by Britney King
I make my way over, carefully sitting on the edge of my bed. I don’t feel righteous. I feel numb. I feel weak. I feel like sleeping forever. I feel like getting the hell out of here.
“I don’t understand.” I look over at my roommate. She raises her brow like she expects me to say something. I rub at my eyes with the palms of my hands, willing myself to wake from this nightmare.
“Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. James 5:16”
A small laugh escapes my lips. Pray. It makes me want to play in traffic. Prayer can’t help me now.
“Okay, fine.” I relent. “I get it. This is a mental institution.”
“It’s no such thing,” she says, contradicting me. Her tone is pleasant. Sweet even. “This is The New Hope Center for Rejuvenation.”
“Really.” My eyes narrow. “What kind of rejuvenation are you in for?”
“Whoa, you really are new.” She sets her book aside. “Like brand new.”
She is legitimately crazy. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t know what’s worse, being in here alone or being in here with someone who is of no use to me.
“Anyway,” she continues, trying to change my mind. “We’re not supposed to tell.” I feel like I could be good with this. It’s not like I’m getting anywhere anyway. Eventually, her face breaks into a full grin. “But tell you what…if you show me yours…I’ll show you mine.”
Her offer feels like a test and only alcohol makes me swing that way so I tell her thanks but no thanks.
She nods at my waist. “Your surgery—”
I know then to lie. It always helps in situations where one is unsure. Call it a power play. “I lost the baby.”
“I heard that.” She looks away, exhaling deeply. I watch as her breath comes slow and heavy. This could get me somewhere, I can see. “I’m sorry.”
My mouth folds in. “It’s for the best.” Her sympathy feeds me. Like one of those gel packs marathoners use. A quick hit. It’s something. But it’s not enough.
Her face turns serious. “I didn’t mean…”
I stare at the door. I pretend my mind is somewhere else, on something outside of this room. She needs space to give me what I want. I give it to her.
“My breast enhancement is tomorrow,” she offers finally. “But I had vaginal rejuvenation last month, so if it’s any consolation, I know what you’re going through.”
I feel it then. I’m not sore from the exam that confirmed my uterus is empty. It’s more than that. When I look at her, I see it in her eyes. I think I’m going to be sick.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Vanessa offers a sympathetic look before nodding to the puke bucket at the foot of my bed.
I can’t help myself. I hurl into the container, white-knuckling the sides. My stomach is empty. I hardly manage any bile, so mostly, I just dry-heave.
It feels like it takes forever for the waves to stop but when they finally subside, I breathe deeply. In and out. In and out.
“Don’t worry,” she says quietly. There is hope in her voice. “Your recovery won’t be so bad. It’s your head you’ll have to work to get right.”
I want to tell her she is wrong. There’s nothing that can help me there. I bite the inside of my cheek instead.
A windowless room. So there are no distractions, I would later learn. White walls, for purity of thought. Ten chairs in a circle, to face one another. We all wear hospital gowns like patients.
“Gather round, ladies,” an old woman announces. “It’s circle time.”
She softly claps her hands as we file into the open room, taking our seats one by one in perfect synchronization.
“What is circle time?” I whisper to the woman to my right. She doesn’t answer, so I turn to Vanessa on my left. I still haven’t decided if I can trust her, but the unexpected is rarely a good thing, and I want to know what I’m walking into. Usually, she’s not much help. She talks without saying anything. Still, I listen. I know that she has a young son, but that she’s not in a hurry to get home. Not like the others, she says. In here she tells me she has time to think—and at least she gets to go to the bathroom on her own.
“You have to watch your back,” she replies under her breath.
That much I know. I’ve always known.
“Don’t worry,” she offers as she folds her hands in prayer. I wait expectantly for her to go on until she elbows me so I do the same. “The first time is the hardest.”
I have no idea what she means. I wasn’t the one weeping last night. Now, I’m exhausted, which I want to tell her makes watching my back a little more difficult.
I asked the woman who escorted me to the bathroom this morning when I get to make a phone call.
She only laughed and said, this isn’t jail.
“All right, ladies, take your seats,” the matronly woman instructs the group. Finally, the clapping ends. The fog ends. I feel like I can think again. I count six of us.
“Yesterday there were women in those chairs,” the girl next to me whispers.
I don’t ask what happened to them. The old woman claps her hands, only once, and louder this time. Everyone waits. All eyes are on hers. Hands folded. Ankles crossed. I glance around and follow suit.
“Let’s begin with introductions, shall we?”
There is hesitation in the room. This, a touch of loneliness, expectation, and also something I can’t name.
“As some of you are new, I’ll go first,” the woman says. She wears a floral, full-skirted dress. The kind school teachers used to wear back in the old days. “You may call me Mrs. Elizabeth.” Addressing her this way, the direction, this is the first thing anyone has said that makes any sense.
“Now,” she points at Vanessa. “It’s your turn.”
My roommate stands. Her face is expressionless. It’s her hands I watch. She picks at the cuticle on her thumb with her pointer finger as she speaks. It’s the only blemish in an otherwise perfect manicure. “My name is Vanessa.”
