Where It All Began Read online

  Raquel turned to the mirror and pulled out her lipstick. “I wish Philip would do that for me, or even open my car door like Henry did for you. Maybe not every time, but once in a while would be nice.”

  I nodded absently. This new feeling of appreciation and lack of nausea had me distracted. Could I be developing feelings for this man or was I just reacting to the kindness he had shown tonight? I sat down on the plush red couch and peered around as the realization that there was a couch in the bathroom sunk in. Above me, an elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling. The counter was a white marble, and the walls were painted gold. White tile gleamed on the floor, and even the stall doors were white with gold trim. This restaurant bathroom was nicer than any I had ever seen.

  Raquel finished touching up her makeup, and we returned to the table. Henry stood as we approached and again helped me with my chair. Our soup and salads arrived a moment later, and everyone reached for a fork, except Henry. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his hands folded on the table, his eyes closed, and his head bowed. Realizing he was praying, I put my own hands down and waited for him to finish. It seemed the respectful thing to do and a small way to say thank you for his kindness to me. Only when he picked up his fork did I follow suit.

  As we finished the appetizer, Philip and Raquel’s meals arrived, and I tried hard not to stare at the beautiful plate. The tantalizing smells of meat tickled my nose, and though I was no longer hungry, my stomach complained it wasn’t getting the delicious food accompanying the aroma. Henry and I each took another slice of bread and smiled at each other. Had he ordered the same to be nice or was he short on cash like I was? The talk turned to Philip’s practice and the crazy stories from the hospital while Raquel and Philip finished their dinner. Henry and I listened in a companionable silence.

  Then the waiter returned. “How was everything?”

  “It was very good,” Philip spoke up before the rest of us could say a word.

  “Wonderful, now there is no rush, but how would you like to handle the bill sir?” His eyes jumped from one person to the next. I blanched and swallowed.

  “I’ll take ours,” Philip said, pointing to himself and Raquel.

  “And I’ll take ours,” Henry jumped in. I shot him a relieved smile. A few minutes later the men paid the tab, and we headed back to Philip’s car. Though it was still fall, a chill had descended while we were in the restaurant, and I shivered as it breeched my skin.

  “I have a coat in the car,” Henry whispered.

  “I’m fine, really,” I smiled up at him even as I hugged my arms tighter around myself. Little goose bumps popped out on my arms.

  When we reached the car, he opened my door before climbing in his own side. He passed his brown leather jacket to me, and I accepted, pulling the jacket up to my neck. The smell of leather and sandalwood tickled my nose as I took a deep breath. I missed the masculinity. The ride back was quiet, but I couldn’t help stealing glances at Henry. He seemed so nice; could he be genuine? And even if he was, could I handle male companionship again? Before I could completely sort that thought out, we arrived back at Raquel’s apartment.

  “I’d love to stay babe, but I have an early day tomorrow,” Philip said, giving Raquel a quick kiss. She sighed up at him, but relented and crawled out of the car. Henry followed suit and then opened my door.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Henry executed a little bow at Raquel and then at me. “I sure hope we can meet again.” His eyes stared directly into mine.

  Heat crawled across my face. “I’d like that.” Henry climbed into the passenger side of Philip’s car. As the men drove off, I realized I still had his jacket in my arms. A little smile tugged at my lips at the thought that I’d have to see him again to return his jacket.

  “So do you think you’ll see him again,” Raquel teased.

  “Maybe,” I smiled, “I think I’d kind of like to.”

  I hugged her goodnight and returned to my own car. My heart fluttered as I replayed the night in my mind on the drive back.

  As I entered the apartment, I hung Henry’s jacket on the coat rack by the front door and changed for bed. It wasn’t until I was in bed with my eyes closed that I realized I hadn’t taken a comfort sip from my stash.

