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Between These Walls - Excerpt Order your copy of Between These Walls
Had Hunter seen what he thought he’d seen? Had he given Hunter a second glance? At twenty-six years old, after so many years, Hunter wished the temptation would release its grip on him. Hunter’s heartbeat increased at the possibility of mutual attraction, but he steadied himself. Surrounded on three sides by frosted glass walls, the conference room sat in an interior section on the fourth floor of a suburban professional building. Pipeline Insurance Corporation offered extensive packages for life, home and automobile coverage. Its customers ranged from individuals to small businesses to large corporations. Hunter had pursued this potential client by phone for three months, trying to get one foot in the door to explain the benefits of his own company’s products. Two weeks ago, he had secured an appointment for ten o’clock this morning with Jake Geyer, a manager in the technology services department. Hunter had expected a few Pipeline staff members to attend the demo session, but at the last minute, the others had canceled. This occurred often with Hunter’s cold-call appointments and, after four years in sales, Hunter had learned not to take offense when it happened. Side by side, Hunter and Jake sat at a large, mahogany table, facing the frosted glass walls. The polished surface of the table cast a reflection of Hunter’s laptop computer. “So the program offers dynamic address formatting to satisfy postal standards,” Hunter explained. “The program is Internet-based and interacts live with our central server. As you know, to obtain discounted rates for bulk mail, the postal service has strict requirements that vendors must meet. Our program ensures compliance at the point of entry.” Jake stroked the stubble beneath his chin as he examined the sample data-entry program on Hunter’s laptop screen. With one arm bent at the elbow, the sleeve of his polo shirt wrapped taut around his bicep, revealing enough shape to suggest Jake worked out. Jake wore stylish, olive-green glasses, which blended well with his dirty-blond hair and enhanced the color of his green eyes. Hunter estimated Jake was only a few years older than he. Thirty years old at best. “I understand how meeting those standards benefits us,” Jake said, “but our data entry staff keeps a printed document of postal standards on hand. One question my director would ask is, ‘What does your product accomplish that we can’t accomplish ourselves?’” Hunter had anticipated that question. Every prospective client asked the same question during their first meeting. But Hunter, who worked with the software every day and understood its benefits, had learned to respect his prospective clients and allow them to grasp the concept at their own paces. Moreover, Hunter had discovered that he could read between the lines. Individuals would express their own needs and desires through their comments and questions, which, in turn, helped Hunter customize a case for how his own company’s product offered a solution. For Hunter, the sales pitch focused less on convincing a client of their need than presenting his product as a hero that would save the day. Hunter believed in the product he sold. He viewed his visits as opportunities to enhance the work of others. “That’s a good question,” Hunter said. “You mentioned on the phone that you enter a large collection of records to your database throughout each day, plus a load of address changes when people move to new apartments or buy new homes. I assume you run quality-assurance reports on those entries?” “Yes, we deliver the reports to our data entry staff each morning.” “Do you ever find errors in those updates?” “Nothing major. The data entry clerk might enter a wrong digit in the street address. They might spell out ‘Street’ or ‘Post Office’ instead of using the postal abbreviations. Things like that.” “That’s typical for my prospective clients. The benefit our program would bring is to eliminate that second step from your business process. By formatting your addresses automatically upon entry, we eliminate user errors, which increases your efficiency rate and allows your data entry staff to start its day entering new data instead of revisiting the prior day’s work.” Hunter glanced over at Jake, who nodded. Hunter sensed Jake had absorbed and understood the details. Shifting in his seat, Hunter scooted so his back settled flush against the back of his chair. For the last few months, he’d felt recurring soreness in his lower back. Though frequent and lasting several hours at a time, the aches didn’t occur daily. The pain level ranged from minor discomfort to occasional bursts that would stab his lower back like a knife. He could sense it wasn’t a medical issue, though, and attributed it to stress on the job. Hunter continued his pitch to Jake Geyer. “Plus,” Hunter added, “we receive regular updates to verify the physical existence of homes and buildings, which helps prevent a wrong digit or character in your address. Our data ensures that, yes indeed, a building actually sits at 1234 Main Street and hasn’t been torn down. That would increase your deliverability rates and eliminate the cost of mailing material to addresses that don’t exist. You can take the money that used to go down the drain in returned mail and reinvest it to increase your profit margin.” Jake glanced over at Hunter, held his gaze for a few seconds, the way he had several minutes ago, then examined the laptop screen again. Though Hunter wasn’t sure, he thought he caught a change in Jake’s eyes during contact. Jake’s pupils had dilated a trace. Why did he glance at me? Sure, it’s a normal