Fall from Grace r y a n
p h i l l i p s
© Copyright 2006—Ryan Phillips All rights reserved. This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America. This book may not be copied or reprinted for commercial gain or profit. The use of short quotations or occasional page copying for personal or group study is permitted and encouraged. Permission will be granted upon request. Please note that Destiny Image’s publishing style capitalizes certain pronouns in Scripture that refer to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and may differ from some publishers’ styles. DESTINY IMAGE® PUBLISHERS, INC. P.O. Box 310, Shippensburg, PA 17257-0310 “Speaking to the Purposes of God for This Generation and for the Generations to Come” This book and all other Destiny Image, Revival Press, MercyPlace, Fresh Bread, Destiny Image Fiction, and Treasure House books are available at Christian bookstores and distributors worldwide. For a U.S. bookstore nearest you, call 1-800-722-6774. For more information on foreign distributors, call 717-532-3040. Or reach us on the Internet: www.destinyimage.com ISBN 10: 0-7684-2360-0 ISBN 13: 978-0-7684-2360-0 For Worldwide Distribution, Printed in the U.S.A. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 / 09 08 07 06
The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring. —Oscar Wilde
By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us. —1 John 3:16
part one
Fireworks and Butterflies
1 Grace studies her reflection in the church’s full-length mirror and smiles. A year of planning and organizing and compromising and arguing and stress has led up to this exact moment. She smoothes the full satin skirt of her dress and fingers the intricate beading and ornate embroidering on its strapless bodice. Her heart flutters. This is it. She turns slowly to her left, taking in her long, regal train, and runs her gloved hand along the trail of tiny buttons down her back. This is it. She gazes over at the classic bouquet of roses and baby’s breath lying on the chair beside her and then down at the three-stone ring resting snugly on her finger. “This is it,” she whispers. “That’s right.” A familiar voice startles her from the doorway. “And there ain’t no goin’ back.” Grace turns to see Malikah standing behind her, a smile on her face. Grace laughs. “God knows it wouldn’t be a wedding without my favorite cousin.” “You ain’t lyin’,” Malikah says smugly. “What about me?” Trina asks, entering the small dressing room. She and Malikah look like twins in their matching bridesmaids’ dresses. Grace spreads her arms for a hug.Trina slips into her embrace, careful not to get any makeup on her best friend’s stunning Vera Wang. “It wouldn’t be the same without you either,” Grace says.
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Malikah grunts, her lips spread into a tight, censorious line. “Naw, it’d be better.” Trina’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m going to take the high road,” she says, her jaw set, “and let that slide.” Malikah rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t find a high road if you had a map.” “Says the cousin with two kids by two different men,”Trina sneers. Grace tenses as Malikah takes a step closer to Trina, wagging her index finger just inches from Trina’s face. “Watch it,” Malikah warns. “You’re going to have a hard time carrying your flowers down the aisle with only nine fingers,”Trina snaps, slapping Malikah’s hand away. “’Bout as hard a time as you gonna have gettin’ down the aisle with my foot up yo—” “Hey!” Grace says, her tone hushed, but firm. “That is enough.” Neither of them budges. They continue to glare at each other with clenched fists and heaving chests. Grace hikes up her dress and steps between them. “I said, that’s enough!”
Trina is the first to turn away. She can’t stand Malikah and would love nothing more than to put her in her place, but one glance into Grace’s beseeching eyes and the fight in her wanes. Grace has been so good to her, a better friend, in fact, than Trina can ever hope to be. This time last year, their tight foursome was completely dismantled. Grace had fled to Detroit, Mike escaped to New York, Ron was too fed up to be bothered, and it was all Trina’s fault. She had never meant to lie. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt the three people she loved the most, but she screwed up. She made brash assumptions, said things she had no business saying, and before she knew it, all of their lives were unraveling. Each of them had retired to their own corners, angry and hurt, trapped in webs of misunderstanding and deceit—webs that Trina, however unintentionally, had spun.
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That was a year ago. Now they’ve all settled into an uneasy détente and no one ever mentions what happened—but no one’s ever really forgiven her for it either. No one that is, except for Grace. “I’ll see you out there,”Trina says, not bothering to look up. Malikah’s fiery stare burns holes into Trina’s retreating back, and only after Trina’s left the room does the tension in Malikah’s shoulders ease. “You said you were going to behave,” Grace whines. “I said I would try to behave.” “Don’t do this to me,” Grace pleads. “I’m supposed to be getting married, not refereeing.” Malikah tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, I know,” she says softly. “Good,” Grace says with a definitive nod, “because weddings are traumatic enough without having to make sure your cousin and your best friend aren’t choking each other every time you turn your back.” A shadow crosses Malikah’s face. “She ain’t your best friend.” Grace throws up her hands in exasperation. “Ya know I’m right,” Malikah says, hands on hips. “And I’mma keep sayin’ it till you hear me. She’s like cancer and you gotta cut her outta your life before she does any more damage.” Grace shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t want to have this discussion again. Not today. All I want to do today is get married, and I want everyone to be a part of it. Everyone! I have the rest of my life to sort out the good from the bad, to decide where Trina does and doesn’t fit, but for right now,” Grace says, a deep sigh escaping her lips, “I just want to walk down that aisle and claim my sliver of happiness.” Malikah can’t help but smile at the sight of Grace in her delicate tiara and long white gloves. Sporting an engagement ring that would turn any woman green with envy and a dress that takes up half the room, her cousin looks like a princess straight out of a fairy tale.
