​​​​Chapter Nineteen
Rochelle

When I was cleared and categorized as “cancer-free,” I decided to leave Glenn. I had known about Kimber for the past two weeks because I followed him at night. It was disgusting to see a man that old with a girl that young (and Kimber is nothing if not a girl). But then I looked at things from Glenn’s “deep” world view: my wife is decaying, I’m getting old, I need to be taken care of.

Because I don’t care what anyone says. Glenn Augustus has loved me for a long time, so lack of it wasn’t the problem. The problem was Glenn’s fear and the way he let it destroy everything else.

Another problem might have been the mirror, more specifically me in it. Chest flat and war-scarred. Hair wispy and cut close to the scalp. I don’t even wear makeup anymore. I’m sure he thinks it’s my version of holding up my middle finger, but really, it’s my version of getting used to who I am outside of somebody else’s expectations. And I know it’s hard for someone like Glenn to no longer call the shots.

So I let him come to me and confess. I was patient and kind, and when I told Ann all that had happened, she wore the look of horror and frustration for me. But I can honestly say I didn’t feel those things. I wasn’t passive either, but I didn’t beg him.

I let him make his own choice. Something I wish we’d all let each other do a little more of.

I suppose that’s also the reason I haven’t reached out to Natalie these past ten years. In the beginning, she sent pictures scattered in the mail. Wren at school, Wren at the park. They seemed tentative; no note attached. Just a mandatory chore checked off the list. And then they stopped completely.

She seemed unsure of herself, which I know is most certainly the case.

When I had first met Natalie, I was thoroughly impressed but that might have been because I only had my son to compare her to.

It was like comparing apples to very bruised oranges.

She seemed to have her life together, and when I learned she had raised her younger sister, it hadn’t surprised me. Natalie was the type with a good head on her shoulders.

Even Glenn mentioned she seemed like a stellar girl. I was too naive to understand the motive behind his compliment at the time, but at least we agreed.

After knowing everything she’d been through–Mack’s death, the funeral, changing her entire life to chase something the rest of us couldn’t even see–I was floored when I got the call from the social worker. Natalie? Our Natalie?

She had become an alcoholic. Something I guess Mack was, but I had never known. Not until I was able to get her on the phone and ask her what had happened. At this point I had just received my diagnosis, so angry was something I was well-versed in. But I didn’t let her feel it in my voice. I kept my cards close and my hurt even closer.

“What do you think, Rochelle? His life wasn’t exactly rosy, you know. He had a lot going on, especially in his childhood.” She stressed the last word, a pointed dagger at my heart. I didn’t resist it, but I didn’t pull her fist into my chest either.

“I’m so sorry,” is all I said because I was. Thinking of my granddaughter, of the burdens she’ll carry because of the decisions all of us have made. How is that fair?

And yet, how is it not? We’re all aware of consequence. We’re all aware of the hammer that comes crashing down when we get it all wrong.

But what Natalie didn’t know–and most likely still doesn’t–is the depth of God’s mercy. How he hovers and weaves through all of us.

He covers our bad hearts, our bad choices.

He sparks the violent hope inside our bellies that one day, things will be different.

Because with Him, they always are.