Stranded in Paradise

by Lori Copeland

  Getting out of bed, she crammed her feet into slippers and pulled on her robe. As she walked through the front room, she switched on lamps. The darkness bothered her, the gloom, the uncertainty of what lay in the shadows.

  I’m being maudlin, she warned herself as she entered the kitchen and picked up the teakettle and filled it with water. You’re weirding out, Tess.

  Waiting for the water to heat, she sat at the table and peeled an apple, watching the peel grow longer and longer. She was so fascinated by the progression that when the teakettle blasted a shrill whistle she jumped as though someone had fired a cannon through the window.

  Moments later she dropped a bag of Lipton in the cup, thinking about Len’s earlier messages. Call me.

  Well, Len, I have called you—everything in my arsenal of bad names.

  Propping her chin on her hand, she dunked the bag up and down in hot water and wondered why she didn’t feel justified. Cleansed. She had gotten want she’d wanted, hadn’t she? Len Connor on all fours. He had called. Her position with Connor.com was waiting to be reclaimed.

  With a fat raise and a sizable bonus at year’s end, no doubt.

  So where was the elation? The thrill of victory?

  Life wasn’t fair. Wasn’t that what Stella had said? And the old movie queen’s wisdom was profound.

  Her mind flew back to her talks with Stella and Carter. Hadn’t she told Carter that she wanted to finally trust God? Yet she knew that if that was ever going to happen she had to let go of the one thing that held her back—no, the two things, she decided. First, she needed to get over what Len Connor had done, and second, she needed to forgive her mother. She absently stirred the cup of tea as the apple lay forgotten beside the cup.

  Starting tomorrow morning, she was going to find the real woman. The real Tess Nelson.

  The dilapidated row house stood like a war-weary soldier backlit by the early morning Indiana skyline. Tess had never come to see her mother without calling first, but then this January had been anything but typical for her.

  She proceeded up the snow-packed walk. Her breath puffed a frosty vapor in the bitterly cold air. A man wrapped in a shabby-looking overcoat and wearing a fedora exited the building carrying a long-handled shovel. If the tenants wanted snow off their walk it was up to them to remove it. There was no hired help to do it here as there was in her condo.

  The man nodded as she passed. Years of bleak existence looked back at her.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning.” She opened the glass door marred by hundreds of handprints and stepped into the foyer. Mailboxes lined the chipped, painted wall; a potted plant that might once have contributed oxygen no longer even tried. Dead leaves gathered in a shallow pool at the base of the cracked terra cotta-colored plastic.

  She pressed the elevator button. The cables clicked as the car slowly started its descent to her. Her eyes scanned the squalid conditions and she was assuaged by guilt when she thought about her warm apartment, filled with trendy furniture and Beeg’s watercolor prints. How could Mona live here? Steel doors labored open and Tess waited for the bouncing elevator car to stabilize.

  Hesitantly entering the cave, she removed her winter gloves and pressed the sixth-floor button. The tiny room smelled of perspiration and wet dog. She watched the light buttons and thought about how hard it would be for a woman Mona’s age to transport heavy sacks of groceries to the sixth floor. She leaned and pressed the button again. Then twice more before the door shut.

  Getting off on six, she walked down the long hallway that reeked of fried meat and burnt toast. She paused in front of Mona’s apartment: 607.

  Drawing a deep breath, she rapped on the door that held a pink faded plastic floral bouquet on its surface. She could hear Katie Couric and Matt Lauer chatting with Al Roker in the background, something about the unexpected snowfall in the Big Apple that morning.

  She listened to the sounds of footsteps and bumps emanateding from inside the apartment, as if someone was searching for something to throw on. Shortly the door creaked open a crack and for the first time in sixteen years she met her mother’s eyes.

  “Mama?”

