Barefoot

by Brown, Sharon Garlough;

  “Could you slide that card for me one more time?” the clerk asked.

  Mara made sure the strip was facing the right direction and slid it again. At least she hadn’t felt threatened and jealous when Jeremy said that he and Abby were taking Madeleine to Ohio to see Ellen, whom she had once viewed as a rival grandmother. That was progress. Dawn would probably say that was significant progress.

  “Do you have another card you can use?” the clerk asked. “That one’s not going through.”

  Mara’s face flushed. “Oh! Sorry. Sure.” She shoved the Visa card back in her wallet and pulled out her MasterCard. Swipe, wait, and—

  Furrowed brow and a shake of the head from the cashier.

  “That one’s not working either?” Mara asked, stomach churning.

  “No.”

  The woman behind her muttered something.

  “Here—let’s try this.” She swiped her debit card.

  No good.

  Oh, God.

  Tom.

  Mara stared at the loaded bags in the shopping cart and tried to calm herself down. “I’m so sorry—something must have happened with the bank. I’ll—I’ll have to go and call and see if something’s been stolen or—”

  Sabotaged.

  Oh, God.

  Now what?

  The clerk motioned to all the unpaid-for groceries. “So all of this—”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mara murmured. Hand trembling, she yanked the zipper on her purse closed, squeezed around the cart, and scurried out of the store to her car, head down.

  That account has been closed.

  Mara called every single one of their credit cards, only to be told the same thing over and over again, with no other explanation.

  “Did you have anything in your own name?” Charissa asked when Mara called her, panicked.

  “No—nothing! They were all just cards on Tom’s account.” How could she have been so foolish? “I never had any job, so we always got cards in Tom’s name. My credit was shot years ago, and I never thought to do anything to try to rebuild it. And now what? What am I going to do? He’s even closed our checking account!”

  “I’ll call my dad,” Charissa said, “see what he says.”

  Mara pounded the bed with her fist. If she hadn’t charged a new mattress to Tom’s account, this might never have happened. This was his revenge, his declaration of control.

  Oh, God.

  “What’s for dinner?” Kevin called from the doorway.

  “Cereal,” she said, and burst into tears.

  Charissa

  Charissa had hoped her father would give her detailed pro bono advice to pass along to Mara. Instead, he told Charissa that Mara needed to contact her own attorney. But was Tom allowed to do that? Charissa asked. Just close all the accounts?

  If they were his accounts, yes.

  But what about all the child support? Wasn’t he supposed to be paying her monthly for that, even before the divorce was final?

  Have her contact her own attorney, he said. Since he didn’t know anything about their temporary custody agreement, he couldn’t speak to any details.

  “What’s going on?” John asked when she got off the phone.

  She slammed her computer shut. “You know how I went with Mara to buy a new mattress a few weeks ago?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, Tom threw an absolute fit when he got the bill. And now he’s shut down all of their credit cards and their checking account. She’s got nothing. Absolutely nothing. No way even to buy food right now.”

  John tossed aside his video game controller. “That’s not right! He can’t just leave her with no way to take care of herself and the boys and—”

  “I know. Dad says she’s going to have to contact her attorney immediately. But that costs money.” She strode past a mountain of packed boxes and yanked her coat from the closet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Shopping.”

  He looked at his watch. “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  “What about the lecture you were fretting about for tomorrow?”

  “It can wait.”

  John smiled with a smile that lit up his whole face. “I just deposited a bonus check,” he said. “Get her whatever she might need.”

  Grocery shopping had never been so much fun. Ever. Charissa filled a cart with everything she imagined might be helpful to Mara over the next couple of weeks: toilet paper and paper towels, cleaning supplies, bulk bags of frozen chicken breasts and pounds of ground beef, frozen vegetables and pasta, cereal and soup and fresh produce and cheese and yogurt and bread and coffee. Two hundred and ninety-five dollars later, she unloaded the first bags onto Mara’s porch. A dog barked; the porch light switched on; the front door flew open.

