Altar Call

by Hope Lyda

  Her first response has clearly already come and gone. But I say, “Um. Hmmm. Uh-huh,” and keep my thought life to myself.

  It is the right thing to do.

  Piece of Mind

  The plush and lush lobby of Majestic Vista Luxury Resort welcomes the wealthy, the pampered, and today even the underpaid. I can hardly believe I worked here for a short while last year during my life makeover efforts.

  That was then. This is now.

  As I walk through the rock garden entryway, I am merely a guest of this place of high-priced juice cocktails and hot-rock treatments. Today I want to revive my connection with Beau. I figured a spa day complete with mud masks and pedicures would give us lots of time to talk. I enjoy the independence of our dating relationship, but I need a little peace of mind about us.

  Halo, one of my first friends at Majestic Vista, quickly finishes a conversation with a spa client and rushes over to present me with a tray of beverages—spring water with lime, orange juice, and wine spritzers. She greets me with a kiss on each cheek and an up-and-down look over. “Darling, you look fantastic. I swear your thighs were much larger.”

  Did I say friend? “People remember me fat. But thanks.”

  “Care for a beverage before you begin your romantic spa day?”

  “I’ll wait for Beau. Is Lionel around? I’d love to thank him for this comp treatment. I quit on the guy, and he gives me a gift certificate. One of us is crazy.”

  “Lionel’s at the spa in Mexico checking out the new chef. He’ll be sad he’s missed you. The man still talks about reviving your bingo night.” Halo cups her ear piece, looks up to concentrate on the invisible communicant, and then turns back to me. “There is a call for you, Mari. Here, just use this.” She transfers her headset to my head which, it turns out, is about three sizes bigger than hers.

  “Hello?”

  “Mari, it’s me.” Beau’s voice is distant.

  “Hey. Are you stuck in traffic? I noticed it was backed up over by the courthouse.”

  Beau says something, but I am sure I haven’t heard him right. I step out from beneath the alcove hoping for better reception.

  “I’m stuck here. My reports to the state commission are due tomorrow. I’ll be burning the midnight oil as it is. You should go ahead with it.”

  I move three steps to the right hoping for better answers. “But it’s the romance package. And Lionel was so sweet to give me this free pass, I’d hate to ask for a rain check.” I sigh with exasperation and quietly add, “Besides, it hardly ever rains.”

  “You deserve to be pampered, Mari. Please go for it. I would feel terrible if you missed out. Invite Sadie.”

  “Yep,” I say, instead of giving him a piece of my mind, which goes a bit like You want me to give half of my romance package to the one friend who is actually in a happy romance? The one person who would only serve to remind me that I am dating the guy who is never around? “I will invite Cailtin. Not Sadie.”

  He doesn’t want to notice my attitude, which I am a bit ashamed to be exhibiting so openly. “Well, Caitlin can thank me, then. I guess I will have to plaster my own face with mud pies.”

  I imagine a cream pie soaring toward his handsome features right about now. I cannot figure out how to respond. I’m not good at the letdown part of a relationship. Beau is so great—so perfect—that I hadn’t expected these kinds of surprises.

  Sadie told me not long ago that grace seems to be the biggest requirement in a real relationship. I decide to try it. “Okay. Go burn your oil. Do you want me to bring you something to eat later?”

  “No. You will be ready for a nice leisurely afternoon. I’m jealous.”

  I click off the phone and head over to the receptionist’s cubicle. “Halo, can I bring in a sub for Beau?”

  “Sure. The whole day is covered for two. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” As I dial Caitlin’s number and switch my expectations from a romantic date to a girl’s day out, I have a déjà vu moment.

  Caitlin listens to the offer and is ecstatic. “Yes! I’d love it. It will be just like the old days—you know, when you were single.”

  I knew this felt familiar.

  Between Phone Lines

  I twirl my fuchsia phone cord and wait for my mom to pick up on the other end. Caitlin bought the Barbie princess phone for me as a humorous and congratulatory gesture when Beau and I started to go out. From Angelica it would have been an insult.

  “Hello, my dear! Right on time.” Mom answers our weekly call with her usual energy.

