Runaway Saint

by Lisa Samson

  “I love this!”

  “You’d live in a place like this?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve never had occasion to think about it before. But she’s sure made this little campsite homey, hasn’t she?”

  I look through Aunt Bel’s eyes. The precise, artful arrangement of Mom’s garden gear and furniture, the tipi trellis of morning glories to the left of the tent, the pots of ranunculus and dahlias, the garden behind everything where sunflowers will grow, keeping watch over zinnias and cosmos.

  “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “She always knew how to make things beautiful. Like you do, Sara.”

  I smile. “I come from an artsy-fartsy family and I didn’t even realize it.”

  We stop just short of the bridge. “Aunt Bel? Remember when you almost made me promise I wouldn’t force the reunion of you and Mom, that I’d just let the Universe take its course?”

  “Yes. But I have a feeling all that’s about to change.”

  I lay my hand on her injured arm. “Only if you want it to.”

  “But what about your relationship with her?”

  “It can’t hurt it. We’re already too distant as it is.” I set my foot on the bridge. “Maybe the truth is what we all need to bring us together. Maybe the truth deserves its chance to make a difference.”

  She pats my hand and holds it in her fingers as we walk forward. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Let me be the one to tell her what really happened, Aunt Bel.”

  “Oh no, Sara!” Her protests come from the place that sought to protect me in the first place.

  “Yes. I think the message will be better heard coming from me.”

  Oh, hi, Mom. Yes, just wanted to stop by and drop this bomb on you. By the way, your sister didn’t kill your son; your daughter did. Isn’t that grand?

  I suppose some truths are so terrible, there’s no compassionate time to make them known. But in the end, I’m doing this for a woman who lives in a tent, and for another woman who spends her time wandering around the streets of Baltimore like a homeless person, armed only with a camera and a water bottle. And I’d be fooling myself if I didn’t say I was doing this for myself as well. We O’Hara girls deserve to be together. Not again. But for the first time ever since I can remember.

  We step off the bridge. “Mom?” I call.

  No answer.

  “She must be here,” I whisper. “Mom!” I call again.

  “She won’t answer if she doesn’t wish to,” says Aunt Bel.

  “Like sister, like sister?” I ask.

  “If you’d like.”

  I approach the small vestibule of the tent. “Mom?” I unzip the flap and peer inside. “Nobody’s home.”

  A few minutes later we approach J. D.’s house, the mud slathered over the corncob walls baked by the summer sun. He’s sitting on a handmade bench by the door, feeding scraps of meat to his thousand-year-old German shepherd.

  “Have you seen my mom?”

  “Yeah, sure. She came by this morning to borrow my car. Said she was heading downtown to see you.”

  I turn to Aunt Bel. “Let’s go.”

  When Aunt Bel and I slide into the car, she looks as pale as her new Keds. “You don’t think she’s finally come to have the confrontation she’s been avoiding for years, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she just wants to see how I’m doing.”

  “Not by driving a car, she doesn’t.” Aunt Bel shakes her head. “No, I can’t imagine it’s that. She could have picked up J. D.’s phone.”

  When we get to the house, I see J. D.’s Toyota pickup parked halfway down the block, and not in a skillful manner. I feel as if my nerves have formed an external suit. I throw the car into park, breathe deeply, and look at Aunt Bel. “You ready for this?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, grabbing handfuls of her dress.

  “We don’t have to,” I say, backpedaling at the sight of her bloodless face. “Really, Aunt Bel.”

  She inhales deeply and grabs the door handle. “No. It’s time, Sara. This has got to be the way now.”

  Mom and Finn are in the backyard. She’s helping him rebuild a part of the cinder-block wall that’s always been a wreck. Finn’s actually putting something together without tearing it apart first. I can hardly believe my eyes.

  “Hey, hon!” he says from down on his haunches where he’s mixing cement in a five-gallon paint bucket. “Guess who showed up by surprise?”

