“Thanks, but I’d better get home to help my folks clean up. I drove Meg home so she wouldn’t be alone on the road. I’m going to bring her Jeep to her tomorrow if that’s okay. I’ve invited her to go to church with us in the morning.”
“Oh yeah? I think that’s great, Henry.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully and looked at me. “Did you say yes, Meg?”
I laughed. “Yes, I said yes.”
Dad nodded. “All right then. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Henry shook Dad’s hand again and gently pressed his other hand against the back of my head. “I’ll see you in the morning, Meg. Sweet dreams.”
“Thanks again, Henry. It was…well, it was perfect.”
He smiled at me. “Yeah, it was.”
He turned and opened the door. I whispered goodbye and closed the door behind him.
That night I lay in bed smiling. I couldn’t stop. I felt so silly lying there in the dark smiling at no one. I wrote to Wyatt until I fell asleep and dreamed of a fast horse, a sweet boy, and a million stars.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Hi Mom
I don’t know why I bother since you haven’t replied to my other emails. Are you even reading them? I just wanted to talk to you about Henry and his family. Today I’m going to church with them, and it feels kind of strange, but nice. I have to get ready now. Wish you were here to tell me what to wear. Hope you’re doing okay.
I’ve been trying to remember how old I was when I last went to church. I couldn’t have been more than twelve. Mostly, my family would go to Easter and Christmas Eve services. Mom would come home one day with a new dress for me, and the next morning we would go to church. No one prayed before dinner at my house; in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard either of my parents pray.
I stood at the door of my closet this morning with dripping wet hair surveying my clothes for a long time. I finally pulled out a black denim skirt that came to the top of my knees, and a shiny charcoal gray tunic that tied around my waist. I pulled on black tights and my tall black leather boots. I dried my hair and waited with Dad in the living room, trying to quell my nerves.
When I heard my Jeep pull in, I kissed Dad goodbye, grabbed my coat, and stepped out the front door into the frosty air. Henry smiled when he saw me. He put the Jeep in park and stepped out to open the passenger door for me.
“Well, if your dad wasn’t waving at me through the window,” he said under his breath, “I would grab you.”
I laughed, turned around and waved, and then kissed Henry on the cheek. Henry shook his head and blushed. As we backed out of the drive, he leaned forward with his left arm covering the steering wheel so he could look at me. “You know I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything Robert says this morning.”
“Do you want me to go with you, or do you want to listen to the sermon?”
“Well, I’m actually really conflicted about that,” he said grinning. “The problem is I’m not sure any of the other guys will be able to concentrate with you there. You might just be what we call a ‘stumbling block’.”
“Well, you’ll have to set an example, won’t you?”
“I’m not making any promises.”
We pulled in and parked next to Henry’s family and walked in with them. There were nine of us, so Henry went ahead of us to find an empty pew. Amelia and Leah talked to me about last night, and my outfit, and their boyfriends. They were both easy to be with, and they treated me like a member of the family. Henry motioned to us and I realized we were going to have to walk to the front of the church. On the way to the pew Henry saved, the Whitmires introduced me to everyone we passed, and my head was spinning when I felt Henry’s arm circle around my waist.
“Having fun?” he whispered.
I glared at him and grabbed his hand. “Where were you?”
“Enjoying the show. But I thought you’d had enough. Let’s go sit down.”
We sat down and I saw Annie and Thanett in front of us. We talked quietly with them about school and the bookstore until the song leader started the service. The entire congregation sang, without the help of an organ or choir. I reached for Henry’s hand and smiled, remembering the story about his dad making him lead singing for a month.
Robert walked to the pulpit and welcomed everyone. He even noticed me sitting with Henry. “I’m glad to see you this morning, Meg,” he said. I felt the heat rising up my neck. Henry squeezed my knee and chuckled at the color changes on my face.
