Grounded (9 page)

Roger cleared his throat. “I'm trying to explain myself here, Grace. You see, thing is—while you were away this last tour, it finally hit me. It's not just that I miss you when you're gone. I realized that this isn't what I want in a marriage.”

“You should have thought of that a year ago …”

“A year ago I didn't know what kind of toll your absence would take on me. On us.”

“I thought you supported my career.”

“I did. And I still do. But … I want someone who's here for me, someone who isn't gone half the time.”

Silence hung between them. “But … why end the engagement without even talking about it? Maybe I could slow it down, do fewer concerts—”

“Really, Grace? You're a singer. This is your career, your … your ministry. And you're doing really well too. I can't ask you to give all that up.”

Uh-huh. How noble
.

She sat there for a long minute, absently stroking Oreo's neck fur behind his ears. Then, without really thinking, she said, “I've already got my wedding dress.”

“You … what? Grace! We hadn't even set a date yet!”

“I know.” It was a whisper.

Roger threw out his hands. “Grace. We can't go forward with a relationship that's not working just because you already bought a dress.”

Grace stared at her lap. “I know. But I was that sure of us. I mean, engagements tend to do that to a girl. I've been sharing about us at my concerts, telling my fans that waiting until marriage
to be intimate is worth it.”
That I'm worth it
, she almost added, but didn't.

“Exactly!” Roger looked almost angry. “Telling people from one end of the country to the other! I have to say, I don't appreciate being the poster boy for your little abstinence campaign—like some trophy you've won.”

Grace was stunned. “I thought you supported my message! I mean, even for us, early on we agreed on the biblical—”

“Yes, yes, of course. I'm not saying that abstinence isn't important and the right choice. But it's one thing to make that commitment for ourselves, quite another to make a big public deal out of our personal relationship. That's a lot of unwanted publicity, Grace, and I don't like it!”

She hardly knew what to say—and besides, her throat was starting to feel dry and sore from all this talking. She took a gulp of her coffee …
ugh
, lukewarm. “I … I need some water.”

Roger seemed glad for the interruption. “I'll get it.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Tears threatened behind Grace's eyes, but she blinked them away. She wasn't going to cry in front of Roger.
O Lord, what's going on? I'm all confused!

“Here.” Roger was back with a glass of water. He sat down on the edge of the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tented. “Look, Grace, I'm sorry about all this. I know it seems sudden—but it's better to step back now than wait till we're married and things aren't working out. Then we'd either be stuck or … or dealing with a painful divorce.”

Stuck … divorce …
How had they gone from being madly in love to this?

Had they ever been madly in love?

Did she love him that way? They lived in two different worlds—he in corporate finance, she on the Christian music circuit. Their lives mostly overlapped at church. Had they fallen in love? Or just fallen together …

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is going to be for me?” she blurted. “After telling people for almost a year that I'm engaged to be married, now I have to go public and tell them it's off. I can just hear the rumor mill starting, the gossip on the CCM blogs …”

Roger seemed to wince. “I'm sorry. Really. It's not my intention to embarrass you, Grace. I'd protect you from that if I could. But … that's really your doing. You're the one who took our engagement on tour. And now you need to make it right.”

“Oh, me? Just me? You were going to go with me next week to that sweetheart banquet.” She hated sounding like a petulant child, but it still came out.

“I'm sorry.”

“I canceled the booking.”

He looked surprised, but just said again, “I'm sorry. But I can see why—”

“And my voice,” she admitted, wanting to keep this honest. “Doctor says I need to rest my voice. It was a good excuse.”

He nodded, but they both sat there in silence. Wasn't there a lot more to say? After nearly two years of being a couple in everyone's mind?

“Uh, there is one more thing.” Roger squirmed, as if uncomfortable. “We should probably decide about the, uh, ring …”

Grace slowly stretched out the fingers on her left hand. The square diamond with its baby rubies sparkled in the bright snow light coming in through the picture window. So this was it. The ring would come off. And it'd be over.