  “I had to set my alarm,” I say, looking at the clock. It is just after 8:30 for me but 11:30 for Mom and Dad in Washington, DC.

  “I don’t believe you. You were always such an early riser.”

  “I was?” Probably so I could get a hot shower. Sharing three showers with a dozen kids from the shelter did not allow for much warm water, not to mention privacy.

  “You and Marcus were the only ones to help out with breakfast on weekends. He still is such a big help.”

  Mom makes a point of mentioning Marcus Dean at least three times a conversation. Not just because he is a nice guy who is helping at the shelter while working on his PhD, but because he was my high school sweetheart and a former resident of the shelter. Mom sees him as her success story and would love our story lines to intersect.

  “Have you made your decision about running for city council?” I change to the only subject that will distract her.

  “I just sent my official candidate application yesterday. Are you proud of your mother?”

  “Yes, of course! It is great news—especially for the neighborhood.” Mom has long been a pursuer of change and a vocal advocate for youth resources in Washington.

  “Once my application is approved my campaign must start right away. These days, they don’t give council candidates much time to be visible. I’m kicking it all off with a meet and greet at your old grade school. Marcus is going to help. Isn’t that nice?”

  Two down, one to go.

  “Hey, did I tell you that Beau was selected for a special mentor program? Only five directors of assisted care facilities are chosen in the nation.”

  “Beau is such a good man. So he gets someone to help him do his work?” Mom inquires. She likes him; she just has a blind spot the size and shape of Marcus.

  “Actually, the mentor is really someone who collaborates with him. The assigned professional communicates with Beau and reviews his ideas, projects, whatever. At the end of the program, the mentor and the director create a series of papers and pursue grant funding for further development.”

  “Outstanding. Outstanding.” Mom’s voice is muffled.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear. Development. Excellent.”

  “I need to get going. I’m meeting the others for breakfast in just a few minutes.” Mom’s attention span is worse the older she gets. Too much going on, and she is so easily distracted by the action of the youth shelter. Frustration carried over from childhood bubbles up in me.

  More muffled sounds and a man’s voice in the background. My dad usually wants to say hello.

  “Put him on,” I say, checking my clock again. If I forget makeup and just put my hair in a ponytail, I can still get to breakfast on time.

  “Certainly!” Mom says to me and then I hear her gleefully turn the phone over with, “She wants to talk to you.”

  “Mari?”

  It is Marcus. Thanks, Mom.

  “Hey, Marcus. I thought you were Dad.”

  “Just me, I’m afraid,” he says, a bit put out.

  “I didn’t mean that…I was just surprised. So how is school going?”

  “Good. Good enough. Isn’t it wonderful about your mom running for council? She is going to do great things.”

  Marcus is as much of a cheerleader for Mom as she is for him. It is a club I didn’t always feel a part of.

  “I really have to get going, Marcus. My friend Caitlin will be here any minute to
take me to breakfast.”

  “How is Bo-Bo? No, wait—Bono?”

  Yeah, I’m really buying this act of indifference. “His new CD is great. And he’s helping pay off the debt of third world countries. So good of you to inquire.”

  He laughs.

  I don’t.

  “Tell Dad I’ll catch him next week. Good luck with your classes, Martin.”

  I slam down the phone, but the fluffy fuchsia princess receiver only makes a very dissatisfying thud.

  It isn’t until I slam the passenger door of Caitlin’s car with a very satisfying thunderous “WHAM!” that I wonder if my overreaction is something other than anger.

  Green Light

  Where did all the good parking places go? I know this is my punishment for trading in my bus pass for a car again. This is ridiculous. Let’s just go somewhere else for breakfast.” Caitlin’s nostrils flare with frustration.

  “We can’t go somewhere else. What if Sadie and Angelica are already inside Freddies?”

  “Weren’t you wanting to change to the Sante Fe restaurant?”

  “That was when I was trying to change everything in my life. I’m over that. Like the curb you just jumped,” I note as a pedestrian throws coffee at Caitlin’s windshield in retaliation.

