Potter Springs

by Britta Coleman

  Confirmation. Larger, more frightening group.

  “We were just so happy with the news of Amanda’s father getting better. That she’d be back soon.” Courtney actually said this with a straight face. With sincerity.

  Had he imagined the whole lust fog? Of her subtle seduction of him on her couch? Or had she simply been herself, and he, deluded by his misery?

  “But now”-she coughed gently, pearly pink nails fanned out over glossy lips-“we’re wondering if there’s anything we could do for you since Amanda…”

  Mark stilled as his insides cranked on hyperdrive.

  “You see”-Courtney tried again, blinking rapidly-“Dale called the Thompsons for another prayer update and he’s let us know that Amanda has-”

  Left, Mark filled in. Amanda left. Left me. Left the country. Gone.

  Molasses took over his voice box. He couldn’t even clear his throat, let alone change the course of conversation.

  “Anyway,” Courtney interrupted her own pause, “we’ve organized some meals.” She revealed a color-coded chart full of names and phone numbers. “I’ve got several women who’ll bring by casseroles for you to pop in the freezer and heat up at your convenience. I think we have enough volunteers to cook hot meals at least this week.”

  A sinking sensation tugged Mark’s gut. They know she’s gone, that she’s not coming back, and I’m a total loser who can’t even make a casserole.

  Across the street, Mr. Chesters hung tenaciously in a neighbor’s tree. The dog next door barked, frenzied and high. Mr. Chesters regained his footing and seemed to enjoy taunting the other animal. The dog’s yelps escalated to a fever pitch.

  “That’s awfully nice of you,” Mark heard himself say. “But I’m not sure it’s necessary.”

  “Oh, not at all,” she assured him. “Everything’s planned out. In fact, I’ve passed around a sign-up sheet for laundry and ironing.” She produced another list. “And right now, we’re working out a schedule for housework, grocery shopping and lunches for you to take to work if you’re interested.” She dug in her purse for a pen and flipped her paper stack to a blank sheet. “Is there anything you’re allergic to or just plain don’t like?”

  His mind reeled. What to do now? They don’t teach you in seminary how to handle the Ladies’ Guild Meals on Wheels. Or, for that matter, what to do when your wife runs away to Mexico.

  In spite of his projected outer calm, Mark’s body-primitive, instinctive-knew the course of action. A burning, like reflux but deeper, dropped from his chest, twisted the walls of his stomach and bubbled through his lower digestive track. Scorching cramps alerted his rational mind, in case it wasn’t “in the loop” that he now faced Great Emotional Stress, signaling the onset of explosive diarrhea.

  Obviously, he needed to get rid of Courtney. Fast.

  “No, there’s nothing. No allergies.”

  Rushing through pleasant inanities without any idea what he’d agreed to, he concluded with a hearty, “Fine, that’s great.” A little strangled sound escaped him. “Thanks a lot.”

  The screen door shut with a comforting click as Courtney revved up her Camaro. Racing down the hallway, Mark had executed a beautiful side-leap to the bathroom, a move his college football coach would have appreciated.

  Tonight, at the evening service, he intended to steer clear of the Ladies’ Guild president at all costs. He sang his songs and played his part and fulfilled the associate-pastor role to the best of his abilities. Even the eggheads loved him.

  Afterward, Ervin announced the monthly board meeting, which Mark internally translated as bored meeting. Dale Ochs usually helmed the proceedings. Even now, the chairman lurked in the foyer, ready to whip the wayward servants of Lakeview Community into shape.

  As the church members filed out, emptying the sanctuary of their chatter, Mark packed the Martin guitar and music away. A small scratch marred the sheen on the wood. He’d buff it out later. As he clicked the locks closed, Ervin put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Great singing tonight.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Heck, that kinda music makes me happier than a hog in sunshine.” Ervin rubbed his beard. “How’s Amanda doing?”

  Ervin, much in the way of the mentally challenged or small children, had a habit of mentioning the unmentionable.

  “Oh, fine. She’s doing just great.” As far as he knew anyway. No falsehood there. Mark stood, the guitar balanced at his side.

