Some blamed the entrance of women and gay clergy as the death knell of Christianity, straying from its rootedness in “orthodoxy.” But she, and others like her, felt that Christianity had taken a turn toward the gospel of love for all people, not away from it. The gospel, Jesus’s love and compassion for the outcasts of society, did not agree with everyone’s politics, either during Jesus’s time in the first century or now.
With these big thoughts, she arrived at the snowy parking lot of St. Lucy’s, where the vicar, James Latimer, met her at the door, dressed in jeans and red Converse sneakers, his hipster beard long and bushy.
“Morning, Erin.” James smiled, while opening the door for her. “Came to make sure the door got unlocked.” He rolled his brown eyes.
Erin smirked. James’s office volunteer, Dwayne, who came only on Tuesdays, and whose duty was to unlock the door, was notoriously forgetful. Together, they intoned, “But he’s free staff,” then giggled like teens.
Erin scooched through the door with her full messenger bag, juggling her coffee mug. “Beautiful morning, if you like this sort of thing,” she joked, because, while the sun shone brightly, the temperature would make it to only eight degrees today. They walked down the small corridor outside James’s office, where he stopped at a sink to start the coffee brewing.
Erin tossed her bag on a chair in his cramped office. A laptop, several large biblical commentaries, and papers crammed the desk in the corner. Floor to ceiling bookshelves along the far wall groaned under the weight of too many books stuffed in any way possible along the shelves. She cringed again at the disorder but laughed inwardly. The smartest guy she knew, James’s work area still looked a wreck. On the other hand, her work spaces, both at church and at the vicarage, held well-ordered tomes, arranged by topic. She neatly filed sermons away each week, so she could access old ones as the liturgical year cycled around. Whenever she carelessly tossed one on her shelf after a Sunday service, she became antsy until she had time to put it away.
Her mother called her a neatnik. Whatever.
The oldest of the clergy group, Mary Jane and Leon, already sat in their usual seats—Mary Jane on the right wall, in front of the low, shabby coffee table, Leon in front of the wall of books. They all greeted each other.
Mary Jane, in her skirt, tailored wool jacket, and clerical blouse, probably headed to some meeting after the clergy group, busied herself dragging out a file of sermon notes, her book of weekly bible texts, and her Greek bible from a large woven bag. Leon sat without any papers or books of any kind, one brown corduroy leg crossed at the ankle over the other one, his potbelly hanging low, sipping a jumbo iced drink from the local convenience store. Mary Jane was the putative leader of the group, but each week, a different clergy member led the discussion of the week’s biblical texts assigned for the next Sunday, and which served as the fodder for their sermons.
Erin took the space next to Mary Jane on the second-hand love seat. Jeans-clad Erin felt underdressed next to her, but Mary Jane didn’t seem to notice.
“How’re the natives?” Mary Jane asked. Mary Jane had taken a proprietary interest in Erin since she’d arrived last May. Holy Spirit, Erin’s church, was still coming to grips with hiring her as their very first gay clergyperson. A cadre of parishioners welcomed her with open arms, while a vocal few made their dissatisfaction with her known, often and to all and sundry. Once a week, Erin had met with Walter, an older parishioner, whose job, he decided, was to point out every small error Erin made. One week, he complained about the smallness of the print in the bulletins. She dutifully enlarged the font for the next Sunday, which increased the number of sheets of paper. So, the next week he claimed they were killing too many trees by using more paper.
“Oh, about the same. No one has tried to fire me this week, anyway.” Erin wanted to laugh, but then decided it was true.
“My parishioner was found guilty. Maybe you all saw it in the county news.” Mary Jane drank out of a Clergy Pension Group mug. She had deeper dark circles under her eyes this week. Erin wondered what else she was dealing with.
“Oh, man,” Erin said. “The meth lab guy?”
Mary Jane nodded. “He and his girlfriend both.”
“Got to have some income, you know?” Leon joked. “What about the death of the old man in Johnson County?”
Mary Jane frowned at Erin in concern.
“You mean the murder?” Erin clapped her hand over her mouth. “Damn. You didn’t hear that.” She felt her blush rise.
