The Second Ring

8/1/23 “But he is so nice most of the time.”

8/15/23 “How could I have made him this mad?”

8/30/23 “John loves my family, and they love him. What’s wrong with me?”

9/5/23 “I have to work on myself. He wants me to be the best I can be. This extra weight…”

Chrisanne had nothing new to say to her journal tonight, just browsed through what she’d recorded the last few weeks. There was no mistaking the down-shift. She cringed over recent entries, remembering the glee she felt a few months back.

The words left her limp and lifeless. Her man—John had insisted on her calling him that—was the kind she longed to belong to. He had dark hair and eyes with strong lines in his face, was taller than her, broad-shouldered, and firm-handed. She hadn’t hoped to snag him, but her whole world had snapped into place that May morning when she saw his message and replied instantly.

Chrisanne was pretty but shy, and having never mastered the fine art of getting a good man’s attention, she had given up long ago. She wasn’t bitter, though. Seven years ago, she had turned from living for herself to serving God with all her heart, and in the process, had committed to serving Him as a single woman to His glory all her life, if need be. Her love and devotion to Jesus had been all she needed. Beyond simply staying busy to “keep her mind off things,” this walk with God was most fulfilling. Yet, she had wondered if one day there might be someone.

When John showed up in her church, she had believed it was God’s plan. After that text, things moved quickly. Folks in her church, happily married for years, believed this was meant to be and readily encouraged them. John was recently converted from a life that was nowhere near godly, but he seemed to change overnight.

Chrisanne’s best friend, Angie, lived in a neighboring town and hadn’t met John. She had invited them over, but John hesitated to share her with anyone else. When Angie expressed concerns that he’d had little time to get established in his new faith, Chrisanne had bristled. Didn’t Angie trust the power of God to truly change a person? And couldn’t Angie, who was happily married, have the heart to be happy for her?

Chrisanne looked further back in her journal.

6/1/23 “John is so tender, so attentive, and encouraging.”

6/15/23 “Being with John is like manna to my hungry, weary heart.”

7/18/23 “I am surprised how quickly I have warmed to his love (it is love, isn’t it?). I never expected to find it.”

How could she have caused this good man to doubt her so? She would do just about anything to fix the rift. She didn’t intend to cross her own boundaries, of course, but had to admit they had come dangerously close sometimes when they were alone. She knew waiting was the right plan, but still, she longed for him to know she was his in every other way. What else could she do to make him happy?

John respected her convictions, and she truly admired that in him, just as she admired his quick wit and strong determined manner when decisions were to be made. She had felt so perfectly accepted by him, something her father had never made her feel. Nothing was ever good enough for “dear old Dad,” and she had promised herself to never, under any circumstances, marry anyone remotely like him.

“Marry.” Tears sprang to Chrisanne’s eyes at the word. Two weeks ago, she was sure John was about to ask, but now he was distant and cold, all because of her. Her inability to leave things alone had struck again.

John had missed a few church services, and she was scared for him as a new believer. As had always been her way when she was troubled, Chrisanne had gone to talk to their pastor. She feared she should do something if John was headed for trouble. John hadn’t seen it that way and blew up when she called to tell him about their conversation.

“Well, I suppose if we were to get married, Chrisanne, you’d want to tell him what we do in the bedroom.” His words had jarred her to the core, and she hadn’t heard from him since. That was a week ago. He hadn’t been back to church, either.

Chrissanne faced a crossroads between what she held sacred, and what a real man she might marry would choose as a path for their lives together. John’s accusation wasn’t true, but his deep questioning of her safety net for addressing problems troubled her.

Chrisanne swallowed her pride and reached for the phone.

“Angie? I’m sorry to call so late, but do you have a minute? I’m just so new to this dating thing, and I don’t know what’s going on right now.”

“I’ve just put the kids to bed; give me one second for goodnight kisses, and I’m all yours.”

Chrisanne listened to the sweet sounds of a mother’s love and felt fresh fear that they would never be heard in her own home. When Angie was ready, Chrisanne poured out her heart, not sparing details. Angie was a good wife to Tom. If anyone would be able to help her learn how to take care of a man (did she dare say “husband”?) it would be Angie.

“I know you’ve had your reservations about him. He has his struggles, but he is trying to live for God and needs a committed woman to be there for him.”

“What did you tell me about how he’s still single? Did you say he was married before?”

“No, that’s the most amazing thing. Where would I find anyone my age who hasn’t been? He was engaged, but the woman was cheating on him. He knew it, but the wretch would never admit it. How could he live with someone he couldn’t trust?”

Angie was silent for a few moments before asking, “Chrisanne, what do you know about narcissists?”

