Potter Springs

by Britta Coleman

  One sheet featured a caption, DRAW NEAR TO GOD, AND HE WILL DRAW NEAR TO YOU. Underneath it read, Welcome to Lakeview Women’s Retreat. Start your special time here by writing a letter to yourself. What do you want from this weekend? What are your hopes and prayers? What are you feeling, right now?

  The rest of the page was blank, left empty for the answers. Except Amanda didn’t know the answers, and this felt like homework, so she shut the cover and lay back on her pillow.

  You need to go, Mark had said. For both our sakes.

  She cracked an eyelid and stared at the mountains. “But I don’t want to,” she said aloud.

  The mountains made no reply, so she sat up and opened the folder. After locating a pen in the nightstand drawer, she kicked off her shoes and crossed her legs.

  I feel…

  The paper looked so white. The pen so dark. The loops of her handwriting naked against the page.

  I feel… like an idiot. She stared at that, then scratched it out. I want…

  She figured she could keep it light, and no one would know the difference. I want to lose five pounds. I want my hair to look halfway normal. The ink flowed freely while she scribbled down her thoughts, her handwriting worsened the faster she wrote. I want to not have to sit near or talk to Courtney Williams. I want to have a good time.

  I want to go home.

  Home. The word gave her pause, and she thought of Mark, waving in the driveway as they pulled away. Planning this for her, making the effort.

  I want to be a better wife. She used to be a good wife, she thought. They used to be so great together.

  She paused, remembering. The earlier days when they flowed, connecting like hot honey and butter in a delicious, decadent swirl.

  When she could laugh, or make a face, and he knew her heart, her spirit. She didn’t have to explain herself. A time when neither of them had to try so hard.

  Her chest tightened and she slowed her breathing, the pen hovered over the page. She thought of his tenderness. The little things he did for her, hoping she would notice. How he rattled around in the mornings, cleaning, driving her crazy as she tossed in the sheets.

  His puttering made her nervous, sensing he wanted to clean her up too. To make her all better. But, try though he might, he couldn’t. And she didn’t know how to do it for herself.

  The one thing she really wanted, she couldn’t have. She saw no use in putting it down on paper, to mock her. I want a baby. I want my baby.

  She considered the page again, picked up her pen and wrote one last entry. I want to get better.

  It was the first time she had thought that. The words swam before her and she put the pen down and let her tears run free.

  The door opened and Peggy Plumley pushed inside with a suitcase the size of Dallas. “My Lord! Those stairs were a killer! How are you, honeygirl? Make the trip all right?”

  She nodded and brought quick fingertips to her eyes, brushing away the moisture.

  Peggy unzipped her shoulder bag and tossed a small package of Kleenex to Amanda as if it were the most natural thing in the world to find her roommate for the weekend in tears.

  Of course, given their history as friends, the woman had every right to believe “in shambles” as Amanda’s most natural state. She unwrapped the package, revealing pink tissues that smelled of powdered flowers.

  “Isn’t it great we’re together?” Peggy hung her shirts, nearly identical to the one she already wore, in a neat row in the closet. Finished, she heaved herself on the other bed and squished the folder there. “What’s this?”

  “Some stuff we’re supposed to do before the sessions.” Amanda folded her letter and sealed it in the envelope.

  “I can get to mine later.” Peggy stood, smoothed her top and braced her hands on her hips. “What do you want to do first?”

  Amanda thought about it. Stay behind, have solitude, finish reading through her curriculum for the weekend. Maybe cry a little more. What do you want?

  Laughter rang down the hall, and a succession of knocks sounded at the door. “Mandy! We’re hungry… let’s go eat!” Shelinda peeked in. “Oh, hi, Peggy. Y’all wanna check out the cafeteria?” Missy and Kendra Sue stood behind her.

  “Well? What do you say?” Peggy made for the hallway.

  I want to get better.

  She must start small, and do her part. If she had bootstraps, she’d tug them, but instead she retrieved her lace-ups from the floor and smiled. “I’m in.”