All eyes fell on Erin. “I can’t say more. His daughter came to talk to one of my parishioners. She shared it in confidence. But I did hear from other sources that four people have been arrested. Let me just say drugs were involved.” Erin scrunched her face in remorse.
“Crap,” Leon said.
The last members of the group, a pastor in Erin’s county, her friend Julia, and Hugh, from this county, appeared in the doorway, casing the lone empty chair. James filed in behind them, lugging another folding chair in one hand and the coffee pot in another. He laid the chair up against the door frame and set the coffee pot on the coffee table. “We can put this one in the doorway,” he said as he unfolded and placed the chair.
Mary Jane sighed. “When are we going to find a larger place to meet?”
Erin groaned inwardly. Every few months, they discussed finding another meeting spot. The local diner: too loud. The library: too quiet. Another church: too far to travel, especially in the winter. They always came back to meeting here at St. Lucy’s, the most central location, despite it being, by far, the smallest of their collective churches. No one had an answer for Mary Jane.
After Julia sat on the chair James had clapped down, she held up her hand. She waited a minute until the clanking of the heat radiator stopped. “Before we start in on meeting places again, I have an announcement. Raymond started kidney dialysis yesterday. I’d like your prayers.”
A silence overcame the group.
Erin’s stomach dropped. She placed her hand on top of Julia’s, her heart plummeting about the news of Julia’s husband, who’d been fighting kidney ailments the past year.
“I’m so sorry.” James stopped his forward movement toward his desk chair, turned, and gave Julia a side hug. “What can we do?”
Tears threatened to run down her cheek. “Hugs are great,” she said in a raspy voice.
James said, “We’ll certainly have you and Raymond in our prayers.” He made his way to his desk and finally all were seated. “Good to see everyone. Where’s Gary?”
“Remember, he took a vacation right after Christmas, to see his in-laws in New York.” Mary Jane had a memory to rival an elephant.
Hugh asked, “Who’s leading today?”
“It’s you, Leon,” Mary Jane, the keeper of the group’s schedule, said.
They all groaned aloud for Leon’s sake. Erin smiled at their joking around.
“I am deeply hurt,” Leon, the group’s jokester said, mocking himself. “But did you hear about the priest, the minister, and the rabbi who wanted to see which one was best at their job?” Everyone grinned, anticipating Leon’s story. “So, each one goes into the woods, finds a bear, and attempts to convert it. Later, they all get together to compare notes. The priest says, ‘When I found the bear, I read to him from the Baltimore Catechism and sprinkled him with holy water. Next week is his First Communion.’ The minister says, ‘I found a bear by the stream and preached God’s Holy Word. The bear was so mesmerized that he let me baptize him.’ Then, both the priest and the minister look down expectantly at the rabbi, who is lying on a gurney in a body cast. ‘Looking back,’ the rabbi says, ‘maybe I shouldn’t have started with circumcision.’”
Groans all around. Laughing a little, Erin shook her head again. Leon could be trusted to make the worst jokes. But, what would she do without this group? It kept her balanced, laughing at herself, putting priestly difficulties in perspective.
“I could ‘bearly’ stand that one,”
James said. More laughter and groans.
“Very punny,” Hugh added.
Erin laughed between sips from her travel mug, shaking her finger at Leon. Fortunately, she loved playing around with her clergy group, mainly because she so rarely got to with her parishioners. Oh, they entertained her, especially the antics of Mike and Carol Ellesby, the biggest donors and the most faithful in attendance, who just happened to be the most laid-back folks in the congregation. She often joked around with Mike as they stood at the back of the church before walking down the small aisle of Holy Spirit to begin the Sunday service.
But mostly, her parishioners were stoic ranchers, harried office workers, and a couple of overworked professionals, most of them in their fifties, sixties, or older, too tired to joke much. Two parishioners lived in the county home for the elderly. One, a widower in his nineties, still lived at home but could not make it to church on Sundays. Another older woman just told her last week she was moving to St. Louis to be near her daughter and her son-in-law.
