First Love
an excerpt

When he arrived at home he was surprised to see her on his doorstep, silhouetted against the darkness by his porch lights. He felt his breath catch. She waited while he approached, and when he saw her he couldn't mask his surprise. "Dear God!" She was thin--dangerously thin. Her cheeks were hollow and her deep green eyes were distant. She looked frightened.
"Tirza!"
She was in tears immediately, speaking; he only understood about every third word. "Sorry...didn't mean...just wanted....thought you were with her..."
If he had ever felt desire, It was then. Her innocence could tempt him, but her tears would overwhelm him. He felt himself reaching for her, wanting nothing more than to dry her tears and---
"No!" She pushed him away, forcefully, and drew herself up. "I'm sorry, Darrell. I don't belong here. Please, let me go." She whirled and ran down his driveway, all shadows and twirling skirts.
He watched, transfixed, hands clenched in fists and jaw tight; it took everything in him not to follow her, pursue her....he felt his eyes misting and was surprised to find his mind wandering to the day he'd first met her. Twirling, dancing, with Bill, smiling and giggling silently...
--I don't belong here. Please, let me go.
His mind rebelled. She was gone now; what did she mean? Not belong? How could she possibly--
--I don't belong here. Please, let me go.
Of course she belonged. The best and most natural thing in the world was for her to be here, together, with him, so he could fight the good fight for two...
--I don't belong here. Please, let me go.
He turned, silently, to go into the house, the truth dawning. Dear God, she was right. She didn't belong here.
He slammed the door behind him, bitterly.

CHAPTER FOUR

But his relationship--if by some laughable means it could be called that--with Audrey grew. He found that eventually she was able to talk to him, and he made a point of listening, at first because he knew he had to, and then because he was actually slightly interested. She had mellowed considerably and it took him several weeks of thinking it to finally say, "You're not happy, are you."
She'd grown feisty, as he'd predicted she would, but he followed it up with a clarification. "I think it's my doing. I'm sorry. I still feel like an idiot; I don't know what I'm doing."
"Anders is getting possessive," she said, carefully.
He looked away. "What do you tell him?"
She snorted. "Everything."
"Then I'm sure he's heard enough bad about me to know that he has nothing to be jealous of."
That silenced her, but only for a moment. "We're both seeing a different man now," she told him. "I need to know what's going on, and so does he. You're my ex-husband, Darrell, not my friend." A beat. "And not my handyman."
He knew she was right. "Maybe I should meet him and clear things up."
"Really?"
"Maybe I'll take him to dinner."
"Without me?"
"Or with. I don't care." He mentally kicked himself; now what would he say to Anders?
"Well, if you really want to..."
"Yes."
"I think it would be better if you stopped in next week when he was getting ready to go to the airport; it wouldn't allow much time for things to get escalated."
So he did. Thursday evening he came by after work, with a toolbox--for what, he didn't know--and Audrey invited him in. They made small talk until Anders came in the room, looking a little surprised, buttoning his jacket cuffs and straightening his shirt. He was easily ten or fifteen years Audrey's senior, but it didn't show. Darrell had seen pictures of him in the papers, and had even seen pictures of Audrey standing with him while he announced his candidacy for mayor of Chicago. He was handsome, almost beautiful, and Darrell decided that Audrey was lucky.
"Well, hello," Anders said, extending a hand and eyeing Darrell, "You must be the diligent ex-husband."
"That would be me," Darrell said, evenly, "And I don't need an introduction to you; you're legendary. Good to meet you."
"Same here. Audrey has painted a rather conflicting picture of you; I'll be honest. Has your new girlfriend altered your character to the point where you feel like you have to shower unsolicited gifts on your former wife?"
It cut. "As a matter of fact--"
"I saw her the other day; she came into my office. She's beautiful; I'll give you that. And crazy about you. I heard her mention your name no fewer than a dozen times."
Darrell wasn't sure what to say.
Anders looked him over again. "So, what are we here for this time?" Before Darrell could answer he restarted. "And, for that matter, I'm slightly interested in what your intentions towards Audrey are."
