The Beresfords (24 page)

His breath caught and then he let it out slowly. “So did I, Frannie, I’m embarrassed to admit.”

“Embarrassed? Why embarrassed?”

His eyes met mine then, and I steeled myself to hold that clear blue gaze, as honest with itself as it was with the world. “Because I had big plans for myself. For Jonathan Beresford. I called them God’s plans, but really maybe they were just mine. You know what I mean, Frannie. Heck. You’re the one person I don’t have to explain myself to.”

“You put seminary on hold when you got married, but it’s been two years now,” I said. I fought back the tide of unease sweeping my gut. “Now you’ve worked and saved up money just like you planned, and now you can go. That was the deal.”

“Hm.” Settling beside me on the bench at last, he tilted his head back to rest it against the wall. “That’s right. That was the deal.”

“And so you’re going, aren’t you?” I prodded, my voice sliding up the scale despite my efforts. “To seminary. Fuller or Princeton or somewhere, wherever they offer you better financial aid.”

“I’m not going.”

The bald statement caught me short and it took me several efforts to string together a response. “To seminary, you mean?”

“To seminary. I’m not going to seminary.” He sounded like he was convincing himself.

“I didn’t know that,” I said lamely. “That you changed your mind. It is because you’ve decided you don’t need an
MDiv
?”

“I don’t need an
MDiv
. I do not need a Master of Divinity.”

We were in an echo chamber, where I would say something and it would come right back to me, confused. Was he saying what he was saying because I was saying it first? No—it was like a game, the Save Jonathan’s Dream Game, and the ball was back in my court. “I guess degrees are old-fashioned,” I ventured. “Nowadays you don’t need one, to be a pastor.”

“I suppose not, in some churches,” he agreed. “But I don’t need one, at any rate, because I’m not going to be a pastor.”

If this was a game, that was a personal foul. Even my lungs felt airless, like I’d been elbowed hard. What did he mean, he wasn’t going to be a pastor? It could not have puzzled me more, had he said he decided not to be Jonathan. He was not going to be a pastor, though it had been his plan for ten years?
How am I supposed to save that one
?
I wanted to ask. Game over. Jonathan forfeited. It was what Tammy said then, when we had tea before her wedding: way led on to way. Postponement had been just a dragging-out of Never.

Silence fell. My cousin and I sat, inches apart physically and galaxies apart mentally. Everything I wanted to say—every thought spinning so fast in my head I felt hot with it—was off-limits. Everything like,
It’s because of Caroline, isn’t it? She won’t
let you. This is why you’re upset. You came here because you two just had a fight about it, and she won. This is all
her
decision, and if you hadn’t gone and married her—

“Don’t cry, Frannie.”

My hands flew to my face where a tear was indeed streaking down, but honestly it was one of anger. I dashed it away with my sleeve and swallowed hard. “What will you do instead, then?” My voice barely cleared a growl. “Have you started to like Core-Pro?”

He stiffened. I don’t think, in nearly twelve years of knowing me, he had ever heard me use sarcasm. The idea of wounding him was so alien that I apologized instantly.

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s a fair question. I’d say that, other than me, the only person I pumped so full of grandiose ideas about myself was you, Frannie.”

“They weren’t grandiose ideas!” I protested, my fists clenching.

Jonathan jumped to his feet and resumed his pacing. “They were. Come on! I heard the voice of God and I was going to save the world.”

“Why do you put it like that?” I shook my head hard, afraid I might cry for real this time. “You never said it that way. What you said was that that you wanted to serve God and help other people understand how much He loved them. Like you did me, when I was a kid.
You’re the one who made me see God was real! Remember?
What’s wrong with that, Jonathan? Those aren’t grandiose ideas—they’re humble ones. Generous ones. I don’t know why you would ever see yourself like that.”

A shadow crossed his face and he jerked his chin away from my pleading gaze. Then it hit me: those words—saying Jonathan had “grandiose ideas” and jeering at him for wanting to “save the world”—they weren’t his own.

They were Caroline’s.

They were his wife’s.

I was shaking. I wrapped my arms around myself to try to stop. When I thought I could speak without choking I said, “Well, you’re only twenty-four. Maybe you’ll become a pastor later.”

“Maybe.”

“And in the meantime there are a million ways to serve God,” I went on, my voice gaining strength. It was a new game now: Save Jonathan’s Faith in Himself. “You wouldn’t say all those people in church weren’t serving God, or that they weren’t trying to help other people know God loved them. Just because they sit in the pews and don’t stand up front.”

“At least they’re sitting in the pews,” said my cousin.

“Yes! They love God, too, but it’s harder to see, since prayers are invisible and Jesus tells us not to brag about our good deeds. Did you know, Jonathan, that Uncle Paul made this big donation last Christmas to the meals for the homeless? Pastor Donald announced the church would be able to serve one thousand meals because of an anonymous donor, and Aunt Terri said, ‘I think that money would be better spent providing them with job counseling, don’t you, Paul?’ And your dad got all uncomfortable and squirmed and blew his nose and didn’t answer her, and I just knew he was the donor! See what I mean, Jonathan? For every pastor, there are hundreds of other people serving and—and answering God’s call. Just from the pews, is all.”

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed grimly, “but like I said, at least they’re in the pews.” He sighed. “Do you know, Frannie, I think Caroline and I have made it to church only a couple times since Easter?”

“Oh! But that’s—”

“Twice in seven months. I know. There always seems to be something else going on.”

“I know you’re very busy.”

“You don’t know any such thing. Stop making excuses for me, Frannie.”

“Following God isn’t about things like church attendance,” I persevered, switching tacks. “Plenty of people could go to church twice a day for their entire lives and not know a thing about God. And others could never set foot in a church and still have a rich relationship with Jesus.”

