“What’s on for tomorrow?”
“Vacation Bible School meeting and a lunch.” Maureen stopped a moment, considering. “My sense is that I can’t … I can’t rush this. And you can’t push a teenager either—especially not Colleen. You know that. Not until she’s good and ready.” She climbed into bed, anxious for the oblivion of sleep to come. To escape from the pressing worries, if only for one night.
Bill reached for the TV remote, started pressing buttons, flipping through channels at near lightning speed. Maureen pinched her eyes shut tightly; Bill’s nightly ritual annoyed her (How can he tell what’s on when he sees each channel for only a millisecond?), but she kept her opinion to herself.
“This hypocrite thing? You really need to find out what Colleen’s thinking in relation to that.”
Maureen moved to the far edge of the king-sized bed, curled up into a ball. Her back to Bill. She tugged the blanket up to her chin, finding childish solace in the soft, satin edging.
“Maureen?”
“What?” Distanced, as though she were far, far away.
“For the family’s sake, make it a priority to spend time with Colleen tomorrow if you can, okay? I’ll be praying for you.” Bill flicked off the television and turned his back to her, settling in. “It’s that important, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Bill.”
“Oh, and hey, I’m really sorry about the bluebirds, too.”
Maureen unblinkingly stared out their bedroom window, following the light glow from the moon. It illuminated the lines of the windowpanes against the wall, framing the waving silhouetted fronds of a palm tree. She stared at the graceful, bowing dips of the shadows of the leaves until, out of her peripheral vision, she noticed a single star twinkling. When she tried to look at it directly, it appeared to vanish, eluding her. Looking away, she noted that it was indeed there, just out of her line of direct vision. And then Maureen closed her eyes, seeking the escape of sleep.
Maureen groggily woke to the sound of the shower running. She lifted her head up, glanced at the clock, and groaned. Doesn’t it just figure? she fumed to herself as she scurried out of tangled covers. I toss and turn half the night, only to finally fall asleep about an hour before it’s time to wake up. She’d been sleeping so soundly that she hadn’t heard the alarm, and Bill—what was he thinking?—hadn’t awakened her.
She quickly made the bed, replacing the numerous scattered pillows in their proper places. After a trip to the bathroom and a hastily mumbled “good morning” to Bill, Maureen hurried toward the kitchen where she was soothed by the aroma coming from the pre-timed coffee pot. She poured herself a cup and walked over to the same window she looked out every morning—to view the bluebird house. Running late or not, she would still indulge in her daily ritual: a few sips of coffee and a check on the box. Still, nothing.
Bobo rose from his bed in the family room and scampered to her feet, cocking his head up at her. She slid open the door and once again pushed out the reluctant dog. Isn’t it appropriate that we have a dog who doesn’t even know what it wants to do? she thought to herself, shaking her head.
The combination of oversleeping and the need for an earlier departure felt like a guarantee that this morning would be especially hectic. Soon enough, Colleen woke with her attitude still firmly pronounced, and even Aubrey, normally a morning-loving child, was whiny and petulant. After Maureen offered her several outfits, which Aubrey summarily dismissed, mom and daughter finally agreed on a totally inappropriate shorts set. White top, white shorts. It was a disaster waiting to happen, but Maureen was not up to form for battles this morning.
Then Aubrey decided her booster seat was too sticky. Yesterday Maureen had made blueberry pancakes. Naturally, the syrup had flowed—pretty much everywhere. “Since when do you mind being sticky? It certainly wasn’t an issue yesterday,” Maureen reasoned with her. Then she discovered yet another disaster: The milk had turned sour.
Maureen’s one consolation was that the “Gang of Four,” as they called themselves, was going out to lunch. And yes, as Sherry would be sure to point out, they were quite aware of the origins of their namesake: the infamous Madam Mao and the three other senior leaders during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Sherry had majored in Chinese history (she had earned a master’s and a doctorate, the only one of the group to do so; Sherry was also the only one unmarried, having divorced several years ago), and it was she who had given them the moniker while in college. For whatever reason, it stuck.