He thought about that one. "Actually--" his eyes avoided Audrey's, "--I'm trying to make up for some hard feelings between us. I had no right to treat her the way that I did."
"Foxhole conversion, eh?"
Darrell couldn't blame Anders for his condescension. "As a matter of fact, I'm afraid I owe most of it to God and the girl you mentioned as having seen last week."
"Speaking of seeing her, she didn't look well....physically. She's obviously inordinately beautiful, but she looked...sickly, almost as if she'd been on bed rest. Not anything like the vibrancy I'd expected from an engaged woman. Speaking of thus, when is the wedding slated to happen?"
Darrell struggled for control. "We don't have a date."
Anders raised an eyebrow. "I see. Well, in the future--" he was reaching for his briefcase and turning to the door, "--I thin your reconciliation process with Audrey has gone a little too far. Maybe in your zeal you have overcompensated, and I'll give you that benefit of the doubt. However, let me make it clear now; I'm perfectly capable of listening to Audrey tell me about her day, fixing her barbecue, vacuuming her rugs, and buying her coffee. I've appreciated your efforts, but I think this has moved beyond common courtesy. The greatest inhibition to your relationship has not changed, and that is that you are not the kind of man Audrey could ever love."
Darrell was tempted to say something but chose not to. In the silence that followed, Anders turned wordlessly to Audrey and kissed her goodbye, deeply. Darrell felt his heart slamming in his chest.
Anders left and Audrey went to the door behind him to close it. "He's right, you know."
He looked out the window, determined not to get angry. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said. A pause, then she was speaking rapidly. "Darrell, I can't just be your friend. You know that. I've been playing along with this for awhile because it's made me feel good. I'm glad you've changed a lot. I'm glad we've been able to get over our mess of hard feelings--and, yes, I'm surprised with the man you've become. Pleasantly, I mean." She appeared to be losing momentum.
"But...." he prompted.
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Yes, but. But we're divorced, Darrell. We're leading our own lives, and for me that means being with Anders. You can understand his jealousy; I know, because I've seen you." Her eyes flickered. "I may have made some bad choices in the past, but giving him up is not one of them. I love him, Darrell, and going along with not only what he asks, but what he wants, is important."
A myriad of thoughts ran though his mind, and he swallowed to somehow suppress them. If she had done that before, they wont' be divorced. If she had given him even a slight benefit of the doubt--
She seemed to be reading his thoughts. Her eyes leveled on him. "We've both changed, Darrell."
He looked out the window again, fighting the sudden urge to swear. "I guess you're right," he said, instead.
She unfolded her arms, which had been resolutely crossed over her chest. "Look, Darrell. I'm not trying to be rude here, but I think we both need to move on with life. Fixing eachother's sprinklers and getting white mocha Starbucks isn't what makes a relationship grow. Of all people, you and I should know that. It's unfortunate that we had to be eachother's victims, but we can't change the past."
There was a lull.
But Audrey wasn't done. "Darrell, neither of us have it in us to be friends anyway. We knew that from the very beginning. We had to be either lovers or simple acquaintances; neither of us has the stamina to make a friendship work. And look at us." Her eyes gestured towards him, "We can't be lovers. I'm in love with the most eligible bachelor this city has known. You go home every night to ravish a supermodel. Who are we joking? Neither of us can afford to ruin what we have. We're dabbling in the past, and, yeah, I see the man you are now and I think that I wish you could have been that way before. But I've changed ,too, and one of the major ways I've changed is that I don't ruin what I have. I have a good thing in Anders, Darrell. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't mean that just as a phrase." Now she was talking to herself.
"Anyway." Arms crossed again. "I'm going to be proactive and say that we can't keep up this silly extra-relational flirting. We're both happy where we are. I’m envious of who you've become. You might even be jealous of Anders; I don't know. But we're adults and we're realists and you and I both know that we belong where we are. I'm content where I am. I'm happy, too. but even if I wasn't, I've learned my lesson and I understand how destructive it can be to flirt with change. I'm not going to mess around." She was running out of words. He waited, knowing that if he spoke he would likely regret it. "You can't keep coming here, Darrell. We've made our choices, things have happened the way that they have, and we need to live with this." She stalled. "Don't you...have anything to say?"
