“Right, then. I’m off.”
She’s wearing jeans—yes, jeans—and a green blouse. Sensible shoes too. I didn’t notice it last night, but she has a sort of Julia Child curve to her back. “Do you mind if I ask where you’re going?”
“To the halfway house in Cockeysville.”
“Halfway house?”
“For alcoholic men. I help the men clean on Saturdays. My late husband was a drinker like you wouldn’t believe. He died young.”
Mercy! Such candor.
“I’m sorry.”
“Alva enjoyed life even if he did live it with such intensity. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there after half a century. Needless to say, I’ve learned to live without him.”
I can’t help it. I bark out a laugh.
Liza smiles. “Bye now. And don’t be a stranger.”
And she walks away, so very different from the rest of the world, but somehow fitting right in. I’m seeing firsthand what it means to be in the world but not of it.
“Anna? Has she always been like this?”
Anna shakes her head. “The Lord came to her one day. That’s all she’ll say. I don’t know what form He took, but I do know she recognized Him for who He was.”
SEVENTEEN
Jace shuts my door and swings around to his side of the car. “Seriously, aren’t those the coolest ladies you’ve ever seen?”
“Definitely. They were wonderful.”
He shakes his head and puts the car in drive, and we head off into the woods that front their acreage. “Man, I’m glad you’re okay. Your arm should be fine. It’s heavily bruised, but if you want to see an orthopedist, I can arrange that. You’ve got good movement, but maybe we should get an X-ray.”
“Let me just give it a couple of days.”
He pulls out onto Merrymans Mill Road. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Will okay?”
“Absolutely. He wanted to come, but I thought you’d be a little overwhelmed. His enthusiasm can be a little suffocating.”
“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed in general these days.”
“I could tell. Laney’s husband, Cade, got him from swim practice. He’s spending the day with them. You want to get some lunch? Just the two of us?”
“Definitely.” Maybe he’ll open up about Bonnie’s request, whatever it was.
Jace chitchats about his new patient—an old blind minister named Carl whose daughter is actually married to the brother of Snap, the lead singer of Great Guns. “Remember them, Hezz?”
“We listened to them all the time in high school.”
“So did we. Anyway, my patient’s a wonderful man, second time for open heart. He’s grieving the death of his youngest daughter from an accident a little while ago. He said, ‘If you could mend that big tear right down the middle of my heart while you’re in there working on those valves, I’d appreciate it.’ I wanted to cry.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I said I’d do my best, but only one person can heal a wound like that.”
“How do people get through things like that?”
“I don’t know. I pray to God we never have to find out.”
“Still. I wonder if my faith would hold.”
“As do we all. What would happen to our faith if it was tested, really and truly?”
“I don’t know.” I whisper the words.
* * *
And now we sit at a table for two at the Nautilus Diner in Timonium. After Liza’s cake and my general cake garment of the night before, I will most certainly skip dessert.
“I’ll take the moussaka, light on the tomato sauce.” The waitress writes down the selection.
Jace orders the grilled salmon.
I guess when you see hearts literally encased in globby yellow fat, it’s got to affect you somewhat.
The waitress asks if I want all the peripherals. Salad, soup, bread.
No thanks.
For the first time in my life, I’m not really all that hungry.
I lean into the table after she leaves. “Something’s very wrong with me, and all the long drives in the world won’t fill the emptiness or shine a light or whatever it is I need. I realize that now.”
“I’ve been thinking about things, Hezzie. Do you think you might want to try some medication?”
“For what?”
“Anti-anxiety, perhaps?”
“What will that do?”
“It will dull those scared feelings you’re experiencing.”
“Who says I’m scared?”
“You have. Not in so many words, but you have.”
“I’m wide-awake for the first time in my life, Jace. I don’t want to dull anything.”
“Tell me what you mean by wide-awake.”
“I’m comparing myself to three old women. Sister Jerusha in that rundown hotel, and then Anna, who actually gets arrested for her beliefs, and her sister Liza, who right now is cooking at a halfway house.” Maybe dessert would be a good idea.
“Is this comparison a good thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“But maybe some medication will help you see things more clearly if the fear’s gone.”
“Who said fear is always a bad thing, Jace?”
He stares at me for a moment, then takes a sip of his water. “What can I do to help you see your way through?”
“I don’t know. I love it there at the sisters’ house. They told me to come back if I needed to. I think I might need to. I’ve been driving too fast, thinking too much, saying more than I should to anybody who will listen. I can’t even begin to hear God speaking, Jace. And I have no idea what He’d say if He did.”
“My parents have been wanting to take Will for a couple of weeks. I’ve got that seminar in Chicago the week after next, so I wouldn’t mind the quiet in the evenings to prepare. I’ll probably spend some time at the library too. Maybe you should take them up on their offer?”
“Are you sure?”
“Give them a call and see what they say.”
Already I feel a little better. Not much, but any break from the routine that has become my life sounds like a good idea.
