by Cindy Maddox
“You didn’t call after your trip to the hospital,” Stephen explained. “And when you didn’t answer your phone, I thought you might be sitting out here. I assume this means the news isn’t good.”
Jeff shook his head. “She’s undergoing a risky surgery, and I don’t know if…” His voice trailed off. It was weird how, the closer he was to someone, the harder it was to give voice to reality.
Jeff shifted on the rock as Stephen slid behind him and wrapped his arms around Jeff’s waist. Stephen didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Jeff leaned back into him and Stephen held him steady. Together they sat in silence, staring at the hills and the pasture, watching the clouds cast shadows on the hillside. They sat there until the cold from the rock had seeped into their bones.
But when they stood, Jeff’s heart was a little lighter. He felt stronger, more ready to face whatever would happen.
His help hadn’t come from the hills. His help had come from his beloved’s arms.
***
Juliann was rifling through the kitchen drawers when her mother walked in. “Looking for anything in particular?” Nicole asked.
She slammed the drawer shut. “I found two squirt guns and a roll of Santa wrapping paper, but I can’t find a single recipe box or cookbook.”
“You want to bake? Now?”
“I’ve got to do something! I can’t just sit around waiting for a call or text that may never come.”
“Somebody will think to call you,” Nicole assured her.
“But what if—”
Nicole put her hands on Juliann’s shoulders. “And if they don’t, you have the pastor’s number. You can just text and ask if he’s heard how the surgery went. Okay?” Juliann nodded reluctantly. “All right, so, cookbooks. Did you check the small cabinet above the stove?”
Juliann abandoned the drawer she’d opened and went to look. Sure enough there was a wooden recipe box and a few old, well-worn cookbooks. “How’d you know?” she asked.
“It’s a common place—those small cabinets don’t hold a lot. And Mish is short so she wouldn’t put anything up there that she needs very often. I’m guessing that, at her age, she doesn’t use recipes much anymore.”
“Well, I’m hoping she has a recipe for coconut pie.”
Her mom reached for one of the cookbooks. “Coconut custard or coconut cream? I have a simple recipe for coconut custard pie if you want it.”
“I don’t know. Mish made a point of telling me there was coconut in the fridge. Thought I should make something with it.”
“Is it all right if I help?”
“Actually, I was thinking about making Grandma’s piecrust and Mish’s pie filling. But your recipe box is probably at the old house.”
Her mom smiled. “I know it by heart.”
They sat and looked through recipes for a while and finally decided on one in Mish’s box for coconut pecan chocolate pie. The card was frayed on the edges and had a few stains, so they thought it must have been one of Mish’s favorites.
After rolling out the pie crust and placing it in the pan, Juliann let her mother crimp the edges—she never did that part well—and started gathering the ingredients for the filling. She had trouble finding the coconut because she was looking for the familiar blue bag she’d always seen in their own fridge. But she finally found it in the back—an old can with a plastic top.
“Mom, do you think this is still good? Does coconut expire?”
Her mom glanced over at the can. “Open it up and see if it’s dried out.”
Juliann pulled off the lid and stared at the contents. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Is it okay?” her mom asked.
Juliann swallowed hard to find her voice. “Well, if we want to make this pie, we better go to the store because there’s no coconut in here.”
“That’s no problem,” her mom said as she finished crimping the edges. “The crust will wait. Do you want to go now?” She grabbed a tea towel to wipe her hands, then caught sight of what Juliann was holding. A wad of cash. “What the—”
“They’re hundreds,” Juliann said. “All of them. They’re all hundred dollar bills.”
Nicole stepped closer to see for herself. “Why would Mish leave this kind of money in her refrigerator?”
Juliann laughed. “I don’t try to understand Mish. I just love her!”
“Well, it doesn’t belong to us. Put it back where you found it.”
“Fine,” Juliann muttered, then grinned sheepishly. “Can I at least count it?”
Her mom chuckled. “Knock yourself out.”
She was up to $20,400 when her phone dinged. Pastor Jeff had remembered her.
Mish had a stroke during the surgery. She made it through but next 24 hours are crucial. She’s in ICU so visits are very limited. I’ll keep you posted.
A flash of relief was quickly followed by renewed fear. Mish was still in danger. She still might die. She pushed away from the table, away from the money. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except Mish. Her best-grand. The wisest woman she’d ever known. Juliann had the book smarts, but what Mish had was much more important.
And suddenly she had an idea for a poem. A poem she hoped never to deliver but needed to write.
18.
Jeff sat in the corner booth, fiddling with his placemat. It was the cheap paper kind with the ads around the edge. Bob’s Auto Body. Loveitt Insurance. Outdoor Video Projection. He shifted the placemat, trying to get it to line up evenly with the edge of the table. The scalloped edge always made that harder than a straight edge. He took his hands away to make sure he had accomplished his goal and noticed that the same ad appeared on both the right and left corners. “Do you have extra love to give? Consider becoming a foster parent! Children and teens need YOU! Right, he thought. Because I need more stress in my life!