  “What the—” Mara jumped back.

  “Just me!” Charissa said, holding up a plastic bag. “Thought I’d make a little delivery.”

  Mara stood frozen. Speechless.

  “Sorry to surprise you—I should have called first.”

  “No . . . no, it’s okay! I thought maybe you were a neighbor, when I heard the noise . . . Come in, come in!” Mara cast a furtive glance up and down the street, then reached for a few bags and peered inside, her eyes misting over. “What’s all this?”

  “Some groceries for you and the boys.” Charissa maneuvered around a small yapping dog that was jumping in circles at her feet.

  “Bailey, stop!” Mara commanded. Bailey kept barking. “Kevin! C’mere, please! Get Bailey for me!”

  Kevin grabbed Bailey by the collar and returned Charissa’s greeting.

  “I can’t believe this!” Mara said, depositing the bags on the carpet so she could embrace Charissa in an all-enveloping hug. “You’re an angel! An absolute angel.”

  Charissa smiled. She had been called many things in her life, but never an angel. “I’ve got more in the car.”

  “More?” The tears streamed down Mara’s cheeks. “Kevin—here—put Bailey down in the basement, would you? And help Mrs. Sinclair get the other bags from her car.” Mara started carrying bags to the kitchen to unpack. Kevin dragged Bailey by the collar and closed the basement door before the dog could escape again.

  “Thanks, Kevin,” Charissa said as he followed her to the car.

  “Yep.” He was silent as he hoisted bags out of the trunk.

  “Hope I got some stuff you’ll like,” she said. “Wasn’t sure what kind of snacks to get you.”

  Kevin looked puzzled. “You bought all this stuff for us?”

  Evidently, Mara had not disclosed what Tom had done. Tempting as it was, Charissa decided not to tell Kevin what a louse his father was. “Your mom had a pretty rough day,” she said. “So I’m helping out.” She removed the last bag and slammed the trunk shut. Maybe Kevin would report to Tom about the delivery of groceries, and Tom would see that his plan had failed.

  “Hannah is going to meet you at the bank tomorrow when you open your own checking account,” Charissa announced to Mara as she carried the bags into the kitchen. Kevin started stocking the pantry shelves.

  “I haven’t got any money to—”

  “Yes, you do. We’ve already worked it out. You’ve got enough money now to open an account—no! no arguing”—she waved her hand at Mara to shut down her ready objection—“and whenever you get your appointment set with your attorney, Hannah will go with you. Tom will need to start depositing all the support funds into your new account. And we’ll do whatever we can to help you move forward. All of us. John and I, Hannah and Nathan, Meg.” Kevin’s head emerged from behind the closet door, and Charissa could tell he was paying close attention. Good. “Tom went way too far, Mara. He messed with all of us when he messed with you. And he’s stirred up a hornet’s nest—believe me. I’ve never heard Meg angry. You should have heard her on the phone when I called to tell her what happened. Forget the Sensible Shoes Club. It’s the Sensible Combat Boots Club now.”

  Mara laughed
, her whole body shaking with a combination of bellowing chortles and grateful sobs. She embraced Charissa again and rocked her back and forth. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I can’t believe you—all of you—that you would do this for me. For us. Thank you. Thank you! I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Ever.”

  On her drive back to the apartment an hour later, Charissa offered her own gratitude to God. Walking that extra mile had never been so invigorating. Ever.

  eight

  Hannah

  “I withdrew an extra hundred dollars for her,” Meg said, handing Hannah an envelope from the bank. “And I can do more later if she needs it. He’s not going to get away with this.”

  “I sure hope not,” Hannah said. “Mara left a message for her attorney. I hope she’ll hear back from him soon.” Hannah tucked the envelope into her purse. “And speaking of hearing back, you should have heard something by now about a chest x-ray. I’m surprised they haven’t called yet.”

  Meg shrugged and sank into the recliner.