  The door shut as the security chain rattled, and then the door opened fully. Mona stood in front of her with a faded turquoise chenille housecoat half off her shoulder, hair poking out of red Velcro curlers. A Winston sagged from the corner of her mouth. Clearly she was surprised to see Tess, though she made some effort to remain unreadable. “Who died?”

  Tess managed a wavering smile. “Nobody. I know I should have called, but I … thought maybe it’s been too long. I should pay a visit in person.”

  Mona’s gaze raked her and Tess was suddenly self-conscious of her blatant show of affluence compared to her surroundings. Why hadn’t she worn jeans and running shoes? Her mother stepped back, motioning her inside. “You don’t need more money, do you?” she said.

  “No, Mother.”

  She entered the cubicle of an apartment, her eyes skimming the interior. A closet ran the length of the entryway. Small living room, tiny kitchenette. One bedroom off to the left. At least the bed was made. A stack of books was piled on the end table with prescription medicine vials— six of them. A pair of glasses lay open beside them.

  A twenty-one-inch television, with what looked to be an ancient Nintendo attached, blared from its perch: a scarred, inexpensive pressed-sawdust table that could be purchased at Kmart and hand assembled. Her eyes skimmed the picture taken shortly after Mona and Roy’s marriage. She’d seen it throughout her childhood. The photo had been taken in front of a Woolworth’s in Texas. A nineteen-year-old Roy was wearing a sailor cap, and sixteen-year-old Mona wore her hair upswept. The smiling couple looked happy.

  Once Tess took a seat, Mona closed the door and slid the security chain back into place. “Thought you were in Hawaii.”

  “I got back day before yesterday.”

  “Is it nice?” Mona took her coat and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. Dishes with dried food cluttered the sink. A skillet of bacon grease congealed on the two-burner stove.

  She shrugged. “It’s tropical.”

  “Expensive, I hear.”

  Tess smiled. At nine dollars a pound for fresh asparagus, she guessed it was safe to say prices were high.

  “Very.”

  Shuffling past her, Mona made her way to the frayed sofa. As she passed the table bearing the Nintendo, she switched the television off. A deck of cards in Solitaire order splayed across an aluminum television tray facing the couch. An ashtray, overflowing with butts, lent its evidence to the smoky smell that permeated the tiny quarters.

  Grinding out one cigarette, Mona flicked a Bic lighter and lit another one as she studied Tess beneath shaded lids. The years had been cruel to Mona Nelson. Lines etched her leathery skin like erratic road maps, paving the way to eyes shrunken deeply back in her skull.

  Tess fished in her purse for the envelope. “I’ve brought your money back.”

  “Good.” Mona peered at the offering through a veil of blue smoke.

  She laid the money on the end table. Silence surpassed the sounds coming from the low-rent housing hallway—someone running a vacuum, an infant crying in the distance.

  A child was the product of his environment, that she would agree. Sadly, for the last thirty-two years she had practiced Mona and Roy’s belief, lived under the assumption that Christianity was a lie. Yet in the past week she’d come to see that they had been wrong, she had been wrong. She had witnessed not only God’s existence but His love for her. She’d seen it in Stella and Carter, in their willingness to reach out to her. Now it was her turn to reach out in forgiveness.

  Her eyes scanned the squalor. There had to be a stronger reason for life than this. Tess saw before her a woman who did not need to be feared, but a woman to be pitied. Her heart swelled with a long forgotten love. Mona had lived her whole life in an aura of distrust and desperation. Perhaps her lack of spiritual awakening was a
by-product of her own painful childhood. Instinct told Tess that Mona held the key to her emotional restoration, and she knew the key could not turn in the lock without forgiveness and compassion. Mona was sixty-two years old. She lived in an empty world of cigarettes, computer games, and soap operas.

  “Is there anything I can do for you—anything you want?”

  “No, I do okay. A neighbor lady takes me to the grocery store and to pick up my medicine on Saturdays. I do all right.”

  “I want to pay your bills each month.” She drew a long breath. “Send me the amount you need and I’ll send you a check.”

