by Sally John
Andie smiled. “Let’s go outside and count the stars.”
Twenty-One
Molly and Jo sat again at the outdoor dining patio on Thursday morning. The scene was a repeat of the previous day complete with egg burrito, distant surfers, and overcast skies. Missing, however, was Molly’s anxiety to call home. Another twenty-four hours of relating as Molly Preston had stifled Superwoman and infused her with courage.
She raised her latte and touched it against Jo’s across the small table.“Here’s to your second fortieth birthday, Josephine. How do you want to spend it?”
“I told you all, I live here. I don’t need a day—”
“Hush. You gave us permission to pry you from that corner. This is our first attempt. You have to go along with it.”
Jo pressed her lips together.
“Come on, Jo.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I want to show you my condo and office.”
“Great. We’d love to see them. Now that wasn’t too tough, was it? See, we’ll bring you out one baby step at a time.”
“No yanking?”
“Only when absolutely necessary.” Molly smiled. “The next step is you have to decide what we’ll do for dinner.”
Jo groaned. “And please one vegetarian, one meat and potatoes lover, one very finicky high-maintenance eater, and one fresh seafood devotee.”
“Need I repeat? It’s your day. Go for the fresh seafood. We can handle it.”
“Easy for you to say. At least you eat seafood too.” She gazed toward the ocean.
Molly watched her and felt a fresh sense of admiration for her old friend sweep over her.
Though it might be prying off the plastic lid from that container of worms, she decided to ask anyway. “Jo, was that the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”
Sunglasses were not in place yet. Her slate blue eyes resembled the ocean when the sun shone on it. Comprehension filled them. “You mean not drink on my birthday?”
She nodded.
“Yes, it was the hardest thing.”
“I am so proud of you.”
“Don’t be. I am my mother’s child. You know how Char does that thing with her tongue on her teeth because her mom taught her to do that instead of spout off in anger?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I remember a kitty dying, the runt of a litter. I was probably about four. I cried and cried. Dr. Christine Zambruski nailed me with one of her looks reserved for bungling nurses. She hissed, ‘Death is part of life. You are not allowed to cry over it.’”
“Oh, Jo. How awful. I don’t remember hearing that.”
“I didn’t think of it until recently. It was buried deep. I would cry now and then, but only with you and Char and Andie. Never in front of my mother. And never at a funeral. ‘Death is part of life!’”
Molly recalled Jo’s words from their first night together. She said she hadn’t cried in twelve years. “You didn’t cry on your birthday?”
“No. Didn’t cry, didn’t drink. I’m a big girl.”
“But you asked for help. You called us.”
Jo nodded.
“And you asked us for help to get you out of the corner.”
“Progress?”
“Definitely.”
“Someone else helped. I met him yesterday behind the house, a strange, wild-looking guy. Dreadlocks.”
“Zeke.”
Jo stared at her.
She laughed. “I met him too, out on the boardwalk. He’s a street pastor.”
“What in the world is a street pastor?”
“His church is the street. Or the boardwalk, in this case.”
“Does he preach on a soapbox?”
“I don’t think so. He walks around ministering to people he meets. He does a Bible study with a couple of the homeless regulars.”
“Ministering. Hmm. I guess that’s what he did with me. I told him the whole story about the girl before I told you and Char and Andie.”
“Really?” Molly wondered why it was a stranger could connect with Jo where she herself hadn’t. Another of God’s mysterious ways.“He saw your pain, hon. Better than I did.”
“I hid it from you as best I could. Don’t give me that look. We’re on vacation! I wasn’t about to dump all my woes on you. Zeke just happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment. I had a splitting headache, and my three buddies were not following my prescribed agenda.”
“How did he get the story out of you?”
“I have no idea.” Jo shook her head.“His eyes.”
“Yeah, I noticed those. They could do it. Rather otherworldly.”
“Molly, you look pale. Do you feel all right?”
