Authors: Nicole O'Dell
She hurried from the dining room through the bright kitchen and out to the garage.
“What’s going on out here?” With her hands on her hips, she stared down four of the beefiest men she’d ever seen.
One smirked. “Simmer down, cupcake.”
“Hey!”
They can’t talk to me like that
.
Another one, probably the boss, shot him a dirty look. “Miss, everything’s fine. That crash you heard was one of our dollies falling from the truck. No harm done.”
“Oh. Okay.” She suddenly became aware of her stance and relaxed. “Sorry I overreacted. I just want this day to be perfect for my mom. It’s her birthday, you know.”
“I didn’t know that. We’ll have to make sure it’s a special one.” He turned to his men. “Back to work, boys.”
Satisfied, Amber turned to leave the garage. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she glanced each way down the street before walking into the house. What was she looking for? It felt uneasy, as though something was about to … or should…. happen. They weren’t expecting visitors, but something was missing. Amber watched the street for signs of life, or a sign of something anyway. No cars headed her way, no one moved about on the streets. Who did she expect to see anyway?
Brittany
. That’s what was missing. Brittany should be there sharing the change with her, helping her make this new house a home, exploring the town. But no. She wouldn’t be coming. Nothing had been the same since she cut Amber out of her life. Britt had never replied to the letter, never answered her phone, wouldn’t come to her door—she had washed her hands of her best friend. How could someone do that?
Amber snorted—amazed at her own thoughts. She’d been the bad friend—not Brittany. She couldn’t blame Brittany for being so mad and hurt, but she sure did miss her.
What if she never forgives me?
Amber couldn’t shake that thought as she turned back toward the house.
What if?
“I FORGIVE YOU.”
Amber reeled back, stopped in her tracks by a powerful force. The thought—the words—hit Amber’s gut, pierced her heart like an arrow shot from a bow. She knew those words were intended for her, and somehow she knew they had come from God.
She grabbed hold. Waves of peace washed over her. She stood and reveled in the feeling, engulfed by complete acceptance. Amber felt loved. The warmth, the presence, surrounded her—she didn’t feel alone anymore, never would. She’d found what she’d been looking for all this time. It had been right there, she needed to reach out for it, to grab on and claim it for herself.
Amber made her way to the front porch where she sank into the swing and took in the scenery. No more looking back. No more looking side to side, up and down the street. No more waiting. Amber looked up to the hills—to the mountains. There she found her hope.
I,
(include your name here)
, have read the story of Amber Stevens and have learned from the choices she made and the consequences she faced in both her education and her relationships.
So:
Please pray the following prayer:
Father God, please let the lessons I learned as I read about Amber imprint onto my heart, that I might remember to uphold these standards I’ve committed to. Help me to be an honest person in all things, placing honor and godliness above personal gain, recognition, success or anything else the world might dangle before me. I know You have everything under control, so I submit to Your will. Amen
.
Congratulations on your decision!
Please sign this contract signifying your commitment. Have someone you trust, like a parent or a pastor, witness your choice.
Signed____________________________________________________
Witnessed by_______________________________________________
Wil, when I think about true love and God’s design for marriage, I’m so grateful He led me to you. Your sense of humor and your patience have taught me so much—you bring music to our home. I wrote this book—which deals with one of life’s touchiest subjects—with the desire to help our daughters prepare for their future. You are a wonderful father, and I pray our girls demand nothing less in a husband. I love you
.
—Nicole
Lilly LeMure pressed the pillow over her ears, trying to drown out the shouting.
You can’t hear them. Nothing’s happening. You’re safe in your room
.
No use. The voices coming from down the hall grew louder.
“You need to get a real job. You’re getting fat and dumb sitting behind a desk all day, fetching coffee for middle managers.” Stan’s voice held an edge, taunting Mom to fight back—which she usually did.
“That’s not what I do, and you know it. How can you even say that?” Mom’s voice rose with each word. “I make more money than you. You’re just lazy.”