Leon’s joke led to others. The banter went on for a good ten minutes, before Mary Jane, ever on task, took an opportunity during a lull in the laughter to say, “Here we go,” then she read aloud the first reading for the upcoming Sunday, while they shifted in their seats and settled back, smiles melting into the work at hand.
Hugh read the next reading appointed for the upcoming Sunday service in all their churches. It was an obscure passage of a letter from the apostle Paul to the newly formed church in Corinth. They all discussed St. Paul’s context, and what Paul could possibly have meant by writing about the end times to his flock in Greece.
Then Erin read the gospel. Leon regaled them with his vast and detailed exegesis of the passage from the gospel of Mark designated for next Sunday, about Jesus calling two fishermen to follow him. Erin sighed under her breath.
Leon went on for some minutes “mansplaining,” as Erin thought of it. He ended with, “Follow me and I will make you fishers of beer.”
“Lutherans,” Erin said, her brows raised to the heavens.
They laughed.
“What do Episcopalians drink?” Leon asked plaintively.
Without a pause, James stated in mock seriousness, “Where two or three are gathered, there is bound to be a fifth.” James winked at Erin, who smiled at the old joke.
More laughter.
Then, they got serious again. A discussion ensued of some of the more esoteric aspects of the passage in the gospel and how to link it with other bible readings for the day.
Somehow, they got off the topic yet again. James told a story about prejudices against Hispanic people in his parish. Most of the group agreed they had the same problem. The discussion waned.
“Hey, are we going to pray?” Hugh said.
They forgot to pray unless Hugh reminded them. Erin smiled ruefully that clergy, people in the “God business,” forgot to pray for themselves. Hugh led them in a closing prayer that mentioned Julia’s husband Raymond, the man murdered in Johnson County, and all who suffered from drug addiction; he asked God’s blessing on each of their parishes and for each of them as spiritual leaders. Hugh’s prayer made her day. As a new vicar, she needed any help she could get.
Chapter Three
Amanda took her coat off and Bobbi hung it in the front closet.
She turned around and Amanda slid her arms around her neck and kissed her softly. “Thanks for dinner tonight. I enjoy being with you.”
“Mmm.” Warmth spread from Bobbi’s stomach further south and created want.
“Would you like a nightcap?” Bobbi turned, bent from the waist, and opened a cabinet door in the built-in bookshelves. Rummaging around in it for a minute, she said, “I have bourbon and some beer in the fridge.” She stood and produced a bottle of red wine. “And some Chilean wine.”
“No, thanks, nothing for me.” Amanda wrapped her arms around Bobbi again.
“Would you like to go to my room?”
Amanda murmured between kisses, “Thought you’d never ask, Doc.”
They stumbled into the bedroom, clothing flung on the floor in their wake. Bobbi backed Amanda onto the bed and levered herself on top. The warmth turned into an insistent pulse between her thighs. They kissed passionately, both groaning and breathing deeply. Bobbi thought her lungs would burst with the pent-up sexual tension.
She looked down at Amanda, whose eyes burned with lust, and knew she’d picked a good companion for a light fling. Amanda didn’t make demands. She gave Bobbi great sex and expected nothing in return except to be treated with respect. The perfect friend with benefits.
On an impulse, Bobbi murmured, “Strap on?” into Amanda’s ear.
“God, yes,” Amanda said between gasps.
Her breath ramping up in anticipation, Bobbi shuffled around in her nightstand drawer. She stood and slipped on the leather strap with the purple dildo dangling from it. She leaned back onto Amanda and thrust toward her. Amanda grabbed the dildo and stroked it between their bodies a few times, firing Bobbi’s want even more. Bobbi closed her eyes and moaned, then reached for the lube and applied it. She raised up then slid back down, while Amanda guided the dildo into her vagina. They both groaned. Bobbi was throbbing now.
God, Bobbi thought, if this is half as good for Amanda as it is for me, we both won’t last long. They bucked together in a rhythm that beat louder and faster with the minutes.
Panting, Bobbi asked, “You okay?” She felt things building in her own groin.
“Just keep going, baby.” Amanda gasped her answer.
