by Sally John
Char smiled. “We are such hovering hens, aren’t we? I finally got hold of my daughter. Now I can sleep. I woke her up, but since no one bothered to return my messages or call me after the game, I don’t think that matters a whole lot, do you? There are consequences to ignoring Mom.”
Andie said, “My boys would never hear the phone in their sleep or bother to pick it up if they did.”
“It’s a girl thing. Savannah sleeps with her cell. Actually, it’s the best time to talk with her, she’s so mellow. She even forgot to call me a flaming fossil!”
Molly chuckled. “I’m taking notes for when my girls become teenagers.”
“You’ll have three at the same time!” Char laughed. “Good luck! Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”
They bid her goodnight.
Andie felt an old worry wriggle into the area reserved for Char. The concern wasn’t specific, like when Char went outdoors. It was more a vague unease. Her friend’s bouncy, carefree attitude had landed her in trouble on several occasions when they were young. How was it she hadn’t matured out of that? How did her husband cope with the disordered wake she left? Come to think of it, she hadn’t talked much about him. Hardly a mention. Then there was Molly’s news, or half news, rather.
“Molly, what you said earlier about you and Scott?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are you two all right?”
Her lips lifted in a quick smile. “We’re redefining ‘us.’ It’s quite an adjustment for me to be working outside the home. Even though that’s only a few days a week subbing, it has been a major change for everyone not to have me in control of family details. It was a rude awakening for Scott. But, yeah, we’re all right.” She paused. “Whenever you want to talk about Paul, I’m here for you.”
Andie’s throat tightened, and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. “Oh, Molly. I was so afraid you’d just tell me to get out from under the pile.”
She winced. “I really used to say that, didn’t I?”
“All the time.” She giggled at Molly’s expression. “It’s okay. We were young.”
“I am sorry.”
“But it truly helped sometimes. I mean, it was what we needed to hear.”
“I still apologize for my youthful insensitivity. Let me say as gently as possible that our only hope is in Christ.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I just can’t figure out what that means in practical terms.”
“Pray. And I’ll pray for you. Do you want to tell me where to start?”
She shrugged. “I worry—no, it’s more than that. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of life. Kind of a huge topic, isn’t it? It’s like this: Not a moment goes by that I’m not fearful of something.”
Molly’s eyes grew wide.
“Go ahead.” Andie fluttered her hand, making light of her words. “Tell me to get out from under the pile.”
“Andie, I’m not thinking that at all. It’s just difficult for me to fathom not having a moment free from worry. What’s disturbing you right now? Right now this very moment?”
“That’s an easy one. I’m afraid Char’s devil-may-care attitude will get her into trouble like it always used to. I’m afraid Jo will start drinking. That maybe she never really truly stopped. I’m afraid I will use up every ounce of your patience. And mostly I’m afraid that while I’m away Paul will neglect the boys and spend more time with…” She swallowed twice. “His girlfriend.” There, she’d said it out loud, in a matter-of-fact tone. His girlfriend. Her heart thudded…but she still breathed.
“Oh, honey. I am so sorry. How awful for you.”
Andie accepted her sympathy with a nod, and they looked at one another in silence.
Molly said, “All those things you listed that frighten you, they’re things you cannot possibly control. Those are the things we learn to let go of, to let God handle. I wonder, what are you afraid of for yourself?”
“For myself?” She thought about it. She was still breathing… “That I’d die on the spot if I admitted that about Paul. If I said ‘girlfriend’ out loud.”
“And you didn’t die on the spot.”
“No, I didn’t.” She let out a breath of satisfaction. “One down, a zillion to go.”
Molly smiled softly. “Narrow the worries to this time and space for yourself. Are you afraid to go to your room and turn out the light?”
“No. I like this house and my room. Now, the thought of stepping outdoors gives me the willies, but I don’t have to step—”
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Outdoors.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“You haven’t seen the ocean at midnight. It’s an amazing sight. The question you need to ask is why not see it?”