He had a million things to say. He thought of Pastor Steve and decided not to. "No."
"Oh, come on, Darrell. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be. You know what I'm saying is right. Do you think I'm in left field?"
That was a tricky question, although she wouldn’t have known that. What he thought and what he wanted to believe were very different.
He hesitated. "You know, I don't really know how to answer that. Something tells me that sometimes what makes sense isn't right, and sometimes what's right doesn't make sense."
She looked blank. "Um....translation into English, please?"
He wanted nothing more than to leave, to go back to Tirza, to spend the rest of his life with the woman who desired him, who completed to him, rather than this awkwardness of being treated like a teenager, or, worse, a colleague. "I'll leave."
She appeared to be caught off guard. "For now, or for....good?"
He opened the door. "Your call." Why did it sound so cold? He turned back. "But the way, you might be interested to know that Tirza Merrick and I are no longer engaged."
He pulled the door shut behind him, with finality, and left, toolbox forgotten on her living room floor.

Darrell drove to Pastor Steve's house, hoping to find him at home. He was in luck; Steve was out in front of his house in jogging shorts, his dog on a leash.
"Hey, Darrell," Steve said, "Long time, no see."
It had been a month. "Yes. I'm back for help." There was no use mincing his words; he was angry and Steve might as well know it.
"Want to jog?"
He was dressed for it, but Steve's invitation still surprised him. "Yes, actually. I'm a little wound up."
"I can tell," Steve said, stretching. "Maybe we can go up to the Frasier park; it's about two miles up. I have to warn you; I'm not as buff as you are."
"After nine weeks of recovery therapy in a hospital, I'm about like a bowl of plum pudding."
Bur once they had started with a good rhythm, Darrell found that his adrenaline kept him going strong. He had to reign himself in to stay with Steve.
"So," Steve said, in between regulated breaths, "What's up?"
How was he supposed to summarize the last weeks? "I've been trying....with Audrey."
"Trying what?" Of course, Steve would have to ask a question like that.
He exhaled and waited a few feet. "Trying anything. Trying to love her. Trying to do things for her. Trying to tempt her to love me. Trying to reach out. Trying to pray."
"Has it been hard?"
Darrell thought the answer was obvious. "Yes."
"Harder than you expected?"
He considered the question. "Actually, no. Not until now, at least. I've been surprised; I've been able to hold my tongue and she's been somewhat responsive."
"And now?"
"I knew it had to come down to this; I'd been showing up at her house--"
Steve interrupted him. "Does she live with her boyfriend?"
"No, and, by the way, her boyfriend is Anderson Klein."
Steve snorted. "Ouch. She certainly knows how to pick them."
"Yeah, ouch is right." Darrell could see the park now, far ahead. He went on. "Anyway, finally Anders told me today that I was basically not welcomed there, and as soon as he had left, I was hoping that Audrey would say something to downplay what he said."
"But she didn't."
Darrell waited awhile, the sound of their synchronized steps seeming to be answer enough. Finally, "No."
"What did she say?"
"Well, basically, it's all stuff that I know. I know that it's idiotic to try to waltz into her life and pretend that we can make our marriage work again. We're not even in the same universe. She's happy with Anders, I would be running straight for Tirza if I could, and neither of us have what it takes."
Steve was quiet for awhile. "What don't you have, Darrell?"
Darrell glanced at him. "Trying to pin me in a corner ,pastor?"
"No," Steve said, "Trying to figure out what you need. The solution to not having what it takes is getting what it takes. And...in this capacity, I'd rather be your friend than your pastor."
Darrell nodded. "Okay, then, I'll try to answer it honestly. What I don't have, and what she doesn't have, is desire."
"Good," Steve said, "Now you're answering the right questions. Desire for what?"
