I had a meeting with me, myself, this couch, and a TV show. A knock at the door startled me out of the life I’d accepted with little question. The enemy of my life mirrored the person reflected in places emanating from my brainwork. I opened the door while sipping a can of beer. Cailin stood, cradling the Good Book. She gave me a once-over and cleared her throat like I should have known to usher her inside from the cold.
“I saw you at church a few months back,” Cailin said.
“Is this your good deed for the day?” I said, motioning in the general direction of the TV. “Because…” I paused.
“I wanted to share the good news with you,” Cailin said, glowing.
Cailin’s family knew my grandfather. I’d go to church as a kid. I had no choice. But after a person he helped get on the right track murdered him, I lost hope. I lost the faith that Granddad instilled in me.
How could God allow such a great man to die? Granddad plowed a farm, taking me with him on tractor rides.
What has good news ever gotten me?
The only thing I know is pain.
Besides, I knew the Bible better than anyone else.
I knew it better than Cailin. At least, I thought I did.
I went to place my beer in the fridge.
“Don’t bother,” Cailin said, motioning for calm.
I offered her a seat at the table.
Cailin smoothed her skirt and lowered her body to a chair.
“I drink a beer here and there. Don’t tell anyone, though.” She winked.
The corner of my mouth curled up.
Cailin slid her hand across the table. “Mind?” She arched a brow.
“Be my guest.”
Cailin took a long sip from the can, wiped her mouth, and returned the empty can.
“You did that shit on purpose.”
“Mouth…” Cailin placed her finger on her lips. “There’s a lady here.” She gave me a neutral grin and batted her long lashes.
I lifted and then lowered my hands on the table. “What do you want?”
“I want you to believe again.”
My eyes widened. I splayed my hand and placed the tips of my fingers on my chest. “You want me to believe again?”
Cailin reached across the table. Her warm hands comforted my suspicious disposition.
“Will you at least listen?”
I sighed. “I’m listening.”
Cailin cracked open her Bible.
She told me a story about sin, running from God in a mental prison, and redemption.
I’d heard it before,
but not the way Cailin told it.
Forgiveness empowers redemption.
After she finished reading the passages, tears formed. I blinked, making them fall faster.
“Jesus forgave the man who murdered your grandfather. Now, it’s your turn to forgive.”
“I have forgiven him, Cailin.”
“I’m saved,” I said. “If that’s what you’re getting at.”
Cailin brushed her eyes before streams surfaced. “I thank Jesus for you.”
Cailin stood to her feet, extending her arm, her hand positioned like a damsel in distress.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“To find the nearest preacher.”
“And why would we want to do that?” My narrow eye softened.
She nodded her head and bit her bottom lip.
“I want to—”
“—get married—”
“so we—”
“can fuck.”
We did what she wanted. What we wanted, and now we’re reading verses on our lakefront home. Fermented fruit from the vine filled our wine glasses.