Forever Friends

by Lynne Hinton

  “So, according to your dreams, you still have not reunited with your father, you’ve still not gotten together? You always manage to get sidetracked, and he’s still an enormous, looming figure in the scenes?”

  Charlotte thought about the question, having had no recent dream to consider. The previous ones had all been similar—her father, a larger-than-life presence, unapproachable, unavailable, somewhere in the scene, while Charlotte was always involved in some sort of decision-making process, some distraction, something that kept her from going to her dad.

  “Why do you think you can never get to your father?” Marion asked.

  “I don’t know,” the pastor answered.

  Marion waited, but there was no other response.

  She answered her own question. “Is it possible that you’re afraid that if you do finally get to him, finally find your way to him, that you’ll discover that he really isn’t the man you think he is? That he didn’t just turn you and your sister down when you needed him because he was busy or uncaring but rather because he really wouldn’t have been able to change the way things went anyway?” She seemed reluctant but determined to analyze her client’s dreams. “Is it possible that just as you have been gravely disappointed in the men in your church, in the institution itself, that you’ve stayed away from your father all these years because you’ve worried that you’ll be gravely disappointed in him?”

  Charlotte was confused. “But I’ve already been disappointed in him. When I needed him, he turned me down. How could I be more disappointed than that?” She sincerely wanted answers.

  “Yes,” Marion replied, “you were disappointed then.” She did not even notice that their designated time together had passed. “But I think there may still be a part of you that believes that if he had taken the two of you, if he had been in the home, if he had done anything, life would have been different.” She spoke delicately, gently, the words a quiet possibility.

  “I wonder if you haven’t given your father magical properties, made him bigger than he really is.” She took a breath. “And the truth is, maybe life would have been different. Maybe Serena wouldn’t have died, maybe your mother would have gotten sober a lot earlier.”

  She stopped briefly and then continued. “But maybe nothing would have been different. Maybe there still would have been heartbreak and sorrow and death. Maybe your father is no more than just a man and would have been unable to change the course of events in your family’s life, even if he’d had wanted to, even if he’d tried.”

  Charlotte’s mind was reeling. Images from her dreams flashed, pictures of her father, and she suddenly recalled snippets of a recent conversation she’d had with Bea. The older woman had come to see her to talk about her husband’s struggle after having learned something about his brother’s past. “He was so let down,” she had said. “So disappointed in him.”

  “But what does that have to do with the church?” Charlotte asked, trying to shake off the muddled memories.

  Marion waited to explain, letting her client catch up to what had been shared.

  “Maybe your expectations of church folks, your hopes and desires, as genuine and admirable as they are, maybe they’re just a little higher than can be realized.” She studied her client.

  “People are people, in church or out of church. We go forward one step and back three. Your father, the deacon, the teenager in trouble, your women friends, everybody deserves grace.”

  Marion was silent for a while, collecting her thoughts, appearing as if she wanted to finish with just the right thing.

  “Write your letter if you feel it is time to leave, but make sure you are clear that this is not a reactionary decision, that this is not a choice based upon the behavior of a couple of men, that this is a decision about your heart, your desires, your needs.”

  And this part she said with a lot of strength: “Don’t kill what may be happening underground, growth that may be occurring where you can’t see it; don’t destroy that with your bitterness. You owe them that. Make it plain,” she said, remembering the phrase often used by preachers. “Keep it clean.” And then time was called. Charlotte’s session was over.

  So Charlotte had waited. She had waited for more than six months. She had talked to Jessie and Margaret and Louise and Beatrice, separately and together. She had gone to Grady and to the deacon board to express her disappointment and to Peggy to express her apologies for how members of the church had behaved.

  She had spoken of her anger and dealt with it. There were even a few of the deacons who said that they were sorry, several who surprised her with their remorse. Peggy, the most astonishing one of all, made amends with those from whom she felt estranged.

  The pastor had tied up loose ends. She had gone with Lamont to his trial and spoken in court as a character witness. The missing CD player had strangely reappeared in her office; she still didn’t know where it had been or who had taken it. She had visited the young man in prison, sharing in the disappointment of his long sentence but promising to visit again.

  She had encouraged Lana and Wallace to get into counseling, helping them find a suitable therapist. She had been with Dick when his brother died. She continued to work on her issues with Marion, and finally, when spring and summer had passed and autumn was fast approaching, she felt it was time to go: Charlotte sat in her car and remembered leaving.

  On her last Sunday there was a potluck dinner in the church fellowship hall after the service. The tables were filled with all the foods the Hope Springs church was known for. Chicken pie, barbecue, pinto beans, turnip greens, sweet potato casserole. Charlotte stood at the door and watched as the women hurried in and out of the kitchen, removing the lids of pots and dishes and placing serving spoons beside them.

