“But it’s Palm Sunday! You don’t want to be there on Palm Sunday?”
Palm Sunday had always been one of Charissa’s favorite celebrations at First Church—the children processing with branches, the trumpet fanfares, the choral anthems—and she suspected Wayfarer would not duplicate any of those worship elements. “I’m feeling exhausted,” she said. “I think I’d better rest here. What time will you and your dad head to the game?”
“He’s antsy to get there. You know Dad, doesn’t ever want to be late for anything. So I expect we’ll hit the road right after lunch.”
Oh. That would mean even more hours alone with John’s mother. If she didn’t go to church, she couldn’t reasonably use an afternoon nap as an excuse for avoiding interaction. And since it was raining again, she couldn’t ask Judi to be out in the garden identifying fledgling growth in the flower beds. She reformulated her plan. “Well, if that’s the case, then maybe I should go this morning with all of you and then come back here and rest.”
“It’s up to you,” John said. His tone of voice indicated he knew what was behind her change of heart.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her in-laws, she thought as she fidgeted in her sanctuary seat later that morning. (Why Pastor Neil was preaching about Jesus cleansing the temple and not the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, she had no idea.) Rick and Judi Sinclair were good people, kind and generous. But they had strong opinions about everything, and from the moment Judi had entered the house on Friday, it was clear she would have made different decisions about the kitchen and bathroom remodels. “I hope you didn’t feel pressured to get things done quickly,” she’d commented while inspecting the cabinets Jeremy had expertly updated. “Not that these aren’t nice; it’s just that I thought you’d be replacing them with new ones.” She made a similar observation about the bathroom. “You can always decide to replace all the tile later if you want.” The floors, at least, earned her approval. “Very nice,” she said.
Rick agreed. “Does your guy want a job in Traverse City?”
Charissa gave him Jeremy’s card. She wasn’t sure how far afield Jeremy was casting his net for work, but he had confided in John a few days ago that he and Abby were feeling desperate.
She stretched her neck from side to side and scanned the sanctuary for them. Abby was sitting in the far back corner, but Jeremy was not beside her. In her pan around the room she also caught sight of Nathan and Jake, but Hannah was again absent.
“Did everything go okay in Chicago?” she asked Nathan after the service.
“We got everything packed up and moved, but Hannah was feeling pretty worn out this morning, so she’s home resting.”
Though his expression and tone of voice gave nothing away, Charissa wondered what “worn out” meant. “Tell her hi for me,” she said. Then she introduced him to Rick and Judi, who, when they heard he was her PhD advisor, shared a cryptic look between them that John did not observe.
“Let it go,” John said as they followed his parents’ car to the restaurant. “You’ve got to let things go.”
Like overhearing his mother quietly interrogate him about how they had chosen the name Bethany. (“Is it a family name or something?”) Or biting her tongue when Judi commented that the family room was “very blue.” Or turning the other cheek when Rick made some crack about going out to eat because he didn’t want John to have to cook for them. “Charissa’s learning to cook,” John had said in her defense, “and she’s doing a great job.”
Let it go.
“I know they can be overbearing,” he said, his eyes fixed on the road, “but they mean well.”
She knew that. But it still didn’t make being with them for extended periods of time any easier.
She and John had been engaged for a month when he invited her to go home with him to Traverse City. The Sinclair house, situated with stunning views of West Grand Traverse Bay, was easy to spot with its lighthouse mailbox and harvest flags. Judi, dressed in charcoal slacks and a chic cashmere sweater, had met them on the front porch and welcomed them into a home decorated with autumn accessories and brimming with collections of teapots, spoons, and seashells. Family photos adorned every horizontal surface, and the refrigerator was plastered with souvenir magnets holding old school pictures, missionary prayer postcards, and inspirational quotes. A minimalist in her decorating, Charissa had felt claustrophobic.
So when Judi mentioned at lunch that she would be happy to take her shopping to decorate the house while “the boys” were at the game, John nudged her under the table as if to say, I’ve got this. “I told Charissa she’d better rest this afternoon. She’s been pushing hard lately, and I don’t want her to overdo it.”
Judi wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Well, exactly. I’ve been worried about that very thing. Those fainting spells—it sounds like maybe the stress has been too much, that you’ve taken on way too much this semester. You’ve got to be careful.”
Charissa took a slow sip of water.
“She is careful,” John said. “She’s watching things.” He reached in front of Charissa for the bottle of ketchup. “So what do you think our chances are tonight, Dad?”
Rick shrugged. “Well, I don’t think anybody expected them to dominate Louisville like they did, and I’d say that UConn—”
Charissa concentrated on her bowl of soup. It was going to be a very, very long day.
As soon as John and his dad left for Detroit, Charissa made her move. “If you don’t mind,” she said to his mother, “I’m going to take John’s advice and go lie down for a while.”
“Of course! I’ll make myself at home. Did you already have something in mind for dinner?”
Nothing she had already learned how to cook would meet with Judi’s approval. “I’ve got makings for sandwiches, turkey, ham, cheese. I thought we could do that.”
