In our gorgeous contemporary farmhouse in the countryside, Wade had built me a beautiful office with a huge window framing eight-point bucks and coyotes as they stood outside peeking in while I wrote. It was purposely next to the kitchen so I could jump in and out preparing meals while writing, taking multitasking to the extreme.
Wade’s office, on the other hand, was outside in a spooky old barn with no heat and no comforts, other than the poster taped to the back of his door of a half-dressed blonde with an enticing stare and a pierced belly button.
On this particular freezing day, I needed to send a 137-page fax to our mortgage company in an attempt to refinance and save the house. Putting on my Sorels and double down, I trudged through the new snow into the dark. Sliding the barn door open, I did my best to shut my mind off to Wade’s warped sense of humor and his teasing about hanging me on the meat hook as a trophy if I ever pushed him too hard.
I swirled round and round in his office chair, making smoke rings in the cold as the cogs of the fax machine squeaked the pages through, when suddenly the hair prickled on my neck. I wasn’t alone.
I froze as adrenaline pumped through my body, my heart thumping so hard I thought it might stop. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and breathed out a muted “Hello,” the word floating up into the air. I had communicated with him many times before in my mind, but never out loud.
And then he spoke. “Hi.”
A slight warm breeze brushed my cheek. He was there, behind me, enveloping my being with his presence. I resisted the impulse to run out of the barn into the blinding white snowstorm. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, and I was melting in his presence, unable to resist what came next. Closing my eyes again, I waited for his words.
“Why aren’t you scared anymore?”
“I guess I’ve grown to trust you,” I responded. “Tell me, is it you who beats me up so I’ll hear the messages? Stinging me, or knocking my head on the corner of the counter?”
“Yes. You are stubborn, and sometimes you don’t listen.”
“I’m never certain whether it’s really you or just my conscience,” I said.
Quiet.
“Can you tell me something?” I asked, my voice still sounding meek and helpless. “Can you tell me who you are, and why you’ve chosen me to guide and protect?”
“You already know who I am.”
“Yes, but do I really? I have so many questions to ask you, but I’m afraid to hear the truth.”
“Jillian, you already know all the answers. You just have to believe in yourself, and in me.”
“Can I at least see you?”
“We have been together many times before, in your dreams.”
“I love you, you know,” I said.
“Yes, I know,” he replied. “Jillian, there is something important I have to tell you before I go.”
“Are you sure I’m ready for it? I mean, maybe I’m not cut out for this and am better off remaining in the not knowing.”
“Jillian, you are not like the rest.”
Just then the door flew open and Wade blew in from the cold. He glanced at the fax machine and back at my face, assuming my paleness was from our financial stress. I told him I was waiting for him to save me from myself, as he always has and always will.
I came out of the barn needing to feel the ground beneath my feet. Slowly, slowly, I walked back to the house, Wade’s arms wrapped around me in comfort.