“Oh, Angie, don’t play therapist on me again. You read too much. I’ve heard of that, but those people are easy to spot. Not nice, upstanding guys like John.”

“Chrisanne, I’m just telling you, I’ve seen this before, and the things John expects of you, even the reason he’s no longer with his fiancé. . .”

“Ex-fiancé,” Chrisanne broke in.

“I’m sorry, Chrisanne. The reason he’s not with his ex-fiancé could be an indicator that no one could ever convince him they are being faithful. Narcissists have irrational expectations that keep women off-balance, requiring more and more ‘proof’ that they are loyal and under their control.”

Chrisanne’s face reddened, and her voice dropped a couple of tones. “I appreciate your friendship, Angie, but you are getting into areas I would not expect of you. If you want to actually meet my John, we will work that out sometime. For now, how about just praying for us, huh? I think that’s the best thing you can do.”

“And why haven’t I met him yet, Chrisanne? Have you thought of that? I’ve invited you to bring him to dinner, and you’ve always said he had other plans but never rescheduled. You should know that cutting someone off from friends and family is another. . .”

Chrisanne never heard the end of that sentence. She texted a few minutes later. “Sorry! Call dropped.” She wasn’t prone to lying, but this was just too much.

The phone rang, and assuming it was Angie, she almost ignored it. Glancing down she was thrilled to see “John” flash across the screen and sprang to answer on the second ring. It was that or don’t answer at all with John, just one of the little things that mattered to her man. She strained to sound cheery now, something else he required.

“Hello?”

“What did your preacher say about me?” John ground out the words.

“What?” Chrisanne felt it like a slap in the face. “Wh-what do you mean?” She realized she sounded guilty but continued. “He didn’t say anything bad about you. He just asked me to pray. He said we should pray together and take our time.”

“Don’t play cute with me, Chrisanne. Do you think I’m stupid? You had a cozy chat with him about everything you don’t like about me. Now I can’t even feel welcome in that church.”

“John, I haven’t…”

“Shut up, Chrisanne! You’ve been lying to me. It’s high time I force your hand and show your true colors.”

“John, I don’t understand. . . Let’s, let’s meet tomorrow and talk this over. I. . .

“Tomorrow! Why tomorrow? Why would you put me off?

“I’m not, It’s just late, I. . .”

“Oh, I get it. He’s there with you now, isn’t he?”

“Who? What are you talking. . .” He cut her off with a snort.

“Of course! You invited Brother Jones over for a little intimate chat about old John. You’re in bed with him right now, aren’t you?” His voice rose with every word.

“John!” His name rushed out with more force than she’d ever used, and she dreaded what was next.

“Don’t you raise your voice to me, wench. I told you I would never put up with a woman talking down to me! Or has your little preacher man made you forget?

“No, he. . . I. . . he’s not. . . I’d never. . .”

“I’m coming in to see for myself. Open up!”

“What? Where are you?”

A fist pounding on her door answered that question. Had he been right outside? How had she not heard the car?

“Open up or I’m busting in! Quit stalling.”

She trembled, paralyzed with fear. His words from a few weeks ago flooded back. “I’m no sissy, Chrisanne. If you want to love a real man, make sure you respect me even if I get angry. If you line up you’ll have nothing to worry about.” She had to push through her fear now and face this. “God, help me make him understand.” She half-way pulled on her robe while stumbling toward the pulsing door.

The instant the knob turned John was in her face, fist drawn back. What in the world? Self-defense training kicked in as she ducked and crossed her arms above her head to deflect the blow. John grabbed her left wrist hard, spun it, and slung her to the side, bolting toward the bedroom. She somehow kept her balance as she weighed whether to run or stay. She took a tentative step toward the bedroom, rubbing her stinging arm.

He was tearing through the room, throwing covers, looking under the bed.

“Where is he?” John roared. “You’re hiding him somewhere. Look at your clothes, half on and half off. . .”

“John! You know I would never. . .Stop this!” She was losing control. Did she even care? How could he accuse her this way?

He wheeled about, eyes shining with rage. Closing the gap between them with two great steps, he grabbed her wrists with an iron grip. He stood breathing down on her, staring with a sneer rising in his features. She didn’t dare speak, but her face was pleading.

“It’s always the preacher, you know.” The words came slow and hard. “That’s what women like you are after. You’re just another little slut in Christian clothing.” Chrisanne’s knees buckled, and he shoved her toward the couch, grinning in triumph. She landed hard and curled up, sobs wracking her body as John ransacked the rest of her home. Fleetingly she wondered if it would ever feel like her home again.

“He slipped out the back,” John said when his rage was finally exhausted.