"The desire for her. Or vice-versa." That seemed inadequate. "You know, over the last month I've learned some things. I've learned that I don't hate Audrey. I've learned that she isn't unenjoyable. And I’ve learned that, as a man, I am actually capable of provoking her to feeling. I can foresee myself being the kind of man she would like to hang out with--on a double date. But I can't be anything more than that, Steve." His voice raised a notch, involuntarily. "I'm not attracted to her romantically; I don't have it in me. I don't want to have it in me. I don't hate her. But nor do I love her. At all."
They were coming on the park now. Steve pointed to a picnic bench two hundred feet off. "Want to catch your breath?"
Darrell nodded. They slowed to a shuffled and made their way to the bench, where they both sat.
"You're good," Steve said, "I got the impression that it took quite a bit of self-control to stay at my pace."
Darrell waved it off. "Army strong," he said, "Not really my doing." He was out of breath, but he feared that it had very little to do to with physical exhaustion.
Steve surveyed the horizon. "Do you love God, Darrell?"
"Of course." Then, "What do you mean?"
"Why do you love him?"
"Because 'He first loved me,'" Darrell quoted, without thinking.
Steve shook his head. 'No, I don't mean to quote a verse from the shorter catechism in second grade. Although, under the authority of that verse, by the way, it is fairly safe to say that Audrey cannot be expected to be attracted to you at least until after you've done the same to her. But, back on topic, why do you love God?"
Darrell hesitated. "Because He's blessed me."
"In other words, you attended church with Audrey while you were about to march into Iraq, then your faith dissolved when your marriage did, and then picked back up when you were afraid of any bad luck with your beautiful girlfriend, and now you're not so sure again. Am I right?"
Darrell was astonished. "We all have days when our faith isn't what it could be."
"So when God stops blessing you, that's when you stop loving him?"
Darrell frowned. "No. I love him because He died for me."
"Did He die for you?"
Darrell snorted. "Yes, He died for me."
"What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened?"
"I mean that you just told me that God died for you and I want to hear about it. It's not everyday that someone dies for you. There must be an incredible story behind it. Do you always refer to such a life changing even so cavalierly? You just told me that some man actually died for you; it is strange for me to want to hear the story?"
Darrell blinked. "Well. I...no. I don't suppose it's strange at all."
"Certainly you're not tired of telling it?!" Steve's voice was feigning surprise, "Even Readers' Digest loves to tell and retell those kinds of things, and they don't even have a personal stake in any of it."
"No, not that," Darrell said, "I just....I'm not sure I've actually told it before."
Steve's eyes stayed on his, evenly. He said nothing.
"Anyway. Well..." Why was it so difficult? "When He created me, He loved me."
"Why?"
"I...don't really know."
"Oh, come on, Darrell. Don't be so modest. Why did He love you? You must know something."
"He loved me because I was His creation, first of all. He loved me because He'd made me and I was an expression of Him."
"Is that all?"
Darrell couldn't think of anything else. "For now."
"So we have this supreme Being who could love anyone He wants, and He loves you. What next?"
"Well, I guess I didn't really return the love."
Steve sounded intrigued. "Did you know how intense His love was?"
Darrell shook his head. "Not really. I guess I was intent on running the opposite direction. About that time, justice would have claimed my life but He stepped in instead and offered His life in exchange for mine." He knew Steve would comment, so he continued without giving him an opportunity to do so. "I eventually saw what an incredible thing had been done on my behalf, and...got saved."
Steve took a deep breath. "You...got saved? He....exchanged His life for yours? Justice would have claimed your life? You're talking like you want to minimize it, Darrell. This man died for you and you use words like exchange?"
Darrell stared.
Steve wasn't done. "How would He tell it, Darrell? If He were here ,how would He explain the depth of feeling that possessed him to go against every instinct and desire to scream your name on the cross, to die with you because he loved you too much to live without it? Certainly He must have felt a great deal more than you're conveying. You're the one He died for; you, of all people, should be His voice in explaining why He died. What would He say, Darrell?"
