The Curious Prayer Life Of Muriel Smith

by Raj, Carol;

  Lawyers weren’t supposed to say they were sorry. Lawyers were supposed to make things right. Why would a lawyer let Stan make such a stupid move? Howard insisted they pay off their own mortgage early to save on interest. Every month they squeezed a few dollars out of their budget so they could pay extra on the principal. Howard wanted to own their home outright. He wanted a mortgage burning party like Muriel’s parents hosted. Wouldn’t a good financial planner have suggested that technique? Wouldn’t Stan?

  Natalie’s hand tightened on Muriel’s. Muriel could count Natalie’s fingers now, feel her freshly manicured nails cutting into her flesh.

  “I know I signed some papers. But I had no idea what I was signing. I never did. Stan just said ‘Sign here, Natalie.’ He never went over the details with me. He said I wouldn’t understand them anyway. My signature shouldn’t count if I had no idea what I was signing, should it?”

  Muriel looked at Natalie. She seemed to think her question was genuine enough. Was she really so naïve? Even Muriel knew one had to read the small print before one signed something.

  Natalie apparently had no idea. Stan had taken Natalie’s future and wadded it up in a ball and tossed it in the garbage. Then he’d left her all alone to deal with the mess he’d created. He had taken the coward’s way out.

  At least the lawyer had the decency to have a pained look in his eyes.

  Natalie’s voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Stan was my husband. I trusted him.”

  “I wish I had better news for you.” The lawyer shook his head and raised his hands up and out to the sides, the age-old gesture of helplessness.

  “So there’s…nothing?” Natalie seemed hardly able to get the word out.

  The lawyer turned his pen over and over in his hand. “Natalie, surely you know by now that your husband was running a Ponzi scheme. He has lots of angry creditors who’d like to get their money back, too. Even if you had any assets, they’d be tied up in the courts.”

  “I didn’t have any idea Stan was doing anything wrong,” Natalie said.

  The lawyer leaned closer to her. “And if you did, I don’t want to know about it.”

  Muriel cleared her throat. “I was one of those creditors, sir. I had money invested with Stan. Will I ever get any of it back?”

  The lawyer shook his head. “Maybe not for years. And if you do get anything back, it will be pennies on the dollar.”

  Muriel’s hand went to her chest. Pennies on the dollar? She’d never have money to have her lawn mowed. What could she do? Sue. Sue Kevin’s parents. Muriel was in a lawyer’s office. She could bring the subject up now. Maybe even start the paperwork.

  Natalie held her left wrist at eye level and scrutinized her Rolex watch. She rose abruptly. “Come on, Mom. We have to go.” She turned to the lawyer. “I’m sorry. I’m late for another appointment. I’ll call your secretary and set up another time to finish our talk.” She did not turn to shake the lawyer’s hand or murmur the customary parting pleasantries. She walked to the heavy oak door and yanked it open. She shook her watch as if it had stopped.

  Muriel followed Natalie out the door and pulled it shut.

  “What other appointment? Do you want me to come to that one, too? You said we were just coming to the lawyer’s office.”

  Natalie glared at Muriel as if everything were her fault. Famines, floods, earthquakes, Natalie’s sudden change in circumstances. Especially Natalie’s change in circumstances. A change nobody had seen coming. Except Stan. He saw it. That’s why he’d killed himself.

  Lord, have mercy on his soul.

  “I don’t have another appointment, Mother. Don’t be silly.” Natalie hurried down the hall, the red soles of her expensive high heels rising and falling with her steps. Muriel followed as fast as she could, the distance between them increasing more and more.

  Natalie was going to lose that huge mansion of a home.

  I could help. My lawsuit could be Stan’s last present to Natalie. He’s the one who wanted me to pursue it. Now I know why he was so adamant.

