The Arrangement

by Hilary Hamblin

  Eli heard the television in the den talking through the day’s news and followed the noise to find his mother. She sat on a rich chocolate brown leather couch with her feet curled under her, listening intently to the nightly newscaster tell about the events of the day. A moment later the same newscaster interviewed a congressman Eli recognized as one of his father’s friends. His mother turned away from the television and toward her son.

  “I haven’t even heard from him since I moved,” she mused. “I guess he’s been busy taking care of the living too much to think about the dead.”

  “Mom,” Eli chastised lightly.

  “I’m not being ugly, Eli. I remember when Senator Folkson passed away. I thought about his wife many times. We had tea together every couple of weeks and planned dinners together. But when he died in that car accident, she moved back to her family’s estate, and I didn’t have time to call her. We were in the middle of a hard election year,” she explained.

  “I’m sure she understood.”

  “I don’t know.” His mother shook her head.

  “Whatever happened to her?” he asked as he perched on a recliner next to the couch.

  “As far as I know, she’s living back with her family in Georgia. I think her daughter got married a year or so ago.”

  “Why don’t you call her? There’s no reason you can’t still be friends, just because your husbands, who had a connection, passed away,” he encouraged. He often worried about his mother. The charity work and socialization she enjoyed in D.C. didn’t exist here. And, as she’d mentioned earlier in the evening, she was sometimes bored and lonesome in the large house alone all day.

  “Hmm. Maybe,” she hedged.

  Eli focused briefly on the television. The station replaced the senator answering questions with photos of a new baby panda born at the state zoo. Not sure he could endure the entire newscast without falling asleep, Eli stood, kissed his mother on the head, and said good night. Outside, the cool fall air reminded him he’d left his jacket and tie inside. He groaned. He would come back tomorrow, maybe at lunch, to retrieve them.

  The silence of the evening comforted him tonight as memories of his father’s political career filtered into his mind. He barely remembered the first state races. His father would live in the state capital for several months and they would see little of him, but it made no extra requirements on him as a child. But when his father first ran for Congress, Eli vaguely remembered being shocked at the move from a small town to the metropolis of D.C.

  Funny how he came to love that city and dreaded the summer vacations and winter breaks they would take back to Duncan each year. Now he felt no desire, no inner calling to return to the fast-paced life of a lawyer in a city like that. Maybe that was God’s direction for him. Surely if he intended for Eli to return, he would place a burning desire to escape the doldrums of small-town life in his heart.

  Just as his father’s memories gave way to dreams about the future, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Eli,” Michael Hudson’s voice greeted him. “I got your message. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, I had some ideas for the campaign.”

  “You really are on top of this thing. Thanks. Can you tell me about them?”

  “I don’t have a lot of specifics. I did find a couple of fundraising letters my dad sent out. I wanted to suggest that you come up with a few people who might contribute. You won’t need much, but it’ll take several thousand dollars to get signs, buttons, and magnetic bumper stickers made,” Eli rattled off his ideas.

  “Great suggestions. I have a supplier we buy a lot of printing from that I’ll check with about a deal on those things.” Eli heard him writing notes. “How early should we start with the fundraising?”

  “If the qualifying paperwork has to be in sometime during March, we should get started now. If we get the letters out before the end of the year, people can give this year and next year, which will help on the paperwork.”

  “Okay, so I need a list of donors and a printer. What else?”

  “I’ve been trying to think about a slogan, but I don’t have much. Have you thought of any ideas?”

  “Not really. I’m good with organization and running a business, but marketing eludes me a little. Maybe we can find someone else to help us out with that. I have a couple more people I wanted to ask to help with the campaign. Maybe when I get the team together we can have a planning session over dinner.”

  “Sounds great,” Eli agreed. “Just let me know a date.”

  “Will do. Talk to you later.”