Judi hesitated, and her silence communicated volumes. “How about if I just quick nip to the store and pick up some things? John always loved my lasagna. I’ll whip one up, and then he can have leftovers when he gets home.”
Charissa was too weary to argue. “Sure.” Suit yourself, she added silently. But she wasn’t eating lasagna. She and Bethany were having a sandwich. Disguising her irritation with artificial sweetener, she said, “Can you find everything you need in the kitchen?”
Judi said she could. So, leaving her to root around in cupboards and drawers, Charissa went to her room and closed her door.
What’s taking up sacred space? Pastor Neil had asked the congregation at the close of his sermon. What’s cluttering the temple, individually and corporately? What would Jesus desire to clear out in us and in his church?
Jesus could start with her resentment. She was not in a “place of prayer” at the moment but a den of angry, passive-aggressive impulses. And the truth was, she didn’t want to be cleansed; she wanted to be justified.
She looked at her watch. Even if she “slept” for two hours, that would still leave another two hours before the game started. Judi would want to watch the game, and Charissa could then excuse herself by claiming to have papers to grade or lectures to prepare. Just try to hang out with her, John had whispered when he left. At least for a while. Watch a movie or something.
Charissa wasn’t interested in wasting a few hours on a movie. And she wasn’t going to shop with her. Or cook. Or pretend to have a heart-to-heart chat. Or give her any opportunity to launch into a lecture about what she should do about her PhD or career after Bethany was born.
Her cell phone rang on the nightstand. “Hey, Mara,” she said as soon as she picked up, “you don’t have an emergency you need help with, do you?”
“What?”
Charissa moved toward the window, just in case her voice could be heard through a wall. “I need a good excuse to get away from my house.”
“That bad, huh?”
“To quote John, she means well. But I’m about ready to lose it.”
“What’s she doing?”
>
The front door squeaked open and then closed. Judi was probably on her way to the store to buy all the things Charissa’s kitchen lacked. “It’s not even that she’s saying or doing anything major to irritate me. But she has opinions about everything, and it drives me nuts.” What was even more provoking was the fact that Charissa thought she had dealt with this exact issue weeks ago. After battling anger and resentment over what she deemed interference, she had reached a place of being grateful that she and John had options regarding Bethany’s care, options that other new mothers like Abby did not have. “You know those whack-a-mole games at carnivals?” Charissa said. John loved playing those games. “That’s what it feels like. Like I’ve gotten rid of something—pride or selfishness or bitterness or whatever—and then it pops up again.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Like I’m never gonna be done with it. So frustrating.”
Charissa lay down on the bed. “Sure you don’t need me to immediately come to your rescue with something?”
“Want me to make something up? That’s a miracle, isn’t it? No stress to report.” Mara paused. “Well, no new stress to report.”
Bethany kicked. Charissa grimaced.
“Abby called a little while ago,” Mara said. “She’s getting baptized on Easter.”
“What? Wow!” Charissa had waved to Abby from a distance after worship but hadn’t had a chance to speak to her.
“Yeah, I guess she met last week with the pastor, and after talking with him a while, she knew it was something she was ready to do, something she wanted to do. So her parents are coming up Easter weekend to be there.”
“Wow, Mara. That’s fantastic news.”
“Yep.”
The flatness in Mara’s voice did not jibe with the happy magnitude of such an occasion. “So . . . everything’s okay?”
Mara gave a loud sigh. “I just wish Jeremy was getting baptized with her. Keep praying for him, okay? He sounds really depressed every time I talk to him. I’m worried. I know I need to stay out of it, let them work things out, but it’s hard not to interfere and try to help.”
Charissa wished she possessed quicker impulses to pray—like when she noticed Jeremy wasn’t in worship, she could have offered a prayer for him and for Abby. That was a spiritual discipline she needed to start practicing: notice and then pray. But when she hung up the phone a few minutes later and closed her eyes, she immediately drifted off to sleep.
Clutter. There was so much clutter. Old records, video cassettes, magazines, alarm clocks, limbless dolls, mounds of paper, lighthouses, family photos—every surface of the room was covered. Charissa could hardly breathe. She tried to kick aside some empty wicker baskets, but they were attached to the floor. She stooped to inspect. They weren’t empty. They were filled with bits of moldy bread and rotting fruit infested with swarming maggots. Whose disgusting house was this?
Judi appeared in the corner of the room. “I’ll help you clear this stuff out,” she said. “You’ve got quite a mess in here.”
“It’s not my mess,” Charissa argued. She was no hoarder.
Someone was knocking on the door, but there was no way to open it. There was too much trash on the floor. “Housekeeping!” a voice called.
“It’s not my mess!” Charissa kicked at a stack of papers. “This isn’t my house!”
But the knocking persisted.
“Ready for dinner?” Judi asked.
Eat? How could anyone eat in a place like this?
“Charissa?”
Charissa rubbed her eyes, disoriented. She was in her own tidy, uncluttered room, and Judi was standing beside the bed, backlit by the dim rays of a setting sun. Charissa blinked drowsily.
“The lasagna’s ready, and I’ve got the table set.”