human response in a business scenario. Yet Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if Jake was focused on Hunter’s explanation of the program, or if he’d used the glance as an excuse to take a quick inventory of Hunter’s eyes. Jake tapped the edge of the laptop. “So this is the program here?” “Sure is. I can walk you through a demo if you want.” Jake slid his chair toward the laptop, leaned in closer to the screen. And closer to Hunter. Jake set his glasses aside to view the screen, so perhaps he was nearsighted. Hunter noticed Jake’s eyes were closer to olive than standard green. Hunter picked up the scent of a fresh shower. The scent was pleasant but possessed a sharp tang. Men’s shower gel. Hunter’s heart rate began to roll with the steady pace of a treadmill. A quiver ran up his thighs. His right arm rested on the mahogany table an inch from Jake’s. Hunter wished he didn’t enjoy the proximity. Such simplicity would come to his life if he could free himself from the appeal he found in other men. When in the company of others, often he wondered if he was the only one who struggled like this. He forced himself to refocus on the screen ahead. “Here’s a sample program for a magazine subscription company.” Hunter waved his finger over the program window. “The company isn’t real.” “How about the colors and layout? Our software application is branded with our logos and a couple of company Intranet links. Is this what the program would look like if we purchased it?” If we purchased it? When a client started talking about purchase scenarios, Hunter considered it a positive indicator. Hunter smiled with fresh vigor. He stretched his lower back to the left, then to the right. “We integrate our software into yours. We’ve done it that way with all our clients. Our product is compatible across any format you throw our way.” He pointed to a small icon of a company logo beside the address line. “We incorporate that little icon into your screen in case you’d want to visit our website to research a particular address further. Other than that, you won’t notice a difference onscreen. It’s seamless; everything else gets woven in behind the scenes. We store our data on our own server, so you maintain full privacy of your data.” Hunter paused to allow the logistics to soak in, swiped his finger along the laptop’s touchpad, then tapped it. “We’ll create a new record for Hunter Carlisle.” As he hit the keys on the keyboard, Hunter kept his eyes glued to the screen. But in his peripheral vision, he saw Jake tilt his head and run his fingers through his hair, the way you do to make yourself appear casual. But then, as Hunter continued speaking, he noticed Jake had broken his gaze from the computer. Jake’s irises moved toward Hunter’s face and lingered there, assuming Hunter didn’t notice. Hunter felt a flutter in his chest. He could hear the soft sound of Jake’s breathing. If Hunter could create a product, he would invent a method to read another person’s mind. In times like these, a mind-reading tool would allow him to decipher why Jake studied him with such intentness. For all Hunter knew, Jake could be trying to figure out whether Hunter was an honest sales person who believed in his own product. Yet Hunter couldn’t help but wish for a kindred spirit, someone who struggled with the same attractions he did. For someone to find him attractive—a mutual attraction. He wanted to ask but knew he couldn’t mix personal affairs with professional business. Not that he would dare to out himself anyway. Hunter cleared his throat. Jake’s eyes darted back to the screen. Okay, he didn’t want Hunter to know he’d sneaked that glance. The question for Hunter was, Why? Statistics would render chances slim that Jake held any attraction toward Hunter. Hunter knew the percentage of those who concealed homosexual urges was small. But he also knew that percentage wasn’t zero. Hunter remained aware that, with all the people who crossed his path in a year, someone out there harbored the same secret he did. The question was, who are those someones? For Hunter, attempting to find the answer carried, at minimum, a heavy risk. And Hunter hadn’t sharpened his senses enough to detect those someones on his own. The what-if scenarios, like the one in which he found himself right now, felt like mental torture: a continual flow of questions never asked and never answered. After all these years, it exhausted him. “In my mailing address, I typed the full words ‘Street’ and ‘Suite.’ Also, I typed ‘4738’ as our street number—but our address is 4739. There’s no building at 4738,” Hunter said. “Now, keep an eye on that address line when I move to the next field.” When Hunter moved his arm, he brushed Jake’s arm by accident. But Jake didn’t move his arm right away. Usually others did. It took Jake an extra second before he even blinked. With a hit of the Tab key, the cursor moved to the next data field. In the address line, as Hunter had predicted, the street number changed to 4739 and abbreviations replaced the full words Hunter had mentioned. “And that’s how it works, in real time,” Hunter said. “Without those abbreviations, a piece of mail to that address would not have qualified for a discounted mailing rate. And with a nonexistent street number, unless your postal worker delivered it on his own initiative, the piece of mail would have returned to you, with the cost of postage wasted. And with our program, your data entry staff wouldn’t have needed to correct the address in the morning, despite the address errors typed into the record. Multiply that by the thousands of addresses you enter and use per year, and it can add up to a lot of savings.” With that, Hunter allowed his words to settle. He would let the prospective client have the next word, to which Hunter would respond. Jake leaned back in his chair. He crossed his leg, stroked his chin. “I can see the benefit behind it,” Jake said. “The question for us would be, ‘Does the benefit outweigh the cost?’ That’s the first thing my director would ask. Our data entry people enter 95 percent of the data in its correct format. So for those remaining cases, are we spending more money on data entry hours than we would spend on the cost of the product? Looking at the cost structure you emailed me yesterday—well, I hate to say it, but I just don’t see how we’d end up ahead.” Hunter dreaded that response. As good as his company’s product was, and as much money as it could save a client, their current efficiency rate proved a wild card every time. Hunter had no way of knowing those efficiency rates when he entered into these initial meetings, and clients tended to avoid answering that question if he asked too early. Jake’s reply wasn’t good. Demonstration meetings like these were uphill battles from the onset, so Hunter entered them prepared to counter a variety of possible scenarios. In each case, he would help the potential client see the long-term value his product offered. But in one sentence, perhaps without realizing it, Jake had all but shut down Hunter’s case. In one sentence, Jake had addressed not only their present situation, but also applied high-level analysis and reached a conclusion. And he also served as gatekeeper to everyone else at Pipeline Insurance Corporation. Hunter decided to go for the next-best scenario. If he couldn’t sell the full product, he would try to sell one of his company’s smaller products. “I understand what you’re saying,” Hunter said. “Although the solution I demonstrated for you is our top-notch, flagship product, we also offer a range of other services to help improve efficiency.” In a halfhearted manner, Jake thumbed through a brochure Hunter had laid on the table earlier. “Do all of your services require integration into the software? Do you offer a standalone product we could use on an as-needed basis? That would reduce our cost of implementation.” Hunter winced inside. He saw where this conversation was headed, and it wasn’t headed toward a sale. He knew he couldn’t offer a viable alternative to meet their needs. The discomfort in Hunter’s back inflamed further. “The software-integration aspect is a foundational piece of all our products. In fact, it’s one quality that sets us apart from other data providers because it provides a seamless user experience.” Jake shifted in his seat. “I’m afraid you’d have a tough time selling that to my director. With the upfront costs that would come with integrating the software, and the work involved by the tech staff on our end … I can tell you right now, he won’t go for it. I can pass along to him anything you’d like me to pass along, but I’ve walked through enough projects with him to tell you there won’t be a sale.” He drummed his fingers once upon the table. “To be honest, I could tell from the literature you emailed yesterday that the software wouldn’t be a good match for us, but I wanted to give you a chance to stop by anyway, in case I’d misunderstood some of the details.” Jake glanced at Hunter. Hunter caught a twinge of disappointment in his eyes. “Man, I’m sorry,” said Jake, one young adult to another. “Working together would’ve been good.” Hunter appreciated the remark. He also wondered if Jake had meant his comment about working together at face value, or if he’d referred to getting to see Hunter more often, had the deal worked out. Hunter couldn’t decipher the answer. Though he would never admit it to a soul, the latter notion incited a longing inside him. “Hey, I understand.” Hunter bit his lower lip, started shutting down his laptop, and retrieved a flash drive from his saddle bag. “I’ll leave this flash drive with you. It contains a demo of our product for you to pass along to your director. If he expresses interest, feel free to contact me, okay?” Jake reached out to receive the flash drive. Their fingertips brushed. Jake’s eyes caught Hunter’s again, as if searching for a potential next move. Hunter wanted more time to see what, if anything, hid behind the signals—or non-signals—he’d detected from Jake. In the end, however, professionalism disallowed either man from asking questions or taking another step. In a social context, or if they knew each other better, perhaps they would have had more flexibility. But today they didn’t. Hunter hoped the forlorn expression in Jake’s eyes meant what he wished it did. Chances were, it didn’t. But the fact that someone like Jake—a peer, an equal, and a handsome one at that—might have looked at Hunter and considered something more … It left Hunter with a surge of warmth combined with the ache of another letdown. Whether out of courtesy or a desire to savor the final moments their paths would cross, Hunter didn’t know, but Jake walked him down to the lobby. They shook hands. They exchanged formal smiles. And Hunter walked out the door as Jake turned back toward the elevator. Five steps out the door, with more than enough time for Jake to have reached the elevator, Hunter glanced back. Through the glass walls of the lobby, he noticed Jake lingering at the elevator, glancing back at him. The elevator door opened. Jake seemed to hesitate for a split second, as if caught between options of what to do next, then turned and entered the elevator. Hunter nodded. Another opportunity … vanished.
