by David Lewis
“Betty—”
“It’s a game,” Mrs. Robinette interrupted. “Do you think she cares about meeting her daughter’s adult friends?”
“Huh?”
Betty shook her head again. “Michelle was an addict. Or she may still be. Coke. Crack. You name it. Guess who turned her in two years ago.”
“You?”
“Yep. The court sent Laura to live with Michelle’s crackhead sister. Six months later, Michelle comes home and Laura is back with her mother. Claims to be off the coke, but she’s furious at this community. Furious with me. Why didn’t she just move away? I don’t know. Anyway, she starts playing games with us. Makes it look like she’s still taking the stuff. I can’t tell you how many times somebody has snitched on that woman. They search the house and she just laughs. They put her through a drug test. Three times, Jessie. They never find anything. The last time we called, the police refused to investigate.”
Jessie was chagrined.
“Yep,” Betty continued. “We fell right into it. We’ve cried wolf too many times. In fact, that might have been real coke you saw, but there’s no way the authorities would respond. The police think we have it in for her. And they’re right. We’re doing everything we can, but nothing works. She’s an unfit mother, but she’s smart enough to play the system.”
“So what do we do?” Jessie asked. “Surely there’s something …”
“We pray, Jessie.”
Same as nothing, she thought, gathering her composure.
They heard the car door click open. Laura peeked out. “Hey guys, we’re burning daylight.” She giggled.
Andy stood up, but he seemed sobered. “Let’s make some good
memories today.”
Chapter Nineteen
TOGETHER, THE FOUR OF THEM drove in Andy’s Toyota sedan several miles north to Larkspur, the location of the Renaissance Fair. It wasn’t like other fairs with merry-go-rounds, livestock shows, and rutabaga contests. This fair was based entirely upon sixteenth-century life in Elizabethan England. Signs at the front entrance declared: We accept Master Card and Lady Visa. The employees wore ruffled outfits of the time, adorned with lace and gold tassels, speaking a language that resembled hip King James lingo. “Welcome, lords and ladies!”
Andy rented a wheelchair for Betty, who after putting up a mild fuss, finally acquiesced; Andy and Jessie took turns pushing. They were surrounded by court jesters, jugglers, fire eaters, knights in shining armor, fair maidens, and countless other characters. Laura was like a kid in a toy store. Jessie wondered if she might explode with joy. They watched several performances, including a sword swallower, short Shakespearean plays, and minstrels playing lutes, flutes, mandolins, and handmade skin drums, but avoided, on Betty’s advice, the off-color comedy show Puke and Snot. They visited the craft shops, bartered for pewter, sniffed perfumes and soaps, ate turkey drumsticks, and drank dark coffee.
Andy bought hats for everyone. For Laura, a princess hat; for Mrs. Robinette, a queen’s crown; and for Jessie, a Juliet cap—a graceful white veil attached to a rich white velvet and gold-trimmed hat, with a pearl strand on top of the hat and more pearls dangling around her face. Jessie bought Andy a Romeo hat to complete the picture. Mrs. Robinette snapped photos of them, chirping happily.
Midafternoon they signed Laura and Betty up for an hour in the art tent, a do-it-yourself world of watercolor painting and craft making. “What about Jessie?” Laura asked, her eyes pleading. “Isn’t she going to play?”
Andy crouched down to her level. “She needs a little rest.”
“Okay.” Laura shrugged, soon becoming captivated by the artistic possibilities.
Andy and Jessie wandered across the gravel path to an umbrella-sheltered outdoor café table.
“Are you worried about me, Mr. McCormick?” Jessie asked, pulling out her wooden chair.
“No. I was just hoping we would have some time to, you know, to talk.”
“You don’t talk at a fair, silly,” Jessie said playfully.
Andy ordered lemonade from an undistressed damsel while Jessie ordered tea. Then he asked, “So when are you leaving?”
“Wednesday.”
