God Bless the Broken Road

by Jennifer Dornbush

  Paula took the sales bait and showed up at the meeting. Patti gave her a complete makeover and sent her home with the eye shadow, which did much to brighten Paula’s eyes and made her look less tired. Patti’s kindness and persistence soon took effect on Paula. When Patti made her follow-up call several days later, Paula answered right away and was gushing. She shared how she left Beauty Saturday and went to pick up some groceries. While she was at the store, four people commented on how pretty she looked. At home, her sons asked her what she had done differently to herself. They said she looked happier. Paula kept the makeup on when she went out for dinner that evening with a girlfriend, and a man dining alone stopped by to introduce himself and asked for her phone number. She was flattered but declined.

  Paula was hooked. After she had spent almost a year in mourning, a subtle application of makeup had lifted her morale and stabilized her confidence.

  Paula showed up month after month, an eager student as Patti taught her makeup techniques. She started to open up and share her story. Slowly and over time. Eventually Paula noticed the 101st Airborne patch sewn into Patti’s makeup bag and asked her about it. Patti, slowly and over time, shared Darren’s story—at least, what she knew of it. Paula had understood her grief and frustration with the fact that she didn’t know all the details of Darren’s fatal accident. And sometimes, they just sat with each other. Neither one speaking. Letting the silence knit them and their pain together.

  * * *

  TODAY IS BEAUTY Saturday, and Patti searches the room for Paula among the thirty or so guests who have shown up. She’s not surprised to find her near the welcome table, chatting with several new faces. Since Paula’s confidence returned, she is always recruiting new wives and widows to the group. Paula has become quite the hostess and evangelist for Beauty Saturdays. Because of this, she and Patti don’t talk as much as they did at first. Today, however, Patti feels down and wishes she could have a few minutes of Paula’s time.

  Kim agrees to lead the meeting, and Patti hangs out near the beauty display table in the back of the room. The presentation format is simple and well received. It begins with a warm welcome and a brief explanation of the MyWay company and what Patti and Kim have done to support the DAV. From here Kim launches into the topic of the morning, which ranges from skin care basics to treating acne-prone skin to assisting aging skin to better nail and hair care, or tips on when to use professional aesthetician services. Then comes a live beauty-technique demo using several volunteers from the group. Kim ends the morning by promoting seasonal products, handing out door prizes, and scheduling complimentary makeover appointments for the following week.

  Patti stands at the back of the room, while up front the group is engaged in Kim’s presentation on the benefits of laser therapy to remove age spots, moles, and fine veins on the face. Patti’s thoughts begin to wander.

  “You look far away,” whispers Paula, nudging her from the side with a warm smile.

  Patti gives her a hug and whispers back, “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. What’s going on? I know that look.”

  “Bit of a troubling week.” There’s no use sugarcoating anything in front of Paula.

  “Come with me.” Paula takes her by the arm, and they slip out of the ballroom into the lobby of the hotel. Once seated comfortably on a couch in a private corner of the lobby, Patti lets her guard down.

  “Did you get some bad news?” Paula starts.

  “Not exactly good news. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “It’s about Amber. She’s let me into her life a little more lately.”

  “That sounds positive.”

  “Yes. It should be. But I’m getting a close-up look at her situation, and it’s pretty scary.”

  “Is she in trouble?” Paula is always ready to lend a hand now that she’s come out from under her dark cloud.

  “I think she’s in very grave trouble. But she doesn’t see it. Or won’t admit it. Or doesn’t care.”

  “I’m sure she cares. She may just be feeling overwhelmed.”

  “She certainly doesn’t want my help.”

  “A very natural reaction to what she’s been through. And how things are between you. Just try not to take it personally.”

  “But she’s sinking. Fast. And taking Bree down with her.”

  “Tell me what you’re seeing, Patti.”

  “She works seven days a week for pennies. She’s sold everything of value in her home. She barely ever spends time with Bree. The child has no food in the house. And Bree’s running around town without any supervision. It’s borderline neglect. I have half a mind to call child services!”

