“Okay. Deal.”
Like wildfire word spread through the line that Mara was making cookies in honor of people. “Tell you what,” she said, after half a dozen guests made special requests for their favorite kinds, “I’ll talk with Miss Jada and see about having a whole bunch of cookies some week, okay? Lots of different kinds to choose from.” She’d made her dozens of assorted Christmas cookies for Tom’s office for years. Why not do something similar for Crossroads?
“Like an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant!” Ronni said. “The kind where you can keep going back to the dessert bar for as much as you want.”
What a great idea! She could bake more than cookies as a treat for them.
“I wish we could do something like that, Mara,” Miss Jada said when they were cleaning up the kitchen after lunch, “but there’s no extra money in the budget.”
“What if we get donors?”
“Donors for cookies? I don’t know how many people would give money for that.”
“Just for the ingredients. Like we got that time before.” Mara didn’t mention that she’d discovered Charissa had been the anonymous donor. “I’ll figure out how much it would cost to make what I want to make. And then we’ll have a big celebration.”
“A celebration of what?”
“No special occasion. Just a celebration of them. To make them feel special.” If Billy and Joe and Ronni and the others could have one place where they knew that they were important, that they were seen, that they were known, that they were loved, then it was a start.
Miss Jada sighed. “I love your spirit. If you can figure out how to make it happen, I’ll leave that up to you.”
“I’ll help,” Hannah said after Miss Jada left to take a phone call. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“It’s a start.” Mara eyed her reflection in the microwave. Beloved. Favored. And chosen to bear Christ. What a beautiful thing. “At least it’s a start.”
Half an hour before Tom was scheduled to pick the boys up for the weekend, Mara found Kevin sprawled on his bed. “You packed?” Mara asked, picking up an empty bag of Doritos off the carpet. Bailey followed her with his nose to the ground, scouting for nacho cheese fragments. “Kevin?” On top of a chair piled high with rumpled clothes—dirty or clean? who could tell?—was his empty duffel bag. She nudged his foot. “Hey. You gotta get going. Your dad’ll be here soon.”
Kevin rolled over to face the wall.
“Kev . . .” Bailey vaulted onto the bed and licked his hand.
Kevin didn’t acknowledge either one of them.
“I said your dad—”
“I know, okay?”
“Okay. You know he doesn’t like to wait.” If the boys weren’t ready on time, Mara would be the one blamed for it, and she wasn’t up to a confrontation with him. She nudged Kevin’s foot again. “C’mon, Kev.” Tom wasn’t the only one on a schedule. She had promised Abby she would babysit so that Abby and Jeremy could have a night out together before her parents arrived on Saturday. They needed time together, just the two of them.
Kevin, his face concealed in the crook of his elbow, said with a muffled voice, “Why do I have to go?”
It was the first time Kevin had ever voiced any objection to spending a weekend with his father. “Because it’s your dad’s weekend. And I know he looks forward to being with you.” For all of Tom’s faults—and they were legion—he had always been devoted to spending time with his two sons.
“Yeah. Right.” The scoffing noise Kevin made when he said these words startled Mara. Though she knew he had been upset about something when Tom dropped him off two weeks ago, Kevin had never confided any details. She figured maybe they’d had an argument. Kevin, with all his teenage bravado, could be moody and sensitive, and Tom didn’t tolerate it. Stop being such a sissy, Tom had barked at Kevin many times over the years. What are you, a momma’s boy? He’d never accused Brian of that. Brian had never been and would never be a “momma’s boy.”
Mara sat down on the edge of the bed. What were the chances of her resolving this before Tom showed up in the driveway? “You wanna talk about what’s going on with your dad?”
“I just don’t want to go.”
“But you have to.”
“Just tell him I’m sick. Tell him I’ll cough all over Tiffany and her kids and get them all sick.”
Ahhh. So it was about the girlfriend. She reached out and placed her hand on his dry forehead. “You do feel a little bit clammy. I’m thinking you’re running a fever. And is your throat sore?”
He swallowed hard and said, “Yeah.”
“Well, then. I think you’d better stay home this weekend and get better so you don’t miss any school next week.”
When he rolled over again to face the wall, she thought she heard him mumble, “Thanks.”
It wasn’t a tactic that would work long term. But when Mara texted to say Kevin was sick and was concerned about getting a pregnant woman and her kids sick, Tom replied with a single word: Okay.
She felt like running a victory lap. With a single text she had managed to communicate that she knew all about the pregnant girlfriend, and she had done so in an ostensibly reasonable and court-appropriate manner. As soon as Brian was out the door, she returned to Kevin’s room, where he was sitting at his computer watching some comedian on YouTube. “All set,” she said. “Your dad seemed fine with it.” She didn’t tell him that his father never even bothered to ask for details or that he didn’t seem upset about the change of plans. “How’s your throat?”
“Better.” He clicked the pause button on the video.
“Glad to hear it.” She sat down on the edge of his bed. “We don’t have to talk about it now, but we’ll need to talk, okay? I’ll need to know what’s going on with your dad so that I can help you.” Try to help, anyway. There was only so much she could do to negotiate around the court settlement.
