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He closed his eyes. This past week had been like a bad dream. He still couldn’t figure out what had happened. His memory kept playing tricks on him until he was no longer sure what had even been said. Had she really said something about not being able to have kids, or was that just another part of this nightmare? No kids? He couldn’t even begin to start processing how he felt about that.
He wasn’t ready to call her yet either. The road trip meant he’d barely had a moment alone, and anyway, he didn’t know what he could say. Not that she seemed to want to talk to him, having ignored his texts and emails. And who else could he talk to? Boyd? Hardly. He couldn’t very well say anything to his family. How humiliating. The first woman he ever tells his family he loves dumps him two months later. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut and played it cool instead of getting caught up in her excitement like that was something he could do too? And as for confiding more in John and Ange, fat lot of good that would do. They’d be on Sarah’s side for sure.
The questions and uncertainty swirled around his brain like a whirlpool. The more he thought about it, the further he got sucked into insecurity, and now he was drowning in dark doubt. And seriously, with his background, he should’ve known it couldn’t work out. She’d grown up with missionary parents, had traveled the world singing praise songs to Jesus. She’d always be too good for him. She would never really understand him. He groaned. Questions from the past kept bubbling up, boiling lava below the surface, but he didn’t have the emotional energy to face them just yet. Why had he ever thought someone like Sarah could fall in love with him? Who had he been trying to kid?
“Dude,” Brendan called, “you’re gonna drown in there.”
Dan switched off the water, toweled off, and changed into street clothes. He glimpsed himself in the bathroom mirror, barely able to recognize the man staring back at him. Haggard. He’d never really known what that word meant, but he bet he looked it now. It was like he’d aged fifty years. Fatigue lined his face, shadows underscored his eyes, and it was like his mouth had forgotten how to smile. Smile? How could he ever smile again?
He was a ghost. Numb, frozen, emotioned out. Walking, talking, somehow even playing hockey, but nobody could really see him. Somehow he’d kept it together enough this week to fool his teammates, who seemed to think he was experiencing some sort of extended New Year’s hangover. A few more discerning others like Brendan and Marc attributed it to Sarah’s return to Australia, and his coach had looked at him strangely a couple of times, but still, no one really knew. Thank God the road trip meant he’d skipped the online Bible study this week, and the travel schedule hadn’t permitted time to talk with Beau or Tyler.
Marc walked into the dressing room. “Hey, Dizzy, how you doin’?”
Dan nodded but ignored the question. “Good game, man.”
The goalie fist-bumped Dan, then wandered out to face the barrage of media—media Dan was super glad to avoid.
Dan grabbed his phone and wallet, glancing down at his phone. His stomach clenched. He hadn’t had the heart to change the screensaver yet, so Sarah’s gorgeous face still smiled at him. How was he doing?
His chest grew tight, and he flicked his phone off, shoving it into his back pocket.
Thank God for hockey. The road trip had kept him busy, the physicality of the games against Beau’s team, Montreal, then the Rangers demanding his full attention. But it was only the years of training that meant he could operate on autopilot; his brain and body knew what to do. But he still felt this distance, like he was watching his life through Plexiglass. He’d love to feel anything, but his heart felt dead.
Chapter 28
Sarah shifted self-consciously on the seat, staring at the carpet, the brown, cream, and navy swirls as familiar as the freckles on the back of her hands. This first week back in her father’s church was strange. Everything had changed, yet nothing had. Once again she was sitting in the same church seat, surrounded by the same people, the first Sunday of a new year, feeling like her heart, her life, had shattered.
She mouthed along to the songs, half-listened to the announcements, frowned at a typo in the church bulletin, then glanced up, her heart shrinking in horror. Dad had a tradition of allowing congregation members to share during communion, and now Hugh and Heather, Stephen’s parents, stood at the microphone. After Stephen had met Sarah on the PNG mission trip, he’d switched churches. His parents had followed and joined the church not long after.
“We asked to share today,” Stephen’s dad began. “As many of you know, our son was killed in a car accident just over two years ago.”
As he took a deep breath, Heather smiled at Sarah gently. Emotion burned Sarah’s eyes, and she looked down again.
“These past two years have been very difficult, as no doubt you can understand, but in recent weeks we’ve felt like God has been showing us something we believe He wants us to share with you all.”
Heather read from notes. “Lamentations is a book we’ve gained much comfort from. In chapter three, the author describes how he feels down and despondent because bitterness and affliction seem to surround him.”
She looked up and caught Sarah’s eyes again. “We understand that feeling only too well. But”—she read from her notes—“verse twenty-one gives such encouragement: ‘Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.’”
Hugh took over again. “On this first Sunday of a new year, we want to encourage you all to remember, God loves you, and no matter what your past year has been like, God is doing new things. The past is done; it’s time to embrace the new. Our prayer is that this year we all might grow closer to Him so we can extend God’s mercy, grace, and forgiveness to those in our world.”
The assistant minister then led the congregation in communion, but Sarah’s heart had snagged on Hugh and Heather’s testimony. Throughout the remainder of the service, the words kept resonating:Extend God’s mercy, grace, and forgiveness to those in our world.Surely this applied even to those on the other side of the world.
Lord, touch Dan. Heal him.
Despite the sticky heat of January that the ceiling fans did nothing to abate, Sarah shivered.
* * *
Dan shivered.Muskoka was so cold. But maybe that was just the state of his heart. The empty bleakness of Muskoka in winter seemed so appropriate these days.
At least he was away.
He was tired of speculative looks from his teammates and friends. He was tired of pretending to Josiah and the Bible study guys that he was okay. He was tired of phone calls never being answered, of sending texts and emails that never received a reply. He was tired of this gnawing pain, as bitter as the breeze outside on the snow-capped deck.
Dan stared out the window as the wind tossed the trees, sending showers of snow to the ground. Even John and Ange’s support was starting to grate. There was only so much “let it go” encouragement he could cope with. Now he had to do it.
After wrestling with how to escape, he’d eventually screwed up enough courage to ask the coach for a day’s personal leave that—thank God—he’d been granted. He glanced up as gray clouds banked ominously above the lake.
