Chloe (29 page)

And the importance of this building will stray from all
memory when it is converted into a thrift shop and convenience store.

Somewhere in the Caribbean, Kathleen Jones moves in with her
ex-husband… Greg. He swears he is turning over a new leaf, but Kathleen knows
he will never truly change. But she had no choice. She was the proponent of a
dead church, and the savior of no one. In order to thrive, she must be able to
reach people.

Jamaica could use her, right?

They hug, intending to renew their marriage vows at the
earliest convenience. James, wearing his usual permascowl, wanders in after
her, lugging their bags with him. His father is in tears. His mother watches
them warily; half tempted to take another step back. She does not know how they
will react to one another. James has no fond memories of his father. Greg
ambles over and hugs his son awkwardly.

Greg will fall into his old way as the years pass, teaching
James day after day how to make an irreparable mess out of life.

Back in town, in the most popular movie theater, the
audience is watching the latest summer blockbuster—a star studded action film.
The seats are filled with the same crowd. The same young man sits in his seat,
tearing his movie ticket into pieces within the confines of the pocket of his
hoodie. No Chloe, or James. No tears, no convictions. No marriage proposal at
the end of the film.

No Chloe to reach out to him as he crosses the parking lot.

That night, the same young man looks up into a tree he
climbed often in his childhood. It is fitting that he should climb the same
tree in his final moments as a teenager. He ties a knot in the rope he is
carrying, strings it up on a branch, and puts it around his neck. He climbs up
into the tree, jumps from the branch, and hangs himself.

His parents find him the following morning, a picture of
despair, and wallow in their grief for the remainder of their marriage together
and their lives apart.

Maud sits in prison alone after murdering Cleopatra’s
father. No family. No friends. No visitors. No hope. Cleopatra has already been
checked into the mental hospital. She has no one to share her season of peace
with. And she starts to wonder if it was worth it.

A few years later, James sits in prison too—isolated, angry,
and bitter. The fight with his father landed the man in the hospital where he
eventually succumbed to the gunshot wound and died. Kathleen was too shaken to
calm him down and James had no friends to contact, no Chloe to call.

Empty seats in churches across the world that would have
been filled by all the people saved through Chloe’s writings remain empty. A
ripple effect of epic proportions leaves thousands stranded at the merciless
hands of an existence without hope.

All those lives, affected by a single choice made out of
selfishness and desperation—a moment of sheer panic and a need for freedom, for
absolution from a passionate mistake. But that mistake would have changed the
lives of millions, as Cleopatra witnessed firsthand. Chloe would have echoes
across the years as a catalyst for the Christian community… and so much more.

•

Patrick is holding Cleopatra tightly to his chest. She weeps
uncontrollably and unreservedly against him, too heartbroken to stop. They are
old tears, the kind that are heartbreaking to hear and impossible to digest.

“Chloe would have changed the world,” she sobs, knowing that
for a fact.

Patrick clutches her close, wanting above all to let her
know she is safe. “God has forgiven you. I have forgiven you. You need to
forgive yourself.”

Cleopatra shakes her head adamantly. Patrick knows what she
is going to say before she says it. “I don’t deserve forgiveness for what I
have done.”

Is that why Cleopatra’s mind so cleverly conjured Patrick’s
death? So that Cleopatra would see Chloe’s birth as a sacrifice on her part?
Something to justify having that abortion in the first place? If she had the
abortion, and the baby was never born, and Patrick would not have died. Is this
a way to absolve her subconscious guilt?

But in reality, she
did
have the abortion and from
where she stands, she can find no reason to justify it.

She needed a reason, so her mind selected the thing most
dear to her and ripped it away, as though she was living the life of a martyr
in order to support Chloe. As though she was blameless and never at fault…

Chloe could have been dear to her too. Patrick is alive.
They could have been a family—the three of them.

“Forgiveness is not something that is deserved,” he explains
gently. “It is a gift freely given. You’ve carried this burden long enough. It
is time to be free.”

Free.

