Elizabeth pushed aside the plate of food. “Then how? How do you deal with it, live with it, and on top of everything else believe God has our best interests at heart? What is the point?” On one level, Elizabeth was dimly aware she was stranded at a crossroads; on another level she saw the easy beliefs of a lifetime start to smolder under a dark flame. And yet . . . there was something she couldn’t let go of. How could Adrienne, whose health was far worse than her own, whose godchild was dead because of a senseless accident, keep such a strong faith?
Adrienne leaned closer and touched Elizabeth’s arm. “Because to do otherwise is truly and absolutely unthinkable, unbearable. I meant what I told Carl a little while ago. I find it fascinating he is an atheist, but even more so that after a lifetime of belief he has chosen to disbelieve because of what people with free will choose to do.
“I think it’s easy to forget that there really is an evil one, the evil force that rips and devastates and ruins life. That’s the force behind all of the horrible things he has seen.” Adrienne sipped a little water and then flattened her hand on the table. Her eyes were clear, intense. “After I found out about the SMA, when my back was figuratively and literally against the wall and life was so frightening I could hardly breathe, I discovered something I had never known. In desperate times, some people look down and that’s where they stay, letting the weight of their circumstances cripple them even further. Perhaps others are like Carl; they look straight ahead and accept each moment as merely finite, without meaning.” Adrienne looked at Elizabeth intently. “Me? I was too desperate to look anyplace but up.”
More than the words, Elizabeth heard the assurance wrap like steel bands around each word with solid certainty and wished she could embrace it without hesitation. Elizabeth sat quietly, her face sad.
But Adrienne wasn’t finished. “One more thing occurs to me. It’s that marvelous story your good priest told about the sun dogs. Everyone needs a sundog moment, when things become so clear you can almost see the other side of life, circumstances blossom into something extraordinary and the impossible becomes possible.”
Sun dogs! Elizabeth shivered. “Do you know I still haven’t seen one?”
“Keep looking up, and you’ll find everything you need,” Adrienne advised.
That’s what Father Wells had said, Elizabeth thought.
With a sudden, intense longing, Elizabeth looked toward the windows of the restaurant and noticed clouds had drawn curtains around the sun, casting a gray net without end, and she sighed.
Chapter Twenty-one
You enjoyed yourself?” Carol tried not to sound doubtful. Personally, she couldn’t see it. Why would people who were sick want to get together with other people who were also sick? It sounded like a prescription for depression.
Elizabeth had stopped by to see Carol before going on to the state library to help in the catalog department; they were still updating everything to a new, more advanced computer. “It was great and,” she said, reading easily the expression on her cousin’s face, “no, it wasn’t depressing, not in the least. You should come and visit. We meet once a month.”
“You’re going to drive all the way up there just for one meeting?” Carol was incredulous. “Don’t they have support group meetings here?”
“It’s not the same. I told you, Adrienne Moore is the force behind this, and I like her very much. You said you wanted to meet her. Remember?”
“Well, sure, one of these days,” Carol said vaguely, feeling uncomfortable about the whole thing. Why did Elizabeth want to be around people in wheelchairs with diseases and such? Regardless of what she said, it was depressing, and Carol couldn’t imagine willingly going. She’d rather go see her dentist, which now that she thought of it, had been postponed to the point that it was inevitable.
Carol simply pushed the idea of the dentist and the group away from her, ignoring the discomfort she felt, not realizing it had more to do with an undercurrent of fear. These people were tangible proof of what could happen, and there were enough things in the world to worry about without subjecting one’s self to this on purpose.
She changed the subject. “Didn’t Kellan look great on Friday? That girl just keeps getting more and more gorgeous; I don’t know how you can stand to let her out of your sight. How come she doesn’t have any boyfriends?”
Elizabeth picked up her purse, keeping an eye on the clock. “She says she’d gone out with a bunch of guys this summer but threw them all back. None were keepers. She is very discriminating, I am happy to report.”
Carol walked her to the sidewalk where her car was parked. “She deserves the very best, so I’m glad she’s being careful. I know what she means about keepers, though. They are hard to find.”
“Uh-huh,” Elizabeth murmured noncommittally and got into the car, but Carol held the door open.
“I’m surprised you aren’t regaling me with how wonderful your husband is and how you knew he was a keeper the first time you laid your blue eyes on him.”
Elizabeth merely smiled, not surprised at all. She said good-bye, closing the door firmly.
“Father Joe, I’ve got a question for you, if you don’t mind?” Elizabeth had stopped at the church on the mere chance he might be here and not busy. For the past two weeks she had been mulling over Adrienne’s comments. Since she had no idea if her priest would be available to talk when she had stopped by without calling first, Elizabeth took it as a good omen he was even there this early afternoon.
“Come in, come in.” He waved her to the upholstered chair and sat down opposite her. “Your timing is perfect. I finished one meeting and have no one else to see until the vestry meeting tonight. Would you like something to drink?” He held up a tea bag and a jar of instant coffee, but she shook her head.
“No, I wanted to ask you. . . . How can God let terrible things happen?”
