Embracing Change (6 page)

“Do you think you’ll paint again?”

“I’m not sure. Nowadays, most things appear to come through a filter of charcoal and black.” She gave a sad smile. “But I’ve seen a few flashes of silver and bronze today. The scenery out here is incredible. Very different to Africa.”

Joel’s face turned serious. “What happened, Sarah? It must have been something big to affect you like this.”

She felt tears welling up at the compassion in his tone. Maybe she should tell him—it wasn’t as though he’d be seeing her again after this afternoon. Swallowing her emotions, she gazed into the trees around them. “My fiancé was shot and killed nine months ago. We had planned to marry last September and move to New Zealand together.”

Joel placed both his hands on top of hers. “I can’t imagine how that must feel. I’m truly sorry.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, absorbed in their own thoughts, Sarah drawing strength from the human contact, the fact that he seemed to care.

Joel was the first one to speak. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Only with a South African number. I still need to get a local SIM card.”

“Would you mind if I kept in touch?”

“Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you once I have a new number?” Even though she felt a connection to Joel, she wasn’t about to hand out personal information to a stranger.

“Ok. Have you got a pen?”

“I’ll save it onto my phone.”

Joel read the number out twice, and Sarah confirmed it was correct, and saved it.

“I suppose you won’t tell me where you’re staying either?”

You don’t give up easily
. “A motel near the airport.”

“Not giving away any secrets, huh?”

He was teasing and Sarah responded in like manner. “You have to earn my trust.”

Joel cleared away the flask and mugs and walked Sarah across to her car. His tone serious again, he leaned over the open door. “I’ll be happy to show you round Christchurch and give you any help you need,” he offered, as Sarah turned the key in the ignition. “Please give me a call.”

Sarah nodded. “Maybe I will.”

Chapter Seven

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.

—Isaiah 55:8

You’re far away.” Brad clicked his fingers in front of his friend’s eyes. “What’s on your mind, bro?”

Joel laughed. “A woman, believe it or not.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me more.”

Joel respected Brad’s opinions even though he was a couple of years his junior. Along with his wife, Melanie, he led the twenties group at the church they were part of. Right now, they were waiting for the others to arrive for a discussion about the social calendar for the next few months.

“I met her in the mountains last week and I can’t get her out of my mind.”

“Details, bro.”

“I stopped at Crystal Falls after an assignment in Greymouth and there she was.” He could picture her so clearly. “She’s pretty in a sad kind of way. Straight dark hair that falls past her shoulders, green eyes too big for her face, and far too thin. She lost her fiancé in a shooting back in South Africa.”

“And you learnt all this by the waterfall.” Brad clapped Joel on the shoulders. “Good going, if I say so myself.” His tone was joking but Joel knew he was interested.

“She’s really hurting, Brad. I had to use all my charms to get her to sit down and have a coffee with me.”

“Have you been in touch with her since then?”

“That’s the problem. She wouldn’t give me her number and when I asked where she was staying, she just said a motel near the airport.” He rubbed his nose. “She did take my number, though. I watched her save it onto her phone.”

Brad sighed. “Tell me one thing, Joel. Does she measure up to the requirements of your perfect woman list?”

Joel laughed. “Not at all. That’s why I can’t understand the way I feel. I’m sorry she’s hurting of course, but I’m not the type that rescues stray kittens and wounded women. There’s something else about her; something deeper.”

“Pray about it, Joel. If there’s anything in it, God will bring her back into your life.”

Lively chatter and laughter signalled the arrival of the others and Joel stretched back in his seat. “Don’t say anything to the others, Brad.”

“That’s cool, bro. My lips are sealed.”

A bunch of twenty-somethings spilled into the hall and Joel ran his eyes across the group. Some were single, others dating, and a few were married. A tall attractive blonde detached herself from the others and moved over to Joel. “How’s your week been?” she asked, dropping into the seat next to him.

“Good thanks, Mandy. Yours?”

“Tiring. I’m on the Wellington-Auckland route this week, and the planes have been packed.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thankfully, I’m on a three day break now.”

Brad clapped his hands. “Thanks for coming, everyone. What I want to do tonight is discuss our social events for the next few months. As well as being heaps of fun, these times are perfect opportunities to get people involved. We could look at them as a form of evangelism. I have a list of ideas which I’ll run through, and then we’ll have an open discussion time.”

Joel spent much of the next hour in his own private world. Sarah was constantly in his thoughts and he prayed she would feel confident enough to trust him and give him a call. He’d even thought of driving round the motels and looking for her car, but dismissed the idea. It would appear as though he were stalking her.

Next to him, Mandy prattled on, doing her best to draw him into the meeting. “Joel’s good at organising barbecues. Maybe he could be in charge of that.”

Brad looked at Joel. “What do you think?”

“Uh … ”

“It would only be every six weeks, and we’d have them here on the church property.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good to me.” He wasn’t sure what he’d committed himself to, but would ask Brad later.

As the meeting wound to a close, a couple of the girls disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. Mandy looped her arm through Joel’s. “Come on. Let‘s go and have a drink.”

Joel gently disentangled himself from her, catching the glimpse of hurt in her eyes. “I’m not good company tonight. Too much on my mind, and I have a job I need to finish off.” He touched her on the shoulder. “Another time, maybe.”

The church was deserted as he passed through it and he stopped for a moment, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. “Help me, Lord. I don’t want to hurt Mandy, but she’s so persistent.” There was no audible answer but a sense of lingering peace followed him from the building.

