Body of Ash

by Bonnie Wheeler

  Katie hated the sing-song tone her mother’s voice took on when she was well on her way to getting wasted. Part girly and part facetious, it aggravated her nerves.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not because it’s not your hair.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that in my house,” Marge chastised, stepping closer. There was a slight slur to her voice still.

  “Why? Are you going to hit me?” Katie held her ground. “Because if you do, I’m calling Dad.”

  “I told you I’m sorry,” her mother managed. “I had a bad day, okay?”

  Katie looked at her mother. Marge stood before her – blond hair a mess and clothing wrinkled from her perch on the floor. Desperation colored her expression, she wanted Katie to forget what transpired between them, to forget about the fact she had lost control.

  I can’t.

  “You have to stop doing this,” Katie said. “You have to stop thinking it is okay to lose control just so you can feel better.”

  “I know, Katie. I’m trying.”

  “No,” she replied. “You’re not and that’s why I can’t keep doing this with you.”

  “Doing what?”

  Katie ran her hand across her forehead, tucking red bangs behind her ear. How could it be so hard for her to get it? How could her mother not understand?

  “The drinking and freaking out. I can’t keep checking to see if you’re okay because you take a bottle of booze to bed with you.” Tears began to stream down her mother’s face, causing rivulets of black mascara to flow over her flushed cheeks. “Or lying to Veronica when she calls because you’re late for work. Or going hungry. I can’t live like this anymore.”

  “I know I’ve been a little messed up, but once Brian is with us, I swear, things are going to change.” Reaching out for Katie, her mother’s thin frame began shaking.

  She still thinks Brian can fix this, but he can’t. It’s up to her now.

  Katie shook her head. Opening her mouth to speak, her own words came out trembling with pain. “No, you need to change now. If you can’t put me first, I’m leaving. Forever.” Biting her lower lip, she paused. Marge watched her carefully, unsure if she would stand behind her words. Katie hugged herself tightly, summoning the courage to say what needed to be said for so long. Although it wounded her to admit it, she had to continue to make it clear to her mother how their life had to be. “I don’t want to Mom. I’ve never wanted this to happen. But I will if I have, too.”

  Holding her chin high, Katie walked past her in the direction of the kitchen. All her instincts yearned to comfort her mother, and reassure her, she wasn’t going anywhere, but couldn’t. It had to end. The merry-go-round they existed on had spun out of control for years. Marge was never going to come to this realization on her own and it hurt Katie that she had to make such a callous threat, but it had to be done. Her mother needed help and Katie didn’t know how to give it to her. For years she thought if she made things easy for her mother around the house and didn’t get in her face that Marge would turn around on her own, cut back on the booze, but it never happened.

  It’s gotten worse.

  Glancing in the cupboard, she pulled out two packages of ramen soup and tossed them on the counter. The muffled cry of her mother sobbing from the hallway was almost more than she could bear. There hadn’t been one time that Katie could recall that she allowed her mother to cry without intervening – without rushing to her side, willing to hold her until the sorrow passed and Marge’s toothy grin returned. Reaching below the sink, Katie picked a small saucepan and filled it with water. As she struggled to light the gas stove, a part of her knew that a whole lot of tears would be shed before either of them knew what a better life was. Until then, they both needed to figure out how to stand on their own two feet.

  41

  RACHEL

  Friday 6:05 PM

  At six p.m. Rachel stepped out the front door of the Whirl n’ Twirl. Already the sun was setting and the sky was gray – the air was cool, brisk even. A few children dressed in costumes were walking past, but the street was quieter than before. Studying the traffic, the woman on the phone told her she would be driving a blue Lincoln Continental. Trying to determine the make of each car going by, Rachel realized she wouldn’t know a Lincoln if it pulled up in front of her and beeped the horn.

  Nerves bubbled in her stomach. She tried smiling, but didn’t feel it inside. Trusting in a complete stranger was tough. Banking on her past experiences of meeting fellow Christians was the only thing keeping her feet in place and not running again. It was her hope that Colette, the pastor’s wife from the church, would be as kind in person as she was on the phone.

  Earlier as she dialed the number, it felt like her lips just might turn numb. It was nerve wracking. She had come up with a name and a story and quick explanation of what she needed for the night. Knowing if she could keep calm and not reveal too much detail, the spokesperson for the church could access their Benevolence Fund to house a sister in Christ for one evening.

  Her father received countless phone calls asking for gas money, groceries, fuel oil. Rachel assumed it would be the same for Paul and Collette Becker – the missionaries listed on the back of the pamphlet now clutched in her hand. Small churches took care of their communities, especially if a person was in need; she just had to come across credible. Replaying the conversation in her thoughts, she hoped it went okay.

  After two rings, “Hello,” a woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes, my name is Rachel Adams and I was wondering if I could please speak to Preacher Paul?”

  “I’m sorry, my husband isn’t in right now. May I help you?” The woman had a lovely voice, soft and genial. Rachel assumed she was Colette.

