Return to Me (11 page)

How could she tell the whole truth to an old friend when she didn’t want to face it herself?

“What are you going to do now?” Myra took a sip from her water glass. “All you talked about when we were in school was your singing.”

“I’m going to work for my dad. At least for now.”

Gina returned with their beverages and salads, interrupting the conversation.

As soon as the waitress departed, Myra speared a piece of greens. “It must feel weird, having your sister engaged to Wyatt. You and he were quite an item back in the old days.” She shook her head. “I never could figure out why you didn’t marry him when he asked you. I mean, I love Jordan and all, but Wyatt’s a hunk.”

“What Wyatt and I had was over long ago. I’m glad for him and Elena.”

But even as she spoke, Roxy remembered the way Wyatt used to hold her in his arms, the way he used to ply her lips with kisses . . .

Is it true? Is it really over? Am I glad for them?

She hated herself for wondering.

R
OXY

October 1987

“Roxy! What are you doing?”

At the sound of her sister’s angry voice, Roxy jumped, and the mascara brush left a black streak across her right cheek.

Elena stomped into the bedroom. “What’ve I told you about messing with my makeup?” She grabbed both tube and brush from Roxy’s hands.

“I just wanted to try a little.” Tears welled in her eyes, then streaked down her cheeks.

Elena glared. “You’re not supposed to come into my room when I’m not here. A girl needs her privacy, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Elena. Honest.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

After a few moments, her sister released a heavy sigh. “Stop your sniffling. Sit down and let’s clean that mascara off your face. I’ll show you how to do it right. But remember, Dad says twelve is too young to wear makeup. There’s no way you’ll get out of this house with it on.”

“Other girls my age wear makeup to school. I don’t see why I can’t.” Roxy swiped away the tears with the pads of her index fin- gers as she sat on the stool in front of the dresser.

“Other girls don’t have our dad.”

“You got that right.” It drove her crazy, how strict their dad was. He had the silliest rules. Most of her friends could do a lot more stuff than she could. Roxy couldn’t stay overnight anywhere during the school week, and she had to do chores every Saturday morning before she could talk on the phone to her friends or hang out with them. Sundays were reserved for church and doing things with the family. Period. No discussion.

It was dumb. That’s what it was.

Elena took a cotton ball from a heart-shaped crystal box and used it with some white cream to clean the streak of mascara from Roxy’s cheek. “You’ll have to learn to hold your hand steady or you’ll do this a lot.”

“Can we use the blue eye shadow?”

“No way. Dad would have a fit. We’ll start with something soft. A nice taupe. It’ll be real pretty with your brown eyes.” Elena leaned down so that her head was right next to Roxy’s. The two of them stared into the mirror at their reflections. “You’ve got knock- out eyes, Roxy. The boys are gonna fall all over themselves when you get older.”

Elena didn’t know it, but there were a few boys already trying to get Roxy’s attention. One of them, Doug Knight, a ninth grader, walked her home from the bus stop yesterday, and he kissed her out by the pool house.

Remembering, her stomach tumbled. She never dreamed kiss- ing would feel like
that!

“Okay,” Elena said. “Close your eyes. And remember, this is a one-time deal. You still gotta stay out of my things. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Did a promise count when she crossed her fingers behind her back?

Eleven

Since the last time Roxy attended, Believers Hillside Fellowship had built a bigger sanctuary and added a new children’s wing. She recognized the senior pastor, but the majority of people who spoke to her father before the service were strangers to her.

She would have preferred to stay home, but living off her father’s charity at the ripe old age of thirty-two made her feel guilty. And that guilt caused her to agree to go with him when he asked her yesterday.

Guilt. It was a wretched thing. She preferred it when she didn’t give a hang what anyone thought about her or whether or not what she did was right or wrong in anyone’s eyes. Being in her father’s church on this Sunday morning was bound to produce more guilt. Wasn’t that what church was about? Making people feel guilty for doing the things they enjoyed, keep them from having fun.

Way down deep in the darkest recesses of Roxy’s heart, she wondered if that was true. She used to think so. But now . . .