Didn’t they care that Lilly could hear everything they said? She squeezed the pillowharder. Fights between Mom and Stan headed downhill fast—faster each time. She pondered the few moments of peace that had peppered the past few years. Those times used to be more frequent but were a rarity lately.
Still covering her ears, Lilly strained to hear sounds of the fight. Silence. She slowly let go of one side of the pillow and waited a few more seconds—no yelling. Releasing the other side, she sat up on her bed, letting the pillow fall to the floor, then leaned toward the door to listen.
Lilly’s West Highland terrier jumped up on the bed, nails plucking at the crocheted afghan, and started licking her hand. “Not now, Paisley. Shh.” She moved the fluffy little dog to the floor and leaned even closer to the door.
A thick blanket of blond hair hung over her eye. She brushed the hair away and tucked it behind her ear, but it fell right back. Irritated, Lilly pulled the hair tie from around her wrist and gathered all of her thick, straight hair into her hands, twisted it into a bun, and slipped the band around the whole thing, securing it behind her head, out of her way.
There it was.
Sigh
. Muffled crying. The familiar sound of Mom’s soft sobs. Lilly looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. Why did Mom always let it come to this? What kind of person allowed herself to get pushed and worked up to the point of tears so often? What a way to live.
She waited a few minutes to make sure the fight didn’t start up again. It rarely did after Mom dissolved, but Lily could never be sure. No loud bangs, no yelling, no dangerous crashes. All she heard was the sound of her mom crying.
Unwilling to let Mom suffer alone, Lilly stood up. She tugged her sweater down to cover her midriff and stepped over her pillow on the way to the door. One hand on the knob, she took a deep breath. Blowing the air from her lungs, Lilly opened the door swiftly to keep the hinges from squealing, then stepped out into the hallway.
She crept toward her mom’s bedroom, trying to step over the floorboards that creaked—no sense alerting Stan to her presence. Peering around the corner and through the doorway, Lilly’s breath caught at the scene. Mom sat on the floor, her back against the wall with her knees drawn to her chest and poking out through the slit in her once-pink fuzzy bathrobe. A faded pink slipper covered one foot,
but the other was bare. Lilly’s eyes located the missing shoe on the floor across the room where it had most likely been thrown.
Why, Mom?
Didn’t she believe she was worth more than this? Paisley snuck into the room, went right to Mom, and started licking the pink toenail polish on her naked foot.
No light shone from the bathroom, and except for the sobs, the room stood silent. Stan must have left the house. Had the garage door gone up? Lilly couldn’t remember hearing it, but it was possible she just hadn’t noticed. What should she do? If Stan was in there, she sure didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. Go to Mom? Wait?
The door to Stan’s walk-in closet flew open and banged against the wall. He barged out with his coat on and keys in his hand, then stormed across the room and blustered through the doorway Lilly leaned against. Stan didn’t say a word—didn’t even glance at her. Invisible—which she preferred at times like this.
Lilly heard the garage door go up. She waited. A few seconds later, it went down. Mom used to beg him not to drive when he got like this—now she just let him leave.
With Stan finally gone for sure, Lilly hurried across the room, stepping over a lamp and several books strewn across the floor. Crouching beside her mom on the floor, Lilly put her arms around her. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
Mom shrugged her shoulders and shook Lilly’s hands off her arms. “I’m fine. We only had a little argument.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “He didn’t mean anything by all of this. Stan’s been working two part-time jobs, and now he’s feeling pressure to get another one. He’ll be okay.”
Sigh
. Same old excuses.
Stan’s under pressure. Stan didn’t mean it. Stan means well
. It had been four years. When would it end? When would Mom get some self-respect? She still seemed to hope Lilly would grow to like, even love, Stan. Not a chance.
Lord, please help her
. “Okay, Mom. You want to be alone?”
Mom ran her fingers through her mop of curly hair—dyed to her original honey blond, which matched her daughter’s—then blew her red, puffy nose into a crumpled tissue. “Yeah. I’ll pull myself together and be downstairs in a few minutes.”