  “Well,” Rachel paused, trying to think. She almost said no, but wasn’t sure what else to do. “I am from out of town and have found myself stranded in Torrington unexpectedly. I’ve lost my wallet and my friends aren’t able to come and get me until tomorrow. I am a member of a sister congregation in Boston and was hoping the preacher could help me.” As she spoke, her voice began trailing off. The story sounded lame in her head to begin with, but saying out loud to a stranger on the phone made it worse. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I have nowhere else to turn and I found your contact information on the back of a Bible track.”

  “Oh dear, you are no bother at all. Where are you?”

  “I’m at a laundromat on the corner of Colonial and Hudson, called the Whirl n’ Twirl. It’s across the street from a Mobile station.”

  “I know right where that is…”

  A quick beep from across the street caught Rachel’s attention. A woman in her early sixties leaned out her car window, waving hello. As Rachel crossed the street, she felt a ping of relief that Colette looked like a short Italian grandma and not a female Charles Manson. Her brown hair was wavy with strands of silver at the temples, and she had large brown eyes that instantly put Rachel at ease. Dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt that read, “All things are possible for those who believe in God. 1 Samuel 17” – Colette pushed aside a sweater and her purse to clear the passenger seat for Rachel.

  “Climb on in,” she encouraged. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

  Once in, Rachel closed the door and smiled shyly at the driver. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

  “No problem. I’m just glad I was at the church when you called.” Pointing at Rachel’s seat belt, Colette continued, “You better buckle up. I don’t trust other drivers.” Despite the clutter of old coffee cups and junk mail strewn across the floor, Colette’s car had a pleasant smell of rosemary and lemon.

  Shaking her head in agreement, Rachel fastened herself in. The preacher’s wife reminded her of her grandmother. Although Sylvia was a little more refined, both women had a logical sensibility when they spoke and a comfortable demeanor.

  Pulling into traffic, the older woman stepped on the gas. Although her stature was on the shorter side, making it hard for her
to see over the wheel, Colette Becker drove with a sense of purpose. Weaving in and out of lanes of cars, she hopped on route 8 and back off another exit into a commercial area with recognizable chain stores.

  “So, let me make sure I got this right. You got off at the train station but missed your connecting bus ride and that’s when you realized you lost your wallet?”

  “Yes,” Rachel replied. Licking her lips, she hated how nervousness always made her mouth turn dry. Her body seemed compelled to remind her she was doing something wrong. “I’m thankful I didn’t lose my phone, too.”

  “Did you call your people so they wouldn’t worry?” Colette asked. When Rachel nodded, she continued. “I would be sick with dread if that happened to one of my girls. I have three of them: Mariam, Beth, and Ruth. But they’re all married now with children of their own.” When Colette spoke, it was like they had been members of the same church for years, that it wasn’t completely weird that a teenage girl called and asked for help to get through the night.

  “Friends will be picking me up tomorrow. Unfortunately they couldn’t come tonight. If I hadn’t lost my wallet, I could have stayed at a hotel.”

  “You said you’re from Boston?” Colette asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I never would have guessed that. You don’t have an accent.”

  The way the woman drove, Rachel guessed the pastor’s wife wasn’t from around Connecticut either. She had a lead foot and wasn’t afraid to hug another person’s rear bumper. “Actually, I go to college in Boston, I’m from somewhere else.” Rachel looked out her window. Hoping she didn’t totally give away her lie, she tried thinking of a way to cover herself, but couldn’t. With her fists clenched in her lap, Rachel nervously spun her birth stone ring on her finger.

  I don’t know why I thought I could do this…

  Rachel could have just asked Jason to come and refused to tell him about Ernie. Or simply turn herself in at the police station and had them call her folks. Somehow, she just couldn’t do it. Time was what she needed – time away from home without having to fear the boarding school and time to come up with a plan.

  And time to think about last night…

  Pulling into a small shopping center consisting of a Jiffy Lube, a China Buffet, and Dollar General, the store fronts were clean but old and the blacktop parking area was in need of repair. Large potholes were unavoidable, causing the Lincoln to dip and rock as they rolled over them. Stopping in front of the end unit, Rachel realized they were at Colette’s church, not a place of business. A small sign in the window read “Welcome to the Church of Christ,” a note posted below showed the twice weekly service hours.

  Smiling at Rachel, Colette gathered her purse and sweater. “First things first, let’s have a bite of dinner while we get to know each other a little better. Then, we’ll figure out what would be best for you tonight.”

  Once out of the car, Rachel glanced around the shopping area. In all of her years of visiting different evangelical churches up and down the east coast, she had never seen one that wasn’t in its own freestanding building. Torrington was an old city; at one time it must have made good money when big industries ran Connecticut. Was it poor now? Were the church members unable to afford a sanctuary like the one her father ran? If so, the salary Colette’s husband earned must not be comparable either.

