The Cracked and Silent Mirror

By Cindy Emmet Smith

Jennifer Michaels takes her baby and hides when she finds out that her husband Kevin has broken his wedding vows. Afraid of rejection and censure, she refrains from sharing her problems with relatives. THE CRACKED AND SILENT MIRROR is a novel about learning to cope with a seemingly insurmountable problem that indirectly affects more than only Jennifer and Kevin: homosexuality in the family. Jen refuses to divorce Kevin, confidant that God intended them as man and wife. She begins to explore her own worth as a woman in the eyes of God. In need of support, she turns to her friend Adam Westerman who encourages her by sharing his own testimony of past sexual brokenness. Kevin has never been certain of his personal value. Now, as he accepts that he is homosexual, he finds approval in the arms of his lover. When his relationship with Neil starts to crumble, he learns God cares for him and wants him back. He and Jennifer each undertake the journey to healing by finding their value in the eyes of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 17, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469773155

Cindy Emmet Smith

Cindy Emmet Smith--herself a former lesbian--and her husband, Lee, direct Crossroads Sexual Wholeness Ministries, an outreach for those struggling with homosexuality. She enjoys writing fiction and poetry; a number of her poems have been published. Cindy and Lee live in central Pennsylvania with their three children.

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All Rights Reserved © 2000 by Cindy Emmet Smith

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

620 North 48th Street Suite 201

Lincoln, NE 68504-3467

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-09409-0

ISBN: 978-1-4697-7315-5(eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

Acknowledgements

Frozen Garden

Lamppost Books

Mirror Image

Family Ties

The Skip-Trace

Empty Nest

Drawing the Lines

Happy Holidays

House Cleaning

Wait Like a River

Word and Water

Open House

The Rotary Cultivator

Dead of Night

Love in Action

Trash Collecting

In the Shadows

Wild Flowers

The Old Path

House Warming

Roses for Jennifer

Afterword

Dedication

Stand at the crossroads and look: ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, and walk in it and you will find rest for your souls.

Jeremiah 6:16 NIV

To God be the Glory

Epigraph

And every nook of the house was dim and strange and dread, And odd things shuffled and squeaked in the corners, and queer feet ran Hither and thither…the light was split, furled and unfurled like a fan… That was the day of God’s ban.

The House of the Soul: Lay by Dorothy Leigh Sayers

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to all the people who helped and encouraged me:

My husband, Lee, who reads everything I write.

Jim Gentile, Executive Director of Transforming Congregations, and his wife.

The members of All in His Name Ministries in Buffalo, NY.

The West Branch Christian Writers—especially Bobbi who said, You can’t write a Christian novel about gay guys, and got me started.

All the people I talked to with gay loved-ones who want to see a book like this.

Bob Davies, Executive Director of Exodus International North America, whose help finally got the manuscript into print.

Special thanks to Frank Worthen who was gracious enough to make a cameo appearance as himself.

Frozen Garden

Jennifer heard a harsh, animal moan. Shocked by the sound—it could-n’t be from her—she pressed the pillow to her face and rolled herself in the quilt. She cried as if tears could mend her broken heart. Some kind of heart beat in her chest, sending blood pounding through her veins, but an icy frost had shattered it into pieces as hard and sharp as glass. She searched the fragments for one that would not hurt, but even the pretty ones, the shiny, mirrored memories, had cutting edges, and she touched them carefully.

Kevin. She met him at college; her roommate fixed them up. The one quiet boy at that very noisy party. The one—wearing a striped, button-down shirt and flannel pants—who looked like he dressed for a party. The boy with red-gold hair and water-color blue eyes whose flashing smile flooded her with a warmth that made her forget to be shy.

Do you want to stay? he asked; the din made it hard for them to talk, even in the corner they had claimed.

Not really. She shrugged. I’m not much for parties, and I don’t like to drink.

Then let’s go for a walk. He threaded his way through the crowd and out into the crisp autumn evening.

When they looked at the stars, she groaned. I’m taking Astronomy this semester, and I’ll never make it. I’m no good at math.

Astronomy 101? When she nodded, he said, I aced that class, I’ll help you if you like.

She hesitated. Tomorrow? I have piles of homework.

Sure, come over after church.

The next day she showed up at his dormitory room juggling a pile of books in one hand and a bag containing snacks in the other. She tapped hesitantly on his door with one free knuckle.

Hi. Is he surprised to see me? Is now okay? You said after church.

