From the tree line, she glanced back at the barn. It didn’t look like a refuge anymore.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Gerrit tugged at the collar of his button-up shirt. He hadn’t been this uncomfortable in a long time. And it wasn’t the clothes.
The man onstage raised his hands with a smile that made Gerrit want to punch him in his big old horse teeth. “Please stand and greet the people around you while the worship team comes up.”
Gerrit could not think of a worse experience than trying to greet the people around him at Greenville Community Church. Would he have to talk to everyone? Did he have to tell them his name? He considered remaining seated in protest, but Hannie tugged on his arm. Fine. He would do it for her. He was only here for her and the kids’ sake, anyway.
He stood. People milled about the sanctuary, buzzing like insects. Some of them smiled in his direction with overeager faces as if they knew this was his first time. As if they knew they had him trapped.
“Gerrit?” A bearded young man approached from the aisle, hand outstretched. “Is that you?”
Gerrit shook his hand once, noting the man’s pants were even tighter than usual. “Mark.”
Mark waved an arm in Evi and Noah’s direction. “Is this your family?”
Gerrit nodded.
Mark turned to Hannie and jerked a thumb at Gerrit. “I didn’t know this old codger belonged to you. I never put it together.”
Gerrit gaped, and Hannie laughed at the stupefied look on his face.
“We’ve known each other for years,” Mark explained. “Hannie’s one of my favorite people.”
Hannie smiled and waved a hand. “Oh, stop.” She turned to the kids. “This is my—our—son, Noah, and our daughter, Evi.”
Gerrit’s eyes narrowed as Mark held on to Evi’s hand a little too long.
Evi smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
Oh, sure. She was happy to talk to and smile at some guy she’d just met, but would she give her own father the time of day?
The lights dimmed, and everyone shuffled back to their seats. Gerrit sank into his chair with a huff. So many people. Staring at him. Talking.
He wouldn’t have come, but Hannie had given him the look. The “You wanted your kids here so you could spend time with them—now get off your butt and get dressed” look. And she was right. By tomorrow night they’d be gone again, and he had no idea when they’d be back. He could suffer through an hour and a half of church.
He sat on the end of the row, his long legs spilling into the aisle, knees sticking out like torpedoes. Hannie was beside him, then Noah, then Evi, as far away from him as she could get.
When she’d returned from her walk last night, he was standing in the middle of the driveway on the verge of hopping into his truck to go look for her. She’d stopped next to him on her way back to the house and stared into the dark woods. “Another friend of yours?” she’d said. And he’d seen the barn through Evi’s eyes.
It was meant to be hers.
He was a fool. He’d blown it with Evi. And he’d blown it with Rae.
Two guys playing guitars, and a lady wearing a giant scarf that looked like it might swallow her up, sang a few songs. Gerrit stood when the congregation was asked to stand. Sat when told to sit. And kept glancing down the row at his family. Hannie often glanced back and smiled, even patting his knee once. Noah listened intently, his eyes always on the stage, his lips moving, head bobbing. Evi was hard to read.
Gerrit shifted in his seat. The preacher took the stage. He was younger than Gerrit and unassuming. He wore a sweater vest and glasses.
“Good morning.” He looked out over the congregation. “Please turn your Bibles to the book of Luke. Chapter five.”
Gerrit’s heart squeezed. His vision blurred. A plain pine casket draped with yellow roses appeared where the preacher had stood. A framed photo of Luke and Luisa on their wedding day stood on a black easel behind the wooden box. Stifled sobs echoed through the sanctuary.
“We are here today to celebrate the life of our dear friend and brother, Luke,” Pastor Randall had said, the man who’d been leading the church they all attended back then. “And though we who are left behind are in mourning, Luke has no sorrow today, folks. No. He is in heaven with our Lord.”
Gerrit had not been able to cry. Not been able to move. Definitely not been able to “celebrate.” His big brother, his only friend, was gone. And it was all his fault.
Hannie nudged him, and he shook his head.
The casket disappeared.
The pain did not.
The man with glasses pointed to the Bible on the stand in front of him. “Then verse twenty-seven says, ‘After this, Jesus went out and saw a tax collector by the name of Levi sitting at his tax booth. “Follow me,” Jesus said to him.’”
Gerrit pulled his eyes from the preacher and stared at the back of the seat in front of him. Follow me. That was what Luke used to say. “Let’s rake the north side first. Follow me.” Or “No, the supply store has better prices. Follow me.” Gerrit had loved his older brother. Admired him. But sometimes he’d gotten sick of doing things Luke’s way, and it had cost him. Both of them.
“‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,’” the preacher continued. “‘I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’”
Ha. Repentance. Sackcloth and ashes, right? That was all well and good. But he could repent of his mistakes till the cows came home, and it wouldn’t do any good. Luke would still be gone.
An icy hand with a steel grip squeezed his heart. He could never repent enough to be free.
But