“Because this city is not safe. You mentioned the crime rate yourself.”
Molly chuckled. “Sitting in this room is not safe in Southern California. Do you know what the chances are a major earthquake could strike?”
“Oh, great. Give me something else to worry about.”
Molly slid an arm under her elbow and pulled her to her feet.
“Andie, stop holding your breath. Exhale. Exhale! Thatta girl. Now inhale.”
They stood at the seawall just across the boardwalk from the picket fence. Only the fence’s small gate and a few feet separated Andie from the safe confines of the house. Still, if Molly didn’t keep her arm entwined with hers, Andie knew she’d spin around and run straight for her little bedroom.
The breathing on demand exercise made her voice squeak. “This is crazy!”
“More deeply. Try again. Inhale. Smell that sea air. Ahh!”
“I’m wearing sweats, for goodness’ sake!”
“And I’m wearing pj’s. So what?”
“There are people out here!”
“Exhale. This air is different from my coast. Saltier or something.”
“Molly, this can’t be safe!”
She squeezed her arm. “Look out there. See where that spotlight catches the white water? Magnificent.”
“There are two police officers talking to a gang of kids not fifty yards from here.”
“Police? We’re safe then.” She took hold of Andie’s chin and turned her head. “Out there. Look. Pretty spectacular, huh? And listen. Wow. Hear that soothing rhythm.”
Andie realized Molly was not letting go of her. She tried to focus on the scene before her, but it wasn’t happening.
How ridiculous they must look to people on the boardwalk! Her bright blue pants and sweatshirt were not for public viewing. She was quite certain Char would not be caught dead in them even indoors in private.
And then there was Molly. Well, what could she say about her outfit? Her friend’s quirky sense of humor had not dwindled over the years. She wore a thin white sweatshirt and hot pink flannel pants dotted with white baby chickens sporting yellow halos and tiny wings. Molly called them her “angel chicks” and evidently did not care who saw them.
And people did see them. Andie could not believe how many passed by. It wasn’t a steady stream, but given the time of night the number was phenomenal. There were those kids not too far down talking with police clad in shorts. Shorts! She had seen a skateboarder, a bicycler, and an ambler with a sleeping bag over his shoulder. One couple strolled by arm in arm and—perhaps it was only the dim light playing tricks on her eyes—but she thought they were both men.
All that since they stepped out the door three minutes ago.
“Andie, please try.”
Oh, no! What if people thought they were like that last couple? Two women locked in an embrace—“Molly! Okay, okay! You can let go of me.”
She did so. “Inhale all the way down to your toes.”
“What am I supposed to see? It’s total blackness out there.” Most of the beach lay in shadows. The walkway lamps scarcely reached beyond the seawall.
“Look that way.”
She turned her head slightly. A
nearby spotlight mounted on a gift shop’s rooftop and aimed at the water lit a tunneled area, making it bright as day.
“Now, inhale through the nose all the way to the toes.” Molly threw back her shoulders and demonstrated.
Andie followed suit. Anything to get them back inside as quickly as possible.
And then something happened. Like deep calling to deep, her heart was touched by the abstract. The mystery caught hold. The Ancient of Days spoke.
“Oh!” The word was an awed whisper. “God is real. He is so real. He created all of this, didn’t He?”
“Yes, He did.”
Her senses awoke to the details. Thick, damp, salt-laden air. Rhythmic sounds…a gentle whisper of a wave rolling in; a momentary suspension of noise, as if it held its breath; then a hushed tone while it receded. Small birds flitted alongside the water, playing a game of tag with it. White water glittered in the spotlight. Pinpoints of light sparkled in the blackness where the horizon should have been. Fishing boats? Or stars dropping in for a midnight swim? A seagull cried.
She sighed again.“What in the world could I ever be frightened of? The God who made all of this actually knows me.”
“By name.” The deep male voice with its little accent came from the other side of Molly.
