by Sally John
“Hi, Zeke.” she said.
He stopped and shook her hand. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. Except I can’t figure out which bus to take.”
“Where you headed?” He took the pamphlet from her.
Paul’s voice murmured in her mind, casting doubt on her plans. She thought of the paper in her pocket. Earlier, while sitting in a café eating an omelet she wrote a list of things that scared her. Instead of seeing it as a list of fears, though, she titled it “Andie’s Adventure List.”
The first item was to eat breakfast alone in a restaurant. That one was checked off. Number two read Explore an area of San Diego I can’t walk to; take a bus to get there. The “there” was what she had planned to do with her friends on her special day.
On second thought, she could change her plans. Do something easier. Jo wouldn’t mind driving her and the others there sometime during the next two days.
See, Andrea? You’re being sensible. You don’t have to go chasing off—
Take a hike, Paul. I boogie board in the ocean.
She smiled at that thought and said out loud in a determined voice, “I want to go to the Museum of Art in Balboa Park.”
Zeke didn’t laugh or look at her as though she were nuts. He simply studied the schedule. “Well, sister, I do believe we are taking the same bus. You’ll have to transfer before I do, but I’d be glad to show you.”
“You would?” Relief flooded her. “Thanks. Where are you going?”
“Home.” He gave the pamphlet back to her. “Time for a little sleep. Been up all night. Let me tell you, it was some dark night here at the beach. I’m talking spiritual realm. The evil one was busy. Here’s our ride now, sister.”
The bus ground to a halt near them, and they boarded it.
Andie wondered at Zeke’s words. He was in tune with more than she wanted to know, but she sensed a connection with what he said. Evil touched good things. Things like her marriage. Like her friendship with Jo, Char, and Molly.
They sat down together and she asked, “You don’t live around here?”
He chuckled. “My Father owns the cattle on a thousand hills, but ain’t no way I can pay rent in this neighborhood. He provides plenty for me, don’t get me wrong. He got me a nice little apartment and a solid job. I work at a convenience store, mostly third shift. Last night I was off, so I spent it down here where the real work is done.”
“Do you live near family?”
“Yes, I do. Mama, two brothers, two sisters, their spouses, bunch of nieces and nephews.”
Andie guessed from his unlined face that he was younger than her, but not by much. There was a depth to him that added years. “You’re not married?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Got me a girlfriend, though. Maybe even fiancée. We shall see. Most women don’t want nothing to do with the way I live. First ’cuz I was so messed up, now ’cuz I’m always off doing Bible studies and some such. But, Lilly, now she’s different. You haven’t met her yet?”
“No.”
“Oh, she’s pretty. She comes with me sometimes to the beach.”
“Why do you come here if it’s not close to home?”
He grinned. “That’s what my mama always asks. She says I ought to preach on my own street. But the Lord brings me here. Back before He got hold of me, I sort of lived in this neighborhood at one time. You seen all the homeless folk?”
She nodded.
“That was me, sister. Down-and-out without a hope in the world. Then my friend met Jesus and he told me, and then I met Jesus. Amen. The fellowship grows and grows, but not everyone knows Him yet. And there’s a heap of sorrow here. Lot of ways I can help since I know from my own experience what it’s like for these lost sheep.”
“That makes—” She shook her head. She almost said it made sense that he traveled to preach on a beach, but in all honesty it did not make sense. “Zeke, I can’t relate to your lifestyle.”
“’Course not. You’re called to something else. What do you do?”
“I’m a wife, a mom with two teenage sons, and a reflexologist.”
“Say what? Reflex-what? I never heard of that.”
She explained her work to him.
He nodded. “See, that’s where you’re called. You heal people right there in your own neighborhood.”
“But my husband doesn’t want me to.” She unintentionally blurted the words. Thinking of how she loved her work reminded her of Paul’s incessant complaints about her job. She might as well admit that there was no way he would ever permit her to open an office in their house. What a pipe dream she’d been engaged in!
Zeke said, “You mean he doesn’t want you to heal others?”
“He doesn’t really consider it healing or even helping people all that much.”
“How come? Don’t you do that stuff to his feet?”
“No. He has sensitive feet. He says it hurts too much.”
“Mm-mm. I am sorry to hear he doesn’t support what you do.”
Me too.
“A husband and wife need to support one another.” He shook his head. “Could be the Lord has some other kind of ministry planned for you. Just keep looking up, sister. Just keep looking up. You mind if I pray?”
Andie smiled. One thing she was sure of that day was that she could use all the prayer she could get.
Ancient religious paintings of every shape and size filled the walls in a large, high-ceilinged room of the San Diego Museum of Art. The only sound came from the echoed footfalls and hushed voices of the handful of other visitors.
Andie sat alone on a marble bench and studied a spotlighted canvas before her. It was good-sized, probably six by eight feet, but not the largest in the room. It was not exotic the way some of them were. There was no gruesome depiction of Jesus bleeding on the cross or of saints battling with grotesque demons. What had captured her attention the moment she entered the room was its gentle portrait of human nature. The note read Virgin and Child with Saint John, Attributed to the Italian school, Fifteenth Century.