  “Humor me, okay?” Hannah said. “Call the doctor’s office and pester them. You need to get in.”

  “Okay, deal.” Meg pulled the lever and leaned back, feet extended. “I’ll call the doctor. You call Steve.”

  Hannah glanced at her watch. She didn’t need to meet Mara at the bank for another hour. With any luck, she’d catch Steve before their Tuesday morning staff meeting started. Leaving Meg in the music room to make her phone call, she went to the kitchen and dialed Westminster’s number.

  “Good morning! Thanks for calling Westminster. This is Heather.”

  Heather? Why was the intern answering the office phone? For a moment Hannah considered not identifying herself. But then that would be awkward once Heather inevitably asked who was calling. “Hey, Heather, it’s Hannah.” No response. “Hannah Shepley.”

  “Oh, hey, Hannah! Sorry—didn’t recognize your voice! How are you?” She was so . . . so . . . perky.

  “Great, thanks!” Another moment to decide: Should she engage Heather in conversation about how her work was going or ask to be put through to Steve with no small talk? “So, how’re you doing?” Hannah asked. “Everything going well?”

  “Awesome! Absolutely awesome. I can’t believe how much I’ve already learned! The church is amazing. Completely amazing. And everything has been great at your house. No problems at all!”

  “I’m so glad,” Hannah said. She was, right? She thought a moment about that. Yes, she was. Mostly. Still a little twinge of insecurity about being replaced so easily, but mostly glad. “Is Steve in yet this morning?”

  “I think so, but we’re getting ready for our staff meeting.”

  I know that, Hannah said silently. I did staff meetings for fifteen years, remember? Aloud, she said, “It’ll be quick. If you can just put me through to his office.”

  “Okay, hold on.” Still perky. “Great to talk to you, Hannah!”

  “You too, Heather. Thanks.”

  She stared at the windowsill where two amaryllis bulbs in side-by-side pots had sprung into stalks on the verge of blooming: red for Hannah, white for Meg, their flowers in winter. How much had happened since they potted those bulbs before Christmas, before—

  “This is Steve.”

  Hannah sat up straighter. From the sound of his voice, Heather hadn’t told him who was calling. “Hey, Steve, it’s Hannah. Shepley.”

  “Hannah! Sorry I missed your call last week. I was away at a conference and came back to a pile of messages.”

  “No problem! I know you’re getting ready for staff, so I’ll keep this short, and maybe we can arrange another time for a more detailed conversation.”

  “Okay.”

  Hannah said, “I know how the fishbowl thing goes, so maybe you’ve already heard something about this, but I reconnected with an old seminary friend back in October—a crazy sort of small-world story.”

  He laughed. “I heard rumors, which were swiftly discredited, by the way. No worries.”

  “Well . . .” She stared at her engagement ring. “Turns out, there’s a lot more to the story than what I let on a couple of weeks ago and—” she switched the phone to her other ear—“last week Nathan asked me to marry him . . . and I said yes.”

  Stunned silence and then, “Hannah! Wow!”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Yes. Wow!”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.” She wished she could see his facial expression, whether there was anything other than sincere enthusiasm in his response. “We haven’t set a date yet—obviously a lot will depend on what happens after I come back to Chicago, and then we can figure out long-term strategies, whether we wait for a couple of years or . . .” Her voice trailed off into a billowing, pregnant silence.

  “I take it your fiancé lives in Michigan?” he said after a few moments.

  Her fiancé. That word still sounded so foreign, so improbable in her own ears. “In Kingsbury, yes.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She could hear his wheels turning. “It’s all very sudden,” Hannah went on, “and I haven’t even told Nancy yet. Honestly, I’m not ready for the news to be public at Westminster, but I wanted to at least let you know what’s going on, Steve, to let you be one of the first to know.”

  “Thank you for that,” he said, before another awkward pause. “I’m happy for you, Hannah. Very happy for you.”

