Potter Springs

by Britta Coleman

  Eleven hours at breakneck speed, eating prepackaged gas-station food and arriving in Houston’s crawling masses after dark. “Piece of cake,” she lied.

  “I bet.” Katy pulled a cigarette pack from her purse and dug for her lighter.

  “I got a new car,” Amanda added. “A minivan actually.”

  “Really? How interesting.”

  If Katy had been in top form, she might have run further with this information.

  “Have you eaten anything?” Eyeing the unlit cigarette in her mother’s hand, Amanda hoped to ward off another confrontation with the staff of Houston Memorial Hospital.

  “Some crackers. Coffee.”

  “Let’s go get something,” Amanda said. “I saw a cafeteria downstairs. Is it all right to leave?”

  “The next visitation’s not for a while. I get to go in every hour, for about ten minutes.” Katy stuffed the cigarette pack back in the tapestry handbag, pulling it to her shoulder. Miraculously, the accessory almost tied her mismatched ensemble together.

  Amazing, thought Amanda. Only my mother.

  “It’s crazy.” Katy led the way down the bright hallway. “You live your whole life with a person, and when they think it’s the end, they’ll only give you minutes on the hour.”

  The silver doors slid shut and Katy pressed the button for the first floor. “Minutes on the hour.” She applied bloodred lipstick in the elevator’s mirrored sheen. Gazing at her reflection, she murmured, “And that’s not enough.”

  CHAPTER 21

  wonderland

  Heckuva job, Mark. Heckuva job.” Ervin Plumley, in a curly wig and painted face, held an oozing chili dog in one hand and nearly tore Mark’s arm off with the other.

  The church’s gym smelled of dirty socks and cotton candy. Children darted like fireflies, their rolling laughter echoed through the crowded area. Fall Festival, at full capacity.

  “Thanks, Ervin!” Shouting over the din, Mark returned the handshake in the West Texas palm-crushing tradition. “I didn’t do it by myself. You, the deacons-everybody-deserve the credit. Your work on the setup, especially.”

  Mark had enlisted an army of helpers, charming the Ladies’ Guild and sweet-talking the board. As a result, his vision had evolved into the biggest carnival Lakeview Community Church had ever hosted.

  “Shoot.” Lakeview’s head pastor wiped spilled chili off his arm. “Wasn’t no step for a stepper.” Ervin took another bite, then darted a look around. “Oh, Lord. There’s Peggy. I’m fixin’ to be in trouble.” He crammed the tail end of the dog in, poking the bun with blunt fingers. “Not good for the cholesterol,” he confessed through chipmunk cheeks.

  “Ervin, I see you!” Penny marched up in a Mother Hubbard costume. “Just how do you expect to sleep tonight with all that chili? Not to mention candy!”

  Ervin flashed a guilty look, his speech stunted by processed foods.

  Peggy put her hands on her hips. “Don’t think I haven’t watched you put away more sweets than the Easter Bunny. It’s gluttony, Ervin. Sheer gluttony. Save some for the children.” She kissed him on the cheek and slapped his belly, largely hidden inside the clown jumpsuit.

  “Hello, Moses,” she greeted Mark. “Where’d you get that outfit?”

  He lifted the robe’s hem from the floor. “From the children’s supply closet. I think it might be left over from a pageant.” Mark scratched his face under the gray beard. Holding up two arched cardboard tablets, he added, “I made the commandments myself.”

  “Well, it’s a fine party,” Peggy praised. “You’ve done a wonderful job, our best yet. Although, you might check the booths. I think someone’s made off with the rings for the bottle toss.” After patting Mark’s shoulder, she strode away.

  Leaving Ervin to digest his junk food, Mark found the missing rings and mixed among the masses. Children ran wild in costumes, carrying bags full of candy and prizes. They bounced in the inflatable castle, discarding tennis shoes and cowboy boots outside the plastic door. They ate corn dogs and cupcakes, and raced delirious on a communal sugar high.

  Mark crossed his arms over his long brown tunic and nodded, satisfied.

  Happy children equaled happy church members.