Except …
he
was the one breaking the engagement. What if she didn't give it back? But why would she keep it? Just for spite? She didn't have the heart for that. She'd accepted the ring as a symbol of accepting his proposal of marriage. Why would she want to keep the ring if he didn't want
her
?

No tears, Grace
. “Here.” Wiggling the delicate band over her knuckle until it finally slid off, she reached out and dropped it into his palm.

He let it lie in his palm for a brief moment, and then slowly closed his fingers over it. “That's probably best.”

She undid the clasp on the watch. “Take the watch too. They match, practically a pair.”

“No … no. You keep the watch. That was a gift. I want you to have it.”

She loved the watch, the way it hugged her slender wrist, made her feel so elegant. But mostly what she'd loved about it had been the sentiment.
A gift from Roger
.

She shook her head and slid off the silver band. “No, they should stay together.” She held out the watch and kept holding it between them until, reluctantly, he took it. She watched as he dug out the original velvet box from a pocket in his topcoat and slid the jewelry inside.

He stood. “Guess I should go.”

She did not protest and stood up too, just as her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID … Denise, her sister-in-law. Mark's wife. With a quick push of a button, she sent the call to voice mail. She'd call her back later.

Topcoat and sunglasses back on, Roger opened the front door, and then turned to her. “Coming to church tomorrow? I suppose we ought to tell the pastors.”

County Line? The church where she had assumed they'd get married. She shook her head. “You can tell the pastors.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But … I hope we can still be friends, Grace. Don't stay away from church just because of me.” He leaned toward her as if he was going to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head aside.

“Good-bye, Roger.”

As he walked toward his car, she started to shut the door, but was curious about Tavis. The boy was nowhere to be seen—but her front walk and the length of public sidewalk in front of her house had both been shoveled, though it was obvious there were patches of packed snow and ice that hadn't come up. She listened and heard a
scrape, scrape, scrape
from behind the house. Good. The boy was still working. Definitely earning his ten dollars.

Oreo stretched and yawned in a patch of sunlight on the couch, turned around twice, and then curled back up into a cozy ball. All was well in the cat's life. Grace just stood in the middle of her living room, feeling bereft. Roger was … gone. Her ring was gone—the watch too. Her dream of marriage and family … gone.

Where was God in all this? She thought she'd been doing what he'd called her to do, and that he'd been blessing her for her obedience.

She felt like screaming.
What are you doing to me, God?!
But her stupid voice had let her down too.

The front doorbell shook her out of her depressing reverie.

Numbly she opened it. Tavis. “Hey, Miz Meredith. I'm done. Found the bag of rock salt in the garage like you said and scattered it on the walks front an' back. Don't know if it'll help much, but …” He shrugged and grinned.

“Thank you, Tavis. Hold on …” She went for her purse and came back with a ten. “I could use some help when it snows again if you're interested.”

“Sure! Thanks.” The boy waved and trotted off with his shovel.

She watched him go. For some reason, the very ordinariness of getting her walks shoveled seemed like a tiny glimmer of hope. One problem solved. Like a Voice whispering in her spirit,
“Just take it one day at a time, Grace. My grace is sufficient for you.”

“My grace is sufficient for you …”
Her mind scrambled. What was the rest of that promise?
“… for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

She felt like the poster child for that verse.

She scooped up the cat, who protested being snatched from his nap. So now what? Just take the next step. Which was … the phone call from her sister-in-law. She should call her back.

The only problem with driving to her brother's house in Arlington Heights, Grace mused as she nosed her Ford Focus through westbound traffic—surprisingly heavy for Sunday afternoon—was the lack of east-west freeways this far north in Chicago. Seemed like she barely got on the expressway going north, and she had to get off again on Lake Avenue, a four-lane with stoplights every half mile, and take it west all the way to the northwest suburb.