  Understanding a Loving God

  The sunlight filtering in the window woke me the next morning. As I yawned and stretched, I realized I had actually had a decent night’s sleep. No dreams, no crying baby, just silence. Blessed silence. Better still, I didn’t feel the need for a drink this morning.

  Smiling, I rolled out bed, dressed, and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. On my way, I passed the brown leather jacket, and my heart warmed. There was definitely something about Henry that was affecting me, and I couldn’t wait to find out about what it was.

  As I was putting the grounds in the coffee maker, a knock sounded at the door. I glanced at my watch. Who could that be? It’s only 9 am.

  After pushing the button on the coffee maker, I crossed to the front door. No one was visible through the peephole, so I turned the lock and opened the door cautiously. There was no one on the stoop, but a bouquet of beautiful flowers lay there. I poked my head out as I retrieved the flowers, looking quickly left and right, but no one was to be seen. Whoever had dropped them had disappeared without a trace. I brought the flowers inside and shut the door.

  In the kitchen, I pulled down a vase from the top brown cupboard. After filling it with water, I unwrapped the flowers and placed them inside. A small white envelope poked out from the top of the pink carnations and white daisies. Plucking the envelope, I opened it up. A handwritten note stared back at me:

  Thank you for a wonderful dinner last night. I hope to see more of you. –Henry

  Would his charm never cease? I tried to remember the last time Peter had brought me flowers. Maybe our first Valentine’s Day together over three years ago? Yes, there had been a bouquet of roses that day. Once we had started dating seriously though, his practicality had kicked in; flowers no longer made any sense because they just died, so he had bought books or clothes. One Christmas he had even bought a vacuum cleaner. That had not gone over well. I kind of missed the flowers.

  The coffee finished brewing, and I poured myself a mug, bringing it and the vase to my small kitchen table. As I admired the flowers, I thought about the previous night. There must be something wrong with Henry; he was too nice, too charming to still be single. Though I was interested, I’d have to keep an eye out for whatever his fault was. I finished my coffee, a smile still on my face, before dressing for work.

  I arrived at work just a few minutes before shift; Raquel was already there dressed in her scrubs and putting her purse in her locker.

  “Well, you look happy,” she said, closing the door.

  “I do?” I tilted my head and smiled. “Well it might have to do with the fact that I received flowers on my doorstep this morning.”

  Raquel’s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together. “Ooh do tell.”

  I laughed at her childlike display. “Not much to tell yet. I was making coffee, and I heard a knock at my door. By the time I got there, no one was there, but a bouquet of pink carnations and white daisies was on my doorstep. There was a card from Henry saying he had a nice time and he hopes we can get together again soon.”

  “He likes you,” Raquel teased, “I knew he did. You could tell just from the way he looked at you.”

  A blush colored my face. “It’s still early; I think he was just being nice.”

  Raquel raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh, sure, nice. I don’t think Philip has even bought me flowers yet.”

  “What? That’s terrible.”

  “Well, he’s handsome and rich, so flowers aren’t that big of a deal.” Raquel flicked her hand in dismissal. “Oh, we better get going,” she said, glancing at her watch.

  I finished shoving my purse inside and closed my locker door. As I followed Raquel out, I couldn’t help wondering if mon
ey was really more important to her than simple gestures?

  When I returned to the apartment that evening, Henry’s brown leather jacket greeted me at the door. As much as I enjoyed having it in my apartment, he probably wanted it back. My watch showed 7 pm, surely it would be okay to bring it back to him now. After approving my reflection in the mirror, I grabbed the jacket, locked the door, and headed the few doors down to 2B.

  As I stood outside his door, my stomach knotted. Will he consider me too bold coming over here? No, he had sent me flowers after all. I wiped my sweaty palm on my pants, took a deep breath, and brought my knuckles down on his door. Waiting, I held my breath until the click of the lock sounded. The door swung inward, and Henry smiled from the other side. His blue shirt complemented his skin tone and hugged his muscular arms.