Kevin nodded without looking at her. If he knew she would be his advocate, then that was also a victory. “I was just going to make myself a frozen pizza before I go babysit Maddie. Want some?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, and pressed play.
Charissa
The first thing Charissa noticed Friday night after John helped her up the front stairs and into the house was that the rug on top of the hardwood floor in the family room had been carefully vacuumed into the precise sawtooth pattern she prized. “Thought you would notice that,” he said when she thanked him. “You want to lie on the couch for a while or head back to bed?”
She wasn’t tired and couldn’t bear being horizontal again. “I’ll sit here.”
John pulled the ottoman toward her. “Then put your feet up.” She obeyed. “Hannah said there’s a recliner at Meg’s house that they can bring over.”
Charissa did not want Meg’s cancer chair. “This will be fine.”
“But a recliner would be so much better for you. You’ve got to make sure you’re—”
“Resting. I know. But I can’t have you treating me like an invalid. I won’t survive that.” If he hovered around her for the next however many weeks, she would go crazy. Helping was one thing; monitoring her every move was another. She couldn’t live under that kind of intense scrutiny, not from John, not from his mother, not from any other well-meaning, concerned friends. She had heard the doctor’s instructions. She knew what was at stake. She knew that every hour, every day, every week that Bethany could remain in the safety of the womb meant a better chance for her health and survival outside of it. She knew that. And if someone called into question her level of activity, it would be like calling into question her level of commitment to her child. She wouldn’t tolerate that. Not from anyone.
“What can I bring you?” he asked. “Something to drink? Something to read?”
“My laptop.”
“You’re not going to work on—”
“The doctor said I couldn’t do physically taxing things. He didn’t say anything about not doing work f
or school.”
“But you can’t go back to—”
“I know that, okay? I’m not going back to my classes. I’m not going back to teaching. But I’m still going to write the lectures and grade the papers and finish my own assignments for the semester. I’m supplying the substitute with everything they’ll need to teach the class well.” As far as Charissa knew from her email and phone interaction with Dr. Gardiner, the substitute had not yet been decided on. But she had been reassured that there was no reason why she couldn’t continue to work from home. She would finish the semester, and she would finish it well.
John retrieved her computer and brought her a tall glass of water. “Thanks,” she said.
“Yeah.”
While he sat down on the couch to check his phone, Charissa opened her inbox to find dozens of new messages, most of which were inquiries about her health from peers, faculty, and students. Why couldn’t her body be her own business? She had no desire to supply details or answer probing questions. And though many of the messages contained well-intentioned expressions of care, she knew that some people were simply being nosy. She clicked her mouse on one from an unfamiliar address with the subject, Coordinating meals.
Hi Charissa,
My name is Stacy Jones, and I’m the food ministry coordinator at Wayfarer Church. We’ve received word that you are in need of meals for the next few months, and I’ll be taking care of setting up the schedule. Please let me know if there are foods you cannot eat or do not like so we
Charissa slammed her laptop shut. “Did you call Wayfarer?”
John looked up from his phone. “Call Wayfarer?”
“Yeah. Did you call the church and put us on some list for getting food?”
“No.”
“Well, somebody did.”
“I asked Mara to help by getting us on prayer chains but—”
“Why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Ask her to recruit people I don’t even know to be praying?”
“You were there in the room when I asked her to.”
“I didn’t hear you say that, John. And I wouldn’t have asked for it.” Why in the world would she want strangers knowing her business?
“It’s for prayer,” he said. “It’s what people do. They ask for prayer.”
“Not from absolute strangers, they don’t.” It was bad enough that the grapevine at Kingsbury University had made her private affairs public knowledge. And now to have people at Wayfarer—people she did not know—spreading word about her being on bed rest and recruiting strangers to come to the house to deliver meals? No. Not okay.
“I think you’re overreacting, Riss. It’s not like people are sitting around constantly talking about you. It’s just prayer. And food. That’s all.”
There were people who loved posting every intimate detail of their lives on Facebook, people whose newsfeeds vomited information. She wasn’t one of them. And this felt like a deep violation of trust. Just as she was about to continue her rant, the doorbell rang. Great. Now what?
John jumped to his feet and opened the door. “Hey, Mara!”
Speak of the devil, Charissa thought, and then immediately felt guilty for assigning such a label to her. But the timing was interesting.
“I can’t stay,” Mara said. “I’m on my way to babysit Maddie, but I just thought I’d come by and drop these off.” She entered the room carrying a bouquet of tulips. “How’re you doing?”
Charissa shrugged.
“Here,” John said, reaching for the flowers, “I’ll put these in water. Come sit down.”
Mara sat on the edge of the couch. “I can’t stay long. Just wanted to drop by and see you, let you know I’m praying for you. Lots of folks are praying for you.”
“So I hear.” Though Charissa heard the terseness in her own voice, Mara didn’t seem to notice.