  Guilt once again prodded at Rachel’s conscious. The congregation probably struggled to keep the rent paid and the utilities on, let alone help her for the night. Was she really in need? Did she have other options? As Colette chatted about having just finished the weekly cleaning, Rachel knew she needed to rethink her request. As confused and scared as she was, it felt selfish to ask for a night’s stay in a hotel while pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

  I’ll just share a meal. I can’t take anything else from them.

  Colette wasn’t much taller than Rachel’s grandmother. As she moved to unlock the front entrance, a noticeable limp caused her to favor her right side, but it didn’t slow her down. Removing a large key ring from her purse, she opened the door, flipped on the lights and welcomed Rachel in.

  The smell of chlorine from the baptistery at the back of the meeting room was nice. It was the only similarity to New Hope Bible Church. Instead of lush red carpeting and antique pews, there were rows of sun bleached fabric folding chairs facing a single podium at the front of the room. There were no stained glass windows, no pipe organ, or other musical instruments – even the choral box was missing.

  As she looked closer at the room, her eyes settled on the children’s artwork that adorned the walls. Moving closer, she studied a grouping of family snapshots that were pinned to a mural in the shape of a large tree. In large block letters the heading read, “Our Church Family.” Smiling faces beamed at her from the pictures.

  Her mother would never allow the Sunday school teachers to hang arts and craft projects in the main sanctuary. Even the fellowship hall at the back of New Hope was kept formal and pristine; a room the children weren’t encouraged to enter unless they were accompanied by an adult.

  The Church of Christ was definitely not her church back home. Other than the large room where services were held, Rachel counted two small classrooms. One of them doubled as a nursery. Next to the rear exit, there was a bathroom and a small kitchen. The space was clean and obviously well used. A coat rack had a pair of fisherman’s overhauls with attached boots. Raising an eyebrow, she glanced over at Colette.

  The woman caught her confusion and nodded towards the baptistery. “We only do full body immersion. The waders are for Paul, so he doesn’t need to change his clothes after a baptism.”

  Rachel tried imagining her father wearing the yellow rubber suit. In all of his years at New Hope, she couldn’t recall him actually in the small pool dunking anyone. Some of the elders did baptisms, but not her dad. From what she understood, her father always taught the baptism was an option but not a requirement. According to the pamphlet Rachel found at the Whirl n’ Twirl, the Church of Christ taught that full body baptism was a scriptural part of being saved. If that was the case, did it mean she wasn’t even a Christian? She had always thought she was, but if her father was having affairs and her mother was clearly despondent and depressed – perhaps they were lost after all.

  Once in the kitchen, the preacher’s wife got to work. The space was cramped. A large folding table sat smack in the middle of the room with a stack of Bibles on the end of it. Clearing them to one side, Colette told Rachel the kitchen substituted as a classroom on Sundays. From a box in the cupboard, Colette pulled out two paper plates, Styrofoam cups, and disposable flatware. Handing them over to Rachel, she moved on to the refrigerator.

  “I hope you’re hungry, because we have so much food in here that needs to be eaten up. We had our monthly fellowship dinner on Wednesday and have so many leftovers.” Colette said. Reaching in, she removed several large casserole dishes and aluminum pans of macaroni salad, fruit cocktails and assorted finger sandwiches and arranged them on the table. Popping a bowl of meatballs in the microwave, she set the timer for five minutes. “Is ginger ale okay? I could make coffee, but I don’t like to drink caffeine this late in the evening.”

  “Of course,” Rachel responded. “Everything looks delicious. Thank you for having me.”

  Studying the food, Rachel’s stomach groaned. The headache building at her temples was most likely due to her low blood sugar. Other than a couple of chicken nuggets, she hadn’t eaten all day.

  “It’s my pleasure. Paul and I don’t eat together on Fridays. His mother is a resident at Grove Manor and he has dinner with her once a week, so I usually get together with a friend. Since you are my new friend, it worked out perfectly.”

  As Colette finished assembling their meal, Rachel took a seat at the table. The woman was genuinely kind and quite the talker. After twenty minutes in her company, Rachel learned she and Preacher Paul had been missionaries for over thirty years and only recently moved to their
post in Torrington. They had three daughters and eight grandchildren and the woman was pretty much convinced that their small congregation had some of the best cooks that Colette had ever met. It was also apparent that Colette loved God and thought of each member of the body of Christ as her very own brother and sister.

  As Rachel listened, her stomach suddenly felt less hungry. It was becoming clear that her parents would judge Colette. It wasn’t just her informal attire and plump physique – it was the fact that Colette was open, unwilling to pretend she was someone other than who she was: a mom and a Christian. The woman didn’t seem to mind that she had a few small grease stains on her t-shirt and that her nails had been bitten down to the beds. It wasn’t necessary for her to bring Rachel to a restaurant for a fresh meal rather than serving her leftovers or feel obligated to sprout church statistics and committee successes. Colette was content with her purpose.

  The same could be said for the building. The furnishings, the materials, the rooms – they weren’t showy but looked well used and worked perfectly in their simplicity. Rachel knew that was why she would be nervous about her parents meeting Colette – she didn’t want them to put her down and sully what was good about the woman with their cold comparisons.