I’ve officially been dismissed. “Have fun, you two.”
Chapter 45
Brandon
“Oh,great.It’shim.”
I grimace, realizing Maggie has company. Again. It always seems to be Bert—a man who has made it known on countless occasions that he hates my guts. I still don’t know why. I never got to the bottom of that particular mystery.
Maggie snickers. “Hi, sweetheart. Come to join us?” she asks before swinging her video game controller at the television. This bowling game is one of her favorite pastimes, and I’ll be the first to admit that she’s darn good at it. She beats me every time.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I stand back against the far wall of her cramped living area, seeing as all the seats are occupied by her many friends.
She’s become the life of this facility.
“Actually,” I begin, feeling confused as I glance around the room. All of the balloons and party streamers and all manner of other decorations I helped her set up for Evie’s party are nowhere to be found. “I’m here for Evie’s birthday party.” My voice trails when a half a dozen pairs of eyes settle on me.
Bert chortles in the recliner next to me, glancing at his friend. “Can you believe this schmuck?”
“Now, Bert,” Maggie scolds. “Be nice.”
He lifts his nose and turns away.
“Am I missing something?” I wonder, heart pounding. Have I confused the day? The weekend?
A series of shoulders raise in unison. Maggie sets the controller aside and strides toward me. You wouldn’t know she broke her hip just over a year ago by the way she’s moving around these days. She settles a hand on my shoulder, her face apologetic. Almost pitying. “Her birthday party was yesterday, I’m afraid. You missed it, sweetheart.”
“Yesterday? Yesterday was—” Saturday. Yesterday was Saturday. Of course her birthday party was yesterday. Who would host a birthday party on a Sunday afternoon? But I could haveswornthe invitation read Sunday, January 31 . . . “You’re telling me ImissedEvie’s birthday party?”
She’s going to kill me.
“Wha—”
“Delivery,” Evie hollers, backing into the room. She’s balancing a charcuterie board piled high with various cheeses, crackers, and deli meats between her arm and hip. She looks as beautiful as ever in a pair of pink scrubs, her long ponytail swishing perkily behind her. She pauses when she realizes the room is gravely silent, her dark, shrewd eyes whipping around the room before settling on mine. Then they narrow.
I swallow.
As far as we’ve come, the potential for miscommunication between us still terrifies me. The many mistakes I’ve made still haunt me. Every new one feels like I’m heaping burning coals upon my own head.
I’m working on that.
Shortly after Evie started seeing her therapist, I started seeing one, too. He’s a biblical counselor I met at church, and we’ve been seeing each other once a month to work through my spiritual hang-ups. I’ve unintentionally been playing God by denying myself grace and wallowing in guilt. It’s the oldest trick in the devil’s book, making us think we can be like God by setting our own standards for righteousness above His own. Even when we don’t mean to.
The truth is, when the Father looks at me, He sees His Son Jesus Christ. Which means I am righteous by default—not because of anything I’ve done, but because of whatHedid on that cross. Because of Jesus, I’m forgiven. Redeemed. I can walk in that grace freely—without the burden of a guilty conscience.
“Evie,” I begin, my voice tight. “I—”
“This jerk missed your birthday party!” Bert bellows. “What a loser.”
Maggie swats his arm.
Frowning, I slide a hand down my tie. “Evie, listen, I—”
Her gaze drops to the gift I’m currently death gripping, her face softening with realization. My shoulders droop with relief. She’s seen reason. She understands this was all just a silly, stupid mistake. I mean, I’m wearing a suit and tie for heaven’s sake. Surely she’ll be able to see that I’m here forher.
No one else.
There will never be anyone else.
