“Are you busy?”
“I’m trying to be.”
She could picture him at his desk in the corner suite at Homes Ahoy Realty. Six foot one and well built. Necktie, dress shirt with the sleeves fashionably rolled halfway up. Those tanned, muscular forearms with his expensive wristwatch gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Adrian always dressed to the hilt when he went to work, explaining to friends that in this combustible market, potential buyers wanted to believe their agent was on the ball and knew how to protect them from the foreclosure buzzards. “Nobody wants to go hunting for their dream house with a realtor who’s got ketchup stains on his pants and rides around in a five-year-old Kia,” he would snort.
“Can I come over for just a bit? Got some lousy news and need your shoulder, babe.”
“Sure. I’m here for a while.”
She drove the four miles over to the office thinking about Adrian and the four months they’d been dating now. He’d tagged along with his cousin to a beach party New Hope Church sponsored for its young adults, and ambled over to offer her a hot dog. “Looks like no one here is feeding you, pretty lady,” he observed with a confident grin. Following a shared slice of watermelon and a sunset walk down to the pier, he wrangled an email address out of her before the last embers in the bonfire faded into a sandy darkness.
Her fellow teachers teased her about dating a hottie strictly for his looks–and Rachel Marie had to confess that his dark blue eyes and fashionably ragged haircuts still made her go weak in the knees. But Adrian was a good guy, hard-working, strong and protective of her needs, at least most of the time. His sense of humor tended to be rather seasonable, but there was a smoldering chemistry between them that masked what she knew in her heart was a spiritual gulf.
Homes Ahoy enjoyed a boutique reputation in the Glendale area, and the décor was first-class. Rachel Marie forced herself to be cheerful as she passed the receptionist’s desk. “Just going to say hi to Adrian,” she murmured, and the girl nodded. He was peering at his cell phone, probably nudging a map into place and looking for cross streets for his latest listing.
“Hey, babe. What’s gone wrong?”
She still had March’s pink slip in her purse, and she dropped it on his desk. “I guess I knew this could happen, but . . . I mean . . .” It was difficult to express her outrage without sounding like an egomaniac. “I really busted my chops this year. My first contract, and I worked my heart out for those kids. I don’t think I’m bragging, but I’m one of the better teachers over there. None of it matters, though. It gets to be May 30 and they just told me there’s no spot for me here. ‘Last hired, first fired,’ no matter how good your kids are doing.”
“Wow.” He fingered the piece of paper for a moment. “But they’ll find you something else, right? They won’t just dump you.”
“No. The whole state budget has gone in the toilet. I could maybe get a third-grade spot in someplace like Modesto. But no guarantees. Or I might end up teaching a bunch of eighth-grade science classes to kids who all they want to do is text all day. And clear down in Riverside, driving through hell valley on the 91.”
“You’ll get something better than that.”
“Not the way Carolyn put it. The whole California teaching market’s gone in the deep-freeze. Which just makes me livid.”
Adrian seemed unperturbed. “I guess you’ve got to figure your first three, four years of teaching might involve some jumping around. But it’s like they say in Hollywood. The really good screenplays are going to get produced. You’re a solid teacher and something just as good will come along.”
Knowing she was sounding petulant, Rachel Marie launched into a litany of all the special projects she’d put together, creative moments that happened because she stayed up late scouring the Internet and keeping up to date with preteen culture. But even as she spilled her guts she could tell Adrian was losing interest. He kept nodding, but his eyes drifted down to his iPhone, and he actually tapped on the screen a couple of times, nudging client appointments around.
Rachel Marie caught herself. “Well, I can tell you’re on the edge of your seat. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
He had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry. I just . . . I got two listings and both want to have open houses the same time. But . . .”
“Don’t worry about it.” Scooping up her briefcase, she pushed her chair back and went over to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Sorry,” he repeated again, but was already dialing a client as he said it.
