by Nancy Moser
“Stop looking for God?”
She shrugged. “Not in so many words, but now I see that’s what happened. I got so wrapped up in seeing what Mick wanted me to see . . .”
“He blinded you. He was a roadblock for you. He got you sidetracked from seeing God and—” King hesitated—“and maybe even from being who God wants you to be.”
Margery nodded and her eyes flitted across the table, as if she were skimming through incident after incident in her past, seeing the truth for the first time. “Years ago, when I was tiny, Grammy told me I would do good. I might not change the entire world, but I could change the world of the people close around me.” She looked up and blinked twice. “She said I’d be the good nearby.”
“The what?”
“The good nearby. Good that’s close around us. All around. Doing good for people who are nearby.” She looked at King, then at Gladys. “Like you two. You are the good nearby more than I am. You’ve done so much good for me. To me.”
Gladys felt embarrassed. “We’ve just done what needed to be done. Nothing that spec—”
Margery put a hand on hers. “Very special. Where would I be right now without your good help?”
Gladys tried to think of an answer but couldn’t.
Margery withdrew her hand. “I can’t believe I’m remembering all this stuff. After all these years.”
“God has lifted the veil from your eyes. ‘I was blind, and now I can see!’” King quoted.
Gladys took the words literally. Hopefully . . . someday soon . . .
Margery was speaking again. “I guess you’re right about me getting sidetracked by Mick. I felt like I needed to be his good nearby, no matter how bad things got or how bad he treated me.” She shook her head, then looked at King. “Hearing that ‘Abide with Me’ song again . . . that wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
“There’s no such thing,” King said.
Gladys let out a huff. “Pooh to that.”
“To what?” King asked.
She hadn’t meant to start something. “Pooh to there being no such thing as a coincidence. Coincidences happen by the dozens every day.”
King shook his head. “God things happen by the dozens every day.”
“By luck, not by any divine intervention.”
King looked at her incredulously. Then he turned his attention to Margery. “What happened to you today was a blessing from God himself. A message for you alone. It was his hand guiding you back to your roots. Letting you know it’s not too late to start over. Gladys and I heard the same song—as did hundreds of other people—and no one else got out of it what you did. You are important to God—every issue, moment, thought, act, and breath of your life is important to him and—” he took a fresh breath—“and Gladys is wrong.”
He looked at Gladys and she at him. “How am I supposed to respond to that?” Gladys asked.
“Ask me why you’re wrong.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
“Chicken?”
Never. Gladys angled her body toward his. “Fine. Why am I wrong?”
“How’s this for starters? ‘What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.’”
“Oooh,” Margery said softly.
King closed his eyes and recited: “‘I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart.’” He opened them. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Gladys crossed her arms. “Have you been saving those verses just for me?”
“Just for me,” he said. He smiled and bumped his shoulder into hers. “But I’m willing to share.”
Margery’s eyes were lit up like beacons. “I know that last one! Grammy told it to me when I was little. She said it means my life is important and has purpose.”
King jumped on it. “The same verse received from two sources . . . God obviously wants you to take it to heart.”
Oh please. Gladys rolled her eyes.
Margery sat back as if King’s words possessed the power to push her there.
The effect of his words on Gladys was different. She felt deflated. Although she and God had come to terms, her time with him had not been joyous and he hadn’t given her any cool verse.
Why not?
She was certainly more educated than Margery, of better social standing, with a greater worldview and experience. She wasn’t a thief, the wife of a violent drug dealer, and had never slept in her car. Why would God give Margery a verse and a moment that made her all glowy and happy—and not give as much to Gladys?
The waitress came. The conversation moved on to other things.
But Gladys’s question remained.
* * *
Gennifer fingered the collar of her shirt as she looked out the window of Sarah’s hospital room. Douglas sat in a chair, flipping through a magazine.
Suddenly, Douglas snapped the pages shut. “I feel so useless.”
“You got that right,” Gennifer said.
Douglas set the magazine on the floor, rested his arms on his thighs, clasped his hands, then sat back, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “You think we should pray or something?”
Gennifer left the window’s view and looked at him, incredulous. “What brought that on?”
“In interviews and articles you hear people say things like ‘God answered our prayers.’” He took a breath. “We haven’t prayed. Maybe if we did, she’d wake up.”
“Boy, your conversion was easy. See a couple thank-the-Lord interviews and they’ve got you.”
“I’m not converted. But I don’t want to not do something that might help. And what can it hurt?”
He had a point. But next came the real problem. “So, let’s say we agree to do this. Do you have any idea how to go about it?”
He bit his lip. “I was hoping you—”
Gennifer laughed. “Why would you think I know anything about prayer?”
He hesitated. “You’re a lawyer; you’re good with words.”
He was right of course, but she also had the feeling that eloquence wasn’t a prayer requirement. If that were so, a lot of people would be out of luck.
Douglas slapped the arms of the chair. “So. You want to start?”
“Being your idea, I defer to you.”
