by Robyn Carr
“That's okay. Heat it up for me, will you, and then make a fresh pot for your sister. How is the grande dame?”
“She wasn't too well last night. I haven't heard from her yet this morning.” Then, in a whisper for Joe's ears only, she added, “Boy was she plastered.”
Joe surprised her with a laugh. “She'll pay for it. That kind of fun doesn't come free.”
“Fun? You think she had fun?”
“For a while she had a great time. I could hardly drive, she had me laughing so hard. Didn't she tell you she had fun?”
“No,” Terry murmured, hiding her eyes.
“Done, Chuck? Go brush your teeth and get some tennis shoes for the gym. And some shorts. You too, Mark. Is it coffee yet, Terry?”
“Coming up. How's that for service?”
“What did she say, Terry?”
“She was a little depressed.”
“A little depressed?”
Terry was going to cry herself if he pushed her. Joe could see the struggle. Bev was not a little depressed. She was probably a complete wreck. Choking and wailing. Ready to quit.
“I'm worried about her, Joe. I think she's had about all she can take. She wants everyone to think she's strong, tough. I don't think she really is. I don't know how much... and the boys—”
“What about the boys?”
She repeated what Mark had said. “It figures,” Joe commented. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my taking the boys has nothing to do with Bev. I usually take some kids to the gym on Saturdays. I like kids. Always have.”
“I know, Joe. I'm not accusing you or anything.”
“Just because I preach for a living doesn't mean you have to trust me, Terry. I'm just a human being. I want to be a good one, but mostly I'm just another man. I'll see what I can do about Bev.”
“Um, Joe?”
“What?”
“About Bev, well, she's decided she doesn't believe in God anymore. She used to pray, Joe. She and Bob always went to church and she was rather proud of that.”
“Oh?”
“Just 'oh'? I told you she doesn't know God anymore. Isn't this your area of expertise?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I'll introduce her sometime.”
Oh, Bev wasn't going to like that. “I shouldn't have said anything.”
“Did you think I wouldn't find out? Come on, don't worry about it. Lots of people lose faith and stumble along. Bev hasn't lost God; He still believes in her. She's just lost direction and is a little short on perspective right now. She'll be needing someone to help her out with that.”
“I wish I could.”
“I think it's better if it's me, Terry.” Joe smiled and patted her on the head. “Especially since it's probably going to make her mad. Besides, don't you have a Steve somebody to worry about? Can't you just leave Bev to me for a while?”
Terry studied Joe's face. “Terry,” he said with grave seriousness. “She'll be safe. And I want to.”
She nodded just as the boys were running to the front door while pulling on jackets. She watched as Joe and the boys went out to the car.
Joe started the whole thing. He flung the first snowball and he got them going. It took nearly as long for them to get to the car as it did to eat breakfast. Joe called a truce on the snowball fight, two against one, no fair. He wouldn't let them get into the car, the church's car. He pulled a blanket out of the back and spread it across the front seat. Then they all got in and drove away.
“Come on, God,” Terry prayed earnestly. “Let's not waste a lot of time on this one, please. Amen.”
Beverly's head hurt. Boy did it hurt, and the noise was unbearable. She didn't know if she could handle it any longer. She would die if Terry didn't stop making all that racket. She would kill herself if she didn't die first. It was too much.
“What noise? All I'm doing is drying my hair. I made you some coffee.”
“That's a good girl. Are the boys still asleep?”
“No, they're with Joe. He said you said it was okay,” she shouted over the hum of the blow drier.
“Terry! Can't that wait?”
“Sure. Bad, huh, Bev?”
“The worst. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Oops, bad simile. Ever been hung over, Terry?”
“I never get the chance,” she mumbled as she went to get Bev a cup of coffee.
“Why?”
“Because I usually puke after my second drink. I've never kept enough down to get hung over. Steve is the one who ends up holding my head, so he cuts me off early. Nothing worse than a sick drunk. Maybe I'm allergic.”