She went back out into the May heat, her mind in turmoil. Her rational side knew Adrian was right; layoffs and reluctant bring-backs were reality. The Sacramento legislature might still experience an epiphany; she’d get another offer and once a natural-born teacher stood up in front of thirty kids, the where of it wasn’t a massive deal. She was single; she could move around. Still, his nonchalant disinterest rankled her and she muttered to herself all the way home. Chemistry was great when all the fuses were lit, but at the moment her emotional batteries were running dry. Today’s dour headlines just reminded her that any future life with Adrian would involve a certain level of coping on her part because when it came to her spiritual journey, he was definitely a detached bystander.
Half an hour later she was curled up on the couch, feeling closed in by the four walls of her tiny rental in Temple City. She was famished, but felt too enervated to pick herself up and go poke her head in the fridge. The doorbell rang and she got to her feet, sighing at the necessity of retrieving a smile from her reserve bank.
Standing there on her stoop was a contrite Adrian Morris, a vase of red roses in hand. “Babe, I don’t know what came over me. You get a pink slip and hey, I can’t even get off the phone for five minutes. How about if you let me take you to Souplantation for some chocolate lava cake and we’ll brainstorm a way better future for you?”
* * *
It was a raucous but bittersweet celebration as parents and relatives jostled for parking spots and pushed their way into the middle school gymnasium. Rachel Marie herded her children toward the left-side entrance, forcing a kind of pride at their matching outfits. Dark trousers and white shirts for the guys, black dresses for the girls. The fragrance of hair mousse stiffened the air, and many of the girls wore nylons and glittered with newly purchased cheap jewelry.
“You guys look amazing,” she told Marina and Olga, identical twins with sharp, Slavic features who had emigrated from Russia three months earlier.
“Thank you,” they murmured in unison, edging involuntarily toward each other as if to ward off the boisterous American hubbub. The two sixth-grade classes moved together into the back of the auditorium and filed, grinning, down the aisle to the roped-off seats toward the front.
Rachel Marie spotted Pastor Mike waving at her. “You made it!” she whispered, sidling up to him.
He was a middle-aged man, energetic and friendly, with an engaging smile and a hurried but well-balanced look about him. He and his team of associates had taken New Hope Church a decade earlier and built it up to a thriving body of a thousand believers. How does he find time to come to this for little old me?
“Well, I didn’t think I could get here,” he confessed, tucking his phone away and keeping his voice low as Carolyn began her opening remarks. “But I know this is your first year, and I just wanted you to know, man, we’re all real proud of you.” He glanced around. “You’re the only teacher here to attend New Hope, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, then, get to work witnessing,” he teased. “We got room for your whole staff, Miss Stone.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be back here.”
Pastor Mike draped a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “My niece teaches in this same district, and I know things are always shaky the first few years. Job security-wise, that is. They pass out pink slips like Kleenex. I’ll be praying the Lord will lead you.”
He watched the proceedings for just a few
minutes, smiling in amusement at the silly elementary humor in the kids’ tribute to parents. “Well, forgive me if I slip out. I do have a home Bible fellowship at eight I can still get to. Do you mind?”
“No, of course not.” She accepted a hug of congratulations. “Thanks a lot, Pastor Mike. I really appreciate it. And please keep me in your prayers.”
“Well, we’re very proud of you regardless of where the Lord directs your paths.”
Rachel Marie sank into a chair and scanned the faces of her brood, now standing on the platform in their dress clothes, some embarrassed, some cocky and cutting up to mask their pre-adolescent anxieties. Thank you, Jesus, for these kids. Now that I’m leaving, please look after them and give them awesome futures.
The middle school band was beginning to play when an odd, discordant feeling began to settle over her. Would August be sending her someplace much different from this familiar and comforting world? She looked around at the chairs, the posters on the walls, the row of trumpeters awkwardly trying to hit their notes. She remembered her classroom with its American flag, the crowded rows of desks, tiny chad of notebook papers buried in the carpeting, the books she’d paid for with her own money and stocked in her classroom’s tiny library. The Christmas presents kids had brought and carefully put on her desk with a blushing smile.