Lilly knew what came next—it always happened the same way. She’d leave, and Momwould start bawling again—might even turn on the tub faucet to drown out the sounds of her sobs. Eventually, she’d take a shower, trying to wash away the tears. After about an hour, Mom would emerge from her bedroom with makeup on, fresh clothes, perfume trailing behind her—the works. All in an effort to prove she had it together. The next day, Stan and Mom would be all lovey-dovey. They’d spend the day together and pretend they were newlyweds. Then, on Sunday, they’d sit beside each other at church, hold hands, smile, and nod along with the sermon. Monday? It would start all over.
Lilly walked from the room and pulled the door toward her. Right before it closed, she tilted her head and waited. On cue, the faucet came on in a loud gush, but not before the crying resumed. Unable to listen any longer, she hurried to her room and shut the door. Ridiculous. She’d never let a man treat her like that. Shouldn’t a husband love and protect his wife? Not badger and belittle her, that’s for sure. Not that Mom acted like a perfect wife, but still.
Lilly reached for her phone. Talking to Jason always made her feel better. Holding down the number two button until the speed dial kicked in, she waited for it to connect. Oh fun. He’d changed his caller tune. As she waited for him to pick up, she listened to a few bars of a love song they’d heard on the radio the other day.
“Hey, cutie.” Jason answered his phone with his customary greeting.
“Hey.” Lilly smiled. “I like the new caller tune. Sweet of you to remember.”
“Ah, I’m like that—nice, ya know.”
“Yeah. I’m the only one who can hear it, though. Right?”
“‘Course. You think I want my buddies hearing me be all romantic like that?”
“Ha-ha. I’m going to tell them.” Memories of the past hour flew from her mind; stress rolled off her shoulders.
“You go right ahead. They’ll never believe old manly me is sappy.”
“You’re probably right.” Lilly wished she could see him. His clear blue eyes always had a calming effect on her. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’m hanging out in Dad’s garage. We’re changing the oil in his car and replacing the filter so we can tuck ‘er in for winter.”
Lilly could picture Jason in his greasy work jeans and a white T-shirt with oily handprints, bent over the tricked-out hood of his dad’s vintage silver Jaguar. They babied that car, treated her like a pretty lady should be treated. She wondered if he’d shoved his thick, wavy hair into a cap as he sometimes did when he worked. His brown curls never stayed tucked under there for long.
“Sounds like fun.” Lilly put a carefree lilt in her voice, not wanting to distract him with her worries. “I won’t keep you then. Just checking in.”
“‘S’okay. Your voice sounds like you’re lying down, which usually means you’re frustrated. Which always means there was a fight.”
How did he know that? He could see into her soul—knew better than anyone it seemed. “Yeah. No biggie, though. Don’t even worry about it.”
“We’ll talk about it, cutie. Later tonight, okay?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Lilly smiled. “Call me when you’re free.” She pressed the O
FF
button on her phone and slipped it into the front pocket of her jeans. She rested her hands under her head and stared at the ceiling. Stan and Jason. Different as night and day. Her stepfather could really take some sensitivity lessons from her boyfriend. Poor Mom. She deserved someone like Jason—not like the jerk she married.
Enough. Lilly stood up, adjusted her sweater again, and resolved to put the misery behind her and grab something worthwhile out of the afternoon. She looked out the window. There were tons of leaves all over the yard. Maybe if she raked them up, Jason—or maybe even Stan—would burn them; the smell of burning leaves would put everyone in a good mood. Plus, it would sure feel good to get outside in the fresh air.
While Lilly dug in the hall closet for something warm to wear, she finally heard the shower stop. She pictured her mom toweling off, looking at her puffy face and red eyes in the mirror, wondering how she could possibly hide the evidence of the afternoon. She’d be awhile.
Pulling on boots and a green puffy vest, Lilly hurried out of the house, letting the aluminum screen door snap shut with a slam. If Stan were home, he’d bellow from his recliner, “Don’t slam the door.” Lilly realized long ago that Stan much preferred to pretend she didn’t exist than to hear her or, worst of all, see her. Fighting the urge to go slam the door again, Lilly went to the garage for a rake.