Heading west on Interstate 480 after work, Hunter’s mind drifted back to that morning’s unsuccessful meeting. Another potential sale lost. His third major turndown this month. He hadn’t seen this one coming, though. In fact, he had considered Pipeline Insurance Corporation a hot prospect, with high likelihood of becoming a long-term client. In his phone conversations with Jake Geyer, he had perceived genuine interest in hearing more about the software product. Jake had acknowledged how the product could help, but hadn’t mentioned his employer’s limited scope of need. Hunter’s manager, Wayne, held a one-on-one status meeting each week. When he’d mentioned Pipeline to Wayne during one recent meeting, Wayne had inquired about Hunter’s ability to secure the client. Though he’d prefaced his response with caution, noting it was too early to know for sure, Hunter had estimated his chances as high. Wayne latched onto that estimation and forgot the preface. Today’s development couldn’t help Hunter’s employment status. He hadn’t just underperformed this month. His dry streak had lasted six months and counting. Once the top-performing member of his team’s sales force, Hunter hadn’t worried about losing his job. Nowadays, however, he’d grown concerned. His back ache persisted. Hunter scratched his head. The bristles of his brown hair, which he kept short and styled with a touch of gel, tickled his fingers. He rubbed his neck, a nervous habit, and tried to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach. “Lord, please help me,” he murmured. After the meeting with Jake, Hunter had stopped by a current client’s office to ask how well the software continued to work for them and to let them know if they ever needed anything, they could give him a call. An unnecessary visit, but it would only strengthen their business relationship. More than that, Hunter had needed to revisit a past success. It provided a visual reminder that the dry streak could end and his fortunes could turn around. He heard a single buzz from his cell phone as he veered toward Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. Grabbing the phone from the empty passenger seat, he checked its display and found a text message from his girlfriend, Kara. Her flight had arrived. To avoid wasting time waiting in the baggage-claim area, Kara always brought a piece of luggage small enough to fit into a plane’s overhead bin. That meant she was now on her way through the airport concourse, heading for the pickup area. Perfect timing. Hunter wouldn’t need to pay to park. Standing at the curb, Kara looked diminutive compared to most passersby. At five foot four, the top of her head could rest comfortably beneath Hunter’s chin when he tilted his head at the proper angle. He found it cute. When she saw his car approach, she gave a feverish wave, as though her trip had lasted weeks rather than a few days. By the time Hunter reached the curb, Kara had already begun dragging her luggage toward his car. Hunter chuckled at the sight. She looked adorable: a diminutive elf lugging a sled through the snow. Throwing the car into park, he popped the trunk and climbed out. “I’ll take care of your luggage,” he said, jogging toward the rear of the car. “Don’t you worry, Carlisle,” she said with a glint in her eye. “I’ve got your back.” Despite the honking of car horns behind them, Hunter allowed himself the luxury of ignoring them for a few seconds. Pulling Kara into his arms, he lifted her a few inches from the ground and held her. She loved when he did that. Petite and slender, she felt like a feather to anyone who tried to lift her. But Hunter visited the gym often, so Kara presented even less of a challenge for his athletic build and toned arms. Hearing her giggle made him grin. She ran her finger once along his upper lip before he planted a kiss on hers. “It’s good to be home,” she said. Another horn shrieked behind them. The sound echoed amid the concrete surroundings and brought Hunter back to the moment. “Door’s unlocked.” He shoved her luggage into his trunk and made his way back to the driver’s side. “We don’t want to keep Jerky waiting behind us.” When he climbed in, he found her buckling her seat belt. Strands of her blond hair had gone astray in all the right places. She couldn’t look a mess if she tried. Pulling out of the parking area, Hunter tapped his finger on the dashboard clock, which approached 6:30 in the evening. “Are you hungry?” he asked. She shook her head. “I grabbed some sushi during my layover in Denver,” she said, then leaned toward him with a genuine, vulnerable longing in her eyes. “I missed you.” Hunter’s mind raced back to his encounter with Jake earlier that morning. He caught himself bouncing his left heel at a nervous pace and brought it to a halt before Kara noticed. He gave her a quick glance, then returned his eyes to the road. “Missed you, too.”
* * *
Hunter lived toward the eastern edge of Hudson, a suburban community situated between Cleveland and Akron in northern Ohio. He had grown up in this community, where he’d played on the high school baseball team and had run cross-country. Hunter’s career in sales left him with constant pressure and challenging goals. Living in Hudson lent a sense of familiarity and balance, the luxury of coming home to something he knew he could count on. He rented a small home from a white-collar family that had relocated to London for two years as part of the husband’s career. Though the kids were several years younger than Hunter, he had known the family since his early teens. Hunter followed Kara into his kitchen by way of an entry door from the garage. Kara set her purse on the kitchen table, removed her shoes, and wandered into the living room. “You’re sure you don’t want me to order Chinese? We can have it delivered,” he called out. “Thanks, I’m in good shape,” came her voice from the other room. “Just ready to relax.” From