It was a sacred disquiet. Lord, do you have something different planned out for me? I sure hope so, ‘cause what’s happening in my life right now is one royal mess.
CHAPTER TWO
It was the tired cliché in a million movies, but it still hurt as Rachel Marie dug through drawers and slowly filled up a pair of cardboard boxes with her personal effects. Laid off and packin’ up. A family photo from Yosemite; her remote infrared mouse and clicker. A well-underlined copy of The Purpose-Driven Life. A rubber-banded stack of birthday cards from all her kids. A stack of preteen adventure stories she’d loaned to the classroom library.
“Let me help you carry everything,” Carolyn said, and Rachel Marie had to bite back her own caustic resentments. “And look. Just come over anytime and use the copy machine if you want to run out résumés.”
They paused at Rachel Marie’s little Ford, and even unlocking the trunk reminded her she still had thirty-eight monthly car payments to go. Her principal seemed to divine her thoughts. “Look, I can always keep you top on my list for substitute teaching. It’s a big school; you might get two, even three days a week.” But both of them knew the daily rate for subs would never constitute a living wage, and their parting was perfunctory.
She drove half a block when she remembered her idea of stopping by Jisoo’s law office. It had been more than a week since their last conversation, and she winced. It was too easy to feel sorry for herself and then lose all perspective on the travails of others. She wheeled north and drove the five blocks to the on-ramp for the 210 freeway, taking little swipes of frosting off the half a sheet cake her boss had pressed upon her as a final guilt offering. I’m plumb out of luck, but hey, I do get a sugary golden parachute from Costco, she grumbled to herself, hating her pessimistic gloom.
The law firm occupied a complex of upscale suites in a Monrovia suburb north of the Interstate, and it took nearly a minute to wind around to the back and find a vacant parking stall. She toyed with the idea of cutting her friend a piece of cake, but of course, the oncologist had put Jisoo on a strictly regimented diet. No kimchi for you! Rachel Marie forced a smile as she went through the front door, grateful for the efficient air conditioning.
Previously, she and her college roommate did most of their visiting either at Jisoo’s Claremont apartment or at quick lunch chats after church. Rachel Marie had only been to her friend’s work site twice before and had to stop at the front desk for directions.
“May I help you?” The paralegal was juggling an iPad and a desktop computer screen, but set everything to the side as Rachel Marie approached.
“Oh. I just came by to see my friend for a bit. But forgot her office number. I think she’s up on three.”
“I’m new, so don’t have them all memorized yet,” the redhead confessed. “But we’ve got the list right here.”
“It’s Jisoo. Her last name’s Kim.”
The girl gulped, and for a moment seemed to look right past her visitor. “Jisoo?”
“Yeah. We’re friends from way back. You know, college. And we hang out some.”
“Oh. Well . . .”
She was plainly discomfited, and Rachel Marie tried to ease the moment. “Look. I know she’s . . . well, you know, she’s undergoing treatment. I know all about it already. So . . . what? Is she not coming in this week?”
“It’s not that.” The clerk wet her lips and then there was an abrupt eruption. “Look . . . oh my God, your friend’s dead.”
“What!”
“Yesterday. She was here for a bit, and she just collapsed in her office. I’m sure it was . . . . you know, related to the cancer. But her heart stopped. The paramedics got here in something like five minutes, but she was gone. It was awful.”
A hammer of disbelief and horror hit Rachel Marie in the gut. “No!”
“I’m really sorry,” the paralegal managed. “This whole place was, like, heartbroken.”
“I just saw her a couple weeks ago,” Rachel Marie protested, tears flooding her eyes. “She seemed okay.”
“I know it. She was coming in about half time. And I heard her telling one of the partners that the chemo was doing pretty well. But I guess things were worse than we all thought.”
“Oh my God.” Rachel Marie felt almost faint, and stumbled over to the nearest chair. “That’s really it?”