The word resonates with her, casting ugly shadows on a time
when she thought her baby, her Chloe, would be a cage. She lived an entire
life, imaginary or not, searching for freedom. How ironic is it that real
freedom should come after the realization that she already went down the path
to reach it… and failed?

She had an abortion to be free from the responsibilities of
a parent, to live the life she dreamed and fulfill all her own desires.
Instead, she lived in a dream, a nightmare… a cage for twenty five years.

Patrick tries to dry her tears, but the dam has burst and
there is no stopping them.

•

“What are you thinking about?” Patrick asks Cleopatra,
ladling a hefty helping of spaghetti onto his plate.

They sit together at the dining room table. Patrick has a
much smaller apartment now, unable to keep the house his parents left him. Then
again, the walls are still unpainted and there are still unopened cans in the
closet. It is a smaller, shabbier shadow of the home she remembers. All that
aside, her home is where ever Patrick is.

Cleopatra scratches at her arm mindlessly—a nervous habit
she developed at the ward. “I am still trying to figure out what is real, and
what I imagined. It feels like something has been taken from me. It feels like
I have lived for twenty three years in another world, in another body. But
here, it is meaningless.”

“I do not think it was meaningless,” Patrick negates,
twirling noodles around his fork. “I think you learned a lot. You touched a lot
of people as Chloe. You saw yourself in a different light too.”

“I saw the ugliness in ma’self,” she grimaces lowly. “I
never want to be like that.”

“You would rather be like Chloe?” Patrick infers. Cleopatra
nods. They eat in companionable silence for a few moments until Cleopatra sets
her fork down and wipes her cheeks. Patrick realizes she is crying. He makes to
get up to go to her, but she raises her hand. He settles back into his seat.

“I need to say something,” she chokes out hoarsely. She
straightens and squares her slender, boney shoulders. “I am so sorry for
everything I put you through. I am so sorry for going to the clinic when you
did not want me to, and for killing our baby. I am sorry I didn’t believe you.
I am sorry you have had to spend the last two decades watching me rot away,
because I was unable to cope with ma’ bad choices.” Her voice breaks.

This time, Patrick does find his feet. He goes to her and
envelopes her in his arms, lifting her frail form from the chair so suddenly
that he upends it. She clings to him with all the meager strength in her hands,
weeping into his shirt.

“I love you, Cleo. I promised I would never leave you and
that we would do this together. You were sick. It’s alright.” Cleopatra’s sobs
taper off, leaving her body exhausted and limp. She nestles her head into the
crook of his neck. Patrick smiles affectionately. “Hey. I know it’s been twenty
three years, but I was still wondering… Will you go to service with me this
Sunday?” Cleopatra smiles too.

•

A few days later, Patrick takes Cleopatra into another
church across town.

They take their seats close to the front, sitting side by
side. Cleopatra’s eyes are still swollen from crying. She rarely stops. So many
tears have been shed over this issue, this decision both prior to and after
making it. She knows now that it was not worth it, that she could have achieved
the same freedom by trusting in Patrick and having the baby.

A young man, a new pastor in the church, is delivering the
word to the congregation. She listens in silence. Patrick casts fleeting
glances at her from time to time, wanting to make sure she is alright.
Cleopatra highly doubts that she will ever be alright again. Near the end of
the sermon, the pastor enters into his closing speech.

“We’ve all been to that place,” he proclaims stridently.
“Messed up. Cast down. Choices we have made have caused us great pain. But God
wants to turn that pain into promise and joy. He wants to turn that mess into a
message. We don’t always have to understand why we go through the things we do.
And we won’t always understand, because we are not God. We walk by faith and
not by sight. We just believe. God wants to use your pain to save others from
it. Sometimes, one has to fall to stop a hundred from falling. And God will
help that one to their feet once more.”

The young man opens up his bible on the podium. He reads,
“God said, “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to
harm you, plans to give you hope.” He closes the bible and steps down from the
platform. “God knew you would be here today—each and every one of you. Open
your heart to him. Get up and come. Declare today that you will no longer walk
in darkness, but in light.”

