Lighting Candles in the Snow

by Karen Jones Gowen

  “I’m glad you’re letting it grow, Karoline. It looks good at shoulder length. Now if only you will let me put in the golden highlights. Or red would look fabulous on you, too. How about next week?”

  “Suzie! Forget my hair. This is a serious question. How did Jeremy turn me into a complete wreck?”

  “I wish I knew,” Suzie responded, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “Part of a lasting relationship is liking who you are when you’re with that person. I really didn’t like what he did to you. You changed after Jeremy came into your life.”

  I had always been independent and strong-willed, but from the beginning Jeremy had me wrapped around his little finger. I had never fallen for a guy like I did for him.

  “The way he convinced you to live together. What was that about? You always said you’d never live with a guy and before you know it, he’s moved in with you.”

  I moaned. “I know! And it about broke Mom’s heart, too. You know how she feels about that kind of thing.”

  Suzie combed her fingers through my hair and gave me a mirror to see the back. From the baby monitor, I could hear Liam making sounds as he woke up from his nap.

  “Being a pastor’s wife, I suppose morally strict comes with the job description,” Suzie said as she straightened the combs and gadgets on her table.

  “If Daddy had said anything against it, I don’t think I would have let Jeremy move in. I couldn’t have handled his disapproval. Funny thing is he actually seemed okay with it. Our parents are weird like that, aren’t they? Things you think Daddy would get upset about, it’s Mom and vice versa. They are quite the united pair.”

  Examining myself in the mirror, I forced a smile. Those frown lines between my eyebrows didn’t help my looks. I pushed at them with an index finger. Maybe if I kneaded the lines regularly I could rub them out.

  “It’s probably why you ended up marrying the guy—your Calvinist moral conscience at work,” Suzie said, pulling the plastic cover-all from my shoulders.

  “Well, that and being smitten with him. He could talk me into anything. Besides, I loved him, Suz, I really did love him. Oh, God, those eyes!”

  Not being encased in flowered plastic made me look somewhat better, although I certainly could have used some makeup. When had I stopped wearing it? It seemed like ages since my eyelashes had touched a mascara wand.

  Suzie shrugged. “I guess so.” Liam got more demanding. She turned down the sound on the baby monitor. “Listen, Karoline. You are better than Jeremy. You always have been. Your divorce was in September, it’s now February. You need to move on.”

  I stiffened. “Well, okay, Suz. Just as soon as I figure out how to do that, I will,” I said sarcastically.

  What did my sister know about manipulative, unfaithful men? What did she know about divorce? She had the perfect husband. Rob doted on her and their kids, a true family man, like our dad had been.

  Suzie must have sensed my resistance, because she got all quiet and began sweeping up the floor. She didn’t like it when people disagreed with her opinions. Suzie wasn’t argumentative, just bossy. When she sensed a fight coming on, she would back down rather than get into a heated discussion.

  To break the sudden ice between us, I said, “I should have become a Mormon like you. Then I could find a nice Mormon guy like Rob.”

  Suzie giggled, more relaxed. “You just say the word, sweetie, and I’ll get the missionaries over here right now. We can set up your baptism for next Saturday. Rob can baptize you.”

  Used to my sister’s half-kidding, half-true threats to make me a Mormon, I rolled my eyes at her. “Oh sure, Suzie.”

  Suzie had dated a Mormon boy in high school. Probably the only Mormon kid in the whole school and my sister had to find him.

  When Suzie wanted to be baptized, my appalled parents fell back on Mom’s old standard of “what will people think?” She kept saying, “The Baptist preacher’s daughter joining the Mormons? How could you do that to your dad?”

  Since Suzie was under eighteen, the church wouldn’t allow her to get baptized without getting our parents’ written permission. Rather than pushing them for it, however, she held off and let it go for the time being. Suzie had always known how to pick her battles. The family figured it was a passing fad, except that after graduation she decided to move to Utah. Still, Mom and Dad seemed okay with that. They paid for beauty school in Salt Lake City, and within a very short time Suzie was baptized a Mormon and engaged to Rob.