  “Listen.” Ervin fiddled with his belt buckle, a large truck adorned the silver-and-gold rectangle. His Sunday night buckle. This morning’s had a bronco on it. “You don’t need to come to the meeting tonight.”

  “No arguments here. But why not?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ervin shoved his hands in his denim pockets and rocked back on his boot heels. “Just some old goats bleating about a bunch of nothing.”

  “Like what?”

  “The usual. Building maintenance. Whether or not to print a weekly newsletter. Who’s the best high-school running back. Important stuff.”

  “So why shouldn’t I be there?”

  Ervin stared at the back row of pews a few moments before speaking. “There’s been some grumbling,” he admitted. “About Amanda’s being gone. Some of the members want to discuss it.”

  “Members like Dale Ochs?” Mark couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.

  “Mark, I hate to say this, but there’re questions that need answering.” Ervin looked at his boots. “Your future on staff, for one. They’re saying, what with a missing wife-”

  “She’s not missing. She’s on vacation.” An extended vacation that may result in the end of our marriage.

  “I know,” Ervin agreed. “But trust me. You don’t want to be at tonight’s meeting.” He slapped Mark’s back. “I’m going to bat for you, son. You can count on that.”

  “Thanks.” Mark decided to heed Ervin’s advice and skip the meeting, choosing to hide in his office and arrange bookshelves instead. Thus postponing the trip home to an empty house, for an empty evening. Again.

  A LONE LAMP in the corner cast a mild glow on the worn desk and gray utility carpet. Mark sat on the floor and alphabetized his seminary books. Just above his shoulder, the window shade knocked in the wind, the fall breeze cleansing the stuffy room. Every once in a while, the wind shifted, hitting the garbage bin and sent the drift inside.

  Still, he kept the window open, not knowing the worst evil-the odors from musty carpet or the rotting smell from prayer dinner leftovers.

  He arranged book titles in groups. Angling his picture frames just so, he picked up a photo of his wedding day in a square silver frame, tarnished at the edges. He rubbed at the discoloration, tilting it away from the shadows to better illuminate the faces.

  Surrounded by family, he towered over most of them. Amanda, pale and sweet, stood beside him, the whiteness of the gown stark against her freckles. Happiness and anxiety on both their brows. He more stoic, she holding a rainbow of squashed flowers.

  He heard a rumble of steps outside, the church’s side door slammed. The board meeting must be adjourned. Cigarette smoke filtered through his shade, along with the murmur of male voices.

  “Now, I’m not so sure I’m ready to just up and fire him,” one man said at full volume, obviously unaware of the open window or Mark’s presence inside. “Took us long enough to get an associate. I hate the thought of starting over.”

  This was not a conversation Mark wanted to overhear. Yet part of him, like a rubbernecker at a car wreck, was drawn to the impending carnage. He stayed motionless.

  “No one said anything about firing him. I’m saying we need to be in prayer over it.” The sanctimonious voice of Dale Ochs blew in with a fresh exhalation of smoke. Noxious. “Consider what the Lord thinks is best and whether or not this man deserves the time and the freedom to work on his marriage.”

  “Freedom without a paycheck?” the other man tossed back.

 
; “The Lord will provide for him,” Dale argued. “It’s not our job to worry about such things.”

  “But who would take his place? He does a heck of a lot around here-”

  “Again, God is greater than our fears. Who knows, he might have in mind someone right here from Potter to take his place,” reasoned Dale. “Someone local, already living a godly lifestyle, of unquestionable character. Somebody who really knows this congregation’s needs.”

  “Someone like you, Dale?”

  “Well”-a humble chuckle-“I wouldn’t be opposed to answering that call. Of course I’d have to pray about it.”

  “Tell you what.” A new voice joined the mix. Deeper, with more twang. Unmistakably Ervin’s. “I’ll think on it, Dale. You’re right, we do need to consider what’s been said tonight. Your leadership here and your loyalty to this church, well, let me just say I appreciate you.”

