And then I screamed like I would never stop. Screamed with the remembrance that this wasn’t Dan’s sleeping hand I was holding; it was his dead one. Screamed so loud that four nurses came charging into my apartment, as well they should have.
I’m sure they tried to console me and comfort me, hug me and soothe me. But nothing was going to make this better. My entire life had revolved around this man, and now, just as quickly as he had appeared in the school line beside me nearly eighty years before, he was gone.
Annabelle
Drowning
Lovey always says that, when you’re in church, being in the front row is a safe bet because you want to make sure that God sees you. It was a joke, of course, but, truth be told, I’ve never really felt the need to be in any pew every Sunday morning. I knew God was there watching over me, guiding my steps, pointing me in the right direction. But, unlike my Lovey, I didn’t feel the need to organize the fall bazaar or shine the chalice over gossip with the other members of the altar guild. Somewhere in that time at Saint Paul’s, I had started to realize how good it could feel to be a part of a church, to feel the Holy Spirit in the quiet moments in the pew. I think that little church family contributed to the fact that, though it had been weeks since I left Ben, I was feeling strong and refreshed.
Putting Holden off for that long had required some serious effort, but, practical as ever, he realized I needed some time to myself. To just be. My two weeks at The Oaks had turned to three, three weeksto two months and two months to three months. I had made a good friend in Judy, the owner, and I think we both found comfort in sharing our deepest secrets with a relative stranger.
Lying to my family had been tough, though, and they knew something was up. My daily calls had turned to weekly ones. I spent a lot of time talking about my job and evading questions about what Ben and I were up to. I had asked him to please not try to contact them, and, even though he had hurt me, I knew him well enough to know that he would respect my wishes.
It was hard to believe that it had been nearly five months since I found out about Ben and Laura Anne, all that time carrying around this huge burden. I still hadn’t left my husband’s hometown, and, even though I hadn’t told a soul that really knew me what I was going through, I thought I was feeling strong enough that I might be ready. Ready to face the intense embarrassment that I had failed, ready to know that, everywhere I went, everyone was whispering about me when I left the room. Well, as ready as a person can ever be for something like that.
I knew that I had made the right decision and that I wasn’t going back to Ben. It was time to move on with my life.
But the worst part of all of it was having to leave my job. I dreaded not being with Rob every day or getting to be a part of the resurgence of this church’s life. And the thing that weighed on me most heavily was that I hadn’t made up with Lovey. It was the longest I had ever gone without talking to her. I knew that one moment on the phone and she would know that my life was crumbling around me. And I wasn’t ready to admit that they had all been right.
But life was short. And it was time.
I couldn’t sleep that night, consumed by the thought that I was going to leave, oddly devastated that I would have to say good-byeto the person I had come to admire and respect the most: Rob. I snuck into the side door of the tiny chapel that morning before the sun had even come up. It was stark and unadorned, the stone floor and the wooden cross and altar rail made plainer by the darkness inside, the stream of light from the streetlamps seeping through the stained-glass windows that dated back to centuries when electricity was yet to be a thought.
Instead of thinking, I just sat. I let the feeling of holy silence that this small space always brought fill me up and bring me the peace that Ben once had. And I realized that no person living or dead was ever going to make me feel whole. I really didn’t need a man to do that. But my friends had been wrong too. Because having that great love that I could navigate this life path with was too important to ignore.
I must have fallen asleep sitting up in that pew because the next thing I remember was Rob’s voice. “I’m glad I hired you so that I have another person to come with me to morning prayer.”
I tried to play it off like I hadn’t been there for hours, fallen asleep or been startled awake as he handed me a book open to the lessons for the day that I was to read.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked me for probably the millionth time in those three months. How he got through my being so secretive and him being so sure I was having a bad time, I’ll never know.
I nodded and forced a smile. “Sure. Fine. Ready to read.”
I knew I had to tell him I was leaving. But surely it could wait a few more minutes.
I don’t remember one word of that service, but I’ll never forget the beauty of that moment. Our two soft voices, rising and falling together in the stark quiet of the early morning, like a duet sung a cappella. I looked over at Rob and studied the kind lines of his facewhile he read, the strength of character and purity of heart that drew people to him so instantly. And, instead of reading the Apostles’ Creed from the Book of Common Prayer, I looked at him across the pew, where he was staring up at the single brass cross and began to recite from memory, “I believe in one God...”
There shouldn’t be one thing seductive about the Apostles’ Creed. But, somehow, with us all alone in that beautiful chapel, nothing but the raw sound of our voices intermingling, it was like a choir of angels, like our souls and our spirits combining together. I got lost in the sound, even on that first line, and, confusing the words of the Apostles’ Creed with those of the Nicene, I heard myself saying, “Maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.”
I heard the pause in Rob’s speech, the air lingering where our voices had combined, his eyes meeting mine from the edge of his pew across the aisle. I realized that “of all that is, seen and unseen” wasn’t a part of the Apostles’ Creed. But it was a part of my creed lately, wasn’t it? My husband had given a part of himself to someone else, and He had seen it, hadn’t He? My grandmother wasn’t at all who I thought she was, but He had seen it. I had lost the baby that I had wanted so much. But He had seen it. It said so, right there in those lines. Seen and unseen.
And the reality of it all floated down and sank in on me, its weight pushing me into the hard wooden pew, the tears I had dammed up for the months and months I had carried these burdens finally escaping.
Father Rob walked the three steps between my pew and his and said, with a half smile, “It’s okay. We all get the Apostles’ and the Nicene confused every now and then.”
I couldn’t help but return a flicker of his smile too. And it made me wish that I had confided in him earlier. He always knew whatto say. He had such an easy way about him, a comfort level with people’s rawest emotions that I’ve never seen before or since.
“I know you’re going through a lot with your family right now... ,” he started.
But as if he already knew that wasn’t what was upsetting me, he stopped. Instead, he sat down beside me and wrapped his strong arms around me, my head involuntarily gravitating toward his chest.
I sniffed, took a deep breath, pulled myself together and said, “I had a miscarriage.”
“Oh, Annabelle, no.”
I put my hand up to stop him. “It gets worse. Ben and I are separated because he was screwing Laura Anne.” I shrugged. “Probably still is.”
A reaction that looked more like relief than shock crossed his countenance, like a patient getting bad news but happy for a diagnosis all the same. Then I leaned on his chest again, more to feel its masculine strength and smell his sweet, clean smell again than anything else. “And I just said ‘screwing’ in church.”