He snorted. “You must sell people all kinds of goods and services at that bank job, Frannie, because I don’t know where you learned to argue like this. Look—I can’t speak for anyone else on earth. I can only speak for me, and all I know is that my relationship with Jesus hasn’t gotten a bit richer from never being in worship this year. Who am I kidding? Even if Caro—even if I still thought I should go to seminary it would be a farce.”

“Don’t say that, Jonathan. Don’t say these things. They’re not true.”

“I tell you they are, Frannie! Lord! You think it’s easy for me to admit these things to you? To you, who’ve always looked up to me?”

“I still look up—”

“Well, don’t. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m really not worth it.”

“You
are
!” I insisted. I didn’t bother trying to hide my tears now. They were running down my face and dripping off my chin. I didn’t care. I crossed the room in two steps and took hold of the front of his shirt like I would shake this nonsense from his head. “You
are
worth it, Jonathan Beresford. You’re the best person I know.”

To my horror, I saw his own eyes were glistening. He gave an unsteady laugh. “You need to get out more.”

“Don’t joke. I’m telling you the truth.”

But he would have none of it. Gently, he removed my hands. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, Frannie. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You haven’t let me down,” I lied too quickly.

“I feel better for telling you all that,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You don’t know what pressure it is to have a young cousin who idolizes you.” The words would have stung if he hadn’t winked when he said them. “But you’re eighteen now. Maybe my birthday gift to you is to reveal my feet of clay. I’m just a guy, Fran. No better and no worse, hopefully. What you used to think of me—it’s time to let that go now.”

The room was growing dark and the street lights had not yet come on. I heard muffled laughs from downstairs and wondered if Tom and Marcy had finished my bottle of wine yet.

“Caroline’s applied to Hastings.”

“What’s that?”

“Law school.”

“Law! She wants to be a lawyer? What about being a professional musician?”

His shrug was barely discernible. “Looks like I’m not the only one letting go of childhood dreams.”

No, and I supposed Caroline could still play her harp whenever there wasn’t something else going on, just as Jonathan could find time for God in the leftovers of life. I ground my teeth. Snotty. I was being snotty.

“Do you think she’ll get in?” I asked.

“It would surprise me if she didn’t. She crushed the LSAT and her grandfather was on the board and helped endow a chair.”

I didn’t follow all that, but I understood he was confident.

“Is law school expensive?”

“It’s not terrible, but I’ll definitely need to keep working.”

There went the two years’ of savings, then. He may not have seen me bite my lip, but he read my mind. “Caroline and I…we’re figuring out life together. That’s what marriage is. Joint decision-making. Compromise. Give and take.”

Yes
, my snotty voice agreed.
You give and she takes
.

“When you’re married—”

“I’ll understand,” I finished. It was taking all my self-control to keep the beast of
Snottiness
behind the rattling bars of its cage, and I didn’t think I was strong enough.

I wasn’t.

“So you’ll keep working at Core-Pro,
which you hate
, to pay for Caroline going to Hastings?”

The street lamp out front blinked on and threw a distorted parallelogram of light across my floor and pillow.

“Frannie!” He sounded dumbfounded. And why not? My earlier sarcasm was nothing compared to the new bite in my tone. “I said this was a joint decision.”

“And when she finishes law school, then it’s your turn, and you can go into ministry?”

“Get it through your thick head, Frannie,” he said rigidly, “I’m
not
going into ministry. I’m
not
going to be a pastor.”

“Because of her? Because
she
doesn’t want you to?”

He grabbed me then. By the elbow and not very gently. “What’s gotten into you? I just said it was a joint decision. Because Caroline is my wife. We’re in this together, and we’re figuring it out as we go.”

“Then how do you know you never ever want to be a pastor?” I demanded.

He shook me. “Because I know it, Frannie. For God’s sake—if you’re trying to punish me, it’s working. How many times will you make me say it?”

“Until you tell me that it’s because of
her
!” I cried, beside myself,
snottiness
in the ascendant. I ripped my arm free. “All this compromise talk! What about what God wants for you, Jonathan? Or is that not even a question you ask anymore? Because
she
doesn’t ever ask it?” My breath came in pants.

Oh my God, I was crazy! Did I just attack his wife? The person he loved most in the world?

“Who are you?” my cousin said in astonishment. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Look, Frannie—Caroline is my
wife
. My loyalty is to her. I won’t let you talk about her like that. And I don’t have to defend our choices to you or to anyone else.”

Of course he didn’t. I was out of my mind. He would never forgive me—ever! He would hate me to the end of his days and start avoiding me and—

In the non-panicking part of my consciousness I registered a sigh of brakes and the grip of tires turning in the driveway. My aunt and uncle, it must be. Tom was already here and Caroline or her brother Eric would park in the street.

Jonathan half-turned toward the door, but then he stopped again. When he spoke, he had a new voice to match my terrible one of the last few minutes. But his was cool and hard, and it sliced through my fading aggression, leaving it tattered at my feet. “You are a child,” he said. “You’re thinking like a child, and it’s time to stop. Listen to me. I’ve grown up. My plans have changed. I’m not going to be a pastor. It was something I wanted once but not anymore. It’s not Caroline. It’s me.
I
don’t want it. And you—you’ve got to let go of this ridiculous idealism of me. What are you thinking? What’s going on in that head of yours? I’m not kidding, Frannie. I’m not perfect. I never have been and never will be, not even for you. I’m flesh and blood. Don’t put the world on my shoulders. My God—do you know who you sound like? Just tell me I’m hiding my lamp under a bushel and I would swear I was having this fight with Tammy.”