He seemed to consider this. “Still difficult?”
Jessie paused, her attention momentarily distracted by a juggler. “The memories are difficult,” she said. “Not so much the present.” She thought for a moment. “In some ways things change; in other ways, they stay the same.”
Their beverages arrived and Andy took a drink. Then he gave her an appraising gaze, and she found herself wanting to explain further. That in itself was so strange to her, so different from their past. What is the difference? she thought. Is it the place? Or is it just Andy?
Andy leaned forward, hands clasped. He looked so absolutely adorable and silly in the Romeo hat that it was difficult to carry on a serious conversation. He caught the hint and removed the hat, grinning.
“Sometimes I think I’ve moved on, but then other times …” Jessie sighed, giving him a self-deprecating what’s-wrong-with-me frown. “Surely this isn’t what you wanted to talk about.”
Andy rubbed his chin. “When we were kids, we would talk for hours.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Time always went so fast and we’d have to head back home before we knew it.”
Andy grinned. “You’d say, ‘I’ve gotta go—Mom’s calling.’ And I’d say, ‘That wasn’t your mom—you’re hearing things,’ because I wanted you to stay longer. But we’d head home anyway. Your mom would be sitting on the porch waiting for you, smiling and sipping iced tea or something.”
Jessie looked down at her hands. “You mentioned yesterday how my mom and I had this … connection.”
“Ye-ah … ?”
“Sometimes I didn’t really hear her,” Jessie admitted quietly. “And sometimes I wondered if she ever actually called.”
Andy leaned back in his chair, seeming to consider what she’d said.
She shrugged. “I don’t know … sounds silly.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, then fixed him with another gaze. “Remember what you said yesterday about pretending that my mom was your mom?”
Andy frowned humorously. “Now that’s a deep, dark secret.”
“But I felt the same way, you know.”
“About my mom?” Andy kidded.
“No, silly,” Jessie said. “About your dad.”
“Oh yeah, I guess I can see that,” he replied. “Dad’s pretty cool.”
Jessie smiled at the memory. “I always wished that your dad and my mom could have gotten together.”
“That would have solved both of our fantasies.” They laughed.
Jessie wanted to say more but knew it would have sounded horribly selfish. Truth was, she’d always longed for a real father—a father just as cool as her mother. A father with a real personality, who didn’t come across like a shadow on the wall. How on earth had Mom ever fallen for him? Then she remembered their playful racing around the house—such a stark contrast to his later days. Have I merely forgotten the happy times?
Andy had that contemplative expression she remembered from his youth, when he was sorting things out but didn’t quite know how to say what was on his mind.
“What is it, Andy?”
He shrugged, pursing his lips. “I was talking to Betty this morning… .” He looked down, apparently uncomfortable.
“It’s me, Andy,” she said, but words were almost too intimate and she felt a little embarrassed. “You can tell me.”
He met her eyes. “Betty mentioned your conversation from last night, while I was working on the sink… .”
“I wasn’t very nice,” Jessie said, wondering if she shouldn’t apologize, realizing that Andy would likely have continued on the same religious path from his youth. Of course he was a Christian. Hadn’t he been engaged to an evangelist’s daughter? Just thinking about it gave her a sinking feeling.
She sighed inwardly. Andy was probably going to try to reco
nvert her, and she wondered if Betty had put him up to it. The question of religion could divide people in a heartbeat. This is where things fall apart, she thought.
She fiddled with the pearls of her Juliet cap, wanting to change the subject. And then realizing how silly she must look, she removed her hat.
Andy rustled in his chair. “Let’s not go there,” he finally said, smiling encouragingly. “We’re having too much fun.”
Jessie was tempted to let it drop. Push it under the rug. Ignore it. “You want to know where I am, don’t you?”
“No. It’s personal, and I shouldn’t have—”
“I don’t believe in religion anymore,” Jessie broke in, and she watched his reaction. Perhaps he winced, perhaps not, but he was regarding her curiously, seemingly taken aback by her admission.