  CHAPTER 18

  a big surprise

  Mark checked his appearance in the mirror one last time before going to the dining room to wait. He smoothed a wayward cowlick, huffed his breath in his hand to check for odor and swiped Chap Stick across his lips. He hoped for plenty of kissing later on. Among other things.

  A big surprise waited for Amanda’s homecoming, and he figured some been-away-from-home, you’re-the-most-amazing-husband-in-the-world loving was headed his way.

  When she called Friday, her voice had been giggly, girlish. Through the spotty reception, he detected something he’d almost forgotten-happiness.

  “Are you having fun?” He was almost too afraid to ask.

  “Oh, Mark. We had to do these skits tonight. Skits! I haven’t done that since church camp. Shelinda played a policeman, and I was-I was”-she broke up laughing-“a dog!”

  “Sounds hilarious,” he teased her. When was the last time he teased her?

  “Well, I guess you had to be there,” she admitted. “But I’ve been having the best time. The sessions are so good, and the mountains … it’s just incredible. So beautiful.”

  “Are you glad you went?” He couldn’t help prodding.

  “You have no idea. I know you want to hear it, so I’ll just say it. You were right.”

  “You didn’t have to say that.” He tried not to sound smug.

  “I did too, and wipe that grin off your face. Yes, I’m having a great time, and yes, you’re the best.”

  “Miss me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. Emphatic.

  He liked the sound of it.

  “In fact, when I get home, there’re some things I want to talk about. And things I want to … well, you know …” She lowered her voice an octave. “Do.”

  Heat raced through him at her tone. “I can’t wait.” But he had to. Two more long days, watching the pigs twirl around the living-room clock. He checked the map again, figuring they should arrive within the hour.

  Thirty minutes later, Shelinda’s silver Suburban pulled into the cracked driveway. Women piled out like clowns from a Volkswagen, dropping pillows and purses and Lord knows what else. Mark made pleasant small talk, and tried to keep his hands off his wife.

  “Here she is, safe and sound.” Shelinda grinned at the group. “Toldja we’d make it.”

  “I never doubted you,” Mark lied.

  Warmth and cinnamon filled his senses as Amanda ran at him, her hair flying into his mouth. Scratchy wool encased his neck. “I missed you.”

  His arms twitched in thankfulness.

  “Ahwooo, lookee there! We need to let you two lovebirds alone!” A singsong voice shattered his desire fog, and he backed an inch or two away from Amanda. But not more.

  Pam Hart, in an eye-popping sweat suit, winked widely at the rest of the ladies. “Shoo, shoo, y’all. Get back in the car. We’re not needed here.”

  They collected themselves, took turns hugging Amanda and left in a cloud of perfume and fluttering hands.

  Shelinda’s rear bumper scraped heavily on the inclined drive. Honk, honk, honk, the horn sounded a strange beat, like a feminine Morse code, as they turned the corner.

  Women.

  “I have so much to tell you. So much I want to talk about.” Amanda practically hopped up and down in front of him. “Good grief, it’s cold. Did a front come through? Come on.” She tugged his hand. “Let’s go inside.”

  He let her pull him close, dipped in to taste her willingness. He folded her in his ar
ms, pressing her as close as possible without being naked.

  She held the back of his neck and ran her fingers, restless, through his hair.

  Across the street, a door slammed. Mark realized they were in the front yard, in full view. The preacher and his wife necking on the lawn.

  He fought the urge to toss preparations and order to the wind and whisk her to the privacy of the bedroom. But, rationally, he wanted the evening to unfold slowly. Delayed gratification.

  He’d waited months for her to come to him like this. He figured he could handle a few extra minutes.

  More surprises waited in the house-roses, music and new candles. The domino effect, to fall according to plan, needed a push. The first gift.

  He pulled away, while he still had the strength. “We’ll go inside.” He brushed her lip with the pad of his thumb, touching the swell there. “In just a sec. I want to show you something first.”

  After gathering her coat from the top of the heap, he explained while she shivered into it. “It’s a … a kind of surprise. A big one.” He delivered his much-practiced sell line, “For now, and for the future.”

