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Lambert's Code Page 6
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“I know He works all things together for good. I just can’t find the good here.” She cried, wiping her face with wadded tissues. “Will you pray with me?”
“Absolutely.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head, regretting that she had to ask him to pray. He should have offered.
“Lord, we don’t understand this situation, but You do. We can count on Your faithfulness, Your goodness, Your blessings. Give us grace to submit to Your will for our lives.”
For the first time in a long time, Ethan sensed the presence and peace of God. They stirred a hunger in him and a resolve to seek the Lord’s strength and stop depending on his own devices.
After a peaceful interlude, Julie pressed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Do you feel better? Do you sense the Lord’s peace?”
She nodded slightly. “Yes. I know He loves me, but, Ethan, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better.”
He frowned at her. “That’s my beautiful little pessimist.”
She flicked him on the forehead, grinning.
“Ouch!” He slapped his hand over the sting.
“That’s what you get for being sarcastic.” She kissed the red spot and hopped off his lap. “Do you want some breakfast? Your Highness slept until lunch, but I think I can whip up something breakfastlike for you.”
“Eggs, please.”
“Eggs it is.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for praying with me.” She disappeared around the corner to the kitchen.
He followed her. “You’re welcome. Sorry you had to ask for prayer. I guess I’ve been a little dense lately.”
“Just lately?” She snickered and retrieved the skillet from the bottom cupboard and sprayed it with cooking oil. “Can you believe we have a whole day with nothing to do?”
He slipped his hands around her waist. “Not me. I’ve got to run by the plant to check on the equipment.” He nuzzled her neck.
“Really?” She faced him and slipped her arms around his neck.
He kissed her with passion.
“Let me guess. The eggs can wait.”
“Maybe?” He searched her eyes, hoping to see a reflection of what he felt.
She returned his kiss without a word, then clicked off the burner and led him by the hand upstairs.
Eight
Praying with Ethan lifted Julie’s countenance and strengthened her resolve. Move on with life. No more tears.
Nevertheless, the word barren floated aimlessly along the breezes of her mind like tumbleweed across the desert plains.
She understood now, in some small way, what the apostle Paul meant when he wrote, “But one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead.”
With her life plans now defunct, new plans awaited. She merely needed to pray, dream, and let the Lord paint a new picture on the canvas of her life.
At the breakfast nook, she stared out the window at the glistening snow. Time to give Kit Merewether a call and take her up on the quartet invitation.
Ethan clattered around in the kitchen, putting away the breakfast dishes. “Kitchen is tidy, ready for your inspection, Mrs. Lambert.” He bent to kiss her cheek.
The scent of mountain-spring soap drifted under her nose. “If it meets your standards, it meets mine.”
Ethan lifted his arms over his head in a victory stance. “Ethan Lambert, Neat Freak Champion of the World.”
She laughed at him. “Neat Freak, where’s the paper? I want to catch up on the news. I feel out of touch.”
“Probably on the porch. I’ll get it.”
The phone rang as he opened the front door. Still smiling, Julie answered.
“Hi, Julie, it’s Mark Benton. Is Ethan around?”
“Hi, Mark. Hold on, here he is.”
Julie handed the phone to her husband. He tossed her the paper. Slowly she removed the plastic wrap, listening to Ethan’s conversation.
He talked to Mark with animated movements—dribbling and shooting a pretend basketball. Julie perched on a nook stool and scouted out movies.
When he said good-bye to Mark, Ethan lobbed the phone to Julie. “Incoming. . .”
She caught it. “What’s up?”
Ethan cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with enthusiasm. “A rematch. Mark ran into a couple of the guys from the Creager Technologies team, and they want a rematch of our championship game. Creager versus Lambert Furniture.”
“Really. When?”
Ethan glanced at the stove clock. “Wow, is it that late? I’ve got to run by the plant, then get to this game.” He dashed upstairs.
Julie trailed him. “What am I supposed to do?”
Ethan peeled off his sweater and jeans. “Come to the game.” He folded the clothes and set them on top of his dresser.
“What about our free day?”
“Aw, babe, I have to check on the new CNC machines. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that.” He grabbed her and whirled her around. “But come to the game. It’ll be fun.” He disappeared in the closet for his basketball gear. “I can’t believe those guys want to get beat again.”
She flopped down on the bed. “I don’t know. . .”
He slung his gym bag over his shoulder. “You can cheer me on.”
She made a face and laughed. “You never hear me.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” He ruffled her hair.
“And I lose my voice for nothing.”
He looked at his watch. “Ooh, gotta go. Come on, Jules, come. Or, hey, call Elizabeth for a movie if you want.”
“Well, I haven’t talked to her since that night at the restaurant. I guess I could—” But he was gone.
Julie sat in the living room, acknowledging her sour attitude. She wanted to hang out at home with Ethan. He had to work and play basketball. So typical.
Work I understand, but basketball? She considered going to the game but didn’t want to give Ethan the satisfaction.
When the phone rang a few minutes later, she answered, hoping to hear Ethan’s voice.
“Do you want to catch a movie tonight?” Sophia sounded like an energetic teenager.
