“They will.” Jane hesitated, wanting to proceed with caution. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she hadn’t had modesty ingrained in her from the time she was a very little girl. If she’d really had no concept of her body being sacred.
“The top is slit down to your belly button,” Jessica blurted. Like her mother, Caroline, she had no problem being bold.
“Is not,” Tara said, looking down. “That’s just a birthmark I had embellished a little.”
“Ugh.” Jessica turned away, looking repulsed.
Jane found herself fighting the urge to laugh, though the situation really wasn’t funny. Tara saw nothing wrong with the way she dressed, and Jane wasn’t sure she knew how to help her realize that the way she displayed her body was only serving to attract the wrong kind of men.
“It’s just that because the top is so low, because we can see so much . . . real estate . . . people are going to feel uncomfortable. The dresses most women will be wearing today are a bit more—”
“Appropriate,” Jessica finished. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she had a rather smug, self-righteous look on her face.
“Conservative.” Jane frowned at her niece. “Jess, why don’t you wait outside with the girls.”
A brief flicker of hurt crossed Jessica’s face, but she marched past the two of them and went outside. Jane knew she’d have ruffled feelings to smooth over there later, but right now her bigger concern was Tara. How can I help without hurting her?
“I’m glad to see you’ve taken my side. That little snot has been on my case all morning. She even did some lame head, shoulders, knees, toes routine about not showing your ankles in public.”
This time Jane did laugh. She could only imagine Tara’s reaction to the modesty rhyme the young women of the Church were often taught. “Ankles are okay.” She glanced down at Tara’s slender ankles, shown off by strappy sandals and an anklet that coordinated with her toe ring.
“But if your shoulders are bare, it’s a shirt you shouldn’t wear.” Tara wagged a finger and did her best to imitate Jessica. “Seems like your church is kind of hung up on body parts.”
“I can see how you’d think that.” Jane sent a silent prayer heavenward that she’d say the right thing. “We believe our bodies are a gift from God. We’re made in His likeness—he has a body too—and we have the greatest respect for Him and His gift.” When Tara didn’t say anything, Jane forged ahead. “To show that respect, we dress modestly, reserving the privilege of sharing our bodies with only our husband or wife.”
“So, I am like, the biggest sinner ever?” Tara’s voice wavered between hurt and haughty.
“No—I mean, it’s different when you haven’t been taught.”
“I’m not five, and I don’t appreciate being treated like that,” Tara shot back. “First Ellen, now you.”
“What did Ellen do?”
“Nothing—never mind.”
“You’re breaking our deal to trust me,” Jane reminded her, but her tone wasn’t scolding. She knew pain when she saw it, and beneath Tara’s contempt, Jane could see misery.
Tara shrugged and sat on the arm of the sofa. “Ellen told Ben that I didn’t know any better. Like I was some little kid or something. I’d kind of forgotten about it—until now. Thanks a lot.”
Jane reached over, taking Tara’s hand in hers and squeezing. “She didn’t mean it that way, and neither did I. You have to understand that Mormons are raised differently. We grow up constantly hearing that how we dress affects who we are, and the kind of people we’ll attract and ultimately be with.”
“Dress for success,” Tara muttered. “I think I figured that out somewhere along the way.”
“Did you?” Jane looked into her friend’s sorrowful gaze. “Have you had much luck attracting good, decent guys? Or—” Jane lowered her voice. “Is it possible you got mixed up about what real success is?”
“Don’t criticize me,” Tara warned. “Don’t you dare try to tell me that success is this—a lovely three-bedroom home—white picket fence included—a husband who’s off flying his helicopter in a war zone, a goody-two-shoes little girl who says her prayers every night, and being big and fat and miserable with more brats kicking around inside you.”
Ouch. In her younger days, Jane knew she would have gotten up and marched out of the room at such a speech, leaving Tara to stew in her own problems. But she’d learned a thing or two about patience the past couple of years.
And answers to prayers—strange though they may seem. Jane hadn’t imagined the feeling—no, knowledge—that she and Maddie would be taken care of the next few months. And while Tara certainly wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting, Jane knew that Tara was supposed to be here as much for herself as to help. She took a deep, calming breath before she spoke again.
“Okay. I won’t tell you that’s success. But I’ll tell you it’s happiness.”
“Sure it is.” Tara let out an indelicate snort. “Taking care of everybody and everything all the time. Making sure they eat and say prayers and have clean clothes and go to church. I’m not even you, probably not doing half of what you usually do around here and for your daughter, and I’ve hardly had ten seconds to myself since I walked through your door.”
“I never said it would be easy.”
“Easy?” Tara snorted again. “It’s exhausting. And then your church adds all this modesty and—this.” Tara threw her arms out, making a point to look at the Proclamation on the Family, the Living Christ, and the pictures of the Savior hanging on the wall. “It’s nuts, that’s what it is, what you are now, Jane.” She turned to her, a pleading look in her eyes. “Don’t you miss the old days when you could come and go anytime? When you could eat out, spend money how you liked, fit into something besides a bathrobe?”