  “Look. I drive one time in months and people hate me. The universe hates my decision.”

  “Please. Not the universe talk again. You do realize that such grandiose generalizations only remove you from a personal connection to God.”

  Urrchhh.

  The car stops, but my head and backpack do not. I nearly nail the dashboard with my face. We are nowhere near a parking place or a stop sign. “What on earth!” I shout, but I know perfectly well why she is ticked. I did hear what came out of my mouth. Good grief. I don’t know what is wrong with me lately.

  “Don’t preach at me, Mari. I have faith, you know. You don’t have to judge everything I say and decide whether it is godly or not. Okay?”

  I want to stand up for myself and tell her I held my tongue with Sadie just the other day, but I don’t want to prolong this discussion of my judgmental ways. If it turned into a debate, I would lose. I liked it better last year when Caitlin and I discussed how Sadie can sometimes be judgmental.

  “Okay. Sorry.” I turn to look out the window and notice a Jeep backing up just down the block. “Over there is a parking place.”

  “Good eye.” We run over the edge of a median but Caitlin’s speedy reaction secures the spot.

  “Any other Saturday and I would have gladly gone to a different place. But Sadie is giving us our wedding assignments today.”

  Caitlin removes her seat belt and slumps in her seat.

  “What is it?” I reach out to pat her shoulder, which is adorned with leather fringe the color of watermelon.

  She rolls her head in my direction. “I forgot that was today. I don’t know if I feel so good.”

  “Caitlin?”

  “I’m not like you. You are so supportive of Sadie’s life situation, but it is not easy for me. I mean, you have Beau and he’s amazing. And he’s your hope for a future. I haven’t had that with anyone in a long time.”

  “So, this isn’t about having a vehicle?”

  “Aren’t I just the worst friend in the world? I cannot be happy for her because my life is like…like this,” Caitlin makes a big circle with her hand.

  “A hoop earring from the seventies?”

  A laugh slips from her stern lips. “Well, a loop-di-loop. I meant like driving around looking for a parking place. I’ve been wandering around in circles for years trying to land a guy. I thought maybe Jim the Cop was a possibility, but he hasn’t called in weeks, and the guy practically lives in Nogales.”

  “Or impractically,” I try for humor and get no response. “Maybe if you had stopped using terms like ‘land a guy’ or introducing the guy as ‘Jim the Cop’ to everybody…”

  Caitlin’s look reminds me I am back on my way down judgment lane, so I adjust my tone. “The idea of marriage affects all of us, Caitlin. Have you seen the way Angelica has been eating lately?” I laugh, but the visions I have of Angelica stuffing her face since the engagement border on scary.

  “And you?” Caitlin asks pleadingly.

  I don’t particularly want to reveal the underbelly of my nature, but I see it is needed. “All right. But you cannot say anything to anyone.”

  Caitlin sits up expectantly. I cannot disappoint.

  “Lately I have felt that something is off between me and Beau.”

  She looks sympathetic but not appeased. “Like?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. I’m not sure what it is. It might be because we don’t spend as much time together as we did the first few months.” I stop before the next words can form fully in my mind. I began this assessment to pacify Caitlin, but a truth emerges. “I feel disconnected from him.”

  My mind starts to sift through a mental cupboard of filed away moments when Beau and I seemed to talk over and at each other but not to one another. Caitlin interrupts my troublesome tangent unaffected by my revelation.

  “That is just part of a relationship’s growing pains. It isn’t the same as having ill feelings toward a friend’s happiness.”

  We step out of the car and head toward Freddies. The line to the restaurant is wrapped around the building. Somehow, when we weren’t looking, our once humble hole-in-the-wall diner turned into a popular hangout.

  “I didn’t finish my confession.” I hike up my jeans. I am not getting thinner as Halo suspected; I just recently bought a new pair of fat pants.

  The awning of Freddies is up ahead, so we step to the back of the line of weekend breakfast eaters. Caitlin leans in, ready to hear my secret.

  I clear my throat and continue. “Well, when I was thinking about me and Beau and wondering if we have what it takes, I started to think of Sadie and Carson the same way.”

