Potter Springs

by Britta Coleman

  Welcome home, the card had read. Dark roses and a minivan. Unlit candles and sorrow in his spine.

  Did he hurt the way she hurt? Had she expected too much of him? To fill spaces in her that no mere man could ever breach? Had she made him her God, her savior, following blindly and demanding perfection?

  She blinked tears away and turned the kaleidoscope, looking for the next picture.

  Amanda Thompson, afraid of a marriage like her parents’. Amanda Reynolds, nauseous and happy in a wedding dress. Amanda, the new wife, balled up in a hospital. Mrs. Mark Reynolds, starched in a luncheon. Mandy, angry over a car.

  Amanda. Standing with old eyes in front of the mirror. Alone.

  What do you want?

  Shining and bright, the answer cut clean through her soul the way the gardener had cut the dead wood away. Sharp as the prism in the sanctuary around her. Whispering, guiding her.

  I want the roses.

  Like the gardener, she counted the cost. Weighed the vines of heartache, the thorns of change and the high price of forgiveness. Though the suffering had angered her, she had never been promised it would be easy.

  It would hurt, she knew, to tend what she’d neglected. It would take the surrender of pride and the dedication of time. And faith. Trusting when she could not see the way.

  She would face her fears, and walk her path. Not out of circumstance, a mere twist in the wind. No, she would choose to embrace the life she’d been given with all the strength and love she had. And then some.

  It was time. Time to return and work in her garden.

  Time to go home.

  Outside the church, the weight of her decision hit her with the blinding sun. For the first time in her life, when she’d thought of home, she meant Potter Springs.

  Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. The promise followed her like a Sunday benediction. Now she would be ready to face the thorns. Any more hardships coming her way would be worth it.

  For the roses.

  AT THE HOTEL, she stepped into the cool marble interior. A young employee vacuumed the thick lobby carpet with an industrial machine. She hardly heard its roar for the swell of plans in her mind, the excitement singing through her.

  Amanda waved to Consuela, busy on the phone. An irate customer, judging from the hostess’s drawn brows and animated speech. Consuela covered the receiver and motioned Amanda to come over.

  “Later,” mouthed Amanda. What she wanted was a shower, and to begin packing. She would leave in the morning.

  Her friend waved again, more frantic, still on the phone. She tried to speak over the vacuum, moving her magenta lips in an exaggerated fashion.

  “Mother” Consuela seemed to say.

  What? Amanda shook her head. Her mother was in Houston, or probably the lake house in Conroe by now. She splayed her fingers at her friend. Ten minutes. I’ll be back in ten minutes.

  Amanda turned in her flip-flops, only to be caught by the snake cord of the vacuum cleaner. She lost her footing, tripped over and dropped her bag. Paperbacks tumbled out like movie popcorn, littering the hotel’s immaculate floor.

  Blushing, she gathered them quickly and shoved them into her bag. Scooted on her knees to retrieve the last one.

  A pair of navy pumps stopped her midshuffle. Amanda’s gaze met crisp cuffs, traveled up the length of pleated khakis and rested on a peach sweater set and the inevitable strand of pearls.

  “Well, hello, Amanda.” Round brown eyes blinked under cropped, perky curls. “Need some help?” A small hand held out a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.

  “Thank you,” Amanda murmured.

  “You’re welcome,” answered Marianne Reynolds. Her mother-in-law, the Queen of the Baptists.

  Thorn number one.

  CHAPTER 29

  eyeballs

  Erv, I need to talk to you.” Mark stood at the entry to his boss’s office. The space duplicated Mark’s work area—dark paneling, teetering shelves, musty odor—with about ten more square feet. Minus, of course, the enticing view of the Dumpster. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

  Ervin looked up from his computer, where he was no doubt e-mailing Peggy. Since he’d gotten computer savvy in a church staff’s development seminar, he and his wife were known to send each other flirtatious zingers via electronics.

  Once, Mark intercepted a love letter by accident. Hey there, hellcat, read the note. What say we chase each other round the room tonight? You let me catch you too quick last time, you little devil!