Still, it was nice of Denise and Mark to invite her for Sunday dinner. She needed some company, something to distract her. It'd be great to be with family. “Bring Roger too!” Denise had chirped. “We're practically on your way home from church.”

County Line Christian Fellowship was even further west. She might've looked for a church closer to home a couple of years ago, except for Roger's involvement there. Maybe now was the time …

“No, it'll just be me. I'm not going to County Line tomorrow. Did you say two o'clock?” She'd explain about Roger when she got there.

In spite of traffic, Grace pulled into the driveway of Mark and Denise's modest suburban home after just the usual forty-five-minute drive. Another familiar car sat in the driveway …

“Hey, hey, hey, there she is!” Large knuckles were knocking on her side window.

Grace opened her car door. “Dad! What are you doing here?” Climbing out of the car, she was enveloped in a big hug. “Nobody said anything about you guys coming too.” Her raspy voice was muffled against his big shoulder.

“Gotta see our girl!” Her father, hatless, his thinning silver hair lifting slightly in the chilly breeze, held her at arm's length. “Still got that nasty laryngitis, don't you,” he scolded. “We gotta get you inside.” Grace barely had time to grab her purse and the bag with souvenirs she'd bought in Florida for her nephews before being hustled through the front door.

“Surprise!” Marcus and Luke, eight and five respectively, nearly bowled her over with hugs. “Grandma's here too!”

Indeed she was. Grace smiled at her mom, an attractive woman in her early sixties, still working as a librarian at one of the branch libraries in Indianapolis. Margaret Meredith had let her hair go silver and wore it in a short pageboy, softly framing her pleasant face. Hugs all around … Mark, so like their dad, a bit pudgy in the paunch but still good-looking with his dark brown hair and lopsided grin, his pretty wife, Denise, and the two boys, all mophaired and big smiles—especially when she handed the boys the two wrapped packages, which they immediately ripped open to discover large rubber alligators she'd bought at Orlando's Nature Park.

“Wow. Thanks, Aunt Grace!”

“Yeah,” echoed five-year-old Luke. He squinted up at her. “How come you're talking funny?”

She pointed a finger into her mouth, and then grinned as she tousled his hair. “Laryngitis. You oughta try it sometime.”

Grace took her father's arm as Denise shooed them all toward the dining room. “How's the hardware store, Dad?”

“Oh, you know, hanging in there. Now if one of my offspring would just take over the business, I could retire …”

“Dad!” Mark rolled his eyes. “Don't start that again. Sis, why don't you sit on that side with the boys, Mom and Dad over here …”

When they were seated, they all held hands around the dining room table and Mark eyed his father. “Dad? Will you—?” And Paul Meredith launched into a “Sunday dinner prayer,” as the grandkids called it, a bit long, thanking God they could all be together, asking God to bless Tim and Nellie and the kids—Grace's oldest brother's family—who lived too far away to be with them today, blessing this
home, thanking God for Grace being back home from her tour, safe and sound …

Not so safe. Not so sound
, she thought, biting her lip.

“… and bless the hands that prepared this scrumptious meal. Amen!”

The next few minutes were a flurry of passing the pot roast and vegetables, the usual, “Aw, do I hafta eat carrots?” and Denise jumping up to get this and that she'd forgotten.

“So where's Roger?” Mark asked, heaping roasted potatoes on his plate. “Thought he wouldn't be letting you out of his sight after being gone a whole month.”

Grace swallowed. She took a deep breath. “We broke up.”

All noise and movement stopped. Food dishes were held in midair. Even Marcus and Luke stared up at her from either side. Grace was aware that all eyes went to the bare third finger of her left hand. She nodded.

“Oh, honey …” Her mother's face looked about to crumple. “You bought your wedding dress!”

“Please, Mom, don't.” Grace smiled bravely. “It's all right. Maybe we can talk about it later. I'm supposed to be resting my voice, so why don't you all tell me what's been happening around here while I've been gone?”