“Thank you,” Brother Bartlett said after several minutes of discussion. “If you get one thing from studying the Savior’s ministry, I hope it is this—that in losing ourselves, we truly can find ourselves.”
Yes. You said that already. But what does it mean? Tara felt her irritation growing. How was she supposed to know anything about religion if no one ever explained it?
Brother Bartlett went on. “The Savior did not lose His life while here on earth; He gave it willingly for each of us. But that is not what He asks of us, and it’s not what He is talking about here.”
Tara fidgeted in her seat.
Brother Bartlett left the podium and walked around the front of the table. “I believe He said this for those times when we feel lost, overwhelmed, or unsure where to go next or what to do with our lives. We become discouraged and disillusioned with everything around us.”
Tara looked up from her clenched hands. Brother Bartlett glanced around the room, his gaze passing hers then returning suddenly.
“The Savior knew we would encounter discouragement and loneliness here on earth.”
Where else would we encounter those things? Mars?
“So He gave us the scriptures and prophets so we’d have specific instructions about how to live, how to stay on that strait and narrow path that will lead us back to Him.”
Back to Him, where—how? This makes no sense.
“But at times,” Brother Bartlett continued, “all of the difficulties of life can seem overwhelming. We feel discouraged and lost and don’t really know what to do next.”
He’s got that right. Tara thought about the mess that was her life. She had no job. No home. No family. No purpose or plan. No idea what came next.
“At those times I suggest starting over, with this very scripture as our guide. ‘He who will lose his life, will find it.’” Brother Bartlett leaned back against the table. His arms were folded, his face serious as he looked around at the class, as if considering his next words carefully. After several seconds his gaze drifted to the back of the room again, to Tara.
“Brothers and Sisters, I challenge each of you who are feeling a little lost or in need of direction to give this scriptural promise from the Savior a try. Forget about yourself. Focus on others. Do all you can to serve and love them, and you’ll be surprised with the results. You’ll find yourself as you never have before.”
Tara found herself unable to look away from his kind yet piercing gaze. Does he know how lost I feel? Am I imagining this . . . connection? A warm sort of comfort seemed to envelop her at the possibility that someone might understand.
A corner of Brother Bartlett’s mouth lifted in a smile, as if he’d heard her thoughts. He turned away and walked around the table to the chalkboard to point out some additional scripture references.
Tara stared at his back, wishing he’d look at her again, wishing she’d somehow been able to record what he’d just said—to her. To me. He was talking to me. I felt it.
She hardly moved for the rest of class, hardly breathed, but tried desperately to hold on to the peaceful feeling that had flooded her soul when he’d spoken. Over and over again she repeated the scripture in her mind. He who will lose his life, will find it.
It still didn’t make complete sense to her, and it wasn’t as if any of her concerns about her future had been solved. But still, in spite of that, she felt more hope than she had in a very long time.
Twenty-Four
Sunday afternoon seemed one continuous round of Candy Land, Sorry!, and Chutes and Ladders, and Tara thought she’d kill herself if they played one more game where Gloppy Gumdrop, a ten-inch colored slide, or a “return to start” card sent her back to the beginning of the board and added another thirty minutes of play. Each time this had happened, she’d grown progressively grumpier, which only added to Maddie’s and Allison’s delight. By the time four of her markers started over, both girls were rolling on the floor in a fit of giggles.
“You should have had Allison on your team,” Maddie said. “She wanted to be with you, remember? But you said no and now her and Jessica are winning.”
“She and Jessica,” Jane corrected from the couch, where she lay relaxing, reading a magazine.
Tara made a face at Maddie that started her giggling again.
Rolling her eyes, Tara said, “What we should have done is play a real game like poker where you get cards that—”
“I don’t think so,” Jane said, correcting Tara this time.
“No real fun around here,” Tara muttered. The kitchen timer went off, saving them from further discussion and Tara from further torture. “Lasagna’s done,” she said jumping up. “Who wants to help set the table and make a salad?” The words, inviting “help” from Maddie and Allison, were out of her mouth before she’d realized what she was saying. I’m starting to sound like Jane. Scary.
“I will. I will.” Both girls jumped up and started to follow her. Tara sighed, wishing she hadn’t opened her mouth. She could have had ten minutes of peace in the kitchen by herself.
After dinner Jessica helped the girls get in their pajamas and settled them down with a movie while Tara did the dishes in the relative quiet of the kitchen. Clearing the table and loading the dishwasher by herself seemed a great luxury. No one was hanging off her leg. No voices chattering a mile a minute in her ear. It was a welcome break.
Jessica’s ride would be here soon, and then tomorrow Tara would be doing the dishes and putting the girls to bed. She was tired just thinking about it. Maybe it would be easier as soon as Jane’s other niece went home. Tara sure hoped so. It wasn’t that the little girls were poorly behaved, but they wore her out just the same. Not to mention that taking care of them and Jane’s house all day hadn’t left her any time to look for an apartment or a job. I have a job—about ten of them, she thought, though she didn’t feel as resentful about all the work as she had this morning. Jane couldn’t do much right now, but she’d proven she was still a good listener. Having her to talk to at night almost made the crazy days worth it. Almost.