After another few minutes of Bobbi’s steady strokes into Amanda, she yelled out and spasmed, grabbing Bobbi’s shoulders in a clinch that dug into the flesh. Bobbi responded with her own wet climax and collapsed on top of Amanda. They both breathed like fire engines.
Bobbi looked into Amanda’s grinning face, her light brown hair spread across the pillow.
“Wow, that was worth waiting for,” Amanda said with a loud sigh.
Bobbi lifted off Amanda and took off the toy. She laid next to her, bringing her arm around Amanda’s shoulder and her head into the crook of her arm. They lay there for some time, getting their breaths back and relaxing into each other.
Bobbi played with Amanda’s blond highlights. After a few minutes, Amanda sat up in bed to look at Bobbi. “As much as I’m comfortably snuggled here, I really need to go. Thank you for a very sexy time.” She kissed Bobbi’s lips lightly, then got up from the bed to dress.
Bobbi stretched, then hopped out of bed and donned her robe. “I’ll walk you out.” At the door, she helped Amanda with her coat, and kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Sure. Good night.” Amanda smiled and walked out to her car.
Bobbi closed and locked the door and leaned against it, feeling the post-coital haze fade away. The apartment fell silent except for a ticking of her kitchen clock.
Her living room held only a small brown couch, a matching, tatty, overstuffed chair, and a scratched, dark-maple coffee table, all second hand. Nothing here felt particularly homelike or welcoming. From the time she’d had her own apartment in medical school, home décor didn’t make her list of top ten priorities. Tonight, after the disconnectedness of sex with Amanda, a weight of sadness descended on her in the plain, echoing living room.
Amanda treated her well. They both wanted the same thing: no risk. How long could she go without having a deeper, more fulfilling relationship, though? She and Stephanie ended last year, badly, as she finished her second year of residency in Oregon. Remembering, she shivered, partly from fear. No, make that entirely from fear. She shrugged off the beginnings of remembrance, steeled herself, and breathed. Better. Definitely calmer.
****
At the end of the next day, readying to take night call, Bobbi checked in with one of the other fellows, Dr. Joe Manning, and Dr. Lambert, in Dr. Lambert’s office, around five-thirty. Joe reported a quiet night last night. Only one call, a child with
an ear infection. He had met the child and her parents at the clinic and started treatment about two in the morning, then sent them home with meds and instructions.
Bobbi listened to her colleague’s Arkansas twang closely. She liked both the other fellows, Joe and Jaime. She appreciated Joe’s quiet way and understanding of rural farming life, his own background. Joe’s wife Marty served as a nurse at the hospital and they had two small preschool-age girls. Marty had studied nursing at Iowa, and they met while Joe was a medical student at the University of Arkansas, where she had her first nursing job. Bobbi had yet to work with Marty at BCH, since she worked with pediatric patients, and Bobbi’d not admitted any children since coming to Valley View. She listened while Joe finished his summary of the little girl he had treated last night, wondering if he thought of his own girls when he had seen the patient.
The presenting medical problems of clients here echoed the problems she had seen on call as a family medicine resident in rural eastern Oregon—minor, acute issues or flair-ups of chronic diseases. An occasional life-threatening episode, like a heart attack or, too often, car crashes. Sometimes a woman in the throes of labor. She looked forward to giving patients her attention, no matter what the problem.
But, hardly anyone called their doctor in the middle of the night without something real needing attention. Rural adults barely called the doctor anyway. They needed coaxing to come for any preventive care. Yes, they took care of their children’s vaccinations and showed up for their school physicals but parents didn’t come in for their own problems.
Rural adults were not used to relying on others for health care. Her own father waited a day before he had her mother take him to the emergency room after he cut his arm on fencing. Her mom came home from teaching third grade, saw the five-inch gash on his arm, treated it with over-the-counter antibiotic cream, a gauze bandage, and a pain killer, and they went to bed. When the arm became red, swelled, and the cut oozed pus the next day, she had to take a day off from school to take him into the nearest medical clinic. Even then, he wouldn’t let them stitch him up, after he found out it would cost more. No, rural patients would give her little worry tonight.
Bobbi and Soul Page 2