  I swallowed, forcing my eyes to his face. “Here,” – I pushed the jacket out to him – “I didn’t mean to keep this last night.”

  His eyes danced back and forth as he reached for the jacket. “Thank you; I know you didn’t. Would you like to come in for some tea?”

  I bit my lip. I did want to come in; I wanted to know more about him, but should I go in? Even while the mental battle raged, I found my head nodding and my feet stepping forward.

  His apartment was similar in layout to my own; we entered the living room first, which was decorated much more masculine in browns and blues. A kitchen was off to the right, and a hallway led out of the living room to the bathrooms and bedrooms. He was obviously neat as everything was in a place, but he was no minimalist. Three bookcases sat about the room, each teeming with books. A brown coffee table sat in the middle of the room and held a thick black book, a notebook, and a pen.

  “Have a seat,” he said, pointing to his tan couch. “I’ll get the water going.” As he crossed to the kitchen, I sat on the couch, taking the room in. There were a few nature paintings hung along the walls, but the most prominent art was a small wooden cross hanging over one of the bookcases. I don’t know why it commanded my attention in the room; it wasn’t even ornate, but I found my eyes drawn to it.

  The sound of running water finally pulled my attention away from the wooden figure, and I glanced down to the coffee table. I picked up the thick black book: The Holy Bible. I sighed; I should have known from him praying at dinner. Maybe this was why he was still single; he was one of those crazy religious nuts. Quickly glancing over my shoulder, I opened the book. I’d never really examined a Bible before, and the thinness of the pages surprised me, but not as much as the markings in the book. Yellow highlighter sprinkled across many verses and handwriting covered the blank spaces. I touched the thin paper; I’d never written in a book, and he had filled nearly every blank space.

  “Do you read the Bible?”

  I jumped at his voice and slammed the book shut. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled up at him, “I should have asked first. I was just curious.”

  He smiled, “I have nothing to hide in that book. You are welcome to look through it any time.” The tea kettle whistled, and he turned back to the kitchen. A cupboard opened and dishes clanked.

  I opened the book again. I didn’t know much about the Bible, but like the wooden cross, I felt an odd pull to the pages. My finger ran down the words and tingled. I wasn’t even reading them, just skimming, but something felt different than other books.

  “I was studying John,” he said, sitting beside me and placing a tea cup on the coffee table for me. Steam curled above the brown mug. “Have you read it?”

  I peered up at him. “I don’t think I have. I mean I’ve never had a Bible, so unless I read part of it somewhere else, I guess I haven’t.”

  “Ah, well the Bible is comprised of lots of books written by men inspired by God. John is one of the books that talks about Jesus coming down to earth to die for the sins of the world. Have you heard of Jesus?”

  “A little, I think.” I grasped the mug and let the warmth travel up my arms. “Wasn’t he a nice person who did good deeds a long time ago?”

  Henry nodded. “He was that, but also much more. He was perfect and sinless, and he performed miracles when he was on earth before he was killed. But there was something different about him. He rose from the dead after being crucified and ascended back into heaven three days later.”

  My head dropped forward, and I stared at him not sure I’d heard correctly. Alarm bells sounded in my head as my eyebrow shot up. “You think he came back from the dead?”

  “No,” – Henry shook his head and smiled – “I know he did. You see the Bible is God’s word to us. It is a map of what happened, and a map of what will happen. It tells me that Jesus died and rose from the dead three days later.”

  “Why did he have to die?” I took a sip of my tea and peeked at him while trying to decide if he was delusional. The story seemed crazy, but also a little interesting.

  “Well, God used to allow sacrificial lambs to cover the sins of his people, but he knew humans aren’t perfect, and he wanted to give a sacrifice that would last forever. He sent his son, Jesus, to be a sacrifice for all of us so that when we get to heaven, we will be able to stand clean in God’s presence.”

  “So, everyone goes to heaven?”