She unzipped her sweatshirt part way and pulled at the neck of her T-shirt. “Just a momentary yucky twinge. They’re coming more often. I feel like a teenager. Out of control. My body surprises me with all sorts of things. I’m hot, cold, nauseous. I gain an extra five pounds unaccounted for. I wail one minute and laugh the next.”
“Let’s do a blood test today, find out just where you are hormonally.”
“Jo, it’s the natural order of things. My cycle is sporadic. Things are shutting down. It takes some adjustment.”
“But you don’t have to grin and bear it. There’s hormone replacement therapy.” She reached over and tapped the coffee cup.“And things like eliminating caffeine from your diet.”
“Now you’re getting a little pushy, Doctor.”
“Well, it’s my birthday. I can say what I want.” She grinned. “And you have to go along with whatever I decide to do. Right?”
At that moment, seeing her hurting friend’s rare wide smile, Molly would have agreed to do almost anything she proposed.
Molly carried a cup of coffee and paper-wrapped breakfast at her side in a napkin. She’d chosen the burrito with egg, ham, and cheese for Jimmy Mack, the homeless man she’d talked to the previous day.
A long line of people snaked out from Kono’s open door and onto the boardwalk. She and Jo sidestepped it. As if on cue, the cloud cover dissipated above them, giving way to blue skies. She felt a momentary sense of exposure, of being unprotected. She missed her ocean rock sentinels, low-hanging fog, and uninhabited beaches.
And then she saw Jimmy Mack. The sight of him reshuffled her emotions. A sense of community enveloped her, as if she stood in God’s living room with sky for ceiling and walkway for carpet. Tastefully decorated with ocean and plants, the huge area easily accommodated a crowd. She imagined not everyone there knew the host.
Jimmy Mack sat in the same spot on the same bench as before, his arms wrapped around a knapsack on his lap, his eyes at half-mast. He appeared to stare at nothing in particular. Drugs or alcohol…or utter despair?
She nudged Jo’s arm with her elbow. “I’ll be right back.”
Not wanting to startle him, Molly approached slowly and sat on the bench a few feet from him. The salty air did not mask the odor of an unwashed body. Up close she saw yellow in the whites of his eyes, the roughness of his dark skin, the coarse black hair beneath the black stocking cap.
“Hi, Jimmy Mack.”
He ignored her.
“I’m Molly. We met yesterday? I thought you might like some breakfast.” She set the cup of coffee and wrapped food on the seat between them. “It’s a burrito and coffee. Oh.” She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out small packets.“Here’s cream, sugar, and hot sauce, if you like.”
Still no response from him.
“I talked to my kids this morning. Man, are they going to appreciate me when I get home! Scotty, my husband, gave them chores because yesterday’s breakfast was such a disaster. Eli—he’s eleven—was to get the cereal boxes out of the cupboard. Betsy was to set the table. Hannah was to help her daddy butter the toast. Then Abner—that’s what I call Abigail—was to stack and rinse the bowls. They all complained like it was a major ordeal. Scotty told them if they didn’t help, they would be tardy for school. Again.” She paused. “I should ha
ve let them help a long time ago. Taking on a little responsibility won’t kill them.”
“Kids need responsibility.” The guttural voice was nearly indecipherable.
“I think so too. Do you have kids?”
No response.
Like before, when she asked a direct question, he clammed up. She changed the subject. “My friend over there is getting antsy. We’re going to visit her office today. I think it’s in some fancy neighborhood. She’s a doctor. You know, if you were pregnant, she could take care of you.”
The corner of his mouth moved, so slightly she wondered if she imagined it.
Molly slid the food nearer him and stood. “I’ll see you later.”
Across the boardwalk, Jo shook her head, an amused expression on her face, and mouthed the word, “Why?”
Molly weaved her way between runners and walkers and closed in on her.“Hey, maybe he’s an angel.”
A small man on a small bicycle with tall handlebars pulled alongside Molly. “Jimmy Mack ain’t no angel.” He grinned.
She saw gaps where teeth should have been, his ragged clothing, and dirt smudges on his face. “How do you know he’s not?” she challenged him.
