Not off the Hook at 491: When Unforgiveness Feels as Natural as Breathing

By Lora Renée Hubbard

Relationships-casual or intimate-can be riddled with turmoil and betrayal. Ask the Stephens family. Readers are invited to peer behind the curtain of this affluent New York family to discover hearts encrusted with unforgiveness. Through a series of startling twists and turns as well as the unexpected influence of others, they struggle to forgive one another, forgive themselves, and even accept forgiveness from God. Keeping score of offenses and guarding our unforgiving hearts can feel as natural as breathing, but it can jeopardize our freedom. Is it really possible to throw away the scorecard and forgive without limits? Isn't that just what God does every time He forgives us?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524512682

Lora Renée Hubbard

Lora Renée Hubbard is a native of Pittsburgh and holds a Master of Education in Rehabilitation Counseling from the University of Pittsburgh. As a member of Mt. Ararat Baptist Church, she teaches adult Sunday school, facilitates Bible study, and writes for The Mount, its Christian lifestyle magazine. She is also pursuing her license as a minister of the gospel. With more than thirty-five years of counseling experience, she volunteers as a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) in the church’s counseling center, working with individuals, couples, and families. She has two adult sons and several precious grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Not Off the Hook at 491: When Unforgiveness Feels as Natural as Breathing is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mona struggled to still her fretfulness as she sat on the side of the bed. Taking quick sips of her vanilla latte and wrapping her springy black curls around her fingers had become strangely therapeutic. The massive weeping willow tree outside her and Brandon’s bedroom window captured her gaze this hot August morning in 2011. Like a magnet, its drape-like branches drew her in. Their dazzling reflection decorated a nearby pond. The scene had served as an adequate distraction to the anxious thoughts she had tried to harness since one thirty in the morning. Brandon, her husband of eighteen years, was still not home.

Mona knew all too well how careful she needed to be with her rambling thoughts. After all, she had a habit of letting them overtake her—especially the negative ones. Worry was a constant companion. After taking another sip of her latte, she shook her head briskly and massaged her forehead as if that would rescue her from her uneasiness. With tension in her voice, she whispered, "Where on earth is he?" It was unlike Brandon to stay out all night, even though he had once fallen asleep on the couch of his Manhattan law office. But even then he had called. Oh God, I hope he’s okay. It’s just not like him, she thought.

People often regarded Mona as a picture of health—tall and statuesque. She was five feet nine inches in stocking feet, with a walk that radiated confidence and joy. Her caramel skin was flawless, making her look a lot younger than her forty-three years. Mona’s view of herself did not match this striking portrait. Like the willow, she often found herself drooping with an invasive despondency she had learned to skillfully conceal. In a moment of self-examination, she began to question her identity. Have I actually become the willow that weeps? Even in the midst of her soul-searching, her thoughts didn’t stray too far from Brandon. Why hasn’t he called?

Mona was startled by several booming knocks on her bedroom door. She almost spilled what was left of her latte. Adjusting her robe, she rushed to the door. The only other people home were her two teenage children—Jeff, sixteen, and Melanie, fifteen—affectionately called Mel by family and close friends.

Hey! What is it? What’s wrong? Mona’s hands were trembling as she fumbled with the doorknob. Jeff bolted into the room, visibly upset.

Mona grabbed at Jeff’s arm. For God’s sake, what’s wrong? What’s going on?

Mel hid all the hand controls for the Wii! I know she did it because she won’t stop laughing, Jeff complained. Mona’s shoulders relaxed as she sighed with some relief. Before she could respond to Jeff, Mel darted into the room, out of breath.

Here they are. I found them in the den.

"Mel, don’t you dare act like you saved the day, Jeff said. He snatched the controls and retorted with dripping sarcasm, Thanks for nothing!"

As Jeff left the room, Mona shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and thought, Hand controls? What a big problem that is! She tried to steer Mel toward the hallway before she noticed her dad’s absence—odd for a Sunday morning. It was too late.

With a curious glance back, Mel inquired, Hey, where’s Dad?

I’m not sure, honey, Mona answered with a forced smile. He may have slipped out to the store while I was asleep. Probably didn’t want to disturb me. You know how your dad— Before Mona could finish her sentence, Mel was distracted by the text message alert on the cell clipped to her jeans. With a quick wave, she scurried off, closing the door behind her. Mona had actually welcomed the brief interruption from two of the most cherished people in her life.

