The Breaking Point (29 page)

Gabe’s only reaction was a flicker of impatience, as though she were a child uttering some obvious fact. Her fingers clenched against the urge to slap him. How
dare
he look at her like that? How dare he shred her heart, destroy her hopes, then look at her as though she didn’t even have the right to question him?

Their gazes sparred, parried, and finally he gave a shrug. “No.”

One word. That was all he could give her? One lousy word? No explanation. No apology. No acknowledgment that he should have told her this little tidbit of news long ago—like before they got married.

I didn’t know. Sweet Jesus, I didn’t know.

And then, snapping at the heels of her heart cry, came an appalling realization:
But You did.

She closed her eyes against the sight of Gabe’s rigid stance, his tight jaw, those hard eyes so full of disdain. She let her lids form a wall between them, blocking him out. If only she could as easily escape the thoughts striking at her like angry bees roused from their hive. Cold thoughts. Thoughts that grabbed her and shook her.

God knew the desires of your heart. He created you, didn’t He? Gave you the family and childhood that you so love? He knew how much you wanted a family, how you’ve always wanted children to raise as your parents raised you.

As though to make her loss complete, the hopes and dreams she’d treasured as a child danced once across the screen of her mind, each scene dumping the stinging salt of reality on her raw, wounded soul.

She saw herself cuddling a tiny baby, singing the songs she’d so loved to hear as a toddler, retelling the stories of love and faith her parents had told her …

God knew …

She saw her child’s glowing eyes, heard the lilting laughter as the toddler ran to her—just as she used to do with her dad—and jumped into her arms, sliding chubby arms around her neck and hugging her as Renee caught her.

God knew …

Everything within her fought against that terrible truth. God had let this happen. He’d let her fall in love with a man … marry him … struggle and fight to stay married … and all the while He’d known full well that in doing so, she was killing her fondest dream as completely as if she’d laid it on an altar, raised the ceremonial knife, and plunged it deep.

God … O God … how could You let this happen?

The acrid taste of betrayal burned in her throat, her mouth, and she swallowed hard.

“Renee …”

At the broken whisper she stared at her husband. Her husband. The one who was supposed to cherish her … to love and honor her … to place her above all others …

The one who had taken her dream from her.

Sudden clarity swept her. God didn’t kill her dream. Nor did she. Gabe did. It was his fault.

And she’d given him the power to do it. She chose him. She married him. She had been fool enough to trust him.

Renee turned away from him. “Go away.”

“What?”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear doing so. It wasn’t that she hated him. She almost wished she did. That would have been better than the numbing emptiness that seemed to be invading every cell. “Go away Gabe. Just … go away.”

Gabe stared hard at his wife. He had never heard that tone from her before. That flat, empty monotone. As though no matter what he said or did, it wouldn’t be enough.

Could never be enough.

I’ve
lost her.

He pushed the thought away almost as soon as it formed.
Don’t be stupid! Renee is your wife. She loves you.
He refused to acknowledge the desperation in the inner reassurances.
She just needs time.

As though of its own volition, his hand reached out toward her, to touch her silken hair, to make some kind of connection between them, but he caught himself … and his outstretched fingers curled, clenching into fists. The last thing she would want right now was his touch.

Without another word, he turned and walked away from her, through the apartment, and out the door. But as he descended the stairs to the outside door and stepped into the cool evening air, he couldn’t escape the picture in his mind—the image of Renee’s face when she finally understood what
he’d been trying for so long to tell her.

His gut constricted. He’d known the emotions that filled his wife’s eyes and shadowed her features. He’d seen them often enough in the face looking back at him from the mirror.

Despair. Desperation. A gnawing, endless sorrow that threatened to consume everything …

Oh, yes. He knew them. Far too well. Had known them all his life. And he hated them. Prayed to escape them.

A harsh, humorless laugh slipped out. He could no more escape them than he could the anger. And every time that anger surged, every time it filled and overflowed him, he knew his worst fears had come true.

He was just like his father.

Gabe had never said so, never spoken the words, but he shouldn’t have to. Renee had seen … he’d watched her back away, her face paling. She should understand. Should know they couldn’t subject a child to that.

Too bad he didn’t smoke any longer. Times like this he missed the calming effects smoking always seemed to have. But he knew those effects were temporary. And he needed something real to help with this.

He shook his head as he slid into the car, steeling himself against the sickening sensation that was squeezing his gut into knots. The sensation that he was an utter, complete failure. As a man. As a husband.

“She’d be better off without me.”

But even as he spit the words into the darkness, he knew it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t leave. Not ever. Because the love they shared, as flawed and painful as it was at times, was better than the nothing he knew he’d have—and be—without her.

F
EBRUARY
1992

“I JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE.”

Grace watched Renee over the rim of her teacup. Fatigue had come to settle in dark circles under her eyes; her face was pale and pinched. How she’d changed since the first time Grace had seen her, nearly ten years ago at a women’s retreat. Then Renee’s cheeks had glowed with color and she had smiled so easily. She’d been like a child in her ability to enjoy life.