a miniature wine rack he kept at the corner of his kitchen counter, Hunter grabbed an open bottle of cabernet sauvignon—Kara’s favorite wine to help her relax. He poured two glasses and carried them to the living room, where Kara had settled onto the sofa with her head tilted back and her eyes shut. Her hair splayed across the back of the sofa. When she heard him approach, she opened her eyes and accepted her glass, raising it in toast-like fashion in appreciation for his gesture. “You’re such a sweetie.” She patted the cushion beside her. Hunter took a seat, settling into the sofa and closer to Kara. The discomfort in his back had eased a bit. Hunter had played sports since childhood and had suffered a wide variety of sprains, pulled muscles, headaches and anything else imaginable. Pain is part of life, his father had always said. Walk through the pain. Let others complain, but you be the strong one. Hunter seldom talked about discomfort—external or internal—and, over the years, had developed a high tolerance for pain. Aware his back issue wasn’t severe, Hunter had never gotten around to mentioning it to Kara. It hadn’t seemed worthy of a special remark and hadn’t made its way into the course of everyday conversation. Just another secret, thought Hunter. Hunter always held back little secrets in his romantic relationships. He couldn’t put his finger on why he held himself back from someone else. Maybe it was his way of marking his territory or preventing anyone from venturing too deep into his psyche. Whatever the reason, he treasured his guarded space. Within time, he suspected, women sensed he held something back. They seemed to have radar for that sort of knowledge. They could tell something was wrong but didn’t know why they sensed it. They would ask if he was okay, and he would tell them he was preoccupied with work. Women seemed to accept his response and regard him as a complex individual—still waters run deep, as the adage goes. They resigned themselves to the fact that they had entered a relationship with yet another male who seldom showed his emotions. Hunter could see the trace of hurt in a woman’s eyes when she knew he only trusted her 99 percent. But it wasn’t the woman’s fault Hunter didn’t trust anyone more than 99 percent. Within that remaining one percent, Hunter guarded his personal torment, his darkest secret. And he couldn’t confide in anyone about that secret. Certainly not with a woman with whom he was involved in a romantic relationship. Not as long as he made an honest effort to stifle his temptations and walk through the hidden pain. Taking a sip of wine, Hunter reached for Kara’s hand and massaged her fingers with his free hand. “How was New York?” he asked. “I found a new line of purses I’d like to take a closer look at. I didn’t catch them until the end of my trip, but I’ll be back there for a few days next week and can follow up at that point. We’ve never carried this particular line in our stores. In the meantime, I’ll get some more demographic information from our marketing people to help me determine if the line is a good fit.” Kara worked as a buyer for a national retail chain. With a focus on purses and jewelry, she traveled often, visiting major cities throughout the world, on a mission for the products her stores should carry. As a result of her travels, she and Hunter spent much time apart. Large blocks of time—a few days here, a week or two there. Hunter, by comparison, covered a large region of northern Ohio in his sales position and traveled by car. Kara’s frequent flyer miles were the envy of anyone who took the time to perform a few mental calculations. Most people dreamed of traveling to an exotic city as a capstone event, the vacation of a lifetime. Not Kara. At twenty-six, the same age as Hunter, Kara dreamed of seeing few cities. She had already visited them. While Hunter dreamed of discovering new places, Kara savored their familiarity while passing through. She spoke of Tokyo the way most Americans spoke of a local pub. “How was work?” Kara asked. “Didn’t you say you had a big sales opportunity with an insurance company this week? How’d that go?” Yes, he’d said that. “It doesn’t look promising.” Hunter fixated on the television in front of them, which they hadn’t turned on. “In the lead-up to the demo meeting, their interest looked high, but they re-evaluated their situation by the time I got there.” Kara leaned her head toward him, searching his eyes. “So where do you go from there?” Though disappointed, Hunter pushed his frustration into hibernation. He refused to pull Kara into his pity. He resolved to let it go. “I’ll find another prospect to replace them.” “I know you’ve had a dry spell for a while.” He rubbed her fingers again, then moved his hand over her shoulder blade and massaged her back with his thumb. He smiled. “No big deal. It’s part of the game.” In truth, he wondered whether the floor was about to collapse beneath him. Kara squinted a moment, as though to evaluate him in her pixie manner, then grinned at him. She set her wineglass on the coffee table, then lifted Hunter’s glass from his hand and set it beside hers. She peered into his eyes and held his gaze. For a split second, her pupils dilated, inviting Hunter into her world. He wanted to feel drawn into her world. He really did. And he’d tried so hard. Over and over, he’d tried to will it to happen; nevertheless, he couldn’t take that final step across the broad gulch he knew existed between Kara and him. Between any woman and him. With a tender expression on her face, she ran the tops of her fingers along his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. Hunter closed his eyes and responded, but sensed an absence of