Page 77 of The Friend Game

“Good question,” Luke says. “If the board votes against keeping you on staff, then you will still have your job as a substitute until a replacement is found, correct?”

“Yes,” I agree.

“Okay, so that’s the first part of your answer, but let’s keep going. If you have to continue on as a substitute what will you do then?”

“I don’t know—probably still try to apply to a teaching program. I really like teaching.”

“I think that’s great,” Luke enthuses.

“Well, sure, but the substitute job will end eventually, and then I’ll be unemployed and trying to pay for school.”

“True. Will Jill and Max kick you out if that happens?”

“No, of course not.”

“So you won’t be homeless. That’s good. Although, perhaps if you were to become homeless I could use the numerous Bible verses about caring for the poor to dissuade any potential relationship naysayers.”

This makes me laugh, but also brings to mind another of my biggest fears. “In all seriousness, Luke,” I hedge, “that might be the scariest part of my what if path.”

“What do you mean? Which part?” he sounds confused.

“The you and me part,” I reply at a whisper. “What if they decide not to keep me on staff because I lied to everyone about my certification for so long? You’re already on probation; I don’t thinkpeople will be too fond of their pastor dating someone who got fired for lying.”

Luke is silent for a minute. I get that he’s probably processing, but the lengthy silence weighs heavily on me, bringing with it a whole new set of what if questions. What if he hadn’t thought of this? What if now he’s trying to figure out how to extricate himself from our relationship before the you-know-what hits the fan? What if he’s trying to figure out how to tell me nicely that this was fun while it lasted, but it’s time we parted ways?

“Hannah,” he finally says, “that is one what if question that you don’t need to play out the negative scenarios for, okay? I didn’t wait this long to go out with you just to run away at the first sign of trouble. I’m in this thing for the long haul.”

“Really?” The word comes out in a squeak. Pest control just arrived on scene and fumigated my brain removing all of the what ifs with one quick spray of the place. Whew. Talk about relief.

“Hannah, if that’s your biggest worry about tonight then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he reiterates the point.

My hands, which, I notice for the first time, were clenched into worried fists, relax, splaying flat on my thighs. But as I contemplate his words, my index fingers begin anxiously tracing circles on the linen material of my pants. Apparently the effects of the initial fumigation were not long-lasting.

“Hannah?” Luke prompts. “You’re not saying anything. Is there something else bothering you?”

“Luke,” I begin carefully, “the thing is…it’s not just the outcome of tonight that has me worried about things between us.”

“Oh.” His surprise is evident. “Why’s that?”

I squeeze my eyes shut as conviction grabs hold of my heart. Jill was right before. I can’t keep waiting. Luke basically admitted to being all in with our relationship, and I want to be all in too. That means I have to be completely forthright with him. I have to tell him about Marshall.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I force out the words. “Something about my past that,” I swallow, “that I’m not proud of.”

“Oh,” he says again. I imagine him adjusting his posture to listen more closely to whatever this bomb is I’m about to drop. “Okay.”

“Here’s the thing…” My hands shake as I speak, and I have the fleeting thought that it would’ve been so much better to do this in person–but there’s no turning back now. “I moved back to Tucson for a very specific reason, and it’s a reason that only my sisters really know about. When I lived in California I tried to make a career out of my pottery, and well, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Between that and the waitressing job I took to supplement my income I was barely scraping by.

“But then one day I waited on a table of people I recognized as professors from UCLA’s art program. One of them I’d had as a professor and he remembered me. He asked how my pottery was going, then introduced me to Marshall Donovan, a very well-known art dealer. He was…” I scramble around for the right words, “very attentive to me. Asked if I would want to get together and show him some of my pieces. At the time I was so flattered and excited for the opportunity that I didn’t think it was weird for such a big name guy to be interested in a nobody artist like me.” I cringe at the memory of how excited I’d been. How I’d gone home and called my entire family, certain I’d caught my big break.

“We met up and he loved my pieces. Just gushed about how special and unique they were. How he loved my use of color.” A humorless laugh escapes me as I recall how that bit of feedback got painfully thrown back in my face when I broke up with him.You use colors like you’re a small child,he shouted at me.It makes your work seem juvenile and unsophisticated. No one would’ve looked at your work twice if not for me.

“Anyway, at the end of the meeting he asked me out, and I said yes. Again, I was just so flattered at his interest. Him being who he was and all. Marshall Donovan—renown art dealer and collector. I was so stupid. So blind to the way hewas manipulating me to get what he wanted.” Luke is silent on the other end of the phone. Insecurity plagues me, but I press on, needing to get this all out.

“Marshall and I dated for six months. Thanks to him showing some of my pieces to his contacts, my career started to take off. For the first time I was making real money off my art. It was amazing. Plus, I really thought Marshall and I were happy. Sure we had our problems. He liked things a certain way, so that’s how they always were. He didn’t like that I was Christian especially because it meant I wouldn’t sleep with him. That was really the only thing I ever stood up to him about. He did not like it. Pressured me a lot about it. Pushed things as far as he could with me.”

I think I hear a growl of displeasure on the other end of the phone. Still I press on. No need to focus on how close I came to giving in to Marshall’s demands. The point is—I didn’t, and that is a victory I clung to even when I had to leave California in shame and ruins.

Even if sometimes I wonder if that’s why he stayed with me for so long…the thrill of the chase. The thought makes disgust twist through me, still I press on. Needing to finish what I started.

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