“So what’s happening in Chicago?”
“Just a seminar for cardiologists.”
* * *
As we listen to music on the way to the Curridges’ vacation house, the recumbent farms of Delaware whizzing by, Will asks questions about the Sermon on the Mount. He’s been reading the book of Matthew since school ended. He has too many questions.
We listen as he asks them, and I think about my life when weighed in the balance of the truth of Christ, drowning in the hard sayings of Jesus, and I think I’d just as soon keep my mouth shut.
“What does hoarding treasure really mean, Dad?
“What would it look like if we really didn’t judge?
“Aren’t preachers always asking people to make vows? To sign little pledge cards, although that’s in direct opposition to the teachings of Christ? Or is it? Was that what He was talking about?
“How do we know what to throw out and what to keep? I mean, if we only pay lip service to His teachings anyway and they have no real showing in our actions, haven’t we cast them, in all reality, into the dustbin?”
“The dustbin? Where did that word come from, Will? I haven’t heard anybody use it for years. Other than my grandmother.”
“I have no idea, Mom.”
Jace grips the wheel, and I know his thoughts. All Christian parents pray for their children to be interested in the things of God . . . but fifteen and asking these questions? Will it do more harm than good?
And then the inevitable question I ask myself: “What kind of trust in God is that, Heather?”
“Love your enemies? If Jesus let His enemies crucify Him, what does that mean for us, Dad?”
“‘Take up your cross and follow me,’ Will.”
I can’t stay silent. “That’s impossible.”
Jace frowns. “He wouldn’t
have said it if it was.”
“I know. But it still seems impossible.”
Will leans forward. He always sits in the middle of the backseat. “But we have this book that shows us what God would do if He was human; what God did when He was human. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Then why does living as a Christian seem like such a mystery? More books than I can remember on how to do this very thing have been passed around in churches.”
And yet the very example we have, we pooh-pooh, saying, Well, He was God. Of course He could do that.
Jace breaks for a stoplight. “Maybe we don’t live for Christ because we don’t live like Christ.”
“Right, Dad. And maybe I don’t live like Christ because I’ve taken the Man out of Him, made what He did here so mysterious and unreachable that I’ve taken away any possibility of success in imitating Him.”
Jace steps on the accelerator. “He wouldn’t have told us to be like Him if it was impossible.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” I ask.
“With all my heart. Although most days, I wish to God I didn’t, Heather.”
* * *
Sandals, a robe, a cloak.
No place to rest His head.
Friends, disciples. Followers.
“I proclaim good news to the poor.”
Twisted and broken on a cross.
“Father, forgive them.”
He could have called ten thousand angels, but He didn’t. He lifted his face to the corruption, the power plays, the violence of His own creation and opened not His mouth.
I write these words on the back of an envelope from my purse and turn to Jace as we drive home from dropping Will off at the Curridges’.
“Can we do it, Jace? Can we really follow His teachings?” I have a feeling I’ll be asking this question over and over for as long as I breathe.
“I believe we can, hon. We won’t do it perfectly like He did, but that’s where the grace comes in.”
“Yeah, but I can really abuse grace.”
“From your perspective, sure. But if there’s an unlimited supply, how can you use up too much?”
“Still, a lot has been left undone in the name of grace.”
He’s quiet for a little while. Then, “It’s a fine line, isn’t it? I guess, for me, I’d rather use more grace for having tried and gotten it wrong than for not having tried at all.”
That’s it. That’s it exactly.
“Hezzie?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
* * *
The sisters are delighted I called. Anna answered the phone, and Liza picked up the extension in the kitchen and said they weren’t surprised to hear from me and were glad to help in any way.
“In fact,” Anna says, “I bought more of that cranberry tea you liked so much as an unspoken prayer.”
Ah, I love that woman.
But before Jace drops me off, I hop on the Internet to locate the whereabouts of Xavier Andrews in Michigan. Okay, people search or something.
I hate this stuff. I’m just no good at it. I should have done this before Will left for the shore. He’s a whiz at this sort of thing. But then again, I can’t tell him what I’m doing, admit I was once Ronnie Legermin. Not after what he goes through.
I’d still like to take him out of that school, by the way. But no go! Especially not with Nicola in the works.
After thirty minutes of pointing and clicking, I find nothing on Xavier himself, but his mother, Peggy’s coworker Delores, died in 1982, the year Gary would have been a senior. I locate the town, look up the local high school, and his name appears on the list of the 1982 graduates.
The name, so real in the black cyber-ink on my monitor, shoots a jolt up my spine. I quickly bookmark the site, shut down the computer, close the door to the office, and tell Jace it’s time to go.
On the car ride over, I offer him one more chance to come clean on Bonnie. But again my husband will not trust me with his heart. Probably because he has already given it to me so thoroughly he can’t ask anything of me anymore. I deserve this.
“Hon? What are the dots all about?”
I tell him the plan and the code.
