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Chapter Four

 

The letter detailed how much we owed, the steps the bank had taken to try and resolve things, and how we hadn’t cooperated. Naturally, they hadn’t wanted to take this action, but they had no choice really, considering our breach of faith.

Our house payment was automatically drafted from our checking account. I knew that every two weeks, I put more than enough money in that account to pay the mortgage two or three times over. So did Stacy. Or so I assumed. She balanced the checkbook. Something was wrong.

Or fishy.

Just about the time I was ready to call her up and demand an explanation, I stopped, took a deep breath and put the phone down. We needed to discuss this face to face. I called my boss and explained the multi-layered mess I was in. I told him I’d be in as soon as I could in the morning but I had to get things straightened out with the bank. He was understanding and very sympathetic seeing that he was on his second marriage.

I called my mother, just as she was slipping into full-blown worry mode. She had allowed for all reasonable contingencies and still hadn’t heard from me. She went from worry to relief to indignation all in three seconds flat. Then after a breath, she offered to come to Memphis and help, whatever that might entail. I assured her that a visit to the bank would clear up this obvious misunderstanding. She made me promise to call if it didn’t. Then she made me promise to call even if it did.

Finally, she sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m sure I sound crazed.”

“No. I think you want something to work out the way you expect it to. You’ve had too many shocks and surprises, and you just need the universe to behave itself for a little while until you get your bearings back.”

I could imagine her smile. It was gentle, but weary. “Yes. I think that’s it exactly,” she said. “But you must understand, you are not on that list of things I expect to behave.”

“It’s a good thing,” I joked, but she wasn’t in a kidding mood.

“Michael, I trust your judgment.”

That was one of us. “Thank you. Sincerely. I’ll call you tomorrow after I talk to the bank.”

“Kiss Christopher for me.”

I drove home, got Christopher settled in bed and then debated whether to call my uncle James with the latest developments. It wouldn’t matter how many compliments I paid Stacy, her mind was made up. His advice was worthless. Oh, I believed his way represented the way things should work in a best-case scenario. We didn’t have a best case. Besides that, I bet there hadn’t been ten divorces in his church in the thirty-some years he’d been the pastor. He was all theory. Just like David.

My dad, on the other hand, had seen his share of messy divorces. There were far more people and far less stigma about divorce in St. Louis. But, even before he pastored, he did marriage and family counseling, and people don’t go to a counselor until they’ve exhausted all their options. He could give me some real-world advice to temper the Sunday school stuff. Without my dad, it seemed I was left with either-or. I had already heard the Sunday school version, so I called my uncle Nolan.

“She’s hiding money,” he said before I even finished the story. “You see, she caught you flat-footed, but I’m sure she didn’t decide to leave you on the drive home. She’s known for a while and she’s been planning.”

“Because?”

“She’s going to take you for everything you’ve got. She’s confident you’ll take care of this little oversight which means, she’ll still get the house. She’s counting on you being a white knight and doing the right thing.”

“So what should I do instead?”

He laughed. “There is no instead. You do the right thing. This is just money. You’ll make more.”

“It could end up being quite a lot of money before it’s all over.”

“The thing is, Michael, you promised to love her, and whether you realized it or not at the time, that means you love her like Jesus loves. I believe that means when she rejects you, when she cheats you, when she spits in your face, you still sacrifice for her.”

I was stunned. I’m not sure what I expected him to say but that straightforward, distilled theology wasn’t it.

“There will be pressure on you to go after her, to make her pay, especially when the lawyers get involved. They will encourage you to claim all sorts of things about her most of which are based on only the faintest hint of truth. Outrageous things like she’s an unfit mother, or that she has a drinking problem or that she’s been unfaithful. Don’t fall for that.”

I hadn’t even thought ahead to the battle.

“You maintain your integrity. Trust me, it will be worth it. You’ll be able to sleep at night.”

I asked the question that would have horrified my mother. “Is that what you did with Aunt Elaine?”

He was quiet for a while, then he said, “This is what your dad told me. He said, ‘Nolan, when I don’t know how to respond to someone, I go back and look at how Jesus did it.’”

I could hear my dad saying that.

“So we studied how Jesus treated the people that walked away from Him. He didn’t take vengeance on them. He didn’t berate them. He didn’t beg them to come back, either. But, he never stopped loving them, and He trusted God the Father to vindicate Him. So that’s what I tried to do.”

I should have talked to Nolan first.