  Once Suzie left home, I muddled through my teen years, losing myself in books to cope with the sudden weirdness of being an only child. I was the outdoorsy, studious type, not suited to following in the shadow of my popular older sister. She was the cheerleader; I was the bookworm who took long, solitary walks in the country.

  I managed to get two dates while in high school, one of them with the younger brother of the Mormon boy who had introduced Suzie to the church. I have to admit to not being the friendliest girl that evening. I didn’t want him to invite me to his church in hopes that I’d be like Suzie and want to join. Religion didn’t interest me. I’d had quite enough of it growing up as a pastor’s kid.

  I graduated from the University of Illinois with an English degree and hopeful plans to land an editing job in New York City. I sent off resumes, got a few promising interviews but no job offer. There was one particular position at Redbook that I felt sure about, but they ended up hiring in house. This would have been my dream position. Disappointed doesn’t begin to describe how I felt at losing that opportunity. That’s when I looked to Utah.

  By this time, Suzie and Rob had four beautiful little blonde girls and plenty of extra room in their brand new house. She kept begging me to come to Salt Lake City. I came out for a long visit, just to see, and found a job and an apartment within a week of arrival. I took it as a sign that I had made the right decision.

  Then while working at Books and More, I met Jeremy London who basically ruined the rest of my life.

  Despite Suzie’s subtle comments about me becoming a Mormon, it would never happen. I gave up church the day I left home. I still believed in God and I prayed to God every day, but I didn’t want anything to do with organized religion.

  “Do you think I should grow out my hair and add highlights?” I said to change the subject.

  “Definitely. You’re approaching the Big Three Oh. It’s time to add some sparkle and pizzazz.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  I fingered my bangs. I wasn’t sure about the highlights, but I liked the idea of letting my hair grow longer. Long and sexy and I am so over you, Jeremy. What was the name of that last book I’d read? You’re Hot and He’s Not. Yeah, Jeremy, take that. I’ll show you with my long mane of wild brown hair with golden highlights. Or maybe red.

  Suzie pumped the chair down and I jumped out.

  For years we had this nice bartering agreement: hair care and beauty treatments in exchange for babysitting, although lately I hadn’t done much babysitting. I had been too busy working. Besides, the girls were older, and there were enough of them for Suzie to always have someone around to watch the little ones as needed.

  Generally our relationship felt one-sided, with Suzie being there for me and me not doing much for her in return. She had it all—looks, money, confidence, gorgeous home and family—although she could have used more alone time which I, strangely enough, had in abundance these days. Funny how life always seems lopsided that way. One person has too much family, another doesn’t have any. I sit at home bored and unemployed while others rush around with never enough time, going to work and back, frantically trying to fit in the shopping to get food into the house.

  How I used to be.

  Before I left, Suzie loaded me up with supplies from her pantry and leftovers from the fridge.

  “Suz! Don’t give me stuff. I’m doing fine. I’m not broke, just unemployed and bored out of my mind.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m a compulsive grocery shopper, you kn
ow that. I buy it because it looks good, and then there’s more than I can keep up with. Do me a favor and take this off my hands.” She shoved an overflowing box of goodies into my arms.

  Arguing with her was pointless. I maneuvered it into position for carrying out to my car and said, “Speaking of going bad, guess who I saw with some ho yesterday?”

  Suzie got an alarmed look. “Not Jeremy?”

  I nodded. “I popped over to Fashion Place for applications, and that’s when I saw him and this red-haired chick in the shoe department at Nordstroms.”

  We headed to the foyer. I shifted the heavy box in my arms.

  “Did he see you?” Suzie pushed open the front door and a blast of winter air rushed in.

  “I don’t think so. They sat there while she tried on boots, you know, pretty engaged with these skanky high-heeled red boots and with each other.”