I’d never heard a sermon like Robert’s—it was so relaxed and conversational. He talked about the Samaritan woman at the well and I remembered hearing about her at a Vacation Bible School I’d gone to with Allie years ago. Only this time, the story seemed more touching because Robert made me see this woman as a real person. He said that her choices had left her wrung out and bled dry of self-respect and Jesus recognized the longing in her. She was parched and it wasn’t well water that she wanted. Robert stepped out from behind the podium and finished his sermon talking comfortably like he was speaking to each of us individually.
Don’t you see that Jesus offers the same hope to you? He sees you, knows the thrumming of your heart, and murmurs to you the exact words that you’re desperate to hear—that there’s more to this life, all the grief and heartache and sin that seeps inside us and turns our hearts cold. ‘There’s more,’ he whispers. And he calls us to a wellspring of hope—of living water. He heals our hearts with the medicine only he can give, and it is a very personal experience. It’s you and Jesus.
Henry shifted next to me, took my hand and traced my knuckles with his thumb. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. I could tell that he was actually staring at me instead of listening to Robert, but I ignored the little smirk on his face because I wanted to hear the end of the sermon.
Robert continued speaking as he walked closer to his audience.
I know there are hearts here today who feel full of remorse and sorrow, who feel unforgivable, who carry pain and guilt. Reach out and grab his hand, be baptized in his sweet name and put the pain and sin behind you, and rest, for the first time in your life…rest. Take all the strength of the creator of the universe into you and see what it feels like to be unbreakable.
The singing started again and Henry pulled me up to stand next to him. I looked around at all the faces—all normal people, nothing special about them—except that they all chose to be here this morning instead of in bed, or fishing, or whatever else people do on Sunday mornings. The emotion in the room got to me and I felt tears pushing at the corners of my eyes. Robert’s final word—unbreakable—had taken up a steady cadence in my thoughts. I didn’t feel ready to think about what that could mean, so as a distraction, I pulled Henry’s hand up and held it in both of mine as I studied it. It made my hand look tiny. I rubbed old calluses on his palm. His knuckles were scraped and looked like they had bled as recently as that morning. I wondered if he forgot to wear gloves when he was feeding animals in the cold early hours. I stretched my hand out full in his and marveled at the differences—the soft city girl and the ranch hand. I felt Henry’s eyes on my face and I looked up at him and smiled. He took his hand out of mine and wrapped his arm tightly around me.
When the service ended, we walked to the parking lot. Amelia and Leah were heading back to school, so their cars were packed. They hugged and kissed their family goodbye, and then hugged me. Henry handed me the keys to the Jeep and told me that he had to repair a fence along the road before any more cows escape.
As he walked me to the Jeep, he held my hand. “Will you be okay getting home?”
“Of course. I’ve got to get started on homework, or I’ll never get it done.”
“Yeah, I’m a little worried about that myself.”
He leaned down and whispered. “I’m glad I got to show you off this morning. I would love to kiss you right here in the parking lot, but I’m afraid I’d have an audience of little old ladies who used to
change my diapers, and you’d moan again, and they’d hit me over the head with their canes for being too fresh with you.”
I laughed, grabbed his face and kissed him, and he made no attempt to pull away. “Thanks for inviting me today, Henry.”
He smiled and nodded and opened the Jeep for me. I drove away and saw him in my rearview, standing alone in the parking lot, watching me until I was gone.
We were out of school all week, but Dad had to work—apparently the Thanksgiving holiday was actually one of the busiest weeks at the hotel. He’d been in a horrible mood since the whole Thanksgiving fight with my mom. I know they haven’t spoken since, and my communication with her had been limited to email—from me to her. She still hadn’t responded. I called my aunt’s cell phone to get the real story about how Mom was doing and she sounded as worried about her as we were. She said that twice in the last week, Mom didn’t come home at night and when she finally returned, she had no explanation—and she just slept for hours.
“She’s a grown woman, Meg, so I’m not sure how to handle this,” said Aunt Catherine. “She won’t return calls from your dad and she’s stopped seeing her counselor again.”