  Stan could no longer take care of Natalie. But Muriel could. Any money she got from the lawsuit would have nothing to do with the Ponzi scheme. It would be all hers. She could do whatever she wanted with it. Maybe even buy Natalie’s house. They could all live there together. Or she could increase the size of her own little house. Add an extra bedroom. Maybe half a bath. Then Natalie could move in. Chloe, too, if things didn’t turn around with Phillip. Things hadn’t been right between the two of them since the funeral.

  If Muriel got enough money, she’d even be able to get her grass mowed.

  A lawsuit would solve everybody’s problems.

  Everybody’s but Kevin’s.

  A lawsuit might be the right thing to do.

  Why, then, did it seem so wrong?

  18

  “Sorry to bother you, Pastor. I don’t know who else to turn to. A lawsuit would solve so many problems. Natalie wants me to do it. Chloe wants me to do it. It just doesn’t seem right.”

  Muriel took a sip from her steaming mug of coffee. It gave her something to do while Pastor Jorgensen, sitting across from her, considered his advice. It didn’t take him long.

  He leaned back in his chair. “If it doesn’t seem right, don’t do it.”

  “But Natalie has never been poor in her life. And I can’t help her. I’m barely scraping by on Social Security. To tell you the truth, money from the lawsuit would help me, too.”

  “Our church can’t do much for Natalie. It’s all we can do to help members of our own congregation. But I’m sorry to hear you’re having money problems, Muriel. Have you considered applying for help from the Deacons’ Fund?”

  “No. It seems like charity.”

  “It is charity. Charity is love in action. There’s no shame. St. Paul tells us in second Corinthians that one person’s abundance should supply another person’s lack.”

  “There are people in this church who need the money far more than I do.” Muriel thought of two other widows. She had seen one of them stocking up on cat food in the grocery store. On sale. Three cans for a dollar. The woman didn’t own a cat.

  Pastor Jorgensen sat back up. “You know, Muriel, God does so appreciate your wanting to do the right thing. I assume you’ve prayed about this?”

  “I pray all the time, Pastor. But I never get a clear answer. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like anybody’s listening.”

  Pastor Jorgensen raised his eyebrows. He picked up his huge Bible from his desk. “The answers are all in here. But I’ll admit sometimes they’re not black and white. I do know the Bible says we’re not supposed to sue other believers because it makes the church look bad. But it doesn’t say anything about suing people who aren’t believers. Do you know anything about this young man’s family?”

  “I met them once. In the hospital reception area. After I was carjacked. They seemed nice. We didn’t talk about religion. Pastor, do you think God-fearing people could raise a son who would carjack me?”

  Pastor Jorgensen waved his Bible at her. “God raised Adam, who ate from the forbidden tree. David was a man after God’s own heart. Yet he raised Absalom, who rebelled against him. We like to think we’re in control as parents. But only God is in control. And He doesn’t always prevent us from making mistakes. Even big ones.”

  “So should I sue Kevin’s family? Not sue Kevin’s family? My son-in-law, Stan, insisted that I should. He was quite adamant about it.”

  “Ah, Stan. Let me ask you this. Did you respect Stan’s opinions?”

  There was the answer right there. It was Stan’s sin that caused Natalie’s problems. It couldn’t be his bad advice that set her free from them.

  “Thank you, Pastor. I know what’s the right thing to do. I think I’ve known it all along.”

  “Just remember, Muriel, good always comes from doing the right thing. Always.” Pastor Jorgensen picked up his Bible, opened it in the middle, and then turned several pages. “Here’s another v
erse that’s apropos. Proverbs 28:6. ‘Better is the poor that walketh in his uprightness, than he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich.’”

  Even better would to be rich and upright, too. Not Hawaiian vacation rich. Just affluent enough to take care of the people she loved. It seemed that no matter what she did, somebody would be hurt.

  If Natalie were in a burning building with Kevin and his parents, and Muriel could rush in and save only one of them, she’d save Natalie. She’d have to.

  Not suing was saving Kevin and his parents instead.

  How could doing the right thing feel so wrong?

  If only God would work all things together for good. That was in the Bible somewhere, too.

