Splitting Harriet

by Tamara Leigh

  “Of course not.”

  His jaw shifts. “Look, it’s just a waitressing job.”

  I shoot to my feet. “It is not just a waitressing job! It’s my—”

  What are you doing?! You are going to accept this with grace. So calm down and—sheesh!—stop with the heaving chest.

  Maddox rises. “It’s your what?”

  “The café is… an important part of this community, especially for our older folks.”

  Is that suspicion sweeping his face? “And obviously important for you.”

  Does he know?

  He takes a step toward me. “Are you sure you aren’t thinking only of yourself, Harri?”

  That doesn’t sit well. “Thinking only of myself?” Stop it—now! “Myself!” I mean it! “I am not that Harri anymore. You have no idea what I—”

  “You’re wrong.” Maddox closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they’re shot with regret. “Tell me about the café.”

  Oh no. That was suspicion.

  He starts to lift a hand toward me, but drops it to his side. “Tell me.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You were baiting me.”

  “I was.”

  “Well, there isn’t much to tell beyond what you’ve already guessed.”

  “Yes, there is. You’re the reason Gloria wouldn’t sell to First Grace.”

  That wasn’t a question. I swallow a painful lump. “Yes, we made an agreement years ago.”

  “And now she’s backing out.”

  He’s baiting me again—the raunch! “No.”

  “You were going to allow me to believe the worst about you.”

  My eyes sting. My nose prickles. My throat constricts. “No more than what you already believed regarding my involvement in writing that letter to Pastor Paul.”

  Even before regret deepens across his face, I’m awash in my own regret over such a juvenile response. “I’m sorry. The hurt just…came out.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He broadens his shoulders, appearing to make room for a great weight. “Why didn’t you tell me about your plans to buy the café?” The question has shades of accusation, as if I kept something from him. As if he had a right to know.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about First Grace’s plans to acquire the café? The day of the picnic, you knew, and yet you said nothing.”

  Maddox’s face hardens. “I could say that, as a consultant to First Grace, there are certain things that I’m not at liberty to discuss, and it would be true. However, the reason I didn’t tell you was that I didn’t want to alarm you or the residents, especially when the possibility existed to acquire Gloria’s property.” His lids narrow. “So what’s your excuse for not being up front, Harri?”

  Fear of failure should I lose control of the new Harri, who still struggles against foul words, occasionally longs for nicotine, falls prey to ugly thoughts, could be persuaded to trade in her bike, car, and mobile home for a motorcycle, and isn’t certain she wouldn’t yield to temptation given the right—er, wrong—circumstances. Circumstances that have everything to do with Maddox.

  “Admit it, you’re afraid that you’ll find yourself on the back of a motorcycle, spewing foul words, tattoos proudly displayed, and virtue up for grabs.”

  Lord, why are You letting him in my head?

  “Yes, you said you aren’t that Harri anymore, but now you have to believe it, not just live like it. You have to allow that you’re going to stumble like the rest of us and trust God to give you a hand up.”

  I can’t stop myself, can’t tamp down the defensiveness that jumps through me like a frog on steroids. “Don’t preach at me, Maddox McCray.”

  “I’m simply telling you that this Harri”—he lays a hand on my shoulder—“is different from the old one, as further evidenced by what this Harri gave up for her friends.”

  I shrug out from beneath his hand. “Unfortunately, for all this Harri gave up, it’s only a temporary fix.” There. Focus off of me, even if I have brought us full circle. “Though you say that if further expansion happens it will be years from now and the current residents aren’t likely to be affected, what about those who move into the park in the meantime—who make it the home of their last years?”

  “Then you don’t trust me or First Grace to do right by them?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  You know, Harri, if you thought before you spoke, you could avoid that stone of regret that just dropped through your stomach. I cannot believe I said that, especially as it isn’t true. Well, not exactly…

  The shifting in Maddox’s eyes tells me he can’t believe it either—that he took the words the way I said them. But not really the way I meant them. That was mostly hurt talking. And fear.

  He lowers his head, and one of those curls that I have yet to test the springiness of—and probably never will—shifts off his brow. “I should probably go.”

  No, I won’t be testing it. “Yes, you should.” I cross the room and push open the screen door.

  As he steps past me, he pauses. “One of these days, you’re going to have to accept that you’re forgiven, Harri.”

  I stand straighter. “I know I’m forgiven.”

  “Then start living like it.” He descends the stairs, leaving me with a sudden craving for a cigarette that causes my fingers to twitch. And to top it off, I’m tempted to curse. See! I am still warped.

  As much as I long to close the door on Maddox’s retreating back, I watch him cross to the other side of Red Sea Lane. And that’s when I’m struck by the irony that he’s on one side and I’m on the other. And it’s doubtful there will be any parting of the Red Sea that lies between us. After all, I said I didn’t trust him.

  Jelly Bellys.

  I told him to go.

  Jelly Bellys.

  I held the door for him to walk out of my life even though I…I…

  Jelly Bellys.

  I let my shoulders slump. Even though I’ve fallen for him.