  “Don’t do that. It’ll only add salt to her wounds.”

  “I know. I won’t really.” Patti sighs in desperation. “But what else can I do right now?”

  “Keep being there for her. For Bree. Grief has its own timetable.”

  “And she’ll be on welfare and food stamps before she knows what hit her. I even offered to set her up with a MyWay franchise. She wouldn’t even consider it. How foolish is that?”

  “That was a beautiful and generous offer, Patti. I’m sure deep down she knows you care.”

  “I’m not so sure. Amber’s very stubborn.”

  “Which means she’s got the fight in her. That’s a good sign.”

  “I don’t know how much more I can take,” says Patti.

  “I know it’s hard to watch. I can only imagine how I must have looked with my life spiraling down after Mark’s death. No one could do anything that made a difference.”

  “But you came here. And you kept coming. You turned your life around.”

  “But I had to make that choice. And Amber has to do the same. She has to find her way out of this.”

  Patti hears the wisdom in Paula’s words. But it’s hard to swallow.

  “I never thought I could live again. Didn’t even think I wanted to. Until you showed me I could be beautiful.” Paula enfolds Patti in a hug. “Don’t give up on Amber.”

  chapter twenty-six

  Credit Card and ID, Please

  TODAY IS THE deadline to stop the foreclosure proceedings. Jim Wellington will be expecting Amber to deliver the sum by five.

  No credit. Bad credit. Cash now.

  The radio announcer’s words plant themselves in Amber’s mind. On rewind and replay.

  Cash now.

  Cash now.

  She needs cash. Now!

  Amber weighs the decision during her entire day shift at Rosie’s.

  Perfect Payday will be a one-time-only event, she promises herself. It’s just until she can land a better job.

  Amber parks her minivan near the front door of Perfect Payday and takes a deep breath before heading in with her arms clutched around her purse.

  “How much do you want to borrow?” asks the hipster clerk with four visible arm tattoos and a man bun. He removes one earbud from his ear and cracks open the glass partition.

  “Eight hundred.”

  He doesn’t even bat an eye as he gives her a hardened stare. “Credit card and ID, please.”

  Amber removes the items from her purse. The clerk punches her information into his computer, and a form spits out of his printer.

  “This is what we call an ‘unsecured loan.’ It’s a thirty-eight percent APR that starts accruing today.”

  “When is the loan due?” Amber’s voice cracks.

  “Two weeks.” He hands Amber a pen.

  She picks it up and scrolls a shaky signature.

  The clerk slides eight one-hundred-dollar bills across the counter along with her payment agreement. Amber glances over it, pausing at the paragraphs of fine print.

  “It says here you’ll take me to court if I fail to pay?”

  “That’s right. If we don’t see you back here in two weeks, we have the right to petition the court to step in and garnish your wages, Amber.” H
e points to her name tag fastened to the lapel of her pink waitress smock. “You work at Rosie’s?”

  Amber smirks. “Yeah.”

  “Cool. They have killer pancakes.”

  Amber nods. There are not enough pancakes in the world to save her house right now.

  “You still wanna go through with it?”

  Amber meets his questioning look as the pit in her stomach grows.

  She nods again.

  The hipster slides the money through the glass partition.

  Amber slips the cash into her purse.

  “Here’s your paperwork.” He hands her a copy of the loan agreement. “Two weeks.”

  Without a word or glance, Amber rushes out.

  chapter twenty-seven

  No Shortcuts

  AMBER TAKES THE bank steps two at a time, rushing past Kendra Drake. Wasn’t she supposed to provide me with some sort of financial consultation? She doubts the pampered millennial, who still lives at home with the safety net of her parents, can teach her any new budget tricks she hasn’t already tried. And failed at. Kendra tries to stop her as Amber barrels by, straight to Jim Wellington’s office. Only to find the door closed. No. No. No! She still has four minutes. Through the frosted glass, Amber sees Jim’s shadow moving inside the office. She raps on the window.