  After that, he opened e-mails from Ervin with a finger ready on the delete key.

  “So, you have time today?” Mark said.

  “Sure, son.” Ervin rolled across the laminate floor, skidding cowboy boots to a halt in front of his desk. He flipped through a calendar. “Got a meeting in about five minutes. How’s this afternoon for you?”

  “Fine. When?”

  “Later. After lunch. Say, three?”

  Mark didn’t ask what Ervin planned on doing for that long of a lunch break. He didn’t want to know. “I’ll be here.”

  Returning to his office, Mark worked awhile, then opened his sack lunch. Less than exciting, but edible. Bread with lukewarm salami and a Coke from the machine. He’d run out of casseroles and had taken to packing his own meals. Better that than reinvoking the interference of the Ladies’ Guild.

  At 2:55, he headed back to Ervin’s office. Empty. He asked Letty, “I’m supposed to have a meeting with Ervin?”

  Heaving a sigh, she rewrapped waxed paper over her sandwich. Letty snacked on homemade takeout throughout the day. Pickled eggs. Blue cheese on toast. Sardines.

  Mark smelled the tuna from his comfortable distance of about four feet. Not pleasant.

  Letty handed him a yellow sticky note. “He said to meet you down the hall. Room 125.” She went back to her lunch, picking at it like a feline.

  In front of 125, Mark stopped cold. The counseling room. Outside the shut door stood a metal-inscribed sign on a pedestal.

  QUIET PLEASE. IN SESSION.

  Good God, I’m in counseling. He rapped softly on the door, waiting for the punch line. Surely this was a joke. A mistake. Ervin ushered him in, shaking his hand like a long lost friend. A white-noise machine whirred in one corner and a box of tissues and a Bible rested on a table between two worn leather chairs. An amateur oil painting of a wooded lake dominated one wall. Lakeview.

  Ervin sat down and gestured for Mark to do the same. “Thought we’d be more comfortable in here. No phones, no secretaries, no pesky congregants.” Ervin smiled. “It’s one of my favorite hiding places.”

  “Good idea.” Tension released from Mark’s shoulders when he realized Ervin hadn’t planned a secret sabotage on his psyche.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Ervin rested his palms on his knees, relaxed. Just two guys talking, his posture seemed to say. Not, I’m-about-to-fire-your-sorry-self-because-Dale-Ochs-told-me-to.

  Still, looks could be deceiving. Mark knew that from looking in the mirror.

  “You know about Mandy. That she’s gone. You’ve probably figured out it’s more than her father being sick. More than a vacation.”

  Ervin nodded, quiet.

  “I know the board wants me to leave. And maybe I should. But first I need to tell you why,” Mark said. “Why she left in the first place. Why we’ve been having trouble.” The catch in his voice surprised him. He coughed and rubbed his hand on his pants. “It’s not an excuse and I’m not here to beg. But the air needs clearing, like you said.”

  “Go ahead.” Ervin leaned back in the chair. “You can trust me.”

  Is that so? Mark didn’t voice the doubt aloud. At this point, he had no choice. He just started the telling. Pulled forth what he’d buried deep inside, had hidden away in the darkness in himself.

  Maybe in doing so, he prepared his own coffin, paving the way for Dale to replace him. But if Mark was going out, he’d go out honest, with the truth etched on
his grave. For the entire world to see.

  He raised the chisel and started at the beginning. “We were together before we were married. Do you know what I mean by together? I know we should have waited, and I wanted to, but not enough, and it’s my fault….”

  The scent of confession smelled sour and dead. Mark wrinkled his face against it. Each word hurting as he spoke, tugging the truth, bone by bone. “I didn’t leave Houston because of God’s calling at all. I was fired. My best friend looked me in the eye and said, You can’t stay here….”

  He pressed on, digging deeper, bringing the darkest parts to light. Unearthing his need to hide, his desire to be perfect. To appear perfect, no matter the cost.

  Copper pennies. Take backs.

  Little sage, heartbeats floating over him. Gone, without ceremony. No name, unclaimed by a father. Sorrow painted the memory in shades of blue.