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“What?” Grace whimpers. Malikah takes Grace’s hand and pulls her close. “You deserve more than a sliver,” she says. “You’ve earned the whole pie.” There’s a rap at the door. “My, my,” a familiar voice sings, “look at you.” Grace’s face lights up at the sight of her dad, Grandma Doria, and Grandpa Mearl. “You clean up good, Girl,” her grandpa says, taking her in with one swift glance. Grace’s dad nods in agreement. “The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” “A vision in white,” Malikah adds. “What do you think, Grandma?” Grace holds out her arms and spins, a bit awkwardly given the full skirt and heavy train, to give her the full effect. Tears spill from Doria’s eyes. “Your mother would be so proud,” she says, choking back a sob. “So proud.” Grace fights the lump rising in her throat. The weeks leading up to the wedding had been hectic and exciting and full of the rarest kind of hope. Last-minute decisions had to be made, details had to be finalized, and reservations had to be confirmed. Grace had handled it all in stride. But in the evenings, when the phone stopped ringing and the lights were turned out and everything was still, Grace stopped being a master negotiator. She was no longer an arbitrator, no longer a bride.The fittings and the flowers and the invitations stopped mattering; they stopped being real. The only truth Grace understood, the only truth that made a difference, was that her mother was gone. She wasn’t going to be there to help Grace into her wedding dress or to watch her walk down the aisle. She wouldn’t make a toast or dance the night away. She wouldn’t be in the photos. She wouldn’t be part of the memories, and those realizations haunted Grace. Each night, she was held captive by the same fierce agony and indescribable grief that sidled its way through her body when her mother first died. It
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consumed her bit by bit until she felt paralyzed, unable to think or pray, unable to breathe. In those desperate moments, she would turn on her praise music or crack open her Bible, or she’d call Mike and sink into his voice or get lost in fantasies of their future together. In fact, that’s how she’d made it this far, how she’d managed to press on when everything in her wanted to give up. At first, it had felt more like surviving than living; but as one day gave way to the next and weeks turned to months, the pain became less intense, less debilitating. She could laugh at a joke or enjoy a sunset without feeling guilty, without feeling as though her mother was fading away. That continues to be Grace’s biggest fear, the thought that one day she’ll wake up to discover that she can’t recall her mother’s scent or that she’s lost the sound of her voice, that someday she’ll have to rely on photos to remember what her mother looked like. Right now, however, as she peers into her family’s beaming faces, she’s reassured that today isn’t about losing memories; it’s about making them. Grace blinks back tears and nods. “Yeah, you’re right, Grandma. Mom would be proud.” “Alright, that’s enough,” Grace’s grandfather barks, swiping at his own tears. “You start cryin’ now and you won’t have anything left for the ceremony.” Malikah laughs. “He’s right.” “Go on and get your seats,” Grace says, giving each of her grandparents a hug before they leave. “You ready?” Malikah asks, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. “Of course she is,” Grace’s dad answers. “She was born for this.” The sound of crooning instruments wafts from the sanctuary as the string quartet begins to play “Pachelbel Canon in D.” “That’s my cue,” Malikah sings. She gives Grace’s hand one last squeeze before she jets out of the room to take her position in the long procession of
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flower girls, ring bearers, groomsmen, and bridesmaids that make up the wedding party. Grace grabs her bouquet and follows her dad into the church’s lobby. Once there, Grace gently slips her hand into her father’s proffered arm, and they take their place at the end of the line up. Pair by pair the elegantly clad chain of carefully selected friends and family shortens. First to saunter past the rows of packed pews are the three sets of bridesmaids and groomsmen. (Thanks to Malikah’s and Trina’s constant bickering, Grace had made the executive decision not to have a Matron or Maid of Honor).They each take their time, stepping in unison, just as they’d rehearsed the night before. Next, the ring bearers, Grace’s two youngest cousins, ease carefully down the carpeted walkway. They’re four and six and markedly handsome in their black tuxedos and matching cummerbunds. Threatened earlier with the consequences of what would happen if they didn’t take their ring-carrying responsibilities seriously, they each hold their satin-and-lace pillow, which cradles a diamond-encrusted wedding band, as though it’s a nuclear bomb that might explode if dropped. Finally, the flower girls, in their lilac dresses and white Mary Janes, make their way down the aisle, dispersing liberal amounts of red and pink rose petals as they go. Grace’s heart skips a beat as she approaches the arched doorway on her father’s arm. The “Pachelbel Canon in D” gives way to the “Wedding March,” and all 300 guests rise to their feet. Her stomach churns and for a second Grace thinks she’s going to be sick. For a split second the sight of all those peering eyes makes her hands shake and her feet turn to ice. For just a second, anticipation morphs into anxiety. But then her eyes lock with Mike’s. He’s standing in his tuxedo, his small, orderly dreadlocks falling neatly around his chiseled face. His eyes are just as tender, his lips just as soft, his shoulders just as broad, his heart just as golden, and his love just as pure as when they first met. He’s waiting for her with an unmistakable expression of pride and adoration.Without saying a word, without moving a muscle, he beckons her—and just like that, everyone else disappears.