  “Mr. Wellington? It’s Amber Hill!”

  After a moment his silhouette moves to the door. He opens it and Amber bursts in, shoving an envelope at him.

  “Here. Is this enough to stop the foreclosure?”

  Mr. Wellington takes the envelope. “Come in, please.” He closes his office door after her. “Please have a seat, Mrs. Hill.”

  “No, I can’t stay long. I have to pick up Bree. I just need to know if my house is okay.”

  Mr. Wellington opens the envelope and does a quick eye count of the contents. “This is a good start. It catches you up to only one missed payment. But that leaves a full payment and another due in two weeks.”

  “How much total?”

  “Sixteen hundred to catch you up and officially cease the foreclosure process.”

  Amber swallows hard. She doesn’t want to lie. “I’ll try.”

  “But can you maintain this kind of payment schedule? That’s what I’m most concerned about, Mrs. Hill.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “As your lender, it’s my legal duty to worry. And I know you never set an appointment with Kendra. Have you taken any steps at all to explore your future?”

  Amber senses that Jim knows she’s holding something back. He’s probably seen it a hundred times before. Desperation stinks like a chicken coop.

  “Mrs. Hill. I know how you came up with this. There are no shortcuts in your situation.”

  Amber’s caught. Jim pauses.

  “How are you gonna cover all these expenses plus another loan?”

  Shamed like a little child, Amber has no answer. But the fight has a stubborn hold on her.

  “That house is the only home our family has ever known. Darren and I spent our weekends together remodeling every square inch. It’s the only home Bree knows. I’m not letting it go.”

  Amber removes herself from Jim’s office, beelining for the exit. She can hear the perky Kendra Drake chirping at her as she flees. “Mrs. Hill? Um . . . when would be a good time to . . . ah, schedule you for a financial consul—”

  The door closes on the “tation,” and Amber hurries down the sidewalk toward her minivan. There is absolutely nothing she wants to discuss with Kendra. How on earth could that chipper young thing, who has never stepped foot out of Clarksville, possibly understand the depths of what she’s been through as a young widow? Life is not a balance sheet you can adjust for a positive net result.

  chapter twenty-eight

  Is It Safe?

  AMBER IMMEDIATELY HEADS to Bree’s school to pick her up from after-school day care, racked by the nagging thought that she still has no food in the house and no money to buy any. She’ll stop by Rosie’s and pick up some leftover chicken dumplings. Bree loves those.

  She arrives at Bree’s classroom excited to tell her about their dumpling-dinner plans, only to find the door locked. Odd. She checks the time. 5:23 p.m. After-school day care goes until six. Where is everyone?

  Amber begins to hunt down the halls toward the principal’s office and runs into Bree’s teacher.

  “Ms. Bultema. Hi, I was wondering if you’ve seen Bree. She’s supposed to be at after-school care.”

  “And you are?” Amber stops dead in her tracks. Did she really just ask that?

  “Amber Hill. Bree’s mom. You don’t remember me?”

  “Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. I guess it’s been a while.”

  Amber realizes she isn’t a regular visitor to the school, but still. Shouldn’t the teacher remember who she is?

  “I think the last time I was supposed to see you was October. For parent-teacher conferences,” Ms. Bultema explains.

  “Really?” Amber had fallen asleep on the couch after work and missed the appointment.

  “Bree’s at Joe’s.”

  “The auto shop?”

  “Yes. She goes there on Wednesdays for that go-kart club.”

  “Right. I guess I got my days mixed up.” She must think Amber is a total twit not to know where her own daughter is.

  “It happens. Hey, stop by the classroom some afternoon when you can. I love to have parents get involved.”

  “I’ll try.” Amber weighs the offer. Is she being sincere, or is there an underlying guilt trip? But hey, since she’s not getting Mom of the Year awards, why worry about it? If she can show up at home with chicken dumplings, that’s a win.