He turned his attention to the employees of the small diner. There seemed to be just two at the moment—a cook, who occasionally called out from the kitchen, and a waitress. He guessed a midmorning weekday shift didn’t require extra help. Still, the woman was definitely keeping busy. She seemed to handle it smoothly and with good humor. He could tell by the way she multitasked that she’d been doing this for a while. He was so intent on watching her that when she turned suddenly and approached his table, he hadn’t even looked at the menu.
“Coffee?” she asked as she raised the pot.
“Please.” He pushed the cup to the edge of the table. He’d already stopped by his favorite independent coffee shop and enjoyed his usual roast, but he figured he should buy a cup of coffee here too.
“Cream and sugar are on the table,” she said with a nod. “What else can I get you?”
“Do you have any muffins?” he asked.
She rattled off a whole list of flavors, and he was about to ask her to repeat them when he noticed the chalkboard sign over her shoulder. Today’s Muffins: blueberry, chocolate chip, cinnamon-apple, corn, cranberry, and pumpkin. She had said them in the exact same order.
“Alphabetical,” he said with a smile. “Just the way I like my menu.”
She smiled in return. “They’re all homemade, and they’re all delicious. But if you’re looking for a recommendation, you can’t go wrong with the cinnamon-apple.”
“Sounds great,” Jeff replied.
“Grilled?”
“Yes, please.”
She gave him a sharp nod, then turned and headed toward the kitchen. Jeff took a calming breath. This was exactly the kind of waitress he was hoping to find. If she was on duty that day, she would be able to tell Jeff what he needed to know. He doubted she missed much that happened in her restaurant.
Of course, the place was busy enough that he didn’t want to try to monopolize her time. She wouldn’t respond well if he kept her from providing good service to ot
her customers. Best to wait it out and hope for the best.
He couldn’t really say why this was important to him, or why he had not told Stephen where he was going. Obviously his instincts had been right, that Mish was in danger. But he was still so curious about how all this started. And he couldn’t figure out what angle they were playing, which was driving him crazy. If he could just find that woman, maybe he could interest the police in the case. And maybe that would loosen the vise of guilt that had been plaguing him. If only he had sounded the alarm louder or been more pointed in his warnings to her. Maybe he could have prevented this. Even as he thought it, he knew better. He had already, in Mish’s words, nosed into her business more than she wanted. He was her pastor, not her savior.
He needed answers. He just didn’t know if they were for Mish or for himself.
After several customers left, the waitress moved at a slower pace. When she offered him a refill, he decided the time had come.
“Ma’am, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“I can try.”
He handed her his phone, where he had pulled up the church directory app. It was open to Mish’s picture. “Do you know this woman? She was in here a few weeks ago.”
The waitress looked at the phone, then back at Jeff. “Mind if I ask why you want to know?”
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Jeff Cooper. I’m her pastor, and she’s in the hospital and—
“Mish is in the hospital? Is she gonna be all right?”
The knot in Jeff’s chest eased. If the waitress knew Mish, this was going to be much easier. “We don’t know,” he said truthfully. “It’s a ‘wait and see’ kind of situation. So you obviously know her. Do you know her well?”
The waitress shook her head. “Not really. She comes in here occasionally, and she’s so friendly that of course I know her name. I’m sure sad to hear she’s not doing well. She’s an awful sweet lady.”
“Yes, she is,” Jeff agreed. “Maybe too sweet.” The waitress raised an eyebrow at him so he hurried to explain. “I’ve worried for some time that someone was trying to take advantage of her. And now she’s been hurt by somebody she tried to help.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Somebody hurt her? What happened?”
“Well, the whole situation started a few weeks ago, here in your restaurant.”
She slid into the seat across from Jeff, clearly concerned. “What do you mean?”
“She was here a few weeks ago,” he repeated, “and she met someone—”
“No, she didn’t,” the woman corrected. “She came here to meet someone—said somebody had texted her and asked her to meet them for breakfast. But she didn’t know who it was, and she left without meeting anybody. I guess they didn’t show.”
Jeff frowned, then tried a different tactic. “Maybe the person she met isn’t who she planned to meet, but she did talk to someone that day. It was an African American woman who might have been mentally ill, or maybe someone who would target senior citizens.”
The waitress looked puzzled, then started laughing. “Oh, I know the woman she talked to, but I assure you she is not mentally ill, and she certainly wouldn’t target senior citizens.”
“But she told Mish that she was Jesus! What kind of person would do that?”
“Told her she was Jesus? No, that’s not right. I don’t know what Mish heard—or thought she heard—but Liza is no threat. And she’s a good lady but I’m pretty sure she’s not divine!”
“Do you have any idea what Mish might have heard that day? Anything she might have misinterpreted?”