  Pick-a-Duck, judging by the waiting kids snaked around the corner, reigned as the favorite booth. The zigzag line almost blocked the balloon dart display. For safety’s sake, Mark corralled the partygoers into a more uniform order.

  “Every duck’s a winner,” called Courtney Williams over the throng.

  Shaking his head, Mark wondered why she had requested to host the Pick-a-Duck. That woman ran a mile a minute. She’d done huge amounts of work for the carnival. Getting Sunday schools to sign up in shifts, soliciting donors for the raffle and persuading women into baking for the Cakewalk.

  At the booth, plastic ducks bobbed in a toddler pool, their flat bottoms marked with a winning number, 1, 2 or 3. Children plucked dripping fowl from the makeshift pond, showing the hostess to get their reward. A great game.

  The only problem was the wait. Squirming in line, a tired Cinderella wiped her nose on a glittery sleeve. “Is it my turn yet?”

  “Just a minute, hon. You hang in there.” In what looked like a custom fit Alice-in-Wonderland costume, Courtney appeared unruffled in spite of her booming business.

  “My, don’t you look pretty!” Courtney told the princess, brushing back a smooth lock of her own real-life Alice hair. She smiled, lip gloss gleaming.

  Dazzled, the tot seemed prepared to wait an eternity for her chance at a duck.

  “Looks like you’ve got a handle on this,” Mark complimented.

  “I hope so.” Courtney laughed and waited on her next customer. “Two tickets, please.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for all your help on this thing.” He meant it. With her advice and organization, the carnival proved to be a whopping success.

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure.” She reached behind her for a rubber snake and plunked it in the winner’s bag. “Here you go, a black one.”

  The satisfied pirate showed gap-toothed approval.

  “Are you set here?” Mark asked. “Have enough candy?”

  “Let’s see.” She bent down to dig under the table, revealing a perfectly tied black bow on her narrow waist, long ribbons flowing over puffy Alice skirts. “I’m good on candy bars and snakes. Glow balls and erasers are running low, but I can make do.”

  “No problem. I’ll get them for you.”

  “Thank you so much.” She turned back to the game. “Number one. That’s a glow ball. How’s pink, you little cutie?” The toddler pulled a shriveled thumb out of her mouth to grab the toy.

  “I’ll put a rush on it.” Mark grinned at Courtney’s patience and headed for the supply closet. Luckily, he’d ordered plenty, not wanting a lack on his first watch as carnival planner. He passed busy ticket-sales counters. The lockboxes filled with dollar bills, and the ladies rolled out tickets by the dozens.

  He couldn’t wait to compare this year’s grosses with last year’s, and hoped to beat it by 50 percent.

  A loud “Hey, Mark!” interrupted his mission to the storage room.

  Jimmy Underwood, the owner of the gravelly twang, leaned against the brick wall with a cardboard bowl of jalapeño nachos. Beside him sat his dark-haired wife, holding a baby.

  Mark ran through his memory, pulling up a mental file. Mail carrier. Deacon. Husband to Missy, Amanda’s friend from the retreat. Keeping church members organized in his mind was a special gift, and uséful. “Hey there, Jimmy. How’s the route treating you?”

  “Can’t complain. Or I could.” He snickered. “But since we’re in church, I better not.”

  “Hello, Missy. Taylor’s getting bigger by the minute.” Mark squeezed a chubby little thigh. The baby gurgled at him, and Mark caught a scent of powder that teased the back of his throat like springtime allergies.

  Thumping the infant’s padded rear in a well-rehearsed rhythm, Missy agreed. “He eats like a h
orse.”

  “Where’s your better half?” A gob of cheese glommed on to Jimmy’s mustache.

  In complete view, Missy kicked her husband with the toe of her boot.

  Mark pushed a nearby chair under a table, clearing the walkway. “She’s in Houston. You might remember her dad had a heart attack?”

  “Oh, that’s right. How’s he doin’ anyways? He gonna make it?” Jimmy licked his fingers.

  “The doctors think so. He’s at home now, but it’ll take a while for him to get back on his feet.” Using some discarded napkins, Mark wiped the spotless table.

  “Been there awhile now, hain’t she?”

  For this astute remark, Jimmy received another swift blow to the shin.