Yeah, come in. He held the door open and flashed his wonderful smile.

She spread her work out on his desk. He was a patient teacher, explaining every step. It’s only physics.

"Only physics? She laughed, but under Kevin’s watchful eye, she soon completed the assignment. I brought popcorn. Do you have a microwave?"

In the kitchen, I’ll show you. She trotted after him down the hall. There’s a ‘Star Trek’ movie on, you want to watch?

Sure, I like science fiction. Especially old movies. Especially with you, Kevin.

‘Back to the Future?’

She nodded. Yeah, and ‘E.T.’ and fantasy, like ‘Swan Princess.’ I’m supposed to be too old for cartoons, but I took my cousin, and we thought it was great.

Kevin talked to her and listened to her, and made her glad to be Jennifer. How many smiles had it taken for her to fall in love with him? Not many—he was the boy of her dreams. And everyone said they were a perfect couple.

Now her baby cried, the thin wail cutting through Jennifer’s anguish. She pushed aside the quilt, stumbled out of bed, and groped for an elastic to tie back her hair. She felt her way to the door, tears still blurring her grit-filled eyes, and stopped to wipe them on her t-shirt.

Her mother appeared in the hall, bottle in hand. I thought you were sleeping, honey. I’ll take care of Emily, you go back to bed.

I can’t sleep. Her voice cracked. I’ll never sleep again…I can’t stop dreaming.

If you could talk about it, her mother urged.

No! Jen pushed past her, into the nursery. Tears filled her eyes again and she brushed them away with an angry swipe of her fist. She reached for her daughter, lifting her out of the crib and holding her close, pressing her wet cheek against the baby’s, kissing the soft red hair so much like Kevin’s. But that was another memory-shard.

First kiss. He never made a pass; never pressured her to sleep with him—to follow the example of so many of their friends. He always behaved like a gentleman, made-to-order to fill a mother’s wishes for her daughter.

Their friendship was sun-filled; they took pleasure in simply being together.

I have a new CD—don’t you like this Christian rock group too? Jen flagged Kevin down in the courtyard.

I do, he answered. Want to play it? We could go to my place.

Okay. You’re lucky you have a single room.

He put the disc in the player and sprawled in his chair. She curled up on the bed, listening to the music, feeling safe and happy.

You read King Arthur stories, don’t you? He pulled a volume off the shelf. You should try Stephen Lawhead.

She took the offered book. This looks great, mind if I borrow it?

He flipped through the back pages and took out his book-mark. I’m done with it, go ahead.

Thanks. I always like the books you recommend.

She melted when he grinned at her. Good then—anytime.

Kevin, I have a report for Art History to do—would you like to come to the museum with me? We could go Saturday.

It sounds like fun, I’ll pick you up.

They shared countless pizzas and walked through drifts of leaves, snow, and daffodils. On the last day of school, Jennifer sought him out to meet her parents and say good-bye.

We’ve heard so much about you, they said, extending their hands. Your major is computer science? That’s a good field. Jen says you help with her home work. She’s lucky to have a friend like you.

The handsome, serious young man clearly made a favorable impression on Mr. and Mrs. Sayre. They didn’t give Kevin much chance to talk, but Jen could tell they thought this boy and their daughter would make an ideal couple.

Polite as always, Kevin murmured the right things, shook their hands, flashed a smile and walked away. Jen wasn’t ready to see him leave so soon.

She ran after him. Kevin. He stopped when she called. I’m going to miss you.

I’ll miss you too, Jen. His smile pricked her heart. But I’ll be back in September.

Your last year. I have three more. She stared down at their feet, two pairs of sneakers toe-to-toe, then up again. Will you be sorry to graduate?

Yeah, I love school. I’d get my master’s, but Dad expects me to work. She thought he looked beyond her, as if into some unknown future.

I hope you have a nice summer.

You, too.

She couldn’t let him go; she looked at him, liking that he wasn’t tall and she could gaze right into his eyes, and lightly kissed him. Then she closed her eyes and put her arms around him; his lips were soft against hers and she noticed the faint spicy way he smelled. His hands were butterfly-light on her shoulders and when she backed away, his face lit with a smile.

If he said anything more she didn’t hear it over the roar of her pounding heart.

And now…it had broken into more splinters than she could restore. Jennifer dropped into the rocking chair and took the bottle from her mother. It was as if on that Sunday afternoon her life, blooming like a flower, had suddenly frozen, silvered with frost, still beautiful, but shattered by a touch. She couldn’t go there yet; that frozen garden would stay locked for a while. She rocked and watched her daughter.

