I need to understand, too, but I shove my questions down my gullet. The truth would come out. Patience is, as I’ve mentioned before, not my strongest gift. But, no sense, no common sense at least, over-reacting until I learn more from the two people who “go way back.” I’m hoping it’s as far back as high school. That would be redeeming. And make me feel less of a fool.
The first thing that hits me when we walk in is no smell of brewing coffee. “Brie, honey, did you forget to put the coffee on?” My voice sounds more shrill than I intended, and I do the tongue-biting thing again. After all, she’s not a servant or hired help. But, she should … I won’t go there.
I suggest Noel and Muriel sit down, and I go to the kitchen to prepare the coffee myself. I measure, pour water, push the button. The old coffee pot wheezes and burbles. I see mugs sitting out and realize there are five of them. Brie and Derek joining us?
I am just about to pour the brew when I hear Brie’s piercing voice from the other room.
“Noel,” she practically screams, “what is going on? What kind of game are you playing with my mother? And, why are you and Muriel holding hands?”
I am entering the living room with two very hot mugs of coffee when I see what Brie sees. One mug sloshes, the one in my weaker left hand. I manage to place both on stone absorbent coasters I keep on the coffee table. For just such an occasion as this—entertaining old love birds holding hands, one of which is my fiancé.
All I can focus on is two hands clasped, more like hands entwined, as in a steamy novel. “We had a very special relationship,” I hear Noel whisper. Muriel nods and a tear dribbles down her cheek.
Noel notices me and looks up. He seems confused, and the blue eyes are no longer sky blue but stormy indigo. He doesn’t look embarrassed or ashamed which relieves me.
I let out a huge sigh and say in a low voice, “Wanna share, Noel?”
He leaps up and wraps me in his strong chiropractor arms. The hug almost cracks my back. Pop! Felt good. After nibbling my ear and almost swallowing my fake diamond stud, he pulls away and speaks.
“Muriel,” he says gesturing to her on the sofa as if I don’t know who she is or where she’s sitting, “was Maizie’s dearest friend. She held one of Maizie’s hands, and I the other, when she died.” He does the pregnant pause thing and wipes under one eye with an absorbent hand. His free hand has one of mine in a death-like grip. Will I need a cast?
“I…I don’t understand? Why did you not recognize each other, and who is Roland?” I have so many questions, but I limit them to the basic ones. Brie is standing behind the sofa with a cloudy visage. Ah, oh, storm brewing. Elbows askew, her fists push into the sides of her waist and seem to push her belly out more. I worry she might explode on two fronts, face and belly.
“Well,” she says and drags it out dramatically. “Can you answer my mother?”
Whew, Brie, give the man time to compose himself. I watch as he slowly turns to face her. My arms pop goose bumps and my fingers atrophy. I pray he gives a good answer.
“It’s very simple, Brie.” His voice is strong and deep, and his lips quiver into an edgy smile. “We haven’t seen each other for five years. Last time I saw Muriel I knew her as Ann. Last time she saw me, I had a mustache and goatee. And very black hair.” Noel pauses and grins. “In fact, she,” he points at Muriel, “had brown hair.” Frowning at Brie, he says, “Does that explain it?”
FIFTY ONE
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Did Brie and I echo each other? She goes first.
“I guess I understand, sort of, now.” But, her eyes are slits and elbows still askew. Then she asks the big question, and I cringe in despair. “How did Maizie die?”
“Brie!”
Noel cringes, too, then stands up tall and pulls back his hunk shoulders. His eyes narrow and focus on Brie who is now starting to physically shrink, but not in her belly. Just her stature. His voice almost booms, yet I know he is trying to control anger and sorrow mixed together. “She had an inoperable brain tumor.”
“Oh.” Brie is becoming monosyllable, and shorter.
“It took her months to die.”
This time Brie nods and drops her fists dangling from her waists. They hang there like forgotten lumps of wet clay. “I…I guess I shouldn’t have asked. It was rude of me.” She slinks out of the room, and I hear a muffled sob.
