Lost and Found (43 page)

I've busied myself with the mundane. Taping radio casts, writing blogs, and meeting with the nation's top CEOs. Good times. But Jenna—the Durand family—have plagued my thoughts. Like a bad song I can't get out of mind, my betrayal of Jason, Bill, and Jenna plays over and over.

If Brigitte hasn't already betrayed my confidence, she will. Trusting her was just another facet of my sabotage. Word will be out soon enough and Jenna, Bill, and . . . Jason will know that I sold them out. The question is how far will the damage go? Brigitte could destroy my reputation in the financial world.

My act, while not illegal, was unethical. And ethics are important when you're dealing with people's money. Duh. She could ruin me.

And rightly so.

Though, I don't think I'm what she's after.

My intercom buzzes, letting me know someone is downstairs to see me. I glance at the time on my computer. 6:45 p.m. I'm not expecting anyone. I get up from my desk and head to the intercom by the front door.

"Yes."

"Ms. Bell, there's a Jenna Bouvier here to see you."

I feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders tense and I'm tempted to tell the doorman that I'm not accepting visitors.

"Ms. Bell?"

"Yes, uh . . ." I make a quick decision. "Send her up."

I take a deep breath. I'll face her. See what she wants. My anger with her has dissipated. Who was I kidding? She's the one with the right to be angry. Now, I'm just curious. I'd like to know what she wants. And if she knows what I've done, then, well . . . I'd like a chance to apologize and make things right.

"Like an apology will do any good, Andee."

I'm such an idiot.

I open my door and wait for the elevator doors to slide open. When they do, Jenna emerges. She walks with purpose and confidence as she approaches me. The passive woman I met at the brunch has disappeared.

"Hello, Andee." Her tone is serious, but not cold. Perhaps she doesn't know.

"Hello. Come in." I step aside and motion for her to enter the penthouse. She stops in the entry hall and I lead her to the living room. "Please, have a seat."

She sits on one corner of the sofa and I sit just down from her. We turn so we're facing one another.

"Thank you for seeing me. I was going to call, but . . . well, I didn't know if you'd take the call."

I nod. And wait. What in the world does she want?

"I want to apologize. For hiding my identity. For not being truthful with you."

She's
apologizing to
me
? Get a clue, lady. "Well, to each his own, right? I'm sure you had your reasons and I'm guessing, knowing your mother-in-law, that she was at the top of the list."

Jenna nods. "Yes, she was, but as you said, self-protection doesn't work. She discovered the blog anyway. I let fear drive me rather than surrendering to God." She shrugs one shoulder. "That didn't get me anywhere either." She smiles and her beautiful crooked features balance.

"Yeah, I get that." I look at her gorgeous eyes—the color of a twilight sky, Jason had said, and I think of Azul. I look at my hands resting in my lap. I can no longer hold her gaze.

"I also wanted to ask you something, Andee."

Her tone changes. I glance back up at her.

"Did you broker the sale of the demand note for Azul? Did you connect Kelly Whitmore and Brigitte?"

There is strength in her voice and her eyes seem to bore straight through me. I can see she already knows the truth. Odd, but I'm relieved. I glance back at my lap, take a deep breath, and then meet her stare. "Yes, I did. And . . . for what it's worth, which isn't much, I know, I'm . . . sorry." I shake my head. "I'm so sorry."

She turns from me and looks out the windows—looks out at the bay beyond the city. She is quiet. Says nothing. Her calm is unnerving. When she looks back at me, I see something in her eyes that I can't read.

"I forgive you."

"What?" Her words drive a stake through my heart. "Wait. Do you get the significance of what I did? Brigitte, for all intents and purposes, now owns Azul. She'll force the company into bankruptcy."

Jenna nods. "I understand. And I forgive you."

I shake my head. I can't . . . I don't . . . get it. Get her. "You can't just forgive me. I have to fix it. I will fix it. I want . . . I want to give Bill the money to buy the note back. I would have offered sooner, but"—I shake my head, shamed again by my actions—"but like your family, Brigitte will ruin me. My career. My reputation. I had to come to terms with that. I get it. It's my penance. My consequence. And I'll take it. I have to make things right."

Jenna leans forward. "We can't earn forgiveness, Andee. We can't right our wrongs or redeem ourselves. Grace is God's free gift." She looks back out across the city and stares at the bay.

I notice the dark circles under her eyes.

"Dad and Jason and I have discussed all the possibilities. Stayed up talking into the night. We've gone over everything. Jason wondered if you might offer to pay for the note. I think he . . . hoped—"

I hold up my hand. I can't go there.

Jenna nods. "Anyway, we don't want your money, Andee. We don't want to buy the note from Brigitte. We want truth. Justice. We're going to fight for the truth."

"Fight Brigitte? But . . . I did this. It would be so much easier to let me—"

"No." Jenna leans toward me again. "I forgive you, Andee.
We
forgive you."

I shake my head again. "I can't . . ."

"I can only offer forgiveness, I can't make you accept it. It's the same with God—He offers grace, but we have to decide whether or not we'll accept it."

I stand up and go to the windows and look out. I don't want her to see my tears. "Uh, yeah, okay. Thanks." I glance back and see her stand to leave. She turns and heads for the front door.

"Wait . . ."

She stops and turns back.

"You wrote something in your blog the other night . . . You said you were standing back from everything and everyone who has something other than God's purpose in mind for you, right?"

She nods.

"I . . . get that. I don't get much these days, but I get that kind of focus—that kind of choice. That's been part of my business philosophy—don't let anyone or anything stand in the way of your goals."

She takes a step toward me and smiles. "You probably have a deeper understanding of that kind of focus than I do. It's kind of new for me. The only difference I guess is the object of our focus."