  “Why, you’re quite welcome.” The conversation drifted away as boots ground out burning stubs. Pickups sparked to life and rolled into the night.

  Mark sat alone, the lamp’s yellow light weak around him. He remembered Ervin’s promise. I’m going to bat for you, son. You can count on that.

  “Some at bat,” he said in the silence, looking down on a smiling bride long since gone, her face captured under glass. “I’m not sure what I can count on anymore.”

  He grabbed his keys and turned off the lamp. “Or who.”

  CHAPTER 26

  tether

  The phone rang in the curtain-drawn hotel room. Swathed in blankets in the blast of the air conditioner, Amanda struggled to wake. A cold room in hot temperatures worked like a drug on her. She’d never slept so hard. Or so late.

  “Yes?” Reading the digital clock on the nightstand, she tried to sound lucid. She’d missed the breakfast buffet by a good two hours. Luckily, lunch was right around the corner.

  “Still having a good time, dear?” As usual, Katy bypassed hellos.

  Of course, Amanda knew it would be her mother. No one else had the hotel number. Katy remained her only link to the outside world.

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a good time, but I’m working on

  it.” Disappointment had tasted so bitter, for such a long time, she yearned for something fresh. Spending hours each night with her journal and her memories. Reading the Psalms, looking for answers. For her joy.

  Instead, as the onion-thin pages rustled like silk, she had found less of an arrow to point the way than snapshots of realization.

  Scrawls in her diary had stained her fingers as she relived the moments, wondering where, and how, they’d gone so wrong.

  Mark’s distance when she lost the baby. His refusal to acknowledge her grief.

  Her inability to reach out to him, an unwillingness to scream out for help.

  The countless hours of church work, Mark ministering to others while her heart withered and died.

  But she’d never asked him to please stay home.

  Victim versus victor, no longer so clear, smeared into muted blue. The color of regret.

  They’d missed each other all along. And now, she missed him so much she ached, but she still had work to do. More pages to fill, truths to uncover.

  She cradled the phone to her chin, twisting the cord around her finger. “I can’t thank you enough, Mom. I plan to pay you back someday.”

  “Nonsense. My payment is knowing you’re thinking things through.” Katy never mentioned Mark directly. Just casual remarks about happiness and choices.

  “How’s Daddy?” Amanda walked to the window, dragging out the long beige cord. She winced in the sunlight and took in the view below.

  Endless water waving at her. Same as yesterday. Time ceased to exist in Mexico. Days floated by, surreal. The past whispered away in each morning’s fresh-drawn beach, white and pure.

  “He’s fine. In fact, we’re going to the lake house again this weekend.”

  “You’re spending lots of time there.”

  “The sun does him good, I think. He’s like you. Sun worshiper.” Katy audibly shuddered. “Plus, getting away helps.”

  “Away. With you.” Amanda pulled the tropical curtains aside and tugged the drifty sheers into place for privacy. As if the sky stretching from horizon to horizon would spy on her and judge her in its length.

  “Yes,” Katy replied, exhaling smoke. “With me.”

  She heard her mother’s smile. “I’m glad for you, Mom. Really.” Standing in front of the mirror, Amanda’s face didn’t match her words. Sad around her mouth. Full blue eyes, blinking slowly. Older. She looked older. Older and alone. She turned away.

  “Well, it only took about twenty-five years and a heart attack, but we may get the hang of this marriage thing yet.”

  Amanda smiled, bittersweet. “Is that all?”

  A deep inhale. “You know Mark is nothing like your father.” Katy sounded the first shot. The unspoken ban on the M-word lifted.

  “And is that supposed to be good or bad?” Amanda thought of her father, forever working in his garage, now laid up and taking getaways with his wife. Daddy. Her childhood hero. Her measure of a man, in spite of his shortcomings. Those bad habits landed him in the hospital, almost through death’s door.

  Amanda remembered, as a girl, helping her father build a picture frame for one of her mother’s blurry watercolors. It was her first time to direct the saw on her own, and she carefully followed her father’s pencil traces in the wood. Steady and slow.