“He’s done gone too far the other way. ‘Jimmy, Jimmy, oh, Jimmy Mack, when are you coming back?’” Singing loudly off-key, the man veered the bike between her and Jo and pedaled away.
Jo looked at her. “Old song.”
“Martha and the Vandellas.”
“Miss Trivia Queen.”
They resumed their trek back toward the beach house.
Jo brushed her shoulder against Molly’s in a playful gesture. “I know why you do it. It’s why you carried me off to AA when I couldn’t stand on my own two feet. It’s why you’re going do your best to drag me out of this corner I’m trapped in. You’re really Saint Jude reincarnated.”
“I am not the saint of hopeless causes, Jo.”
“Then you’re Saint Molly, saint of the Molly Effect.”
She eyed her friend. The phrase from their college days had always been uttered with disdain and a grimace.
Jo smiled. “It’s okay. I think I’m ready for it. After all, you got Andie the scaredy cat talking to the weird neighbor and swimming in the ocean.”
“All I did was pray for her.”
“Prayer. Molly Effect. Same thing. I rest my case.”
“You are not a hopeless cause. Neither is Jimmy Mack.”
“Well, I ain’t no angel and neither is he.”
Molly glanced over her shoulder at Jimmy Mack. The knapsack was still cradled in his arms, but he held the coffee cup in one hand and the burrito in the other. She imagined then not angel wings but nail holes.
No, her friend and the stranger were not angels. Just wounded souls like herself in need of a touch from the One who hung on a cross.
Twenty-Two
Jo stood in the center of her spacious private office while Molly, Andie, and Char oohed and aahed. It was a repeat of what they had done a short while ago at her house.
“Sugar, I am green with envy.” Char trailed her fingers along the edge of the cherry desk and sat in one of the two matching sea green armchairs.
Andie moved slowly around the room, examining abstract art and framed degrees. “Char, I am green with envy. I’m the one who needs an office. You can be green with envy over her house.”
Char laughed. “All right. It’s a deal. Ocean view. Granite countertops. Stainless steel appliances. Mmm. Where do I sign up?”
“Where do I sign up?” Andie grinned. “Ocean view. Soft classical music, not a speaker in sight. Lovely green plants cascading everywhere. Gentle pastel colors. I don’t need the desk. The leather loveseat will be nice, though.”
Molly plopped onto the referenced couch. “It’s very pretty in here, Jo. Professional and warm at the same time. Even the examining rooms. The reception area is downright gorgeous, and the magazines are current, not six months old. I imagine all that makes your patients feel secure.”
Jo joined her on the couch. “Well, they used to, anyway. I’m officially on a self-appointed sabbatical of undetermined length. I’ve spent months casting patients off to the other doctors in the group. Letting my little mommies go. Convincing two women in imminent need of hysterectomies that the male down the hall is quite capable.”
“That sounds like an agonizing process.”
“Not as much as delivering babies. My first one after the funeral—I, um, I nearly lost the mother. Misread all the clues.” She had called Alcoholics Anonymous that night. A counselor talked to her for nearly four hours while she bit her nails to nubbins.“Every delivery after that one was sheer terror. That’s what I meant when I said I’m losing my confidence in practicing medicine. I don’t trust myself anymore. That girl’s death undid me.”
Molly touched her arm.“A sabbatical is a perfect solution. You’ll get grounded again.”
“Oh, Jo!” Andie exclaimed and swung around from where she stood before a bulletin board. “I’m sorry. This is a different subject. Yes, of course you will get grounded again! But look at this!” She pointed to the board, a collection of baby photographs, some yellowed with age. “Did you deliver all these babies?”
Jo nodded. “The first dates back thirteen years.”
“Oh, Jo!” she exclaimed again and turned back to the board.
“It’s become a tradition.” She shrugged. “A couple of my first mothers gave me pictures. Remember how we plastered our dorm rooms with photos of the four of us? I always liked that. Even—” She bit her lip.
They waited, three pairs of brows raised in expectation.
