by Cindy Maddox
But that wasn’t all. What was that other nagging feeling? Guilt? Maybe a little. She still wasn’t sure about this whole abortion issue, and she felt like she was getting in deeper with every step. But it wasn’t her choice, and she just knew she was doing the right thing to support Ann. If she had to stand in for the girl’s family, she would do it, even across state lines.
Wait. Across state lines. That phrase triggered something in the back of her mind. Taking a minor across state lines. Was that illegal? If so, would she be breaking the law to take the girl without her parents’ permission? That was a mighty big risk to take.
Ah, well, in for a penny, in for a dollar, as they say. What they gonna do? Throw me in jail? She laughed at the very thought of what the church ladies would say about that.
Her only worry was that something might happen to her while they were gone. She was in good health—no real reason to be concerned—but if something did happen, or they had an accident, there’d be nobody to explain. She didn’t want the girl to get in trouble. She’d leave a note, that’s what she’d do. Just in case.
***
“Do you have a title yet, Pastor Jeff? I’m ready to print the programs.”
Jeff looked up from his computer to see the secretary standing at his door.
“Bulletins,” he automatically corrected. Rachel had worked for the school system before coming to work for the church, and she still thought of the Sunday bulletin like a school concert program.
She cocked her head to the side as she looked at him. “Right, bulletins. Order of worship. Whatever you want to call them. But the people in the cheap seats call them programs. You know that, right?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”
“So, do you?”
“Do I what?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a sermon title? I know you don’t like for me to print them without your sermon title.”
Actually, Jeff didn’t care a bit about having a sermon title, but Ruth always got mad if he didn’t have one. She’d come down the aisle pushing her walker with one hand and shaking her finger at him with the other. She considered it a sign that he wasn’t doing adequate sermon preparation.
He’d been working with this week’s scripture all morning, but he still couldn’t figure out what to do with it. He usually preached from the lectionary—the three-year cycle of Bible readings used in many Protestant churches—because it was easier than trying to figure out what to preach on each week. But this week the Old Testament reading was a snippet of a longer story that didn’t make sense out of context, and the Thessalonians passage featured the Apostle Paul being a bit melodramatic. That left the Gospel reading, but it was one he found rather annoying and irrelevant, an argument in semantics.
He sighed. “How much time can you give me?”
Rachel looked at her watch. “I have to start printing them in fifteen minutes, whether inspiration has struck or not.”
Jeff agreed and clicked on the link for an article that sounded promising. He was wrong. He X-ed out of it and was looking for another when his phone buzzed with a text message. One glance told him it was from his mother.
Please call when you can.
Jeff waited. Usually she followed such requests with two words: nothing urgent. She’d spent enough years as a pastor’s wife to know that he couldn’t always call back right away. But this time the words didn’t come.
Is it urgent? he asked.
There was a pause. Then came:
Not urgent but important.
She answered on the first ring. He could tell immediately that she was in her car. “Hi, son, thanks for calling me back.”
He got an ominous feeling at the word “son.” She only called him that when she felt he needed to be reminded of his role. He tried to release the tense muscles in his shoulders as he answered. “Sure, Mom, what’s up?”
There was a slight hesitation. “I thought you should know I’m going to stay with your sister for a while.”
“Is she okay?” Jeff knew his mom sometimes helped out with her grandchildren. The three young boys were a handful, and with Jessie’s husband frequently away on business, Jessie sometimes got overwhelmed. This was nothing new, and he glanced back at the list of articles he hadn’t yet read in his sermon preparation.
“She’s fine.”
He clicked on another article: “Jesus, the Pharisees, and Fairness.”
“I’m leaving your father.”
“Leaving him where?” Jeff asked vaguely as he scanned the article.
“I’m leaving him,” she repeated. “I’m filing for divorce.”
Jeff heard the words but couldn’t make sense of them. Divorce? That word had never once occurred to him in relation to his parents. He had never even imagined such a possibility. They had been married what—? Forty-three, forty-four years? His parents would never get divorced. Divorce was for lesser mortals, not for the Rev. and Mrs. Gordon Cooper.
The silence stretched between them. “You can’t be serious,” he said at last.
“Oh, I’m serious,” she said hotly. “Because apparently he’s pretty serious about his girlfriend.”
He almost laughed out loud. “Girlfriend? What is this, an early April Fool’s Day joke or something?”
“If it is, the joke’s on me,” his mother said, her voice cracking.
It was the crack that convinced him. He dropped his head in his hands. “Oh dear God, you’re serious. Dad has a—Dad had an affair?” He immediately thought of his father’s new secretary. An attractive woman in her forties, she was hired last year after the previous secretary finally retired at the age of seventy-seven. Jeff had met her on his last visit. “Please tell me it wasn’t his secretary,” he retorted, his voice rising. “Of all the tired, worn out stereotypes…”
“No. Actually, the secretary is the one who reported him to the board. His affair was with a church member.”
