@Pastor_Gavin: “Stand up, be brave, and confront your fears with determination. God’s got your back. #StrongerWithHim”
Claire stared at her computer screen and sighed as she reread her tweet. It had been two weeks since she had spotted Gavin at The Saddle—a really long, hard stretch of time that she spent vacillating between righteous anger and fear for their marriage. She knew that she needed to talk to him, but something kept stopping her. It was as though acknowledging it would make it more real. In their three years of marriage, she and Gavin had fought, but it was about small stuff: whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher or who would get up at 3:00 a.m. when Sadie started crying. They’d always been on the same page for the big things, and she’d never once questioned Gavin’s commitment to her. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding, like her mom said. But what if it wasn’t? What would she do then?
She hadn’t told her friends yet, and with every day that she didn’t confront Gavin, she thought of how hard she’d pushed Gabby to come clean to Tony. It was hard to tell the truth, but as it turned out, it was just as hard to ask for it.
Taking her own tweet to heart, Claire said a quick prayer and walked down the hall, knocking on Gavin’s open office door. “You have a second?” she asked, standing in the frame, her stomach in knots.
He looked up distractedly from his computer, his black frame glasses slipping down his nose. “For you, always.”
“Wanna go for a walk?” Claire asked, holding her shoulders back and ignoring how her palms had begun to sweat. “I just need some fresh air.”
“Sure, babe.”
They walked through the quiet church gardens, shivering in the crisp November air, and settled onto a stone bench nestled in between pansies and geraniums.
“How’s your day going?” Gavin asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
She turned toward him, pulling her sweater closer around herself. “It’s . . . it’s fine. Look, you always say you need to practice what you preach, so I’m gonna do that, okay?” She took a deep breath.
Gavin cocked his head to the side. “Is everything okay?”
Claire scuffed her black-heeled boots against the ground, anxiety coursing through her veins. “Remember when I went to the Gumbo Fest with the girls? I was driving behind you and you didn’t go home. . . .” A lump formed in her throat. “I saw you at The Saddle, Gavin.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. For a long moment he just stared at her and bile rose in her throat. Then he put his warm hand on hers. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? This had to have been eating you up for days.” He ruefully half-smiled. “Claire, if you would’ve just talked to me, I would’ve told you why I was there.”
Claire pushed her wind-blown hair behind her ears, confused. “And why’s that?”
Gavin started stroking her palm with his thumb. “One of the girls who works there has a kid and a drug problem. Her aunt asked me to intervene and help her.” He squinted up at the sunny blue sky. “I should’ve just told you, but the girl’s abusive ex is trying to get custody of the kid, so her aunt asked me to keep it a secret. If the ex found out, she could lose her son.” He looked her directly in the eye. “I’m so sorry if you thought anything inappropriate was going on.”
Claire’s entire body went slack—she hadn’t even realized how tense she’d been. Of course it was just for church outreach. Of course. “So, were you able to help the girl?”
“I hope so. It’s a really sad situation.” He shook his head. “But I think I was able to get through to her.”
Claire felt like a fool. Her husband was such a good man, and all she’d done was jump to conclusions and throw accusations at him. “I’ll pray for her,” Claire said, squeezing his hand.
Gavin smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “By the way,” he said, frown lines wrinkling his brow, “why did you follow me? Do you not trust me?”
Claire’s stomach clenched. This whole time she’d thought Gavin was jeopardizing their marriage, when in reality, she had been. She’d created a problem where there was none, and gone as far as following him.
“Of course I trust you, Gavin. I was just so confused when you said you’d be at one place and ended up driving in another direction. But I never should’ve just assumed something without asking you about it.” She buried her face in her hands. “I feel like I’ve failed our marriage.”
Gavin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in toward him for a kiss. “You could never fail me, Claire. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Claire said.
“We should probably get back to work,” Gavin said, checking the time on his iPhone. “I’ve got a couple coming in for premarital counseling in ten minutes.”
Back at her desk, relief washed over Claire, followed by a twinge of guilt. Why did she even question Gavin? She’d known there had to be another explanation. That’s why she’d been so mad at Madison in the first place. She flashed back to his wedding vows. Gavin had thanked God for putting her in his life, and had promised to Him, their families, and their friends that he would always treat her with love and respect. That he would always be faithful and believe in them, even when times got hard.
Claire thought about her accusation, how she’d doubted his faithfulness. That wasn’t showing belief in him—or them, for that matter. But as awful as she felt about the whole situation, she was experiencing a renewed sense of their relationship. God worked in mysterious ways, and it was time she showed that she had as much faith in her husband as she had in Him.
With that, she pulled up Twitter and typed: “When things get dark, remember that God is ready with the flashlight.”
19
madison
MADISON HAD BEEN on her best behavior in the months leading up to the Mardi Gras Ball. She had laughed at George’s lame jokes, accompanied him on a few dinner dates, and even invited him to Christmas dinner with her family when she’d discovered he’d had nowhere to go. But now, strolling with him through the bustling streets of the Big Easy, Madison felt all the effort had been worth it. Within five minutes of walking outside their hotel on Canal Street, they had already stumbled upon a parade. As they turned onto Bourbon Street at one thirty in the afternoon, crowds of people were lined up on both sides, yelling and holding their hands out, begging for tacky plastic beads.
Madison had never been one for organized fun. She’d skipped every homecoming pep rally in high school, and ditched Toulouse’s annual fais-dodo dance party to make out with Cash in the back of the Sea Shack. Something always felt so forced to her about these events, but now she couldn’t help but get caught up in the revelry.
“Throw me something, mister!” she yelled at a middle-aged man wearing a glittery top hat. He was walking in front of her and carrying dozens of strands like a rainbow-colored wreath.
“Show me something,” he said with a lewd gesture, dangling some cobalt baubles in front of her.