“Why didn't somebody cut me off... or at least shut me up?”
“Why? Did you step in it?”
“You wouldn't believe it.”
“You remember everything?”
“Everything.” Right down to Reverend Joe's britches. “I really made an ass of myself. Was Joe mad?”
“No. I'm surprised you even remember last night. You were really blasted.”
“I'm sorry, Terry. About the crying and all. Booze does that to me. Makes me crazy and mouthy.”
“And honest?”
“No, that was just the scotch. Things aren't all that bad. I'm doing real well, honey, honest. I had no business unloading on you. You have your own life to worry about. Don't worry about mine, okay?”
“You know what they say, Bev. Something about drunks and children never lying. You never mentioned Guy before.”
“Uh-oh.”
“You don't remember everything, do you?”
“Don't tell me. I don't even want to know. What did I say about Guy?”
“Well, make up your mind.”
'Tell me. What did I say about Guy?”
“I think... everything. If there's anymore, I don't want to know about it.”
Swell, Bev thought. A good little girl just learning about true love and honest sex and she briefed her on theories about sexual dysfunction and lousy lovers. What a nice big sister. “Well, I have no business giving you lectures on chastity anymore. Now you know.”
“Beverly, I wasn't born yesterday. Do you really think I don't understand why you were sleeping with Guy? Why didn't you tell him he was a dud?”
“Because. He didn't want to know.”
“As simple as that?”
“Yeah, sometimes it's just that simple. He wouldn't have heard me if I had told him. See, Bob was the kind of husband who wanted me to be happy and content in life, and in bed. So I wasn't prepared for someone like Guy. He didn't care about anyone but himself.”
“How did you break it off with him?”
“We just sort of wore it out, Terry. There was no way to communicate being together, so we couldn't communicate parting. I decided to move back to Ohio. He said, 'Gee, I'm really going to miss you, baby. Maybe I'll get a flight up there sometime.' It was really very easy.”
“That's too bad, Bev. I'm sorry that happened.”
“Yes, well, it's over and done. And nothing for you to worry about. You just love Steve and chances are you'll have a long, happy life with him. No reason you shouldn't.” Unless he just dies on you or something. “I'm fine. I'm hanging right in there.”
“Sure.”
“Are you going out tonight?”
“Do you need me here?”
“No.”
“Well, then I'll cook dinner for Steve and help him with his laundry, which is our usual wild Saturday night. But I'll sleep here again if it's okay. I have my key.”
“Is he picking you up?”
“He should be here now. I'd better get my hair dry.”
“And I better hide. I don't want to scare him.”
“Get off it, Beverly. You're beautiful even when you're hung over.”
Beverly the beautiful. Except for the saggy boobs and stretched belly, and stretched something else.
Mark and Chuck had fun... but, of course, that was expected. And what did they think of Joe? He was a real dude. And why hadn't he com
e in? He didn't have time. He said see ya or something. Yes, something. Something like don't call me, I'll call you. They didn't want any lunch because they stopped at Dirty Girty's.
Dirty Girty's? Yeah, but they didn't eat in the bar part. And Chuck exploded the ketchup onto a plastic plant. Well, thanks Joe. And she would paint the backdrop anyway. And she'd curl up with a good book and go to bed early. And she'd have a shot of self-pity with her tuna casserole.
Beverly didn't care if it was Saturday night, and she didn't care if the monster movies were on, they would go to bed at a civilized hour because they had to go all the way to Grandma's church in the morning. So, at the very civilized hour of 9:30 Mark and Chuck went to bed with the TV on in their room. You're a real tough guy, Bev.
There was really nothing wrong with hot chocolate alone on a Saturday night, Bev told herself. Nothing at all. The sound of the television in the boys' bedroom was drowning out the dinner music on the stereo. Big shots. They'd never make it past the news to see the monster movies.