  “What the … ouch! Missy, what’s gotten into you?” Rubbing his leg, Jimmy shook his head at Mark. “Must be the hormones.”

  Missy turned as pink as a glow ball.

  “Recovery’s complicated.” Mark ignored the squabble. “They don’t want to rush things. Mandy’s a big help to her mother.” Noticing he’d unconsciously crushed the napkins in his fist, he tossed the wad, à la Michael Jordan, into a nearby can.

  He missed.

  “Anyway, Jimmy, you know church life.” He retrieved the fallen napkins from the floor. “It’ll keep you plenty busy.”

  “I heard that.” The mail carrier grunted and swabbed up more cheese with a chip.

  Balancing the baby on one hip, Missy stood and caught Mark’s sleeve. “You call us if you need anything. And tell Amanda. Tell her that I…” She bit her lip. “That we’re thinking of her.”

  “Will do,” he said. “But as for me, really, I’m fine.”

  In the supply closet, the comforting smell of animal crackers and construction paper greeted him. He leaned his forehead against the door, shutting himself inside for a few treasured seconds. Composing his Pastor Mark mask before it fell off and revealed the crumbling man underneath.

  Each day, he woke, and in the intangible moments before full awareness, he knew peace. A calmness, a feeling of safety. Then he’d remember. Amanda is gone. My house is empty. My life is empty, and none of this means anything without her. The sense of security ripped away, leaving him to grieve through his day behind the falseness of his smile. Precious Pastor Mark, always peaceful, always together. Perfect.

  The only one who knew his imperfections was over three hundred miles away. And judging from last night’s phone call, she had no plans to return anytime soon.

  “When are you coming home?” A broken record, he played it nightly. In the dark of their bedroom on Mesquite Street, where his own vulnerability wouldn’t disgust him.

  “I’m not sure. I can’t describe it, what it’s like to see Daddy this way.” Amanda paused. “He needs me here, I think.”

  I need you too, Mark wanted to plead. But he’d been on enough guilt trips, paid for by his mother, to try to manipulate Mandy to suit himself. He remained quiet, listening to the click of the floor furnace on the cool night. Keeping himself from begging. When, Mandy, when?

  “How’s the carnival coming?” She changed the subject.

  “It’s good. We’ve got it just about ready.” Hoping to entice her with the excitement of life in Potter. “You should see how everybody’s pitched in. Ervin, Penny, all the deacons. And Courtney’s been great with the organizing.”

  “Courtney … Williams?”

  “Yeah, you know her. She’s president of the ladies’ group, volunteers all the time?”

  “Oh, I know her. She of the LeFleur cosmetics.” Amanda heavily accented the French term.

  “You should have her over sometime. She’s really nice. I think you two could be friends.”

  The silence on the other end of the line told him his wife thought otherwise. He overcompensated for the awkwardness. “You know, she’s divorced. Apparently had a tough time of it. Married to a real jerk. No kids. She could probably use a friend like you.”

  “Maybe,” Amanda said. “Maybe she wants a friend like you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mark rolled to his side, squishing the pillow. “She’s committed to the church. To the kids’ program. That’s all.” He switched to the defensive. “It’s not like you to be jealous.”

  “It’s not like you to go on and on about other women.”

  “Mandy, let’s don’t do this. When are you coming home?” Same song, same dance.

  “I don’t know.”

  In his mind he heard, I don’t want to.

  Still, he told her that he loved her.

  Me too, she’d whispered across the miles, then left him alone in the dark, the receiver pressed tight to his ear.

  The roar of the carnival broke through Mark’s memory. He lifted his head from the door and rubbed his temples. He’d call again tonight. Maybe just a few more days. He left the sanctuary of the closet and let the carnival swallow him again.

  Returning with the promised glow balls and erasers, Mark handed them over to a still-swamped Courtney.

  “My hero!” she announced, sorting the toys into her bins.

  “Do you need anything else? A Coke or something?”

  “How thoughtful. But I don’t think I’d even have time to drink it.” She turned to the game. “No, no, sugar. You’ve got to put the duck back into the water. It’s not to take home. But here, here’s a brand new eraser from Pastor Mark.”