  She didn’t seem particularly impressed with his wording, just smiled up at him, blowing into her hands.

  Guiding her to the garage, they crunched across brown grass, narrow shoots dead from an early freeze.

  He’d planned this all out, had the electric door opener in his palm. His hands felt slick on the plastic, and he hoped she didn’t notice them shaking.

  The creaky door, solid wood warped with time, groaned open with the speed of a turtle. Inside, glossy green paint sparkled in the setting sun. Mark slung an arm around Amanda, taking in the view.

  Perfect. He’d timed it just right.

  A gigantic red bow graced the sloping hood. The minivan filled almost the entire garage, barely leaving room for Mark’s bike and the washer and dryer. He spent all day yesterday clearing out junk to make room for it.

  She stood so still under his arm. Not moving, or jumping up and down, like he’d imagined. Just staring.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” He had no idea, but took a stab at it anyway. Anything to fill the void. “That it’s too much. But with low interest rates and a long-term plan, we could swing it.”

  She said nothing.

  “I figured it all out,” he continued, unable to stop the projectile explanations. “I’ve got the paperwork … I still need your signature to make it final… plus my math inside.” Why wasn’t she saying anything? “I can show you down to the penny. It’ll work, hon.”

  His stomach cramped in the silence.

  “Where is my car?”

  He didn’t think he heard her right. “What?”

  “My car. What have you done with my car?” Her voice rose to new heights with each syllable, ringing in the twilight.

  He glanced at the neighbors’ houses, wondering if sound traveled farther in cold temperatures. “Shhh. You’re right, we should go inside. We’ll talk about it inside.”

  “No. We’ll talk about it now. What have you done with my car?”

  Her old fire had returned, he noticed. His eyebrows might just be in flames. “I’m sure this isn’t the time or the place to bring this point up, but technically, it’s our car-”

  “The car I worked through high school for, the car I drove in college-”

  “I cleaned it up for you.” He wanted her to know that part. “And then I realized how banged up it was. The high miles. It was time.”

  “Banged up? High miles?”

  “We needed a warranty, and this one has unbelievable safety features and a super Consumer Reports rating.”

  “I know every tic and joint to that car. And it was… is… mine!”

  “I traded it in.” To compensate for her volume, he made his extra quiet.

  “Traded it in? Traded it in?”

  More shrieking. Piercing, almost.

  “To get a lower payment.”

  “You traded in my car? My car?”

  She sounded like a parrot. He thought he might hear her in his dreams. My cahr, my cahr, my cahr.

  “Yes.”

  “Where? Where is it? Who did you give it to?” She looked around wildly, as if he’d hidden the hatchback in Mrs. Zimmerman’s landscaping.

  “The dealership. Hemp’s Used Motorway. You know, the one on TV? And I didn’t give it to them. I traded it. Worked for hours on a good price so we could get this. Like I said … I don’t think you were hearing me… this one has a warranty. It’s only one year old. All you have to do is sign.”

  “Tell me, Mark. Who are you expecting to ride around in all these seats? What is it, a six passenger?”

  “Actually, seven, ’cause there’s this little half seat in the back-”

  “Mark!”

  “I thought it’d be good for…” he hesitated. His perfect evening had dominoed, all right. But in all the wrong directions. He didn’t want to upset her any more, but she expected an answer. “For ministry,” he finally admitted. “Since you’d met the ladies and hit it off, I thought you might jump in with the youth. We need some sponsors.” He scuffed his shoe against a broken piece of driveway.

  “A youth sponsor. You bought this”-her fingertips, red from cold, pointed at his gift to her-“because you want me to be a youth sponsor?”

  “In a nutshell.” Anything in a nutshell. Let’s stick it all in a nutshell so we can go. Inside. Now.

  “Not for any other reason?”

  Her lips had that quiver. Not tears. Oh, Lord, please, sweet Jesus. No more crying.

  “Just what is it that you want me to say?”