Since she had stopped having babies, she had stopped getting new bathrobes. She could have put on those lovely new lounging pajamas; an original somebody-or-other. They better be original; they were expensive enough. But lonely Saturday nights made you feel much sorrier for yourself if you had on the rattiest old robe you could find. And she did. And she was doing a real good job of feeling sorry for herself too.
It was not as though her marriage—all twelve years of it—had been perfect. It had been pretty typical. She fell in love, married. She worked for a while, which meant they fought about the chores. She got pregnant, which meant they fought about everything. Money, sex, time spent together, the smell of roses—everything.
She got pregnant again and they nearly split up; they had a seven-year itch; a real struggle. An enormous struggle. About the time Chuck came out of diapers, their marriage had settled into a comfortable habit. Blissful, amiable. She and Bob had finally become very good friends, co-conspirators.
Sometimes she didn't miss her husband as an individual as much as she missed her marriage. There had been someone to call in a crisis. Someone who fell asleep on the couch, someone who didn't dare mention her thighs unless he felt like discussing his paunch. Someone with whom to fight. Once they had really figured out how to fight, it had been a rare pleasure. Beverly didn't want to remarry and go through all the adjustments again; she wanted to wake up and find she had been married for a dozen years. When she thought of that it made her miss Bob so much. It was enough to make her weep.
Doorbell? At 10:10? What the—? He wouldn't. He did. It was the good preacher.
“What are you doing here?”
“We had a date. Remember?”
“But I thought... I don't know what I thought. Come in.”
“You probably thought I had never seen anyone as stinking drunk as you were. And on five drinks. Is this how you dress for a date?”
“You don't like it? Never mind, I'll go crawl into something less comfortable. Give me a minute.”
It was enough to make a person mad, Bev thought. Why was he coming around now? It would be different if they'd had a good time, but their evening together was a bomb. Didn't ministers go to bed at ten or something? She hadn't made coffee, of course, and she could hear the cupboard doors banging. She never kept neat cupboards. He was probably also immaculate. She was strictly a surface cleaner.
Since he was very nicely dressed and just coming from a fancy dinner party, Beverly begrudgingly pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. No bra. What good were secrets now? She was not very excited about this. Nosy preachers.
“You forgot the coffee,” he said.
“I trust you found everything you need?”
“Had to really look. Why do you keep the coffee under the sink?”
“I don't know,” she replied, completely exasperated.
“I hope the cups aren't in the garage.”
“They're not!”
“What's the matter, Bev?”
“Nothing is the matter. What are you doing here? What is this?”
“This?”
“This! What do you want to hang around here for? Why are you bugging me? What do you want from me?”
“How about if we take one thing at a time. Why don't you want me around? Are you running away from me, or something else?”
“I'm not running away from you,” she said indignantly. “Look, you're a nice guy. You can find a nice young virgin in your church who would be thrilled to have you pay attention to her. You don't have to hang around here and help me out. I don't need kindness and aid. You don't have any pastoral duty here.”
“Great. I won't help you out. Now, can we just be friends?”
“Why do you want to be my friend? We're not even close to the same age.”
“Come on—we're close. Within a decade at least, huh?”
“Look, I don't need anymore friends. Didn't you see enough last night to know we have nothing in common?”
“Give me a break, Beverly. I know you're not really a drunk. What are you afraid of? Go ahead, blast me. Tell me what's really on your mind.”
“I'm not afraid of anything. I'm certainly not afraid of you!”
“Bull.”
“Is that anyway for a minister to talk?”
“What do you care? Come on, let's have it.”
“I don't want your preaching. I don't want to be saved and rescued. I don't want you to pull me out of my despair. I just want to be left alone.”
“Okay, I won't preach and I won't rescue you.”
“You'll try. Oh, you'll try. It couldn't be the scotch or the way I dressed that's got you turned on. You get your jollies from a lost soul, don't you? A poor sad little widow who needs your ministering. Go home. Just go.”