“Oh, wow. We have that many meaningless items around?”
“Yeah. It’s worse than even you thought, Jace. And don’t say ‘I told you so.’ Please.”
He places a hand on my thigh. “You going to get rid of any of it or just be thankful for what you have?”
I don’t know.
What would Jace think of an all-white house?
EIGHTEEN
Anna leans over the railing, looking down at the creek. It rained last night, and the water, smelling of leaves and ozone, rushes beneath our feet, hurrying to join with the bay. We’ve stopped on our way to visit a friend of hers at the VA hospital in Havre de Grace. “And the other men too,” she says. “A lot of the boys are there.”
“Do you know them?”
“I do now. I just go to let them know somebody hasn’t forgotten.”
“But you hate war, don’t you?”
“Yes. But I love people. I put many a man back together out on the battlefield, Heather. I’ve more than earned the right to hate war and still love our soldiers. It is possible to do both, dear.” She turns to me. “Heather, why are you here?”
“I’m not sure,” I whisper. “I think everybody thinks I’m going a little crazy.”
She nods. And gazes back at the water. “Do you, dear?”
“A little.”
“Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”
“God’s speaking to me, Anna. I just don’t know what it is He’s saying. But I hear Him, like I hear the wind in the trees or that running water beneath our feet.”
“Most likely you know it deep down already. No matter. God has plenty of time. It’s one thing He’s never short of.”
“But I feel so muddled.”
“Through the ages people who listen to the promptings of God have always been thought more than a little goofy.”
And she begins to tell me story after story of saints who make my meanderings, my dots, my white items, my conversations, seem like a walk in the park.
* * *
Okay, so I thought the Hotel felt depressing. This VA hospital is the singularly most disheartening place I’ve ever entered in my entire life, and that includes airport bars, casinos, and beach bathrooms, not to mention bus stations, pawn shops, and the health department. Anna whirls from patient to patient like love potion in a misery cocktail, greeting each of them by name, a peaceful sweetness accompanying her simple act of knowing them: their names, their conditions, their birthdays. She hands out several cards.
Ah, Lord Jesus, all the suffering in the world. More walls of sadness. How have I lived so long without coming face-to-face with this? Have I purposely anesthetized myself, or was I programmed years ago to avoid the living tragedy? And does it matter now that my nerve endings have begun to awaken and my taste buds have matured to include the flavors of despair and responsibility?
Anna curls her arm through mine. “Come see my dear friend Bobby.” She leans her head toward me and whispers, “I had a thing for him years ago. He was much too young for me, though.”
She leads me down a hallway, still greeting each man who sits in a wheelchair along the path, introducing me like I’m Sophia Loren or something. I’ve never seen so many lost limbs or burn scars in one place. I’m grateful, believe me, but the heartache that petrifies my insides at what man does to man weighs down my footfalls. I walk more heavily. I feel my shoulders droop under the knowledge of their anguish, their lives lost yet still going on, these forgotten men.
Anna pats my arm, then swings me through a door.
“Bobby Stewart! You old rascal!”
“Anna Banana!”
Bobby lies in a bed. I assume he’s paralyzed, but I’ll have to ask later. His cumulonimbus hair is obviously the true testament to his
personality.
“Bobby and I were in the same unit in Korea. He’s a doctor as well.”
“Used to be.” Bobby raises his arms. No hands. “Left them somewhere in Vietnam and somehow can’t finagle the time in my busy social schedule to go back and find them.”
“He only wears his prosthetics for special occasions.” Anna. “I’m old hat, obviously.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be. I keep asking you to marry me, Anna, and you keep refusing.”
“Not to mention I’m twenty years older than you are.” She laughs. “He was a real Lothario back in the old days, dear. Much too wild for my poor blood.”
He jabs a stump in my direction. “So she roped you into coming along on one of her do-gooder rounds, did she?”
“I’m afraid so, Dr. Stewart.”
Anna. “Heather’s husband’s a medical man too, you know.”
“Oh yeah? What field?”
“He’s a cardiac surgeon.” Each word makes me feel like I’m dangling a luscious plum in front of a person with no teeth.
“Remarkable strides they’ve made in cardiology since my day.” Bobby.
Anna sits on the edge of the bed. “Oh my, yes. Bobby still keeps up on the medical journals. He puts me to shame.”
“Have to keep myself busy mentally. In between visits from old Anna here.”
“You know you count the minutes until my arrival, Bobby.”
He winks. “Pronounce me guilty.”
“I talked with the Department of Veterans Affairs, and they said they’ll look into your benefits, see if you can get into a different facility, but for now, I’m afraid you’re still stuck here.”
“I feel like I’m in prison.”
“You are,” she said. And she changed the subject, talking about happier times after the Korean War when they met downtown and danced the night away. “Of course, Bobby picked up a more willing partner, and I went home to Mother. Hardly fair.”
Bobby only replied, “It depends on what your definition of fair is.”
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