Reaching into her pocket, Mara pulled out a crumpled little slip of paper. “Here’s a note for you.”
Charissa read it, heat rising to her face. Dear Miss Karisa, So sorry to here about your little baby. Get better soon. Love, Billy
“Crossroads Billy?” Charissa said.
“Yeah. He was worried about you, wanted you to know he’s praying for you.”
“You told Billy?”
Mara nodded. “He was first in line today, hoping there would be snickerdoodle cookies, so I told him I’d make them special for him next week to honor—”
“How many others?”
“What?”
“How many others at Crossroads know about this?” Charissa made a sweeping motion with her hand toward her abdomen, her lap, her whole body.
Mara looked confused. “About what? About you having to be on bed rest?”
John entered the room and placed the vase of tulips on the end table beside Charissa. Then he signaled with his hand for her to calm down.
No. The fury within her billowed. “Did you tell everyone at Crossroads?”
Mara fiddled with her bracelets. “I uh . . .”
“They all know, don’t they?” Charissa gripped her knees and leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how it makes me feel to think that the whole homeless population of Kingsbury now knows about—”
“Charissa,” John murmured.
“—me being alone here during the day and—”
“Charissa,” he said a little louder.
“Here I am, not knowing who could track down an address and—”
“Charissa, stop.” He stared at her, his mouth half open.
Mara looked as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”
“It’s fine, Mara,” he said. “Everything’s fine. But I think maybe—”
“Yeah. I’ll go.” She rose slowly to her feet and cast Charissa a mournful, apologetic glance. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Me and my big fat mouth.”
Without replying, Charissa turned her face away.
Hannah
“I’ll call Charissa and apologize to her,” Nathan said when Hannah finished recounting what Mara had told her in tears on the phone. “I’m the one who called Wayfarer to ask about the meals.”
Hannah shut the dishwasher and selected the light wash cycle. “Because I asked you to, Nate.” She sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “I feel awful. I should have specifically asked Charissa what kind of help she wanted instead of following Mara’s lead. But Mara was just trying to be helpful. She wasn’t trying to violate any personal boundaries; she was just trying to show love for a friend. She’s devastated by it.”
Hannah had offered to go over and keep her company while she babysat at Jeremy’s apartment, but Mara had refused. She did not want to be comforted; she wanted to punish herself. She hadn’t said that directly, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. “I guess it’s a really painful reminder to all of us,” Hannah said, “not to assume what love looks like.” She kicked herself again for emailing Becca the news. She never should have violated Charissa’s privacy like that. Not even with one person.
Though Hannah had not said this to Mara, she had listened to the story with some measure of sympathy for Charissa. She wouldn’t want her private business broadcast widely without her permission either, even for the purpose of prayer. Like Charissa, she preferred to dispense personal information on a need-to-know basis, under careful control. But unlike Charissa, Hannah told herself, she would not have lashed out at Mara as if she had deliberately betrayed her. She would have hidden behind a smile and told her that everything was fine, that she wasn’t upset at all. Just like she had done with other friends over the years. Hide. Conceal. Deny. And then try to get over it.
Maybe, she thought as she wiped down the kitchen counter, maybe Charissa and Mara had a better chance of authentic reconciliation because they each knew something was badly broken.
“Shep?”
“Yeah?”
“Come sit for a minute, will you? I’ll finish cleaning up later.”
Something in Nathan’s tone unsettled her. She wrung out the dishcloth and draped it over the faucet before sitting down at the table across from him. He reached for her hand. “Laura called.”
She stiffened. “When?”
“When you were on the phone with Mara.”
“And?”
“And she came into town early. She wants to meet with me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What time?”
“Around lunch.”
“But we’re supposed to be at New Hope together for the retreat day.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to put her off to next week, but she wants to see Jake on Easter. And I’m not going to let her see him until I’ve met with her face to face. So it’s got to be tomorrow.”
“I’ll go with you.” She could skip the silence and solitude day. She had plenty of days with silence and solitude.
He shook his head. “Not a good idea. Not for our first meeting.”
“But we talked about this, how we need to be a team, to stand together against her!”
Nathan stroked her wedding ring. “I know. And we will. But tomorrow it just needs to be the two of us, trying to work things out for Jake.”
He was right, of course. She knew he was right. “Does Jake know?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell him when I pick him up at Pete’s. In fact, I’ll probably take him out for ice cream, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes. Of course.” She didn’t need to be a third wheel in that conversation either.
He leaned forward. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For wanting to come with me and for understanding why you can’t. Thank you.”
She nodded, cupped his chin, and kissed him.
Good Friday
9 p.m.
I’ve spent the last hour reviewing journal entries from the past few months while I wait for Nate and Jake to come home, particularly my entries about Laura. Here we are again, yielding to her demands. I’ve already written so many words about my envy, my resentment, my begrudging God’s generosity to her, my struggle to pray God’s blessing upon her and her husband and their unborn child because it still doesn’t seem fair that she, who abandoned her marriage and her son, gets to waltz back into Jake’s life even as she prepares to welcome another child into the world.
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