  Uh-huh. And apparently something else he wasn’t voicing. She should have driven down to Chicago and had this conversation face-to-face. Maybe she should drive down to Chicago in the next couple of days, just to check in. “I know there’s a lot more for us to talk about,” Hannah said, “and I don’t want to make you late for staff. Just wanted to call, you know, and fill you in on what’s been happening up here, with all the unexpected twists and turns. This one took me completely by surprise.”

  “God has a way of doing that,” Steve replied.

  More silence.

  “I could come down this week, Steve, talk it through some more with you if that would be helpful—”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary.”

  She wasn’t convinced by his cryptic tone. “I’ll maybe call you later in the week, then?”

  “How about if I call you, Hannah? Maybe early next week?” She could hear him shuffling some papers. “I’ll email you with some days and times that would work with my schedule, and we’ll set something up. Does that sound okay?”

  “Sure. Fine. Thanks, Steve. Thanks for keeping the news confidential for now.”

  “Right.”

  “And say hi to everyone for me!”

  “Will do.”

  Meg appeared in the doorway as Hannah said goodbye and hung up the phone. “Everything okay?” Meg asked.

  “Not sure.” Hannah cradled her chin in thought.

  Meg sat down across from her, her skin sallow in the overhead light, her collarbone protruding above the neckline of her London sweatshirt.

  “What did the doctor say?” Hannah asked.

  Meg pressed her hand against her chest. “Sounds like the order got lost somehow. They’re looking into it.”

  “Oh, Meg! That’s not okay. How about if I go with you to the ER when I finish at the bank with Mara?”

  Meg shook her head. “I don’t know about my insurance on that. I think it’s better if I just wait for the referral.” She doubled over as a coughing fit seized her, her face contorted in pain. Maybe she had cracked a rib at some point in the past week or two.

  “I really, really don’t like the sound of that cough.” Hannah rose to get Meg a glass of water. “If they haven’t called back by lunchtime, I don’t think you should wait. You’ve been dealing with this for over a month now, and it’s getting worse.”

  Meg took the glass from her and sipped slowly. “I’ll be okay,” she said, trying to clear her throat. “But what about Steve? What did he say?”

  The recounting of their brief phone call made
it seem even more peculiar. Hannah wasn’t sure how to characterize his response. Clearly, the news had taken Steve by surprise, especially since he had heard rumors that had been aggressively dispelled—probably by Nancy, and at Hannah’s insistence. That encounter at the airport with Sally now seemed so long ago. Maybe she should have let the rumors fly. If she had known then that she was only a week away from being engaged, she might have done nothing to shut them down. Now she was in the awkward position of recanting her disavowal, not just with the wider congregation but with Nancy. Her determination to protect her privacy had only complicated the matter.

  “So he wasn’t supportive?” Meg asked, her expression a mix of shock and indignation. “He wasn’t happy about your news?”

  “It’s not that he wasn’t happy or supportive, just circumspect. Whatever was going through his mind, he wasn’t prepared to share it with me.”

  “Maybe he’s wondering whether or not you’ll come back.”

  “I should have assured him I was.” An obvious oversight, probably worth an email. “The thing is, I don’t know how long I’ll stay after I go back. That’s the piece I can’t see clearly, no matter how hard I pray about it.”

  Meg coughed into the crook of her arm again. “Maybe Katherine will have some ideas for you when you see her.”

  True. It was probably a gift that she wouldn’t talk to Steve again until after she met with Katherine for spiritual direction. Hannah reached for her keys. “Can I get you anything while I’m out?”

  “No, thanks. Just give Mara a hug from me, tell her I’m praying for her.”

  “I will,” Hannah said. “And I’m giving you a noon deadline. If they’re not going to schedule you for an x-ray today, I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguing.”

  With a meek nod, Meg returned to the recliner and swathed herself in her fleece blanket. When Hannah left the house fifteen minutes later, Meg was asleep, her mouth slightly open, her phone in her lap.