  She thought of the cookbook the church women had put together, the pride and family histories measured and offered in the recipes they submitted. She recounted the first meeting about the book, the excitement of some and the indifference of others, the give-and-take process always a part of community projects. She studied the women as they moved about the fellowship hall, their confidence in their ability to cook and serve, the secure sense of themselves that always emerged when food was involved. She thought of their lives of service and nurture, their quiet ways of affection, and appreciated how far they all had come in the past three years, the friendships, the trust, the surprise of intimacy.

  She watched as some of the men filled cups with ice while others searched for chairs and pushed them beneath the tables, the banter that played between them, the teamwork, the camaraderie, the unified effort to prepare a place to eat.

  She watched the children sneak past mothers and grandmothers, snatching up samples, and she remembered why she loved this place, remembered why she had come and stayed. Even if church folks mess up everything else, she thought, they always know how to feed one another.

  “Sure hope you’re hungry,” Beatrice said as she sped past Charlotte to place her prune cake next to the pies and cookies.

  “She still thinks you might have a kink or two in need of loosening,” Louise said as she came up behind the pastor.

  “Does anybody ever eat that cake?” Charlotte asked.

  “Actually,” Louise replied as she walked over to the table with her bowl of green beans and then returned to stand next to Charlotte, “it really isn’t awful.” Then she smiled as she watched her friend bark orders to the other women in the kitchen. “And it does have a way of working things out.” She put her arm around the young woman.

  Peggy DuVaughn came in the side door, and Charlotte noticed that it was Grady who stopped pouring the iced tea and walked over to hold open the door for the widow as she moved inside. The pastor could not hear the conversation, but she saw the deacon speak a few words and reach up to take her dish. Peggy held it out to him, and just as he took it Charlotte noticed that he squeezed the back of her hand. And they stood that way, a brief and tenuous moment of reconciliation, until Hope crawled past La
na and Wallace and bumped into the back of Grady’s legs. They both looked down at the little girl and laughed, the moment past but not forgotten.

  It was all just as it should have been, laughter, stories, too much to eat, and the lingering notion that sitting together around the table and enjoying food and fellowship make the best memories of church. The young pastor recognized in her farewell dinner, in her reception of the gift of being fed by those she had served, that even though their journey together had felt like they had merely stumbled forward at times, gone backward at others, still somehow they had managed a little progress. There had been a bit of knowledge gained, a little hope stored. And Charlotte was at peace that pastor and church had walked together. They had cried and wearied and prayed and laughed and eaten and been filled and walked together.

  They wished her well as she traveled to visit her father and then to the Southwest where she had taken a job as director of a women’s shelter. It had all seemed quite appropriate to everyone. And even though it was lovely and pleasant and meaningful, an event of self-understanding and acceptance, it was not, however, the real celebration of good-bye. It was not the one she would hold in her heart. Her friends had planned that one.

  On the first weekend of autumn, a cool September day, the cookbook committee took their pastor to a labyrinth garden somewhere south of Atlanta, Georgia. Louise and Beatrice had suggested it, deciding that this would be the best place for them to say good-bye.

  And so it was that late that evening, under a night sky filled with stars and a round white moon, the women walked the garden path, hands held and silent. The older women had written prayers for their young friend, and when they quietly approached the end of the labyrinth, standing in the center, surrounded by large decorative pots filled with rose glow and purple sage and gathered around a mosaic of colored stones pressed into the earth, the face of a woman, each of them read her petition.

  “Health and wholeness,” Margaret said as she placed a small strand of purple beads around Charlotte’s left wrist.

  “Acceptance,” added Louise as she handed the young woman a scarred but still beautiful conch shell she had found at the beach many years earlier.

  “Home,” Jessie had prayed. “Give this child a home.” And she placed at her feet a small glass bottle filled with dirt collected from two continents.

  “And peace,” Beatrice had prayed the final prayer. “A clean heart.”

  She stepped forward with a small pink rose quartz like the one Jessie had brought back from Africa for Louise. It was shaped like a heart with a hole in the top. A string of brown leather was pulled through, long enough to fit over the young woman’s head. And as she draped the necklace around Charlotte’s neck, the women had all gathered closer.

  A fountain flowed nearby, the sound of running water a cleansing reminder to Charlotte of her childhood baptism.

  “We are forever friends,” Jessie said, the words like fingers dipped in cool water, wet upon her brow.

  “That means we will always care for you, always be there for you,” Margaret added, remembering the significance of her friendship.

  “We will always wish the best for you, always want only good things for you.” Louise reached up and wiped a tear from Charlotte’s eye.

  “What we have we share with you and you will always remain in our hearts.” Beatrice cupped the pastor’s face in her hands.

  “Forever friends,” Charlotte repeated. And the words had been a benediction.

  And there in the garden, surrounded by the women who had birthed her in faith, raised her to her womanness, and helped untangle her from sadness, she found a way to depart, her soul with wings, wide and strong and opening into a string of long, clean days.

  “Sorry it took me so long. Our machine broke.” The mechanic reached into the car and handed Charlotte the credit card form to sign.

  “So, you’re leaving Hope Springs,” he said, noticing all the boxes in the backseat and remembering the news of her resignation.

