30. Grace

Chapter 30

Grace

The house looked almost the same: a three-bedroom ranch, white with red shutters, and that huge looming oak in the backyard looming where I'd jumped into Isaac's arms.

They switched the holiday lights from rainbow to white. The "Keep Christ in Christmas" sign remained. Mama's trusty Buick was in the driveway, with a fresh bumper sticker: "She who kneels before God can stand before anyone." The roof needed replacing, and there was more snow on the ground than eight years ago.

"You don't have to do this," Alex said, his hand resting tenderly on my shoulder. "And if you're not ready today, you can come back another time."

When we'd loaded our skis into the truck that morning to drive away from our perfect night at the Lodge, instead of looking east towards his parents' cabin, my mind traveled north.

Yesterday's memory of climbing and leaping from the tree had felt so warm. Alex's reaction that he'd like Isaac awakened a desire in me that had been stifled by fear. Then when Nick called me a member of his family, and I'd seen the pride in Alex's eyes when he introduced me ... I wanted that.

I allowed my heart to open to a possibility I'd forced myself to shutter, one Alex had articulated: What if they would accept me, but couldn't find me? What if I was avoiding something positive out of fear, like I'd been doing with strength training exercises?

What if I could go home?

When he closed the cab of the truck, I shook my arms to release anxiety and asked, "Were you serious yesterday, when you said you'd go with me? "

He must have seen the fear painted all over my face, because he'd pulled me close, kissed my temple and said, "Whatever you need, darling."

And now we were here, my truck once again parked in front of my childhood home as nausea churned my stomach. But I was here, darnit, and I was tired of hiding. I might get hurt, but I'd choose to leap.

And I wasn't alone. Alex was here to back me up. Maybe my father would be on his best behavior for this unexpected audience.

Leaning my clammy forehead against the cool truck window, I voiced the truth we'd been avoiding: "I want you with me, so it's now or never."

Alexander walked behind me, hand hovering over my lower back. Stepping onto the landing, I paused to gather strength from his compassionate gaze. He interlaced our fingers, whispering, "No matter what, I'll keep you safe."

Summoning my courage, I rang the doorbell, chest constricting with the footsteps echoing within. When the door swung open, the air fled my lungs.

Mama.

Her once-dark hair was silver, lines deeper around her mouth, hazel eyes filled with curiosity. Her gaze swept over me, darted quickly behind me, then returned to my face. Her eyebrows raised in confusion, then recognition. Tears sprung to her eyes.

"Jeremiah?" she whispered in a fragile prayer. My deadname triggered another wave of nausea, her voice adding nostalgia that left me dizzy.

I wasn't sure who moved first, only that I was in my mother's protective arms. She pulled back, hand cupping my cheek affectionately.

"I was so afraid I'd never see you again," her voice quavered.

"He told me to never come home."

"I know, honey. But I was afraid that for the first time in my life, one of my boys would actually do what their father told them."

Mama ushered me inside and Alexander took my coat with a subtle nod. Go , his eyes said, I'll be right behind you.

The house smelled like forgotten memories: laundry soap, cumin and Mama's gardenia perfume. In a daze, I wandered into the familiar kitchen, reassured by the unchanged curtains, noticing the new coffeemaker .

Mama scanned my body to shorten the distance between memories of her son and the reality of the unfamiliar woman in her kitchen. "Um, what can I get you? Coffee, tea, water?"

"I'd love tea, thanks," I tucked a hair behind my ear and cast a glance at Alex in the hallway, examining family photos. I wanted to cover his eyes, beg him not to correlate the scared child and the woman I'd become. But a soft smile played on his lips, his gaze hovering over the youngest face. Most people couldn't tell the difference between the twins, but he knew.

Mama filled the kettle and retrieved tea bags with trembling hands.

"Mama, how are you? How's the mayor's office?"

"Oh," she said, running her hand over her thighs, "I left there two, maybe three years ago. Now I work at the college, in Student Affairs. After raising four boys, the house seems so quiet with only Levi. The chaos of college kids feels right. What about you, Jeremiah?"

I winced. That was the second time Mama had called me that. Should I correct her? Or after all these years, should I keep the peace?