Mel favored Mona, only slightly taller, with a stockier frame. She was rarely seen without her signature hairstyle—a curly light brown ponytail that traveled down her back, loosely held in place by a puffy scrunchie. Unlike many of her friends, she didn’t wear makeup. Her bronze skin tone had no blemishes, and her hazel eyes were only enhanced by a little eyeliner.

Sometimes mistaken as twins, Jeff was actually a male version of his sister, of course with a more muscular physique and taller at six foot two. His ash-brown Mohawk with the faded sides was the envy of all his friends, as well as the moustache he had proudly grown over the summer.

Not too long after her children left the room, Mona’s anxiety returned, more intense now. Her jaws tightened, and tears trickled down her face. She had already called Brandon’s office a few times that morning, but she hung up just as his greeting started. She had tried his cell too, but it went straight to voice mail. His phone was turned off. She decided to call the office again and leave a message this time. After a few rings, his greeting came on: You have reached the desk of Brandon Stephens of Barnes, Stephens, and Porter. I’m either in court or assisting another client. Please leave a message, and I’ll contact you at my earliest opportunity.

As soon as the beep sounded, Mona began her message. "Brandon, call me! I’m really worried. For God’s sake, you never stay out like this without calling! And why is your cell off?"

After several minutes Mona tried his cell again. He still has his phone off? That’s so odd. With her voice quivering, she left a similar message.

She tried to control her emotions as she sat back down on the bed in front of the window. She gently massaged the back of her neck and challenged her thoughts. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he just fell asleep at the office and didn’t hear the phone. He’ll call. I sure hope he will—and soon!

Immersed in her reflections, Mona glanced beyond the willow to the rainbow-colored flower beds. Her taut face softened a bit. Even though she wasn’t much of a churchgoer these days, she couldn’t help but be grateful to God for all she and Brandon had achieved. He was her soul mate, her life partner, and she couldn’t imagine living without him. Once again, her negative musings stoked a new wave of agitation and fresh tears. Before they fully engulfed her, the jazzy ringtone on her BlackBerry ushered her back to reality. By the time the second note played, Mona had yanked the phone from her robe pocket. Through blurred eyes, she saw Brandon’s name. It was now 11:40 a.m.

Mona answered in a much louder voice than she had intended. Thank God, Brandon! Are you okay?

Oh, honey, I’m fine. I’m so sorry I didn’t call you. I got so—

"I was worried sick about you! Where are you?"

I’m still at the office. We got into a pretty lengthy discussion about my fraud case and felt we needed to keep pushing. The hearing is coming up soon and—

Yeah, I know you’ve been pretty stressed about that case.

Well, anyway, after I called you last night, we decided to have dinner brought in so we could tie up a few loose ends. We wrapped up the evening, or should I say the morning, around three o’clock. I hope you can forgive me.

My goodness! That must have been some session.

We got a lot done. After everyone left, I stayed to put a few finishing touches on my opening statement, but I fell asleep at my desk. I should have called you then, but somehow I found my way to the couch for a few quick winks before driving home.

You know, that’s what I thought happened, but I guess I allowed myself to think the worst. Why was your phone turned off? Mona asked.

Oh, I must have done that by accident. I don’t even remember turning it off. I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me.

Twirling her hair and gliding across the room, Mona released any leftover anger. Well, I’m just relieved you’re okay—and of course, I forgive you. I love you so much and just the thought—

I love you too, babe. I’m on my way home now. Do we need anything?

Mel mentioned last night that we need milk. Would you also pick up a few other things for dinner?

"Sure, anything for the classiest lady in West Nyack, New York!"

"Aww, flattery will get you everywhere. What do you have a taste for?"

Why don’t we grill … uh … some T-bone steaks, maybe a nice piece of salmon for you, and uh … one of your gourmet desserts, Brandon said haltingly. Maybe … uh … some lemon meringue pie? That’s … uh … what I have a taste for.

Are you okay? You’re not still pouring over that case are you? Take a break!

Oh … uh … no, I’m fine. So how’s that Sunday menu sound to you?

"It sounds great, especially with you doing the grilling, Mona teased. Just get the steaks. I already have salmon and all the ingredients for the pie. Pick up some dinner rolls and apple juice for the kids."

Okay, babe. We’ve both … uh … have been so busy this week. Uh … I’m really looking forward to a little family time, Brandon said and chuckled. I’ll even challenge you to a couple games of Wii bowling if you’re up to it. I know you’ve got to be exhausted worrying about me half the night.

Yeah, I sure am. But you know what? I bet I can still beat you no matter how exhausted I am.

We’ll see about that. Hey, it’s almost noon, so I’d better get out of here. I’ll see you shortly, okay?