  With that, both men disconnected. Eli drove into his driveway minutes later. He vowed as he walked into the house not to think about politics anymore that evening. Instead he settled onto the couch to watch reruns of a classic Super Bowl game.

  12

  )

  A

  week after the Thanksgiving holidays, Evie agreed to join Brooke’s Tuesday night Bible Study group. At 5:15 p.m., she tucked her red wool peacoat closer as the early December wind whipped through the courtyard outside the Christian Student Center. She almost ventured inside by herself but hesitated as her high-heeled boot made contact with the concrete walk. Instead, she perched on a wooden bench outside and scanned the sidewalk for any sign of Brooke.

  In the month since her last conversation with Eli, Evie had spent most Sundays in church and attempted to read her Bible daily. She admitted only to herself in the quiet of her room that the words she read made little sense. She often wanted to call Eli and ask his opinion about a passage she’d read.

  But she never made the call. She always stopped herself, stumbled through the passage another couple of times, and called it quits. Her inability to understand the stories and commands of that ancient book lured her into attending this Bible study more than her desire to please Brooke. Sure, she wanted to keep her friend from thinking she was a total flake, but inside something yearned to understand more about God and his will.

  Dusk settled across campus as Evie caught sight of Brooke taking brisk steps toward the Center. Beside her walked another student Evie had not met. The other girl’s tall stature loomed over Brooke and her meaty figure forced her to walk part on and part off the sidewalk. Evie waved and stood to greet them.

  “Evie,” Brooke squealed, “you came!” She reached an arm around Evie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Morgan, this is Evie. She’s going to join our Bible study.”

  Morgan shifted her large brown bag on her shoulder. “Hi,” she responded, her smile bringing a dimple out on her cheek. “I hope Juliana thought to make some hot chocolate or at least heat up the water for it,” she commented as she opened one of the double doors leading into the Center.

  They walked into a large foyer filled with couches and game tables. Ping-pong and billiard tables alternated on one side of the room while an air-hockey table took up the space on the other side. Evie’s muscles relaxed as the sudden warm air surrounded her.

  Evie took off her black leather gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of her coat. She followed Brooke and Morgan down a short hallway and into a smaller room, where three other women sat around a round table. The rich scent of chocolate wafted through the air, inviting Evie to remove her coat and settle in with friends, even though she didn’t recognize any of the other students.

  “Anyway, Professor Jamison insisted on calling her ‘Soapie’ throughout the whole class,” one of the women said to another. The woman’s dark curls framed her oval face.

  “Morgan, you’re here! I was afraid I was going to have to lead us again,” the second woman greeted them a moment later.

  “A girl skips one meeting to have lunch with her sister, and you act like she’s run away forever.” Morgan held her arms out in an elaborate gesture. “Now, where’s all the hot cocoa I smell?”

  The second woman pointed toward the back wall. Enticed by the smell, Evie followed Brooke and Morgan to the back table.
r />   Brooke stood next to Evie and whispered in her ear, “The curly headed girl is Andrea. She’s a senior design major and tons of fun. The really pretty girl is Leigh,” she explained and nodded toward the slender girl who pointed to the hot chocolate, “but she has no idea she’s pretty. And Macey is the one who hasn’t said anything, but don’t expect that to last long.”

  Evie watched as the girls giggled quietly until Morgan took a seat at the table and pulled a book from her bag.

  “Okay,” Morgan began, “first, I think Brooke wants to introduce her friend and then we’ll get started.”

  All eyes turned to Brooke, who leaned back to look at Evie. “This is Evie. We’ve been friends since,” she rolled her eyes upward as though the answer must be on the ceiling and looked back at Evie again, “well, since just about forever. She wants to get more involved in Bible study, so I thought this would be a great place to start.”

  “Terrific!” Morgan clapped her hands together, inviting everyone else to applaud Evie’s presence. Evie blushed. “Last week I think we started talking about journaling as a method of making our quiet time deeper. Anyone tried that this week?”

