One Prayer Away (21 page)

T
he Hyatt Regency Houston, conveniently located near the airport, had been Mitchell's choice of hotel for his short stay. The complimentary shuttle that provided transportation to and from the airport, which was one of its offers that swayed Mitchell to choose it, had also been the offer that almost made him late for his lunch appointment. Almost immediately after he'd checked into his room, he had realized his dilemma. Most of his weekend trips were business-related conferences that took place in hotels, and for them, using the hotel shuttle was the practical thing to do. But as soon as Mitchell put his belongings in his suite, he'd become conscious of the fact that for this trip he needed to have reserved a rental car.

For a moment, he had gone into a mode of panic. Mitchell had planned the trip down to the painstaking details, or so he'd thought. His morning flight to Houston had arrived at eight o'clock. He had no luggage to get from the baggage claim area, so all he'd have to do was call for hotel transportation to meet him at the pickup area outside
the airport. He'd take advantage of the option for early check-in that the reservations desk had given him during Thursday night's phone call to the hotel. Then he'd get a shower and change into fresh clothing and still be able to get to the restaurant before eleven o'clock, more than a half hour ahead of schedule.

Once Mitchell realized his mistake, he'd been forced to create a Plan B. He took a quick bath and changed into the clothes he'd packed in his shoulder bag. The iron provided in the room wouldn't heat fast enough, so Mitchell could only hope that Virtue wouldn't see the wrinkles that his quick pressing job had left behind.

The airport shuttle ran once every half hour, so he had to wait ten minutes before he could catch a ride back to the same place he'd left just thirty minutes earlier. He felt both blessed and fortunate that Hertz had cars that were immediately available for rental. Not all that familiar with Houston, he'd had to get directions for the twenty-five-minute trip that eventually got him to Piatto Ristorante with only a few minutes to spare.

It was nightfall by the time Mitchell got back to his Houston hotel room. The meeting with Virtue and Beverly had ended hours ago, but he'd spent most of the afternoon riding around the city, killing time, just so he wouldn't have too much idle time to think about what had happened. All these years, he'd only been able to presume how his ex-wife had been affected by the anguish and abuse he had inflicted on her. Today, at the restaurant, it had become all too clear, and it was worse than he'd imagined.

The three of them had sat in the booth together for two solid hours, and not once did Virtue speak to him. Not once did she even look up at him or acknowledge his presence. The thought that she couldn't even bear the sight of him was heartrending. Had Beverly not been there, Mitchell would have had no one to interact with. At first, he'd been disappointed when the woman called him and
said that she would be accompanying Virtue to the meeting. Mitchell had hoped to have some private time with his former wife to say the things he'd been forced to hold inside of him for years. But after sitting with them and seeing Virtue's hurt materialize itself in the form of unending, silent tears, Mitchell was grateful for Beverly's presence.

Beverly had tried to get Virtue to talk to Mitchell, but she remained quiet and unresponsive. It was Beverly who thanked him for owning up to his mistakes and being brave enough to admit to them and ask forgiveness. Through Beverly, Mitchell found out that she'd been more than Virtue's friend; she was the professional who had gotten Virtue through the roughest time following their divorce. Beverly was selective in her revelations, but she'd disclosed enough for Mitchell to know that both his and Virtue's paths to healing had led them down a road wherein they'd found Christ.

Even now, when he recalled the moment that Beverly had told him, Mitchell smiled. In the end, that was the most important part. He understood that Virtue was still working through remnants of the pain, and although she hadn't voiced whether or not she accepted his apology or was willing to forgive him, Mitchell found comfort in knowing that Virtue didn't have to face her fears alone.

