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New Embrace

By Cindy Ervin Huff

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Chapter 1
Isabella Melinda Marklin scurried ahead of her husband Ron. She reached the driver’s side door of the red Dodge Durango first. Ron closed the gap between. His breath brushing across the top of her head. “I’m driving.”
She faced him feeling for the handle and pulling the door open.
Anger flashed in his dark brown eyes. Melinda stood her ground.
“You have one of your migraines. “I’ll drive.” She climbed in before he could grab her arm.
“Fine.” Ron moved to the passenger’s side, slammed the door, and leaned back on the gray leather head rest. “It’s so bright.” His forearm covered his face.
“Here’s your sunglasses.” Melinda took them from the visor before gazing into the rearview mirror. The gravel driveway flowed beneath the tires. Her chest tightened with the gears shift into drive.
Ron adjusted the sunglasses. “Can you drive a little faster?”
“No.” A tremble escaped her lips. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel. Fear wrestled her confident tone. “We’ve got time.”
“You’d better be right.” Ron massaged his temples with his index fingers. “If we’re late it’s all on you.”
Typical.
Everything always seemed on her lately. Always her fault, always her problem. Blame had been the morning focus.
“What’d you do with my socks?”
“Why haven’t you folded the laundry?”
“Did you break the iron? I wouldn’t hand off this shirt to the homeless”
“You forgot to charge my phone again.”
His harsh words produced her own headache which found solace in a bottle of pain reliever.
The silent treatment a welcome change. Sweet worship music streamed into the car comforting her soul relaxing her thoughts. Peace flowed from the melody. She turned the wheel and panic assailed her. Her wrist was bare. I left my witnessing bracelet on the bathroom sink. The colorful beads used to share the gospel. Oh, how she hated it. He gets so mad when I forget it. Please, please don’t notice. Another reminder of her failure in the ministry.
“Turn off the radio. The music’s killing my head.”
“Maybe we should return home and you can rest.”
Ron raised his head, lifted his sunglasses, and glared. “And give you another excuse. Six Sundays, Melinda, six times sitting in the pews and not helping with worship. Well, my migraine will not be your seventh excuse.”
Melinda’s knuckles ached on the steering wheel. Tight lips held back tears. Arriving at church in the middle of an argument would make things worse later. God forbid anyone would see them arguing. That would be my fault too. She hated being in ministry, on the worship team and under a magnifying glass in this congregation. If I don’t get away soon, I’ll go insane. God forgive me.
Ron made no mention of the headache once they arrived at the church. His spotless dress shirt and neat pressed Dockers (no thanks to her imperfect ironing ability) added to his confident air. His look had changed over the past few years from casual jeans and collar-length hair to short moussed hair and black dress shoes.
Ron wanted her to get a make-over. The CDs sales had switched her husband’s focus. When they first married, Ron asked her to grow her hair out. “Sweetheart, the Scripture says long hair is a woman’s glory.” Now a file folder of acceptable hairstyles created by the church secretary lay in the bottom of her underwear drawer.
Maybe I should bleach my hair and spike it, wear my bra outside my blouse if he is so interested in a professional image. The bitter taste of her thoughts convicted her. Father, I seek your peace again. Please be with Ron when he shares his new song and don’t let my attitude hamper what you’re going to do here today.
“Blessing.” Ron hugged each member of the worship team in turn. “How’s the new baby, Mark.” Ron’s smile never giving time for a response before he continued.
“Angelina, nice dress.”
He seemed to have pushed through the headache, making Melinda wonder if it was all an act to keep her in line.
“Melinda, sweetheart, go tell Graham to watch for my cues.”
Mister sweetie pie is back. I swear… Every Sunday Ron used the same syrupy tone to issue the same instructions.
“Graham, you know.” Melinda tried on a sincere smile.
The sound tech took a sip of his coffee and grinned. “Yeah, yeah.”
Melinda headed back to the front of the auditorium muttering. “The mics worked. Why doesn’t he tell Graham himself? Another irritating thing to add to my I-Hate-My-Life List.” Her face warmed as people filled the pews. Fake smile in place. Wave at a few friends. Don’t dare stop during the warm up to chat.
Once the worship team prayed together she gained composure. Ron was presenting his newest song, “I Am Your Bond Servant”. The worship team had worked hard to get it right. Graham was recording it to add to Ron’s growing collection of songs for his latest CD. Next month would be his first live concert.
She’d told Ron she was done. He’d laughed. “Sugar, you know you love it as much as I do.” Then he’d squeezed her arm. The bruise covered by her sleeve.
Today would be her last performance. His last critique of her performance, her last time to pretend she cared.
Melinda took her place left of Trevor, the bass player with Angelina and Griffin the other backup singers. She preferred not being center stage. The service started with announcements and prayer. God’s presence filled the stage when worship began. “I Am Your Bond Servant” was the last song in the set before the pastor’s sermon. Ron, for once had given equal parts to all three singers as well as special orchestration for all the instruments. Her husband, in great form. He seemed connected with the Lord in a way Melinda hadn’t seen in years. The crescendo before the last line seemed to lift everyone’s hearts to God.
Ron finished the song, lifted his hand in praise, and crumbled to the floor, knocking music stands and microphones in all directions. The clatter echoed through the sound system reverberating off the walls.
****
Melinda stood dazed, hands shook at her side, and legs rooted in place.
Trevor started CPR. Andrew, the guitarist, called 911.
Ron’s vacant eyes stared heavenward.
Clamminess covered her skin.
The congregation erupted in screams, weeping, and concerts of prayer all over the sanctuary.
Her heart reached out to Ron, but her body betrayed her.
The paramedics entered the sanctuary in a slow-motion run. Before they reached the stage, blackness enveloped her.

The coolness of the stage floor greeted dulled senses. Muffled words. Gentle arms held her.
“Melinda.” Maureen, her mother-in-law, hovered. “He’s dead, dear. What are we going to do?”
Her blunt announcement rambled through Melinda’s numb brain. He’s dead. Who’s dead? Ron’s dead.
“Oh God! Oh God!” Her shrieks joined the congregations. Guilt shrouded her. Relief mixed with guilt ate at her, and the packed suitcase in the trunk of her car.

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