Of course she did. Charissa was going to say, “I don’t want lasagna, and I’d rather eat my sandwich in my room,” but instead she said, “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
She took her time getting up, far more time than necessary. When she entered the dining room fifteen minutes later, Judi was at the table, waiting for her. “I don’t think it’s cold,” Judi said as she sliced into the steaming dish with a spatula Charissa did not recognize. She set a slice that was far too big in front of Charissa and said, “How about if I offer the blessing?” Charissa pursed her lips and nodded.
Hannah
Hannah reclined alone in her prayer chair, the one piece of furniture they had found room to integrate at the house. The rest of her possessions they had temporarily stowed in a storage unit. “We’ll make it work,” Nathan had assured her numerous times over the past week. “We’ll figure this out. I just need to get through the end of the semester, and then I’ll have more time to sort through things and get rid of stuff.”
She strained to hear snippets of conversation from upstairs. Nate had spent the past hour on the phone in his office, but she couldn’t tell from his cadence what kind of conversation it was.
“Hannah?”
She hadn’t heard Jake enter the family room. “Hey, Jake, what’s up?”
“I need a ride to Pete’s house. I’ve been waiting for Dad to finish on the phone, but I’m already late, and we’ve got a project due tomorrow.”
“I can take you, no problem.” Hannah released the lever on the recliner and rose to get her coat and keys.
“I think he’s on the phone with my mom.”
Hannah stiffened, her arm suspended midair beside the key rack. “Is he? How do you know?”
“She texted me and said she’s coming to Kingsbury for work or something. She wants to see me.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Hannah pocketed her keys. “No, I mean, when did she text you?”
“After church.”
Nathan had neglected to mention this when he and Jake arrived home. In fact, they had now been in the house together for several hours, and he’d said nothing. When she returned after dropping Jake off, Nathan was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Were you on the phone with Laura?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she texted Jake?”
“I didn’t want to burden you. You said you were worn out.”
Chaucer sat down in front of her, paw in the air for her to shake. She ignored him. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me she’s going to be in town?”
He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair. “I wanted to work it out first with her. It wasn’t a conspiracy theory to keep you in the dark.”
Hannah sat down on the edge of a chair, still wearing her coat. “So when is she coming?”
“She’s in town for a meeting the week after Easter.” Chaucer rested his muzzle on Hannah’s lap. She nudged him away. “Here, bud,” Nathan said, snapping his fingers. “C’mere.” He rubbed Chaucer’s face with both hands. “Lie down.” The dog flopped down on the floor, and Nathan stroked his fur with his bare foot, his “hineni” ankle tattoo visible beneath his trouser hem.
“You could have told me.”
“Hannah—”
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t want to burden—”
“I know. You didn’t want to burden me because I’m”—she used her fingers for air quotes—“‘worn out.’” She stood. “This doesn’t help with that.” She gripped her keys.
“Where are you going?”
“Meg’s.” It was the only place she could think of where she could be alone and undisturbed.
As the twilight sky deepened to the color of a bruise, Hannah sat in Meg’s kitchen, listening to spring peepers chirp their melodies in the trees. Disregarded. That’s the word that described how she felt. Disregarded.
Every new marriage had its growing pains. She knew that. She had counseled many newlyweds and understood the challenges of integrating separate lives, especially in blended families. But this seemed a particularly painful breach of the covenant she and Nate had made w
ith one another. Shouldn’t he have consulted his new wife before calling his ex?
Her phone buzzed with a message: Please come home so we can talk about this face to face.
Please come home.
Hannah cradled her head in her hands and cried.
Charissa
“It’s actually not such an overwhelming color when you sit in here awhile,” Judi said, her eyes scanning the unadorned aquamarine walls of the family room. “Rick’s been saying he wants to paint the guest suite. What’s this color called?”
“I don’t know. John picked it.” Charissa returned to the pretense of reading her composition textbook. She had set a stack of books on the coffee table in front of her, hoping the visual would communicate the sacrifice she was making in order to keep her mother-in-law company in front of the television.
“Ooh! I just saw them!” Judi waved at the screen. “The camera panned right over the section where they’re sitting.”
Unlikely, Charissa thought, but didn’t correct her.
“I’ve got some artwork that would be beautiful in here,” Judi went on, “to bring some life to the walls. I’d be happy to bring it down the next time we visit.”
Which will be when? Charissa silently replied.
“There’s a gallery in town—the owner and I went to college together—and she features local artists who paint fabulous views of Lake Michigan and the lighthouses.”
Charissa flipped a page. “I promised my mom we’d shop together for décor when she comes up to stay.” She’d had no such conversation with her mother, but Judi didn’t need to know that.
“Oh? Are your parents coming soon?”
“My mother is, once the semester is over. Then my father will fly up with her after Bethany’s born.”
“I guess we need to think about coordinating grandparent visits,” Judi said.
Right. Charissa didn’t need both sets converging at the same time. As far as she was concerned, the maternal side had priority. But she and John hadn’t negotiated those details yet. They hadn’t even taken time to draw up the birth plan, which was supposed to be in place by now. Once she finished the semester, she could shift her focus toward preparing for Bethany’s arrival.
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