A Journey by Chance

by Sally John

  Gina shook her head.

  “Double dare you. What else have you got going?”

  “Painting your bathroom?”

  “Like I said, what else have you got going?”

  Back at Aunt Lottie’s, Gina headed straight upstairs to shower, glad for the jam-packed schedule. Lauren’s bachelorette slumber party would prevent her from brooding tonight. She scrubbed at the paint splotches until her skin reddened and tears mingled with the water streaming down her face.

  “Dear Jesus! I’m unraveling here. I don’t know how to pray about it. Please help me sort it out. Mother and Dad. Brady. Work.” She drained herself of tears and the water heater of its contents. A sense of peace settled inside of her. Why was it that just as her life made sense with God, everything else was falling apart? What had happened to her common sense, her consistently medium demeanor?

  Later, as she was combing her wet hair, Maggie knocked on the open bedroom door. “Can we talk a minute?”

  She had missed her mom today. This morning’s argument had cut deeper than any teenage disagreement. It severed that invisible connection, that inherent cord between mother and daughter. “Sure.” She plopped on the bed.

  Maggie sat carefully on the vanity bench, stretching out her leg, the ankle wrapped in a new walking cast. Her eyes were puffy, but there was a distinct air of calm about her. “First of all, I am sorry for letting you down. I know I betrayed you and your dad. There is no excuse. I can blame it on crazy hormones, Dad’s traveling, me not telling him I was dying inside, or not letting go of the past. But the point is, I found a way out and I took it, thinking only of myself.” She exhaled sharply. “I guess I’m not perfect.”

  Gina felt the sadness draw her lips downward, crease her forehead.

  “Secondly, it’s over. He was truly just a friend. When you didn’t need me at home, we sometimes met after work for an early dinner or just a walk. Occasionally…” She took a deep breath. “I was so deceitful. Occasionally I took the afternoon off and we’d go to the art exhibits. There never was anything physical between us. I wouldn’t cross that line.” She took a deep breath. “Not yet anyway. So thank you for the phone number. I called him, and we won’t talk again. Please forgive me, sweetheart?”

  Gina nodded. Her mother slid beside her, and they hugged for a long time. It was somehow comforting to know that the woman was not perfect.

  Thirty-Five

  As Aunt Lottie headed to bed, Maggie headed out the door to her sister’s. It was late, and she knew Marsha was on overload with the wedding just a week away, but there was no one else to turn to. Maggie felt like a fish out of water, flopping around in this strange environment created because of her new consciousness of God.

  She had made the correct choice, one she thought would be pleasing to Him. If marriage vows were for keeps, she had to keep up her end of the deal, no matter that she couldn’t remember the last time Reece had listened to her with tenderness or spoken a truly heartfelt emotion.

  But every breath she took cut like a knife. What was she supposed to do now? How exactly did one depend on God? She needed a voice and arms and eye contact.

  When she entered her sister’s kitchen, her heart fell. Marsha was beyond frazzled. Her voice hit screech level as her husband and son slid behind Maggie and out the back door.

  Marsha burst into tears.

  Maggie wrapped her arms around her, surprised that she had more tears to shed herself.

  “Oh, Maggie! They can’t even pick up after themselves or rinse off a plate!” She grabbed paper napkins from the counter and handed one to her sister. They blew their noses in unison.

  “Yeah, but I bet the barn is as clean as a whistle.”

  Marsha nodded. “You could use the side of the combine for a mirror.”

  “Well, only if you wanted to look like a green Martian.”

  Marsha smiled through her tears.

  “Marsh, hire a cleaning service for this week.”

  “I’m an able-bodied woman. There is no reason on earth to pay someone good money to do what I can do.”

  “You can’t do it this week. You’re having all kinds of people dropping by, out-of-towners on Saturday, 50 for Sunday brunch. Hire a maid.”

  “I’ve never hired—”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. If you don’t, you’ll miss the wedding. You’ll either be sick in bed or look as bad as you do now, and there’s no way you’d step out the door looking like that. Give me your phone book.” She plopped onto a chair.