“And what brings you here to the rejuvenation center, Vanessa?”
She digs deeper. She picks harder. The skin peels back. Blood rises to the surface “I wasn’t attentive enough at home.”
“Elaborate please,” the woman demands. “So that we may all have a better understanding.” Her voice rises with each word she speaks. It bounces off the walls and sticks itself between my ears. It’s a nasty sound, the kind you’d be fine with never hearing again.
Vanessa’s eyes are glued to the floor. But her voice is calm and low. “Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”
“Well said.” Mrs. Elizabeth smiles proudly. “Verse please.”
Vanessa’s eyes shift. “Timothy 5:8.”
Finally, Mrs. Elizabeth motions for her to take her seat. “Don’t forget—” she says to Vanessa but every bit as much to the rest of us. “God is in the detail.”
The women nod in unison as though this is the most profound statement they’ve ever heard.
Next, Mrs. Elizabeth looks at me. “Your turn, dear.”
I stand. The truth is, I don’t know why I am here. But I do know one thing. “I am a liar,” I say. And before she can ask me to expand upon that sentiment, I offer the only Bible verse I know, one my mother taught me. “All men are liars.”
Chapter Twelve
Tom
Everyone is replaceable— everyone. Even your grandparents who've celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. If they hadn’t married each other, they would have married someone else. If you can’t comprehend this simple, yet profound truth, you certainly don't understand people enough to manipulate them. Your world will begin to make more sense once you grasp this lesson.
Speaking of lessons, Melanie’s absence has given me a lot of time to think. It’s quiet without her around. Tidier too.
It would have been bad enough h
ad my lovely wife deceived me and me alone. But, that wasn’t the case. Given Adam knows about her past, obviously other members of the leadership are aware as well. Her deception doesn’t make me look good. In fact, it makes me look weak. That’s why Melanie had to be reprimanded. Not only is she a liar, there was a point that demanded to be proven.
Often when one is called into battle, it is apparent that the best way to go about a thing is indirectly. Keep your hands clean, as my father liked to say. If your opponent hasn’t a clue what you are up to, a defense cannot be prepared.
I haven’t a clue what Melanie’s defense will be. But I know how to find out. For this reason, I start with Beth for answers.
“How is she?” I say to her over the phone.
It takes her a second to respond.
“Beth?”
“Oh…um…I haven’t heard much other than the surgery went well.”
“Surgery?” My gut sets. “I thought she was just going in for reprogramming.”
“You weren’t happy with her, Tom.” She sighs. “So we freshened her up a bit.”
I take this for what it is. A sign. They don’t think my wife’s lie was big enough to extricate her, but they want her to pay for what she’s done. It isn’t that I don’t. The church and I, we often have different ideas where retribution is concerned. “She’s recovering from the loss of a pregnancy…”
“Best to get it all over with at once,” Beth assures me. “This way she’ll return to you good as new.”
“How long will that be?” I know the statistics on single men and I have no intention of living that way.
“Hard to say.”
“It’s her first offense.”
“Tom, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t ask for me to fix her and then say you want her back before the fixing is done.”
“Well, I’d like to see her.”
“And you will.”
“When?” Specifics is what I’m after. If the enemy is settled, make them move.
“Give her some time, Tom.” I hear the smile in Beth’s voice. “You know what they say, about absence making the heart grow fonder. Melanie needs to learn her lesson. And trust me,” she says. I’d be willing to bet she’s broken into full grin. “It’ll be a pleasant surprise for the both of you.”
Beth is wrong. I hate surprises. I say nothing.
“It’ll be like a whole new woman coming outta there.”
I think about the other morning in the kitchen and realize maybe Beth has a point. But I can’t let her think she’s won entirely. “Man should not be without his wife,” I tell her. “We’re practically newlyweds.”
My thoughts drift back to the lasagna I found this morning in the freezer. “Melanie had been preparing meals ahead of time in preparation for the baby.” A girl after my own heart. “Maybe I exaggerated things a little.”
Beth holds her resolve. Which means I must as well. “This will be good for you both. You just have to let go just a bit. Let us do our job.”
“She color coordinated my canned goods.” When I asked about it, she’d said she was bored. Maybe bringing her here was too much too soon.
“Tom.” I hear the warning in Beth’s tone.
“I miss her.”
“I thought you preferred alphabetical order,” she counters unexpectedly. I forgot she knew June.
“I thought so, too. And you know what Melanie said to that?”
“No. What?”
“She said it’s important things are not only functional but that they look good.”
Beth scoffs. “She’s good, Tom. But she could be better. We agreed on that. That’s why she’s at the center. That’s what we’re working on.”
“I like the way she looks.”
“I’m sure you do,” Beth tells me. “But you called me. Remember? Which means she isn’t yet functional, is she?”
Speaking of things that weren’t functional…Michael showed up at the office one afternoon. That was the good news. I hadn’t seen my business partner in three days. Thankfully, he was sober. In fact, he looked good. Clear-headed. The bad was that once again, Mark Jones was in tow.