Okay, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re okay.

Mona took a few moments to meditate on how they had ended their conversation that morning. Since their courtship in college, they sealed the end of each call with a kiss. Today was no different, but it seemed more meaningful than usual. Brandon hadn’t changed much since college, with the exception of his now thinning hair. In her eyes he still looked sophisticated with his graying temples, neatly manicured salt-and-pepper beard, and his strikingly tall stature. When she first met him, she thought he resembled a younger, taller version of Harry Belafonte. Brandon’s been six foot four since he played high school basketball.

Mona loaded her favorite Brian Culbertson CD. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the full-length mirror with her arms wrapped around her slender body, pretending to slow dance to the music. Her heavy mood had lifted, and she was ready to face the day. Brandon was all right.

Chapter 2

Grilled T-bones and tart lemon meringue pie were not all this forty-five-year-old corporate attorney had a taste for. Over the last two months, Brandon’s appetite had grown for Celeste Bradford, a single, twenty-seven-year-old paralegal. She had been with his firm only since February and was one of the best they ever had—intelligent, efficient, funny, attractive, and shamelessly flirtatious.

Well, Attorney Stephens, it sure sounds like your wife bought your story. I guess you attorneys can be very convincing, huh? she said and giggled, mocking his phone kiss to Mona.

Yeah, I’m sure Mona believed me. I’ve never given her a reason not to. Brandon shook his head and sighed. I feel like such a jerk for having to lie. Brandon cleared his throat and glanced at the time on his phone. It was now 12:20. And you know what else? It didn’t help that you were running your nails up and down my back while we were talking.

Well, I think you deserve a standing ovation for that magnificent Hollywood performance! Award-worthy in my book! Celeste applauded and shouted, Bravo, bravo, bravo!

Come on, Celeste. This isn’t funny. Brandon sat on the side of her bed for a few minutes before gathering his belongings. He was not one to toss his custom-made suits and Egyptian dress shirts on the floor. The navy blue pin-striped suit was his favorite; he called it his power suit.

Sitting up in bed, Celeste challenged him, "After all the time you’ve been spending with me, you’re suddenly feeling guilty?"

Well, yeah. I don’t feel good about any of this. I’ve let things get out of hand. This should have never started.

"This? Well, Attorney Stephens, you can’t deny the sweet chemistry between us. I’m starting to believe we’re soul mates. Don’t you feel it?"

"Celeste, that’s not the point here. Of course, I’ve enjoyed being with you. What man wouldn’t? But today is a huge wake-up call! I’ve been careless. Plus I am married, and I do love my wife and my family. It’s not like—"

Silencing him with the flap of her hand, she butted in, "Well, I already knew all that. I just believe there’s nothing wrong with having a special friend on the side. Married folks do it all the time, at least the ones I know. Besides, nobody knows but us, and my lips are sealed." She slid her thumb and index finger across her lips, pretending to lock them and throw away the key.

"I’ve never stayed with you all night or on a weekend. That’s just been my rule. Last night, I violated it."

Hey, we were having a good time. Don’t be so hard on yourself. She bought your story, so don’t worry about it.

Brandon slipped on his trousers and shirt and casually slung his tie around his neck. He laid his suit jacket on the red velvet boudoir chair Celeste had found at a nearby antique store. It matched all the other ornate, French-style furniture she had squeezed into her apartment. He then walked through the dining room toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, but he didn’t get too far. As he stood just outside the kitchen, he kept his eyes fixed on Celeste as she rolled out of bed. She took her time retrieving her robe from the floor. He struggled to reel in his wayward thoughts. Man, she’s fine. And she makes me feel so … so alive. I’ve lost some of that with Mona. But she’s still my wife. I’ve got to find a way out of this. I feel trapped.

Brandon discouraged Celeste’s playful gestures as she slinked closer to him. He shut her robe and tied it like he was restraining a rodeo bull. Turning his back, he changed his mind about the water and headed back to the bedroom to retrieve his jacket.

Look, Celeste, I have to go. Maybe for good, he thought.

Can’t you stay just a little while longer? As she toyed with his tie, she continued, I’ll even make us some breakfast. Throw in some grits, homemade biscuits––

Okay, okay, you can just stop tempting me with all that, he said and chuckled. Sounds good, but I really need to get home. Maybe another time.

"Another time? Hmm … you mean the next time you stay over?"

Brandon ignored her question, grabbed his keys from a nearby accent table, and headed for the door.

What? No kiss? Celeste jeered.