  Blank stare.

  “I started projecting problems onto them—totally out of jealousy. I began to scrutinize their relationship. See? I’m not so perfect. I should be thinking happy thoughts about the happy couple, but I analyze, twist, and deconstruct what they have instead of focusing on my own problems.”

  Caitlin’s eyes light up. This pleases her. “I know what you mean, Mari. I have done that too. What is it about a friend’s engagement that does this to us? I don’t want to be a jealous person.”

  “Let’s keep each other in line.” Have I just agreed to accountability?

  My last words fade in the sound of the crowd as Angelica comes rushing toward us. “What are you guys doing at the back of the line? We are about to be seated. I am starving. I barely had any breakfast this morning.”

  “It’s 9:15. This is breakfast.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re right. Gosh, I’ve been eating a lot lately. I don’t know what my problem is.”

  Caitlin looks at me out of the corner of her eye and we try not to laugh.

  Pew

  While subtle doubts about my dating relationship might exist, I don’t question my commitment to making it work. Beau, or Beau-and-I, is the best thing I have ever had. My church relationship, however, is a different story. I go. Religiously, even. But I am keeping my distance these days. I have avoided the singles group. My only claim to involvement was a stint on the Grandparents’ Day greeting committee. I love the hymns, praise songs, the communion, the sermon—and the very quick departure out the nearest exit.

  Nobody ever explains how introducing love into your life means introducing your loved one into your life. Each time Beau’s presence makes me stop and contemplate my typical behaviors I realize I have given myself lots of grace in lots of areas. For example, while my pew seat is cooling before the benediction, Beau is the type to actually stay for the fellowship time between services. I am unlocking my car door, and he is reaching for a sugar cookie and the fresh pot of mint tea. I am turning my cell phone back on and playing any messages, and he is politely asking for
a refill of the tea and directions to the new children’s wing because he agreed to be on a vacation Bible school advisory team. I am grabbing the folds of my stomach and wondering which restaurant we will go to for lunch, and Beau is recruiting more members to the advisory committee and is sitting down to play a game with several kids waiting for parents to retrieve them.

  I am bad. He is good. This is what runs through my mind while mild hunger turns to seemingly fatal pangs of starvation. I get out of the car and start walking—not toward the church but toward Vinnie, a hot dog street vendor—and I realize how little I have changed my previous single life patterns. As I bite into a beef dog with extra relish and mustard and a spot of mayo on a whole wheat bun, I wonder if I should change or whether a real relationship makes room for two individuals to have their separate behaviors.

  There is little that I want from this life. I want happiness, contentment, joy, meaning, and…

  “Hey, love, you got enough mustard there?” The vendor shakes his head and lets out a hearty laugh.

  “And love.” I say aloud with my mouth full of hot dog.

  “What?” Vinnie’s cheeks and lips scrunch toward his nose in confusion.

  “I want love.”

  “Sorry, darling. This beefy wonder is married.”

  Mid-deluxe dog I realize that I need to get back to Beau.

  I wipe my greasy fingers on the edge of my sweater. I must rush to the church, find Beau, and say something committal like “Can I be president of the children’s wing fund?” or “Sign me up to take the middle school class on a mission to Mexico.” Somehow I need to show Beau that I am a loyal, committed, and equal partner in this relationship.

  I am winded by the time I reach the long flight of stairs to the fellowship hall. I pretend to tighten the straps on my sandals so that I can catch a few extra gulps of air. When I look up, a silhouette blocks the stained-glass image of Mary Magdalene talking to Jesus. It is Beau—his face shrouded by the shadows. I wonder if he is mad that I left the service so quickly or that I didn’t stand by his side as he signed away his next fifty Saturday afternoons to serve on committees and boards. I consider that he might be upset because of everyone he met today, only two people knew of me, and they were the ladies who serve doughnuts right before service starts. But as color-filtered light is replaced by full sunlight I see the face that puts my worries to rest—that makes my anxieties ashamed of themselves. Beau is smiling a broad, lovely grin acknowledging that it is moi who stands just a few steps away from him on a narrow staircase.