Storm Tossed: A troubled woman finds peace with herself and God in the midst of life's storms. Read Free Page B

and stones; standing outside, a man, dark, savage-looking, a blanket around his nose and mouth, showing just those sullen dark eyes…A woman in the door—a great blanket around her, too—her eyes only showing above the rim. It’s so cold. There is nowhere any color. It is all just the same, this dull gray green: the sand, the bushes, the sky even—cold and cloudy—seemed washed with the same color; no reds, no yellows or tans, just this cold enveloping dry gray. It is terribly depressing. We have traveled three days seeing nothing lovely: flat fields first of cornstalks, then of cotton, now today nothing but this gray cactus.”
    Nothing lovely. So cold. No color. It’s all the same. That is how her life felt. Colorless and cold. Empty.
    Unbidden, the memory of Jackson’s texts came in like the surging tide. The wind was picking up, and with it, her anxiety was growing. Maybe she should go next door before it got bad. But resolve like steel rose up within her. No , she rebuked herself, I’m not going to be like mama, afraid. I can do this. It will all be okay.
    She didn’t know what she was trying to prove, being here alone, conquering a hurricane. Maybe she really was insane.
    At least that’s what Jackson tried to tell her when she discovered the texts. She’d known that they were having problems. But…this. This woman, this slutty, ho woman, texting him. And Jackson responding. That is what hurt the most.
    Some “floozy” at his work as her mother would call her, texting him inappropriate things. Sexting, they called it now. Suggesting them meeting for lunch, and then her doing things to him at a hotel that Rachel hadn’t done for years. This floozy knew he was married. She didn’t care.
    And Jackson eating it up, like bacon and eggs on a Sunday morning. Easy like Sunday morning , the Commodores song played in her head. When was the last time she’d fixed Jackson bacon and eggs? When was the last time she’d done anything for him, really?
    Maybe this was her fault, too. This emotional affair that had been going on for months. Yeah, she’d sensed it. She just couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong. Women’s intuition, they say.
    Rachel was devastated. He said he wasn’t in love with the floozy. Yes, they’d kissed once. But that was as far as it went, he swore. They hadn’t acted out on the sexting—yet.
    He’d kissed her in his Silverado pickup truck once after work just to see if he was really in love with Rachel any more. And he realized when he kissed the floozy that he was.
    Rachel was the love of his life. Rachel was the woman for him, ‘til death do us part. In fact, he was planning to tell the floozy next week that he didn’t want her to text him anymore or vice versa, he claimed. But one night Rachel happened to look at his phone before he had the chance to end it, a strong feeling coming over her that he was hiding something. She couldn’t shake it.
    She was in her pink and blue Hello Kitty pj’s, her face washed clean with no makeup, her hair pulled tight in a ponytail and drinking a glass of chocolate milk, and suddenly her world crashed to pieces. She’d never looked at his phone before. It was God prompting her to pick it up and look at it, exposing the sin.
    She gasped when she saw the sensual texts, then furiously confronted him when he walked unsuspectingly into their bedroom in his royal blue briefs and long white, tube socks, taken by surprise like a deer shot on a November snowy morning.
    “Who the heck is Ashley? Ashley, is that her name, really? Is she a 25 year old with big boobs? Let me guess, she was a blonde cheerleader in high school!” she screamed at him, her mouth contorted with rage. How dare he do this to her!
    Rachel thought her mind was going to snap from the truth. She was afraid she was going to lose it, and have a nervous breakdown. Or psychotically kill him.
    “She’s a woman at work! It’s nothing! Nothing’s going on, I swear to God, honey!