  Jelly Bellys—a couple coconuts, a few cherries, maybe a piña colada…

  That’ll do it. Still, I don’t turn back until Maddox disappears inside his home, then I declare, “That’s that.”

  My chin drops a notch, lips quiver, lids flicker. Oh Lord, that’s… that!

  I rip into the kitchen, grab the Jelly Belly container from beside a startled Doo-Dah, and race to my bedroom. But the Jelly Bellys don’t taste all that good. After a dozen attempts to jump-start my taste buds with the most potent flavors, I set the container aside. Now what?

  Oooh! I can almost taste a cigarette—gross, but satisfying. To make matters worse, my nose is running, and my eyes sting. As I reach to the tissue box, my gaze falls on the God’s Promise book atop my Bible. I open to the contents page, and the subject that catches my attention is Fear. I skim the related scriptures, several of which I’ve highlighted.

  “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

  Stroking Dumplin’s head, I vaguely wonder when he crawled into my lap. I scan the contents again. Forgiveness. I tell myself that I’m good with God, but I don’t really believe it. Just like Lisa and Maddox don’t believe I believe it.

  The little book lists seven scriptures, the first being, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

  I know that, but it’s too easy. I mean, how valuable can forgiveness be if it doesn’t require something approaching a pound of flesh? Or a dream…

  “Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit—”

  I was in the pit.

  “—and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

  But how can my youth be renewed? It was so dirty… so dark. And just like that it’s re
newed? Not that I don’t believe God’s Word, but there’s always fine print, isn’t there?

  Note: This offer does not apply to Harriet Josephine Bisset who broke practically every commandment, hurt her family deeply, nearly ruined her father, and disappointed the entire congregation. Should said sinner wish forgiveness, nothing short of a sacrifice will be accepted (i.e., the café), and only then with the stipulation that she suffer deeply over her loss.

  Suffer deeply so First Grace can grow and flourish without regard for those that growth hurts—

  Stop it, Harri! Do what God would have you do. If you don’t stamp out this resentment, it’s going to suffocate you.

  I trudge into the kitchen for a glass of water and, on the return, stop at the answering machine.

  “Harri, it’s Gloria.”

  I stare at the machine as her message of hours earlier plays out, informing me that she’s decided to sell to First Grace. She thanks me for thinking of her and for my “sacrifice” for our friends.

  No, not a sacrifice. The right thing—for everyone. I have to believe it.

  Gloria ends with the suggestion that I open my own café with the money I’ve saved. Not that I haven’t already considered that. It’s just not a sure thing. Still, it’s past time that I step out of my comfort zone. As for Maddox’s suggestion that I run Gloria’s café until it’s closed, even though it would allow me to save more money and make a better start, I should leave. Sadly, I don’t want to. Not only will I miss the older folks but also the mobile home park, and—yes—First Grace. To make matters worse, I’m scared.

  Harri’s Log: • Don’t want to think about it…

  I don’t know how I made it to church after everything that happened yesterday, but I’m here. Bleary-eyed and drained, but here. The music is good—

  Well, the words. As for the instruments, they’re screechier than usual. Or is that my nerves? Regardless, it’s a nice song. In fact, if I weren’t so down and out, I might raise a hand to shoulder height.

  The next selection is slower and unfamiliar, but the words pluck my emotions—“By grace I am forgiven.” Was this planned? I glance left and right, but no one is looking at me. Okay, coincidence. But then up on the screen pops, “I stumble and fall, and always You lift me.” I blink as the words Maddox spoke yesterday haunt their way back to me. “You have to allow that you’re going to stumble like the rest of us and trust God to give you a hand up.”

  Oh dear. I really want to raise my hand but mustn’t. I’m too down. However, an older woman on the front row has no such qualms, as evidenced by an arm that slowly rises. Hardly able to believe my eyes, I squint. It’s Bea, all right, and beside her is Jack. Jack, who has forgiven her. More important, God has forgiven her.

  “By grace I am forgiven” pops up on the screen again, this time against the backdrop of a desert sunrise. My right hand quivers, and I have a feeling it’s going to rise on its own, especially when joyful voices repeat, “By grace I am forgiven.”

  I know. I just have to accept it. Completely. Without question or worry over fine print.

  My hand quivers more forcefully, and I have a vision of it shooting up and everyone staring at me. So I give an inch, then a few more. When my hand reaches chest level, I press it to my heart and feel the steady thump, thump through my clothing. Jesus has forgiven me for everything. By grace I am forgiven. And will be again if I stumble.

  Oh. I feel it. I really do. Closing my eyes, I splay my hand across my chest to keep the certainty of those words from escaping. “By grace I am forgiven,” I whisper. He loves me regardless. Has provided a clean slate. Didn’t require me to offer up my dream like a sacrificial animal to forgive me for my sins. Repentance was all He asked, and it was given years ago.

  Eyes moist, I lift my lids to find that I’m the only one standing. And the music has stopped.

  Sucking a breath, I shoot back down. How long was I standing there? I peek at Blake who meets my gaze and smiles a toothy smile before pulling the microphone toward him and welcoming everyone. “Now if you’ll open your bulletins, I’d like to draw your attention to the insert.”