A sensation of letting go washed over Jo. It was fast becoming familiar. Why hold back now?
She swallowed.“Even wasted, I would gaze at those goofy pictures. I have no clue why that one of us at age fifteen standing around a pot of foul, boiling whitefish in Door County, Wisconsin, gave me hope. But it did. Anyway, I continued the practice and began displaying those first baby pictures. Every expectant mother notices the board, of course, and most of them add to it.”
“Jo, honey,” Char said, “what a tribute to your life’s work. It is absolutely precious.”
“I don’t know if it’s a trib—”
Molly squeezed her forearm.“Yes, it is. Just accept the compliment and say thank you.”
She didn’t deserve the compliment, but the Molly Effect had its way.“Thank you. The pictures give me hope. They ground me. I didn’t understand that until recently. I just knew I liked them. You probably noticed how impersonal my home is?”
Molly did her head thing, an ambivalent shoulder to shoulder bob. “The photo from my wedding was on your bookcase.”
“Some interior decorator convinced me to stash it years ago along with others. I unearthed that one on my birthday.” She gave them an abject smile. “I almost got rid of these too.”
Andie hurried to her side, knelt, and grasped the forearm Molly wasn’t touching.“Oh, Jo!” she gushed again, sounding more and more like her empathetic grandmother minus the accent.“Promise me you won’t ever get rid of them. They are a testimonial to you, to your wonderful work. Just imagine! All the new lives you’ve brought into this world. You must get grounded again. What do you need, Jo? What exactly do you want?”
It came in a flash, as if a curtain had been thrown aside. No. She smiled. It was as if she’d darted around a corner. She didn’t know what caused it. The Molly Effect? The Grandmère Babette clone holding her arm? The nearness of long-lost, caring friends? It didn’t matter. She knew right then and there exactly what she wanted.
Her smile broadened into a grin. Her cheeks ached at the unaccustomed stretch. “I’ll show you right after I draw some blood from Molly’s arm.”
So much more than thirty minutes separated Jo’s exquisitely appointed Del Mar office from the Hector Navarro Clinic.
Jo sat with Andie, Char, and Molly in her car parked at the curb across the street from the facility. The low, f
lat-roofed, stucco building with peeling aqua paint and its surrounding neighborhood would not have appeared out of place in Tijuana. Spanish was spoken as frequently as English, evident in the signage on businesses not boarded shut. There was no ocean view from any of them, not that the Pacific lay within visibility. Last week a drive-by shooting occurred two blocks over. At the moment a gang of kids clothed in baggy black and draped in copious silver chains loitered at the corner. They were probably exactly as they appeared: a gang. Children carrying guns, protecting turf, dealing drugs.
Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Jo eyed the trash-strewn sidewalk and waited for her friends’ reactions. In the rearview mirror she caught Char’s from the backseat.
Clapping a hand to her breast, Char exclaimed, “Oh, my! That’s where you volunteer?”
“Jo,” Andie breathed her name as if in awe. “You are a ministering angel.”
She winced at praise she did not deserve.
From the front passenger seat Molly locked eyes with her. “Saint Josephine.”
“I haven’t done it for long, and I don’t come often. Once a month, Saturdays. I missed a couple times ago.”
Andie said,“But this is where you’d rather be, right? This is exactly what you want to do, serve in a poor neighborhood?”
Jo’s imagination carried her back to when she was a third-year premed student visiting Chicago one weekend. Except for Christmas and occasional special events—her sister’s baby shower, her brother’s high school graduation—she did not go there. Three hours away, Champaign-Urbana became home with a capital H the moment she set foot inside that first dorm room, a suite she shared with Molly, Andie, and Char. A brand-new sense of freedom fell about her like a silky mantle. She vowed never to remove it.
Her mother and father were both physicians, Christine a gynecologist and John a surgeon. Distant and unemotional, they raised their three children at arm’s length except when scrutinizing their performance. Years after the fact, Jo realized she went into medicine as a means of seeking their acceptance. By then she had fallen in love with her profession and had no regrets about her choice.