“I see …”
“My roommate was a Christian. Wasn’t easy getting along, but eventually we agreed to disagree.”
She continued as if needing him to understand. She told him of her first week at college, how she found Darlene from a newspaper ad, how they’d sometimes argued about Christianity.
Andy listened patiently, but his manner seemed almost regretful.
She forced a humorous smile. “So … can we still be friends?”
“That won’t ever change.” He lowered his gaze again, and another moment passed as he seemed to gather his thoughts. When he looked up, he said, “Jess, I have to watch myself around you. I could start telling you my deepest secrets.”
In spite of the honest, almost intimate admission, the moment was awkward. She narrowed her eyes and made a sinister “crazy man” face. “Ve haf vays ef meking you tawk!”
Andy laughed, leaning back in his chair, appraising her carefully. “I’ve missed you, Jess.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally Andy sighed again and it seemed as if he’d been winding up for this moment. For a day at the fair, they’d become hopelessly serious—a stark contrast to the festivities going on around them. The place was filled with people in outrageous costumes. Children were laughing, screaming. And here they were talking about something as serious as heaven and hell.
“I don’t believe it either, Jess.”
His words hung in the air. At first she was confused, because she hadn’t been expecting it. The emotions that followed his admission were mixed. On the one hand, she felt enormously relieved. We’re both on the same side of the fence. Yet it didn’t feel like a celebration. More like a bitter aftertaste to something that had tasted very sweet at first. Or like admitting to a mutual failure. Maybe they had simply grown up? Moved on? Everyone discards Santa Claus, don’t they?
Andy’s expression was cautious again. “Remember I said I was engaged once?”
She nodded.
“Her name was Elizabeth.” He spoke the name with near reverence.
He described his engagement to the daughter of a famous evangelist, then progressed to his experience with Professor Neal, and it crossed her mind that Andy was confessing. The intimacy made her feel uneasy and yet extremely honored. The roles were settling in again from the old days, when he would ask her questions, and she would respond as if she had the answers in her back pocket. She asked a few clarifying questions, but mostly listened intently. When he finished, Andy seemed tired, not so much physically, but emotionally.
“I’m familiar with the arguments,” she finally told him. “I took a philosophy course in school, but it only brushed the surface.”
“So … what do you think?” he asked.
Jessie shrugged. “I never really gave it much thought.”
“So …”
“What’s my reason?”
Andy nodded.
She smiled, dramatically delivering a line she remembered from her old philosophy textbook. “‘The nature of this world, the nature of our existence, the nature of suffering, is not compatible with the concept of God as articulated in Christianity.”’ She’d meant for it to come out mildly humorous, but it fell flat.
“You have given this some thought.”
“Only because of Darlene.”
Andy looked down and he seemed disappointed. She could imagine what he was thinking. He’d just bared his soul and she’d responded flippantly. She wondered if she wanted to be as understood as he seemed to want, especially when it came to this part of life. “My mother … and everything … you know how it was …”
“You mean what happened to her?” he asked.
“Well, sure.” She was startled by the tone in her own voice, the bitterness that came whenever she thought or talked—which was rare—about her mother’s illness.
“That’s probably what it’s all about for you.” Jessie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’re … ticked.”
“Of course I am.”
“But that doesn’t mean—” Andy hesitated—“that you don’t believe, does it?”
Jessie felt her frustration building. “Sure it does.”
“You’re angry.”
“You bet I am!”
“Then who are you angry with?”
Jessie felt as if she’d been slugged verbally. “You’re just playing with words, Andy. And it’s not fair.”
Andy shrugged. “But you just indicated that you don’t believe because of the suffering in the world.”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the rest?”
She felt stupid but said it anyway. “A real God would have healed my mother. Okay?”
“Maybe that’s it, then.”
The conversation was starting to feel like the ones she’d had with Darlene.