involvement from his heart. In a flash, his mind flitted back to an image from that morning, the way Jake had studied him when it didn’t look like Hunter had noticed. And in another flash, the memory vanished. Hunter smothered it, forcing it into hiding the way he would fold a sweater and shove it into a dresser drawer. He closed the drawer tight. Concealing such memories and feelings from others had served as his protocol for the last 14 years, since he was twelve years old. Two light kisses before Kara hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Hunter hoped her question referred to his day’s professional loss and that she hadn’t picked up on his lack of romantic response. “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of other possibilities. Pipeline was my biggest and best, but I’ll find another one. In the meantime, I’ll start the day tomorrow by following up with other irons I have in the fire.” Kara squinted again, then shook her head. “No, it’s not today. You’ve seemed, I don’t know, distanced lately. Everything’s okay?” Despite his inner conflict, Hunter hadn’t faked his fondness for Kara. He harbored deep feelings toward her and felt comfortable around her. Without exaggeration, he loved Kara, in the sense that he cherished and cared for her in a profound way. He just couldn’t find a way to give his whole heart to her. One piece short of a puzzle. The most critical piece, unfortunately. Without a cornerstone, a building would end up lopsided or angled wrong, perhaps even implode. A tiny rudder can guide an enormous ship. The flicker of a flame can set an entire forest on fire. Sometimes little things matter. A lot. But Hunter had had years of practice. He’d learned when he needed a surge of passion, he could incite it within himself, like drawing on a car’s reserve tank for fuel. The key, he’d discovered, was to relax and melt into the moment. Hunter focused on Kara’s face. He felt intensity begin to rise and willed it into his stare. The moment the doubt in her eyes broke, Hunter discerned it. He laid his lips upon hers and kissed her deeply, as though to draw air from her lungs into his own. With his hand on her arm, he felt her muscles relax as she closed her eyes and dissolved into their kiss. Hunter brushed his lips against hers. He moved his mouth along her cheek, laid a kiss behind her earlobe, which he knew she enjoyed, then swept down to her neck. He slid his hand down to her waist, where he placed his other hand on the opposite side. They shared one more kiss. “Stop,” Kara gasped, then kissed him again. “Stop what?” he whispered. Another kiss. Kara pulled back and grinned. “We’d better stop while we’re ahead. The no-sex-before-marriage policy, remember?” Hunter was a Christian and believed in saving sex for marriage. He held to the concept as a core component of his faith. And it wasn’t pious showmanship; he believed positive results would follow if he saved himself for another, giving himself to another as a gift. The concept served as an anchor for his heart. But in light of his personal struggle with attraction—or lack thereof—to women, the concept of saving sex for marriage had also proven convenient. Not that Hunter had planned it as such; it had merely worked out that way. But it had brought him refuge over the years. By its nature, waiting revolved around time, and this particular wait afforded him an abundance of time to find his way out of his struggle. Kara glanced at her watch. “I should head home anyway. I started typing up a summary on the plane and want to have it ready for tomorrow morning.” “What about your need to relax after the flight?” “I wish I could.” She gave his arm a squeeze, got up from the sofa, and flicked her hair behind her shoulders. Hunter followed her into the kitchen, where she rummaged through her purse and retrieved her keys. As with all of her business trips, she had left her car in the second spot in Hunter’s garage. Airport parking lots made her nervous, the way people in a hurry tended to bang against car doors, and she preferred not to leave her car at her apartment parking lot around the clock. “You could stay in the guest bedroom and save yourself time,” he suggested. “I’m eager to get my bag unpacked and climb into my own bed. Thanks anyway, though.” She jingled her keys and shot him a wink. “I’ll lock the door behind me.” Hunter had known Kara for years through a friend from church. A few weeks ago, when their relationship hit the five-month mark, Hunter had gone ahead and given her a key to his house. That way, if a coworker picked her up from the airport instead of Hunter, she could get her car. In the years Kara and Hunter had known each other, he’d learned that she wasn’t psychotic and he could trust her with a key. Hunter kissed her good-bye. She walked out the door and, sure enough, locked it behind her. That made Hunter snicker. Yeah, she was cute, indeed.