A boy of about seventeen or eighteen — tall with a wiry build, wearing a black leather jacket and a diamond stud in one ear — approached Wyatt and offered his hand. “I . . . uh . . . my name’s Ben Turner. I heard you talk last Sunday night.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben.” Wyatt shook the boy’s hand.

“I . . . I wanted you to know that what you said helped me a lot. My girlfriend and me, we were sort of — ” He shrugged. “Well, doesn’t matter, ’cause things are different now. God’s a cool dude. You know, wanting to be our friend and carin’ about us, the way you said.”

Wyatt grinned. “Yes.”

“I’ll be seein’ you around, I guess. Maybe we can, you know, talk sometime.”

“I’d like that, Ben. Anytime.”

“Cool. Well, guess I’d better join my friends. See ya.”

After Ben left, Elena slipped her hand into the crook of Wyatt’s arm — an action that was both natural and proprietary. “Who was that?”

He put his hand over hers. “He must be the kid Lance called about last week. You remember me telling about him.” He leaned closer, until his forehead nearly touched hers.

The look in his eyes was so intimate, so filled with love, it took Roxy’s breath away. She remembered a time when he’d looked at her that way. A time when
⎯

“Oh,
that
boy.” Elena’s warm smile lit her whole face. “And he’s in church today. How wonderful.”

Roxy felt a sharp stab in her chest. She was an outsider, invis- ible to Wyatt and Elena. She didn’t like the feeling.

She turned away, hoping she wouldn’t cry. How embarrassing that would be, for all these strangers to see her break down. She stepped to her father’s side, pretending interest in his conversation with a white-haired, elderly man while forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

At last, her father glanced at her. “We’d better get into the sanctuary or we’ll never find a seat. They fill up fast.”

Roxy nodded, dreading the next ninety minutes more than ever.

=

The service at Believers Hillside began with a period of worship in song. Standing between her father on her left and Wyatt on her right, Elena closed her eyes and sang the familiar words of praise.

Most Sundays, this time of worship brought her joy, even though she didn’t have the best voice in the world. It was personal and heartfelt when she sang that God was an awesome God, when she declared He was holy and worthy, when she thanked Him for the forgiveness of her sins, when she acknowledged the work of His hands.

But this morning, the words of praise felt hollow in her throat. She couldn’t seem to enter in. God felt distant, and she didn’t have to look far to know why.

It was Roxy’s fault.

A surreptitious glance to her left revealed her sister, standing on the other side of their father. Roxy’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, her arms crossed over her chest. It was obvious she still hated being in church.

I wish she wasn’t here.
Elena closed her eyes again and lowered

her chin.
I shouldn’t feel that way. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. I can’t help it. Dad acts as if she hasn’t done horrible things, but anyone can look at her and know the truth. She should be on her knees to You, God, but she isn’t. She isn’t the least bit repentant. She ran out of money. That’s the reason she came back. Not because she’s sorry.

Wyatt’s deep voice broke through the haze of her thoughts — even she wouldn’t call it a prayer — and she opened her eyes a sec- ond time, now glancing to her right. Her fiancé’s arms were lifted in praise. A different stance from her sister’s.

Wyatt loved God with his whole heart. He was a good man, tender and caring, but also strong and confident. Even during his bad-boy years, before he knew the Lord, he was kind to his mother and sister and loyal to his friends. Those were a few of the reasons she was attracted to him back when he was Roxy’s steady. Back when Elena could only dream about him seeing her as something more than Roxy’s older sister.

What does he think when he looks at her now? He loved her once.

Does he remember and wish—

Fear coursed through Elena.

Please, God. Don’t let me lose him. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t.

She’d never sent a more heartfelt prayer heavenward in her

life.

=

About ten minutes into the service, Roxy relaxed a little. The group on the stage wasn’t half bad. In all honesty, they were good. She’d heard worse in recording studios in Nashville. There were two female vocalists, a bass player, a drummer with spiky hair and a goatee, a lead guitarist, and a guy on the keyboard.

She let her gaze wander from the worship team to the con- gregation. A lot of them were clapping their hands or lifting their arms. Most had their eyes closed, except for those reading the lyrics on the screens located on either side of the stage.