Cleopatra is on her feet in a flash with tears spilling down
her cheeks. She knows the man is speaking to her, beset by the strangest sense
of déjà vu. Patrick stands with her. He takes her hand and they walk to the
altar. The young pastor meets them there. The church is suddenly on their feet.

“All things work together for good to those who love the
Lord,” the young man tells Cleopatra. “God already knows what you have done
yesterday, and all the days before that. He’s more concerned with what you will
do today, and henceforth.” The young man rests his hand on.” Cleopatra’s
shoulder. “God saw you coming and he celebrates your arrival. We all do. He
told me to tell you to let it go. You have held it for too long. Today is your
day of deliverance.” The congregation applauds.

•

Cleopatra and Patrick sit on the front bench in silence.
Cleopatra seems at peace, or more so than she was when she arrived. Members are
still filing out of the building. Some of them pause to smile at her, or wish
her well. She keeps their words of encouragement in the safest pocket of her
heart.

“This is ma’ first time in church,” she says with her hands
folded in her lap, staring vacantly ahead. An enormous burden has been lifted
from her. She has carried it so long that she does not know what to do with the
freedom the lightness brings. “Still, I get the feeling God was expecting me.
Back then I would have thought that guy was full of anything but the truth.
Didn’t think God could talk to anyone. Didn’t think he cared about me.”

Patrick reaches out and lays his hand on hers. And he moves
closer, sitting on the edge of his seat… as though he thinks it will help his
cause. “He really does care about us Cleo.”

Cleopatra adopts a wry smile as she shakes her head. She
turns her hand over, the one nestled under Patrick’s grasp, to squeeze his hand
too. “Always saw you people as fanatics and church just a preferred drug.”

Patrick manages a smile too, very much akin to the dazzling
grin he used to give her. She notices that he still regards her as though she
is the only woman in the world. “Guess now you’re one of us fanatics,” he
supplies good naturedly.

Cleopatra’s eyes fall to the floor. She recounts her dream
life one last time. “Chloe really had an impact on me. And it wasn’t even
real.”

“Maybe it was,” Patrick offers, trying to catch her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asks, lifting her chin to study him.

Patrick sets his lips into a thoughtful line, his eyes
drifting aside as he considers the best way to say, “I’ve been thinking about
it a lot. Nobody knows her story like you do, Cleo. Maybe it needs to be told.”
They meet eyes.

Cleopatra frowns pensively as if the thought has never
occurred to her, but she is not averse or opposed to it. Could she do that?
Well, Chloe wrote a story. She would write a story too, couldn’t she? In fact,
she could write Chloe’s story. The world would know that she lived, or lived in
a sense. Would this absolve her of her sin? Could she finally forgive herself
if Chloe’s life was publicized and her pains and joys made known?

“If you don’t mind the support,” he adds, ripping her from
her moment of reflection. “I would love to be there.”

Fresh tears spring to Cleopatra’s eyes. Even if she does
somehow surpass the guilt about the abortion, she will need to face the guilt
about putting Patrick through such an awful ordeal—watching her waste away in a
ward, never knowing if she will come out of it. He stayed with her, just as he
promised, through the prime of his life.

“You’ve always been there,” she tells him honestly.

“Not as a friend.” At that moment, Patrick produces an
engagement ring. Cleopatra is overwhelmed, in complete and utter shock. He
slides off of his chair, lowers himself to kneel before her, and presents her
with the ring.

“Cleopatra, jewel of my life, my one and only, will you
marry me?” She throws her arms around him, clinging on for dear life, immensely
grateful and completely broken. She lifts her eyes to heaven and mouths “thank
you”. Because without Patrick, and without God, Cleopatra would never survive
this life. She wonders if that is the same for everyone else. It must be.

•

A year passes. It is a wonderful year. Back at their house,
the same little place Patrick owned in their teenage years, Patrick is asleep
in bed. He spent every penny he had and every penny he earned on Cleopatra’s
health care, and therefore could never afford a better place for himself.