He could point fingers and say that if she truly knew Christ, she should have no problem getting over the ugly past that he'd put her through. But Mitchell could relate to her struggles. He still fought the demons of his past too. He hadn't had a drink in years, and he knew that God had delivered him from the evils of alcoholism. But every now and then something happened that reminded him that the battle was not completely over. Back then, drinking the vodka would temporarily free him from having to think of his failures. His newest temptation happened just hours ago, when he had seen the eternal tears that fell from Virtue's eyes. At least for a little while, a glass of vodka on
the rocks could have rescued him from the image that seemed to want to etch itself in his mind, but Mitchell knew that drowning himself in the strong drink wasn't the answer.

Removing his coat, he sat on the edge of his bed and released an exhausted sigh. Mitchell kicked off his shoes and then eased his back onto the firm mattress and stared at the ceiling above him. Fresh memories of Virtue's anguish were eating at him like hungry piranhas. As tired as his body was, Mitchell knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. In times like these, there was only one person who Mitchell knew would know just what to say. Fishing for the clip that was attached to his belt, Mitchell pulled out his phone and dialed the memorized number. One ring followed another with no answer.

“Man, where
are
you?”

The last time he'd spoken to Chris was Thursday, shortly after he'd left work. Mitchell had called to tell him about the incident with Lisa, but at the sound of Chris's voice on the phone, he lost his nerve. They chatted for a while, and Chris told him that he had a follow-up doctor's visit scheduled for Friday morning. He explained that he wouldn't be in the office again until Monday, but Chris calmed Mitchell's growing anxieties when he ended the sentence by informing him that Barbara would return on Friday. That meant that Mitchell wouldn't have to deal with Lisa again, and it gave him a few more days to get up the nerve to tell Chris the painful truth about his bride-to-be.

“Well, you must be feeling better—that's for sure,” Mitchell mumbled to himself as Chris's voice mail picked up.

He'd already left one message for him on Friday afternoon, letting Chris know that he'd be out of pocket for the weekend. Mitchell didn't give him any details of where he was going and why. He had been very uncertain about how the meeting with Virtue would pan out; and as far as he
was concerned, if it had turned into a nightmare, the fewer people who knew, the better. Now that it was over, though, he needed to share his day with his best friend.

“Hey, Chris, it's Mitch again,” he said after the beep had signaled. “I had something on my mind and just needed to talk to you about it. All I'll say right now is that guilt ain't nothing to play with. I'm in Houston right now, and something happened that has guilt lying right here in my hotel bed, taking up more space than another human would.” Mitchell stopped to laugh at his own analogy and then continued. “My flight back to Dallas is tomorrow afternoon, so I won't be at church in the morning. If you get this message anytime before midnight, hit me back. I'm sure I'll be up until then.”

He had just ended the call when the telephone beside his bed rang. At first Mitchell stared at the piece of equipment as though it were foreign. He'd not given anyone back home his room information and hadn't at all expected to receive any calls. After a moment's thought he reasoned that it must be a guest-services call to see if everything in the $180 per night room was to his satisfaction.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Andrews?”

“Yes.”

“This is the front desk calling,” the woman said. “You have a visitor here who would like to see you.”

Mitchell paused. “A visitor? To see me?”

“Yes, sir,” the attendant said.

Mitchell could hear the muffled voice of the woman asking his visitor for a name. He tried to strain to hear through what seemed to be the operator's hand over the mouthpiece of her telephone, but Mitchell could not hear the response. A split second later, the attendant's voice returned.

“Dr. Beverly Oliver?” She said the name as if she was unsure that the person waiting had given an honest identification.

Mitchell paused again. A flood of questions rushed through his mind, but he had no answers to any of them. “I'll be right down,” he told the caller. “Thank you.”

Among the questions that bombarded him was whether Beverly was alone. From the limited time that he'd spent with the two of them today, Mitchell had gathered that Beverly had taken on the role of a guardian. She attended Virtue in such a motherly manner that Mitchell was left to speculate that his ex-wife had latched on to Beverly after her parents moved from their home in Detroit.