On Sunday morning, Hunter heard drum beats reverberate as he approached the church building from the parking lot. He never had trouble getting to work or an appointment on time, yet week after week, he arrived to church a minute after the worship service started. With its large congregation and a music segment at the beginning of each service, though, individuals like Hunter could trickle in without anyone noticing their late arrivals. When he opened the door to the worship auditorium, the music’s volume doubled in his ears, the audible equivalent of a blast of heat. A greeter who stood inside the door, a man Hunter had never officially met but had seen for years, gave him a wide smile and a pat on the back. Hunter found an open seat near the middle of the room. Nearly a thousand people sang the lyrics projected on the wall. From listening to Pastor Chuck’s sermons and getting to know him personally over the years, Hunter knew his pastor sought an environment of freedom in worship. Some individuals clapped to the music, some closed their eyes while others kept theirs open. Many individuals across the auditorium lifted their hands in praise, while the occasional person leaped in place or danced with joy in the aisle. Rather than singing this morning, Hunter observed the environment around him. Along the auditorium’s walls hung fabric-covered rectangles to absorb sound, along with framed photos illustrating the church’s history. Dimmed lights, which hung overhead and along the perimeter, ushered a cozy ambience into the room. At the front of the room, on a large platform, the worship band consisted of about ten members: a lead vocalist and several background vocalists; an electric guitarist and a bass player; an alto saxophone player, a keyboardist, and a drummer. The band represented a wide range of ages, yet found common ground as they played an upbeat, contemporary song about God’s love that had set them free. Hunter loved Sunday mornings in church. He could see the elation in people’s eyes, people from all walks of life whose relationships with Christ had changed their lives. To Hunter, church felt like a celebration. It reminded him of how glad he’d felt when he’d given his heart to Jesus Christ. He recalled the relief he’d felt, no longer dragging chains of failure and overwhelming guilt. And over the years, as Hunter looked back on his life and compared it to how he’d felt without a Savior, he’d grown more grateful. Today, Hunter felt as welcome in church as he always had. He perceived the same sense of joy and wonder among the people who had gathered together. The song lyrics still resonated in his heart. Since becoming a Christian, whenever Hunter stepped foot in a church service, he held an awareness of his personal struggles. He knew he was far from perfect, as was everyone else around him. Yet today, Hunter had arrived with an altered perspective. Last week, Hunter had come to church aware of his attractions, but with the knowledge nothing physical had occurred. It had remained a temptation, just as it had every week of his faith life. As he stood in the worship auditorium this morning, however, he did so with the knowledge of what had occurred between Gabe and him earlier that week. Today, the contrast lurked in the recesses of his conscience. The sense of guilt reminded him of how he’d felt before he’d become a Christian, back when he’d given minimal thought to God or religion. And on the occasions he had wondered about God, he’d had no idea how to reach out to Him or connect with Him. Now, in the midst of a sea of other believers, Hunter felt alone. The final upbeat song came to a close. From their various seats around the auditorium, individuals clapped or gave spontaneous shouts to God. Beyond God’s ability to meet needs and keep the whole world in order, the facet of God that Hunter found most fascinating was that He was a loving God. He was a God who noticed each individual, who knew each person intimately. A God who looked at each individual with compassion, loved that person in a manner beyond comprehension, and truly cared about the details of that individual’s life. The band changed musical keys and transitioned into a slower, worshipful song. As the tone grew tender, Hunter yearned for a connection between God and him. He closed his eyes and shut out the people around him, focusing on the sweet melody and lyrics of the song. As the music washed over him, Hunter ruminated on his relationship with Christ, who had rescued Hunter from his own devices and set him on a better course than he would have dreamed otherwise. Jesus had set him free. Hunter had received forgiveness for his sins. But though he had received a clean slate in his life, his struggles and temptations hadn’t vanished, had they? Though he had hope, his problems hadn’t disintegrated. Unfortunately, while Jesus had liberated him from sin, Hunter hadn’t experienced the smaller miracle he’d sought. This morning, as the keyboard-driven worship song continued, Hunter’s mind wandered to the electricity he’d discovered when he’d kissed Gabe. Growing more aware of God’s presence amid the worship—of Hunter’s sin compared to God’s holiness—a wave of shame rushed over him. Here he was, worshipping God while he held secret desires for Gabe. A pang hit his heart. Tears formed behind his closed eyelids and seeped out onto his cheeks. When God looked at Hunter, which one did He see: the genuine Hunter who worshiped God from the depths of his heart, or the Hunter who had succumbed to his weakness? The truth was, Hunter cared very much about what God thought of him and how his faith reflected on others. So where did God stand on this struggle? And in light of that, how was Hunter to reconcile his feelings for Gabe? For Hunter, the question wasn’t about God’s love. Rather, he likened it to a child who cared about what his father thought of him, who wanted to bring gladness to his father and make him proud of him. He knew God loved him. That security had provided an anchor for his heart since he’d turned to Christ at sixteen years old. Besides, he knew from his Bible reading that God even loved people who hated Him or didn’t believe in His existence. The question was, Did Hunter’s feelings and actions bring shame to God or this church? Was Hunter a hypocrite for standing here worshipping while knowing the secrets he hid inside? God knew about his struggle. Was it anyone else’s business? Or was he a hypocrite for not confiding in someone, for keeping the issue private between God and him? The