The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots Read Free

along with my words. Then he tilted his head back and laughed again. “Honey, you’re a day late. April 1st was yesterday.”
    I didn’t smile.
    Tears trickled from his eyes as he looked right at me.
    The boys laughed because their dad laughed.
    I glared.
    “I think that’s great, Mom.” Danny looked over at his dad to get his approval.
    My jaw tightened. “Thank you, Daniel.”
    “How are you going to pay for a motorcycle?” My husband reached for the apple pie.
    I measured my words carefully. “I still have my Aunt Mary’s inheritance.”
    He frowned. “But I thought we were going to take a trip.”
    “I’m still going to be traveling with the money, Aaron. I’ll just be traveling on the back of a Harley.”
    I was smiling now. I had their attention. I was in the room. I would never confess how terrified I was at the thought of riding. I felt alive.
    Timmy clapped and flapped his hands and rocked back and forth. He always picked up on my emotions.
    “Hands, Timmy,” I said. He kept rocking but wrung his hands in his lap.
    “What if you crash and die, Mom?” Patrick looked worried.
    “I could crash and die in a car, Patrick. Life’s too short to worry about that.”
    Patrick threw down his fork. “Life is too short. That’s exactly why I think it’s a stupid idea!”
    “Look, guys,” I said. “It’s doctor’s orders.”
    “Doctor’s orders?” My husband tilted his head like a puppy and looked at me with his deep brown eyes.
    “We…will talk more about it later.” I gave Aaron the look.
    Timmy jumped up from the table, clapped his hands loudly, and began to spin. “Cy-cle. Cy-cle. Ma-ma. Cy-cle. Cy-cle. Ma-ma.”
     
    ****
     
    I brushed my teeth, slipped into my favorite pair of flannel PJs and brought up the subject again. “You know, honey, my motorcycle idea is sort of doctor’s orders.”
    “Doctor’s orders?” Aaron unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor next to the laundry hamper.
    “Yeah. She thinks I’m depressed—or too stressed.”
    “Why would you be depressed?”
    “I don’t know, Aaron, it happens. She said something about a combination of too much stress, not enough down time and a chemical problem in my brain or something.”
    “How long have you felt depressed?” We sat side by side on the foot of the bed and I pulled on my socks. I can’t sleep without socks.
    “I’m not sure. I didn’t know I was depressed. I mean, I knew I didn’t feel well, and that I didn’t want to do anything for fun anymore. The doctor said it sounded like symptoms of clinical depression.”
    “But she doesn’t know for certain?”
    “She just suggested I find a hobby or something.”
    My husband took my hand. “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” He used his soft and low pastor’s voice.
    “I know that.” I pulled my hand away. “I’m not a backslider, Aaron.” I resented it when he went into pastor-mode with me.
    “What do you have to be depressed about?” Panic squeaked in his voice.
    I sighed. It wasn’t something I could explain. I read my Bible. I prayed. I had a close relationship with the Lord. Why was I depressed?
    “Have you ever read the book of Lamentations, Aaron? Sometimes people just get down. When the doctor asked me what I did for fun, I couldn’t think of one thing. I feel sort of dead inside. Like the girl I used to be checked out and forgot to come back.”
    Aaron crinkled his brow and pondered this. We were always in such a state of “just surviving” the next event at the church, the next crisis, or Timmy’s next melt-down. “Having fun” had definitely taken a backseat.
    “Our ministry is fun,” he said. I could tell he was trying to convince himself. “We have everything we need.”
    “Everything you need.”
    “Well, I’m not sure that getting a motorcycle will be seen by the church as a need—I’m afraid the church board might think it frivolous—not to mention what it might do to our image.”
    “My image, Aaron.