Andie nearly leaped out of her skin before she realized it was Julian, the neighbor. How long had he been standing there eavesdropping? Instantly aware again of her unbecoming sweatshirt and pants, she moved closer to her friend, mashing her arm against Molly’s.
“And,” Molly said, “He knows the number of hairs on my head. Kind of puts life in perspective.”
“That it does,” he said. “There was a seventeenth-century theologian named Angelus Silesius. He said if God stopped thinking about us, He would cease to exist.”
“Cool. I don’t know what in the world it means, but my husband will like it.”
He chuckled. “Andie, I apologize for startling you.”
He addressed her alone, no doubt because Molly hadn’t jumped at his voice, nor did she cower behind someone, a deer-in-headlights expression on her face.
He propped a bare foot on the seawall and crossed his arms. “You were so enraptured with the scene. It is rather incomparable, isn’t it?”
His voice floated on the breeze, soft yet crisp. It reminded her of her father’s. Not overly deep nor tinny. Neither condescending nor accusing.
Not waiting for a reply, he went on. “I find the ocean is less fearsome than it is a thing to be admired and respected. For example, you wouldn’t want to surf during a winter storm. Do you surf?”
“I live in Wisconsin.” She smiled and straightened her posture, moving a quarter inch away from Molly.
Julian chuckled again. “I guess not then. How about you, Molly?”
“No. We’re on the Oregon coast, though, and my son wants to teach me when he learns. I’m thinking of postponing his lessons until he’s thirty. You probably surf here?”
“Most days. I can’t seem to live a half-minute walk from the ocean and not literally immerse myself in it on a regular basis. Faith Fontaine, the woman who owned your house, used to say it was like holy water for me. Like a vast basin of cleansing power.”
“I wish I could have met her.” The words gushed from Andie without a conscious thought. “That’s something my grandmother would have said.”
“Was your grandmother a little offbeat, a little mysterious, and totally enthralled with every aspect of God’s creation?”
“Oh, yes! Exactly. And the house is so like my Grandmère Babette’s apartment.”
Molly added, “It reminds all of us of it. Even Jo is coming round.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He lowered his foot from the wall.“Let me know if you need anything. Goodnight.”
They wished him goodnight and he left, strolling the opposite direction from his house.
Andie yawned, suddenly exhausted. “Whew. I feel like I just climbed a mountain. Are you ready to go in?”
Looking over Andie’s shoulder, Molly murmured, “Wait a sec. I’m guessing he’s going to talk to those homeless guys. Yep, he’s stopping. Isn’t he interesting? He talks like he’s personally responsible for our comfort. If Faith Fontaine really was like Babette, I bet she taught him everything he knows about being neighborly.”
“Well, an hour ago I would have said he was downright weird and we should avoid him.”
Molly smiled at her. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Guess we killed two birds with one stone then. We went outside in the dark and bonded with the neighbor as well.”
“Make it three birds. The dark, the neighbor, and being seen in public with you and your angel chicks!”
Twelve
Molly and Jo sat at a small round table on a dining patio high above the beach. The morning sky was overcast, the air cool. A handful of other diners spoke in hushed tones or read newspapers, respectfully sharing with each other the singular quiet of early morning. In the distance, visible over the misted plexiglass barrier around the deck, a few scattered surfers floated about in the placid water.
Relaxed in the Oregon-like environment, Molly inhaled a deep contented breath.“That black-bean-and-egg burrito was perfect. And a latte with soymilk? Well worth a twenty-minute, predawn walk. Can we come again tomorrow?”
Jo smiled. “And the next day and the next, if you like.”
“Andie would enjoy it. Char, too, if she managed to get up before lunchtime.”
“Apparently she hasn’t changed into a morning person.”
“Apparently not. I wonder if she packed that ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign or found it in the bedroom here?”
Jo smiled again. Molly thought she looked better today, refreshed. Her thick gray sweatshirt added bulk, hiding her thinness.