He whistled silently, shaking his head as he got up. “You might not need anything for a question like that, but I do—a very strong cup of caffeine.”
“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured, watching him heat up water in the microwave he kept in his office.
Within moments he stirred two heaping teaspoons of instant coffee briskly into the microwaved water, took a sip, and looked over the Styrofoam cup at her. She glanced down and saw his brown shoes matched nicely with the khaki pants, black shirt, and priest’s collar. “How’s Estelle?”
“Staying so busy she and I practically have to make an appointment to see each other. Now,” he said as he focused on her. “Your question: Why does God let awful things happen? There are several possibilities, the least of which is that bad things happen because of the bad choices we make—” He stopped as she held up her hand.
“Let me tell you something that happened recently, to a friend’s godchild,” she began.
When she finished, Father Joe’s face was saddened in sympathy. “God be with that family,” he murmured. His eyes closed, as if in a brief prayer, and then he looked hard at her. “Accidents happen, Elizabeth.”
“Isn’t God supposed to be in control of everything?” she countered.
He nodded. “But it’s more than that. Things happen, and we can’t understand, but we survive by God’s grace. And, frankly, sometimes we need our hearts broken soundly. Sometimes that’s the only way we will ever know how much God loves us.”
She rubbed her neck, weariness suddenly undermining this quest for answers. “Surely you can understand that makes no sense.”
“It does,” he insisted. “But if you’ve not been through it, it may be hard to understand. It sounds like a paradox, but trust me, it’s vibrantly true. As far as bad things happening, we’re not in this world alone. Just as there is a God of mercy and blessings, there is a Satan of evil.”
“The devil?” She wrinkled her nose even as she remembered what Adrienne had tried to explain. Before she could stop it, an image of a cartoon devil popped into her head.
Her rector was unfazed. “Absolutely. There i
s God and there is Satan—good and evil—and with faith in God, we can overcome anything. Or at least endure. Look at the example of Job. Look at the psalmists. Their faith and their hope in God were enough. More than enough, Elizabeth. By remaining faithful, it will always be more than enough.”
He could see he wasn’t getting through to her and stopped. He thought hard and then finally offered, “I have a story about good and evil that might help just a little. Years ago, when my grandson was nine years old, he was spending the weekend with us. Saturday night he came and curled up on the bed beside me and told me he had been talking to God. ‘Papa,’ he said, ‘I just told God I would become a vegetarian, not watch television for the rest of the year, do one chore a day, and not be mean to anyone if He lets me have magical powers.’ He was dead earnest, and he wanted me to tell him God would make such a deal with him.”
Father Joe chuckled, and even Elizabeth’s face wore an amused look. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him in my experience, God didn’t really work that way. He doesn’t expect us to give up a bunch of things in exchange for His doing something for us. Face it, God doesn’t need or want anything from us but our love. Needless to say, that didn’t set too well with him. ‘Papa, you said I should pray to God for everything.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I could be wrong, but let me tell you something I have learned. If God gives you a wonderful gift, be it magic, wisdom, the ability to help people, whatever it is—make no mistake—along with it comes a great responsibility to use it wisely and carefully. Because the moment you get such a gift from God, Satan will be right there wanting to snatch it away.’”
He said this with such force, Elizabeth felt his certainty spread over her like a blanket and for a moment, she agreed without reservation.
“I bet he’s never forgotten that story.”
“No, I don’t think he has. And as for being blessed with magic, he’s been blessed with helping to heal children who have been abused by the people who were supposed to love them. He’s a pediatric psychiatrist and believe me, he has performed some mighty strong magic. With God’s help.”
She nodded doubtfully. “I see.”
But he wasn’t quite finished with her yet; he clasped her hand, seeing her confusion.
“Elizabeth, when you try to put God in a box, you limit not only Him but also yourself. The world’s rules don’t apply. So listen with your heart, pray with your heart, and listen carefully for God’s answers.” He thought briefly of what C. S. Lewis had once written: We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.
He kept that thought to himself because she wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand . . . not yet.
There was nothing more to say, and Elizabeth was too restless to hear anything. She stood up and was gone before anything else could be said. As soon as she was through the door, he bowed his head in prayer for her.
She walked out to her car with all the uncertainties back in place. This had never happened before and she wondered, vaguely, why. She looked up at the church as she stood in the parking lot by her car. There was sadness that kept her torn, and she didn’t know which way to turn.
Dinner was a silent affair. Michael had come home weary; she had not been up to fixing very much. Weekend leftovers filled their plates along with sandwiches. There was little conversation. How many times and in how many different ways can you ask, “How are you,” Michael wondered, watching Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired. And depressed. He had asked her about her day, and she had mentioned the usual things—said that everything was fine. Maybe it was because he was tired; maybe it was his fault the evening seemed so . . . flat.
“Would you like anything else?” she asked, beginning to pick up plates.
He stood up and took the dishes away and waved her off. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth, I’ll clean up. After all, you fixed it.” She gave him a brief smile and left the room without saying a word.