Baby Jesus, perhaps five months old, sat on His mother’s lap. John, a toddler, leaned against her, holding his hand out to Jesus, showing Him a small bluebird he held. The children were chubby and rosy-cheeked, real in appearance without the usual halos. She wondered at the family relationship. Presumably Mary and John’s mother, Elizabeth, were kinfolk. Cousins perhaps? How heartwarming the thought that perhaps the boys had played together as children!
Andie longed to hold her own sons again at those ages. Overcome with a sense of missing them, she had sat down on the bench. She remained glued to the seat because an intense feeling of connectedness with Mary had taken hold of her imagination. Mother to mother, woman to woman.
“It is quite emotional, isn’t it?”
Andie jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to see a woman sitting beside her.
“Oh, I am sorry,” the elderly woman said. “I startled you. And probably ruined your concentration as well.” Her hair was white and wispy, her face as downy soft in appearance as the ones in the painting.
“No, you didn’t—” Andie caught the woman’s knowing smile and returned it. “Well, yes, you did ruin it, but that’s all right.”
“It was just that your rapturous expression spoke so clearly, I thought we were already having a conversation!”
Andie laughed with her.
The woman had a delightful laugh, like high-pitched wind chimes tinkling in the distance. She was short; her feet didn’t touch the floor. She wore tea rose pink—cardigan, blouse, and skirt. Pink lipstick. Pink rouge. Pink purse on her lap. No doubt she would call it a pocket-book.
Andie said, “My grandmother and I would go to the Art Institute in Chicago. We’d sit and look at paintings we liked and talk and talk.”
“My husband and I used to do that right here.” She turned from the picture to glance at Andie. Her eyes were large and watery powder blue behind square, silver-rimmed glasses. “He’s been gone ten years
now.”
“I’m sorry. My grandmother has been gone fifteen.”
The woman bowed her head slightly.
Swell. Now Andie missed her babies and Babette. And, truth be told, she probably missed a husband who sat with her in wonder at works of art. But…was it even possible to miss something she’d never had?
She said, “How fortunate your husband shared in your enjoyment of art.”
“Well, actually, I shared in his. He was a painter, as a hobbyist. I didn’t know the first thing about art until he taught me.” She smiled. “I was not always the best student. Later in life we spent weekends at art festivals up and down the coast, selling his work.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“It was. If I may ask, did your grandmother introduce you to art?”
“Yes. She was French and grew up in Paris. According to her, there was only one true art museum in the world.”
Like a little girl, the woman swung her legs back and forth. “The Louvre.”
“Naturally. I was at least thirteen before I knew not all painters came from France.”
Her laugh tinkled softly. “Oh, what a treasure of a grandmother!”
Andie smiled. “Yes, she was. I fell in love with art because of her.”
“Did you pursue it in a formal way?”
“I studied art history in college for a couple years before I married.”
“Falling in love with a man does tend to change things.”
“Mmm.” Not wanting to think about Paul, Andie gazed at the painting again. It washed over her and seeped into her heart. After several moments, she could no longer contain herself. Words spilled out impulsively. “Why is it so emotional?”
“Tell me what you see.”
“I see a young mother loving her children. Of course, from the title I know they’re her son and a relative. I see a moment of pure joy, of purest truest love, of the power of nurturing that only happens between mother and baby.” Her breath caught. “I think that moment is a two-way street. A mother not only gives, she receives. All that joy and love and nurturing even as she’s giving them away.”
“Ah. You see yourself then.”
Andie turned to her in surprise.
The woman smiled. “You’re a mother.”
“It shows?”
“Naturally.”
“I miss those days.”
“As do I.”
They both turned back to the painting.
After a time, the woman said, “Mary must have carried quite a burden of responsibility. I don’t suppose she knew at the age she is depicted here what her Son would do when He grew older, but surely His miraculous conception concerned her.”
“Mm-hmm. To say the least. She must have known His would be no ordinary life. I wonder if she was anxious over the unknown future? It seems since she was visited by an angel that she wouldn’t have a tendency to worry.”
“I’m not too sure. We all have our angel moments, when our deep hearts recognize His presence and care. Nothing quite as radical as what happened to Mary, of course. Do you know what I mean?”
Andie thought of the time not too long ago when she sat in church and heard the clear message that she was to fear not. Somewhere between her eardrum and her heart the priest’s voice had changed to a whisper from God. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, He was taking care of her.
She said, “Yes, I know what you mean.”
The white head bobbed. “Yes. Still I can fret and stew and be afraid of the unknown. Even about my children who are grown up and doing just fine. I think Mary had her bouts with worry. And then she would pray and remember Gabriel’s visit.” With something of a hop, the woman sprang to her feet. “Well, it’s time for tea. So nice chatting with you…?”
“Andie.” She shook the woman’s hand.
“I’m Jelly.”
“Jelly?” Andie couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes. It’s short for Anjelica. With a j. My grandchildren call me ‘Grammy Jam.’” She laughed, her face lit up with sheer joy. “Now, dear, I’ve taken up enough of your time, but you’re quite welcome to join me for tea if you like.”
