be feeling, she forced herself to think of something else. Ben would get over it; after all, he had never really known her. If he had, he never would have married her. He deserved someone real, someone better. Someone holier. He would be better off without her.
The concentration it required to think correctly and only about certain things left Maggie exhausted by noon. She slept without ever touching her lunch tray.
The wake-up call came at five minutes before two, and Maggie jumped to her feet. She wasn’t sure where she was or why she was there or what had caused her to sleep, but one thought was clear: Dr. Camas was waiting for her.
Moving through what felt like a fog, she ran a wet cloth over her face and tried to remember how she had gotten to the hospital. What had happened to her foster boys? Who was caring for them while she was here? The trip through the halls to Dr. Camas’s office felt like it took an hour. When she took her seat across from him, her hands were sweaty and she was breathless, desperate for even a moment of fresh air.
“You feeling okay, Maggie?”
The calm in Dr. Camas’s voice worked warmth through her and she settled back into the cushioned chair. “Not really.”
Silence.
He must think I’m crazy. I
am
crazy…why am I here? Where are the boys? Where’s Ben?
She started to get up. “I think I better go since I’m supposed to—”
“Maggie.” The doctor’s voice halted her, and she fell back into the chair, her eyes locked on his.
“Yes?”
“This is our time. Remember?”
Our time? Our time…our time.
That’s right. They’d planned this meeting. She gritted her teeth and forced the clouds from her mind. “Our session, you mean?” Her voice was quiet and weak, nothing like she remembered herself sounding.
“Right. Our session. You were going to tell me more about your past…about what’s happened to upset you.”
Yes, that was it. She was upset. Very upset. She dug her fingertips into her temples and rubbed in small, tight circles. Then suddenly, almost as though she were seeing it played on a motion picture screen, her past began to appear right before her eyes.
As it did, she shared every detail with Dr. Camas.
It was the summer of 1991, the summer before Maggie’s senior year in college, a season when she was standing on the edge of everything pure and good and hope-filled about the future, a time when the plans God had for her life seemed firmly in reach.
It was the summer she met Ben Stovall.
Maggie had grown up in Akron; Ben, in Cleveland. Once a year the church Ben attended staged an annual Prayer and Picnic. It was a time when neighboring churches from various denominations could gather and agree on two things: the sovereignty of Christ and the necessity of prayer. Over time, the celebration grew until by the late 1980s the event lasted through the weekend and was sometimes attended by thousands of people from more than a dozen churches. Games were held for various age groups, and revival-style preaching echoed across the grounds each evening.
The summer of ′91 was the first time Maggie’s church hadjoined in. She was twenty-one and studying journalism at Akron University. There’d been nothing else going on that day so when her parents suggested the Cleveland picnic, Maggie agreed to go.
“Maybe I was trying to earn points with them,” Maggie told the doctor. “I never”.
Dr. Camas waited. “Yes?”
“I never knew if my mother was proud of me or not. She was quiet, I guess.”
Maggie drifted back again and explained that if one thing mattered to her parents, it was the importance of church family. After all, Maggie’s family was very involved in their small congregation. If the elders had planned an event for the weekend, the Johnson family would be there. It was that simple.
Flyers were handed out to people as they parked their cars and headed for the open field where the event was set up, and Maggie’s mother looked the
The concentration it required to think correctly and only about certain things left Maggie exhausted by noon. She slept without ever touching her lunch tray.
The wake-up call came at five minutes before two, and Maggie jumped to her feet. She wasn’t sure where she was or why she was there or what had caused her to sleep, but one thought was clear: Dr. Camas was waiting for her.
Moving through what felt like a fog, she ran a wet cloth over her face and tried to remember how she had gotten to the hospital. What had happened to her foster boys? Who was caring for them while she was here? The trip through the halls to Dr. Camas’s office felt like it took an hour. When she took her seat across from him, her hands were sweaty and she was breathless, desperate for even a moment of fresh air.
“You feeling okay, Maggie?”
The calm in Dr. Camas’s voice worked warmth through her and she settled back into the cushioned chair. “Not really.”
Silence.
He must think I’m crazy. I
am
crazy…why am I here? Where are the boys? Where’s Ben?
She started to get up. “I think I better go since I’m supposed to—”
“Maggie.” The doctor’s voice halted her, and she fell back into the chair, her eyes locked on his.
“Yes?”
“This is our time. Remember?”
Our time? Our time…our time.
That’s right. They’d planned this meeting. She gritted her teeth and forced the clouds from her mind. “Our session, you mean?” Her voice was quiet and weak, nothing like she remembered herself sounding.
“Right. Our session. You were going to tell me more about your past…about what’s happened to upset you.”
Yes, that was it. She was upset. Very upset. She dug her fingertips into her temples and rubbed in small, tight circles. Then suddenly, almost as though she were seeing it played on a motion picture screen, her past began to appear right before her eyes.
As it did, she shared every detail with Dr. Camas.
It was the summer of 1991, the summer before Maggie’s senior year in college, a season when she was standing on the edge of everything pure and good and hope-filled about the future, a time when the plans God had for her life seemed firmly in reach.
It was the summer she met Ben Stovall.
Maggie had grown up in Akron; Ben, in Cleveland. Once a year the church Ben attended staged an annual Prayer and Picnic. It was a time when neighboring churches from various denominations could gather and agree on two things: the sovereignty of Christ and the necessity of prayer. Over time, the celebration grew until by the late 1980s the event lasted through the weekend and was sometimes attended by thousands of people from more than a dozen churches. Games were held for various age groups, and revival-style preaching echoed across the grounds each evening.
The summer of ′91 was the first time Maggie’s church hadjoined in. She was twenty-one and studying journalism at Akron University. There’d been nothing else going on that day so when her parents suggested the Cleveland picnic, Maggie agreed to go.
“Maybe I was trying to earn points with them,” Maggie told the doctor. “I never”.
Dr. Camas waited. “Yes?”
“I never knew if my mother was proud of me or not. She was quiet, I guess.”
Maggie drifted back again and explained that if one thing mattered to her parents, it was the importance of church family. After all, Maggie’s family was very involved in their small congregation. If the elders had planned an event for the weekend, the Johnson family would be there. It was that simple.
Flyers were handed out to people as they parked their cars and headed for the open field where the event was set up, and Maggie’s mother looked the
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