  19

  An hour after her meeting with Pastor Jorgensen, Muriel limped up the short walkway to her house. The tall grass on either side waved in the late afternoon breeze. It seemed to be mocking her.

  What could she do about her grass? She hadn’t had much hope that Stan would let her have money from her account. Now she had no hope at all. And no money. Why hadn’t God listened to her prayers? How many times did she have to remind him?

  The thought of a weed whacker came out of nowhere. Was that the best God could do? Well, maybe it would work. Weed whackers cost a lot less than lawnmowers. If she ate eggs instead of chicken every night, she could save a few dollars a week. She wondered how many weeks it would take to save up for a weed whacker. Too many probably. Her grass was already long. Lord, please help.

  She unlocked her front door and passed by the flashing light on her answering machine.

  She pushed the play button, her finger hovering over the delete key.

  Kevin’s voice rang out.

  Kevin! So he’d remembered her. Muriel smiled. Not suing his family was the right thing to do. Hearing his voice reinforced that decision.

  “Hi, Mrs. B.” His recorded voice sounded rehearsed and formal. Nothing like the way he had spoken to her in person. “My dad’s making me call.”

  Well, that explained it.

  “He says I owe you. You know. Because of the carjacking and all. So…I was wondering if there were any chores I could do for you. Like, uh, oh, I don’t know. I guess I could mow your lawn once a week. You do have a lawn, don’t you? We never talked about that. Anyway, here’s my number. Please call me back. I’m going to be in big trouble if you don’t. Thanks.” There was a murmur of two male voices in the background before a click signaled the end of the call.

  Lawn mowing! Hadn’t she just been praying about that? Not only right before the carjacking but just a few seconds ago. And all along, she’d thought God wasn’t listening to her. Of course, He was listening. He just liked to do things His own way. Somebody so creative wouldn’t take orders from her. He’d figure out something better than she’d specified. After all, He created oddities like aardvarks and flying fish and praying mantises. No wonder His answer to her simple prayer was a convoluted series of events.

  But carjacking, Lord? What were You thinking? Muriel jotted Kevin’s number down on the pad she kept by the phone, played the recording back, and double checked the number. Just as she picked up the receiver to return the call, the doorbell rang.

  Muriel left the chain on the door and opened it a crack, peering quizzically at the balding, middle-aged man who stood on her porch. “I don’t want to subscribe to any magazines. And I don’t pay to have work done around the house.”

  Neither statement was true. She started to close the door.

  Mrs. Smith?” the man asked.

  Well, that was a good guess. Half the people in the phone book had the last name Smith.

  “Yes?” Her voice quavered just a little. How she hated that old lady voice.

  “Mrs. Smith! You don’t remember me? I remember you!”

  “Sorry.” She had heard of such scams. She started to close the door again.

  “Wait! Watch!” The man began mouth motions as if he were chewing gum. Then with his right hand he started rubbing what little remained of the hair on top of his head while with his left hand he patted his stomach. Last, he tipped his head back, put out an unnaturally long tongue, and curled it up to touch the tip of his nose.

  Had this man escaped from some sort of institution? Should she call the police? No. Better wait for him to leave. Let him get a few houses away before she picked up the phone. She didn’t want him to figure out who had called. In case he was the violent type.

  Then he smiled. A lopsided smile, one corner of his mouth going up more than the other.

  Patrick! Patrick…she couldn’t think of his last name. It started with a “T.” She would have sworn to that. Why was the last name always harder to come to her? Probably because she had called these children by their first names every day for the 180 days that made up the school year.

  It had been 360 days for Patrick.

  “Patrick! Here. Let me close the door so I can open it.”

  Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “I can’t believe you remember my name after all these years.”

  “I was just thinking about you the other day.” Muriel closed the door enough so she could take the chain off. Then she opened it wide and peered past Patrick to a dark green station wagon parked by the curb. Two boys were wrestling in the backseat while a third boy, a little bigger, bopped his head in front. Earphones seemed to grow, fungus like, on the sides of his head.