“He screwed a church member? Are you friggin’ kidding me?” he yelled. “How stupid can he be? Every minister right out of seminary knows you don’t f—” He stopped himself, suddenly remembering he was in the church, and yelling profanities was frowned upon. “Oh, dear God,” he said again. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. This was unbelievable. An affair with a parishioner? Because of the power differential between clergy and laity, even single ministers couldn’t date church members. It was a clear breach of clergy ethics—something his father had always taken very seriously. Or so Jeff had thought.
“I found out about a month ago, and we’ve been trying to deal with it in counseling. But he refuses to give her up, even though it definitely means he’ll lose his church. They’re talking about filing charges on an ethics violation.”
“I can’t believe this,” Jeff said again. “I mean, I know what you’re saying, and I believe you. But it’s so far removed from my image of Dad that I can’t…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t find the words.
“Cognitive dissonance.” His mother, always the psychologist, provided the correct term. “It’s the mental stress or discomfort caused when a person is confronted with new information that conflicts with existing beliefs, ideas, or values.”
“I’m familiar with the concept, Mom,” Jeff reminded her.
“I know. I just have to keep naming it. I’ve been feeling it for a month and it’s not getting any easier. I still can’t believe your father would do this to me. To the church. To his entire career and legacy.”
The pain in her voice twisted like a knife in his gut. “Mom, I don’t—I don’t know what to say to you. I’m so sorry. This has to be…” His voice trailed off, but his mother picked up the thought.
“The most painful thing I’ve ever experienced,” she said without hesitation.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. Really. How are you coping with this?”
; “Counseling and chocolate. Not necessarily in that order.”
Jeff tried to smile in response, but he couldn’t manage it. He did, however, marvel at his mother’s ability to joke when her world was falling apart. And it made him even angrier at his father. “What was he thinking?” he said, fully aware that his father’s brain most likely was not the part of his body that was in charge.
“There’s only one thing that would cause a man like your father to turn so far away from his values. And that’s what hurts the most.” She fell silent.
“Meaning?” Jeff prompted her.
“Love,” his mother choked out. “He could only do this for love.”
***
Juliann had a plan. A good plan. A perfect plan for a good student to tell an unsuspecting parent. She had already told her mom that she and Hailey were working on a project and presentation together. She planted that seed yesterday, and they were leaving tomorrow, so it was time for the rest of the plan.
She ambled into the kitchen, trying to act casual. Her mom sat at the island, reading through a cooking magazine. “Hey, Mom, you know that presentation I told you about? The one I’m doing with Hailey?”
“Mm-hm,” her mother mumbled, not looking up.
“We’re going to work on it tomorrow afternoon and evening.”
“That’s fine,” she said as she turned the page.
Juliann knew that the good part about never lying to your mom is that she has no reason not to trust you. The bad part about never lying to your mom is that you have no experience in doing it. She was accustomed to lying to other people because of her dad—making excuses why her friends couldn’t come over, stuff like that. Somehow lying to her mother felt different. She opened the fridge and stuck her head in as she called, “We might be working late so Hailey asked if I could spend the night. Then I’ll catch the bus to school with her Monday morning.”
Her mom finally looked at her. “Spend the night?”
“Right. To work on our project.”
“Oh, yes, fine.” Her gaze went back to her magazine, but Juliann had the feeling she wasn’t really seeing it.
“It really is important, you know,” Juliann said, as much to remind herself as to remind her mom.
Her mom nodded curtly. “Of course. Your grades are important. I understand. I just had hoped we’d have a family dinner together tomorrow night. We haven’t eaten together in a while.”
“What about tonight? Could we do it tonight?”
“No. Your father has a meeting.”
Juliann let out an exasperated sigh. Another Saturday night meeting? Yeah, lawyers have tons of those. She should check the latest pool of clerks in his legal office for thin blondes. She knew, of course, what her mother was really concerned about. Her dad went golfing every Sunday afternoon and often drank too much on the course. If he lost, he came home in a horrible mood. Around their house, drunk and pissed was a bad combination.
But it wasn’t her fault. She was doing what had to be done. “Who’s he golfing with tomorrow?”
“Arthur Kendrix.”
Juliann breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good, right? Doesn’t Dad usually beat Arthur?”
Her mom gave an odd smile. “Yes, he does.”
“Then he should be in an okay mood when he comes home,” she pressed. “Right? You’ll be fine if I leave you.”
Her mom climbed down from the stool and picked up a towel—one of the microfiber ones she used all the time to keep the fingerprints off the countertops. “Yes, honey, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay home all the time for my sake. You deserve to have a life beyond these walls.”
She tried to catch her mom’s eye, but her mom wouldn’t look at her. “You do, too, Mom.”
“I do have a life,” she insisted as she stepped away. “I worked all week. I had brunch at the club with friends this morning and played golf this afternoon.”
Juliann couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Of course you did. All Dad-approved activities. You have to keep up appearances, after all.”
“Juliann!” her mother scolded.
She knew she was crossing the line, but the anger boiling up within her demanded release. “Did he schedule lunch for you, or were you allowed to make the plans yourself? Did he tell you what to wear?” She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh, right. He doesn’t need to. He inspects all your purchases when you bring them home. That way he doesn’t have to worry about you embarrassing him. You know, it’s amazing he even lets you work!”
“Juliann!” she repeated. “Stop that!”
