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“I’m on my way.”
Chapter3
Charlotte shot up in bed,startled from a dream she couldn’t remember. Her alarm was chiming and must have been what woke her, but the sick feeling remained.
Her arm was dead from sleeping on it, so when she reached for her phone to silence the sound of tinkling bells, her hand wouldn’t cooperate.
Finally, she got her fingers working and shut it off before hauling a pillow over her head while the cobwebs of sleep cleared.
She’d be late if she didn’t get moving, but it was only by sheer willpower that she pushed back the blanket and went for a shower.
As she stood under the hot water with her face directed toward the ceiling, she tried to decide if she was glad it was Sunday or not. Her church was great, and it was always better for her to go than not, but the last month had been hard. She’d struggled, not with church itself or the people there, not even with her faith; it was more the general monotony of everything.
She trusted God, but she wondered about where He had placed her and whether it was His will that she remain there. She fought against the hope that He’d change things up a bit, but she’d been a Christian long enough to know not to bother arguing the benefits of adjusting her circumstances. He’d make the most out of whatever she faced, even if it was boredom.
But that didn’t stop her from indulging in these thoughts now and then, and they always brought her low. They were usually followed by a vague sense of shame because she had nothing to complain about. She was safe here in the picturesque town she called home. It was big enough that you didn’t know everyone’s business but small enough to be cozy. Still…what was right a year ago now felt like an itchy sweater. It protects you, but you’re not comfortable wearing it.
The hot water streamed over her face, and she reminded herself that she’d done what was necessary to keep the people most important to her safe. God had blessed her situation by giving her a comfortable little house with a recording studio built in so she could work from home.
Her work was the one thing she hadn’t had to completely give up, even though she’d had to find new clients after changing her name. She had made some good friends here but wouldn’t consider any of them to be close. It had been a while since she’d connected with anyone, which suited her fine most of the time.
But no matter how much she focused on gratitude, the yearning for more wouldn’t abate.
The times she prayed God would orchestrate a change, she would sense His gentle hand settle upon her as if to say, “Stay put. You’re right where I want you.” She didn’t want His guidance to grate on her, but it did.
After her shower, she went through her closet from one side to the other and then back again, unable to settle on anything. The unremembered dream she’d woken up from had left her uneasy, and a melancholy had set in, causing her entire wardrobe to become unsuitable.
“You want me to stay where I am, God?” She pushed a section of shirts left that she’d just pushed right. “I can do that. I can lie in bed all morning and skip church.” She was acting like a sulky little girl. Scrunching up her face in a grimace of defeat, she grabbed her trusty silk blouse. She may wear it a lot, but at least she’d be comfortable.
“Besides,” she said as she thrust her arms through the sleeves. “Mrs. Graves wears that same sweater every week. I can wear the same shirt.”
* * *
After a breakfast of dry toast—she’d forgotten to buy more butter while she was out yesterday—she got stuck again after getting into her car.
“It would be so much easier to go back inside.” But then her thoughts went to her mom, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull her key from the ignition.
She looked in her rearview mirror and focused on the trees that lined the street. It was one of the reasons she’d picked this house. The branches hung high over the road like a canopy and made for a stunning drive to and from home.
“Thanks, God. Thank you that I get to live here. I know I ask you for more, but I never tire of the trees.”
She started her car, and a text message came through.
Where are you?
It was Maureen. She was in charge of the drinks, and Charlotte had volunteered to bring cups.
Another message followed.
Don’t forget the cups.
She had. And she’d promised Maureen she’d bring them early. The time on the dash reminded her she was going to be late.
She squeezed her eyes closed, took a breath, then put her car in reverse.
“Get over yourself,” she grunted as she lifted her foot off the brake and backed out of the driveway. She hated to be rushed but could appreciate that the frantic trip to the grocery store would be an excellent distraction from her woes. Rushing to church was just what she needed to get her mind off her own disappointments.
* * *