Well, I really need—

Oh, Brandon, come here. I won’t bite.

Girl, you’re too much. Why can’t I just leave?

Not too much for you, Attorney Stephens. With her head cocked to the side, she batted her eyes and once again moved toward Brandon. That’s why you can’t resist me. Am I right?

Celeste guided Brandon closer as they stood near the door. They buried themselves in each other’s arms and kissed with a passion rivaled only by Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh in Gone with the Wind.

Brandon confessed, You know, there’s just something about you, Celeste. Now joined in a more relaxed embrace, Brandon continued, I enjoyed dinner last night and your special brand of dessert. He winked and planted a quick kiss on top of her head. "You’re a lot of fun, but I really have to think about all this. I really do."

Disengaging her embrace, Celeste stepped back, crossed her arms, and peered deeply into Brandon’s eyes without blinking. Her puckered forehead wailed of her displeasure before she even uttered her next words. Well, suit yourself, Brandon. It’s not going to be that easy for you to just write me off!

Don’t put it that way, baby. Brandon attempted to brush the back of his hand against her cheek, but she turned away. I just need a little time to make sense of all this. I’m sure—

Okay, okay, save your breath! She stiff-armed his words by placing her open hand within two inches of his face. Look, I get it. I don’t like it, but it is what it is.

Celeste, I really don’t want you to feel like—

Brandon, please stop. I just have to be okay with this little dilemma of yours. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Well, while you’re busy with all this soul-searching, don’t forget your special friend’s birthday."

"I can’t believe you’re talking about that at a time like this. You’re birthday? Wow! I wasn’t—"

As if he wasn’t speaking, Celeste continued, now wearing a faint grin. It’s coming up soon, you know. This year it falls on Labor Day. That’ll make it easy to remember.

Well, I guess it will, but uh … uh … I … well, I just don’t know if—

"You just don’t know if what? She jutted out her hip and raised her chin. All I know is you promised to get me something nice."

I know. I know! You’ve only reminded me a couple dozen times. I like to keep my promises, but I really don’t know about this one. I’ll have to see. Brandon juggled his keys in one hand and lowered his head. Celeste, that’s all I can say right now. Okay?

Sure, I understand. She patted him on the shoulder and lifted his head. Look, it’s going to work out, but before you leave, I have something for you.

Really? What’s she up to now?

Well, I figured you might need some gift ideas. She waltzed over to her large stained glass jewelry box and pulled out a note she had written on her favorite stationery—rose-colored and speckled with small tulips. She handed it to Brandon as if it was a deposition summary she had typed at the office. He took the note and reviewed each item. He thought, Is she crazy?

Girl, these are some pretty big-ticket items. A Neiman-Marcus gift certificate for a thousand? A plane ticket to LA and spending money to visit your sister? A diamond tennis bracelet? Brandon kept staring at the note wondering what he had gotten himself into. He blurted out, My goodness, you don’t play, do you?

Well, it’s not like any of that stuff would break your budget, right? As they say, you got it like that.

Yeah, I do, but—

Every girl appreciates nice things, and I’ll certainly make it worth your while—if I haven’t already, Attorney Stephens. Brandon dismissed her comment, folded the note, and tucked it in his jacket pocket. With the jacket tossed over his shoulder, he glanced back at Celeste as he finally opened the door.

"I’ll see you tomorrow … at the office."

Okay, that’s a date. She placed her index finger on her full lips and whispered, Shh … remember, it’s our little secret. She blew him a kiss as he was exiting. With that, he left her apartment and made his way to his car.

Celeste’s apartment complex, even though modest when compared to Brandon and Mona’s sprawling five-bedroom tri-level home, was on the outskirts of Manhattan. He often wondered how she could afford such a decent place on her salary. He was grateful for the indoor garage. It not only made it easy for him to hide his car from plain sight but it also protected it from the elements. After all, he was very proud of his black BMW M6 convertible. He had given it to himself as a birthday gift earlier in the spring.

It was almost one o’clock when Brandon jumped in his car. Although he couldn’t shake his guilt, he also struggled to dismiss his pleasurable thoughts about Celeste. She had been his right-hand girl—day and night. He reflected on how skilled and helpful she was during one of his most publicized cases. He had brilliantly defended a large pharmaceutical company on a wrongful death claim. He was a master at raising reasonable doubt in his cases. The boy was only twelve years old when he was alleged to have had a fatal reaction to his medication. Celeste was skilled in many other ways too. She seemed to have a knack for getting attention. There were times when he found himself mesmerized by the way she sashayed in and out of his office and how provocatively she dressed. Every curve of her well-endowed frame was highlighted by outfits that were short, clingy, and low-cut. At times she came pretty close to violating the firm’s dress code, but no one complained.

