Read Stepping Into Sunlight for Free Online Page B

the line wobbled.
    I swallowed hard.
    Those used to be rich and cherished aspects of my life. In the past weeks I’d mouthed the right words and tried not to think about how lost and alone I felt in my battle. But to really involve God in this process, I first had to confront my big question. Where had He been that afternoon? I was afraid to ask Him, because if there was no answer, I wasn’t sure I could forgive Him, and losing Him right now was more than I could bear. I’d rather maintain a nodding acquaintanceship than dig too deep and lose it all.
    I rubbed my forehead and continued studying my notes. Too much advice. Too many ideas.
    A clinking sound near the front door signaled the mail had arrived. Moving with the underwater resistance that had weighted me lately, I closed my notebook and rolled my shoulders. I waited until the mail carrier walked a few houses down the street before cracking open my front door and lifting the lid on the metal box bolted to the brick next to the front door. Reaching in, I grabbed whatever my hand found. After I bolted the door again, I shuffled through the junk mail and saw two red envelopes. My first Netflix movies. Perfect timing. I’d given a few hours to my research and was exhausted. I needed a distraction before I started organizing specific steps to my Penny’s Project.
    Befriended by a tray of crackers and cheese, and a pot of hot tea—Irish Breakfast, not that weedy stuff Laura-Beth had suggested—I drew the living room curtains closed and opened the DVD tray. An unlabeled disc rested in the compartment, so I set it aside, dropped in the movie, and curled up on the couch with the remote. Images flowed across the television, but even the rollicking adventure movie couldn’t hold my attention. After I’d polished off most of my snack, my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted to sleep.
    My naps had become heavy things, smothering weights that held me under until something intervened to pull me up from the depths. Today a sound woke me: a chubby fist banged the front door about three feet up from the threshold—Bryan height.
    “Mom? It’s me. I’m home. Mom? Mom!” A worried edge tinted his bellowing call.
    I hurried to the door, kicking myself for another lost day and for another day of not meeting Bryan’s bus after school. I tried to dredge energy up from my toenails as I yanked open the door and managed a bright smile. “How’s my favorite second-grader?”
    His relieved laugh burst into our quiet living room. I knelt for a hug and smelled sunshine and dust in the sweet-salty sweat of his neck.
    “Know what? Mrs. Pimple said one of the moms could be the head Pilgrim in our play, and I told her you’d be good at it, since you used to be a Pilgrim.”
    Huh? “Honey, I’m not old enough to be a Pilgrim. And her name is Mrs. Pimblott.”
    He scratched his head. “But you were a Pilgrim. Back at our old house. Remember, Mom?”
    “Our old—?” Light dawned. “You mean Pilgrim Cleaners? That wasn’t . . . I mean, I only worked for their office.” I’d loved my three-day a week job as office manager. One of the many things I hated to give up when we moved.
    He wrinkled his forehead and waited.
    I coughed to hide a chuckle. “Those were different Pilgrims.”
    “Oh. Well, now you can be this kind.”
    Perform in the Thanksgiving play? Not a chance. But few people can give a direct no to earnest seven-year-old eyes. “We’ll see.” Every mom’s magic phrase when cornered. Sometimes when my son’s attention span was particularly short, it was all I needed. Hopefully he’d forget all about volunteering me.
    “So can we go to the ocean so I can find a new pet? You said it was a good idea.”
    “No, you said it was a good idea. I said we’d talk about it.”
    “Know what? Daddy would like us to find a pet. He doesn’t want us to be lonely while he’s gone.”
    I tousled his hair and ignored his coy eye-batting. “Sorry, buddy. Not today. I’m still not