"Right. And . . . I think I'm ready to change my focus. I'm ready for that relationship you talked about." My tears fall now and I look, I'm sure, like a big blubbering idiot. But Jenna doesn't seem to mind. "Sorry. I need to get a grip."

Jenna laughs. "Actually, I think you may need to loosen your grip. No offense."

Then it's my turn to laugh. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my blouse, staining the satin with my mascara. "Yeah, you might be right." Then I'm serious again. "I'm not ready for . . . for a relationship with . . . Jason. I wasn't ready, you know? And I hurt him. I mean, even more than destroying his livelihood. He's a good man and he deserved so much more. Will you tell him that?"

She nods.

"I realize I have some things . . . you know . . . to work through. I'm going to start with the whole God thing."

Jenna smiles. "That's a great place to start."

I nod. "Jenna, what will you and your family do?"

She shrugs. "My dad says we're on a new adventure with God. If we lose Azul, we know that God will provide in another way. We'll take it one day at a time and follow His lead."

"Well, I'd like to help . . . in any way I can."

"Thank you, Andee."

She walks toward me and I take a step back.

"It's okay, Andee. I'm just going to give you a hug." She laughs. "It won't kill you, I promise." Her hug is quick, but sincere. "I'd like to keep in touch. To talk. If you want."

"I'd like that. Contrary to popular belief, my friendship pool is a little dry. I have your e-mail address. I'll drop you a note."

"I'll look forward to it. Take care, Andee." She turns and leaves.

I turn back to the view that's captivated me, in one way or another, all these years and I consider Jenna's words about forgiveness and grace. It's something I have to choose to accept. I look down as Sam saunters out of the office and comes and sits by my feet—his tail curls around my heels. She also said God's grace is free. "I like free. Free is a good deal." Sam mews. "I'm glad you agree."

But I still don't understand how Jenna, how the Durands, can just forgive me.

And I don't get how God can . . .

Wait a minute. "Don't over think it, Andee. Just let yourself accept it." I bend, pick up Sam, and heft him up to my chest and hold him close. He purrs in my ear. I pull back and look at him. "Sam, I think we're getting soft."

Finally . . .

Our fellowship is independent of external situations and what other people think. In Christ we cannot be separated from each other, for we are one with Him; and in Him and through Him we are one with each other.

JEANNE GUYON

Seven months later . . .

I SIT AT
my desk looking out over the Hudson River. The neighborhood is a dive, the space expensive, but man, the view is happenin'. New York City. What a vibe! The city, people, traffic, noise, people. "This is life!"

Because life is all about people.

Dude, it's all about intimacy—I swivel my chair away from the view and stare at the flame of the candle I lit when I walked in this morning—but there are different kinds of intimacy. The dictionary defines intimacy as:

close familiarity or friendship; closeness: the intimacy between a husband and wife.

a private cozy atmosphere: the room had a peaceful sense of intimacy about it.

an intimate act, especially sexual.

an intimate remark: here she was sitting swapping intimacies with a stranger.

closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject: he acquired an intimacy with Swahili literature.

But in my opinion, and yes, I usually have one, the dictionary leaves out an important example: spiritual intimacy.

Spiritual intimacy develops when two people share a common passion for the Object of their belief—I see Jenna's face as I stare at the candle—when they recognize that the Spirit living within them, is the same Spirit living within another. When they stand side-by-side, arms linked, eyes focused on Jesus. Or when they share both the suffering and joy associated with living a life surrendered to Christ.

This intimacy is deep.

Rare.

And dude, it's beautiful.

It's like the relationship, I think, between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, when the child in Elizabeth's womb leapt in recognition of the Messiah carried within Mary's womb. Or maybe like what David experienced with Jonathan—a knitting together of souls.

It is the type of intimacy that may develop between a spiritual director and a directee. Between two friends. Or between two people ministering together.

Some warn against such a thing, even cautioning opposite genders to steer clear of this type of intimacy. I understand the caution. Spiritual intimacy may be mistaken for or confused with romantic intimacy. But it's possible to be romantic without being intimate. And to be intimate without being romantic. There is sexual intimacy that occurs between a husband and wife. And there is sex without any sort of intimacy.

It isn't just one way or the other.

I think back to my conversation with Tess the morning Jenna called. I see again the look in Tess's eyes.

"It isn't true. You didn't . . . aren't having an affair with Jenna, right?"

The doubt I saw flickering in her eyes pierced me. As did gratitude to God that I could answer without hesitation. "I am not and did not have an affair with Jenna. Or anyone. Ever." I reached across the kitchen table and took Tess's hand in my own. "You're it. Past. Present. Future. You, and you alone, babe. You and I both know my job requires trust. It's not always easy. I take precautions with my female clients and directees. Those boundaries are clear from the beginning."

She nodded and the doubt fled. "But Matthew, there was—there is—something special, or different, about your relationship with Jenna. I've seen it in you. What . . . ?" She shrugged.

"Yeah." I nodded.
Lord, speak to Tess. Open her heart. Teach her.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. "It's like this—when two pilgrims journey together, there is an intimacy that may develop on the trail. Pretenses are dropped. Souls are bared. Agonies and triumphs are shared. That happens with my counseling clients sometimes too. But with Jenna, it was . . . unique. I saw God in her. The same God who lives in me."

I put my hand on my chest, across my heart. "When we believe in God, when we accept that Christ is our Savior, the Spirit comes and lives inside each of us. Right?"

She nodded, emerald eyes wide.

"We each have an individual relationship with the same God and so we're all connected. It is a solitary dance, done together, in the presence of God."