Molly turned and watched the surfers. How good it felt, the four of them together again! “Why do you think…” She fingered the paper ring encircling the coffee cup and reconsidered the question. Maybe she didn’t want to go there. Given her haywire hormones and the emotional stress of recent months, she could give it a rest. The past was over and the morning so pleasant.
“Moll?”
She faced Jo.“Hmm?”
“Why do I think what?”
“Oh, nothing.” Again she paused. “Looking backward can lead to such a can of worms.”
Jo smiled. “Better open it now. That’s what vacation is all about, to set those worms free. You only have a week.”
Molly nodded. “It’s this business about turning forty.”
“Turn on the can opener!”
She flashed a smile at Jo’s lighthearted tone. “I’m still processing things.” A stab of homesickness struck her. For a change, it was not for her family but rather for “girl talks,” the kind she’d only experienced with Jo. “Things like us losing touch. Why do you think that happened?”
“Distance and marital status.”
“That was quick. I’d say you’ve thought about this.”
“Of course. I bet you have too.”
“Yep, and I reached the same conclusion. Distance and marital status. And kids. I sometimes feel guilty for being married and having children. It seemed to ruin a perfectly good friendship. We didn’t have anything in common after my wedding.”
“Moll, you still have a silly streak. We had our wacko mothers in common.”
She groaned. “Let’s not open that can!”
“I noticed you haven’t asked about mine.”
“And you haven’t asked about mine.” A long silent moment passed before Molly posed the question. “So how is yours?”
“Unavailable. Yours?”
“Ditto.”
“Unavailable” was the adjective they’d finally chosen as the most apt to describe their mothers. “PTA” and “sleepovers” and “movies” were words that never crossed the women’s lips. The thought of sitting on a bleacher, watching their girls’ volleyball game, was as foreign to t
hem as strolling through the slums of Cabrini-Green.
Jo smiled. “Back to us girls…Distance divided us first. I moved away, remember? Followed a guy I thought I wanted to marry halfway across the country.”
“And I thought you came out here for med school.” Molly winked.
“Yeah, right. No, first and foremost was Ernesto Delgado. I never regretted not marrying him.”
“Then you truly are contented? Fulfilled?”
Jo leaned back in the chair. “I thought so, until this year. On my birthday I even asked myself if I did regret leaving Ernie. Maybe I’ve only been fooling myself all these years. But I don’t think that’s it. More likely ‘it’ is turning forty and realizing my career has not fulfilled me.” She shrugged.“How about you? You don’t really feel guilty for having a family, do you?”
“No. Marriage and motherhood have been my greatest joy, and on most days still are. But like you with your career, I have not been fulfilled by them. Which is what struck me on my birthday. And it scared me.”
“It scared you?”
“Mm-hmm. When we got married, I was so in love, so happy to leave Chicago for a higher calling, and a year later so happy to care for my own child instead of a classroom of other people’s kids. It never entered my mind I’d want something different someday.” She paused. “And then I turned forty.”
“What exactly happened on your birthday?”
“Breakfast in bed was a sweet gesture. It was great. Then Scotty had to leave and I had carpool duty since he reneged on his promise to do it. Later, as I was eating cold pancakes and scrubbing frying pans—the eggs and bacon that they’d burned—I realized I wasn’t happy. Not really. The more I thought about it the more disturbed I got. I was fed up with being known as Pastor Scott’s wife, mother of Eli, Betsy, Abigail, and Hannah. Where was Molly? Obliterated by marriage and motherhood!”
“But at the airport you said life was great.”
“It was. Then all of a sudden, wham! I’m forty and guess what? I have succeeded: I don’t look like my mother! But I don’t look like Molly, either. I didn’t lose myself in a career like your mom or in the social scene like my mom. I wasn’t ever unavailable to my husband or kids. But I lost myself somewhere along the way. In being so available, I created five monsters. Well, four. Hannah’s too young; she doesn’t count. But the others depend on me for every single thing. I’m not just talking about picking up socks. I mean the whole kit and caboodle, every detail involving house and schedules and kids, not to mention running the Sunday school department.”