We, who are left, all look at each other with blank faces. I shake my head hoping to fling out the mess of the last hour. Noel sighs loudly and plunks unceremoniously on the couch. Muriel wrings her delicate hands and lowers her head. Someone has to say something, soon. Guess who. I clear my throat and before I can get a word out, Brie reappears.
She lumbers toward Noel and deposits her body between him and Muriel. Voice cracking, she says, “I am so sorry. I was out of line. Please forgive.”
Muriel and Noel each grab one of her hands and squeeze. Their smiles reassure her, and she smiles back. Whew! I hope this drama is over.
Just now Derek hobbles in sans cane and grabbing at furniture.
~
“Derek, you okay?” Noel asks. “What’s been going on?” His handsome face exudes concern, and he scans the rest of us seeking answers.
“Hi, Noel.” Then, “Hi, M’am.” Whoa, and he wasn’t even in the military.
Brie squeezes his arm, maybe a little too hard. “We just found out Muriel is Noel’s old friend.”
Still clueless, diplomatic Derek nods and stretches out his good hand. Noel grabs it and says, “Good to see how well you’re doing.”
Muriel clasps it with both of hers. “I’m so proud of you, Mr. Hero. You are making great progress.”
Derek grins, and the tension is relieved.
~
Coffee all around really helps, both refills and new cups. There is something about java, even with all that caffeine, that stimulates friendship. Noel and Muriel, formerly Ann, share a bit about Maizie. Their reminiscences are soft and kind and don’t devastate us. I sense it’s very healthy for both of them. I reflect on what a small world it is, and how amazing God is linking us together.
Tonight Muriel decides to go home to her own apartment. Derek’s progress is much better. Noel offers to chauffeur her to her car parked at the other end of the condo lot. My feelings are mixed. They do have a history.
The windows of his Mercedes are heavily tinted, but I notice two heads together, and I sense laughter. Oh, dear. What is that phrase Mom told me years ago? Let go, let God.
I need to trust. In God, in Noel, in Muriel and myself. Can I?
~
I excuse myself and retreat to my room. My intention is to pray. I need guidance, and I definitely need peace. My head is swirling with Brie’s insensitive question, with Noel and Muriel scooting off together in his “other car,” with Derek’s suddenly good progress thanks to Muriel. Was she truly an unexpected angel? I want to believe that. I don’t believe God makes mistakes, nor does He put strangers in our lives, however unexpectedly, unless they are put there to bless us.
Ancient guilt pops up in my brain. I will never forget. I was three months pregnant with Brie, living with the other kids in a big house, but basically alone. It was almost midnight when the doorbell rang. I peeked out the glass hole to see an elderly woman. She was very disturbed, almost crying.
“What do you want?” I yelled.
“I’m lost,” she said in a weepy voice. “I just need to find my way out of this community. Please help me.”
I was so conflicted, especially since I knew if one just kept following the street I lived on it would lead to the exit. I was actually scared. I had two children sleeping, and I was pregnant. Our community had recently been warned about break-ins, and I wondered why she chose my house to seek help.
“I am sorry,” I yelled back. “I can’t help. This door is double-locked.” Stupid excuse. “But, if you keep driving down this street, it will eventually take you to an exit. God bless.”
I turned off the
porch light that I had turned on when the bell rang. I felt so bad that I still remember it to this day over twenty-six years later. I know God said we may unexpectedly entertain angels. But, I simply could not risk my children. I still pray for that woman. Hopefully, she got out of our community safely.
Enough reminiscing, Betsy. I shake my body to get back into the present. Which question should I tackle first?
I chose the Noel and Muriel one. I call him.
“Hi. You home?”
“Yep. Just dropped Muriel off to her car. Anything wrong?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice.” Duh, Betsy, couldn’t you come up with something more original?
“So, about you and Muriel, and your history together.” Pregnant pause, again.
“Yes, Betsy, we do have a history, as you call it. But, it is truly only a friendship.” He pauses to blow out a breath. “Because of Maizie’s death. Her dying.”
Can I feel more guilty? What is next in our relationship? I am such a dweeb. I settle on that adjective.