He wiped his palms on his pants. “Okay then. For the sake of getting it done . . .” He clasped his hands and hung them between his knees. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Gennifer clasped her hands in front of her body and lowered her head too. But she didn’t close her eyes. That was going too far this first time out. If God didn’t like it, so be it.
“God?” Douglas began.
Gennifer thought that was a little abrupt, and probably would have gone with Lord, but she supposed God was better than To whom it may concern.
“Our daughter’s hurt. She’s unconscious and we’re worried about her. She’s a good girl and she didn’t deserve to go through this.”
Was that a cut? A subtle jab at Gennifer’s part in Mick’s attack?
“Please make her well. All the way well. If you do that, we’d be so happy. And we’re going to do better at being a family too.”
Gennifer didn’t think he needed to go there. This wasn’t a time for confession. Just ask God to heal Sarah and sign off. At least that’s how she would have handled it.
With a deep sigh and a squirm in his seat, Douglas added, “And I want to say that I’m sorry for being unfaithful to Gennifer. And she’s sorry for not telling me she was sick.”
Gennifer wasn’t exactly comfortable having Douglas apologize for her.
“We’re both sorry for doing things that pulled the family apart. We’ve confessed it to each other, and we’ve promised to be honest with each other, and nice and attentive an
d . . .”
He didn’t need to give God a laundry list of their faults.
Enough already.
“Anyway, take care of Sarah. Bring her back to us.”
Finally, an ending.
“Oh . . . and one more thing, God. Heal Gennifer too. She’s really sick and we want her well. We want her to be around a long time so we all can be a real family. Amen.”
Gennifer felt his eyes, but she couldn’t look at him. Not after that last bit. She’d never had anyone pray for her. She found it hard to breathe. Not that she really believed God was listening, but to hear her own husband say such things, ask for such things . . .
“Uhhhhhh.”
They turned toward the bed. Sarah let out a breath and took a new one. Her eyes fluttered.
“Sarah!” Douglas ran to her side.
Gennifer took her hand. “Come on, honey. Wake up. Open your eyes.”
And she did. As if she’d heard her mother’s order.
As if God . . .
Gennifer didn’t think about that now. She was too busy hugging her daughter.
* * *
Talia stood at the mirror in the master bathroom and applied her lipstick. Working weekends was the pits. Friday nights and Saturdays were bad enough, but Sundays?
It couldn’t be helped. Someone had to work in this family.
Not fair. And not nice. Thinking snide comments was a part of the old Talia. The new Talia . . .
Was still resentful. Great.
She heard the doorbell. With her mother off to visit Sarah at the hospital, Talia had been forced to call Margery to babysit. Husband-sit.
Hmm.
What she’d heard about Margery in the last twenty-four hours was shocking. It was Margery’s criminal husband who’d hurt her mother’s mentee. Since when did soft-spoken Margery from the drugstore have a criminal for a husband? Talia had been trusting her family to this woman and no one had thought to tell Talia about any of this?
And you didn’t ask. You were so desperate for help . . .
Talia fastened the clasp of her watch and searched the jewelry box for her silver hoop earrings. Actually, Talia knew she shouldn’t hold Margery accountable for her husband’s sins. The girl was obviously trying to start over. And Gladys had been the one to recommend her.
But still. For a woman to choose to marry such a man in the first place . . . that showed bad judgment. And if Margery had bad judgment in that, she might have bad judgment in other areas.
Talia found her earrings and headed downstairs, seeking—and finding—rationalization along the way. Margery’s husband was in jail. As far as Talia knew Margery had never done anything wrong. It would be okay.
Talia found Margery on the floor with Tomás, driving a Little People car up the ramp of the play garage, making the appropriate car sounds. Tomás watched, his mouth open, enraptured. Nesto sat in his chair nearby, beaming. What a lovely family picture.
Except Talia wasn’t in it. Margery was. Talia’s stomach grabbed oddly.
Nesto looked up. “Hey, meu amor. Margery’s here.”
“I see that.” She transferred her wallet and makeup case from her black purse to the brown one. “I hate to leave you with the dinner duty again, Margery, but it can’t be helped.”
“I don’t mind.”
Talia put a sticky note on the doorjamb leading to the kitchen. “There’s a hamburger-and-rice casserole ready to pop in the oven. Three-fifty for forty-five minutes. Tomás loves it.”
“Me too,” Nesto said.
Talia corrected herself. “The boys love it. There’s Jell-O in the fridge. Feel free to slice a banana in it.” She thought of her cell phone. Where had she left it? There it was, by the mail. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make any dessert. You’ll have to make do.”
“Maybe we could make some cookies,” Margery said. “Would that be okay?”
Before Talia could answer, Nesto said, “Oatmeal raisin.”
“We’re out of raisins,” Talia said.
“Do you have nuts?” Margery asked.
“Top shelf of the pantry.”
Margery turned to Nesto. “Do you like nuts?”
