that’s why the door looked so sinister.
“So, are we going to knock, or stand here hoping someone notices us and lets us in?” Bryce asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.
“Right. Here we go.” She opened the door without knocking and stepped inside.
“Knock, knock! Anyone home?” she called, tossing her keys on the entry table beneath a gallery of mismatched burnt orange frames—each one holding a black-and-white photo of her and her sister.
“In the kitchen, dear! Your father is in the basement,” her mother called back.
Beth raised her eyebrows at Bryce. “Who do you want to meet first?”
“Let’s start on this level and work our way down. Moms usually like me better than dads do.”
Beth laughed and led him into the spacious kitchen. She made a beeline for her mom—and was immediately wrapped in her arms before Sue noticed Bryce.
“Beth, dear, is this him, or do we have a burglar?”
“Better call the police, Mom. I’ve never seen that man before in my life,” Beth replied, returning her mother’s wink.
At the startled look on Bryce’s face, Beth took pity. “Mom, this is Doctor Bryce Jensen. Bryce, this is SueLynn Stoner—my mother.”
“Hello, Dr. Jensen. No wonder all the nurses are in love with you—you’re adorable! It’s nice to finally meet you. Call me Sue.”
Before Bryce could respond, she leaned in and stage-whispered to Beth, “No wonder you nicknamed him Dr. Handsome. He’s gorgeous!”
“MOTHER!” Beth cried, turning bright red and hiding her face behind her hand.
“Thank you, Sue. It’s nice to finally meet you too. Please—call me Bryce. Or, I could answer to Dr. Handsome, if you’d like.”
The sound of his laughter—rich, smooth, and unmistakably flirty—was too much for a girl who’d never learned how to flirt.
“I’m going to see Daddy before you embarrass me further,” Beth muttered, fleeing the kitchen.
“Was it something we said?” Sue asked innocently, causing another round of laughter.
Beth dropped onto the piano bench beside her father and kissed his cheek. “Hi, Daddy.”
“LizzyBeth, I did not hear you come in. When did you arrive?” he asked, in his usual formal tone.
“We just got here.”
“We? I did not realize you had brought a friend,” Donald said, distracted as he jotted a note on his music sheet.
“Bryce is with me Daddy. Remember? We met with Pastor Steve and Tami this morning, and then we came here for lunch so you could meet him.”
“Ah, yes. I merely got distracted by the alterations to this piece. Is he here now?”
“Yes, he’s in the kitchen with Mom.”
“Why did you not bring him down to meet me?”
“Because Mom was busy embarrassing me in front of the good doctor, and I came down here to hide.” Beth rolled her eyes and stretched out on the floor, beginning her daily stomach exercises.
“You know, whenever you begin an exercise routine or pace mid-conversation, it signals you are stressed.”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m stressed plus I didn’t sleep well last night. Since I can’t nap, this gives me energy. Besides, can you blame me for being a little stressed?”
“No, I cannot. How did your counseling session go at church with the Ambroses?”
“Good, I guess.”
“You guess? Were they unable to offer advice or insight?”
“They did. It was just… a lot and crazy emotional. Bryce shared his story, his testimony? Um, his reverse testimony? I don’t know what to call it.
But he shared about why he had walked away from his faith and how this brought him back to the Lord.
Bryce is a believer. He has a painful testimony. I get
the impression that Pastor Steve and Tami think we should stay married and work through this.”
“What did they say that made that impression on you?”
Beth hesitated. “They said that we should stay married.”
“Then am I correct in pointing out that is not a mere impression, but a clear recommendation?”
Beth sighed. “Yeah.”
Donald studied her. “Perhaps your mother and I should seek their counsel on whether we should continue serving in leadership at the church. First Lynn, now this. Maybe it’s time to step down. The Bible talks about leaders whose children go astray.”
Beth froze mid-sit-up, lowering herself to the floor, feeling awful.
“I’m not as concerned about you. You have a proven history of making strong biblical and logical decisions.
This was out of character for you and not the norm, but I don’t doubt you will be fine.
You’ve always had a tendency to rebound well.
Your sister, on the other hand. I am not sure how she will fare with her latest choices.
She has no hope without Christ. You two are very different. ”
The exterior door to the basement slammed shut. Neither had heard it open.
“Sweet, Dad. That’s awesome. Thanks. Glad to know you think I’m hopeless.”
Lynn glared at them, arms crossed, hurt and fury dancing in her emerald eyes. “I just love hearing how if precious little
LizzyBeth makes a mistake we don’t need to worry. But if it’s Lynn who messed up, well [CENSORED] she’s a lost cause because she’s hopeless.”
As soon as she spit the last word out of her mouth, Lynn crossed the room and stormed up the stairs to the kitchen.
Donald looked stunned. Bewildered.
“She misunderstood. That is not it at all. It’s just different because she doesn’t have hope in the Lord.”
“I know, Daddy. I’ll go talk to her.”
Beth sprinted after her sister.
Donald remained seated, waiting for the storm upstairs to pass before joining the rest of the family.
Sue would come get him when things settled down.
His logic could usually help soothe Beth and Sue when they were upset.
Occasionally it worked on Lynn—but never when he was the one she was upset with.
“Lynn, wait. Dad didn’t mean what he said as an insult,” Beth called after her, her tone making it clear they’d walked this road of misunderstandings before.
“He sure as hell wasn’t saying it as a compliment!” Lynn shot back.
Neither sister noticed their raised voices startled Sue and especially Bryce, who were seated on diner-inspired stools at the teal, retro-style kitchen table.
“That’s Lynn? Her sister?” Bryce asked quietly, wary of drawing attention from the stormy duo. At Sue’s nod, he turned back to study the short redhead glaring at his Lizzy.
Now he understood where the phrase ‘fiery redhead’ came from.
Lynn barely hit 5’2” and looked nothing like Beth—or so he thought.
But as he studied their features more closely—the shape of their eyes, the slight upturn of their noses, their full lips—he realized they could almost pass for twins if not for their skin tone and eye color.
He leaned forward to watch the show unfold.
“Fine, it wasn’t a compliment. But it wasn’t an insult either. It was a statement. We’re different,” Beth said matter-of-factly.
“I’m so sick of being compared to you. Everyone acts like you’re Glinda the Good Witch and I’m the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“We’re both from the West, and don’t compare me to a witch,” Beth quipped.
“Whatever! You get my point.”
“I got the point you were trying to make. But it’s not a very accurate analogy. If anything, we’re the tortoise and the hare.”
“What?” Lynn blinked.
“The tortoise and the hare. We’re both moving toward goals, we just do it differently.
You leap without thinking, all or nothing.
If it falls apart, you’re crushed. Me? I move slow, steady.
I overthink everything. But when things go wrong, I have back up plans in place so I can brush it off and move on. What’s so wrong with that?”
To Beth’s logical way of thinking, it made perfect sense. To Lynn’s emotion-based reasoning, it made the perfect insult.
“Great. So once again, you win in the end, and I lose.”
“WHAT!”
Lynn gathered a mass of red curls and flung them over her shoulder, pointing up at her sister.
“I know the story. I know the tortoise wins in the end. You’re the winner.” Lynn said, jabbing a finger into her sister’s breastbone before turning that finger back on herself. “I’m the loser.”
“For crying out loud, Lynn!” Beth exclaimed, rubbing where she had just been jabbed. “What are you, five? There’s not actually a carrot at the end. What do you think I’m winning?”
“Life, evidently. But how would I know? You’re the one who said it was a race!”
“I said it was an analogy—not the Hunger Games. Besides, I’d rather be compared to a tortoise than a witch.”