worship song continued, the lyrics of which spoke about God’s grace. Hunter recognized the songwriter had based the lyrics on Psalm 139, a chapter to which Hunter had turned so often in his Bible that the page corner, already thin as onion skin, showed wear marks. When Hunter hit rough times in his life, he read that psalm because it reminded him of God’s presence regardless of where he turned. The psalmist pondered whether there was a limit to where God could reach him, and couldn’t name one. Even if he made his bed in hell, the psalmist said, God would remain beside him. Hunter returned his attention to the music. If he lost his chance to worship with believers around him, his next opportunity wouldn’t come until the midweek service, and he needed this hour’s worth of refuge. Yet he couldn’t remain focused. He couldn’t shake the feeling of slipping slowly down a muddy cliff toward a valley, toward unknown territory where answers evaded him. God’s grace. God’s grace was the focal point of Hunter’s faith in Christ. Sin brought a penalty, but Jesus had paid that penalty on Hunter’s behalf. When Hunter had given himself to Christ, it had brought him into the family of believers, and Christ’s payment now covered him, the way an insurance policy might cover all members of a family. But how far did God’s grace reach? Hunter had never examined that question in such an applicable way. Like everyone else, Hunter sinned in his life. Most of those sins, however, were one-time failures. They didn’t carry with them long-term ramifications or strong emotional components. Where did God’s grace begin and end? How much did it cover? Did it cover past mistakes only, or current struggles? Did grace come by the act of asking for forgiveness, or did grace already exist to the fullest degree in a heart that belonged to Christ? Was it a step-by-step provision, or did Christ’s sacrifice cover everything—past, present and future—to free Hunter from having to ask for God’s forgiveness detail by detail? Hunter didn’t know the answers to those questions, nor did the Bible seem to state them outright. At least, not as far as Hunter could find in his reading. And Hunter’s torment resided in that absence of knowing. Most of all, he craved to know where God’s grace ended. As far as Hunter could tell, whatever actions that might ensue with Gabe entailed a series of choices, and once he made a conscious choice, Hunter didn’t know if God’s grace covered it. Could one decision today doom him for eternity? Hunter’s salvation had come from a heart response, not physical works. The Bible said a man’s actions could never earn his salvation; rather, salvation came as a free gift, by grace through faith, lest any man should boast. If Hunter’s actions couldn’t earn his salvation, could his actions sever his salvation? God knew Hunter’s faith was genuine. God knew how much Hunter loved Him from what felt like his whole heart. Where does God draw the line between heart and actions? Hunter’s torment mounted. He was confident he was safe so far. Nonetheless, he wondered if any actions with Gabe might serve as baby steps toward losing his salvation. If he consented to his feelings for Gabe, would he risk his own heart straying from God? Would he step outside the canopy of God’s protection? Is it possible for someone to wander so far, he falls out of grace? Could Hunter wind up in hell, forfeiting his salvation for eternity, and trace its root to involvement with Gabe or another man? Was Hunter on the verge of setting into motion permanent damnation before he understood the full consequences and without hope of recovery? An image flashed through Hunter’s mind—an image of himself floating in darkness, writhing in pain as the fires of hell burned away his soul and worms ate at his body, knowing a reprieve would never come and the agony would last forever. Fear of what would come with each instant. Loneliness in knowing God had departed, the notion that he could never again feel the comfort of God’s embrace. Fear shot down Hunter’s spine, a terror so severe, he wanted to thrash his head from side to side, desperate to shake the frightful thoughts from his mind. But he remembered where he was—surrounded by people—so he forced himself to settle down, despite the fact that his stomach wrenched and his jaw now felt sore from its clenched state. This wasn’t the first time such images had traveled through his mind. Hunter had considered those pictures year after year, and he had endured them alone. In moments like these, Hunter turned his attention back to God’s love, the love that had accepted and welcomed him years ago. God had known Hunter’s challenges and had wanted him anyway. Hunter trusted that love. He trusted that, somewhere along the way, mercy had to be available for someone like him. Not because he deserved it, but because it matched the nature of the God he knew. With his eyes still closed and another heartfelt worship song fading into the background, Hunter lifted his hands, tilted his face toward heaven, a grateful man worshipping his Savior who sat high on His throne. Tears came forth in such abundance, he gave up on trying to wipe them away. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who wept during worship. To anyone who might have noticed Hunter, they would have assumed this was a simple moment of worship, which it was. But it was also more than that. For Hunter, it was a desperate cry for God to show up and give him wisdom: hands open and arms outstretched, the arms of a child racing into his father’s embrace. Pleading for his father to never abandon him. Excerpt Copyright 2015 John Herrick Order your copy of Between These Walls
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