I should be nursing Emily, not feeding her formula.

It’s okay, Jen. There was worry in her mother’s eyes. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat. You can’t breast-feed a baby if you aren’t taking care of yourself.

Jen sat back, leaning her head against the unyielding wooden chair. I don’t know what time it is any more; day or night, Monday or Tuesday.

Wednesday. It’s Wednesday morning.

Oh. She shook her head listlessly side to side. The day I read for story hour at the library. And Adam will miss me if I don’t stop by the bookstore on my way home. That was a memory that didn’t hurt. She held on to it like a marble in her palm, smooth and clear with a core of color.

The hot July afternoon she first met Adam.

What a beautiful store, she exclaimed as the door clicked shut behind her.

Thanks. A man with tortoise-shell glasses and unruly grey-brown hair looked up from the computer desk behind the counter. Can I help you?

Oh, no. She shook her head, letting her long, blonde hair fall loose around her face. Just browsing.

Her fingers trailed along the shelves as she looked, but she didn’t pull out any books. The store was cool after the hot walk she had taken, and restful with attractive modern artwork on the walls.

Are you a visitor in town? His voice interrupted her thoughts.

What? A visitor? No, we moved in a couple of weeks ago…my husband Kevin and me…we just had our third anniversary…isn’t it wonderful? She couldn’t keep her happiness from bubbling over into a smile.

He grinned in return. Congratulations. It’s nice to meet a new customer. I’m Adam Westerman, owner of Lamppost Books. He held out his hand.

Oh. She put out her hand, touching him briefly, then tucked her hair behind her ears. Jen Michaels. We have a little house on Vine Street. She felt shy and turned to the shelves.

Sounds nice. I’m an apartment dweller myself—I live upstairs. In fact, I own the building. Adam sounded friendly, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

She wandered, up one aisle and down another, then he asked, What do you like to read best?

Fantasy…like King Arthur.

Adam posed, hand on heart and recited:

"‘Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May;

Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll’d away!

Blow thro’ the living world—‘Let the King reign.’ Alfred, Lord Tennyson"

‘Blow trumpet…’ She smiled. I like that. Do you memorize lots of poetry and stuff?

Not a lot, whatever catches my fancy. Verses drift to the surface of my memory when I least expect it—my mother and I used to learn first lines of all our favorite books. That was from ‘Idylls of the King,’ not the first line, but I always liked it.

Jennifer pulled a book off the shelf and held it out facing Adam. She closed her eyes tightly and recited. ‘There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.’ She opened her eyes, hugging the volume to her chest. ‘The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,’ I just love this series. She put it back on the shelf with the other Narnia books, careful to replace it in the right order.

Anyone who reads C. S. Lewis automatically becomes a friend of mine. He grinned at her. I hope you’ll be stopping in often.

She smiled, fighting her shyness. I will, at least I’ll try. She glanced at her watch. I have to go, Kevin will be home soon. After that, she became a regular customer.

And now, when Jen opened her eyes, she met her mother’s worried gaze. I could drive you over to the library or the store if you like.

No, Mom. I can’t face my friends. She squeezed her eyes shut. And I might see Kevin. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how I feel. I love him, but I hate him; I want to tell him it’s okay, but I never want to see him again. I want to kill him, or…kiss him.

Emily lolled, dozing, mouth open, a trickle of formula running down the side of her face. Mrs. Sayre lifted her from Jen’s unresisting hands. Jennifer looked at her mother—her face as much a part of home as the familiar room she sat in.

She and Kevin had chosen their home together; thoughts of that day filtered through a gauze of tears.

A two-bedroom house is perfect for a young couple wanting to start a family, the real estate agent gushed. This one is in your price range, too.

The pretty house had sun-filled rooms and a tiny back yard—they both liked it right away. Kevin’s father had to admit it might be a good investment. He had set aside money for a down-payment as their wedding present. Together they chose furniture and made it into a home. Jen decorated the bedroom with flowers and candles, wanting the first night in their own house to be like a honeymoon.

The memory of their wedding night stabbed clear and pointed. She felt every moment of that night. Fingers trembed—fumbling buttons and zippers—as they changed, backs turned each in his own corner. She had a lace and satin nightgown, but felt shy wearing it. What would Kevin think? And what did she expect? She had never seen him in a bathing suit, let alone naked, and now she was almost afraid to look. She sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped across her chest, waiting for her new husband.