Fast friends ever since those college years, they all still lived within an hour’s drive of each other. Though two members of the group were on the opposite side of town from Community Fellowship Church, they hadn’t ever considered attending elsewhere. They craved being together, laughing, chatting, sharing, commiserating when needed, and giggling like school girls. When Maureen first thought about working part-time at the Beadazzled jewelry shop, it was these three friends who prodded and encouraged her to apply. And then they had successfully plied her with numerous arguments why she should give the job a try when the position was offered to her—knowing Bill would oppose the idea. Turned out the two-mornings-a-week job was a mixed blessing—she enjoyed the creative outlet but was growing weary with the hours—but she still credited her friends for pushing her to try something new. For believing in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself. Now, as Maureen focused on the events of the day, she sighed audibly for the unconditional love and acceptance that the gang—Emilie Esteban, Vanessa Clarkson, and Sherry Mann—so willingly gave, providing the one place she could simply be herself.
But the feel-good moment was only that—a moment. For then Maureen felt a familiar tightness shoot through her shoulders and into her neck. Worry wrapped itself around her heart as she recalled her interaction with Colleen. Am I a hypocrite? She couldn’t begin to understand her own thoughts and feelings these days, let alone make sense of Colleen’s motivations. Hurrying to clean up breakfast dishes and then finish getting ready, she mentally decided on a plan of action. Bill’s right. I do need to spend time in prayer about this. But I’m probably overreacting to Colleen, too. The gang will make me feel better in no time, and we’ll be laughing about all this over lunch.
“Mom. You’re gonna make me late for my meeting before school.”
Colleen stood at the door to the garage, one hand on the doorknob, the other gripping the strap of her backpack. She added the classic foot thumping, an impatient tap, tap. Colleen had felt the power of having the upper hand, and she wasn’t about to relinquish it.
Maureen came into the kitchen, Aubrey in tow, just in time to catch Colleen rolling her eyes. “We’re coming right now, Colleen. No need to get upset.”
Colleen flounced down the steps to the car and was heard slamming a door when Maureen discovered that Aubrey not only had Rabbit, but was clutching another stuffed animal, a particularly dirty one that had been left outside in the rain. It was still damp and now smelled of mildew.
“Oh, Aubrey. No. We’re not taking Jonesy Giraffe today.”
Out came the lower lip.
“I don’t have time to argue! Go put it away.” She could hear yet another car door being slammed.
Tears formed and Aubrey pleaded, “But Gramma wants to see him. She wants to see Jonesy going zing, zing, zing.”
The once bright yellow and white giraffe used to move its head in a slow circle to the tune “You Are My Sunshine.” Unfortunately, wear and tear—and the rain, undoubtedly—had taken their toll. The giraffe now played at such a frenetic speed that it sounded like “zing, zing, zing,” and its neck jerked at an equally spastic pace, making him look quite comical. The moldy smell, however, was anything but.
Is it ultimately worth the fight? Maureen asked herself, and then sighed in resignation. “All right. But this is the last time it goes out the door. Agreed?”
Aubre
y, mollified, nodded.
Their first stop was Colleen’s middle school, which was fairly well maintained but still had that typical public school look of frugal budgets, too little money for upkeep, and occupation by kids who weren’t into caring for their school. When Maureen pulled over to the curb to drop off Colleen, she called out “Have a good day,” but not too loudly. Maureen had been tolerantly instructed on the proper etiquette for Dropping off Middle Schoolers by Moms. There were several all-important, inviolate Rules, and she wasn’t about to break one of those this morning.
No answer from Colleen, of course, and none was expected. Maureen pulled out, determined to focus on the other events of the day. Aubrey, however, was not to be deterred, yelling “Bye, Collie!” while cheerfully waving Jonesy (doing his zing routine) out the open window. Oblivious to her sister’s retreating back and what it communicated, Aubrey generally ignored all of the Rules.
