Lost and Found (42 page)

"Sorry to keep you up late . . ."

Jason looks at my dad. "We'd have been up anyway, Jen." He hesitates. "It's been a long day here. So tell us what happened."

I lean forward in the chair. "I . . . it . . . well . . ." Then I sigh. "I don't know where to begin." Then I remember and I smile. "I'm pregnant."

My dad's and Jason's eyebrows rise in unison, and I laugh. "Not what you expected to hear?"

"I'll say!" My dad gets off the sofa and comes over and gives me another hug. "Wow! Jen, that's great." He shakes his head in disbelief and smiles. Then he runs his hand through his hair and even through his smile, I see his fatigue.

"So I'm going to be an uncle . . . finally!"

I nod. "Finally."

"Congratulations, Jen. I'm so happy for you. I wish Gerard . . ."

"I know. Me too."

My dad studies me. "How have you felt?"

"Horrible." I smile again. "But I never suspected . . . I thought maybe it was the infection, then a virus, or just the trauma of Gerard's death, or maybe depression. Everything but this." I smile. "But this afternoon"—I shrug—"God made it clear and I confirmed it with a test."

My dad sits back down on the sofa and leans his elbows on his knees. "You know we're here for whatever you need."

"I know, Dad. Thank you." I hesitate. "Well, that's the good news . . ."

My dad and Jason grow serious again, and Jason says, "Okay, tell us the rest of it."

I sigh and begin with the meeting in Max's office regarding the trust and then tell them about the agreement Brigitte wanted me to sign. My dad shakes his head as he listens. Then he interrupts.

"I hope you told her in no uncertain terms that—"

I hold up my hand. "Wait. There's more."

He shakes his head again and anger etches his features.

Jason reaches over and pats him on the back. "Let her finish, Dad."

I start again. "I did finally tell Brigitte I wouldn't sign it. But that won't be the end of it." I pause and look at my dad and Jason. I feel my courage waiver.
Oh Lord, help me . . .

"Dad . . . Brigitte says she purchased a demand note for Azul. She showed it to me. She said it was for a loan you took out twenty-six years ago and never repaid." I take a deep breath. "She said that if I didn't sign the agreement, she'd demand that you pay the note, plus interest and whatever she paid for it."

My dad and Jason look at each other.

"Well, that answers that question."

I look at Jason. "What question?"

My dad leans forward. "I told Jason about it this evening. We've been discussing it all night."

"It's true then?" My heart sinks.

"Well, yes . . . and no." He goes on to explain.

He tells me about Duke and the loan he offered my dad. And how he paid him back but Duke tore up the check and told him he'd tear up the note. He goes through what I'm sure he's already gone over with Jason many times. Then he tells me about Kelly Whitmore.

"I received a call from her attorney a couple of months back. Said Kelly had a note and was demanding payment." He shakes his head. "He wasn't interested in hearing the story of Duke saying he'd tear up the note. Anyway, I didn't want to burden you and Jason with all of it until I'd checked it out. So I gave Andee a call—"

"Andee?"

He nods. "Yeah, I sought her advice and she said she'd check into it for me. She called and spoke with Kelly Whitmore's attorney, but by the time she talked with him, she said they'd already sold the note."

"Did she know Kelly sold it to Brigitte?"

"No. She said she didn't know who they'd sold it to or what the buyer intended to do with it. She told me they could demand payment and that if I couldn't pay, then they could draw up an involuntary bankruptcy petition against Azul. And, well . . . that would be that." He runs his hand through his hair again and shakes his head. "I was going to tell both of you, but then Gerard . . ." He shrugs his shoulders. "It just didn't seem like the right time to burden you with more."

My mind reels back to Andee's e-mail—the one saying that she'd betrayed those closest to her. I assumed she meant she'd betrayed Jason by ending their relationship, but now I wonder if there was more. "Jason, would Andee have . . . ?"

Jason's shoulders slump. And then he gets up from the sofa and paces the length of the living room and back. "I don't know, Jen."

"What are you two implying?"

"Dad, could Andee have gone behind your back—sold you out to Brigitte?"

His gaze widens. It's not something he's considered. He looks to Jason, who just shrugs.

"I don't know, Dad, I think it's possible. I hate to think the worst of her, but . . ."

I hold up my hand. "Let's not make assumptions. Let me finish telling you what I did . . . or rather, didn't do."

"You better not have signed that agreement, Jen." Now it's my dad's turn to stand. He towers over me and I think of the massive trees in the park—the overstory trees—protecting the growth below. And then I know. I've had a protector all along provided by God. My dad would have stood up to Brigitte or anyone for that matter, if only he'd known the truth. He sensed it, but I never confirmed it.

I never spoke truth.

Condemnation woos me. But I turn away.

For good.

Tears fill my already swollen eyes. "No, Daddy, I didn't sign it. At first, after she told me about the demand note, I told her I would. I just gave up. But then . . . I just couldn't do it. I begged God to show me another way. To"—I wipe the tears slipping down my cheeks—"to rescue me. I finally surrendered and told Him I'd follow Him, no matter what happened." I stand up next to my dad. "I lost myself to Brigitte. I cease to exist when I'm with her. I lose sight of God's purpose. I knew I had to leave—to walk away. I had to follow God." I place my hand on my abdomen. "Especially now."