“Night,” she said awhile later, waving casually at Jane as she headed down the hall. She planned to take a long, hot shower then curl up with something from Jane’s plentiful selection of romance novels. She walked into the guest bedroom, flipped on the light, saw someone on her bed, and screamed.
“Hey.” The giant bubble that had been coming out of Jessica’s mouth popped. She sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs.
“You scared me,” Tara said, holding a hand to her thumping heart. “What are you doing in here? Don’t you need to pack or something?”
“Already did. Aunt Jane asked me to meet you in here.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “She did?”
“I did.” Jane said, right behind her. Tara moved into the room so Jane could fit through the door. She walked over to the bed and sat beside Jessica. They both smiled up at Tara.
“What?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “You two look about as innocent as a pair of crocodiles.”
“Snap. Snap.” Jane moved her arms, imitating a crocodile’s mouth. “Actually, we’re here to help you look innocent.”
“The first step in your personal makeover,” Jessica chimed in.
“I don’t want a makeover,” Tara said. She’d hoped Jane had forgotten the deal they’d made this morning, after the pre-church dress debacle, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Tara wondered if she could plead foul play, as Jane had unfairly caught her in an emotional state and a moment of weakness. Anyone getting a much-needed hug from a friend would have succumbed.
“I didn’t mean the regular kind of makeover,” said Jane.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “You’re already gorgeous. You don’t need any help that way.”
“Thank you—I think.”
“It’s true,” Jane said, nodding her agreement with Jessica’s compliment. “Now that we’ve established this has nothing to do with your looks, let�
�s get busy. How you dress has the potential to help you have a more meaningful life, get a better job—”
“And to date some nice guys,” Jessica added.
Tara glared at her. “I don’t need a teenager telling me about dating. And I’ve had plenty of high-paying jobs.” Not that I’d really classify them as good.
Ignoring the two of them, Jane continued. “Showing off, revealing your . . . assets . . . isn’t really the best way to attract the right kind of man.” She stood and went to the closet.
Tara groaned. “Is this about that head, shoulders, toes thing again?”
“It’s about you looking your best and treating your body—the body God gave you—with respect. If you show respect for it, others will too.”
“I respect it,” Tara said defensively. “I work out.”
“That’s good. That’s part of it,” Jane said. “But another part is the way you dress.”
“Or don’t dress.”
Tara caught the words spoken under Jessica’s breath.
“Listen, Miss Know-it—” She stopped, remembering that Jane had asked her to be nice to the teen.
And, she admitted grudgingly, Jessica was nice to me church. She’d answered all the questions from the nosy leader of the women’s relief meeting. She even introduced me as Jane’s longtime friend and a real answer to prayer.
Remembering her relief at not being given away as the imposter she was, Tara felt an inkling of patience for the girl in front of her. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it at Jessica. “Just because I don’t know the New Testament from the Bible doesn’t mean—”
“The New Testament is part of the Bible,” Jessica said in mock exasperation.
“Whatever,” Tara said. “You people have a lot of books.”
“You have a lot of clothes.” Jessica’s eyes were wide as she stared at the open closet. Jane had thrown back the doors, revealing the rod, crammed with hangers and all of Tara’s favorite things. Rows of shoes lined the bottom of the closet. “Wow,” Jessica said. “I’ve never seen so many pairs of high heels.”
“Too bad you guys have something against showing off your toes.”
Jessica giggled. “Toes are fine. See?” She lifted her own flip-flop-clad foot.
“It’s the ankles that are bad?” Tara asked. “In Jane’s case, completely understandable. Those things are disgusting.”
“Leave my cankles out of this, please,” Jane said, following Tara’s lead, her own voice lighter.
“Ankles are fine too,” Jessica said. “It’s when you start getting above the knee that you get into trouble.”
“I see.” And Tara did—kind of. How many times had she dressed according to the clientele she’d be dealing with? Too many to count. If she’d wanted a male client to be distracted and willing to spend a little more than he should, then she’d worn a low-cut blouse and tight skirt. Playing up my assets, was how she’d always thought of it. Working with what I’ve got. But thinking about the things Jane had said this morning put using her body that way in a different light. One she’d never before considered.
Tara studied her skirts hanging in the closet. She doubted there were any that came below her knee or even to it. How was she supposed to stop wearing everything in her wardrobe, to give up the few material possessions she’d chosen to keep?
“Well?” Jane asked, glancing from Tara to the closet then back to Tara again.
“My clothes are my friends,” Tara said, her light tone gone. “You can’t really expect me to give them up. I’ll wear your skirts to church, but the rest of the time—”
“The rest of the time is important too,” Jane said gently. “And I thought I was your friend.”
Her simple statement stopped the protest on Tara’s lips. She remembered standing beside Ben, looking out at the Salt Lake Temple, talking about—and missing—her friendship with Jane. Now, here I am with her again. And she called me her friend.
Tara also remembered the dream that had given her the courage to abandon LA and return to Washington. She thought of the last week here at Jane’s home—the chaos, the exhaustion, the talks late into the night. She had to admit, she was in a much better place than she’d been a month ago. Perhaps, in exchange for all that, she could give up some of her clothes.