  Suzie turned to me and widened her eyes liked she begged to differ. “I have a pair of high-heeled red boots. They aren’t skanky.”

  “Well, these were, Suz, believe me, and don’t argue about it. She was a slut and her boots were garbage.”

  I stepped onto the porch to let Suzie close the door. She came out too, leaving the front door wide open like it was July instead of February. She hugged me around the box.

  “Oh, Karoline, I am truly sorry about all this. It’s got to be hard for you, seeing Jeremy around town like that. Knowing he’s out there where you can run into him when you least expect it.”

  “A painful reminder but still better than being married to him.” I thought back to the Incident three years ago, half-way through our marriage, and to the ill-fated anniversary dinner that ended everything. “At least I finally had the guts to throw him out.”

  “Now, seriously, sweetie, it’s time to move on. We have to find you a new job and a new man, and you can put the misery behind you.”

  Move on. Yes, I really needed to do that.

  We said our goodbyes and I went into the freezing cold morning out to my car. As I set Suzie’s container of groceries in my trunk, I noticed a pink envelope stuck between a jar of spaghetti sauce and a two pound bag of brown rice.

  I climbed into the driver’s seat and opened it, pulling out a card that said “Sisters Forever.” Inside was a hundred dollar bill folded over, along with Suzie’s message written in her girly scrawl: You will get through this! Rob and I want to help! Don’t say no! Your big sister and BFF, Suz (Smiley faces and hearts)

  I had to smile despite my annoyance at being treated like I was twelve.

  Brown Rice Casserole

  ½ package l lb. bag brown rice

  Spaghetti sauce, 1 jar

  ½ onion, diced

  3 stalks celery, diced

  2 carrots, peeled and diced

  1 clove garlic, minced

  1 tablespoon olive oil

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon dried oregano

  Cook brown rice according to package directions until just tender. While rice is cooking, sauté vegetables in olive oil on top of stove until carrots are tender but not soft. Combine cooked rice, sautéed vegetables, salt, oregano, jar of spaghetti sauce together in casserole dish. Add a little water if too dry.

  Bake at 350º F until heated through. Serves four—or one, with lots of leftovers.

  Chapter Nine

  While waiting to get a real job in the rapidly-dwindling mortgage industry, I applied for temp work and got a brief stint as a candy wrapper, working with a group of non-English-speaking women. We tried to communicate through gestures and simple Spanish. I would say, “Como esta?” They would smile back and say, “Muy bien, gracias.” Then what? More smiles and nods, back to work, our social interaction done for the day.

  We finally settled on ignoring each other except for the routine hi and bye. It was a rather friendless situation but at least it gave me a little income and a regular routine.

  I got the occasional receptionist gig, filling in when someone took maternity leave, which seemed to happen a lot. I never saw so many pregnant women as I did since coming to Utah. Kids were everywhere—little kids accompanied by the under-thirty adults who were their parents. I felt old. Where else in the world would a twenty-nine year old divorcée feel old?

  But it was me not them. It was the deadly combination of weight gain, inactivity and emotional blockage with possibly a hint of depression.

  I found it more difficult to get out and jog like I had always done. I tired easily, likely from the weight gain. All the same, I kept plodding along with my healthy eating regimen and finally settled in with only five pounds left to lose. I figured that would come off once I forced myself back to an exercise routine. I needed to get to the gym, start running, take some hikes in the mountains—anything but spend empty afternoons poring over old journals, looking for clues to the unsolved mystery that had been my marriage.

  There was the day we had gone to his mom’s house after having a huge fight. It was after we had essentially given up on trying to get pregnant and before the Incident. My suspicions were high that Jeremy was cheating on me, although of course he denied it. He always denied everything. He was the King of Denial.

  In the car on the way over I snapped at him, “Are you going to let me have any kind of conversation with your mom today, Jeremy, or will it be another dialogue censored by you?”