  The toddler looked up at him, awed. He knelt down and gestured for a high five. The child’s light slap on his hand left a sticky residue.

  “Oh look. You’re so good with kids,” Courtney gushed, gathering tickets from the next player.

  “Thanks,” he said, straightening. He wondered if the church’s bathroom soap had antibacterial qualities.

  “I know what I’m talking about.” Handing out a Kit Kat, she informed Mark over her sleeve, “Teaching elementary, you get a knack for that kind of thing.”

  The microphone amp crackled at the cakewalk. He should get over there and check on it. “Sure about that Coke?”

  “Hmmm.” Courtney checked the gym clock, high above the pushed-in bleachers. “I can’t right now. I still have another thirty minutes on my shift.” She faced him, guileless in her Alice blue. “But how about later?”

  CHAPTER 22

  wrong turn

  Green-gray clouds swam over the Houston moon, bloated and heavy. In her parents’ house, Amanda peeled back the bed comforter, pink roses on brushed cotton. As if on cue, her Princess phone rang its warbled tune.

  “Hello?” She balanced the phone on one ear, settling in for her nightly visit with Mark.

  “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. Forgive me for calling so late. This is Dale Ochs, from the Lakeview Board.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ochs.” Surprise made her voice louder. Dale the Watchdog, calling her long distance in Houston. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh yes. And please call me Dale. Actually, I’m calling on behalf of the board to check on you. To update our prayer logs for members. Tell me, how is your father?”

  “Much better, thank you,” Amanda said, relieved. “He’s home now, getting stronger by the day.”

  “Wonderful. Can’t tell you how glad we are to hear it.”

  An awkward pause filled the line, as if Dale expected further discussion. Or maybe an explanation for her continued absence.

  Amanda wasn’t about to give one. Or inform the deacon that she planned to head back to Potter Springs tomorrow morning. Mark deserved to be the first to know.

  She hadn’t meant to stay so long, but problems in Potter Springs seemed bigger, and harder, than simply easing into life in Houston. She slept in her childhood bedroom and played cards with her father, convincing herself that his continued care, and her companionship, provided reason enough to stay.

  Going home meant facing truths she wasn’t sure she could handle. The hurts on both sides, she realized after the van fiasco, ran deeper than she’d thought.

  But the calendar ticked by and her father l
ooked better by the day. Amanda sensed her usefulness as a houseguest coming to an end.

  “Why don’t you come with me to the fund-raiser this Saturday?” Katy had asked over eggs Benedict at the breakfast table this morning, flipping through her calendar.

  “I don’t think so, Mom.” She’d been to enough of the things to know she’d be squished into panty hose surrounded by her mother’s obsequious friends, as plastic as the Botox in their faces.

  Amanda imagined bringing some of her new friends to such a function. Kendra Sue in her socks and Earth sandals, or Pam with her gastric problems and puffy sweatshirts. With a smile, she realized she missed them. “Besides, I should be getting back.”

  “What for?” Katy adjusted the tie on her cashmere robe.

  “For Mark,” Amanda answered easily. The truth dawning as she spoke. “He needs me.”

  She couldn’t wait to tell him when he called. He’d ask, When are you coming home, Mandy? and instead of her standard, I’m not sure, she’d whisper, Tomorrow. After weeks of pleading, and persuading, he’d be so pleased.

  “Isn’t Fall Festival this evening?” Amanda made conversation with Dale, wondering why he lingered on the line.

  “That’s right,” he answered. “Just finished up. Quite a turnout. Your husband is rather effective with the congregants.”

  The way Dale said it didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “He’s gifted that way,” Amanda agreed. She flipped through one of her mother’s fashion magazines, noting that most of the outfits cost more than her car. Her old car anyway.

  No stores back in Potter carried that kind of high-end couture. Everybody shopped at Super Wal-Mart or Target, and Amanda found a freedom in the simplicity. A lack of ferocious fashion and competitiveness she’d experienced in her mother’s world. She decided she liked the Potter Springs way of things better.

  “Between the Ladies’ Guild and Mark,” Dale went on, “it was a tremendous showing. They’ve worked closely together.”

  “Who?” She didn’t like the way he slid through “closely together.”