  “I don’t need your charity.”

  “I know you don’t. This is something I want to do.”

  “Well.” She shrugged. “If you have money to burn go ahead.”

  Tess suddenly bent to give her mother a stiff hug. She felt Mona’s hand touch the back of her hair.

  “Well,” Tess straightened, pasting on a smile, afraid she would cry. “I need to be going.”

  Mona got up and opened the door. “I suppose there is one thing you could do for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to have a PlayStation.”

  “PlayStation? One of those computer toys?”

  She nodded. “Roy’s old Nintendo is just about to give out on me. I’d sure enjoy a PlayStation, maybe a few extra games—if that wouldn’t be asking too much.”

  “No— I’ll send you a PlayStation when I get back to Denver.”

  For an instant Tess looked deeply into her mother’s eyes, and she wanted to believe—oh how she wanted to trust that what she saw in the faded brown gaze was more than regret for lost years, maybe even a hint of love for her.

  “Bundle up tight. It’s cold out there,” Mona said.

  She obediently fastened the bottom button on her coat, and pulled on warm gloves. “Take care of yourself, Mom.”

  Mona nodded. “You too.”

  19

  Airport gift shops were about as personal as a blender for Christmas, but Tess found a stuffed cat that looked a whole lot like Henry. She purchased the cat, and included the toy with a large box of chocolates and had the gifts mailed to Stella along with a note thanking her for her hospitality. Stella had offered more than hospitality; she had offered new insight. Tess had sadly been lacking in that commodity. Stella also offered friendship. Friendships took time to cultivate and nurture. Over the years Tess had worked too many long hours and weekends to develop close relationships. She needed to change that.

  As she was paying for the chocolates, her eyes centered on a box of nuts and she thought of Len, whose frantic calls she had yet to return. They would serve as a succinct answer to his pleas for help. Nuts to you.

  “I’ll take a box of nuts, too.”

  “Certainly.” The clerk reached behind her and snagged a five-pound assortment of almond Macadamias. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Yes. I want to enclose this note with the gift.” She scribbled a brief message that read, “Thanks, but not interested. Tess.” She handed the card back to the woman. “Will those go out today?”

  “Sometime late this afternoon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tess left the shop, pausing outside long enough to blow air out of her cheeks. She still had to send the check for the airline ticket, but it was over.

  Man. She gave the air a jubilant right hook. That felt good. Really good.

  Groundhog Day arrived on the heels of a Denver blizzard. Punxsutawney Phil emerged from his burrow and saw his shadow, so weather forecasters predicted winter would hang around for another six weeks.

  Trudging through nine inches of snow with more falling in the mall parking lot, Tess huddled deeper into the lining of her wool coat. By the looks of the empty lot, not many Denverites were out shopping today.

  Inside the sprawling Denver Mall complex, Tess stomped snow off her boots and made her way to B. Dalton’s bookstore. On the flight home from Indiana two days ago she’d come up with a plan—an “enlighten Tess” strategy. There was no way on earth that she was going to read and understand the King James Bible, but logic said there were other ways to learn about the gospel.

  Thirty minutes later she carried her purchases to the counter. She didn’t blink when the clerk perused the two titles: The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Bible and No Brainer’s Guide to the Bible.

  Back in her own habitat, she shrugged out of her coat and boots and emptied the sack of reading material on the sofa. Wielding a yellow highlighter, she started to read. Noon passed, and she didn’t break for lunch.

  Late afternoon, she ate a handful of Ritz crackers and some bologna. When she came to a thought or paragraph that she questioned, she highlighted it. Rereading her scribbles she realized that every other line in the first two chapters was highlighted. And this was the easy version.

  By nightfall, instead of Dan Rather’s voice filtering from her apartment, Tess’s mystified exclamations of “Huh?” and “Oh, now how can that be?” or the occasional “Give me a break” shattered the silence.