Next stop was Bill’s parents’ house. They fortunately lived close by and were delighted to watch Aubrey whenever needed—Maureen’s two mornings per week at the shop—plus any other circumstances, like this morning’s VBS meeting. While unbuckling Aubrey from her car seat, Maureen winced again at the giraffe. “You sure you can’t leave Jonesy in the car? Just think—he could ride around with me all day on a road trip. He’d love it.”
Aubrey gave her a withering look that conveyed her mom’s suggestion didn’t even merit a response. Giving her curls a flounce, she climbed down from the car, tucking Rabbit under one arm and Jonesy Giraffe firmly under the other.
Maureen was about to ring the doorbell when the door flew open, her mother-in-law’s attention fully focused on one of the two granddaughters who were the objects of her wholehearted devotion.
“There’s my precious sweetheart,” Kate Roberts exclaimed, gathering Aubrey into her arms. Aubrey erupted into delighted giggles.
Where has the whining, demanding three-year-old that I had to deal with this morning vanished to? Kate glanced over, and Maureen pointedly flashed her a pasted-on smile.
“And what have we here with Rabbit? Did Rabbit bring a friend?” Kate asked.
Aubrey vigorously nodded her head, intentionally giving Maureen a “told you so” look of triumph.
“Mom, I really need to …” But Kate’s attention was fixated on Aubrey, unmistakably communicating that Maureen was to wait. How she wished she could simply announce Gotta run, and exit gracefully. But after all these years, Kate still intimidated her. Maureen read her cues and stood by, physically patient if not emotionally so.
A guessing game developed over the animal’s name. Maureen glanced helplessly at her watch while Kate offered several silly suggestions until finally Aubrey quipped, “No. But you’re close, Gramma. It’s Jonesy Giraffe.”
An unintended early rescue by Aubrey, and Maureen jumped at it. “I’ll be back to pick her up around three, Kate. Is that too late?”
“’Course not. Little precious here and I have lots to do today, don’t we, sweetheart? Well, Aubrey and I and Rabbit and Jennifer Giraffe, right?”
Aubrey burst into laughter again, barely getting out “Gramma, no!” before Maureen took her chance to escape.
She gave daughter and mother-in-law quick pecks on their cheeks and hurried down the sidewalk, calling out, “Thanks, Kate,” over her shoulder.
“Wave bye to your Mommy,” was followed by a cursory wave and the firm click of the closed door.
Again Maureen imagined herself telling the gang and soaking up empathy about in-laws. Consolation for out-of-control children. Understanding about husbands who came home from work too tired to deal with families. Laughter would erupt and then all frustrations would be forgotten, if only temporarily. By the time Maureen turned into the church parking lot, she was smiling to herself, eager to get the meeting going and then enjoy lunch.
“Good morning, Kath!” she cheerily called out to the pastor’s wife. Maureen beamed at Kathy; Kathy waved and beamed back. Maureen asked herself, Wonder if a pastor’s wife ever needs to put on an act, hiding hurt feelings? Arguments at home? She shook her head. I can’t picture Kathy ever dealing with irritable kids.
After a hectic but productive morning, Vanessa wandered into Maureen’s room, greeting her friend with an enthusiastic hug. With three active boys and a good deal of her own energy, Vanessa was the perfect choice for VBS games director. For she was the eternal tomboy. Most women—the gang included—openly envied her exuberance and still athletically slim figure, though Vanessa herself appeared oblivious to it.
“Didn’t see Emilie anywhere, did you?”
Vanessa shook her head. “Was she supposed to be here?”
“Yeah, she was. I just talked with her yesterday. She said she’d be here.”
“Hope she’s not sick or anything.”
“Yeah, me too.” Maureen glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear as they walked out of the church. “You’re not going to believe this. But Emilie and Ed are talking about having another baby.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Better not mention it, okay?” They climbed into Vanessa’s sports car, the concession to her love of speed and daring. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But Emilie really is serious about this.” A slight pause. “And so is Ed, evidently. They think it’s what God wants.”