Renee took another sip of her coffee, cupping the mug in her hands as though trying to draw warmth and strength from it. “Sometimes I feel like Gabe and I have come so far, like we’re doing so well. It took us a long time to get past Gabe’s refusal to have children, but we did it. Now we talk and even laugh sometimes. But it never lasts.”

The pain in Renee’s voice struck Grace’s heart. Their friendship had blossomed—at first, anyway—because they both loved
to laugh and make others laugh. Which they used to do, often. But a few years after they met, Grace had seen a change come over Renee. It was as though she carried some deep wound inside her, something that wouldn’t heal, that festered and spread until it stole the sparkle from her eyes, the smile from her face.

Grace had been worried about her—and Gabe, for that matter—for a long time. Then came that terrible day when Grace had answered her doorbell and found Renee—or a shadow of Renee—standing on her doorstep. Grace had ushered her inside, and her young friend’s grief had come pouring out. Gabe telling her to get a life. That they’d never have children. Grace had listened, found herself growing angry.

Thank heaven God stopped her before she got too far down that road.

That kind of anger stems from fear, child, and from pain. Don’t judge what you don’t know.

Grace listened to Renee, talked with her, prayed with her. She kept on doing so oyer the years, watching as Renee found her footing in a career, found good friends with whom she could share common interests. On the surface, she seemed to have it all now.

But one look into those shadowed eyes put the lie to that notion.

Father God, she’s so worn down. It’s so sad to see her like this.

Renee set her coffee mug down with careful precision on the coaster, then turned her green eyes to Grace. “You always seem happy. You and Oren, you laugh so much, tease so much. No one could ever doubt you love each other.”

Renee’s sigh seemed to bear the weight of a multitude of sorrows. “Why can’t Gabe and I be like that? Why can’t we get past the garbage, the anger and frustrations, the little things that drive us both crazy, and just hold on to the good things?”
Grace saw the longing in Renee’s face, heard it in her voice. “Because there are good things, Grace. In Gabe. In us. There’s so much that’s good … or that could be, if we’d just let it.”

Grace set her cup down and considered her friend. “May I ask you a question?”

She nodded. “Of course. You know I’m an open book to you.”

Grace knew Renee believed that, but she also knew it wasn’t true. Not entirely.
Give me wisdom, Lord.
“What do you want from Gabe?”

The younger woman stared down at her hands. “I want what any woman wants from her husband: respect. A man who will stand in the gap for me, who treats me like I matter.”

She gripped her hands together. Now that the words had started, they came in a heated rush, tumbling over each other as they poured from her heart. “I want him to cherish me. I want to know I can depend on him and trust him. I want him to be my friend as well as my husband.”

Grace caught the hardening in Renee’s tone but held her silence. Renee’s hands moved to grip the arms of her chair, and Grace watched the knuckles turn white.

“I want him to talk to me like I’ve got a brain in my head, not treat me like some kind of idiot. I want him to be real, to be who he really is, instead of always playing a part, maintaining an image. I want him to talk to me, not yell at me. I want him to treat me with kindness, not like I’m a waste of his time and energy. And I want to know I’m more important to him than his stupid anger is.”

Resentment, anger, hurt, disappointment—Grace saw them all burning in Renee’s eyes.

“I want him to be the spiritual head of our home, like he’s
supposed
to be. I want him … I want …” She paused, as though catching her breath, then fell silent. She stared at the floor for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t want much, do I?”

Grace chuckled. “No more than the rest of us. We may
not admit it, but we’d like our husbands to be a blend of Solomon, John Wayne, and Cary Grant.”

Renee’s lips twitched. “I’ll take him.”

“You’ve already got him.” At her blank stare, Grace leaned forward. “Don’t you see? Most of us already are married to the very men we long for, but we don’t see it. We focus on what he isn’t rather than what God is making him, and we ignore the fact that not one of us can be all that the other person wants us to be. Even Oren—” Grace couldn’t help smiling at this—“as wonderful as he is, isn’t as wonderful as I’d like him to be.”

“But you guys are so great together.”

“We are now.” Grace folded her hands. “You know what I want to know?” She went on before Renee could respond. “I want to know what idiot came up with the idea that our main goal in life is happiness.”

A small smile quirked at the edge of Renee’s mouth.

“And I want to know what genius decided the best source of happiness is another human.”

Renee’s laughter broke forth, and Grace joined her. “Talk about the impossible dream! Expecting another person to be able to make you happy—”

“Meet your needs—” Renee supplied.

“Fulfill your dreams—”

“And
look good doing it!”

“Has to be the biggest leap of faith anyone has ever taken.” Their laughter was a welcome relief, and Grace let them enjoy it together before going on. “Renee, you know as well as I do, no one can make you happy. Happiness—true, lasting happiness—isn’t found in another person.” Grace knew the agreement she saw in Renee’s eyes was probably about to fade. “Any more than it can be found in marriage.”