Thelower-caseeonthe front of Evie’s diary gazes at me like an evil, judgmental eye. It’s been sitting in the same spot on my kitchen island since I swiped it from her bedroom over a week ago, and I’m not sure what to do with it now.
Perhapsswipedis too strong of a word, but the proof’s in the pudding. I accidentally stole Evie’s diary. Just the thought of her discovering that it’s missing—and that I’m the one to blame—makes me break out in a cold sweat. She’sfinallystarted opening up to me. She even visited me at the office on Monday morning, and she seemed . . .intriguedby the idea of working for me.
That’s all I need, though—a little bit of interest. As hard as she might try to deny it, I can tell she still harbors feelings for me. She puts on a good show, but she still looks at me like she wants me to kiss her, even when she’s insulting me. I just need to figure out how to reel her back in and seal the deal.
My mind spins in circles, wondering how I’m going to do that as I throw my coat on and grab my Bible and notebook. After a moment of deliberation, I slide Evie’s diary toward me and stack it on top of my Bible before heading out the door.
I opt to drive to Maggie’s place since it’s so cold and windy outside. Originally, I joined her weekly Bible study for personal accountability. I needed friends who wouldn’t judge me for my past indiscretions, but who wouldn’t question why I’ve turned away from my former lifestyle, either. I neededChristianfriends—fellow believers who would support me in my pursuit of living my life in obedience to Jesus Christ.
But as I got to know everyone, I gained so much more than mere accountability partners. My Bible study group members know me better than anyone else. They understand me and my ongoing struggle with sin. And it’s because of their unconditional love, support, and encouragement that I have not had premarital sex or viewed pornography in over three years.
Not since Evie.
She was my equivalent of rock bottom.
When I arrive at Maggie’s a minute later, my plans to return Evie’s diary to her bedroom are immediately foiled. Evie’s home. I thought she’d be working late into the evening, like she normally does. But she’s been using Maggie’s car for work, and it’s currently sitting in the driveway, frozen over with ice like it hasn’t been driven today. Feeling defeated, I tuck her diary into my center console.
Maggie’s home smells like coffee and cookies when she answers the door. “Brandon,” she exclaims. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the dining room.”
The dining room is already abuzz with laughter and chatter. A few people pause mid-conversation to greet me, but my attention has zeroed in on the dark-haired beauty looking stiff and uncomfortable in the corner of the room. She’s not sitting at the table with everyone else, despite there being several open seats. She’s stationed in a rocking chair with a million pillows propped up around her.
I grin as I approach her, excited to see her here. Her chest swells when we make eye contact, almost like she’s happy to see me, too. She flushes, her gaze falling to the Bible sitting on her lap.
I take the seat closest to her and lean toward her. “What’s with all the pillows, Spitfire?”
She rubs her thumb along the spine of her Bible, avoiding my eyes. “I fell at work yesterday.”
Oh, Evie . . .Thatmust be why she’s here tonight—not because shewantsto be, but because she has to be. And here I thought . . .had hoped—
“I wasn’t paying attention,” she continues, pulling me from my thoughts about her salvation. “I missed the curb when I was carrying a client’s groceries to the car. And, well . . .”
“I’m sorry, Evie.”
She sneers at me. “Oh, come on. I know you’re notreally.”
My chin jerks back. “What? Of course I am.” Does she think Ienjoyseeing her hurting?
“Right,” she laughs.
Shaking my head, I ignore her comment. “Are you taking some time off work then?” I ask tentatively, knowing it’s a sensitive topic. My tone says it all.Take care of yourself, Evie. Because if you don’t, no one else will. You won’t let them.
Her eyes glitter with tears, but then she blinks, and they’re gone. “Oh, comeon,Brandon. Don’t pretend you don’t knowexactlywhat this means.”
Before I can ask her to clarify, Maggie asks us to open our Bibles to Ephesians 4. Evie’s brows furrow cutely as she glances around the room, watching everyone flip through their Bibles while she fumbles around in the Old Testament. I lean in and help her find the correct book, and she gives me an odd look, almost like she’s baffled that I know my way around the Bible—despite knowing I’ve been a Christian for a few years now.
“Since when do you come to these?” she wonders when I turn my attention to my own Bible.
“Since I gave my life to Christ a few years ago.”
She studies me. “You never did tell me how that happened.”
Taking a slow, deep breath, I carefully consider what I want to say. How I respond holds the potential to push her further away from Jesus, and I’ve already done enough damage as it is. After all, it was the Pharisee’s hypocrisy that caused many of the Gentiles of Jesus’ day to stumble and blaspheme God’s name. One of my greatest fears is that my own hypocrisy might cause Evie to turn away from God.
Although, my story is simple. After Teddy was born, the life I’d been leading became meaningless virtually overnight. The first time I looked into Teddy’s ocean-blue eyes, so like my own, I realized I wasn’tthe kind of man he could look up to or be proud of. I was nothing like my own father. Timothy Wright was a gentle, sensitive, loyal man with a deep, abiding faith and a servant heart.
But everything I had done prior to Teddy’s birth was to serveme.And while, yes, I had made a respectable career for myself, the truth was that my personal life was a wreck. The trinity I worshiped was sex, status, and money. I was a white washed tomb. I would show up for church on Sunday, see patients Monday through Friday, then hook up with a new woman by Saturday. Rinse and repeat.
Over the course of a few weeks after Teddy’s birth, I’d deleted the hook up apps from my phone and sought out the pastor to ask for advice about becoming a “better Christian.” He explained what it meant to give my life to Christ, and there, in that quiet meeting in his office on a random weekday, I was made new. Washed clean by the blood of Jesus.