  “Hey, baby.” Mom straightens up and approaches me. “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

  “You’ve had me worried, Mom. Like, really. We just dropped by your tent. J. D. told us you were here. Are you okay?”

  She nods. “I will be.” She turns to her sister. “After I talk to you, Bel.”

  “How about we eat first?” asks Finn. “Have you two had lunch? Because we haven’t and it’s almost three, and us Drexels always say difficult conversations are best had on a full stomach.”

  “Why? So you can actually throw up if it makes you feel nauseous?” I ask, already nauseous.

  “Better than the dry heaves, Sare, and you know that’s true.”

  Both my mom and my aunt nod. Great. First thing they’ve agreed upon in years is regarding the dry heaves. Well, it’s a start.

  “I’ll make lunch,” I announce, “while you two finish up. Aunt Bel? Want to help me with the sandwiches?”

  She follows me back into the house without a word.

  I assemble a quick chicken salad with the leftover curry chicken from a few nights before and lay it atop some spinach greens. Aunt Bel is making wedges out of pita bread, brushing on a little olive oil, sprinkling sea salt, and throwing them into the oven.

  “Not bad,” I say, trying to sound normal.

  “Will do in a pinch,” Aunt Bel responds likewise.

  As Mom and Finn wash up, we arrange the lunch on the deck. Finn returns with clean hands and a pitcher of Arnold Palmer he made earlier in the day.

  They join us at the table and we begin to eat. Finn chitchats the tension away, or tries to, and I respond as if that will make everything smooth. Instead, we achieve the effect of a puppet show. Watch the young married couple for your entertainment. Free of charge!

  Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Mom. I know you want to talk to Aunt Bel, but there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Sara, you really don’t—” Aunt Bel interjects.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  My mom, holding her drink, freezes her hand. Looks wary. Sets down the glass. “What is it, baby? Are you all right?”

  “I accidentally pushed you and Jason down the steps all those years ago, not Aunt Bel.” The words crash land into the space between us.

  “What did you say?” asks Mom.

  The devastation on her face constricts my throat. I can’t say a thing.

  Finn takes her hand. “Mom, Aunt Bel has been carrying the load for Sara all these years. She didn’t want you to resent your own daughter, so—”

  “Is this true?” Mom looks directly at Aunt Bel.

  She nods, grabbing the largest handful of skirt I’ve seen yet. “Yes.” She casts down her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  Mom rushes around to kneel in front of her sister. “You’d do that for Sara?” She takes her hand.

  Aunt Bel doesn’t pull away. “Yes. You know how much I loved her. And I’d do that for you, Rita. I’d do it for you all over again if you needed to hate the person who killed your son. Better that it be me.”

  Mom gasps, both hands coming down atop her white hair. She turns to me. “But, Sara, I don’t”—turns to her sister—“Bel. I … I never held that against you!”

  “But didn’t you say—” I interrupt.

  “No! I only said those things because I couldn’t reveal that while I grieved your brother, it was Bel who broke my heart.” She turns her face up to Aunt Bel. “You deserted me, Belinda. I was in the darkest place of my life … and you lef
t.”

  “I thought you hated me, Ri. I would have hated me too.”

  “But you didn’t do anything!”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  “Yes, Belinda. I did.” She takes both of Aunt Bel’s hands in her own. “You were my baby sister. It was an accident. Truly. I could see that. If there was anyone to blame, it was myself for not drying him off properly, and believe me, blaming myself is what I’ve done.”

  For over twenty-five years. Oh, Mom!

  She leans over and pulls her sister into an embrace and her shoulders begin to heave.

  Finn taps my leg under the table and I stand up. “Finn and I are going to get these dishes done.”

  We leave them on the deck.

  The kitchen looks as clean as an old kitchen is able. Finn is already in bed, the sisters still haven’t returned from their “we’re going to continue this conversation at the park” walk, and I’m on the living room sofa working on a crossword puzzle, too keyed up and filled with the day’s emotions to be much good for anything else.