“Oh, good heavens, Mo. Don’t tell me you’re falling for that?”
“Nessa, honestly—”
“Honestly nothing, Maureen. Between you and me? If Ed is saying he heard God’s voice telling him to have another little E-kid, then he needs to be on meds.”
Maureen tried, but failed to stifle a chuckle. “Ed didn’t say that. And he’s not hearing voices, silly. He just thinks the number seven is biblical.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“So is 666, but you don’t hear about couples shooting for that.” They both laughed, releasing some of the unease they were feeling as they’d plunged into touchy subjects. “I’m not saying anything more. It’s just that, well, my intuition—oh shoot, my common sense—tells me that having another child is a bad idea. Can’t put my finger on why, but Ed’s been hitting my buttons lately. And that’s it. Only my humble opinion.” She glanced over at Maureen and crossed her eyes. Which brought the desired smile from her friend. “Movin’ on to another topic. How are things with Colleen?”
Maureen groaned, then slumped down a little farther into the seat.
“Not so great, eh? How does it compare to a home with three boys who all think the greatest competition in the world is to win ‘the most foul-smelling sneakers’ contest by the end of the day?”
Maureen offered a weak smile.
“Caught ’em passing their athletic shoes around last night, voting on the winner. And would you believe Greg was in on it too? I swear he was enjoying it as much as they were, egging them on.”
“Did he enter his sneakers too?”
“Oh absolutely. But here’s the really big news: Greg and I just declared that, beginning as freshmen in high school, Clarkson boys do their own wash. Greg Junior’s already had his lesson in operating the washer and dryer.”
“Wow. That’s gutsy. Going okay?”
“Hmm, not so much. Instead of piles of just dirty clothes on Greg Junior’s floor, now there are piles of dirty and clean clothes.” Vanessa turned to look at Maureen, noted the mock-horrified look on her face. “He had to literally clear a path through the mess just to get from the door to his bed.”
Maureen offered an empathetic grimace. “How does he tell what’s clean and what’s dirty? And more importantly, how can you stand it?” She laughed.
“I made the mistake of asking him if he could distinguish from dirty and clean, and mind you … there’s underwear in those piles too.”
“So what’d he say?”
“S
mell check.”
Maureen burst into laughter. “Oh, Nessa, you’re the best medicine. I needed this lunch so badly.”
They rode in companionable silence for a few moments until Vanessa reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Do you think it’s anything serious with Colleen?” Maureen felt her countenance change immediately, and the lightheartedness that had lifted her spirit vanished. She knew that Vanessa could put on an act of irreverence in her humorous response to life. But Maureen also knew that underneath that flippant exterior was a heart full of sensitivity and tender love. When needed, Vanessa wasn’t afraid to let that side of her show. The sudden appearance of that very quality had undone Maureen a number of times before.
“Not really. It’s just—”
“Colleen’s being a typical mouthy teen and Bill’s … shall we say, pushing your buttons?”
Maureen stared at Vanessa’s profile, embarrassed by her friend’s insight. “And how did you gather all that?”
“Immutable signs.” Flatly stated.
“Immutable, eh? You into big words today?”
“Been reading a book on theology. Impressed?”
“Definitely. But don’t dodge, Nessa. Get back to my ‘immutable signs.’”
Vanessa drew a deep breath, prepared to tread softly. “Know how they say skin on a scar will always be thinner and more sensitive?”
“Sure. I have enough scars to prove that theory.”
“Well, you’re … thin. Does that even make any sense?” she laughed at herself.
Maureen kept her gaze straight ahead, staring out with unfocused eyes at the car in front of them. “Bill has always told me that I register every single emotion on my face. I hate that.”
“So … want to talk about it? Or, maybe … not?”
Maureen leaned her head against the window. Deciding she just didn’t have the emotional energy to go through it all now and then again with Sherry and Emilie, she said, “I think I’ll wait, Vanessa. It’s just too much—”
Bridge to a Distant Star Page 3