  Marsha ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and opened a drawer. “Danny says I look like a cat with its claw stuck in an electric socket.” She laid the phone book on the table and sat down.

  “He’s right.” Maggie thumbed through the yellow pages. “You have a hair appointment, right? And your dress alterations will be done by Tuesday. Do you have some sort of salon around here that offers the works? You know, nails, facial, massage?”

  “Massage!”

  “It’s therapeutic. Let’s see…looks like plenty of cleaning service possibilities. I’ll call in the morning.” She flipped back to listings under “Beauty,” thinking she should take her own advice. “Marsh, you know we don’t have to be perfect. We can allow ourselves some time off and ask for help. This can be my aunt gift to Lauren, a calm mother. I think I’ll come, too. I should have thought of this for Liz’s wedding. Remember how sick you were? Here’s one.”

  Marsha leaned over. “Check out the address. No way I’m getting a massage in that neighborhood.”

  “Oh. Is that still the seedy part of Rockville?”

  She nodded. “Why are you here?”

  Maggie lifted a shoulder. She didn’t want to unload on her sister. “Here’s another one. This looks better.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “A mingle-mangle of hormones.”

  “Is Gina all right? She seemed quiet today at the house.”

  “I heard you were painting. You don’t have to add that to your list, you know. She’s fine.”

  “Is it your ankle? Did the doctor say something was more serious?”

  “No.” She stood. “Why don’t you go take a bubble bath? Leave the kitchen for tonight. Leave everything—”

  “Maggie, I’ll be fine. I’ll do just that. After my tirade, the guys will probably surprise me and fold the laundry.”

  “Good. I’ll go then. Maybe I can take a bubble bath, a one-legged bubble bath.” She went to the door.

  “How’s Reece?”

  Maggie would have ignored the question and scooted outside, but her body betrayed her. Tears formed again, her throat ached, her shoulders slumped, she couldn’t move. “Fine. I don’t know.”

  “Maggie.” Her sister’s tone implored.

  “He knows about John.” She sat back down. The story came out then. The answering machine message, Gina’s hurt, the farewell phone conversation. She ended with, “So now what, Marsh? Now I don’t have anyone—”

  “Except God.”

  “Except God, and I can’t see Him. I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

  “I think so. Reece must be hurting.”

  “I don’t really know if he is or not. It might be an easy way out for him. I’m not sure he feels much of anything.”

  “Oh, Maggie, just because he doesn’t show it doesn’t mean the feelings don’t exist. Although I know how frustrating he can be.”

  “It’s like I had this dutiful husband. I was the dutiful wife. We functioned well together. But somewhere along the way our emotions disconnected. Then John’s friendship took care of that department. Now I’ve severed that, and I don’t give a hoot about functioning well together.”

  “God will take care of you.”

  “Don’t give me that, Marsha! It’s too abstract. How will He take care of me? Will He hold me tonight and tell me He loves me? Will He warm my bed and smile at me in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  Maggie stared at her.

>   “He will do all of that.” Marsha squeezed her hand. “He will make the pain bearable. He wants to be all that you need, no matter how abstract it sounds. It’s supernatural. When you can’t take another breath, let Him give it to you.”

  “I need a person I can touch.”

  “He knows what you need better than you do. Remember when I said I thought a mailman would be better for me than my farmer?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “I started to pray for Dan whenever that thought came to mind. Eventually, things changed. I’m not saying this is going to be easy. I don’t think there are any shortcuts. And I’m not saying God will make Reece into your dream partner.”

  “No guarantees for anything, huh?”

  “Only that God wants to be number one in your life.”

  Maggie put her fingers over her mouth and whispered, “It sounds so hard.”

  Marsha nodded. “Hey, you didn’t really mean you want your bed warmed tonight, did you?”

  She thought of the evening’s 82 degrees and of Aunt Lottie’s non-air-conditioned upstairs. Laughter mingled with her tears.