  Macey half raised her hand. “I tried taking only one or two verses and writing them out. Then I wrote them in my own words. I’ve actually been able to memorize a little more this week that way.”

  “I wrote out my feelings about a passage…my initial impressions of what might have been different if people had acted differently or why they did what they did,” Andrea added as she pushed her dark-rimmed glasses back onto her nose.

  “I love hearing what other people say about a Scripture and talking about it,” Brooke added, “but I’m not much of a writer. So I pulled out my crayons and drew a picture of the scene or my emotions.”

  “Leave it to the elementary ed major to pull out the crayons,” Macey cracked.

  Brooke nudged her with her elbow. “No, really, it helped me see the Scripture and make a little more sense out of it.”

  “I can see that,” Andrea agreed. “I’m a design major, so I think in terms of where people and things should go, how to make stuff look good. Unfortunately a lot of these stories don’t look good. The Bible is full of sinners and the stories about their sins and the consequences.”

  “But it’s full of beauty too, like creations and God’s love,” Morgan countered.

  “I was getting there,” Andrea chimed in. “The beautiful things, like how God provides, how he loves us and how he protects us contrasts so much with how sinful we are. It makes for beautiful art. I just didn’t know drawing was allowed in journaling.”

  “I didn’t know either,” Brooke continued. “But I just couldn’t write. I tried, but my sentences were all dull and emotionless. Like, ‘Dear God, I know you love me.’ But my feelings went deeper than that. I wanted to fall at the feet of God and worship him, acknowledge who he is, but my words couldn’t get me there. So I drew what I felt. The drawing isn’t pretty, but it’s my heart and I think God honors that.”

  “Worship has no rules as long as God is at the center of it. We all worship in different ways. Some of us sing, some draw, some write. But that’s what this study is about, learning different ways to learn about and worship God.” Morgan pulled the group back to the discussion. “Brooke, would you have ever considered drawing out your feelings to God?” All eyes turned to Brooke, who shook her head. “So our lesson and our experiments have had at least one positive outcome.”

  Evie’s mind whipped first one direction and then another as the group discussed different ways to journal. When they bowed for prayer an hour later, she almost reached a hand up to steady her spinning head. Brooke stopped to talk to Andrea for a minute on the way out, and Evie lingered in the large foyer as she waited.

  “I think I’m going to head back to my apartment and order pizza. Want to join me?” Brooke asked Evie when she finished.

  Evie bit her lip for a moment and checked her watch. She would have to almost run to make it back to the house in time for dinner anyway, and she had a lot of questions she wanted to ask Brooke. “Sure. Can you drop me off at the house so I can pick up my car?”

  “No problem.” Brooke led the way toward the double doors into the courtyard.

  Strings of bright white Christmas lights lit the way across the narrow front porch and down the long walk in front of the Center. Evie and Brooke gathered their coats tighter around them as the wind cut through their already thick layers. Neither spoke as they hustled down the sidewalk to Brooke’s green sedan. Evie’s eyes watered as the wind hit them and stung her cheeks. Her body ached as it shivered when she sat in the still cold seat of Brooke’s car.

  She gave quick directions to her convertible. Once there, she hauled her backpack from Brooke’s car and into her own. With one touch her body started to relax as the seat warmers of her BMW radiated through her body. Thirty minutes later she and Brooke sat across from each other pulling stringy slices of pizza from a box.

  “So what did you think about the Bible study?” Brooke asked between bites.

  “I expected more lecturing, I think,” Evie confided as she focused on the comfort one warm slice of pizza provided.

  “Some Bible studies do a lot of lecturing. We wanted something that focused more on learning how to study the Bible,” Brooke explained. “We’ve talked a lot about different ways to pray, ways to worship during quiet times, and now we are talking about journaling.”

  Guilt gnawed at Evie. “I haven’t really had a quiet time. I remember the youth director at our church talking about it, but I didn’t do it.” She focused her attention on finishing her pizza and ignoring the grease pooling on the cheese.