With a sigh, Julie leaned against the kitchen counter. “What a coincidence.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Yeah, a movie sounds good.”
“What do you want to see?” Sophia asked.
“I don’t care as long as it’s a comedy. The more inane, the better.”
Sophia snickered. “That new place out by Sinclair’s has eight theaters. I’m sure one of them is showing something inane.”
“Great. Guess we could do dinner, too.”
“Perfect.”
Julie scribbled Ethan a note. Gone to dinner and the movies with Sophia. She tucked it under his laptop and bounded upstairs for a shower.
❧
Ethan knocked lightly on his grandparents’ kitchen door. “Hello. Anyone home?” He wandered through the kitchen, snatching a piece of chocolate cake.
“Who’s there?” Grandma came in from the family room with her knitting in her hands. “Ethan, what brings you here?”
“Stopped by to see my two favorite people.” He bent to kiss her cheek.
Grandma chortled. “Have you had dinner?”
“Actually, no.”
“Sit, sit. Let me get you something.” Grandma set the yarn and needles on the kitchen counter and hustled around the airy kitchen.
“Where’s Grandpa?” Ethan glanced through the kitchen door to the family room.
“Ratting around in the basement, making something, I think.” With a Tupperware bowl in hand, Grandma opened the basement door. “Matt, Ethan is here.”
Ethan heard footfalls on the stairs. “Well, to what do we owe this pleasure? Where’s your lovely bride?”
“At a movie with a friend.” Ethan watched as his grandpa hugged his grandma.
“How’s my bride?” Grandpa kissed her and picked up the cake pla
te.
Bride? It had been many years since Ethan thought of Julie as his bride. Wife? Yes. Friend? Certainly. But bride? The word painted a different image on his emotions—an image of zealous love, of intimacy.
Grandma regarded Grandpa, a large spoon in her hand. “She’s fine as long as you don’t die too soon from cholesterol poisoning. Don’t eat that whole cake, Matt.”
“Ah, Betty, you worry too much.” He fished in the silverware drawer for a fork and joined Ethan at the table.
Ethan watched, amused. His grandparents’ enduring love and affection were a Lambert family treasure. Their example, along with his parents’, gave him the confidence to marry Julie after high school. He had been blissfully unaware that desert winds would blow.
“What have you been doing today?” Grandpa scooted up to the table, a large white napkin tucked into his collar.
“Slept until noon, stopped by the plant to check on the equipment, then met the guys at the rec center to beat Creager again in a championship rematch.”
“Those fellows must love punishment.”
Ethan grinned. “They must.”
“A lovely March Saturday and you went to work, played basketball, and Julie went out with a friend.” Grandpa shook his head. “Times have sure changed.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”
Grandma came around the table. “All I had was leftover steak and baked beans from the senior center cookout.” She patted him on the back and winked.
“Well, if that’s all you have. . .” Ethan cut a bite. “I’ll have to endure.”
Grandpa lifted his chin. “When’s the last time you and Julie went out together?”
Ethan thought for a moment. “Um. . .”
“Um? That doesn’t sound good.”
“Wait, we went to Italian Hills the other night.” Ethan pointed at Grandpa with his fork. “She’d had a bad day.” He left it at that.
“A consolation date?”
“No, not exactly.” Ethan flushed and took a long sip of his water. “What’s wrong with a consolation date?” Never mind how rotten it was.
“Nothing, if that’s the kind of relationship you want with your wife. Are you two living life from the same game book?”
Ethan felt invaded by his grandpa’s words. The man saw too much. “Where’d you come up with that? Game book? Of course we’re living life from the same game book.” I think.
“Would Julie tell me the same? Does she still drive that old car?”
Ethan squirmed. Grandpa painted him into a corner. “Yes.”
“Matt, leave the boy alone. He and Julie can manage their own affairs.” Grandma hushed Grandpa with a pat on the head.
“I never told you about Lambert’s Code, did I?”
“Just that there was some mysterious family code.” Ethan speared a piece of meat, grateful for Grandma’s defense, shoving aside any guilt about Julie’s old car. Two weeks ago, she happily drove that old car. How did the baby news change all that?
Grandma answered, “No mystery to it, Ethan. Just submit to one another.”
Ethan gave her a quizzical look. “That’s it?”
Grandma assured him, “That’s it.”
“Submit to one another?” Ethan repeated with a slight shake of his head. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Exactly.” Grandpa speared the air with his fork. Cake crumbs littered the table.
“Matthew Lambert, you’re worse than the great-grandchildren.” Grandma got up for a wet cloth.
Ethan twisted his expression. “I’m supposed to live by a code I don’t understand?”
“You’ve watched spy movies, haven’t you?” Grandpa asked.
“Sure.”
“Don’t they crack some kind of code? That’s what you have to do. Crack the code.”
Grandma gave him a clue. “Read Ephesians 5:21.”
“I know Ephesians 5. Husbands, love your wives. Wives, respect your husbands.” He didn’t say, “Blah, blah, blah,” but his tone did.