Maybe they’re pagans like me.
She suppressed a disparaging

laugh.

A lot of years had passed since Roxy attended a church service. The last time was here at Believers Hillside. Unless something had changed, she knew that after the singing would come announce- ments and the passing of collection baskets, and then she would have to endure the sermon. She’d better enjoy the singing while she could.

She looked to her right. Her father’s head was bowed, and his lips were moving. Probably praying for her.

He needn’t bother. I’m a hopeless cause.

Leaning forward, she glanced toward Elena and Wyatt. Her sister wasn’t singing either, but rather than a bowed head, her face was turned upward. For some inexplicable reason, the expression

Elena wore — wistful, supplicating, something — made Roxy’s heart ache.

Then there was Wyatt. So like the man she once knew and loved, yet so different. She remembered the day he told her he’d been born again. She remembered how angry his words made her. But look at him now. He had a . . . what? Serenity? Centered- ness? She couldn’t say for certain. She only knew he had
something —
something she didn’t have. Hadn’t ever had. She saw it on his face.

Sensed it in the way he stood, in the sound of his voice, in the way he looked at her and others.

She was thankful for the pastor’s call to prayer, for it drew her attention away from Wyatt. She didn’t want to think about him. It was too confusing.

She would think about tomorrow instead. Tomorrow she would begin her new job. Not that working in the family firm was what she wanted to do for good, but the sooner she earned her own way, the sooner she could get a place of her own. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like a failure.

Lost in thought, Roxy was aware of her father opening his Bible and placing it on his lap. She knew the pastor spoke, but she didn’t listen. Not at first. She wasn’t sure when she tuned into the sermon. Perhaps it was after she heard him say the word
prodigal
. Any kid who ever went to Sunday school had heard of the Prodigal Son. Including Roxy Burke.

The pastor looked at the book in his hand and read from it: “ ‘Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine . . .’ ”

Roxy swallowed hard. It felt as if the pastor were reading her story, not some ancient parable. The inheritance. The wild living. Poverty. Famine. Not a friend left in the world.

A little over a week ago, Roxy was retching over a toilet, her stomach empty. She didn’t walk home, as the prodigal had. She borrowed money from Pete so she could take the bus. Not much difference. And now, again like the son in the ancient story, she was about to take a job in the old man’s empire. Her father, like the prodigal’s, had welcomed her home with open arms, forgiveness, celebration, and love.

The way God welcomes you. The way God loves you.

She couldn’t breathe. It was too stuffy in here. If she didn’t get some air soon —

She stood, whispered something to her father about the rest- room, and made her way out of the row and down the aisle toward the exit. She kept her eyes on the carpet a few feet in front of her, forcing herself not to run, though every fiber of her being screamed for her to do so.

Once out of the sanctuary, she didn’t stop in the large entry hall. She hurried right on through it and out the front doors into the glorious April sunshine. Gulping air into her lungs, she crossed the parking lot to the large grassy field beyond it.

Finally, she stopped, drew another deep breath, and turned around to stare at the church building. What just happened?

She didn’t know. But whatever it was, it creeped her out, and she wasn’t about to go back inside. Not for any amount of guilt.

=

The way Roxy hurried out of the sanctuary, Elena knew she must have recognized herself in the story of the Prodigal Son. She would have to be an idiot to miss the similarities. Was she the least bit sur- prised by the way their father welcomed her when she came drag- ging home? He hadn’t uttered a word of condemnation or censure.

But was she grateful? Or did she simply consider it her due, despite her hedonistic lifestyle?

Elena swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

Wasn’t it always that way? Roxy was the troublemaker in the family, and yet she was forever the favorite. Elena could get straight
A
s, but her father and grandmother would drop everything to cel- ebrate Roxy getting a single
B
amidst the
C
s. Elena invested the inheritance from Grandma Ruth. In the past decade, even with that tumble in the stock market and the lower interest rates that followed, she increased her bottom line. But did she get an
attagirl
from her father? No. He didn’t notice. Too worried about Roxy and her whereabouts to care.