Back home, he shook some pellets into Shelley’s bowl and added a few slices of dog roll. “That’ll keep you going.” He scratched behind her ears as she started gulping the food down. “Slow down, girl. It’s not a race.”

He sat down at his desk in the corner of the lounge and brought up some images on the computer. They were from the photo shoot he’d done at Greymouth and he was pleased with the way they’d turned out. “Just a few more changes and they’ll be ready to send,” he announced to Shelley.

An hour later he e-mailed them to the advertising agency and stood, stretching long limbs in every direction. Shelley’s tail thumped on the floor at the signs of activity and Joel called her, “Want to go for a walk?”

A few minutes later he was driving down the road with Shelley sitting on her blanket in the back. “We’ll go to the beach. I need a good run after today.”

He followed the ring road that ran round the outskirts of the city until it merged into the road to New Brighton. “Almost there.” Shelley’s head hung out of the window, nose in the air, drool trails across the glass.

Joel parked a few hundred metres north of the pier, as dogs were not allowed on to the bathing beaches. “Come on, girl.” He stuffed a bag in his shorts and a leash in case of need, and they jogged together down to the water. The sun was setting behind him, casting pale fingers of pink and orange across the gently ruffled sea. Half moons of water ran up the sand and foam settled in lacy patterns.

Shelley headed straight into the water and looked expectantly at Joel. “Too cold for me,” he shouted, throwing a tennis ball across the sand. Shelley raced out of the water and tore after the ball, kicking up sand as she did so. Then she brought it back and barked exhuberantly until he threw it again.

After ten minutes of this, Joel started jogging down the beach. The sun dipped lower and the sea looked like an inky lake splashed with gold and crimson. He prayed as he ran. “I’d like to get married, Lord. I’m not getting any younger and I’d love to have a partner to share my life with.” His thoughts turned to Mandy. She fitted his list of a perfect wife in almost every way, except for one. There was no deep connection, no hint that they could become soul mates. She was attractive physically, but Joel knew that was a small part of marriage. It certainly wasn’t a strong basis to build a relationship on.

“Maybe it could grow, Lord. Maybe I should give her another chance.”

But even while he was praying, another face filled his mind. A young woman with sheets of dark hair and soft green eyes.

Chapter Eight

My heart feels black, dead, cold. I wonder if there really is any hope. On days like this I wish I’d died with Luke.

From the journal of Sarah Johnson

Tuesday, 18th March

Tuesday morning dawned grim and grey with a penetrating chill. Sarah wrapped her robe round herself and switched the heat pump on, listening as it knocked and shook after a season of disuse. Outside, a thick fog settled across the city and the neon lights of the motel blurred softly, on and off, on and off.

An employment agent had rung the day before, and she had an interview in town at noon. She wondered if she should even go. A dismal sense of futility shrouded her after returning from Arthur’s Pass: a hopelessness and greater sense of loss now that Luke’s ashes were gone.

The time spent with Joel had affected her as well. She felt guilty for enjoying his company, minutes after saying goodbye to Luke. She thought of calling him several times, but decided not to. Rather keep him as a good memory; as someone who had shown her genuine compassion and had been interested in her as a person. If she called him now, she might discover he had no time for her.

Frustrated and moody, she crawled back into bed and picked up her journal, tracing the crimson roses and pink hearts that intertwined on the cover. She’d written in it most days since Luke’s death and it had become her companion, the one to whom she could voice her deepest fears and sorrows. She flicked it open and picked her pen off the bedside cupboard. Maybe writing would help her through the gloom and despair.

This morning is a foretaste of winter in Christchurch. A bus shelter is beneath my motel window, a gaunt skeleton of metal ribs and frosted glass. I watched this morning as passengers huddled in its shelter, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands. When the bus arrived they hurried into its warmth before it accelerated away, leaving dragon puffs suspended in cold air. I’m in a wintry mood myself. It’s one of those days when nothing seems to be good or right or noble. The black well of bitterness is still there and much as I want to fill it in, it will not allow me to. Any joy I feel is soon swallowed by its evil influence. I think I’ll hate Dlamini forever. Hate him for what he’s done to me; hate him for what he’s done to Luke and our families. I wish the death penalty hadn’t been abolished in South Africa. That’s what he deserves.

She got up briefly to boil some water and make a mug of hot cocoa, then returned to bed, where she took up her pen again.

I have an interview today. I was tempted to cancel it and book a flight home but I won’t. Luke would be disappointed if he could see me and would urge me to stay strong and to try, try again. Maybe work will be good for me. Something to get my creativity going again. I’ll put on some nice clothes and do my hair and makeup. I’ll do it for Luke and hope that I’ll find the spark, the inspiration I need to move forward.

Sarah found the employment agent’s office with little trouble. “Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Jean Paulings.”

The receptionist flashed a smile over rimless spectacles. “Take a seat. She won’t be long.”

Ms Pauling turned out to be a tall angular woman with flat peroxide curls, bony elbows and long fingers. “So you have a diploma in graphic design.” She tapped Sarah’s CV with a long manicured nail. “How much experience do you have with Adobe Creative Suite?”

“My course covered it extensively and I have two years practical experience as well.”

“And you worked for a magazine group?”

Rain beat against the window, rolling in greasy trickles to the window sill before overflowing into the gutter. “Yes. It was a large concern in South Africa, putting out two dozen publications each month.”