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There’s no music, no stained-glass windows, no flowers, no church or pews, no bishop, no guests. There’s only Mike and Grace as she processes down the aisle, her smile mirroring his.Their love is all that exists. This is it! This is it! This is it!
Until this very moment, Mike had always been under the impression that breathing was an involuntary action, but as he watches the resplendent vision that is his future wife float toward him, he has to remind himself to exhale. They’d been over mountains and through valleys. They’d battled monsters, endured loss, swallowed pride, and redefined humility to get here. In the simplest of terms, they are partners, companions, allies. There’s no one else with whom he’d rather share his life, no one he trusts in or relies on more than Gracie. How he ever survived his first 35 years without her, he doesn’t know. Mike waits for Grace’s father, Anthony, to kiss Grace’s cheek before he steps forward and takes her hand. “Hey,” she whispers, her excitement audible. “Hey,” he whispers back through a smile. “You ready?” Her eyes mist and her chin begins to quiver. She nods. “I love you,” she mouths. It takes every ounce of self-control in his body not to lean forward and kiss her. “I love you,” he mouths back. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to unite Michael Cambridge and Grace Naybor in holy matrimony. As believers in Jesus Christ, they recognize that it is God who instituted marriage and who said,‘It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’” Someone’s sniffling has grown into quiet crying. Mike glances to his left to see his mom, red-eyed, accept a handkerchief from Deonté, Malikah’s husband, and blow her nose.
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Despite her tears, Mike knows that his mom loves Grace and treats her like a daughter. She told Mike once that she’d taken an instant liking to Grace the day she popped up on her doorstep. “I knew what she wanted before she ever opened her mouth,” his mom had said. “And I respected her for it. She was a woman who wasn’t afraid to sacrifice herself, to put everything on the line and fight for what she loves.” If it hadn’t been for Mike’s mom, Grace might never have found him in New York, might never have shown up at his hotel room with a humble plea and her heart on a platter. They’re here, in great part, because of his mom, because she’s also a woman who isn’t afraid to sacrifice, who isn’t afraid to put everything on the line and fight for what she loves. “Michael and Grace, the vows you are about to take are not to be accepted without careful thought and prayer. For in them you are committing yourselves, one to the other, for as long as you both shall live.” Mike gazes at Grace half-expecting her to bolt out of the nearest exit, half-expecting to wake up and discover it’s all been a dream. As if reading his thoughts, Grace gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Do you, Michael, take Grace to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?” “I do,” he says, his voice thick. He fights back his emotion as the bishop repeats the question for Grace. “I do,” she answers, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. The bishop turns back to Mike. “And now repeat after me….” Though he had practiced saying his vows the night before, Mike is relieved that at this moment all he has to do is echo the words that have just been spoken. “I, Michael,” he begins, his voice quaking. “Take thee, Grace, to be my lawfully wedded wife.” Grace caresses Mike’s fingers as he takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself enough to continue.
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“To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. I promise my love to you as long as we both shall live.” With the bishop’s guidance, Grace repeats the vows back to Mike, and the ceremony goes on as planned. By the time the rings have been exchanged, the Bible verses have been read, and the soloist has performed, nearly everyone has dissolved into puddles of tears. “I now pronounce you ‘Husband and Wife,’ in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” The bishop smiles, and Mike holds his breath, listening for the five words he’s been longing to hear: “You may kiss the bride.” Grace smiles up at him, and Mike falls in love with her all over again. In her, he sees possibility and promise. He sees happiness and hope. In her, he sees forever. Gently, he cups her face in his hand and kisses her deeply, with an intensity he never would have dared to express before he had the right to call her his own. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the bishop exclaims over the thunderous applause of the congregation. “I present to you: Mr. and Mrs. Michael Cambridge.”
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