My fingertips gripped the counter as pressure started building in my chest.

"Are you ok?" came a soft rumble over my shoulder, close enough to feel Alex's warmth without touching.

"I'm ok," I whispered, leaning back into his firm chest to ground myself in reality as he interlaced our fingertips at my side. I tilted my head to whisper, "It's her perfume."

His chin brushed my hair in a nod. His free arm came around my shoulder and across my collarbone, wrapping me in his now-familiar scent of pine and peppermint to steady me.

Mama's eyes lingered with a curious softness. As they shifted to his face, they took on a reverent quality. I wanted to confide, ‘I know, right? I feel that way when I look at him too.' I wanted to have that mother-daughter bond that I'd read about, that I'd caught glimpses of with Helen.

"I don't think we've met," Mama said, holding out her hand warily.

"I'm Alexander," he unthreaded our fingers to shake her hand and judging from the lusty look on her face, I'm guessing he grinned. "Her boyfriend."

My head jerked but he squeezed my shoulder. Play along , his touch said .

"I've heard all about your pies, even helped her bake some from your recipe."

Mama flushed. "I have leftovers, if you want pumpkin or caramel apple."

"Oh, we couldn't —"

"Caramel apple please, ma'am," Alex's sweet tooth overrode my protest.

Mama plated the pies and when I sat down, Alex disappeared then re-emerged with his scarf, which he wrapped loosely around my neck to block out her perfume scent before pulling his chair close enough that our knees touched.

I cut into the pie with anticipatory nervousness, fearing that my replica would pale in comparison, then bit into disappointment. The pie was nowhere near the masterpiece from my childhood memories. Alex nudged my leg and mouthed, ‘Yours is better.'

"I can't believe it's really you," Mama said, scrutinizing my face as she settled into the seat that had been Elijah's, but now the table had only four chairs instead of six. "My bravest kid."

"I'm not the bravest," I said. Elijah traveled all the way to Japan.

"Yes, you are. You chased your dream even when it meant you'd be alone," she smiled softly. "Dad thought you'd crack and come home right away, but you followed your heart, Cari?o … or would it be Cari?a ?"

My throat tightened, and she gave me a moment to regroup by asking Alex, "So how did you two meet?"

"My sister runs the yoga studio where Grace works," Alex replied proudly.

"Your name is Grace?" A soft sound broke from Mama's throat, her eyes misting. "But … you're Jeremiah. You chose that name."

"No," Alex corrected gently. "She chose the name Grace ."

Mama looked at him, expression pleading. "Before they were born, each of my boys —" She stopped and cleared her throat. "Each of my kids chose their own name. Their father read Scripture at church, and when they heard their book, they would wiggle and thrash." She turned to me then, and rested a hand lightly on her stomach. "You chose Jeremiah. I thought that name would protect you."

"Protect her?" Alex said in confusion. "How could a name protect her?"

Mama looked disappointed, realizing he hadn't been raised in the church. "The prophet Jeremiah warned the Israelites of an impending invasion, but they didn't listen. He was imprisoned and mocked for his truth, yet he stood firm. When Jerusalem fell, he wrote to those in exile, advising them to stop looking back at what they lost and start meaningful lives in Babylon, their new homeland."

She looked at me then, tears overflowing her eyes.

"In his letter to the exiles, he wrote, 'Build houses and plant gardens. take wives and have sons and daughters ,'" she recited from what she considered my book. "I didn't … I couldn't imagine how it would be possible that you could have sons and daughters, if you were …"

She blinked back tears, then her gaze drifted to Alex. "Then again … through Him, all things are possible. "

Grief swelled in my chest, unsure what to say. Mama gripped my hand, pleading and urgent. "I've prayed that the name Jeremiah would give you the strength you needed to live in exile, and now to find out that you gave it up? It's —"

"I didn't give it up, it's still part of me," I corrected, rolling up my sweater sleeve to reveal the Jeremiah 29:11 tattoo on the inside of my wrist. She seemed genuinely shocked, which didn't make sense because even if I hadn't shown her ... "Elijah and I got these the summer before he left. Didn't he show you?"