Virtue and her mother had been extremely close. Peggy Monroe was an eye-catching woman who was defying quite well the signs of aging. Even approaching her mid-forties, she and Virtue looked more like sisters than they did mother and daughter. Peggy was the parent who had given Virtue her defined beauty and her shapely figure. Walter, Virtue's father, had never really made Mitchell feel like one of the family. He had always seemed to carry a chip on his shoulder about the man he'd given his daughter to marry. But on most visits, Walter had been cordial enough that Mitchell hadn't felt like a complete outcast.

Peggy had been different. She had embraced her son-in-law and never failed to greet him with warmth and love. Mitchell loved Peggy's hugs. They were snug and heartfelt. In return, Peggy enjoyed it when Mitchell would lift her from her feet during their embrace and spin her into a full circle before putting her back on the floor. She had been like a second mother to him before everything started going awry. Mitchell felt a twinge of depression as he thought of how disappointed Peggy must have been in him for turning into a monster. She must have been crushed when she found out he'd struck her daughter.

Smoothing out his shirt and tucking it securely into his slacks, Mitchell stood in front of the full-length mirror to be sure that he looked presentable. Walking into the bathroom,
he opened his shaving pouch and pulled out his mouthwash, swishing the mint-tasting liquid around from jaw to jaw until he was satisfied enough to release it down the drain of the sink. Taking a brush, Mitchell groomed his low-cut hair and then he retrieved a personal-sized bottle of lotion and proceeded to moisturize his clean-shaven face, paying special attention to the high cheekbones he assumed he'd gotten from his father. When Mitchell looked at his image again, he almost laughed.

“What are you doing all this for?” he asked himself and then paused as though waiting for his reflection to answer. “Even if Virtue is down there with Beverly, she's not going to care one way or the other about your appearance. She couldn't stand to look at you at 11:30 in the morning, and she won't be able to stomach looking at you at 8:30 at night.”

Mitchell's shoes felt as if they were made of metal as he made his way to the elevator that would take him to the first floor. His body wasn't overly exhausted, so he could only gather that it was mounting guilt that was weighing him down. When the elevator reached its destination, he took a moment to breathe before stepping out into the sparse lobby. A few people stood around chatting while others were just arriving and checking in at the front desk.

“Hi, Mitchell.”

He turned to the voice that called from behind him and hoped that his disappointment didn't show as he greeted Beverly, who approached him all alone.

“Hi, Beverly. Is everything okay?”

Her smile relieved his forming fears. “Everything is fine, hon,” she assured him. “Is there somewhere we can go and talk for a minute?”

Mitchell took a second to search her face. He looked for signs of whether he should doubt her claim that all was well. When he saw none, he scanned the lobby for an area where they could sit in private. Nothing looked promising.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “The restaurant here is closed on weekends, but the lounge is open. We could go there for a bite to eat if you like.”

Beverly beamed. “Well, that lunch we had earlier is gone from me now, so I could eat with no problem.”

The simple exchange made Mitchell think of his carry-out plate. It was still in the backseat of the car where he'd placed it seven hours ago. The hunger that he'd been too preoccupied to notice, all of a sudden made its presence known. “Yeah, I could use a bite to eat too,” he said.

Very few words were traded between the two as they made their way to Derrick's Saloon, the hotel's popular sports bar. Several television screens were positioned in strategic areas throughout the place, delivering images of different sporting events. Once Mitchell and Beverly were seated, they were quickly waited on and then left to themselves after they'd placed their orders. A bit on edge as to why she'd come to see him at this hour, Mitchell was tempted to say something to give the conversation a jump start, but Beverly beat him to the punch.

“Are you comfortable with talking about our meeting today?” she asked.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, glad that she wasn't the kind to beat around the bush.

“I guess I should also ask whether or not you're comfortable about talking about your past with Virtue,” she added.

Mitchell nodded slowly. “I don't think I have any secrets that I'm not willing to share.”

“Good,” Beverly said before propping her elbows on the table and looking directly at him. “I know that I don't have to try and convince you of how much you hurt Virtue.”