Chapter 27

Over the next several weeks, Lisa’s life seemingly returned to normal, at least on the surface. She was still taking on all the challenges thrown her way at work and taming them. She was eating properly and taking care of herself, to include working out. She was still going to church and engaging with everyone.

And yet ... while I didn’t have a before-and-after comparison for certain things, overall it was clear to me that she was just putting on a good face for the world. Increasingly, she asked me not to work out or to run with her, so she could be alone. She skipped several Saturday mornings at the mall. We stopped eating dinner together unless I cooked, and even then, she would make her excuses and leave my apartment shortly after she was done eating. And she mostly went through the motions at church. The joy and enthusiasm she once exuded were gone. Even Michael often only got to exchange basic pleasantries with her after the service.

I was at a loss for how to respond. All I really knew to do was to be there for her, but wasn’t sure what she needed from me or even what she wanted from me, if anything. I didn’t want to come off sounding as if I was criticizing her mourning process, either, so I decided to just let it ride for the time being.

It all came to a head on Easter Sunday morning. Michael’s sermon sang the praises of the joy of the Resurrection, the hope that it brings, the promise for the future that it brings, and the encouragement it can bring to our lives, the promise that life in Christ is greater even than death.

It was at these words that Lisa grabbed her small purse, stood up, and marched out of the sanctuary.

Michael continued speaking, but his eyes followed her out, a trace of bewilderment on his face. I apologetically signaled to him that I was going after her, then quietly excused myself.

We had gone in her car that morning, and she was sitting in the driver’s seat. I opened the passenger door and sat, but before I could say a word, she started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

As she drove silently toward the interstate, an impassive look on her face, I asked, “Do you want to talk?”

In response, she cranked the volume on the car stereo.

Oh ... kay, then.

Back home, she didn’t object when I followed her into her apartment. She sat down on the couch, silently, forehead against the palms of her hands, lost a bit in herself.

Abruptly, she got up and walked into her bedroom. She emerged a few minutes later, completely naked.

Smiling seductively, she took me by the hand and led me back into the bedroom.

“Strip,” she ordered with the same smile on her face.

I did. We hadn’t shared a whole lot of intimacy since we returned from Ohio. Further, if she needed some cuddling and physical intimacy in that moment, I was glad to provide it.

I scooted back on the bed, where she leaned her head down and made short work of getting me hard with her mouth. And then, still with the smile on her face, she climbed on the bed and straddled me.

Coyly, she said, “You’ve been a very, very patient little boy. You deserve to be rewarded.” And with no further fanfare, she slid me inside her.