"No, he didn't —"

The sound of the garage door interrupted. Both Mama and I froze.

Hands on my hips and chin held high, I rose and faced the door, feeling Alex's steadfast warmth at my back, a pillar of strength against the impending invasion.

When my father stepped inside, he resembled a faded version of himself: his belly had grown rounder, his hair sparser, and his wrinkles deeper, etched in lines of righteous judgment. His cold eyes locked on my face, and his top lip curled.

I felt lightheaded, to be in this moment that I'd envisioned as a potential homecoming and know, with that single look on his face, that it was about to all go horribly wrong .

"Still haven't come to your senses, I see, Jeremiah. Remembered who you are." Although it had been near a decade since I'd heard it, his voice still haunted my dreams, and hearing it made dread pool in my stomach.

Although I was unsteady, I'd had eight years to prepare for this face-off. He may be in his home, I reminded myself, but I'd set him off-balance by showing up unannounced. I knew him, but he didn't know me. I had the upper hand.

Despite his tone, I kept my voice composed, "I know exactly who I am."

Just as I expected, Dad spat out Scripture, his voice venomous. " A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God ."

"Deuteronomy 22," I cited calmly. Of course he started with that. I could work with that. "That verse follows, ‘ You shall not see your brother's donkey fallen and ignore them. You shall help him to lift them up again. ' You'd treat a donkey better than your own flesh and blood."

The unexpected barb hit him and he flinched before shifting back into hardness. "Romans 1. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, dishonoring their bodies, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie ."

That verse, which hadn't been in his arsenal eight years ago, landed like a verbal blow to my stomach. I felt myself reel, until I felt Alex's steady hand on my low back. I'm still here , his hand said.

But Alex didn't know how that would look to them. Dad didn't see me as a woman, so he'd assume we were gay … and that would bring out the verses about Sodom and Gomorrah. I stepped. away from Alex's supportive touch to avoid making things worse

"Galatians 3: For you are all sons and daughters of God. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. "

Dad's jaw tightened, red rising along his jaw in frustration, then he pivoted towards Mama. "You let him into our home like this, after I told him —"

"What happened to mercy?" Mama pleaded. "Think of the Prodigal Son. ‘ For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is …' "

"This is not my son ," Dad spat. "No son of mine would tarnish our family's name like this. "

The door swung again, revealing a face from my nightmares. He'd grown into his beard, more handsome than ever … but his expression still exuded malice.

"Jeremiah!" Levi exclaimed in false bravado. "I guess we were right, all those years ago, when we called you Maya ," he said, flipping my hair.

I stood my ground, tilting my head away and using the disarming tone I'd practiced in conflict resolution seminars. "Don't touch me."

Before Levi could reply, Alex stood in front of me, pushing me back. "You touch her again, and I'll —"

Levi crossed his arms as my father rasped, "Who are you?"

"Her boyfriend," Alex answered.

Oh no. No, no, no. That was fine for Mama, but not —

"Are you blind?" Levi's surprise transformed into a sneer. "Or just stupid?"

Alex stepped forward until their chests practically touched, his voice low and dripping with venom. "You shut your fucking mouth. Nobody talks that way about the woman I love."

The woman I … what was he talking about? Why would he say that? Did he think he was helping? That would only make things worse.

I ran my hand down his arm and tugged his hand … but he didn't budge, eyes locked with Levi in this ridiculous pissing contest.

"Who's prettier, Dad? Jeremiah or her pretty boy?" Levi taunted.

Alex shook me off, fists clenched. I wedged myself between these two idiots, pressing my back into Alex's chest, knowing he wouldn't act if I could get hurt, but knowing better than to turn my back on my brother.

I pushed back with all my might and said Alex's name, the fury in his eyes dissipating once they fixed on me. Through gritted teeth, I said, "There are enough testosterone-fueled jerks in this house already. Don't let him bait you, he's not worth it."

Alex calmed, then looked behind me. Levi's arms raised, begging for a fight.

"Alex, this is my fight, not yours." Reluctantly, Alex stepped back.

But Levi read that as a victory and his lips curled into a sneer. "You know she has a dick, right?"

And that's when all hell broke loose.