  Even so, the blade knew her inexperience and bit her, cutting into soft flesh and stealing her breath away. Her father cleaned and bandaged it himself, assuring her, “Why, I’ve had worse spots on my eyeball.”

  Her tender daddy. Always taking care of her. But no more. She must learn to stand on her own.

  “That’s not for me to say,” said Katy. “Have you talked to him? Your husband?”

  Amanda ignored the extra inflection. “No. He tried the cell. I turned it off.”

  “I still haven’t given him the hotel number, but he’s making me crazy with the calls. Isn’t it a little ridiculous you won’t even talk to the man? What exactly did he do?”

  “It’s not so much what he did or didn’t do. I’m in this too. Not talking to him may seem ridiculous to you, but it’s crucial to me.”

  Mark’s persuasive ways had convinced her more than once. His gifts for speaking, for influencing, crossed over into his personal life, and she couldn’t risk her heart on emotion for the moment.

  “Well, I’m a little tired of playing go-between for the two of you. Have you thought about contacting a lawyer?”

  “Mother, I’ve told you-”

  “Experience tells me if you wanted to make a go of this marriage you wouldn’t still be in Mexico.”

  “If it’s the money, I’ll check out today.” Not that she knew where to go. But she wouldn’t be indebted, or play games out of guilt. She’d sleep in the van if she had to. Lord knew there was plenty of room in there. “I don’t have to stay here.” She picked up keys from atop a pile of well-worn paperbacks. They jingled, sharp in her hand.

  The stupid van, a fumbling gift that revealed the truth. Though joined by marriage, they traveled completely different

  potter springs --- 209

  paths. In spite of their connection when they dated, maybe he didn’t understand her at all. Didn’t know her.

  Whatever happened with Courtney merely unveiled one more aspect of the tangle. Like a mirror in the morning, harsh and unwelcome.

  Maybe Amanda didn’t know him either.

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you can stay, as long as you like. You know, whatever it takes, I’ll help you. I never wanted you to go through the same things I did. And I’m not one to say I told you so.”

  “Mother, I’m not silly.” She tossed the keys on the desk and shuffled through the books. Favorites and disposables. “I’m not ridiculous. And no, I don’t want a lawyer.” She thumped the last book down, and it smacked in
the quiet room.

  “Well, you don’t have to get in a huff about it. I’m just trying to help you sort out your priorities.”

  “It’s not a huff. It’s the truth.” She was tired of the facades, of the pretty jabs and parries. “You’ve given me the resources, the freedom, to work on what’s wrong. So I can figure out if there’s a future for us or not. But I can’t do that when all I see, when all I hear in my head, is you.”

  “That’s nonsense. I-”

  “Mother, you’re wonderful, and I adore you.” She took a deep breath. “And know that I love you. But-I’m sorry for this-please don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  And with that, she gently eased the phone back to the cradle, disconnecting with her last tether to the outside world.

  CHAPTER 27

  take backs

  A ball-peen hammer drove its way into Mark’s skull about the same time he realized Mr. Chesters must have bypassed the litter box and used his mouth instead. On the couch, Mark braced himself, waiting for the painful thuds to quit. For a blessed second, they did. He steadily, painfully, rose to a seated position. What happened?

  In front of him on the antique trunk stood a saucy stack of beer cans. Mocking him. One lay at his feet, dribbling sour brew onto the carpet.

  Aha. The bored meeting. Dale Ochs and the boys discussing his “qualifications to pastor.” Ervin Plumley caving like Styrofoam under Dale’s pressure.

  Mark had slinked away into the night like a kicked dog, looking for some carbonated comfort.

  He had found it in the Beer Barn, an awkward red building with a flashing neon sign. Adult beverages to go. He pulled the church pickup in, edging close to the drive-in window so the kid behind the counter couldn’t see the Lakeview insignia on the side.

  “Whatcha need?” The clerk had severe acne and a pleasant expression. His name tag read ROBERT.

  “Coors. Cold, please.” Mark pulled down the rim of his ball cap and pretended to adjust the radio.