“He was never here,” she choked out. “He’s never been here, and he would never do anything like you’ve said.” Her words were soft and resigned. Not even pleading, she was just waiting for whatever would come next.

“Then you must have met him at his office. I know if he asked you to get up on that big desk of his you would have gladly obeyed his every word wouldn’t you, little obedient Chrissanne?” She had no words as she looked up in horror at his accusation.

In response, he dropped to the couch beside her. Suddenly his arm shot around her waist and he pressed himself against her as he once had done with tenderness. She stiffened.

“You claimed you wouldn’t sleep with men you’re not married to and all that ‘once upon a time’ mess.” She bit her lip, remembering how supportive he had been of her strong principles when they met.

“You were saving yourself alright, but for someone else, while you toyed with me.” Chrisanne raised her face toward the ceiling and wept again.

“And I was almost ready to marry you, Chrisanne. So glad I saw through you before I got tangled up in a mess.”

There it was. The end of the rainbow she had hoped and dreamed about—blazing, fading, and followed by a bolt of lightning. It was over, utterly over.

He sat back, watching her convulse with grief. When her tears slowed, he slid his hand up behind her neck, twining her hair in his fingers and grasping it firmly.

“I’m a fair man, Chrissanne. I see you’re upset. Either because you’re guilty, or because you’re not. Here is your chance to prove which one. If you haven’t given it to that preacher, then you give it to me right now.” He pulled her in, inches from his face, and leveled his flashing eyes on hers, still holding her hair firm.

She looked down, broken. He had never hinted that he thought she was wrong for holding on to her “not yet.” Now he was speaking as if he had been demanding and her refusing him while sleeping with other men. A flash of self-respect burst into her heart. How could she think of wanting a man who would treat her like this?

Or did his passion prove that he cared? Men weren’t jealous of women who didn’t matter were they? She quickly considered her choices. God could give her someone else if she refused and he walked away, but no one else had shown up to claim her before, had they?

“You’re taking too long, Chrisanne. Chances like this don’t come twice for women like you.” He spoke slowly, coldly, and his grip tightened.

Her resolve crumbled. After all, if they married. . . and wouldn’t he marry her if he could be sure she was only his? Chrisanne knew better, but in her numbness, it didn’t seem to matter.

“OK, John,” she whispered, meeting his hard gaze.

“OK? I propose to show you my love tonight, and your reply is ‘OK’?”

“No, I mean. . . I, I. . .just. . .” As words failed, she reached a shaky hand toward his face and leaned up to kiss him. She felt none of the passion she had dreamed of for this moment, only trembled at the thought of trusting herself to him now and of throwing away what she had stood for so long.

Just as their lips met, John released her hair and slid his hand to her shoulder. Thrusting her from him, he sprang up from the couch.

“You really would have, wouldn’t you?” His laugh was sarcastic. Fresh tears filled her eyes, as she stared up in disbelief.

“You little slut. I don’t even want you. I just wanted to show you how weak you are, how ready you are to give it all up. How you ever thought yourself worthy of me, I can’t imagine. Don’t think of calling.”

And with that he stormed out the door, not even bothering to slam it behind him. It was a minute or two before she heard his vintage Mustang roar to life. He must have parked down the road. She waited for the sound to fade before numbly going to lock up and collapsing onto the messy bed. What would she do now?

Chrisanne resisted countless impulses to dial his number through the days that followed. Attempting to work had been almost useless as her mind wouldn’t follow commands to focus. Angie wasn’t taking her calls. Guess the lame text hadn’t worked. Just plain Chrisanne now faced rebuilding her shattered idea of who she even was.

One week to the day, she entered her office to find a cascade of red covering half her desk. Roses? Yes! A couple of dozen it looked like. It had to be John’s apology. She eagerly grabbed at the card, but stopped cold as she read the words, “All is forgiven.” It was simply signed, “John.”

Forgiven? Is that what he thought she needed? Forgiveness from him? No apology for how he had burst in on her, ransacked her house, accused her, and made a mockery of her convictions?

Forgiven. How the word twisted in her heart. Emotions that had begun to settle rebounded and ripped at her bruised self-respect. But was there hope now? And if so, hope for what? A healthy marriage? A man who treasured her? True happiness? Hadn’t John shown her what he was capable of doing? Of being?

Or had he just shown what her actions could drive him to? Could she learn to be what he most needed? Is that what God would want her to do? Wasn’t that the role her upbringing had taught her to fill?

Chrisanne knew the rest of her life hung on the response she would make to whatever John was showing her with this gesture and this message. She would need some time to think this over.

She jumped at the sound of her phone and knew before she looked that everything would come down to what she did next.

She bit her lip and answered on the second ring.