  Finally, the O’Hara sisters return.

  Aunt Bel heads to the stoop to smoke. Mom sits next to me. “Baby,” she begins.

  “Mom. I’m so sorry.”

  Everything flows out of me, all the mysterious sadness I could never quite understand, all the yearnings for a happiness I’d never find, all the dissatisfactions, the superiority complex, the guilt. I crumble and the water table rushes out, stinging my eyes and nose.

  Mom crumbles too. We find refuge in each other’s embrace and cry together like we were supposed to have been doing for the past twenty-six years.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to hurt Jason. I loved Jason.”

  All the memories of my little brother come pouring back into my mind. His little red face when he cried, the tiny hands that I loved to put in my mouth and suck on. (I was only three.) How soft his skin was and those dark, little intense eyes that looked at you as if to tell you he’d just come with a report from heaven and the news was good. God still loved the human race.

  “I know you did, baby. I forgave you a long time ago.”

  “You knew?”

  “Oh no. But would I have felt any differently? Even then?” She places both hands aside my head. “Sara. I love you. You’re my sweet girl. There’s nothing you could do to change any of that, baby.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come off the farm and live in a place with walls?” I ask.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  I can honestly answer, “Good.”

  Time is ticking down on the big trip. Dora calls me at least three times a day now, and Ethan another two. Aunt Bel actually bought a new camera for herself. “I’m not going to take over or anything, Sara. But I’d be a fool not to take advantage of this.”

  She is so right. And she’s enjoying digital, embracing the technology like a pro.

  So when Aunt Bel runs into the studio, I’m thinking she’s got some amazing captures from her morning out.

  “You said I could spend the money on whatever I want, right?” she says, her eyes shooting off sparks of excitement.

  “I didn’t make the rules, Aunt Bel. It’s your money.”

  “Okay. Because I bought something.” She turns toward the floor where Huey is pulling more prints of the trash-talk card on the Iron Maiden. “Huey! Come see! You too, Diana.”

  What she’s purchased is a 1985 Winnebago. “It only cost me five K,” she says, ushering us inside. The entire gang fills the twenty-two-foot RV. We stand smack up against each other, looking around. “We can take it on the photo trip, Sara.”

  “I don’t know if Ethan and—”

  “They’re already on board.” Finn speaks.

  “You knew about this?”

  “Uh-huh.” He touches an overhead cabinet. “Ever heard of ‘glamping’?”

  Boy, have I! Tricked-out little trailer or RV.

  “They’re going to have it redone?”

  “Yep.” Aunt Bel is zinging with excitement. “And then after the trip, they’re going to use it as a display in their store! After which it will come back to me. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “I’d sure like to use this during the fall when I go on vacation,” says Huey, who heads down to the Gulf every October.

  “Done,” says Aunt Bel.

  Diana sits at the dinette and slides her hands appreciatively over the, quite frankly, horrible brown laminate. “A girl could get used to living like this.”

  “Knock! Knock!” Mom peeks her head into the door, then steps up. “So this is it! I love it!”

  “Wait until you see when it’s done, Rita,” says Aunt Bel.

  Over the past couple of weeks, the two sisters have made up for lost time, and the love they shared as siblings not only caught up quickly but overtook them. Mom’s been down to eat dinner several times and Aunt Bel’s joined her for a campout on the farm, taking pictures and helping out around the place. They both glow with a golden tan.

  Dad steps up into the camper as well. He’s taken to being the women’s driver, complaining about it with a twinkle in his eye. There’s something about sharing a history like theirs that, with this new positive perspective, can go a long way toward shaping some perfectly acceptable relationships. Those three are doing a good job. Dad with his place on the water. Mom in her tent. And now Aunt Bel.

  I think about it for a second. “This is your home, Aunt Bel. A place you can always take with you wherever you go.”

  She waves a hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Not really.”