  Reece poured the dark amber liquid into a glassful of ice cubes. He gulped a mouthful and grimaced up at the first stars twinkling in a cobalt blue sky.

  He never drank, not even during his college days. He never felt the desire. The few times he tried it simply because it was the thing to do, his body reacted violently to one glass of whatever. His stomach churned and his head pounded. He failed to see the fun in it.

  Tonight he wanted to get blitzed. Pie-eyed. Sloshed. Inebriated.

  Margaret and another man?

  His anger was spent. He had tried to mask it with Gina, sitting calmly beside her at the deposition, feeling pride in her responses and yet literally biting his tongue at times, wanting to lash out at the fools across the table. His office staff didn’t fare as well. Minuscule problems were met with diatribes. He played racquetball like a madman.

  He didn’t return Margaret’s messages, didn’t even pick up the phone when it rang at home.

  He sipped his drink.

  One time when Gina was little, she had wandered from him in a large department store while they were Christmas shopping for Margaret. He became frantic. Before she was found, he envisioned life without her, and he knew firsthand what a breaking heart felt like.

  This was worse.

  It wasn’t a wrong number.

  He took a swig of the bitter drink and gagged.

  This was what she had been trying to tell him the night she asked if he loved her. What had he answered? He called her question ridiculous. Blamed his parents for his inadequacy to say those three simple words. The words he thought were just understood in their day-to-day life.

  Even the days he wasn’t home? Days? Try weeks.

  She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She deserved more than what he had been able to give her.

  He tried another sip.

  He hated Podunk. He always knew it would win out. He had always been afraid of losing her, hadn’t he?

  His stomach churned and his head pounded.

  He tossed the contents of the glass off to the side of the patio. It sprayed over her flowers.

  Oh, no!

  In the light from the kitchen window, he set the glass on the table, grabbed a napkin, and knelt on the concrete to brush at the petals. Could he wipe away the damage?

  A sob erupted. He buried his face in his hand and wept.

  Dear God. I’m sorry. I am so sorry!

  Thirty-Six

  Brady knelt beside the couch, feasting on the soft features of Gina asleep. The impression she gave was something of a cross between what Sleeping Beauty must have appeared to her prince and that of a secure, carefree child who slept soundly through thunderstorms.

  Her closed eyelids hid the deserved anger and distrust he had glimpsed earlier. Her mussed chocolate hair shone in the dim lamplight. She lay on her side, one hand under a cheek, pushing her lips slightly askew. An arm, covered in a shortsleeved peacock blue T-shirt, lay atop a patchwork quilt that protected her from the cold air blasting from a window unit air conditioner. Was that a zebra face peeking out from the front of the shirt?

  He shouldn’t have come. This was sheer torture. Across the room Aaron and two other guys laughed with Lauren, Isabel, and Abbey. It was after midnight, and they were behaving like a bunch of teenagers, minus the beer. It had started with the obligatory bachelor party: dinner and good-natured but unmerciful harassing of Aaron. Following that, they had gone to the farm and played basketball in the old barn. His grandfather had built the wooden-floored, full-size court when he was in high school, and it had been a popular gathering place. After that they did what came naturally: spray painted the corncrib. It was a dilapidated structure, set out at the edge of a cornfield next to a county road stop sign. Its sole purpose for still standing was to display graffiti painted by high schoolers. Different groups regularly painted over each other’s messages, ducking in the shadows whenever a car slowed, hoping the sheriff wouldn’t bust them for breaking curfew. He wondered if the kids would leave this latest paint job, three-foot letters proclaiming “Aaron loves Lauren.”

  Most of the guys headed home after that, skipping this crashing of the gals’ slumber party. He had looked at the cans of shaving cream rolling around the truck’s floor with the spray paint cans and thought, “Why not?” He knew that it was the anticipation of seeing this sleeping beauty that brought him. Just like a teenager.