  It was like he didn’t want me to get close to her. He never left us alone together but would hover right there, veering the conversation to what he considered safe topics. No religion. No talking about the past. No personal questions. Nothing about Jeremy as a boy, or anything about his childhood.

  This was when I was mad at him all the time. I was angry about his drinking, his attraction to pornography, his avoidance of our apartment, and I was mad about how he had become increasingly distant. It didn’t take much to set me off.

  Jeremy shrugged and looked straight ahead, ignoring me as usual.

  I egged him on. “I’m an adult, you know. Your mom and I can talk on the phone if we want. I don’t need your permission to call her up or visit.”

  “Sure, Karoline, talk to her all you want,” he said. “Call her on the phone. That I’d like to see. For one thing, you two have nothing in common and second, you’re too busy working to give a thought to anything but your precious career.”

  I turned and bored a hole in his head with my eyes. Not that it did any good. He kept looking at the road and acted like he didn’t notice me staring daggers at him.

  “Who’s talking about a precious career? Listen to you. The novel. The agent. The advance. The launch. The royalties. God, Jeremy! I am sick to death of hearing about your dumb novel. And you say all I care about is my career? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

  It was a Saturday afternoon, the day I had to catch up on household tasks like laundry, shopping, cleaning, the usual errand-running; and Jeremy liked to take off and go write, leaving the menial tasks to me. The rising star of Jeremy London, Novelist, couldn’t be bothered with picking up dry cleaning. Not when he had “revisions to do.” I gave up my Saturday for this?

  My arms folded tightly across my chest, I stared out the side window. Two could play this game. He didn’t want to talk? Fine. I wouldn’t talk. When we got to his mom’s house, I’d stay quiet and let Jeremy carry the burden of conversation.

  Ha! See how he likes that.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. I kept expecting him to turn the car around and was surprised when he pulled into her driveway. I wondered about the wisdom of coming. I had figured spending an hour or two together on a Saturday would be good for us, and besides, it had been months since I’d seen his mom. Angry and snappish, should we really go inside with this dark mood hanging over us?

  Jeremy got out of the car and headed for the front door. I followed, slamming the passenger door shut, wishing I were at home cleaning the kitchen. Jerk!

  Mrs. London was sitting in her chair like always. The TV was blaring out d
irections on how to build window boxes for planting annuals. She turned it to mute and waved us in, nonchalantly, as though we stopped by regularly about this time of day.

  “Hi, Mom,” greeted Jeremy, striding over to give her a welcome hug.

  “Hello, son,” she returned.

  I let them have their moment then also leaned down for a brief hug.

  “Hello, dear,” Mrs. London said to me. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Sorry we haven’t been over more often, Mrs. London. Things have been busy,” I replied, making our lame excuses.

  Her first name was Pauline but I felt strange calling her that, especially since she had never told me to. “Please, call me Pauline,” she might have said. Nor had she asked me to call her mom, for which I was glad. We didn’t have that kind of relationship, and it would have felt forced and awkward.

  The place was in its usual state. We moved stuff aside and seated ourselves on the sofa that half-faced the TV and half-faced Mrs. London’s recliner. Jeremy, as always when at his mother’s house, was restless. I was sure our arguing in the car on the way over didn’t help. He jumped up and went to the kitchen for a drink.

  “Get Karoline a Diet Coke, Jeremy,” Mrs. London called after him. “There’s a case of it in the pantry. It’ll be warm though so put it in a glass with ice.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. London,” I said. She knew Diet Coke was my drink of choice and kept it on hand for me.

  “He should have asked if you wanted one,” she said, looking askance at the kitchen. “Where’s his manners? I taught him better than that.”

  I didn’t want to tell her we’d been fighting. Let her go ahead and think her son was an ill-mannered oaf.

  “How have you been?” I asked politely.

  “Not too bad. Except that my knees have been acting up so I can hardly stand on them.”