Andie didn’t need to think about it. “Why, thank you. I’d like that very much.”
“There’s a lovely spot right next to the museum. Do you have photos of your children?”
As they walked toward the doorway, Andie gave the painting one last look. If Jesus had a mother who worried over Him, then surely He could sympathize with a fearful woman like Andrea Sinclair.
And love her.
Forty-Nine
Standing at the kitchen counter, Char hummed to herself and sliced cucumbers and peppers for a salad. Too wound up to sit still, she had volunteered to prepare a late lunch since none of them felt like going out.
From the sound of running water, Molly was still in the shower. Jo helped in the kitchen. Her long braid made a damp circle on the back of her T-shirt.
Char said over her shoulder, “Shall we eat inside? It’s cooler in here, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Jo removed plates from a cupboard and elbowed her arm. “Hey, you sound way too perky for being up half the night and not indulging in a nap like your two sensible friends did.”
“No. I sound way too perky for behaving like a complete idiot and for not fixing things with Cam yet. I do so worry for him. What must he be going through? But at the same time I feel this bubbly sensation, like I’m drinking fuzzy champagne nonstop.”
“Oops. Don’t compare the Molly Effect to champagne. She’d have a conniption.”
Char laughed loudly. “She’s not like that anymore. I mean, she hasn’t told us to get out from under the pile.”
“Not yet, anyway. I might have goaded her into considering it since I told her to do the very same.” Jo opened the refrigerator, leaned inside of it, and called out, “What do you think Cam will say?”
Char refocused on the vegetables and cutting board. “Well, I don’t think he’ll mumble to himself ‘Where’s the remote?’ The thing is, I truly do not know if he gives a hoot about our marriage or not. He may very well welcome a way out.”
“The question is…” A deep male voice resonated from the screen door.
Char whirled around, quite sure she was hearing things. Even when her eyes landed on the shadowy figure of her husband of seventeen years standing on the other side of the beach house front door, she wondered if he were a figment of her imagination.
“Cam?”
For Char the world shifted into slow motion. The knife fell from her hand and landed with a thump on the rug, its cool blade coming to rest against her bare foot. The effervescing bubbles popped one by one, and a sensation of her entire body deflating from within spread from her head to her fingertips, down through her legs to her toes. She felt her face freeze into creases of incomprehension.
“The question is,” he repeated, making no motion to enter, “do you give a hoot?”
She lifted a foot, moved it forward, and set it down. Then she did so with the other.
Walking across the room was like swimming in tar.
Eons later, she reached the door and stared at Cam.
He was still very tall, still very blond, still broad of shoulder. Still the friendly family dentist. Still her husband.
Did she give a hoot?
She was tired of duck soup, of him being uncommunicative, of him forgetting her birthday, of him being a couch potato, of him gaining jowls, of his belt buckle hiding under his belly. She wanted chateaubriand.
But there he stood. The fact that he’d made a spur-of-the-moment flight halfway across the country—after what she’d told him!—certainly approached chateaubriand.
“Oh, sugar! I do give a hoot.”
“So do I.” His lips formed a straight line. His arms resembled two boards at his sides.
“Will you please come inside?”
He opened the door, stepped through it, and guided the door to a soft close behind him. He halted and
set a gym bag on the floor. Then his arms stiffened again.
Char burst into tears.
Fifty
Above the noise of Char’s sobbing, Jo heard the refrigerator kick on and realized she still stood partially bent over in front of its open door, a bottle of salad dressing in hand. She straightened and shut the door.
Like witnessing the aftermath of a car accident, she watched, glued in horror. Her heart ached at the scene of Char’s collapse before a robotlike Cam. The physician side of her twitched to go help.
But this wasn’t a collision on the freeway.
Jo slipped quietly to the back of the kitchen-living room area and down the hallway to Molly’s room. She tapped on the closed door and then let herself in, whispering, “Sorry.”
Molly stopped toweling her hair and looked up. “What?”
Jo eased the door shut behind her and whispered, “Cam’s here.”
“What?” She lowered the towel to her shoulders. “Cam?”
“Yeah. He just showed up!”
“No kidding?” She sat on the bed and smiled. “Wow. Good for him. Good for them.”
“Except she’s falling apart.”
“I imagine so. She really did a number on him with that Todd business. What’s Cam’s demeanor like?”
“Like a rotund Santa-type who may never find jolly again.”
“This has got to be a glimpse into hell for him. Imagine being wakened in the night with such awful news and then traveling all this way. That says something for him. Even if she didn’t think he cared, he must.”
Jo nodded. “Before we saw him standing at the door, we were talking, probably loud enough for him to hear because my head was inside the fridge. She was saying she didn’t know if he gave a hoot, and then we heard him ask if she gave a hoot. She said yes, and he said he does too.”
Molly closed her eyes. “Thank You, Lord.”
“Amen, but Moll! They look so hopeless out there.”
“Then let’s pray.” She held out a hand.
Jo glimpsed that love again, God’s love streaming forth from her friend. No longer a trickle, it expanded into great waves that doused His fire. Like a little girl, she longed to splash in those waves and feel clean and giggle with joy. Molly knew the way.