“I do miss wearing the clothes in my closet,” Jane admitted, but she patted her stomach affectionately as she spoke. “As for the rest of it, though . . . I don’t miss coming and going everywhere alone, eating out by myself, having no one to talk to, share with, plan with. Sure, I had a lot more free time then, but life was empty.”
“So those are my choices—empty or exhausted. I guess I’ll stick with empty, thank you very much.” Tara rose from the sofa then walked down the hall to her room.
Jane followed, arriving in time to see Tara retrieving her suitcase from the floor.
Jane sighed. “What happened to staying until the babies are born?”
“Sorry. I can’t handle this. I don’t know why you want me here, anyway. I’m not good with kids—even yours, who is super nice—and I can’t change my life for some farmer in Ohio I’ll never see again.” She plopped the suitcase on the bed and started scooping things into it.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Jane said. “I was afraid that’s what this was all about.”
“What?” Tara paused, hands on hips as she stared down at Jane.
“I was afraid that you quitting your job, leaving LA, showing up here—it was all so you could figure out how to get this guy, Ben. And I knew that would never work. A person can’t change for someone else. If you want to be different, be truly happy, then it has to be from yourself, for yourself.”
“I want to be left alone.”
“Done.” Jane took a step backward, into the hall. “But I really do need you right now. I wish you’d stay.”
“Need. There it is. There’s that word I keep hearing.” Tara yanked several hangers full of clothes from the closet and tossed them toward the suitcase. She mimicked Maddie’s high voice. “Tara, I need a drink. Tara, you need to go to church. Tara, you need to get some milk at the store. Tara, you need to change your wardrobe. I’m not used to all this need. It’s making me crazy. And what about me? What about what I need?”
“What do you need?” Jane asked quietly. “Tell me, and I’ll do anything in my power to get it for you.”
“I need—I—” Tara faltered. She pulled another dress from the closet and held it cl
ose to her heart. “I don’t know anymore. I just—don’t know.”
“What if I do?” Jane whispered. She walked into the room again, stopping a foot away from Tara.
They stood across from each other, Tara in her size-seven revealing dress, Jane in her stretched-to-the-max bathrobe. “Trust me,” she pled. “I care about you, Tara. I love you. I want to help.”
“Why should I trust you? Look what you’ve gone and done to yourself since I last saw you. You’re a mess.”
Jane grinned. “So are you.”
“I am,” Tara agreed, tears suddenly spilling from her eyes. Jane held out her arms. Tara only hesitated a second then stepped into Jane’s embrace, crying on her shoulder.
Twenty-Three
“You should wash that bathrobe,” Tara said, frowning as she looked down at the black smeared across the shoulder of Jane’s robe.
“You should wear less makeup,” Jane said, her mouth twisting in a familiar smile.
Tara resisted the urge to hug her again. Being in her embrace, hearing Jane say she cared about her, loved her even, had been the best moment she’d had in a very long time.
Since Ben’s kiss. Tara froze, her fingers on the keys to Jane’s car. That’s what was different about Ben’s kiss.
When other men had kissed her, usually after a date (sometimes before), there hadn’t been any emotion—aside from desire—involved. But Ben’s kiss had conveyed so much more. He’d felt bad for her situation. He’d been sorry for giving her a hard time. Somehow, in spite of all their arguing, he’d liked her too. She’d felt all that. And when he held me afterward . . . She remembered the comforting feeling of her head against his chest, his arms around her.
She remembered how it had scared her a little. And the hurt in Ben’s eyes when she’d told him she was going to ride with Ellen. He felt something too.
“You okay?” Jane asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just trying to talk myself into going out in public like this.” Tara splayed her fingers across Jane’s white sweater that she’d borrowed. It was so . . . plain. Her thoughts slid back to Ben’s kiss. He kissed me because he cared about me. As much as I’d annoyed him, he still cared about me. And when I kissed him in the truck, it was because I cared about him. Wow.
It was with this startling revelation still in her mind that Tara loaded the girls in the car and drove to church. Even Jessica’s brooding silence couldn’t cast a pall on the glorious feeling coursing through her. Ben cared. I cared. It was magic. Could I have that again? Is that what Jane and Peter have? I should trust her. Maybe, as with her Gertrude’s Mystery nightwear, she’s on to something.
The glowing feeling Tara felt inside lasted all the way until they entered the chapel full of strangers. There were children everywhere. Teenagers. Babies. Families. People who dressed like Jane, in stuffy suits and dresses with sleeves. Tara knew at once that coming had been a bad idea. No way I’m going to blend in here. Only Maddie’s insistent hand, tugging her inside, kept her from bolting.
The little girls wanted to sit up front on a middle pew, but Tara insisted on taking a side bench near the doors. If escape proved necessary, she wanted a quick one.
The meeting began with some guy—Jessica said it was the bishop—talking, and then there was a song and a couple of prayers. After that, the older boys in the room walked around bringing trays with little pieces of bread to everyone. Tara couldn’t help but notice the difference between these teenagers—with their white shirts, ties, and respectful manner—and the kid she’d sat next to on the plane. The phrase “doesn’t know any better” came back to her. She couldn’t imagine the annoying kid on the plane reverently serving bread to everyone like these kids were. He wouldn’t begin to know how. Am I so different? she thought uncomfortably. Just being in this building felt so foreign.