But something had broken open and the words were pouring out of her like she’d been saving them her whole life. “Why? He’s not here. He’s probably off screwing his latest clerk.”
“That’s enough! Show some respect for your father.”
She put her hands on her hips and spat out a single word. “No.”
Her mother looked confused, like she didn’t even understand the meaning of the word. “No?”
“No!” she repeated. “He doesn’t deserve respect. And besides, he’s not my father.”
Her mother took a step back as her hand went to her heart. “What? Of course he’s your father. How could you think—”
“He’s not my father. He’s a sperm donor. He is an arrogant, abusive prick who doesn’t deserve the title of father. What I don’t get—what I don’t understand—is why you put up with it. Why do you even stay? For this?” She waved an arm around the kitchen. “For stainless steel appliances and marble countertops? For the country club membership?”
Her mother turned around and began wiping the counter. “I don’t expect you to understand. I have obligations. Besides, I made my bed and now…” Her voice trailed off as her hand moved rhythmically over the same spot.
She stared at her mother’s shoulders—stiff yet bent. “Now you have to lie in it,” she said, finishing the familiar quote. “The problem is, you’re not the only one.”
She barely made it to her bathroom before she vomited.
8.
Mish was fidgety. She was never good at sitting still, but this morning her legs seemed to have a mind of their own. They kept bouncing, her toes tapping an uneven rhythm on the wood floor under the pew. Opal had looked at her funny once or twice, and she tried to smile like she was just full of energy and happy to be alive. That seemed to make Opal look more concerned.
Nerves is what it was. She and Ann would be leaving in a couple of hours, and she had a case of the nerves that wouldn’t quit. The choir sang a somber number that didn’t help her mood any. Why did this choir director insist on singing them highfalutin songs? This was West Virginia, for God’s sake. What ever happened to Unclouded Day and May the Circle Be Unbroken? Something you could tap your toe to without being looked at funny. What in the world was—she looked at the bulletin again. “Kyrie Eleison”? She listened to the choir, trying to figure it out. All they sang was “Kyrie Eleison” and “Lord, have mercy.” Hmm, maybe that’s what it meant.
Well, that was okay then. Maybe she did need the Lord to have some mercy on her. She was terrified by what she was about to do. She was taking a teenage girl out of state to get an abortion—and was even paying for it. It had seemed like the right thing to do when she offered, but now that it was almost here, she wasn’t sure. Was it even legal? And by paying for it, did that make her a—what was the word? Like the person who drove the getaway car. An accomplice! Am I an accomplice in ending a baby’s life before it even begins?
Mish tried to pull herself out of her own thoughts long enough to listen to at least some of Pastor Jeff’s sermon. He seemed off, distracted, but Mish had enough worries of her own to consider. He was talking about Jesus getting in trouble with some of the religious leaders of the day. They had strict rules about what was and wasn’t right, and Jesus kept breaking tho
se rules by doing things like healing on the Sabbath.
“Religion is not supposed to be a heavy burden upon the people, weighing them down rather than lifting them up,” Pastor Jeff explained. “They said the wounded person should come back the next day to be healed, but Jesus knew what they did not: that there is no ‘wrong day’ to bring healing. Our faith should drive us to end suffering wherever and whenever we encounter it.”
No wrong day to bring healing. Her heart began to buzz. She felt like she always did when she heard truth—like a tuning fork had been struck and her heart reverberated with the sound. There was no wrong day to bring healing. No wrong time. No wrong way. Our faith should drive us to end suffering. And that meant driving to DC. Follow the love. Jesus said it—way back then, and even now.
The song they sang after the sermon was the icing on the cake of the message Jesus had for her. They sang “In the Bulb There Is a Flower.” It was the song they’d sung at Floyd’s funeral. Just the thought of that service brought a smile to Mish’s face.
She had lied to Pastor Jeff when they met to plan it. Floyd had told her several times over the years what songs he wanted for his funeral, but Mish hated his choices. “The Old Rugged Cross” with its “emblem of suffering and shame”? No thanks. So she picked the songs herself and told Pastor Jeff they were Floyd’s choices. She needed what that new hymn had to offer. In our end is our beginning, at the last a victory.
When he died suddenly, of course she was sad. But she also felt like she had a chance for a fresh start. A new beginning before her end. Today she sang the song with gusto.
She was still glowing with the sunshine of it all during fellowship time after worship. On Sundays she always got as many hugs as she could—she stored them up since she wouldn’t get more until the next Sunday. But this week she also made a point of telling each person something she liked or admired about them. It just felt important for folks to be reminded of the best that was in them.
Just as she was fixing to leave, she noticed that Pastor Jeff seemed to be cornered by Ruth and her neighbor Tom. Ruth and Tom both looked mad, and Jeff looked downright miserable. So she decided to make a little trouble. She walked right up to the group and grabbed Jeff’s arm. Smiling at Ruth and Tom she said, “Excuse me, folks, but I need a chat with this dear man about his wonderful sermon this morning. It really laid a conviction on my heart, and I need him to say a prayer with me. Y’all don’t mind, do you? I just know you wouldn’t stand in the way of prayer.”