  Amber hoofs it out of the school and down the block to Joe’s Auto.

  She enters Joe’s garage to find a hive of activity. At least half a dozen kids are working on go-karts in various states of completion. Some paint, some drill, some fasten tires. The garage echoes with chatter and laughter. Such a stark difference from the somberness of their home life.

  Amber finds Bree in the middle of the hustle and bustle, intensely tending to her own go-kart. The excitement in the air is infectious, and soon Amber is feeling lighter. She notices right away that Bree also has a carefree look about her as she sands the plywood side of her vehicle.

  “Hey, kids. Ten more minutes and we’re gonna wrap things up.” Cody’s voice projects from the back of the garage. Amber catches a glimpse of him bending over to grease the steering rod of Bree’s friend David’s kart. She recognizes him from Rosie’s and the failed date attempt, and hopes things won’t be uneasy.

  Wanting to watch Bree for a few minutes undetected, Amber steps into the corner of the garage, out of Bree’s eyeline. It’s so rare she has a moment to see what her daughter is really like when she’s not in her mother’s presence. She is careful not to rush her project, stopping every few seconds to check the smoothness of the wood. It’s a very tender and loving approach to this inanimate object.

  “Hey, Amber. Great to see you again. Whatcha doing hiding back here?” Cody’s smile melts away any lingering awkwardness from their diner encounter.

  “Hi, Cody. Just watching Bree. I’ve never seen her so engaged in something.”

  “She loves that kart. She’ll be so excited to show you. Here, come on over.” Cody starts to lead her, but Amber puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

  “In a minute. I like seeing her like this.” Bree shows off her work to a couple of other admirers. Amber savors her daughter just being a kid.

  “She’s a hard worker,” Cody says.

  “I’m a little surprised, actually. Bree mentioned this kart thing, but I didn’t really understand what it involved.”

  “You signed the parental release form, right?”

  “Well, yes, but I just kinda . . . skimmed it.”

  Cody playfully shames her with a look. “Busted.”

  “Hey, I trust Joe. So . . .”

  “I get it.”
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  “Well, tell me about it. Looks like quite a little assembly line you have going here.”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t so sure when Joe told me about it, but it’s pretty fun, actually.”

  “So how does it work?”

  “Well, Joe and I end up doing most of the construction. But the kids do the designing and painting. And then, you know, we race them.”

  “Racing? Really?”

  “I set up a course out here in front of Joe’s. I’ll teach them a few track basics and turning techniques.”

  “Oh. Wow. Sounds very professional. Is it dangerous?”

  “There’s the occasional bumper-car incident.” Amber’s concerned look prompts Cody to expand. “But the motors on the karts only go about five miles per hour. So the kids never really get up enough speed to do any damage if they hit anything. Or each other. Plus, I set up old tires around the edge of the track.”

  “And they wear helmets?”

  “Always. Safety first,” he reassures her.

  “Mom! Come see, come see!” She’s been spotted. Amber turns to see Bree’s eager face popping up from her kart. She wipes sawdust off her forehead.

  Amber walks around to Bree’s kart, and Bree excitedly pulls her mother to the logo sketched on the hood. It grabs Amber’s attention immediately. This is why Bree is so absorbed. Amber bends down and traces a finger over the Screaming Eagle. A shadow remnant of the man she loved.

  “So that’s why you needed the patch?” Amber smiles at Bree. “Wow, this is really cool.”

  “Thanks. I’m all done sanding. Do you want to help me paint?” Bree hands her a paintbrush, and Amber dips it into the primer. Amber begins to paint a bare spot on the side.

  “Cody says to put it on nice and thick.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Amber goes to dip the brush in the can again, and Cody claps his hands.

  “All right, gang! That’s it for today. Let’s get this place spick-and-span. You know what to do.”

  “Aw, we just got started.” Bree’s face drops.