I don’t know what to do, she whispered when he sat beside her, the silky cotton of his robe soft in her hands as she gazed into his beautiful blue eyes.

I guess we’ll work it out. It’s my first time too. He smiled. I’ll try to be gentle. He cupped his hand under her chin and kissed her. That felt right, familiar, and she relaxed against him, holding him as his fingers lightly trailed across her breast.

Kevin was gentle, too gentle, as if he couldn’t reach inside her, couldn’t touch beneath the surface of her skin. Even that first time, he never hurt her. Was I wrong to expect fireworks? Is this all there is to passion? How could I tell? But he was attentive and kind and she took joy in their companionship.

The chair creaked as she rocked, eyes shut, recollecting. Jennifer’s mother shook her gently. Go to bed. I’ll take care of you.

I’ll take care of you. Why did every thing, every word have pain-sharpened edges? Kevin took care of her, too.

Jen pushed herself out of the rocker and stumbled back to bed. She lay spread-eagled on her back in the darkened room, counting heartbeats as she had counted the weeks of pregnancy.

Jennifer had been overjoyed to find out she was going to have a baby. She twirled around the room, grabbed Kevin, kissed him. Guess what? I’m pregnant. Isn’t it wonderful?

Are you sure? he gasped.

Don’t look so shocked. Of course I’m sure, I missed my period, I’m sick all the time, and the doctor said I’m eight weeks along.

He just stood there, gaping, unmoving, and she wanted him to share her delight.

Aren’t you happy Kevin? I’m happy—please be happy. She put her arms around him, and his hands moved to touch her.

I’m happy, Jen.

Her pregnancy was a joyous time, but not easy. Morning sickness lasted all day.

Kevin knocked on the bathroom door. Are you okay?

Just sick, as usual, she groaned.

He sat beside her on the edge of the bathtub, wet a washcloth with warm water and rinsed her face. I put chicken broth and crackers on the bedside table.

Thanks. She leaned against him, trying to relax and stop the heaving of her stomach. I’m sorry to be such trouble.

"It’s no trouble, Jen, I can boil water. He helped her back to bed. I have to go to work, now. Will you be all right alone? You look so pale." Concern filled his eyes.

I’ll be fine, she whispered. See you later.

He had always been there, caring for her, but now she wondered when the distance between them had grown into a chasm.

Sunlight edged her curtains. She threw off the quilt and paced around the bed. Her reflection stared at her, ghostlike, reproaching. Who do you think you are? You couldn’t even keep your husband. Long strings of blond hair framed her face and she scraped it back with one hand. Maybe I should cut my hair off, then I wouldn’t have to look at you any more. Then I could see a different face in the glass. But Kevin likes long hair. Oh Kevin, what happened?

Tears flooded her eyes. She swiped them away and went into the bathroom. She cranked the tap; if she cried in the shower, no one would know. She put her face under the fall of water. It must have been my fault. But the doctor told us not to make love. He was afraid the baby would come too soon. And Kevin seemed preoccupied, smiling less and working later. I wanted to touch you, Kevin, to hold you, but sometimes you wouldn’t let me near.

One evening just before Emily was born, a gentle hand woke her from a shallow doze. Kevin sat beside her, stroking her hair. He frowned a little, his eyes clouded. She reached up and stroked his cheek, Don’t worry, love. She winced as the baby moved and struggled to push herself up in the bed, a hand pressed to her side, easing the pain of the baby’s kick.

I can’t believe I got so big. She put her arms around her husband, but it seemed like her swollen belly kept them apart.

Kevin tried to smile. I’ll go heat up dinner. The ladies from church brought shepherds’ pie tonight.

I love you, Kevin. How could you hurt me like that? Jen rinsed her hair and turned off the water. Her mother had been great, taking her in late that Sunday evening without a word, but the questions were there in her eyes, and Jen didn’t know how to answer.

That horrible Sunday! No shower could rinse away the memory, shutting her eyes could not block it out. The tee shirt clutched in her hand smelled nice, a comfort smell, and it was soft against her skin. She pulled on the clean clothes and went downstairs. Breakfast tempted her for once, and she found her mother in the kitchen frying bacon.

You look a little better, honey. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?

No, Mom, I want to hide. I can’t walk around town with a smile on my face as if nothing were wrong. What do I answer if someone says, hi, how are you? Anguished, thanks, and yourself?

"I know you’re taking things hard right now, but I’m sure you and Kevin will work