“It’s unbelievable. I know. But I guess her body was just too worn out trying to fight the cancer, and then this . . . But yeah, she’s gone.”
Sick, almost reeling from the thunderbolt, she sat there in the lobby as people shuffled in ghostlike clumps up and down corridors. A host of sweet, painful memories came rushing back from their shared college years: procrastinated assignments, the midnight raids to McDonald’s, movie nights at the mall. Helping edit Jisoo’s term papers to smooth out her friend’s awkward English syntax and then giggling together when Jisoo fished out clandestine bags of candy imported from Seoul.
But there was nothing more to be done here. “Wow,” she murmured, staggering to her feet.
“I’m really sorry,” the clerk said again.
“Thanks.”
She was still in a confused and fiercely angry daze as she drove toward Temple City a few minutes later. How in the world? Why? Why? Why?
This abrupt, criminal stealing of her friend was beyond accepting. She knew that God was good; she faintly acknowledged that he was sovereign and that he refereed a universe where Lucifer was still permitted to mount an offensive attack. But these were abstract faith theories, not personal! The loss of Jisoo was devastatingly personal, made all the more painful by the realization that Rachel Marie had let her guard down. She had carelessly trusted that recovery was happening. She had allowed the eternity of almost two weeks to pass without a phone call or a visit, and that void of time now mocked and filled her with a reproach that engulfed her as she drove.
Traffic was light on the westbound freeway as oblivious motorists in the opposite direction crept away from the anonymity of a sprawling Los Angeles. Scarlet with anger, she cut in front of other drivers and flagrantly slammed her way in and out of the restricted carpool lane. She knew she wasn’t in her right mind, that her road rage was making her a danger to herself and others, but she was now beyond caring. Her car a fierce bullet of senseless expression, the speedometer crept higher and ever higher.
All at once she was sobbing. Out loud. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel, shrieking an obscenity that hadn’t passed her lips since high school. Not once but over and over, increasing in shrill volume and despair. $%#! $%#! $%#!
Almost missing her usual off-ramp, she hurtled toward home, her face still flushed and wet. Driv
ing erratically and barely missing two parked cars, she screeched to a stop. Slamming her car door hard, Rachel Marie flung the uneaten rectangle of cake against a light post. She ran angrily through her cramped living room and fell onto the bed, curling into a fetal position with her shoulders heaving uncontrollably.
* * *
Sunset over the Pacific Ocean carried a serene and healing power the next evening as she slowly paced her way around the last few bathers and picnickers. Ashamed now of her rant against her heavenly Father, Rachel Marie found solace in the surging waves and distant sailboats silhouetted against the faint scarlet sky.
“I just feel so completely empty,” she murmured into the cell phone, still aware of the awful abyss of a world without her good friend.
“I know.” Bucky’s voice was gentle. “Even when you know God’s ways are good, and that Jisoo has a secure place in his kingdom, the ache down here is just unbelievable.”
“Did you ever have . . . you know, a real close friend pass away? Like this?” She stepped to one side as a toddler and its mother crossed her path on their way to the parking lot, lunch cooler and an armful of sandy towels in tow.
“Not like this one,” he admitted. “Well, Grandma. But you were there for that. You remember.”
“Yeah.” The last sliver of the setting sun dipped behind the dark gray horizon and she realized, guiltily, that it was after eleven on the East Coast.
Despite the glory of God’s oceanic portrait, she was suddenly weary. Finding an untroubled spot of dry sand, she eased down until she was seated, drawing her sweatshirt closer around her slim form. “I wish you could be here, Bucky. The beach is so awesome.”
“Oh, I remember. We sure miss California. And seeing more of you.” All at once his own voice trembled. “I’d give anything in the world to be there with you, R.M. You know that.”
“I’m okay. Really. It was just so sudden, though. For a little while there, I really took my eyes off of the Savior and his promises. I was just . . . out of my mind.”
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 2