  And neither am I. Everyone I adore is stuffed into this little space that’s only going to get better and better. Happiness is right here, and I’d be a fool to be anywhere else.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. What preconceived notions do you have about what a missionary should look and act like? How did Bel reinforce those opinions or challenge them?

  2. Finn apologizes to Sara for trying to heal her wounds and tells her “maybe I just need to walk alongside you, not try and drag you to safety.” What did Finn’s love do for Sara? Do you believe a person’s love can heal another’s wounds?

  3. Bel says to Sara, “You may think you’re doing the right thing, and it’s so far off the mark. But yet, what else could you have done.” Do you think Bel did the right thing in taking the blame for Jason’s death? Was there a right or wrong thing to do in that situation? What were the consequences of that decision?

  4. Describe the two sides of Bel and of Sara.

  5. How did concealing the truth of the accident impact Bel? Sara? Her mom? Her dad? Finn?

  6. Finn tells Huey that everything that comes apart can be put back together, but Sara says, “This is not true… . Some places, when you bend or break them, will not mend.” Which philosophy do you think is true? What occurs in the story to support both these ideas?

  7. Describe the different views the characters have of Jesus. How do you see him?

  8. Describe the effect Bel’s painting of the flat, stern Byzantine Jesus had on Bel, Sara, Holly, and Finn.

  9. Why do you think Bel felt compelled to paint Jesus? Why did she keep making the painting smaller?

  10. When Sara learns the truth about her brother’s death and the accident, how does it change the way she views her parents?

  11. How do the different characters view the role of suffering in a person’s life and God’s purpose for it? What do you believe about why God allows people to suffer?

  12. How do each of the characters respond and relate to Bel’s mysteriousness? How do you think you would respond to her?

  13. Why do you think Sara’s GOOD TASTE T-shirt was so important to her?

  14. Do you think Sara will decide she wants to have a child?

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Chip for his ability to see solutions. My gratitude to all the good people at Thomas Nelson, particularly Ami and Jana who make every word better. And to J. Mark Bertrand
who got things off to a great start.

  Thank you to all of my readers, particularly those who have stuck with me over these past twenty years. You are more than appreciated!

  Thank you to my family and friends who support me day by day. I couldn’t do any of this without your love and care.

  An Excerpt from The Sky Beneath My Feet

  by Lisa Samson

  chapter 1

  Jesus Fish

  Every once in a while, I glance at the rearview mirror and see my own eyes staring back at me. It’s disconcerting. I’d forgotten you were in there.

  And then, blink, she’s gone again.

  Or I am.

  Maybe it’s the eighties music on the radio, or the breeze coming through the old VW van’s rolled-down window, the warm sun on my bare arm. Maybe it’s idling on the curb out in front of the high school, waiting as the kids tramp past in twos and threes, their backpacks slung over their shoulders. I don’t know what summons her up. The old me. My former self.

  The hatchback pops open behind me. Without a word, Eli shoves his bike in, cocking the front wheel over the backseat. He slams the hatch and comes around to the passenger door. Some passing girls call out to him and wave, then he slumps into the seat, pulling the door shut.

  Unlike his older, bookish brother, who speaks with equal parts fear and condescension whenever the subject of public school comes up, Eli wouldn’t have it any other way. He likes it. He’s even popular.

  “So what’s wrong with your bike?” I ask.

  Eli doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. He just reaches for the radio and changes the channel. “How can you listen to that stuff?”

  “Hey, you don’t know what you’re talking about. My music’s cool again.”

  “Whatever.”

  He flicks his hand in the air, beckoning me to drive.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What was that thing with your hand?”

  “What, this?” He does it again with an impish smile. “That’s called a gesture.”

  “I’ll show you another gesture if you keep it up. I’m your mom, not your taxi driver. So what’s wrong with your bike, anyway?”

  “Don’t let the people at church catch you making rude hand gestures,” he says. “Or the people on the road, now that we have the Jesus fish on the bumper.”