Page 31 of Dying to Meet You

Next to me, Becca begins to giggle under her breath. Relieved I’m not the only person finding some humor in the situation, I smile at her. The other five people in the room have their heads down scanning over the topic verse. The only way I can decipher what’s happening is Becca pointing out the highlighted verse. “And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith” (Matthew 21:22).

If you have faith. My prayers lately have turned into pleas. One constant is a prayer asking God to move in Eden’s heart, that she would suggest coming with me to church. But she seems certain on the subject, telling me organized religion is too cult-like for her taste.

We take a break halfway through the study. I’m bored out of my mind. There are no deep or thought-provoking insights. Other than the leader of the group, Becca is the only other person who speaks up. Being my first time, I don’t want to jump in. “Your wife didn’t make it?”

“I didn’t ask her to come with me.”

Becca bites her thumbnail while looking down at her Bible. “Oh? Why not?”

I could give reasons why Eden isn’t here. Tell her my wife thinks I’ve traded the FLDS Holy Brotherhood for The Church of the Good News, or my wife doesn’t believe in God because her childhood made her distrust blind faith.

Instead, I say, “She’s having a hard time lately. Coming here would just add to it.”

“Church is a place to lay your problems down. To give them over to God,” Becca says with wonder in her voice. “I’m so sorry she doesn’t feel that way. It must be tough on you.”

I wouldn’t describe it like that. I’d love to know Eden believes in God’s salvation, in an afterlife. Sharing this part of me with her would make me feel more secure in our family. But I don’t feel like I’m suffering.

Becca continues, “You said she’s having a hard time. Is she sick? Sorry, I suppose that’s a bit personal. I don’t mean to pry.”

My friends…scratch that, my brothers Matt and Keir must be rubbing off on me. It does feel too personal. I change the subject as nicely as I can. “That’s not it. No. Tell me about where you grew up.”

I learn Becca is the same age as me, and she moved here from her parents’ animal rescue in Indiana after leaving an abusive ex-boyfriend. She talks and I listen. I tell a couple of stories about the kids. “...then he asked what the ticking sound was in my truck. I told him it was the turn signal so other cars know we’re going to turn. He tells me they’re never going to hear that…”

“You’re so funny,” Becca says laughing. “You really are.”

We find ourselves whispering and talking throughout the last part of the study when the leader asks people to pair up for an activity. We are being asked to share a Bible verse we like. “Mine would be ‘Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends,” Becca says. “I miss my friends from home so much. But…we’re becoming friends, right?”

It feels good to have a friend my age who isn’t part of my family. “Yeah, of course.”

“Your turn. What Bible verse would you choose?”

Mulling it over, my brain latches onto the memory of studying the Bible with my half brothers and sisters. Being made to memorize parts cherry-picked by my uncle, the prophet, warning of destruction, death, and suffering if we didn’t obey. None of it was particularly liked by me. Then I remember a verse I do like. ‘So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ From Isaiah 41:10.

Walking to my truck with Becca, she asks if she can text me information about a concert the church is having next month. I give her my number, telling her if she wants help locking up again to call. We live fifteen minutes from the church. “Thanks again for coming to ministry group. You made it so much better,” she tells me before saying goodbye.

My heart feels lighter. It wasn’t the group; it wasn’t even the scripture; it was knowing I have a new friend with so much in common with me.

Chapter Eighteen

No wistful pilgrimage

Hutton

HorizonWellnessCenter,builton the grounds of Camp Carroll, is the last place I ever want to set foot again. With Eden working here, though, I don’t have a choice. Steeling myself for the drive past the unused cinder-block rows of housing surrounding grassy commons where eighty-six cult members were slaughtered close to seven years ago, I avert my eyes. They were poisoned, then had their throats slashed. I was one of those people-the lone survivor.

I look in the rearview mirror at the thickened pink raised skin across my neck. The scar. A daily reminder I cheated death. Or, at least, I was made to believe I did so I could be weaponized against their enemies.

But they didn’t think I’d ever find my Eden. They didn’t think I’d save our kids.

I can’t thank the FBI for much, but the bumbling they did when I was in protective custody put me at the same place as Eden that summer seven years ago at the original Horizon Wellness Center in Illinois. Matt’s underestimating me at every turn gave me space to pull away mentally. The ghosts on these grounds have no hold on me.

Not anymore.

Harrison, Bristow, and Matt are meeting with the sheriff about our neighbor. I’m in favor of taking a different, more effective route with the man-force him out financially since he’s renting from a trust. But I was overruled. For now.

Not wanting Eden driving to work on her own, I dropped her off. Now back to pick her up at the end of the day, I need to take this opportunity to show her hidden areas on the property. Places to hide, to get away if needed. The threats could be nothing, but the anniversary of the killings is eight days away.

With purpose I stride into the main building that looks more like a ski lodge than a mental health facility. Typically, I make it a point to move quickly, staring blankly at anyone who makes eye contact. A look of challenge keeps most people away; not a lot of people dare engage in pleasantries that way.

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