“That’s a big part of it, sure, but rethink it. Go deep. Hold up your marriage to Julie against that verse. Hold up your relationship to the Lord in light of that verse.”
Ethan swirled the last of the water in his glass. “What do I win when I figure it out?”
Grandma and Grandpa grinned. “When you figure it out, you win.”
“Well, guess I’d better crack this code then. Does the rest of the family know this, or am I in on a rare secret?”
“If they need to know, they know.”
Grandma brought over a small dessert plate and cut Ethan a piece of cake. “Good news about Elizabeth and Kavan, isn’t it?”
Being reminded of the Donovan baby stabbed his heart a little and resurrected the dark memory of his fight with Julie. “Yes, good news.”
Ethan imaged how his and Julie’s news would hit the family. Everyone knew their journey. In fact, the decision to try infertility medications had sparked a family debate. Should they trust medical technology or wait to see what the Lord would do? Ethan decided it was up to the Lord no matter what path they chose.
Remembering caused a gnawing pain to work over his shoulders and neck.
“Are you and Julie going to join them anytime soon?” Grandpa asked.
“You’re full of questions tonight, Grandpa.” Ethan turned to his grandma. “Did you take away his gossip magazine again?”
How do I get out of this one? His cell phone chirped just in time. He grinned at Grandpa as he unclipped it from his belt.
“Saved by the bell.” Grandpa scooted back his chair and mumbled something about a cold glass of milk.
“Hello?”
“Eth, it’s me.”
“Where are you?” Ethan flipped his wrist over so he could see his watch. He remembered the Celtics game and hoped to catch it.
“At the theater. My car died.”
Ethan ignored the sting of guilt and asked, “Why did you even drive your car? Doesn’t Sophia have a new SUV or something?”
“Forgive me. I thought you said my car was fixed up, good as new.”
He rubbed his forehead. He did say that. Stop being a jerk, Eth, and give her a break. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come and get us in a couple of hours?”
“Can you call me when you’re ready?”
“I will. Thanks, Ethan.”
“No problem, babe.” Ethan pressed End, muttering about missing the game and driving across town to pick up Julie and her friend.
Grandpa rapped on the table. “Lambert’s Code.” He took the empty cake plate and milk glass to the sink. “Get cracking.”
Nine
Sunday after church, Julie called Kit Merewether. “So tell me about this quartet.”
“I thought I’d hear from you.” Her laughter resonated like the notes of a violin. Julie wondered if her own laugh would sound like the cello in years to come.
“Have you already started practice?”
“No, I was praying for the right cello player. The Lord led me to you.”
The Lord sent Kit a cello player but neglected to send me a child? Julie banished the thought. “Monday nights are best for me.”
“You met the other two at your parents’ last Friday night, Cassie Ferguson and Mike Chason. I’ll confirm their availability, and we’ll get started. I live halfway between White Birch and Manchester. We’ll practice at my place.”
“Sounds fun.” Julie manufactured a bit of enthusiasm. Joining the quartet kept with her resolve to move on with life, to allow the Lord to paint new colors on her heart.
While music was one of her life’s treasures, she never anticipated it being a pacifier for her troubles.
After her conversation with Kit, Julie surveyed the apartment, contemplating her options. She could clean, but. . . She chuckled. Why give Ethan a heart attack?
Despite the lack of harmony in their relationship these days, she wasn’t ready to arrange his fune
ral.
Standing in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, she stared out the front window. Snow still blanketed the ground, and the forecast called for more. It was the first week of March, but spring felt light-years away.
Church had been good this morning. Pastor Marlow preached from the Gospel of John. She loved the image of John leaning on Jesus during the Last Supper. “I want to lean on You, Lord.”
But she found it hard to rest in Him, hard to trust Him with every area of her life. Especially when life was not turning out as she had planned.
She and Ethan quarreled last night after he picked her up from the movies and dropped Sophia off at home. They argued about her car, his sporting appetite, and why her jeans remained on the bathroom floor.
Julie cringed, remembering her statement to Ethan as he got in bed and turned out the light.
“It’s probably a good thing we’re not having kids. They might be an inconvenience to you.”
“Julie, how can you say that? I hurt over this situation, too.”
“Really?” It’s so hard to tell, Eth.
Recalling the conversation made her insides clench. How do we get out of this cycle, Lord?
After church and a quick lunch at home, Ethan took off to watch a NASCAR race with his cousins. She thought of going over to visit Bobby’s wife, Elle, but remembered she visited her parents on Sunday afternoons.
Deep in thought, Julie jumped when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, Julie, it’s Elizabeth.”
“How are you?” Julie sank down on the couch. She loved hearing from her cousin-in-law, though it brought such a sharp reminder. “I missed you in church this morning.”
“I missed being there. But ever since we saw you and Ethan at Italian Hills, I’ve had the worst morning sickness.”
Julie smiled. “Oh, the joy.” A joy I’ll miss.
“Talk about paying the piper.” Elizabeth laughed. “Kavan almost had to take me to the ER.”
“I’ll pray for you.”
“Oh, please do.”
Julie tugged a loose thread on the hem of her sweater. “I’m sorry about the other night—”