He sat back down, thought about making some coffee. He also wondered if, in a few minutes, Elizabeth would sail right back in here, somehow magically rejuvenated and ready to clean the entire kitchen, top to bottom. It had happened. She’d be tired, bounce back, then be fatigued for days and then become energized. It made no sense, and Michael was discovering how much he hated things that didn’t make sense.
“How do you handle this without a script?” he complained to Gordon a week later. Michael was irritated. These days he could never second-guess his wife.
They had met for lunch and, thankfully, Carol had not intruded. She was in New York. He knew Elizabeth was spending the day at the river, packing up clothes and odds and ends to bring back home.
“Just when I’m worried sick that she’s getting worse, she’ll surprise me and be back to almost normal. What am I supposed to think?”
Gordon looked at him without sympathy. “Consider yourself lucky she has these reprieves. It could be a whole lot worse, trust me.” Gordon had heard this complaint in different forms more than once; he spoke automatically, as if he were distracted. If Michael hadn’t been so preoccupied, he might have noticed Gordon seemed to have something on his mind.
“How do you know what you’re supposed to do? There’s no rhyme or reason; she gets mad when I try to help, yet gets upset when I don’t, and I can’t read her mind.” Michael fumed, running a hand through his hair.
Gordon shrugged and lifted his drink in a mock salute. “Have you told her you can’t read her mind?”
His face tightened when Michael merely shrugged. “She doesn’t listen anyway.”
“I know husbands who’d kill to have the problem with their wives you’re fussing about. Maybe you two should get counseling to learn to communicate better. I’ve got the name of a wonderful therapist—” He stopped when Michael shook his head.
“We don’t need to talk to anybody; we just need to . . . get used to things.” He bent down and picked up his sandwich and began eating.
Gordon looked at him, a deep frown creasing his face, and wondered how they were going to get used to things when the premise of their lives now was change. “Michael, let me ask you a question.”
“What?”
“What would you do if your roles were reversed? What if you had the disease, not Elizabeth. What would you be doing?”
Michael didn’t hesitate. “I would avail myself of the best and latest information and then do everything the doctors advised me to do. Wouldn’t you?”
His voice held a smugness that was erased when Gordon shook his head.
“Come on, Gordon, of course you would.” Michael didn’t believe him.
Gordon rested his hand on either side of his plate and leaned forward, rigid with fury over what he was about to say. “No. I would keep up with all the research, but at this point I wouldn’t follow standard advice for myself.”
“How can you say that?” Michael demanded. Gordon’s jaw clenched at the information he had learned earlier that day, devastating news that had wrecked his life, his past, and forever his future.
“I’ve been practicing medicine for over twenty years; my father was a doctor for over forty years before he died; my grandfather, another forty. They each confirmed the same thing that I’ve also discovered to be true. Every patient will respond to the same medication differently. Sometimes it’s a big difference, sometimes small. Why do you think there is such a wide range of possible side effects listed on most prescriptions? Because the drug companies have to cover their tails; they don’t know how it will affect everyone. The therapies that Elizabeth won’t use? No one knows how they work, what the long-term side effects are, and frankly, that scares the hell out of me.” And that wasn’t all, he thought, his chest tightening. That wasn’t all.
Yesterday afternoon he’d opened one of the many AMA journals he hadn’t had time to scan before. Glancing through the index, he saw the term bone-marrow transplant. He immediately turned t
o the story and crashed into a nightmare. He took a deep breath, shifting back to this moment
“If they don’t know how it works, then how do they know it does work? Because it does—I’ve seen the reports.” Michael’s patronizing tone grated and fueled Gordon’s anger, making him dangerously precise.
“Statistics. Statistically speaking, patients become about twenty-nine percent less disabled over a ten-year period, give or take a few points, with the therapies.”
“Well that’s a damn sight better than doing nothing!”
“My patients aren’t statistics. I’ve got an MS patient now who has been on one of the therapies for years, has gone blind in one eye because of optic neuritis, is in the hospital as we speak, being pumped with steroids while continuing the therapy, and it’s been three weeks. No sight has returned. Statistically speaking, it won’t.”
“That patient is still doing the absolute best thing,” Michael insisted, frustrated when Gordon shook his head.
“The bottom line is, no one knows. I tell you, between managed care telling me what I can and cannot do and the pharmaceutical companies pouring money like water into advertisements to get my patients to buy only their brands, it’s become a crazy, unbalanced playing field. And the drug industry pouring its money into research laboratories? Did you ever consider the incredible pressure to make the results pan out the way the guys who are footing the bill want it? Did you ever consider the possibility that pressure could slant and skew results? What is this world coming to when every tiny scrap of research is motivated solely and purposefully by money?”
Michael was affronted. “So now you’re saying we shouldn’t have a capitalistic society? What’s with you, Gordon? Without the massive amounts of money those horrible companies pour into research, you wouldn’t have better and better drugs to help your patients. Put things in perspective, man.”
“I’ll put it in perspective for you; I’ll be damn happy to put it in perspective.” Gordon’s anger boiled over, and he couldn’t contain it.
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