The waitress gazed off into space before she spoke. “I don’t know what Mish and Liza talked about when I was helping other customers, but when Liza and I talked…hmm, I think she was telling me she’d been put in charge of the police department’s Facebook page. She was complaining about how they had just a handful of followers, and she was supposed to perform some kind of miracle and get as many followers as that police department up in Maine.”
“Police Department?” Jeff echoed.
She nodded. “The woman you’re looking for is Detective Liza Hughes.”
Jeff shook his head, trying to get the pieces of the puzzle to shift into place. “The woman’s a detective? Mish said the woman told her she was Jesus Christ! This still doesn’t make sense.”
The waitress got back to her feet and looked down at Jeff with what he could only describe as pity. “Well you know, Pastor, not everyone who says the name Jesus is praying.”
***
Juliann sat in the ICU family waiting room. She didn’t think she would be allowed to go in, but she couldn’t stand just waiting at home. At least she’d be close enough to hear news. If there was any.
She’d been there half an hour when Bob and Claudia came out and saw her. Bob headed for the elevator, but Claudia stopped and put a hand on Juliann’s arm. “I added your name to the list of approved visitors. You can go sit with her if you want. They removed the breathing tube, but she’s still in and out of consciousness. She probably won’t know that you’re there, but I’ll be glad to know somebody is with her in case she wakes up before we get back.”
Juliann smiled and nodded her thanks, then went in and sat in the chair at the foot of Mish’s bed. Juliann watched her chest rising and falling, afraid that Mish might die right before her eyes. When her breathing didn’t weaken or slow, Juliann relaxed and sat back in her chair. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She must’ve drifted off too because when she heard footsteps, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Pastor Jeff had arrived.
“Okay if I sit with you for a few minutes?” he whispered.
“Of course,” she whispered back. “In fact, I wanted to tell you what I learned. I solved a bit of the mystery.”
Jeff’s eyes widened. “Really? So did I. What do you know?”
“A girl, maybe twenty or twenty-one years old, has been giving out Mish’s number.”
Jeff’s look of interest turned to confusion. “On purpose? Why?”
“Well, she gave it to one girl who was apparently getting on her nerves. And she gave it to at least two guys. One of them—Ethan—told me about how they met at a club, and he asked for her number and she gave it to him—or he thought she did, only it was a fake number. I’m guessing that’s what happened with the other guy, the one who—”
He nodded. “The one who hurt Mish.”
Juliann noticed his fist clench in his lap. “Right. So I think maybe this girl, instead of making up a number on the spot to give to people she wants to dis, actually gives the same number all the time. And it happens to belong to Mish.”
Jeff nodded as he stared off into space. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Yeah, it’s a coincidence, I know,” Juliann admitted, “but I think I know why the girl chose Mish’s number. See, I like to play around with numbers and patterns. The last four digits of Mish’s number—5375—I liked them because they made a diagonal pattern on the keypad. But if you look at the letters associated with those numbers on the phone, you can spell the word ‘jerk.’ I think the girl giving out the number thought she was being funny.”
“That is the piece of the puzzle I was missing—how these people were reaching her. What I learned is the identity of the woman she thought was Jesus.”
Juliann glanced at the bed to make sure Mish was still asleep. “Who is she?” she whispered.
“Her name is Liza Hughes, and she’s a police detective, of all things. Mish must’ve misheard something the detective said. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why she thought the woman was Jesus.”
Juliann tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let me make sure I have all the pieces. She got a text from someone she didn’t know, and when she went to meet whoever it was, she met a woman who she thought was Jesus. Th
e woman told her to follow the love, and then when she got more texts from people asking for help or advice, she thought they were part of this same project or mission or whatever. Then she got herself into these different situations, some of them dangerous, because a woman told her to follow the love and because a girl gave out her number.”
“That about sums it up,” Jeff agreed through gritted teeth. “What kills me is that none of this—” he gestured angrily toward her bed— “was necessary. She could die because she had this crazy idea that God was sending her on these missions.” His voice began rising. “It wasn’t God. It was never God. It was a woman, who—” he lifted his hands in exasperation “for some unfathomable reason, Mish believed was Jesus. She could die because she had faith!”
Juliann stared at the pastor as his words hung in the air between them. They both turned when a sound came from Mish. She was agitated, muttering. Juliann got close and called “Mish? Did you say something?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mish mumbled. “Doesn’t matter.”
Juliann and Jeff exchanged looks again. “What doesn’t matter?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. They turned in unison when Bob and Claudia entered the room, accompanied by a girl who looked a few years older than Juliann. She was crying as she ran to Mish’s side. So this was Mish’s granddaughter, up from Florida. She had come to see her grandmother. She had come just in case. Just in case this was goodbye.
Juliann lifted Mish’s hand to her lips and kissed it, then stepped away. It was time for family only, and she wasn’t Mish’s family. She wasn’t blood. She only felt like she was. She only wished she was.
She took one last look at her best-grand, then turned and walked out the door.
***
Jeff stared at the blank page on his screen, struggling to get started on his sermon for Sunday. But the words wouldn’t come. All he could think about was Mish.