  She wrote her signature without response. Then she tore off her copy and handed the form back to the mechanic. “A person never really leaves Hope Springs, does she?” She reached for her sunglasses and strapped on her seat belt.

  He stepped away from the car, smiled, and shook his head. “Nah, I guess not,” he said.

  And the young pastor checked her mirrors to see behind her, turned her head left and right, then faced straight ahead.

  She dropped down her visor, touched the pink stone she wore around her neck, pulled away from the service station, and headed west.

  Reading Group Guide for Forever Friends

  WELCOME BACK TO HOPE SPRINGS, WHERE FRIENDSHIPS LAST A LIFETIME

  Open Forever Friends and travel to a small town full of delightful, quirky characters—friends you’ll have forever. See why the Rocky Mountain News calls Lynne Hinton’s books “reminiscent of Jan Karon’s Mitford series” and why Jacquelyn Mitchard says to miss them “is to deny yourself a small treasure.”

  The women of Hope Springs Community Church have weathered some pretty fierce storms: Louise’s unrequited love for her best friend, Charlotte’s struggle to find her own place in the community, and Jessie’s yearning for a life outside of the small Southern town. Now, the bonds of friendship are tested again when Margaret learns whether or not she is cancer free, and Beatrice learns some surprising secrets about life in Hope Springs—and about the value of trust in any relationship. But what do the friends do when they discover that one of their own is leaving? Join Louise, Jessie, Charlotte, Beatrice, and Margaret for an homage to friendship you’ll never forget.

  TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION:

  1. Peggy DuVaughn’s grandson is in jail. She reluctantly shares this information and asks for help from her pastor. How comfortable would you be confessing that someone in your family had been arrested? What are the emotions you think this grandmother was experiencing?

  2. How is friendship best expressed when a family member is facing legal trouble? How does a friend demonstrate support during such a difficult time? What would you want from your friends if you were in this crisis?

  3. Margaret has struggled with a serious illness and learns in Forever Friends whether or not she is cancer-free. What does cancer or any other serious illness do to one’s sense of well-being?

  4. Louise says that a secret is not always a good thing. Are secrets inherently burdensome? Should there be secrets?

  5. Jessie requested communion before her trip. What rituals are important to you before you travel? Do you travel with good-luck charms, saints, tokens, photographs, or other items to feel more secure?

  6. Jessie has a premonition that something bad is going to happen while she’s away. Have you ever had such a feeling? Did you change your plans because of it? Did the bad thing ever come to pass?

  7. Margaret tries to talk to Lana about marriage. What words might you have shared with her? What’s your advice for a young married couple or for an unsatisfied married person? What does a young couple need today to stay married?

  8. Lamont discusses feeling ashamed for what he has done. How does a person overcome shame? How do friends help in this process?

  9. Dick tells the story of his brother’s past. He feels disappointed because his hero has fallen. Have you ever set a person on a pedestal and then been disappointed by them? How does it feel to discover that a hero is human and makes mistakes?

  10. Charlotte has dreams about her father. What do you think of the dreams you have? Do they reveal anything about you? Do you have recurring dreams?

  11. Jessie brings up a difficult issue when she discusses the painful history of slavery and its effect upon her and upon African-Americans today. How comfortable are you discussing this history with others of another race? Have you ever talked about it? How did it make you feel? Do you think a complete healing has happened in this country regarding the history of slavery? If not, how will we heal?

  12. Charlotte confesses that she wishes sh
e had peace. The older women discuss how they finally found their peace. Do you have the kind of peace they claim to have? What helped you achieve that peace? How important is having peace?

  13. Charlotte decides that churches know how to feed one another. How important is food to fellowship? How important is sharing a meal when trying to create community? What is it about eating together that is disarming and intimate?

  Be sure to visit Lynne and Hope Springs online at www.LynneHinton.com

  Acknowledgments

  I gratefully acknowledge the expertise and assistance of the editorial staff at HarperSanFrancisco, especially Renee Sedliar, Chris Hafner, and Priscilla Stuckey. Thank you for sharing the vision.

  About the Author

  LYNNE HINTON is the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed novels in the Hope Springs series, Friendship Cake and Hope Springs, as well as The Things I Know Best and The Last Odd Day. She lives with her husband in New Mexico.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  PRAISE FOR LYNNE HINTON

  Friendship Cake

  “I would welcome a friendship with Lynne Hinton. I would welcome an invitation to sit down at her table, but mostly I would welcome her next book.”

  —Maya Angelou, author of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

  “Friendship Cake will give you plenty to chew over. Delicious!”

  —Rita Mae Brown, author of Rubyfruit Jungle

  “Hinton’s characters seem as real as the nearest church group or book club, and they all season this stew to perfection…. Reminiscent of Jan Karon’s Mitford series.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  Hope Springs

  “Like Rebecca Wells, Hinton has a knack for tapping into a woman’s longings for lifelong, authentic, messy friendships.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[An] anthem to friendship…. To miss it is to deny yourself a small treasure.”