“I guess I’m feeling insecure, Noel. About our relationship,” I add. Am I doing this right?
I clasp my worn Bible to my heart after looking up James 1:6 who cautions us to not doubt, or we will be like a wave of the sea, tossed and driven by the wind. I do not want to be a double-minded woman. I want to feel secure, loved by God, and loved by Noel. Is that unrealistic?
“Betsy. You still there?”
“Sure am. You on board?” Another stupid comment, Betsy. Where, oh, where, is my brain? Maybe somewhere in my aching heart.
“For what?”
“For our relationship.”
“Aren’t we still getting married next month?”
Men are so obtuse. I vacillate on how to respond. Ignore his stupid comment, or act innocent. I opt for being naïve.
“Oh, we are? You remembered?”
“Of course. It’s on my calendar.”
That’s it? A date marked on his calendar? Like a meeting? I slam down the phone with the biggest bang I can muster. Maybe he is Jerk Number Two. I hope not. I go back to my Bible for consolation and guidance. I twist the big sparkling ring on my finger. Did I forget to mention that?
Brie made a big deal of it. So did Muriel when she noticed it. I blurted, “Hey, I have been married twice. Never with a ring like this. But, it IS beautiful, isn’t it.” They both looked at me like I am an idiot. Muriel twisted a large diamond on her finger, and Brie touched the one Derek had given her. Neither was as large as the one Noel had graced me with.
Muriel’s marriage had ended in sadness, but Brie’s was still in limbo. Also Nancy’s.
I am giddy with excitement. Noel called me with the idea he and Muriel came up with. I want to be a part of it. I hope Betsy won’t mind.
FIFTY TWO
I start to question myself. I know I love Noel, but am I doing the right thing, especially at my age, by marrying him? Actually, by getting married again? I ponder Mom’s words, “Love is a gift at any age.”
I know she is right. When I was a kid, she used to say, “I am always right. I am a mom. I took a vow when you were born.”
Yea, Mom! But, I am a mom now, too. So, what should I do?
I do the most practical thing. I call Mom.
When she answers, “What’s up now, Bitsy?” I know I should have texted her to warn her.
“Not sure about marrying again.”
“But, neither of your marriages, nor their failures, were your fault,” she says with Dr. Mom authority. She is probably a better shrink than Dad, just doesn’t get paid for it. Except in love.
We talk about how I love Noel, how he loves me, how financially secure he will make me. Now, I mention the negatives. His acceptance, but lack of genuine love for Brie; his relationship with Muriel; his matter of fact mention about putting our wedding date on his calendar! That was the worst.
We tackle each of my concerns, logically. Mom is logical, very methodical. She ticks them off one by one just fine, until…the calendar one.
“Betsy, it’s the way men think. You should know that by now. Your father is the same way. He marks his personal calendar with things like hearts and exclamation marks for our anniversary and my birthday. Even Mother’s Day that is already designated in the little square on his calendar.
“For Noel to tell you is his way of affirming that it is special and important to him. He’s a guy. He is telling you it’s a special event.”
~
I have been chastised, lovingly, by the wisest woman I know. Time to call Noel back and apologize for slamming the phone down.
“What is it now, Betsy?” His turn to sound aggravated, even angry.
I suck in a deep breath and sob.
His immediate response is, “What’s wrong? Did something awful happen? To Brie, to you?”
“No, no.” I am secretly pleased he thought of Brie first. “Noel, I am scared.”
~
It’s said confession is good for the soul. It’s also said that love has no bounds.
Noel changes his voice from aggravated to a deep, melodically purr. “I will be right over,” he says and hangs up the phone.
I stare at the receiver in my hand. Did he just say that? Before I can swipe more blush on my cheeks, I hear the doorbell. I yell, “I’ll get it,” to Brie and Derek. No response. Hopefully, they are cuddling and discussing baby names.
Noel bursts in the door, which is always unlocked thanks to Brie’s forgetfulness, and wraps those big chiropractic arms around me. He hugs me tight and says, “Sit down, Betsy. We need to talk and get a few things straight.”