I heard the anxiety in my aunt’s voice and I felt so guilty that she’d been forced into the role of caretaker. She’s got two small children of her own, a job, and a husband with the brutal work schedule of a neurosurgeon.
“Aunt Catherine, we can come. We can fly out tomorrow and help you. I think it’s wrong that we’re putting you through this.”
“No, Meg. The thing is she’s made it clear in no uncertain terms that she can’t be in the same breathing space as your dad right now, although for the life of me, I cannot understand that. Jack Kavanagh is the sweetest man on the earth, and he’s done nothing to deserve this. He’s always put her first in everything. I know this hurts, but honestly, she’s not in any shape to see you either. Let’s give it a couple more weeks. Maybe things will improve by Christmas and you can stay here while you’re out of school. The girls would love to see you.”
I thought about this for half a second, remembering how difficult last Christmas had been for all of us. In fact, we didn’t celebrate. We didn’t acknowledge it at all. And no one blamed us. I can’t imagine this Christmas will be any better because, this year, we’re separated by so many miles. I’ve never been without my mom during the holidays, and my feelings about this were really conflicted. I’m angry, but I miss her. I suddenly felt sick and wondered how many years it would take until this time of the year felt better than something that must be tolerated.
“We’ll come for Christmas, Aunt Catherine,” I said sounding stronger than I felt. “Tell the girls to get ready to be tickled.”
“Okay, Meg. Hey, are you all right? I know you have to be tougher than you want to be. This is an untenable situation and I want you to be prepared for what you might be facing. I worry sometimes that your mom is behaving more and more like Leslie every day. If she continues to refuse help, we’re going to have to do something drastic. You understand that, don’t you?”
The mention of their sister’s name made my heart pound and I felt dizzy. She’d been on my mind a lot lately. How could she have killed herself with her own baby girl toddling around her? I’d wondered if my mom could ever feel so desperate.
Aunt Catherine sensed that she’d gone too far. It happens with us a lot. She’s younger than my mom, only twelve years older than me, and sometimes she forgets herself and shares a little too much with me.
“Meg, I didn’t mean that. She’s not like Leslie. She’s just grieving the loss of a child, and that’s nothing to belittle or pigeonhole or compare. You keep your head in your books and work hard and get yourself ready for a nice life. It’s not your job to ignore your own life for your mother. The sad thing is it wouldn’t do her any good right now, anyway. She wouldn’t even notice.”
“Yeah, it’s not fair, is it, for any of us?” I whispered.
“Meg, this is about mental illness, and there’s nothing fair about it,” Aunt Catherine answered.
“Well, please tell her that I love her and that Dad, well, he’s just really lonely for her. Tell her that he’s reading her books that were by the bed, and he’s sleeping with a picture of her on her pillow. Can you believe that? Sounds like a sappy screenplay. He’s truly sleeping with her picture. Although he doesn’t think I know that, so maybe you shouldn’t tell her.”
“That Jack,” she said, and I heard her fighting tears. “He’s always been so crazy about her. When she brought him home the first time, he followed her around like a big old bodyguard, protecting her and doing everything for her. God forbid, Adele might have to lift a finger to do something for herself. No, Jack Kavanagh was put on this earth to treat her like a princess. And, bless his heart, when I started looking for a husband, I set the bar Jack Kavanagh high. She must be suffering mightily if she can’t see how much he loves her. He sure doesn’t deserve the treatment he’s getting right now.”
“We’ll be there for Christmas, Aunt Catherine. We’ll take it from there.”
She took a deep breath and I heard her blow it out slowly like a Yoga breath. “Okay, Meg. Email me your itinerary and we’ll be there to get you. It’ll be good to see your sweet face.”