Darrell had never heard questions that struck him as being so dually remedial and complex. "I'm not really sure."
"He didn't tell you? He just died, unceremoniously, without even explaining what compelled Him?"
Darrell didn't respond.
"The man died for you, Darrell. Do you ever remember Him and cry and wonder how on earth you got so lucky? Do you ever pause on a quiet night and wonder what He would have accomplished if He had not died, and how you can at least make His death worthwhile by your life?" Now Steve's eyes seemed to bore into Darrell's soul. "Darrell, do you love God?"
Darrell knew that there was only one answer to that question. "No."
Steve smiled, looking relieved. "Would you like to?"
"Yes."
Steve was looking off, now. "God created first, you're right. But before He created you, He created this." His hands made a broad sweep of the park. "He knew He would create you and He wanted to win your heart. So He started with a million other things. He started with the sky. It was his version of giving you a stained glass window to the universe. He didn't just send you flowers; He bought out Teleflora. He created animals and climates, seasons and colors, all for no other reason than He wanted you to be able to look everywhere and see something that reminded you of Him." Steve sounded transfixed. "When He finally created you, He created you to need. To need food, for instance. And He created you to enjoy. You didn't just need food; he made food taste good. Everything He did was an overture, a contrast, showing you what He had to offer you. Because eventually, His primary goal was for you to love. We talk about love flippantly, which is blasphemous. We don't even begin to understand the overwhelming knowledge that He created us for no other reason than to love Him with the same kind of love with which He had already loved us. Of course, Darrell, He knew that you would rebel. Like a man who drinks instead of coming home to a beautiful woman and hot supper, you defied Him for no other reason than because you could. He gave you opportunities at every turn, gave you what you did not deserve, and eventually His love saw that the path you were walking down would only lead to death. He could not bear the thought of you dying, even if everything that qualified you for death was in direct defiance of Him. he couldn't just let you destroy yourself. and he couldn't bear the thought of living without you. So for thirty three years He lived on earth, knowing full well that He was preparing to die. For you. He believed you were worth it. He loved you--like a father might love his terminally ill child if he knew that one day he could give that child a heart transplant. And when it was all finally ready, He endured hell on earth and hell in hell for three days. He died, He stopped His own beating heart willingly, to save yours. You were as apathetic as always. When someone mentioned that He had died for you, you visited His grave dutifully, told the world about Him like any heart transplant recipient would, and you even liked the memory of Him and thought of Him occasionally when you were glad for things you could do now that you were no longer condemned to death. But you did not love Him. He was distant, impersonal. He had committed the ultimate act of love, and you reduced him to a memory, a story you could tell your girlfriend." Steve's voice broke, and by that time Darrell was not surprised. "He gave you the whole world, Darrell. He gave you His whole life. For your love."
Steve looked exhausted, and Darrell felt it. "Do you love God, Darrell?"
Darrell was surprised at the moisture he felt under his eyelids.
"I want to."
"Then love Him."
Darrell felt weak. "I do."
"You do what?"
"I love Him."
"Then tell Him, Darrell!"
Darrell was astonished that a man with Steve's self-possession and reserve could command such passion. Whatever it was, it was infectious. Darrell looked to the sky, awkwardly.
"Oh, God--"
"Not, Oh, God, Darrell. Don't use anything you've ever used in a prayer before."
Darrell was at a loss. Tell Him you love Him.
"Thank You." There. No introductions, no formalities. "Thank you--for loving me. I have never loved You. I have never even taken time to imagine you dying." He was crying now. What had come over him? "Please--forgive me. Forgive me for running so long..." Darrell went on, losing track of his words. He became vaguely aware that Steve had laid a strong hand on his shoulders. He continued to pray, overwhelmed. When he finally raised his head, Steve Landers was grinning at him.
"Darrell, do you love God?"
He did. "I do. For the first time, I do."
"Why do you love Him?"
"Because He first loved me."
"Amen."
Amazing how it no longer sounded like a line from the shorter catechism.