  Papers rustle around the sanctuary, and belatedly, I open to an insert titled: First Grace Vision Statement Proposal.

  “As you can see,” Blake says, “our vision team has drawn up a vision statement, the purpose of which is to guide First Grace on its journey to growing in a direction that honors God. Please follow along as I read.” He clears his throat.

  “We seek to know fully the Lord God Almighty, to experience His incredible goodness and grace—”

  By grace I am forgiven.

  “—and to be totally amazed that He would choose to live within us.”

  I am amazed.

  “Our desire is to know Him so intimately and trust Him so completely that His will for us becomes the dominant desire of our lives.”

  Is it really possible to surrender so completely?

  “We seek to use the gifts that God has placed within us to serve others, seeking to meet every physical and spiritual need.”

  Young and old alike.

  “Therefore, we welcome everyone—”

  Including those with a penchant for black clothing, chains, and tattoos. Even rebels like Harriet Josephine Bisset.

  “—so that we may point each to Him and to our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ, who alone redeems and transforms us into His image.”

  A God-moment chill goes through me. Absolutely beautiful. And from the murmurs on all sides of me, I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  “Over the next week,” Blake says, “please take time to reflect on the statement, and let us know if you have any questions or comments. Next Sunday we’ll vote for adoption.” His smile widens. “And now we have a special announcement. As you know, First Grace is growing. Our vision committee has been hard at work solving the problem of expansion. While the adjoining mobile home park was purchased years ago with expansion in mind, First Grace was faced with the dilemma of what to do with those who make the park their home. Thus, the church looked elsewhere to expand, and I’m pleased to announce that an agreement has been reached with the owner of Gloria’s Morning Café.”

  Gasps of relief arise from the park residents, and to my right, Elva grips Lum’s arm and turns a smiling face up to him.

  I did the right thing, even if not entirely for the right reason.

  “But there’s more,” Blake continues, “and I’ll let Gloria tell you about it.”

  Gloria’s here? Lowering the bulletin to my lap, I crane my neck and watch her rise from a front pew. Upon reaching the podium, she taps the microphone. “Good news, but it gets better. During a late-night meeting with your vision team, a new proposal was put on the table that I find very satisfying and believe First Grace’s members will as well.”

  A new proposal?

  “Though I agreed to sell my property to First Grace, it was proposed that a trade be made instead—my café and property for the mobile home park.”

  Her… for… First Grace’s…?

  “This arrangement will prevent First Grace from straining its finances and yet still allow them to acquire my café property. As for my ownership of the mobile home park, not only will I be provided with a steady income for a while longer, but it will give the park residents peace of mind with regard to future expansion.” She grins. “And me something to do.”

  Maddox did this.

  Gloria meets my gaze. “I’m very pleased with the arrangement and am sure everyone else will be.”

  Slack-jawed, I watch as Gloria steps from the stage amid murmurs of approval. As she nears, she gives me a smile.

  I smile tremulously back. A trade. It’s perfect. Or as near to perfect as one can get. Yes, the cafe may eventually be razed if expansion reaches its doors. Yes, one day First Grace may come knocking to buy back the mobile home park for further expansion. But that would be years from now, and if I know Gloria—and I’m pretty sure I do—mama bear won’t let anyt
hing happen to her cubs.

  I stare unseeingly at the bulletin in my lap, but slowly the Scripture on the front comes to focus. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come.”

  Old Harri—gone. New Harri—here. Another God-moment.

  As Pastor Paul takes to the podium, I feel a sudden need to search out Maddox. Though I scanned for him when I entered the sanctuary, I didn’t see him. I scan again, but he’s not here. And he’s always here.

  I startle. What if he’s left First Grace? Stuck the pink flamingos and artificial shrubs back in the lawn and up and gone?

  I consider the teenager who slipped in beside me a few minutes into the worship. He’s slouched with his knees against the back of the pew in front of him. As I consider the feasibility of stepping over him, he looks at me.

  “Um, I need to get out.”

  “Sure.” He swings his legs aside to let me past.

  Feeling self-conscious, I walk down the aisle as Pastor Paul begins his sermon on… forgiveness.

  The gathering area is empty. No sign of Maddox. Maybe he has gone.

  “Seems like Maddox McCray saves the day.”

  I swing around. “Stephano.”

  “So what do you think about the news, Harri?”

  “It’s…great.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. It worked out well for all concerned.” He frowns. “Seems like Maddox knows what he’s doing after all.”

  And Stephano is admitting it? “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “So am I. Still, I’ll be glad when he moves on and we get back to a semblance of normalcy.”

  Considering all the changes ahead, normalcy hardly seems likely, but who am I to burst his bubble? “Speaking of Maddox, have you seen him?”

  “Not recently, but I’m sure he’s around.”

  I offer a half-baked smile. “I think I’ll try to find him.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Maddox is nowhere to be found. I step outside, dejected. Though August is on its way out, it’s going to be an intensely hot day, as evidenced by the toasty breath of air that awakens my sweat glands. I start walking and shortly halt before the children’s playground. It’s deserted. Quiet. Not even a breeze to stir the swings.