We hung up and I felt the crushing pain that still threatened my very existence sometimes. I lay down on the floor and tried deep breathing until my heart stopped pounding and my chest stopped aching. I used the relaxation methods that Robin taught me. I lay perfectly still and pretended I was on an escalator, moving slowly downward, going somewhere I really love to be. It never reached the place, which for me was on a horse with Henry sometimes, and sometimes it was on the beach with Wyatt, but the anticipation was supposed to clear your head and leave you with an expectation of happiness. When you’re suffering, you can’t usually feel an expectation of anything but sadness, pain, fear, anxiety. I believe the word for that is hopeless. I’ve learned this year that people aren’t long for this world if they can’t muster any hope at all.
When I felt calm enough, I forced down a bowl of cereal and then took a hot bubble bath in our ancient claw foot tub. Finally, I allowed myself to sleep and, wonder of wonders, I didn’t even dream.
When I woke, my head was pounding. It was ten-thirty in the morning. I hadn’t slept past seven in months. I stayed in bed for a minute listening to Dad rummage around in the kitchen. What was he doing home? Then it dawned on me—today was Thanksgiving. Well, happy freaking Thanksgiving.
I pulled on a sweatshirt and went into the kitchen. Dad smiled when I came in and folded me into a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”
That was all it took to get the tears flowing for me. We couldn’t even fake the holiday feeling so we just stood and held each other in our little kitchen for a while.
After ten minutes or so, he spoke softly. “So, we can eat sandwiches here, or I can take you to the hotel. They’re serving an amazing buffet today and people—get this—have driven in from all over the state to eat it at thirty dollars a plate.”
If I read his voice right, I thought he would prefer the latter. It would let him keep an eye on things and rub elbows with people. As much as I would like to eat a sandwich and stay in sweats all day, I should do this for him.
“Let’s go to the hotel. I think it’ll be fun and it’ll be nice to have turkey without having to deal with leftovers.”
He released the breath that he’d been holding and smiled. “Okay. Get dressed and we’ll drive over.”
We dressed up, put on brave faces and headed to the hotel. While we were sitting at our table, one of the servers came over to tell me I had a phone call. I’d left my cell phone at home and I wondered who could’ve tracked me to the hotel—my mom or Henry. I followed him to one of the business offices and picked it up. I was actually relieved, more than relieved, thrilled, really, when I heard Henry’s voice.
“Happy Thanksgiving, beautiful. Are you having a good day? I know you’re mis
sing your mom.”
I stifled an urge to cry. His voice was like medicine.
“I miss her. I miss you. Where are you?”
“We’re at Amelia’s apartment. She and Mom and Leah are squeezed into an eight-by-four-foot kitchen trying to cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal. It’s pretty comical. Dad and I are sitting on her fuzzy, smelly, orange plaid couch with her boyfriend, watching a game on her tiny TV, and trying to ignore a trail of ants that goes from her front door to her pantry. Good times.”
I laughed quietly. “Where’d you sleep last night?”
“Mom and Dad stayed at a hotel but I stayed here with Amelia. Her roommate, Shelly, is gone so I slept in her bed—kinda weirded out by the pink satin sheets. Amelia took me to the bonfire on campus last night and that was pretty cool. And we’ll go to the game tonight.”
“Did you meet pretty college girls last night?”
He chuckled. “Meg, you are seriously cute when you’re jealous. You know you’ll always be the only girl for me. Anyway, there’s nobody prettier than you.”
“You checked, though, didn’t you, just to make sure?”
“Nope. Didn’t need to. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Let me check my calendar. Absolutely nothing. You knew that already.”
“Well, Dad promises me that we’ll leave Boulder right after lunch, and it’ll take us about five hours to get home. Can I have them drop me off at your house on our way through town?”
“Promise you will?”
“I promise. I miss you, sweetie. Know what? I’d rather be on a horse with you than sitting on an itchy orange couch any day.”
“Be safe, okay, Henry?”
“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I told him goodbye and then hung up and returned to Dad. He raised his eyebrows at me, hoping I’d been talking to Mom.
“Henry,” I said, responding to his silent question.
Glass Girl Page 15