  Could he break through that hard-shell exterior again? Make her smile that Miss America smile? He had to. It was simple. He loved her, and he had only a week to win her heart.

  Compared to Gina, Nicole had simply been a nice idea. He cared for her in an adolescent way. She made him feel good. The natural progression of things was to become engaged. They had known each other for some time, but he hadn’t known her in the way he knew Gina. Gina filled all the empty nooks and crannies of his heart. He wanted to fill her world with laughter, carry her when her leg ached, share her burdens, be her best friend. Persuade her to move thousands of miles from home.

  Was he being totally ludicrous? He still had excess baggage, like Kim. Silly woman. No…hurting woman. What had he promised her? Nothing.

  Not even indirectly?

  He didn’t think so. They dated. They shared an interest in teaching. Her bubbly personality had made for hassle-free times. He had never intended to hint at anything more. Then she left for Spain for four months. Had she read more into their e-mail exchanges? What had he said?

  Well, she needed to hear “back off.” He told her so the night she had chased Gina off. Not in those words, of course. Those words he used this afternoon when she stopped by the house again, interrupting his writing. She didn’t seem to understand the subtle phrases. He apologized for what he didn’t even know he had to apologize for. He hated it, hurting her feelings.

  Women. He wasn’t interested in a more serious relationship, thought he never would be…

  Until now.

  If he kissed her, would she awaken and smile, notice that her frog had turned into a prince?

  He’d better start with bridging the gap again.

  Gina stirred, shifting over onto her back. Her cheek was rosy, creased where she had lain on it.

  Brady closed his eyes. Dear Lord. Head over heels was not part of this bargain, was it? I only offered You the chip on my shoulder.

  A kiss and sweet words and flowers didn’t get her attention. This called for drastic measures. He vigorously shook the can he held, then squirted a globby string of shaving gel along her hairline, careful to avoid the corner of her eye. As it foamed, he gently feathered it into her hair.

  She certainly was a sound sleeper.

  Gina’s eyes widened in disbelief as she gaped at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Something was wrong with her hair. “Wha—?” she cried. A layer of mint green traced her hairline from one ear to the other and slicked back her hair,
covering most of the top of her head. She looked like a woman who’d fled the beautician’s chair with a coloring job only partially completed. All she needed was a plastic cape.

  She peered more closely and touched the cotton candylike mess. Dried foam. She sniffed her fingers. Menthol. It was shaving cream!

  “Oh!” she shrieked and yanked open the bathroom door.

  She strode past the bedroom where Abbey and Isabel still slept and found her cousin in the kitchen pouring coffee.

  “Lauren! This is,” she pointed to her head, “the dumbest stunt. I cannot believe that at your age you get a kick out of squirting shaving cream on my hair. Like I’ve nothing better to do than to shampoo and re-shampoo it this morning. It’s probably all over your pillow—”

  “Brady did it.”

  Gina stared at her, mouth open.

  Lauren took a sip of coffee, then immediately burst into laughter and sprayed it into the sink.

  “Brady?” Gina yelped.

  Her cousin nodded, caught between laughter and choking, tears running from her eyes.

  “But he wasn’t here last night.”

  “He was,” she gasped between giggles, “with Aaron and two other guys.”

  “Where was I?”

  Lauren howled and sat down at the table, doubling over. “On the couch, fast asleep.”

  “No way.” She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

  Lauren nodded. “Uh-huh. You sure can sleep.”

  That was true. Ever since the accident, she’d slept like a dead person. It was as if the morphine was still in her system after all these months, or that somehow her body just craved the healing power of sleep and easily succumbed. “I didn’t respond at all?” This was scary.

  “Nope.” She wiped tears from her face.

  “What a stupid thing to waste your time and energy on! I can’t believe it. It’s so…so teenagerish!”

  “Exactly. Very teenagerish. It’s proof that he likes you. You’re really just embarrassed, you know.”

  “I am not!”

  “Well, I would be. I mean, he sat on the couch beside you for a long time—”