My daddy's tears match my own. He wraps his arms around me again. "Azul has special meaning to us, but Jen, it's just a business. That's all it is. It isn't worth losing yourself. It isn't."

When my dad lets me go, I look at Jason and read the fury in his features. "How could she? How could she stoop so low?" He shakes his head. "Jen, I'm so glad you're out from under her. You made the right choice."

"She will do what she's threatened, Jason. She will. I have no doubt." Fatigue pushes me back down into the chair. "There's more too." I sigh. "I have a friend—he's my spiritual director—I've been seeing him for a few months. You met him and his wife at Gerard's service, Matthew and Tess MacGregor?"

Both Jason and my dad nod.

"We've had a special . . . connection. From the beginning"—I slump in the chair, exhausted—"I felt it. Like God knit us together. It's spiritual. Nothing . . . nothing more. But Brigitte's accused me of having an affair with Matthew. She said she'll publicly humiliate us. And now . . . I'm pregnant . . . Gerard's gone. It may look like . . . and what will Matthew's wife think? And what will that do to his career? It isn't true. Matthew's led me to God. He's shown me truth. But Brigitte says she has evidence. She has to be bluffing, but I don't doubt she'll produce whatever she needs to humiliate us. I'm not worried about myself, but . . . Matthew . . ."

I cover my hands with my face.

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and my dad stands next to my chair. He looks over to Jason. "Son, pull up a couple of chairs. It's time we commit this to God. It's time we pray. We're embarking on a new adventure and we don't dare go it alone."

Jason brings two chairs in from the kitchen and sets them in front of the easy chair. Both he and my dad take a seat and hold out their hands. We sit in a small circle, the three of us, hands clasped, hearts surrendered to God.

And we pray.

Remain in God's hands. He may cast down or build up. Let Him do whatever He pleases, both in you and through you.

JEANNE GUYON

AT 6:30 A.M.,
just after our alarm goes off, my cell phone rings. I left it on the nightstand before going back to bed last night. I feel for it in the still dark room. When my hand lands on it, I grab it and look at the screen.

"Tess, it's Jenna."

"Take it!" She leans over and turns on the lamp on her nightstand.

"Jenna? Dude, where are you? Are you okay?" As I listen, I toss back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. Tess gets out of bed, comes around to my side, and motions that she's going to take a shower. She's giving me time alone to talk to Jenna.

"What?" I continue to listen as Jenna pours out her story. "Oh man . . ." I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. "Madame B strikes and lives up to all her name implies."

I close my eyes as anger heaves in my chest.

"Matthew, I'm . . . so sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. This isn't your fault. You know and I know that God is in control. We can trust Him. You picked up your cross and you're following Him. And that is a thing of beauty. I'm proud of you."

A soft laugh. "Thank you. I'll be praying for you and Tess."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Keep me posted."

I hang up the phone and continue staring at the ceiling. How could anyone be so . . . evil? Questions torment. Will people believe Brigitte's allegations? What will my clients think? How will this play out in my job? Man, how will it play out in my marriage?

Anger burns. Righteous anger.

This is so not cool.

I shake my head and sit back up on the edge of the bed. I hear the shower turn off. "Lord, I need You to give me Your words. Prepare her heart. Let her see truth." As I pray, peace descends like a dove.

God has my back.

I get up, throw on a pair of sweats and my flannel shirt, and then I go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for my wife. I meet her with it as she comes out of the bathroom and hand it to her.

"Is everything okay? Is she okay?"

"She's okay. Hey, I'm going to brush my teeth, why don't you get dressed, and we'll meet in the kitchen. I need to talk to you."

I see the uncertainty in Tess's eyes and it breaks me. I put my palm on her cheek. "I love you—more than you know." I feel my eyes fill with tears, but man, I can't help it.

"Babe?"

"Get dressed. It's okay. It'll be okay." I step into the bathroom, close the door, and then lean against it. "Draw her close, Lord. Draw her close."

A few minutes later, we're standing in the kitchen together. I pour myself a mug of coffee and tweak it with creamer. Then we sit together at the small bistro table at the end of the kitchen, where I lay the story out for her. "Remember what you told me about Jenna's mother-in-law? Brigitte Bouvier?"

Tess nods.

"Well, she's attempting to blackmail Jenna."

Tess shakes her head. "But Jenna didn't fall for it—she left. That's what the blog was about last night, right?" She sets her coffee cup down. "Wait, this is why we prayed for her last night. God knew what was coming, so He had us pray?"

I nod. Even as righteous anger roils inside, I'm awed at what God is doing in Tess. I clear my throat. "Right on both counts. Jenna felt God leading her in one direction and Brigitte stood between her and God. So she had to choose. And her mother-in-law didn't like her choice."

"How did she blackmail her?" Tess stops. "Wait, what about client confidentiality? Why are you telling me this?"

I lean forward and reach for her hand. "Because it involves me. And you need to hear the truth from me."

I have to tell Tess the truth.

And it's a hard truth.

But dude, the truth sets you free.

I take a deep breath.

Your Father wipes away your faults as easily as an earthly father wipes mud off a child's face.

JEANNE GUYON

I SIT AT
my computer and read the comments on Lightseeker's blog. It's been two days since she revealed her identity and her critics are making themselves known. But so are her loyal readers. There is a war of words taking place online—but Lightseeker, Jenna Bouvier, hasn't weighed back in.