  But after reading most of the day, she slept better that night than she had in a long time. When she awoke in the night she tried praying. Her novice attempts were halting at first. She prayed about the weather—and Herb Franklin’s continuing good health. Stella’s name came up once or twice. Carter’s more than twice. She felt a sense of peace overtake her, a sense that she was no longer alone. God could be trusted because He loved her—He loved Tess Nelson.

  The following morning, she found herself talking out loud as she dumped coffee grinds to make a fresh pot.

  That night Carter was still on her mind—she sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t look back on his time in Maui and remember Tess Nelson as a nut case who’d spoiled his vacation.

  Reaching for the phone, she called Beeg. When her college roommate’s voice came on the line, she grinned. “Well it’s about time.”

  “Tess! Is that you?” Beeg squealed. “I’m so sorry I missed you—When are you coming to Maui again?”

  She sank down to the sofa, speechless. “Do I have a story for you.”

  For over an hour, she told of her exploits and how she’d weathered Alana in paradise. Bee Gee told her about the damage to her shop—most everything had been lost; insurance covered the building but couldn’t come near to the value of her lost artwork.

  “Stella DeMuer—the old movie queen? You stayed in Stella DeMuer’s beach house?” Beeg exclaimed when Tess told her about her accommodations after the fire.

  “She’s wonderful, Beeg. Could you go visit Stella sometime? She’s so lonely, and you would love her.”

  “Sure, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of her home. Does she really wear a cat around her neck?”

  “Henry.” Tess grinned.

  Beeg’s tone had softened. “You sound different, Tess. Happier. Have you met someone?”

  Had she met someone? Carter’s face flashed through her mind. Besides the Lord? “Could be—and I am happier, Beeg. I’ve been reading the Bible lately.”

  “Yeah? Me too! I’ve been going to church with a guy. You know, there could be something to this religion thing.”

  “Yeah,” Tess agreed. “I think there really could be, Beeg.”

  That night she dug Carter’s home phone number out of her purse and dialed Chicago. She knew the games women were supposed to play—don’t be pushy. Wait for him to call. Don’t appear too needy.

  Well, Carter’s and her relationship wasn’t Romeo and Juliet’s. But she wasn’t going to play any games. If he mistook a simple phone call between two acquaintances to be anything other than innocuous, that was his problem. She drummed her fingernails on the end table as she listened to the first ring.

  Then two.

  Three. Her heart took a nosedive. He wasn’t home. She wondered if he’d stayed in Maui. She absently flipped the remote to the Weather Channel.

  On the fifth ring, Carter’s voice came on the line.
“Hello.”

  Relief flooded her. “Hey. I was about to hang up.”

  “Hey—is this Tess?”

  She sat back on the sofa, closing her eyes. It felt so good to hear his voice. Suddenly it seemed the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders. “Ms. Unlucky Charm in person.”

  His tone modulated. “Hi, Girl.”

  “I see you made it back to Chicago.”

  “Smooth as silk this time. What about you?”

  “We had to deplane for a couple of hours because of a security breach—the airlines never said what kind of a breach. After that the flight was uneventful. So, how are things? Back to work yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m scheduled for next week, though.”

  They chatted about nothing. Then about everything. She had forgotten how easy he was to confide in.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “What?”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “July fourth. Why?”

  “No kidding. July fourth? I woke up in the middle of the night last night and remembered you hadn’t included that with your address.”

  She smiled, recalling the night of the hurricane and the candid sharing of their lives as they sat on Stella’s cold garage floor.

  “When’s yours?”

  “July fifth.”

  “No way.”

  “Why would I lie about my birthday?”

  “Well.” She debated the next line. The “rules” would strongly advise against it. “Maybe we’ll share a birthday cake this year.”

  “Sounds good to me. I hope you like German chocolate.”

  “I love chocolate of any nationality.”

  They laughed.

  “I like you, Nelson.” This from Carter.