As the boys reached the row in front of theirs, Tara whispered to Jessica, “Should I take one?” She imagined that everyone’s eyes were on her, seeing through the disguise of Jane’s modest sweater to the inner woman who clearly did not belong in this holy place.
Jessica shrugged. “You can if you want to, but the sacrament is about renewing our baptismal covenants. And since you haven’t been baptized . . .” Her voice trailed off as the tray was passed to them.
Baptized or not, Tara decided the path of most invisibility was to do what everyone else was, so she stuck a piece of squishy white bread in her mouth. As she chewed, she noticed that Jessica, along with much of the congregation, sat with their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Tara didn’t feel the need to do that too. After all, if everyone else was closing their eyes, it was a good time for her to check them out.
Her nonchalant perusal of the crowd did not yield any potential Bens but rather a ton of little kids and a fair amount of elderly people. Apparently the Bainbridge Ward, as Jane referred to her congregation, wasn’t a real hip and happening place.
After the bread came trays with little cups of water—so small it was hardly worth the drink. Then the bishop stood up again and announced who would be speaking. Tara listened a little after that, but between people-watching and keeping the girls’ crayons from rolling off the bench, she didn’t really get a lot out of the sermons.
When it was over—finally—an hour and fifteen minutes later, Jessica showed her where to take Maddie to her class. Next they dropped off Allison at the nursery, where Tara had to extricate herself from the crying little girl.
“What now?” Tara asked after she’d managed to get out of the roomful of howling toddlers.
“Sunday School,” Jessica announced. “Come on. It’s probably in the Relief Society room. I’ll go with you.”
“Where else would you go?” Tara asked, following Jessica down the crowded hallway.
“There’s a class for youth my age,” Jessica said. “It’s usually more fun than the adult class, but since you don’t know what you’re doing, I’ll go with you.”
There it is again. Even Jane’s holier-than-thou niece doesn’t think I know anything. Tara slid a sideways glance at her as they found seats in the back of the room. Let me tell you something, sister. I know a whole heck of a lot more about the world than you probably ever will.
And that’s a good thing? The surprising thought caught her off guard as much as Allison’s reluctance to leave her had.
Yes, it’s good, Tara defended herself from the traitor that had invaded her mind. I’ve been places. I’ve made big money. I’ve done a lot of things.
That didn’t matter.
She forged on past the negative voice. I know lots of people.
Who don’t care about you at all.
I’ve been in several serious relationships.
That all ended badly. Tara’s hands shook slightly as she signed the roll and passed it to the woman seated beside her. She resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears to try to stop whatever was nagging her. Maybe it was just this place, this building for Latter-day Saints, as it said on the outside, that had her feeling so lousy and questioning everything she’d ever done in her life.
It was a relief when class started and the teacher asked everyone to open their scriptures. Tara held the ones she’d borrowed from Jane, determined that she could do this part right, at least.
“We’re getting ready to begin those chapters that deal with the Savior’s earthly ministry,” Brother Bartlett, the middle-aged man who was teaching, said. “Before we begin, what are some of your thoughts about the time Christ spent among the Jews?”
It was a long time ago? Tara was glad she knew that much, at least.
Several people raised their hands and said various, intelligent, introspective things. I don’t know. I don’t know, seemed to chant in her head over and over again.
She felt herself getting angry, just sitting here in this room with people smarter than her.
“Those were all excellent comments,” Brother Bartlett said. “And we’ll delve into many as we look closely at
the Savior’s teachings. But today we’re going to look at the overarching themes Christ taught. There are several that we can see when looking at the Savior’s ministry as a whole.”
Themes? This is like being in English class all over again.
“But the overlying one I want to focus on today is one applicable to us all and perhaps the one the Savior most wished to impart. If you’ll turn to Luke, chapter nine, verse twenty-four.”
Tara stared down at Jane’s scriptures and the thumb tabs on them. There were easily a couple of dozen, each with about three names on them. How am I supposed to find Luke? From the corner of her eye, she noticed those around her with their scriptures open, flipping purposely through the pages. She opened hers to the middle, thinking that was as good a place to start as any.
Jessica leaned over. “It’s in the New Testament, not the Book of Mormon.”
“Hmm?” Tara asked, trying to sound as if she really didn’t care. I really don’t care, do I?
But she had to admit she was curious. What was this one thing that was applicable to everyone—even her? She flipped toward the back of the book.
“The Bible,” Jessica whispered louder. “You know, Old Testament, New Testament?”
Tara shook her head slightly. “Never read it; never had one.”
Jessica’s face softened a bit, and she reached over, turning the pages in the opposite direction. After a minute she said, “Here. Verse twenty-four.”
Tara looked down and began reading along with the teacher. “‘But whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.’”
“If you’ll follow the cross-reference at the bottom of the page, we see also that Matthew, chapter ten, verse thirty-nine reads similarly. ‘He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’ The teacher looked up expectantly. “So. Thoughts?”
That’s it? What does that even mean? All around her hands shot up, and people started explaining their interpretations of the scripture. She tried to follow, but her head was starting to hurt.
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