  Shame forced Mark’s vision to his knees. “And she lost it, the baby. I found her and she was bleeding and she had to go to the hospital….”

  He looked at Ervin, expecting condemnation. Some sort of a judgment at all Mark’s deception. The disappointment he’d seen from James Montclair.

  Yet, Ervin’s face held the same open expression, like a blank page. Not childlike or gullible at all. Just accepting.

  A countenance of grace.

  It helped Mark finish what he’d started. To reveal the fault lines that had finally broken him down. “I kept trying to break through, to fix her somehow, but I couldn’t. We didn’t connect anymore, and she left in the van. I don’t think she’s coming back….”

  Given air, the past breathed anew. Less scary and not so dark. What had seemed grievous secrets revealed to be… ordinary. The sins of an imperfect soul.

  Now emptiness took the place of secrecy. Mark sat back, exhausted. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren’t you going to say something? Fire me? Call me a hypocrite? Something?”

  “Is that what you think you deserve?”

  “I don’t know what I deserve. I just want to know what you think.”

  “I think you’re an idiot.” Ervin’s eyes sparkled.

  “Thanks.” Mark tugged a tissue from the box. For some reason, his nose wouldn’t quit running.

  “What matters more than what I think is what you think,” Ervin said. “You’re thinking wrong.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Well, son, being lost is a good way to start getting found. You asked me to tell you something, I will. Ervin Plumley didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”

  “That’s beautiful, Erv. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the two eyeballs the good Lord gave me sitting smack in the middle of my head. The ones resting in front of my mighty-working brain.”

  “And…”

  “I’ve been using them, Mark. Don’t you think I knew something was wrong when you two pulled into town? That a guy like you coming to a place like this had to have a history? Your pretty little wife with more pain in her face than anybody has a right to?”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “I know. That’s the problem with the invisible elephant. Pretty soon, it’s all you can see. I’ve just been waiting for you to be ready. Willing to admit a giant Dumbo’s stomping around your life.”

  “So”—Mark took a shaky breath—“it’s all been for nothing. I’m a fool.”

  “Yes, but now you’re a broken fool. I’ll tell you another little secret, Mark.” Ervin leaned forward in a stage whisper. “We’re all fools.” The preacher sat back. “Everybody falls short. Lord says so himself.” He tipped his head toward the Bible on the table. “Likes working with us, I guess. ’Cause the only place to go is up.”

  “I can take a leave. Put in my resignation. Maybe I-”

  “Maybe now” Ervin interrupted, “you’re ready to be a minister.”

  “But when the board finds out… Dale Ochs is ready to see me swing.”

  “You let me take care of the board,” Ervin said. “God love ’em, but those goats got more skeletons than the Smithsonian. Yours looks downright puny in comparison.”

  “There’s something else.” Mark might as well get it all out now. On the table. Away from his soul, where it tangled him, choking and dark. The last of it. “About Courtney Williams. And me.”

  Ervin looked less excited. “Go on.”

  “It’s nothing, really. Nothing happened. But it could have, I think. Maybe. More on my part than hers.”

  “Be clear. Speak English, boy, and tell me what you’re saying.”

  “That I came close to making a really stupid mistake with Courtney Williams. It was my fault. But I didn’t. We didn’t.” By the grace of God and a glass of cold Coke.

  Ervin crossed his arms. His brows lowered. No more buffoonery, no trace of a simpleton. “You think it might happen again? The almost stupid mistake?”

  Mark looked Ervin dead on and spoke the truth. He found its rhythms easier now. “No.”

  “Then watch yourself. You know what they say, ’Take heed, lest you fall.’”

  “I will. But there’s a problem. Dale Ochs knows.”

  “Dale Ochs couldn’t find his butt with both hands.” Ervin snorted.

  “What? I thought you and he-”

  “Mark, have you ever thought that part of my job is keeping the peace around here? Making sure everyone has a place and feels valued?”

  “Dale Ochs wants my job,” Mark stated the obvious.