“Tom,” Michael said boisterously. “Mark has presented me with an offer I think you should take a look at.”
Conveniently, he left out the part about where he’d been and why he hadn’t shown up to work. A stack of papers was slid across my desk. “I would like to purchase your house,” Mark Jones informed me. “You can live there rent free so long as you agree to serve as New Hope’s accountant.”
My eyes met his. “How did you know my house was up for sale?”
I’d expected him to say Michael had told him. He didn’t say that. “We pay attention, very close attention, to people of interest.”
“I can assure you I’m not that interesting.”
“On the contrary, we think you would be a good fit for our team. Considering—” He turned to my business partner, “How Michael here has talked you up.”
I pushed the stack of papers away, back in Mark’s direction. “I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer at this time.”
“Tom—” Michael cleared his throat. “They’re helping me get sober. You wouldn’t believe it. I feel better than I have in months.”
“I’m glad.”
“Tom, come on. Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m not interested.”
Michael furrowed his brow. “I really think you ought to give this some thought.”
“Mr. Anderson,” Mark cut in to help him. “Is something wrong with the offer?”
“It doesn’t solve my business problems.”
“About that—”He opened his suit jacket and pulled from it a piece of paper. “We are prepared to pay you this…as well as offer free tuition for your children to our exceptionally rated private school.”
I glanced at the floor briefly before meeting his eye. I’m aware of the cost of putting two kids through private school, and I’m aware of the cost of having to yank them out. “Your offer is very generous,” I said as I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “But I’m afraid I can’t accept this.”
“I’m almost offended,” Mark said.
“I am offended,” Michael said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
The following evening I arrived home to find Mark Jones and his wife Beth having coffee in my living room. Iced coffee with milk, like my father drank. June always said she hated it and yet there she sat, glass half empty.
After exchanging pleasantries, I asked my wife to meet me in the kitchen. “Have you spoken with Michael?”
“Who?” She wasn’t expecting me to lead with that. Recognition passed over her face. “God, no. Why?”
I wipe at a smudge on the counter. A perfectly clean house, and still there’s this, one little blemish. “No reason.”
“I really think we should take them up on this offer,” June said, her voice hushed. “The kids will get to go back to private school. We’d get to keep the house…”
I wiped down the rest of the counter just in case. “Define private school. Define keep.”
“Come on, Tom.” She took the dishtowel from my hand. “What do we have to lose?”
“Except everything?”
“I don’t think you’re seeing this clearly.”
“Why would I take a job with a church? I am not a religious man.”
“So? It’s a paycheck,” she said. She placed her hands on her hips. “What does religion have to do with balancing their books and investing their money?”
“Everything, I’d be willing to bet.”
She sighed heavily. This is what she did when she was defeated which wasn’t often. Or, as I was learning, not often enough. She motioned with her head toward the living room. “I’ll get rid of them,” I said but when I turned Mark Jones was standing in the doorway of our kitchen. “Now, now.” He held his palms face up. “There’s no pressure, here. Really. I’m sorry if we’ve given the wrong
impression.”
I lifted the tray from the counter and handed it to June. “Excuse me,” she said, looking from me to Mark and back. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I promised Beth more tea.”
I watched her walk out and then I turned my attention to Mark. “I hate to disappoint you, but I haven’t anything left to say.”
“Listen, Tom.” Mark said, leaning back against the counter. “I’m not going to lie. I, myself, was not always a man of God.” He glanced toward the living room, toward the sound of laughter, and then back at me. “But I think you’re missing the bigger point, and I don’t want you to miss the opportunity that goes along with it.”
“Like I said—”
“You see, the thing is… I can relate to your position. Adam is the real fanatic where New Hope is concerned. Me…I consider it more of a social experiment. A lifestyle, if you will. Along the lines of an exclusive country club—only—and I’m sure you can understand this—with tax benefits built right in.”
“I don’t think—”
He cut me off again. “What I’m really looking to create within the New Hope community is something that spans time, something that exceeds all boundaries of religion. I have a vision of the way things could be. And I was hoping you could help with this.”
“I don’t think that is possible.” I didn’t explain why. I didn’t think it was any of his business.
“Every religion follows a set of principles, if you will,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. “I want to create our own.”
I waited for him to continue. I, too, surveyed the kitchen. Everything was in order. Almost.
“Beth has already gotten started on this, but she can only see to a certain point, if you catch my drift.”
I didn’t catch his drift, exactly. Although, I had just briefly met his wife, and if he meant that she was a little on the unintelligent side, then yes. “Principles are not the easiest thing to create. Most of them already exist.”
“Precisely,” he agreed. “And you seem like a man who prides himself on excellence. I’ve seen what you can do. I’m aware of how meticulous you are.” He motioned around my kitchen. It wasn’t spotless. There was a speck of dried tomato sauce from last night’s dinner just above the range. He missed that. “We do not blindly make offers like the one your family has received. The goal with New Hope has never been to create just another church. We’re not interested in another run-of-the-mill Christian organization. No, we want something bigger. We want an entire community who prides itself on excellence. Just take a look around—”