The wrongful death trial had dragged on for months, but it wrapped up with a not guilty verdict in early June 2011. The firm celebrated with a catered lunch and cocktails back at the office. The outcome of the trial had been covered by all the mainstream news channels, and Brandon had received calls and texts from friends and family members from all over the country. After all, it had been one of the biggest trials of 2011. Celeste always found ways to compliment Brandon on his legal prowess in the courtroom. It kept him going. He recalled everyone having left the celebration and he and Celeste lingering in his office. They eventually allowed themselves to embrace and even kiss for the first time. Couldn’t blame it all on the cocktails. There was an undeniable attraction that had been building since the time she started with the firm in February. It didn’t matter to Brandon that she had initiated the affair because he had failed miserably at offering any kind of defense this time. Against his better judgment, he agreed to go out with her to a local club for a few more celebratory drinks—only to later find himself entangled in her satin sheets. Celebration and regret all in one day. That was the beginning of what he was now calling a colossal mistake. It was a terrible lapse in judgment, something that would destroy his marriage and his family if he were ever found out. He had to end it, but a part of him desperately wanted to hold on.

Brandon’s guilt mushroomed following his licentious stroll down memory lane. My God, how could I do this to Mona? I love her. I don’t love Celeste like I love … like I— Do I even love Mona? Of course I do! Why am I even questioning that? I don’t know. Maybe we just stopped … stopped … romancing each other or something. Then comes Celeste—full of excitement and good times. It all seemed so harmless at first … before the embrace, before the kiss, before the cheating. Brandon gripped the steering wheel and felt his sweaty hands sliding around its leather cover. And to think I used to stick my chest out with my buddies, boasting about how I would never dishonor my wife. Blah, blah, blah. Brandon let out a harsh breath. His eyes puddled as he drummed his fist on the center console. If Mona ever found out about this, I don’t know what— Loud honks from a light blue minivan on his left halted Brandon’s thoughts. He had almost sideswiped the irate driver when he attempted to change lanes without looking. He hastened to steer his car back into his lane. He sat up straight and rotated his broad shoulders to settle himself before shifting lanes again. The grocery store entrance was at the next light. He turned left into the parking lot, but he had forgotten the items Mona had requested. After parking, he thought about calling her, but he feared she would detect something in his voice. He let his head fall back on the headrest, closed his eyes, and rehearsed their phone conversation. The situation with Celeste kept invading his concentration. I’ve got to put all this craziness out of my head—at least for today. Today it’s about my family. It’s our time. Brandon sat up, blotted his forehead with his folded handkerchief, and stuffed it back in his trouser pocket. I can’t run from this. I’ve got to deal with it—and soon. He rubbed his hands together and then locked his fingers as if praying. He took a deep breath and sighed. Okay! Let’s see. T-bones and … rolls … yes. Juice—that’s it. The Sunday menu!

Chapter 3

Mona had watched Brandon stumble into bed around nine thirty Sunday night—early for him. She understood considering he was out all Saturday night and could hardly have slept too well on the couch in his office. Even after overloading his stomach with all those goodies, he forced himself to shoot hoops with Jeff and play Wii games well into the early evening. It had been awhile since the family spent time together without someone running off to the office or taking calls from distressed friends. The kids had even slowed down on their texting and social media activities. It had been a great day.

Jeff and Mel had gone to bed shortly after Brandon. Mona had the rest of the evening to herself. She had scheduled a week off work just to relax and maybe catch up on a few things around the house. She fixed a cup of green tea and sunk into her favorite recliner. She had fallen in love with this royal blue velvet recliner last year, so Brandon surprised her with it for her birthday. She had redecorated the entire family room with this chair as the focal point—shades of blue and gray in the plush carpet and custom-designed drapes. The long, steel-gray couch and matching love seat with burnt orange and royal blue pillows tossed from one end to the other was striking. Her favorite abstract artwork and pottery added the finishing touches. Her family often teased her about this special room, wondering when she might start charging an admission fee just to step inside.

Mona rarely took off work because of the demands of her role as the chief accounting executive for an international manufacturing chain. She had advanced in the organization by taking advantage of its tuition assistance program. This allowed her to obtain her MBA from Columbia University. As a well-respected executive, Mona has received numerous commendations. Her biggest challenge, though, was allowing herself to leave work behind for others. The thought