“I’m nuts about them.”
Since when had Nesto gained a witty bone?
Talia gathered her things and left. Happy family sounds drifted after her.
* * *
Angie turned into the hospital parking lot and did a double take. Driving out in a pale blue Jaguar was Gennifer Mancowitz and her husband. The one thing that had kept her from coming to see Sarah again was the chance of running into the angry mother. At least now the coast was clear.
As she approached Sarah’s room, she heard a glorious sound—Sarah’s voice.
Angie rushed inside. A hospital attendant was putting a tray of food on the wheeled bed table.
“Hi,” Sarah said.
“You’re okay,” Angie said.
“I’m hungry.” Sarah pointed to the food.
“That’s a good sign,” the attendant said to Sarah. “You going to be all right now?”
“Angie can help if I need it.”
Angie felt a lump in her throat. The attendant left and Sarah removed a silver cover from a bowl of broth. “Smells good.”
Angie hurried to help, moving the lid, offering her the napkin, taking the plastic wrap off the bowl of orange Jell-O.
Sarah took a spoonful. “Not bad.”
“So you still trust me?” Angie asked. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m sorry all this happened. I—”
“Mom and Dad were here when I woke up.”
Angie nodded. “I saw them leaving the parking lot.”
“I heard them praying. In my sleep. They don’t pray.”
“Apparently they do. For you.”
“I woke up,” Sarah said.
“I’m glad.”
“I love orange Jell-O.” She looked up at Angie. “How do you make Jell-O for fifty people?”
“Why would you want to—?”
“Not me. You. At the shelter with your new job. Everybody likes Jell-O, but how do you make it for so many people?”
Angie moved the glass of apple juice closer so Sarah could reach it. “I’ve decided not to take the job.”
A spoonful of Jell-O stopped in midair, hanging precariously above the broth. “Why not?”
Her previous reason—because Stanford said she couldn’t—was limp and without strength. Besides, now that she was on her own she could do what she wanted.
“You have to do it. Take the job.”
“Why?”
“Because most people wouldn’t.” Sarah took a bite of Jell-O. “My mother wouldn’t.”
Angie did not want to come between Sarah and her mother. “But she does other things to help—”
“But not that.” Sarah’s eyes were deep with intensity, making her look older than her seventeen years. “Most people don’t want to go to the shelter. You do. You don’t mind. You were happy helping.”
And there it was. Said so simply yet armed with the strength of truth. Then suddenly, out of the annals of Angie’s memories, came words from Stanford that completely contradicted Sarah’s words: “Anybody can do that job.”
Perhaps anybody could do the job, but would they? Did they?
“Weren’t you happy there?” Sarah asked.
“I was.”
Sarah set down her spoon. “That proves it’s right.”
Maybe it did. Maybe it was that simple.
“I’m going back,” Sarah said, taking up the spoon again. “You said I could help figure out the menus. As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll go online and get you recipes for a crowd.” Sarah picked up a plastic water pitcher. “Can you get me some more water, please?”
And that was that.
* * *
Josh Cashinski’s bear hug could have broken ribs. Angie was happy for his exuberance, but relieved when he let he
r go.
“You won’t be sorry,” he said, then immediately amended his words. “Actually, you probably will have bucketloads of second, third, and tenth thoughts—maybe even hourly during mealtime—but hold on to this: you’ve made the right decision. I know it.”
“Thank—”
He took her arm and led her toward the kitchen. “Come on. It’s time for the chef to get a grand tour.”
And that, was also that.
And more than that, it was good. Very good.
* * *
Gennifer was exhausted. But even though she and Douglas were home for a respite from the hospital, even though they’d both decided to take naps—Gennifer upstairs, and Douglas in the living room below—she couldn’t sleep. So much had happened. Too much for her mind to release.
After trying for a half hour, she decided to go downstairs. Maybe a bowl of soup would calm her. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she heard Douglas’s voice. Just his voice. He must have been on the phone in the kitchen. And by his hushed tone, he wasn’t talking to the hospital or to anyone at work.
Instinctively, she tiptoed down a few steps, then froze, listening.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Dorothy. But I love my wife. Always have. And now that she’s open to loving me back, letting me in; now that we’ve found each other again . . .”
Gennifer pressed a hand against her chest. He loved her. Everything he’d said before was true. Sincere. Real. He did want things to work.
“I know,” he continued. “And it was wrong. I’ve done so many things wrong. That’s why it has to stop. Now. Again, I’m sorry, I really—”
Dorothy must have hung up on him because he didn’t finish the sentence. Suddenly he appeared in the doorway between kitchen and living room. Gennifer’s muscles tensed, but it was too late to flee.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
They shared an awkward silence. Might as well get to the point. “I heard.”
“I’m glad.”
She came down the stairs. “Want some soup?”
He waited for her in the doorway. When she passed by, he took her hand and kissed her cheek.
* * *
Gennifer didn’t want to call into work, but she knew she should.
And so she did.