For who, exactly? Me or him?
“Not awkward at all,” I assure him. I grab his shoulder and give it a gentle, encouraging shake as we head down the steps.
Adam has no idea that I’m to blame for his runaway bride. Neither does he or anyone else, for that matter. I babysat Adam all the time growing up, and I love him like he’s my own flesh and blood. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he knew the truth. Because for some odd reason, Adam looks up to me.
I admire him, too. His unwavering commitment to his faith has always inspired me. In fact, he accepted Jesus when he was just a child. Both he and Evie were only ten when they were baptized. I remember it like it was yesterday—the way they both screamed and laughed coming out of the water.
It makes me wish I had come to the faith sooner, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have made half the mistakes I did . . .
Adam embodies what a man of Christ should be. Should act like.
I’m a dirty wretch by comparison.
Adam turns to me at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think she’ll ever come around?”
“To the faith?”I hope so. Pray for it every day.
“Well, yeah,” he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as he tosses his coffee cup into a trash can. “But . . . you know, to me. To us.”
My heart falls. “Is that what you want?”
“More than anything.”
And just like that, I’m sick to my stomach. I have no idea what to say. No wishes of good will or brotherly encouragement would sound sincere coming from me. Not when I feel the way that I do about Evie.
So I remain silent.
Adam laughs suddenly. “Kind of stupid, right? Evie is so . . .” He looks around the loud, busy room. “Not what my parents had in mind for me.”
My mood sours when I recall the grief his mom, Yolanda, gave Evie after their break up, including that letter she wrote that said Evie was headed for hell. She’s a complete hypocrite, though. Before they broke up, Yolanda made it clear to Evie that she wouldn’t have picked her out of a lineup of the worst possible choices for Adam—her only beloved son.
It just so happened that Adam and Evie’s parents were close, having gone into the home care business together, and so the stars seemed to align forthese two childhood friends. Everyone and their mothers—barring Yolanda, of course—had been rooting for them to get together since they were in diapers.
“She’s not even a believer,” Adam continues, looking forlorn.
“We don’t know that. She was here today, wasn’t she?” Evie says she doesn’t believe in God, but I’m skeptical. I’m choosing to anchor my hope in God’s Word; my fervent, consistent prayer for her is that He will carry on the good work He started in her to completion. I pray that her baptism as a child was genuine, and that He will bring her back to the faith in His perfect timing.
“Yeah, but probably not by choice.” Then he sighs, his eyes full of misplaced trust as he looks up to me. “Tell me I should forget about her.”
I give him a mild look, and he laughs like he knew that was a shot in the dark. I could never tell another man to forget about Evie. I know howunforgettableshe truly is.
Besides, the words would taste like treason on my tongue.
Everyone knows Adam and Evie belong together. It’s just a matter of time. When Evie has her prodigal-son moment, she’ll come back to Adam. That’s how miracles work; the bad guy might get the girl’s virtue, but the good guy always prevails.
Adam is the good guy.
Adam looks around the room once more, pursing his lips as he searches in vain for Evie. She’s long gone by now. “I don’t know why I can’t shake her, Brandon. It’s been years, but I can’t get her out of my head.”
You and me both.
***
Teddy is zonked when I retrieve him from the nursery. He clings to me like a noodle stuck to the inside of a bowl as Mom and I head back to the car together.
“So what happened during the service?” she asks as we step out into the damp December air.
“What do you mean?”