 

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Chapter Two

 

 

Back at my granny’s house, I got Christopher settled in the portable crib, and then I made the mistake of calling Stacy. “Do you know what time it is?” she asked. No time for hello.

“Ten twenty-seven.”

I could imagine her rolling her eyes at this point. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Don’t you think if your dad had died, you’d want to feel some sense of connectedness with the people in your life? Wouldn’t that be natural?”

“I thought we decided we wouldn’t be in each other’s lives anymore.”

We never decided anything. She delivered an edict with which I was expected to comply. “So it’s like cold turkey?”

“Do you ever wonder why we got married in the first place?”

Actually, I had. When I arrived on campus at the University of Tennessee, I was determined to distance myself from my church-boy past, and the first step I took in that direction was joining the brothers of Pi Rho. The Pros. We partied like the rest of the Greeks, then dragged ourselves out of bed for our engineering, or pre-med, or pre-law classes. We believed a man’s tolerance for Jack Daniels had a direct correlation to his management potential. I became a manager at twenty-seven. You can draw your own conclusions.

The Pros had a partnership with the sisters of Theta Nu, so Stacy was there at our very first party. And every party after that. She said I was a good kisser. Now honestly, you tell me what guy wouldn’t follow a girl around like a puppy dog after she said that? Oh, I knew she was lying, but every lie has some sliver of truth, and that sliver was good enough for me.

We started dating, which mostly meant we had the rights to our own sofa at the parties. I met her parents, and they seemed to approve. So when wedding fever hit and Stacy started feeling the pressure because she didn’t have a ring, what else could I do?

I asked her to marry me because obviously, I was supposed to. It was expected. And she had to say yes because she wanted a ring and the notoriety that came with the engagement. If she said no, it might take months before she could cultivate a new relationship and by then, all her friends would have graduated, and she would be left behind.

Of course, I didn’t tell her all that at that moment, and the standard answer—because we fell in love—was a lie neither of us could stomach.

“I’m not sorry,” I said. “Even though it didn’t work out.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Michael, I know this is a very difficult time for you, and your family, your mother, your brother and all those . . . others, they’re probably the best ones to help you right now.” Which meant, don’t call me.

“I’ll be staying through the weekend.”

“Stay as long as you need to.”

Sometimes for entertainment, I’d try to envision what life would be like if Stacy had married David instead. The lecture on the submissive wife would be worth the price of admission all by itself.

But Stacy was my wife, not David’s, at least until the paperwork was filed and the judge spoke failure over us and sent us out into the world again as damaged goods. Regardless of what David thought, I was well aware of what Scripture said about divorce. I also knew that to my mother and father and most of the people who passed through the funeral home tonight, divorce was a personal failure second only to infidelity.

It was a given that no one but Christopher would be sleeping tonight, so I took a chance and headed downstairs, and it was no surprise that Mom and Granny were at the kitchen table, each with a cup of coffee.

“Donna Sue, is he old enough to drink coffee?” Granny’s eyes danced, and she stood to get me a cup.

“I’ll get it,” I said. “Anybody else need a refill?”

“You might warm mine up a little.” Mom handed her cup to me, and I topped it off before pouring my own.

“I thought it said a lot about Dad to have that many people come out when he hadn’t lived here for twenty years,” I said. I took a seat at the table next to my mother.

“Ties are very strong here. The roots are deep,” Granny said. “And he was a fine man. It’s easy to show your respect to a man like that.”

My mother reached over and squeezed my hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “You know, he was the one who shepherded me through all my griefs. I catch myself wanting to hunt him up and say, ‘Phil, what am I going to do?’” She wiped her eyes quickly. “That’s silly, I suppose.”

“Not at all,” I said gently. “It’s a beautiful thing when two people grow to depend on each other that way.” Stacy and I never got anywhere near that place.

“Have you talked to Stacy?” My mother, the mind-reader.

“Just now.”

“How was she?”

“Annoyed.”

My mother frowned. I’m not sure if it was because of my candor or because of Stacy.

“Do you think after this time apart that she may change her mind?”

Not a snowball’s chance. “No.”

“You remember what I said about your uncle James, don’t you? You make sure you talk to him before you leave town.”

“I will.”

My granny mentioned somebody who came through the funeral home, and she and Mom went back and forth about the connections back at least three generations. I gave up trying to follow and sat quietly sipping my coffee.

All of a sudden my granny jumped up. “I’m almost certain I’ve got a picture of you and Andrea.”

“Granny—”

She was gone. “It’ll just take me a minute to find! Hang on!” she called from the other room.