  “Are those your children?” How incredible that children had children. It never ceased to amaze her. But then Patrick was no longer a child. Why, he must be about the same age now as she was when she taught him.

  “They sure are. Chips off the old block. Jimmy couldn’t get the hang of geometry last year. Sound like anybody you know?”

  Muriel smiled. “Sounds like you, Patrick. I hope he didn’t fail his course?”

  “No. Thank goodness. He squeaked by. But barely.”

  “Well, come in. Come in. Would you like a little tea? Coffee? I don’t have any soda in the house. Don’t drink it myself. And my milk’s a bit old. The boys could have some orange juice if they’d like. Or ice water.”

  “Nothing, thanks. If the two of us could just sit out here on the steps, that would be great. Get a little fresh air. Make sure my car is still in one piece when I want to go home.” Patrick smiled again.

  That ridiculous, familiar smile! It was almost contagious. Just like Kevin’s.

  “Any special reason you dropped by?” Muriel sat on the second stair from the bottom and rubbed her right knee. “Arthritis pains. Just part of getting older.”

  “I can relate. I have a tinge of arthritis myself.” Patrick leaned back, his two elbows resting on the step above him. “Actually, there is a reason I dropped by. You kind of disappeared when you stopped teaching. Some of us talked about looking you up. But there are lots of Smiths in the phonebook. And nobody even knew if you still lived in the area. The school wouldn’t give out any information at all. They kept saying there were privacy issues. They must have thought we had plans to T.P. your house.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, Patrick, it’s nice to know somebody still remembers me. Teaching was such a waste of fifteen years of my life. I quit before I could even get a pension.”

  Patrick laughed. “Fifteen years of brats like me was all you could take?”

  “No. I would have kept going. If I had taught only five more years, I would have a state pension coming in every month for the rest of my life. It would have been such a blessing. But my husband got seriously ill. Cancer. He needed me home.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But you should never feel teaching was a waste of your time. Or your talents. You changed my life. That’s why I wanted to get in touch. I thought you deserved to know.”

  “Me? Changed your life?”

  “Yes!”

  “I guess everybody we meet changes our lives in some way.”

  “But you really changed mine. You flunked me, r
emember?”

  “Oh, yes. I remember every single one of the students I flunked. Every name. Every face. I felt so bad about flunking them. If only I had explained geometry some better way, maybe I could have gotten through. I don’t always remember the last names though. And the faces have changed by now. Matured. Just as yours has. I don’t know if I’d recognize any of my former students if I saw them in the grocery store.”

  “You remember the really smart kids, too?”

  Muriel nodded. “I often wonder what’s happened to them. What they’re doing. Whether they’re happy.” Whether they peaked in high school and became losers like me.

  “And the average ones?”

  Muriel shook her head. “Not so much. There were twenty-five students per class, five classes a year, fifteen years of teaching. That’s a lot of students. Hundreds of them.”

  “Well, would you believe I’m a CPA now?” There was the lop-sided grin again.

  Muriel laughed. “A numbers cruncher? You? No offense, but that’s hard to believe.”

  “Nah. Just kidding. I own a landscaping franchise a couple towns over. And you know what? Math does come in handy. Just like you used to say. IRS forms. Square footage. Profit and loss statements. Even with a good calculator you have to know what numbers to put in and what function to perform. And if you can’t do the work yourself, you have to pay somebody else a whole lot of money to do it for you.”

  “And you’re handling everything all right?”

  Patrick nodded. “Thanks to you, yes. And if I need help I know enough to ask for it. That’s another thing you taught me. It wasn’t all geometry, you know. You taught life lessons, too. I still remember some of the stories you told about your daughter. You always got such a sparkle in your eyes when you mentioned her. Made me want to have kids myself someday. And now look.” He waved his arm at the station wagon out front.

  “What I remember is that you were good at soccer. A jock. Yes?”

  “Yeah, that was me. You can’t make a living at soccer. Not unless you’re Pele or Beckham. I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I was pretty hot stuff. That’s why I took Spanish in school. So I could play soccer in Brazil.