“You don’t sound very convincing,” said Michael. “Are you still worried about Katie getting too involved with this boy?”
“Aren’t you, Michael?”
“He seems nice enough.”
“We don’t know anything about him.”
“He seems crazy about Katie.”
“That’s what worries me. Where are they headed? She has a wonderful future. I just hope he doesn’t mess it up for her.”
Michael’s blue eyes darkened. “Like I did with you?”
She pulled away and stared at him. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
“It’s what I heard,” he replied, releasing her. He moved off the bench and began gathering the last of the dishes and utensils. She stood and helped him, but they both worked in an uncomfortable silence, until she heard the shrill ring of a phone nearby.
Michael reached into the pocket of his sport shirt and pulled out his cellular phone; he carried it with him everywhere. Julie was surprised he didn’t take it with him to bed. She hated that phone; it was like an umbilical cord connecting him forever to his work. It meant interrupted plans, broken dates, shortchanged family times.
Julie heard Michael say, “Oh, really? They’re in town just for today? Right, the Emerson place would suit them very well. Yes, I have all the stats. It’s a custom home with a spacious floor plan on over an acre of land. Vaulted ceilings, skylights, French doors, a bonus room, island kitchen, fireplace in the master suite, huge balcony…Right. A swimming pool, spa, gazebo, circular drive, the works.”
Excitement glinted in Michael’s eyes as he rushed on. “It’s an amazing property with the perfect price for just the right buyer—someone with loads of money to spend. So you think these people fill the bill? That eager, huh? Sure, I could meet you there. Give me a half hour.”
Michael pressed the Call button and slipped the slim phone back into his pocket, then gave Julie an apologetic smile. “Business,” he said. “I’m sorry, hon. I’ve got to go.”
“A big deal to close?” she inquired coldly.
“It could be.”
“And this person on the phone couldn’t handle it without you?”
“You said it, Jewel. It’s a big deal, lots of money involved. I own Ryan and Associates. The client wants the benefit of my experience and expertise in the negotiations.”
“Who was on the phone?” asked Julie, her tone vitriolic.
Michael was already striding toward the house. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“It was just one of our agents.”
“Who?”
“The new one, for crying out loud!”
“That woman you just brought in? Beth somebody? Is that who you’re meeting?”
Michael looked back at her, his eyes flashing exasperation. “Yes, I’m meeting Beth Chamberlin. So what? Give me a break, Jewel. You know I need to work on Sundays sometimes. Stop acting like it’s the end of the world!”
Julie was living on a high-tension wire, or at least that’s how she felt in the days that followed the Sunday barbecue. She was walking a tightrope between desiring to demonstrate godly, unconditional love to her family and at the same time wanting to strike out at them in anger for falling so far short of her expectations.
Perhaps she was most disappointed with herself, for she knew there was nothing within her that resembled the sort of love her pastor had described. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t summon that kind of love for the people she was most closely connected to—her husband, her daughter, her father? They were all linked by marriage or by blood, and yet sometimes she didn’t feel connected, not emotionally, not the way she should feel. She felt bound, tied, trapped at times, as if the yoke were too great, the responsibilities too heavy.
At times Julie wondered why God would even bother to tell His children to love Him and others so profoundly, in the gritty real world of flawed human hearts? Even the thought of trying to measure up to God’s standards left Julie feeling more discouraged than before. Perhaps that was why she so seldom scratched the surface of her faith; she knew she would be depressed by what she found.
And surely God understood that her life was too busy, too demanding, too overwhelming to worry about issues that apparently had no answers. After all, her daily routine was exhausting. Long hours at the office were consumed with idle, tedious, mindnumbing work; evenings at home were filled with cooking, cleaning, laundry, paying bills and collapsing before the television set for an hour of video pablum before bed.
Katie was rarely home these days, choosing to spend her evenings at the library—pray to God that’s where she was!—or out somewhere with Jesse. Many evenings she came home late, too late, leaving Julie dreading an accident as she anxiously watched the clock and listened for the sound of a car or the ringing of the phone.
Michael, too, was seldom home, his evenings filled with appointments to show houses when he wasn’t off renovating one of his own squalid fixer-uppers.
Julie had a feeling many of Michael’s so-called appointments involved Beth; whether professionally or personally, she couldn’t be sure. But several times when Julie played her answering machine she heard messages from Beth telling Michael she would meet him at this or that property at such and such a time. It all sounded so innocent Was it? Or were the two of them playing the scam of the century on Julie?
Why don’t you just come right out and ask him about Beth? she asked herself over and over. She knew she should; surely she couldn’t continue on like this, living with these terrible suspicions, not knowing whether she still had a marriage. But as difficult as it was living with the uncertainties, the truth might be even more painful. If Michael admitted he was having an affair, what then? A whole new series of choices would confront Julie. Should she forgive him? Would he want to be forgiven? Or would he want a divorce? And would she give him one?
On and on the questions might go, leaving her life shattered, ruined. No, she couldn’t cope with such issues yet. She wasn’t strong enough. It was all she could do to deal with the simple, surface issues of life, like what to fix for dinner or how much to pay on her credit card balance this month.
The nights were the most painful, for just when Julie wanted desperately to turn to Michael for confirmation of his love, when she yearned for the warmth and comfort of his arms and his kisses, she found herself pulling away, closing him out, turning a cold shoulder. How could she make love to a man—how could she give herself to a man—who could be betraying her in the cruelest of ways?
Worst of all, she couldn’t bring herself to answer him when he demanded, “What’s wrong, Julie? What gives? You act like I’m untouchable. What have I done to make you treat me this way?”
And when she made no reply, his anger would flare and he would punch his pillow or throw his covers aside and swing his legs out of bed and stomp out of the room. She would hear him slamming doors in other parts of the house or banging utensils in the kitchen. Often she would be asleep before he would steal back into bed an hour or half hour later, and sometimes she merely pretended to be asleep so that she wouldn’t have to deal with his anger and her own heartache.
Several weeks passed this way. Dreary, monotonous days merged together, indistinguishable, and fell away, shifting, desolate, and elusive as beach sand. One afternoon, as Julie drove home from work, she looked around, startled by how quickly spring’s warm, sunny days had turned into the hot, glaring, sunbaked days of summer. California’s climate