  Henry shook his head and studied his cup. “No, I’m afraid not. God gives everyone free will. He wants us all to go to heaven, but he also wants us to choose him, and, sadly, not everyone will.”

  “Why would people not choose God?” I didn’t know much about God, but it seemed if choosing him was the way to heaven, then it was an easy choice. Cocking my head to the side, I waited for his answer.

  “Well, some people don’t want to give up control of their lives. They want to be able to do what they want when they want. You see when you believe in God, then you also believe Jesus died for your sins, so you first have to believe you sin; many people don’t. Then, Jesus told his disciples he was leaving them with the Holy Spirit when he returned to heaven.

  “The Holy Spirit dwells within each believer, and therefore we should not want to do anything that would grieve the Holy Spirit. A lot of people don’t like that part because they might have to give up something they love, like premarital sex or cursing or a multitude of other sins. Of course, God knows we aren’t perfect and allows us to ask for forgiveness but Jesus said, ‘Go and sin no more,’ so we have to try and stop the sinning.

  “What these people don’t understand is they may have to give up some things on earth, but this life is fleeting, and the eternity spent with God will be so much better than anything here. It makes the sacrifices worth it.”

  Henry’s words had stirred my excitement, until he mentioned premarital sex. A weight descended on my shoulders, and I dropped my eyes to the mug cooling in my hands. I not only had practiced that, but had been living with my boyfriend and had eliminated a baby conceived in it. If premarital sex grieved God, how much more would killing my baby? He certainly would never allow someone like me into heaven.

  “Sandra? Are you okay?”

  Henry was staring at me. Biting my lip, I tried to come up with something to tell him. I certainly couldn’t tell him about my past; he’d never like me if I did. My eyes darted to the large wooden cross and quickly away as I conjured up an excuse. “Yes, sorry, I just remembered that I have something important to do.” I placed the cup back on the table and stood.

  His face pulled at my heart strings; I didn’t want him to think I didn’t like him, but the sobering thought had stirred the desire for a drink. Plus, I needed clarity to decide what to do about the new knowledge of Henry’s character. “I’d love to chat together again though,” I offered in hopes of soothing the situation.

  That seemed to soothe his ego as his eyes brightened, and he led the way to the door. “I’d really like that, too.”

  As I walked back to my apartment, I wondered if my terrible deed and Henry’s religious outlook could ever co-mingle. I didn’t know much about God, but Henry had made him sound wonderful. With so many huge mistakes t
hough, would God ever accept me? And would Henry if he knew how damaged I really was? Henry had said God sent Jesus to die for our sins, but would he forgive my biggest sin? I didn’t even know if God was what made Henry so different, but if it was, I wanted a taste of what he seemed to have.

  After locking the door behind me, I headed straight for the bedroom like a missile. I needed the clarity and peace only the bottle could supply. A satisfying swig soothed the ruffled nerves, but the questions continued to swirl about in my head.

  The Lies We Tell

  Work consumed my next few days, not leaving much time to think about Henry or God’s acceptance. I had just shrugged off my coat when a knock sounded at the door behind me. Glancing at my watch, I wondered who could be knocking on my door at seven at night. As I opened the door, Henry smiled, looking boyish and nervous.

  “I was wondering if you might feel up to a walk?” His hands were jammed in the pockets of his tan pants, and he rocked back and forth on his heels.

  A warm sensation trickled over me. “I’d like that, but I just got home, and I haven’t eaten. I’m starving.”

  “There’s a little cafe about three blocks from here,” he suggested, “We could get our walk and dinner.” He raised an eyebrow, and hope danced in his eyes.

  I smiled, opening the door wider. “That sounds great. Come on in; I just want to change into something more comfortable.”

  As he entered the apartment, his eyes surveyed the room. “You can have a seat there if you’d like.” I pointed at the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

  I dashed into the bedroom and ripped off my scrubs. Donning a pair of jeans and a peach shirt, I checked my makeup and breath and then slipped on some tennis shoes before heading back to the living room.