Andy continued. “You’re disappointed.”
“The Bible is full of these blatant promises,” she argued, “‘Ask and you shall receive’ and all that. There are dozens just like it.”
“I’m sorry, Jess.”
“What did you expect from me anyway?”
“What I’ve always expected. What I depended on …” He licked his lips, as if evaluating her receptiveness. “Honesty,” he finally declared. “That’s what you always gave me. Even as a kid, I knew you were telling me the truth as best you could, no holds barred.”
“So you’re saying I’m not being honest now?”
“I’m saying you haven’t really given it much thought because you’d rather be angry. You’ve stopped thinking.”
Jessie pursed her lips. “That’s not fair, Andy. You don’t know me anymore—”
“Yes I do,” he interrupted.
“No you don’t.”
“You may have changed, but you’re still—”
Jessie held up her hand like a stop sign. “Please. Stop saying that.”
“Don’t you remember—”
“I don’t want to remember anymore—”
“But, Jess—”
“People grow up,” Jessie finished. “I don’t wear my life on my sleeve anymore.”
“Is that how you want to live?”
“Yes,” Jessie replied firmly. The tiny crack had exploded into a giant chasm, breaking them apart.
Andy leaned back, as if the conversation was over. A minute passed in silence, and Jessie wondered how something so good had suddenly turned so bad.
Andy met her eyes. “Still friends?”
Jessie smiled, but it felt weak. “Of course.” She looked at her watch. They’d been here for an hour. As if on cue, they were interrupted by shouts. Laura was pushing Betty in her wheelchair, and in her lap were their watercolor paintings. Andy caught Jessie’s eye again. His face communicated warmth and reassurance.
At least I didn’t hope this time, Jessie thought. I knew we were doomed from the very beginning.
They attended a few more shows, but the day was obviously winding down. Betty looked tired, although she pretended otherwise. Only Laura was eager to stay. When they finally headed toward the exit, Betty pointed to a craft shop across the way. “I’d like to get a souvenir.”
Andy wheeled her to the shop while Jessie and Laura waited on a bench. “Do we have to go?” Laura whined.
Jessie checked the time. Five o’clock. “We’ve been everywhere, sweetie. And Mrs. Robinette is wiped out.”
Laura nodded glumly.
In spite of the earlier tense discussion, Jessie was enjoying the wait, the exuberant buzz of the crowd. More and more people were heading out the exit. Dads were carrying bags of souvenirs. Moms were holding the hands of their children or pushing strollers. The conversation with Andy played in her mind as she waited. Laura sat still, crestfallen, apparently lost in the specter of going home. Jessie felt sorry for her.
Among the exiting people she spotted a blond woman wearing a yellow sundress. Jessie’s mind clicked and everything went numb again. Fuzzy. Automatic. Jessie put her hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Stay here, sweetie.”
“Where are you going?”
Jessie didn’t reply as she rushed across the pathway, weaving between couples and families. The closer Jessie got, the farther the woman seemed to diminish into the crowd.
“Wait!” Jessie whispered, but the woman couldn’t possibly have heard her.
A man stepped in front of Jessie, and they collided. “Sorry …” Angrily he stepped aside, but the woman in the sundress had disappeared.
Jessie stood in the middle of a crowd of people, circling around and around in one spot, her panic building. Where’d she go?
And then she spotted her. She took off again, this time in a full sprint, and by the time she reached the woman, she had completely lost her composure, not to mention her grip on reality. She slowed down at the last minute and reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder.
“Mom?”
The woman turned and Jessie shrank back in horror, realizing what she’d just done. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone …”
The woman forced a smile, and her little girl looked up at her and said, “Mom, who’s that?” The woman, who was no older than Jessie herself, smiled again, but there was a glint of fear in her eyes. She didn’t even answer her little girl, instead pushing her forward, saying, “Just keep walking, okay?” Yards away the mother glanced back again, likely worried that the “crazy” woman was still following them.