Page 133 of Intermission

Hold on.

The familiar words caress my mind, but over the last few hours, they’ve grown thorns.

“Hold on?” I tilt my face toward the source of the rain. “Holdon?” Anger laces every syllable. “Are youkiddingme?”

The rain stings my upturned eyes, but I ignore it. Every muscle tightens with anger, disappointment, and...

Betrayal.

“He didn’t come.” My hands clench into fists. “He didn’t come! It’sover.” My teeth clench around a guttural shout, a sob that scalds my throat. “There isnothing leftto hold on to!”

Huge, stinging drops of rain plunge from the sky.

God-sized drops. As if his tears are joined to my sorrow, but... bigger.

My anger deflates upon a double-edged sword, hidden in my heart. I drop to my knees, letting it penetrate my soul and spirit, each joint of my body, to the core of every bone.

Jesus wept.

A corner of my soul senses warmth. I cling to it.

“He didn’t come,” I whisper, and even though the storm is loud, I know I’m heard. “But you stayed. You’ve always stayed.”

I think back to the moments I clung to words I’d hidden in my head and, later, my heart. Of how I learned a truer, more loving meaning of obedience through the spiteful gift of one who meant to use that concept as a punishment and a means of control.

“I held on... and you’ve held me. You know this feeling, don’t you? Your heart’s been broken, too.”

Peace.There is still pain—so much pain—but within it, peace.

I push to my feet and reach for a sapling, higher than the limb I tried the first time. It’s thin, but green youth gives the living wood strength and flexibility, and its roots stretch deep enough to support my weight. It bows as I lean back, but it doesn’t break, and that bend allows me to hang on and walk my feet up the steep slope.

With the baby tree supporting most of my weight, my sneakers have an easier time finding traction in the clay. I throw one leg over the top of the bank and then the other. With four sets of claws to help her ascent, Janey scampers up more easily.

“Double time, Janey. Let’s get back to the car before the storm gets any worse.”

Each blast of thunder pulses in my chest. Keeping the flashlight trained to the ground in front of me, I break into a reluctant jog tokeep up with Janey’s stride along the trail. By the time we break through the clearing by the entrance, my sides ache, and my legs are rubber.

With shaking hands, I unlock the car. Janey jumps in the backseat. I’ve barely closed the door when theping-pingof white pebbles begins to dance on the hood of my car.

“Hail?” I’m thankful we made it to the car in time, but... “This can’t be good.”

I fumble to put my key in the ignition and then spin the heat knob to the opposite setting I needed upon arrival.

Janey shakes, splattering the car’s interior with cold water and mud. This is going to be murder to clean, but I don’t care. We have heat.

Tiny spheres of ice bounce on the hood of the car, like Mexican Jumping Beans. I execute a five-point turn. We need to find shelter, someplace safe to wait out the storm.

I’m exhausted, filthy, wet, cold, and more than five miles from Grandma Maddie’s which, judging by the angle of the hail, will be driving into the storm.

I just want to go home.

The thought crunches against my better judgment. I release the accelerator. The car slows. Stops.

It’s so close. I could go in, take a hot shower, sleep in my old bed...

But how would I explain my appearance at this late hour? Uninvited, unannounced, filthy...

I don’t want to lie.