  “Really? I thought when we were in the youth group you probably did it and maybe even some since coming here.”

  Evie shook her head and blotted the grease with her napkin. “I’ve been trying to read the Bible more lately, but I don’t feel like I get anywhere. Do you ever feel like your prayers are bouncing off the ceiling?”

  “Yeah, I’ve gone through those times when God seemed quiet. But the Bible says if we are his children, then he hears us. And if we are his children, he’s given us the Holy Spirit to interpret the Scriptures for us. The only way anything in the Bible makes sense is if a person is a believer and has the Holy Spirit to explain it to them.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t really help me so much,” Evie mumbled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do we know if it’s the Holy Spirit or just us making up what we want to hear?” Evie asked.

  “Well,” Brooke paused for a minute, “God confirms things for us. He doesn’t simply show us something through his Word. That’s one way we know his will, but he also leads other Christians to point us in the right direction and puts us in situations and circumstances to make a right decision. But he only does that for those who believe in him.”

  Evie swallowed hard. “I don’t feel like I’m getting any direction,” she confessed.

  “Evie, we were in the youth group together for years, so this may seem kind of weird, but did you ever accept Christ as Lord?” Brooke asked.

  Silence buzzed through Evie’s ears. She’d spent enough time in church to know what those words meant. She remembered the heavy thundering of her heart every time their youth minister would ask those who were not Christians to accept Christ. Everyone thought she had. People told her for years what a good Christian girl she was. Did she really need to go in front of everyone and say a special prayer? Hadn’t she done enough by going to church and being good to people?

  She dropped her head and shook it slowly. She looked up as she felt the warmth of Brooke’s hand on hers.

  “It’s really hard to have a relationship with someone you don’t know.” Brooke’s eyes locked with Evie’s. “I always thought you made this decision when you were a child. You were so active in the youth group and so determined to make a difference for Christ in college and a
fter college. How did you miss this?” Her eyes brimmed with questions.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want anyone to know I hadn’t already done it. Everyone thought I was so good. And when I got here,” she motioned with her hand toward the campus, “it was so easy to forget, to walk away. I didn’t feel guilty anymore.”

  “You’ll never really hear his voice if you don’t make him Lord first,” Brooke reminded her. “Would you like to do that?”

  Evie nodded, her chin quivering.

  “You have to know what you are doing,” Brooke cautioned. “Just saying some words won’t cut it. You have to mean it.” She waited for Evie to nod. “Do you acknowledge that you are a sinner?”

  All the lies of the past months assaulted her. She closed her eyes to ward off other images of the wrongs she’d done throughout her life. “Yes.”

  “Who do you believe Jesus is?”

  Evie opened her eyes. “He’s God Son. He died for me, to take away my sins.”

  “Do you want him to be Lord of your life? Do you understand what that means?”

  “Lord means no one is higher. And yes, I want him to be Lord.”

  “Then let’s pray.” Brooke bowed her head, inviting Evie to follow. She spoke a few sentences, pausing so Evie could echo her, and then said amen. Tears streamed down the faces of both women.

  Evie’s mouth spoke the same words Brooke spoke, but her heart cried out a different prayer. Dear God, forgive me. I can’t believe I waited so long to let you have control. I’ve really messed all this up, and I don’t know how to fix it. Please help me put my life back together again. I don’t know what you’ll ask me to do, but I’ll do it. I can’t figure out where to go by myself.

  Evie wiped at the continuous flow of tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words choked in her throat. Brooke wrapped her arms around Evie. They sat together, now sisters in God’s family.

  “So now what?” Evie’s voice cracked.

  “Well, the Bible says if we are ashamed of Jesus in front of the world, then he will be ashamed of us in front of God,” explained Brooke. “A lot of Christians interpret that to mean we are to tell people about our salvation. And a lot of people do that by going in front of a church, usually during the invitation time.”