“Is that what you think? That the only reason I'm here is because I think you need repentance and deliverance? Oh, you're dead wrong.”
“Well then, what?”
“How about being attracted to a woman with a nice smile? How about liking you because you seem fun, even silly at times? Or, because you're gutsy— you're making it in spite of a lot of problems—and that's appealing. And you have cute kids. But you're a regular snob.”
“I am not a snob!”
“You are too! You don't want to go out with me because I'm a minister. That's a real snob.” Two little heads peeped out from the hallway. Joe turned to the kids. “Ever see anybody have a good fight before?” They both nodded. “Then get out of here and let us fight.”
“We're not fighting.”
“Then what the hell are we doing?”
“Discussing this ridiculous situation.”
“Very loudly. Very damn loudly!”
“It'll never work. We can't be friends. We're just too different.”
“Why? Just tell me why.”
“Because you're a nice Christian minister and I don't even believe in God.”
“Why?”
“Why? Are you crazy? What kind of pervert are you? Can't you guess why? Do I have to draw you a picture?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God,” she cried. He hadn't even really tried to reach her soul yet, and she was letting it bleed for him. Angrily, hatefully, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a pain in the pit of her stomach, she began to shout. “Where was God when that truck lost its brakes and smashed into Bob? Where was He when Bob was in pain, bleeding, dying, turning into a vegetable? God wasn't there when I begged for Bob's life, or for his death. End the pain, I prayed. And then I still prayed. Okay, you took him, God, so get me through this. But I'm not through it. I'm not even close. I have not one reason to believe. Not one.”
“Okay,” he said. “Pretty good reasoning. Come here.”
Why was it whenever anybody said “come here” she did? She went right to him and slobbered all over his nice shirt. At least he helped her. He held her and let her cry. Ministers were trained to do that sort of thing. They probably had a course in comfo
rting weeping women.
Almost two years and she was still crying. Sometimes she had a picture of herself as old and gray, an elderly grandmother still sniveling over her husband's death. It was over and done with and the tears still came. The well should be dry. And it was so ugly. This thing, this necessary release was so ugly. Tired. So tired. Sleep was the hard part. It wasn't easy to get used to sleeping in a king-size bed alone. And if you did get to sleep, sometimes you started seeing uniformed people and bright red bandages. What would ease the pain? A friend? Not so far.
So cry it all out, Beverly, Joe thought. No simple matter, this business of grief. He knew that as well as anyone. Two little heads peeped out around the corner. Sure, they had seen their mom cry plenty. Joe gave them the okay sign with his thumb and middle finger. Then he shook his fist at them and they disappeared again.
“Did you ever see anyone die, Joe?”
“Yes.”
Sure he had. Ministers did that sort of thing too. They made hospital rounds just like the doctors. The doctor takes care of the body and the minister takes care of the soul.
“I mean someone you loved. Really loved.”
“Yes.”
“And you still believe in God?”
“Yes.”
He would. “Well, that's why there's no point in our friendship. It's your whole career, and I can't even accept it as a hobby.”
“Beverly, I didn't ask you to accept God. I asked you to accept me.”
Dirty trick, Joe. “And you promise not to press the God thing?”
Joe lifted her chin with a finger. He was looking over the swollen red eyes. There, in his own deep blue eyes, was wisdom. Sincerity. But she would have to be blind not to see that he'd rather kiss than preach, even under the circumstances. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “The God thing, as you call it, is my life. First before you, first before all things. If you don't want to hear about it, I won't tell you. I won't try to change you or convince you. But that's as far as I go. I won't change myself.”
“But you'll pray for me.” It was more of an accusation than a question.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Well, it'll never work. You'll get fed up with me in no time. It just can't work.”
“Why don't we just get to know each other? You don't have to have any special kind of faith to get to know me. All you do is answer the door when I knock. Why don't we see what happens?”