A Marriage Carol by Chris Fabry, Gary D. Chapman Read Free Book Online Page A

and squeeze through a chimney, and you’re worried he won’t be able to see?”
     
    She flicked on a flashlight and gave it to David. “Just get your covers and hurry back. No fighting. And watch your step coming down.”
     
    The two were off in a flash and Becca hit her contact list on her cell. She chose both my phone and Jacob’s and texted, “We’re ok. Wherever u r, be safe.”
     
    She hit the send button and closed the phone. She looked out the front window at the falling snow and more tears came. She wiped them away quickly as the boys clambered downstairs.
     
    I turned away from the scene, overwhelmed by her emotion and resolve. I wanted to reach out, to write a message on the window or call out, but I couldn’t break through. When I looked again, Becca was gone and there were my parents, dressed in their Sunday best, sitting close to each other in a Christmas Eve service at their retirement home. There were perhaps twenty people attending, all dressed in bright reds and greens. When the pastor, who was wearing khakis and a polo shirt, asked if there were any prayer requests, several hands went up. My mother clutched a wad of tissues in one hand and lifted it when the man asked if there were any unspoken requests. He nodded as if he understood. She raised the tissues to her face, and my father put an arm around her and pulled her close.
     

     
    It did not dawn on me until that moment, but if I was seeing what was happening in real time, I might also beable to find Jacob. I looked back at the golden pot and shook it, some of the water slapping out and hissing on the burning wood.
     
    “Careful,” Jay said beside me, but I struggled to stay focused on the misty steam until a building came into view. Through the snow and foggy window I saw a man pacing, looking out from his book-lined office. On the desk were white pages in various piles, with sticky “sign here” notes. He glanced at his watch, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
     
    “This is not what I want to see,” I said to Jay. “I want to know where my husband is.”
     
    “Don’t try to control it,” he said. “You’ll learn by simply observing.”
     
    The next scene was my sister’s home. She and her husband in their bedroom closet, wrapping paper and presents around them, were deep in prayer. For us. For our marriage. It was humbling and humiliating.
     
    “You have people who care for you,” Jay said.
     
    Engulfed in the mist again, the water bubbling and frothing, another home with few books and more linoleum came into view. A figure sat at a makeshift computer table, a TV blaring a football game in the background. Abeer in one hand and a mouse in the other, he navigated through his Facebook contacts. I closed my eyes.
     
    “Do you know him?” Jay said.
     
    “He’s a friend I knew in high school.”
     
    “But you’ve become reacquainted.”
     
    “Only online. It’s nothing, really. Found his picture on Facebook and friended him.”
     
    The longer we lingered at Erik’s house, with Erik typing a message with two fingers, the more interested Jay became and the more uncomfortable I grew. I let the pot slip from the fire, but Jay held my hand there.
     
    “Wishing you a warm and happy Christmas Eve,” Erik wrote. “Hoping things go well with the kids in the coming days. Hoping there are better times ahead for you. Love, Erik.”
     
    “He didn’t get a good grade in typing class,” I joked.
     
    Jay remained focused. “He doesn’t write like he’s just an old friend.”
     
    “We’ve had some conversations over the past few months,” I said, and there was something hollow to my voice.
     
    “Did you date in high school?”
     
    “A little. We were just kids.”
     
    “But you’ve made a connection now.”
     
    “I have lots of Facebook friends.”
     
    “How many of them sent you greetings on Christmas Eve? On your anniversary? On the day you were going to sign divorce