  Mr. Chesters twisted around his legs, purring violently. No doubt the animal wanted Mark to stoop to pet him. To get him close enough for a good clawing. But Mark had learned the cat’s games long ago, and ignored him.

  “Family.” Amanda scooped up Mr. Chesters, and he slumped like a contented infant in her arms. Leering at Mark. “Children. That you wish we could have children.”

  “Oh, Mandy.” He watched her face crumple. “I didn’t mean-”

  “Of course you didn’t. Wonderful Mark Reynolds, precious Pastor Mark would never mean to.” She hiccupped and buried her face in Mr. Chesters’ fur. “Because that would bring up the topic of babies and we can’t talk about that because ours was too early and not in your timeline, and what will the good folks at Lakeview Community Church say, but then, as luck would have it, she died.”

  The full force of her anger fell, and he found himself pushing back. That she would mock him, even in hurt. “If you want to read all that into it, fine. Take it how you want. I only thought you’d like the van, and it’d be a good surprise.” He clung to that tenet, for fear of having to look elsewhere.

  “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” She dropped a squirming Mr. Chesters and went in the house, slamming the screen door. Leaving Mark and the bags in the chill night air.

  Alone. Again.

  “Evidently, I was wrong,” he told the cat, who stared at him, switched his tail and climbed over the fence with amazing grace.

  Next door, Mrs. Zimmerman’s porch light came on. She peered out, clasping a terry robe to her throat and balancing Princess and a cordless phone. She held the glass screen open with one hip.

  Pink rollers filled her hair, a sight she normally wouldn’t have allowed. Curiosity must have overcome her.

  “Did she love it?” Her face shone with night cream.

  “She was … surprised.” He couldn’t fake a smile.

  Mrs. Zimmerman lifted the receiver from her chest and whispered to whoever was on the other end. “She didn’t like it.”

  Mark’s hand ached from gripping the remote, the warmth in his palm had long since cooled. He pressed the button again, watching the great mouth swing shut, then headed inside to deal with the mess that was his life.

  CHAPTER 19

  welcome home

  The hollow moon lay over Amanda. Unlit candles, freesia and van
illa, scented the darkened bedroom. Deep red roses on her dresser appeared black in the shadow. The buds, cut before full bloom, drew tight together like a kiss. The small card beside the vase, in Mark’s fluid handwriting, simply read, Welcome Home.

  The sound of the water running stopped, bathroom drawers slid opened and shut. Quietly, with no banging or slamming. The silence of resignation. Not wanting to upset her while she slept, but she didn’t sleep at all.

  Her suitcase, still packed, slumped in a corner full of dirty clothes and her folder. The letter was no longer tucked inside. She’d handed the sealed envelope to the session leader this morning, to be mailed back in one year. “You’ll see how far you’ve grown,” the elderly woman promised. “How your prayers have been answered.”

  Leaving emotions of hidden hurt, which weighed a thousand pounds, Amanda flew home on wings. Yes, she’d left some heaviness behind, but what had she taken with her? Back in Potter Springs, the same difficulties, the repressed anger, had grabbed hold of her before she could breathe.

  I want to get better.

  She stared at her suitcase, the shape of leaving, until her eyes burned. She closed her eyes and saw the brilliant sun in Colorado, the bright blue sky. She’d felt so high and near to God, truly on a mountaintop, seeking answers for wisdom and direction and healing.

  One morning, under the privacy of a towering tree, the poetry of the Psalms voiced a promise to her, clear as a lover’s song. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

  She grasped it and made it hers. She would see morning, she believed it. Her gifts from the retreat had been new friends, and a new perspective. That she might find hope, if only she kept going. She just didn’t know how long her night would last.

  Mark slipped in the sheets beside her, damp from the shower. He settled his large frame, not disturbing her as she curled on her side away from him.

  She heard loneliness from the curve of his back, and it called to her. He deserved so much more than she gave him. His heart was precious to her, even if his actions made her crazy.

  She unwound and turned to him, smelling his neck, his body, the steam and the stillness. Sliding her arms around his chest, she kissed his bare shoulder, and wondered at the weight he carried there.