She remembered the Sunday School teacher’s challenge. I could lose them, she thought. I could lose my old life and trust Jane with my new one. I can do this for Jane. I can think of her instead of myself.
Tara ran her fingers across the skirts clustered in the closet as she considered. It isn’t as if my old life is great, anyway. She’d already decided to give it up, to change, when she moved here. So why not try Jane’s version?
After all, what do I have to lose?
* * *
About ten thousand dollars’ worth of clothes. That’s what I have to lose. Forty-five minutes later, Tara stared dismally at the enormous pile on the bed and then at the few, sparsely populated hangers still in the closet. The remnants of her once-glorious wardrobe.
“Don’t cry,” Jessica said, putting an arm around Tara’s shoulders. “If you’d like, we can go shopping when I come back next month.”
Tara felt oddly comforted by Jessica’s sympathy. Maybe kids weren’t all bad. Maybe by the time they became teens, they could sort of be fun to hang out with. “I’d like that,” she said, meaning it. “And I’m pretty sure it’ll be necessary, because I don’t think being completely naked fits in with your standards, either. And that’s about where I’m at with what I’ve got left here.”
“This pink sweater is nice,” Jane said, holding up the pale-pink angora Ben had purchased at the thrift store.
“I’m rather attached to that one.” Tara took the sweater from Jane and held it close. What was Ben doing right now? Had he gotten together with his ex-fiancée? I wonder if he’d be surprised if he could see me now and know what I’m doing.
Twenty-Five
“How was church this week?” Jane asked after Tara had settled the girls at the kitchen counter with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Not bad,” Tara said. In truth, it had been a little better than the previous Sunday. During the past week Jane had taught her how to navigate the scriptures, so she hadn’t felt like a complete idiot during Sunday School. She also had to admit to enjoying today’s lesson on Jesus. She wasn’t certain about Him being the Son of God and all that, but He definitely had some good stuff to say. He seemed genuine, unlike the Pharisees who seemed to be all show.
Jesus certainly had that losing yourself thing down. She’d started a count to figure out just how many people He’d healed. From what she could understand from the scriptures, the healing business had been brisk, but the pay poor. Sometimes He didn’t even get so much as a thank you.
Kind of like me, Tara thought, noting that no one had thanked her for taking the girls to church, fixing breakfast and lunch, and cleaning up the kitchen. Then again, if Jane were to thank me for everything I’m doing around here, she’d be saying thank you all day long.
But a thank you once in a while would have been nice. This week Tara felt like she’d left any semblance of the houseguest status behind and moved full-on to being “the help.” Jane was spending an awful lot of time lying in bed, leaving Tara to spend an awful lot of time with the two kids, the washing machine, and the dishwasher. It would have been nice to be appreciated.
And they have their reward . . . The scripture about the Pharisees came to mind again, making her feel uncomfortable. Am I like that? Can’t I help Jane just to be nice—without needing constant thanks?
“Tara, you okay?” Jane waved her hand back and forth, trying to get her attention.
“I’m fine,” Tara said, wishing she were. “Just thinking.” She pushed the troublesome thoughts from her mind and concentrated on easing Jane’s. “I went by the nursery to check on Allison, and they were doing that head, shoulders, knees, toes thing. I can’t believe how early you guys teach this
stuff. Like she even realizes she’s wearing clothes yet.”
Jane laughed. “I think the song they were singing was probably a little different, but yeah, we do teach modesty early.”
“Modest is hottest,” Tara said, mimicking Jessica. “No kidding. My other clothes had way more ventilation than these.” She pulled at her new blouse and pencil skirt. “It’s awfully hot for April.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jane said, changing the subject in a nonchalant tone that cued Tara that something big was up.
“What now? Do I need to dye my hair a nice, respectable brown? Do I have to take out my extra piercings and wear more modest underwear?”
“Eventually,” Jane said, nodding her head.
What? Tara worked to keep the milk she’d just swallowed from coming back up. “I was joking.”
“So am I.” Jane flashed her a grin.
Tara stuck out her tongue. “I hate you. Don’t freak me out like that. I like my red hair.”
“You can keep your red hair forever,” Jane assured her. “And we can talk about the other stuff later.”
“Hmm,” Tara said. “How many more weeks until Peter gets back? At the rate we’re going, I won’t be recognizable if it’s too much longer.”
“About nine weeks,” Jane said. Tara heard the note of longing in her voice. “Plenty of time for the missionaries to teach you.”
“Who’re they?” Tara took a bite from her own sandwich and kicked off her heels.
“They teach the gospel full-time. Most of them are young men, but some women serve too. They spend eighteen months to two years as full-time missionaries, teaching people who want to learn more about our church.”
“Oh. Do I want to learn more about your church?” Tara asked around a second bite of sandwich.
“Yes, you do,” Jane said emphatically. “You want to find meaning and purpose in your life, remember?”
“Vaguely,” Tara said with a wave of her hand. Guess I did say something like that. But it was during another moment of weakness. “So when do I meet with these guys? I do get the guys, right? I think I’d like them better. And how young is young? Any in their early thirties?”
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