  “I know, and people in hell want ice water. Don’t get me wrong.” Ervin shook a finger. “Dale Ochs is a fine deacon and we’re glad to have him. But his… talents… are best suited to the board, and that’s it. You get me?”

  “I get you.”

  “Then that’s all we need to say about that. What’s been said between us, as far as I’m concerned, stays between us.”

  “Fine with me.” He accepted Ervin’s handshake. The shadow of James Montclair fell away as new respect and trust dawned in Mark for this West Texas pastor. Not worship, but respect.

  “Besides, it’s not about the past, Mark.” Ervin stood.

  The head pastor of Lakeview Community Church, a full foot shorter than his associate, strode out of the counseling room with all the authority and vigor of Tom Landry. Leaving Mark no choice but to follow.

  “Not what’s gone on before, but what lies ahead.” Ervin increased in volume as he quoted Scripture, walking down the church’s hallway. “We… you, me, the board, all us fools!” He bellowed, tossing a hand in the air to great effect.

  Mark could see how the former high-school football coach had taken a Division 3A team to the play-offs eight years running. Precalling, as Ervin liked to say. Mark wondered how much

  Ervin’s vocation had actually changed. Different uniforms, different playing field, but the work-encouraging the team to the goal line-stayed the same.

  “Our job is to press on. It’s about the future.” Ervin punctuated this with a hearty punch to Mark’s upper arm.

  “The future,” Mark echoed, slightly overwhelmed at the idea. Our job. He had a job. Still.

  He hadn’t thought much past this point. The meeting, the getting through the truth part. What would face him on the other side? What, he wondered, lies ahead for me? For Mandy?

  Ervin actually slapped Mark on the rear as he hustled him through the exterior doors into the church’s chilly parking lot. “Yes, son. The future.” Ervin grasped him on the shoulder.

  Son. The nickname, though familiar, took on new meaning. An invisible mantle of approval slipped over his shoulders. An honor he thought lost forever, when the El Camino pulled away.

  “Your future,” Ervin continued. “And I believe it’s high time you went out to get it.” The glass door clanged behind Ervin, leaving Mark alone underneath the overcast sky.

  He couldn’t be sure. Had Ervin said to go out and get it?

  Or her?

  CHAPTER 30 />
  shall we dance?

  “Is Mark all right? My father?” Frantic questions fired faster than Amanda could stop them. Why in the world was her mother-in-law standing in the lobby of Palacio del Grande? She knew Marianne’s job as a secretary at Lubbock Community College didn’t pay enough to send her to Mexico on a flight of fancy. “How did you get here?”

  “Slow down, dear.” Marianne patted Amanda’s shoulder in a movement both condescending and irritating. “Not to worry. We’ve got plenty of time. Why don’t you go get changed out of your beach clothes, and then we can visit in that darling little restaurant back there?”

  Amanda fingered the edge of her floral dress, purchased at a shop downtown. Not beach clothes. She nodded and escaped to her room. In the steaming shower, the scalding water soothed her fears, for the moment. She made up her face and pretended Marianne’s appearance at the hotel was a welcome event and not an impending sign of disaster.

  In Antiqua Grill they sat across from each other, old enemies with bright smiles. Marianne in her traveling outfit, still starched in spite of the humidity. A suitcase at her feet.

  Checking in?

  After ordering a cup of hot tea, Marianne shooed the waiter away. She glanced at Amanda as if she didn’t know where to start and fiddled with the sugar packets. Flicked the edges, then shook it in the tea.

  Ninety-eight degrees outside and the woman’s drinking Earl Grey. Amanda sat quiet, waiting for the Queen to pounce on the pawn.

  Marianne obliged. “As for your first question, Mark is fine. He’s held up beautifully.”

  Amanda winced at the knife in her stomach.

  Marianne must have noticed her expression. “No, let me rephrase that. I don’t want to get started off on the wrong foot.”

  They’d danced on the wrong feet since day one. Why change the steps now?

  “You asked how I got here. Your mother and I have been in contact.” At Amanda’s raised eyebrows, Marianne nodded. “I know that surprises you, but we mother hens tend to cluster when our chickens wander. And since you hadn’t called her…”