“What’s she talking about?”

Mom shrugged and shook her head.

Granny returned with a faded photo album which she dropped onto the kitchen table in triumph. “Vacation Bible School.”

It was the summer before we moved, so my hair was white blond, and I had freckles from ear to ear. My front teeth were coming in, so my smile was goofy and uneven. Almost an inch of sock showed beneath my pants. That was one of the growing summers.

The thing that made my granny almost giggle was the fact that I was holding hands with Andrea Maddox. The sweet satisfaction in Andrea’s eyes said it was not an unwelcome thing at all. She was tanned and had a red swipe of antiseptic across her knee. She wore frilly socks with her Keds so there was no mistaking she was a girl, albeit a girl who would not let a little thing like being dressed in a jumper slow her down.

My dad was pastoring a church over in Daniels Fork then, but there wasn’t really a question whether we would attend Bible school at my Uncle James’s church. I remember David and the older kids made puppets and I was jealous because we only made pencil holders.

“Are you trying to say something, Granny?” I asked.

“When God gives you a second chance, you’d best take it.”

“A second chance?” I was playing dumb.

She shook her head. “I saw them give you that degree. I know you’re a smart boy. Do you think it’s just a coincidence that that girl has never married and here she is staring thirty right in the face? God is saving her for you.”

My mother smiled.

“Granny, I think you’ve been up too long. You’re getting loopy.”

“Scoff if you want to, but I’m going to tell you the truth.” She leaned up to the table and pointed right at me. “Five, maybe even three years from now, you’re going to sidle into my house, all sheepish, and you’re going to admit to me that bottle-blonde leaving you was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Don’t hold back, Granny.”

“Mark my words.” Then she looked at my mother. “Donna Sue, if I don’t live that long, you hold him to it.”

“Oh, I will, Mama.”

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Monday, January 30

It is no fault of the shepherd when he ends up with a black sheep. That doesn’t make it any easier on him, though. My father was one of the greatest men who ever lived, but through no fault of his own, Phil Shannon ended up with a black sheep. Me. I spent my adult life, up until the time my father died, convinced that he was disappointed in me.

I wasn’t exactly the model preacher’s son. That was my brother, David. David was a hard act to follow. He was always the first one to learn the memory verses. He memorized the books of the Bible when he couldn’t even pronounce most the Minor Prophets. He followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather to the pulpit. His theology was impeccable. His haircut piously conservative, and his suits were appropriately dull.

I’ve stood beside him when my dad would introduce us, and even while folks were shaking my hand, they’d say things like, “We never knew you had two boys.” My father, to his credit, would always follow that with a comment about how well I did in math or about my gentle nature. He’d look me in the eyes and smile, and that would let me know he understood.

Being a pastor’s son, I learned to watch his eyes. They told the real story regardless of what his mouth was saying. Not that my father was a liar, but he was a consummate diplomat. And a doormat.

I accused him of being a doormat anyway. When he asked me why I’d quit going to church, I told him I’d seen enough. I saw the toll it took on him, on my mother, and I said I was through with it. That’s when I saw the disappointment. It didn’t matter how many times he told me he understood, not that he agreed, mind you, but he understood. It didn’t even matter how many times he told me he loved me or when he stood with me at graduation and told me he was proud of me. I saw his eyes. Even in the snapshots my mother took, I could see a hint of it.

I’m glad nobody was around to take pictures the afternoon I told him about Stacy and me. I didn’t have to tell him, and there was no way he would have ever known if I hadn’t confessed it. But I don’t think I could have slept otherwise.

He and Mom had come to visit me in Knoxville, and my dad and I took a long walk while Mom visited with my uncle Nolan. I can remember the exact rock I was looking at when I said, “Dad, Stacy and I have been together.”

He took a long slow moment while it sunk in, then he said, “Do you love her?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Do you intend to marry her?”

“If she’ll have me.”

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then he raised his eyes to mine and he said, “I’m glad you thought enough of me to tell me.”

I saw failure in his eyes.

“Michael, there’s very little I can tell you that you don’t already know. You’ve chosen to make things more difficult, more complicated than they needed to be. You have forced your relationship with Stacy out of the place where God can bless it and protect it.”

“I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you make it out to be.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s fairly obvious.”

Those were the first words I thought of as I stood in the baby’s bedroom the day after my father’s funeral. Stacy looked at me and said, “I’m not going to Stinson with you for the memorial. I want a divorce, Michael.”

 

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