I listen to his soliloquy about love a second time around, about love in the senior years of our lives, about love in general. He should be on stage at the Scottsdale Performing Arts Center.
Stupidly, I ask. “Noel, you ever performed on stage? In a production of some sort?”
“Did any of what I said reach your heart, Betsy?” His eyes look sad.
I fumble with the wadded tissue in my hands and nod. God gave me the special gift of Noel. Actually, Bett did, too, since she introduced us.
“I guess I am insecure.” I pause to let that thought sink in to both of our brains. “You are tall, handsome, eloquent looking and successful. I am overweight, over-burdened with family problems. I am just a personal chef with a small business.
“I would never, ever, want you to think I love you for the security you can give me. Never.”
“Betsy, I know you can make it on your own. You have now for many years. But, I want to give this to you. Besides, I love holding you. I love the physical you. You are soft and comforting and fit just right into my arms.
“Does that explain why I love you?”
What a guy. Why did I ever question? Thanks, Mom, for reassuring me.
~
After a major cuddle time, during which Brie and Derek, thankfully, did not interrupt, we talk wedding plans. About time, since I’d only discussed them with Bett.
We decide on a small, intimate wedding with only family and dear friends. Bett had insisted on taking care of the invitations if we would give her a list. She also insisted they would be hand addressed by her personal calligrapher. Only Bett would have one of those.
“Can we trust her? To choose the invitations and make sure they are mailed on time? Bett isn’t real good with time,” I add nervously.
Noel nods. “I think so. She is a successful business woman with boutiques in three states. As for having her own calligrapher,” he continues, “she probably has the person address invitations to her sales events and parties. She does a lot of parties in her stores to attract new customers and bring in returning ones.” He has a funny, smug grin on his handsome face.
“What?”
“Nothing, Betsy. Just thinking Bett will give us a great party.”
“Humph. I feel like I’ve lost control of my own wedding.” I tell him about the cake disaster that occurred when that nasty Monica called. Just like
a man, he says “It’s just a cake.”
I hold my tongue and taste blood. Men!
“Betsy, please let Bett do this for you, for us. She really wants to, and,” he grins, again, “I trust her.”
Okay. I will, too, I tell him. Another ‘Let go, let God’ moment. Besides, I am in a tizzy about Fancy Nancy’s surprise party for Lester. Why on God’s green earth did I agree to have it so close to our wedding date? Lack in judgment, for sure.
Noel hugs, squeezes and slobbers me with kisses. Finally, he leaves. I do my best modulated yelling to Brie who staggers out of the guest bedroom and looks at me quizzically.
“We have to finalize preparations and ordering, finish all plans, for Nancy’s party. And,” I mention in a panic, “I need a wedding dress!”
Brie grabs my fingertips and starts to twirl me around the kitchen. What now?
“Momma!” She is grinning, almost like Noel. “Bett wants to design your dress. She even showed me her drawing. Don’t worry. It will be beautiful and becoming and so you!”
“Really? I will have a Bett original? Wow!” Then, I start to worry. I know my dreams flit like butterflies, but I don’t want to look like an overweight one on my wedding day. My third wedding day. I know Bett loves me. I know I need to trust her. So, I do.
We get cracking, finalizing the food list. I leave ordering the extra tables and chairs and patio umbrellas and table cloths and white napkins to Nancy. She insists on white. She has used the same Party People vendors several times, so her credit card is on file. I suggest she asks for the napkins to be pre-folded in some attractive design. She agrees; the vendor agrees, for extra money. Whew, got past that trauma!
Brie and I go grocery shopping. It’s Thursday, and the party is Saturday. The veggies and fruits will keep in my fridge, and we will prepare some tomorrow, and the rest Saturday morning. I check with Nancy. Yes, she has had her personal assistant (glory, be!) send invitations two weeks ago, and she has had numerous replies. The party is coming together on all fronts.
I only worry about one thing. I don’t think Brie and I, just the two of us, are enough help in the setup and serving department. But, I have an idea, and I call Trader Joe’s.
Butterfly Dreams (A Christian Contemporary Romance) Page 22