Ashes and Alms

by A M Leibowitz

  Ashes & Alms

  A.M. Leibowitz

  Part of

  NEVER TOO LATE

  A collection of stories featuring

  LGBTQIA characters aged 50+

  Beaten Track

  www.beatentrackpublishing.com

  Ashes & Alms

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  First published 2017 by Beaten Track Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 A.M. Leibowitz at Smashwords

  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/amleibowitz

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  ISBN: 978 1 78645 151 4

  www.beatentrackpublishing.com

  In her teens, Jo spent a summer as a missionary in Chicago. After forty years, two divorces, and a daughter who won’t speak to her, a postcard arrives in the mail. Now Jo must decide if she wants to attend a reunion. Going means seeing the woman she once loved and finding out if all they had was one summer or if there’s a chance to start over. It also means facing the other women on her team. Maybe it’s time for Jo to reconcile all her broken relationships.

  Table of Contents

  Ashes & Alms

  About A.M. Leibowitz

  By A.M. Leibowitz

  Never Too Late

  Beaten Track Publishing

  Ashes & Alms

  Jo stared at the card in her hand. It was addressed under her pre-married name, Hodges. She hadn’t yet changed it back, even after two divorces, the most recent one less than a year ago. The person had sent the card to her eighty-three-year-old mother, who had laughed and forwarded it on. Even she recognized the sheer foolishness of anyone thinking Jo wanted to be reminded of her missionary summer.

  Forty years. That was the reason for the postcard invitation. When they were still untouched by the events during their trip, she and five other girls had agreed they would meet every ten years on the anniversary to catch up on each other’s lives. Whether it was because she’d moved—and changed names—twice or because her mother had thrown out the previous invitations, Jo had never received one until now. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn her mother had burned them, though she couldn’t fathom why she would pass this one along.

  If everyone showed, all five of the others would be meeting back in the same part of Chicago where they’d spent a summer fixing houses and making Bible-themed artwork with school-aged children. Jo was the only one, as far as she knew, who still lived in their hometown. She’d stayed to get her life on track after what had happened that summer, but she’d only succeeded in creating more messes. Three of them, in fact. She supposed she was fortunate her mother had come around eventually. If only some of that would rub off on Jo’s grown-up daughter.

  Jo looked at the RSVP phone number. Of course it was Annie Tomassino. If Jo called, Annie would talk her into going. With any of the others, Jo could have politely declined, and that would’ve been the end of it. They likely only invited her because they’d agreed to, not because they wanted to see her. Jo imagined all of them as adult versions of the girls they’d been. Pretty, proper women with “hearts for the Lord.” The kind who ran their churches’ prayer chains and coordinated potluck suppers and taught Sunday school. Like Jo, they might have adult children following in their footsteps. Unlike Jo, their children probably still spoke to them, probably allowed them contact with their grandchildren.

  Then there was Annie. Jo had to admit, she was curious. Annie had been anything but sweet and demure. Jo wondered what she’d been up to since that summer. Had she changed at all? Done what Jo had, and tried to become a perfect wife and mother, only to mess it up at every turn? Maybe she was still doing missionary work. She’d been more cut out for it than the rest of them, at least in terms of her genuine care for the people they worked with.

  Jo closed her eyes and tried to picture what Annie would look like now, but she couldn’t do it. The only image which came to mind was Annie at seventeen, with her long, wild hair and her ragged jeans hugging her narrow hips. Jo thought of her tanned skin, her soft, pink mouth, and her hazel eyes which appeared to change color with her moods. She’d never been the kind of cotton-candy feminine the other girls had, but she wasn’t boyish like Jo had been, either.

  Her hand shaking, Jo picked up the phone. She held it in her palm for several minutes, letting her thoughts take a train back to her summer in the city. With every touch of her finger to the numbers, she was that much closer to hearing Annie’s voice again for the first time in almost forty years.

  ***

  After several minutes of indecision, Jo dialed the number on the postcard. She jiggled her knee while she listened to it ring.

  “Hello?” Annie’s voice was warmer than Jo remembered.

  “Is this Annie Tomassino?”

  “Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Jo swallowed before answering, trying to settle her nerves. “It’s Jo Brighton, formerly Hodges.”

  “Jo!” Annie’s mellow tones were replaced with the bright enthusiasm Jo remembered, and it made her smile in spite of the situation. “How are you these days?”

  “I’m doing all right. Yourself?” She felt oddly formal.

  “Fine, fine. You’re calling about the reunion, right?”

  “I am. I’m not sure—”

  “So you’re coming?” Annie sounded so excited that Jo pictured her bouncing on her toes.

  “Well, that’s what I’m not sure about.” Jo’s mind whirled as she tried to come up with an excuse not to go. “I haven’t been to any of the others…”

  Annie scoffed. “That’s because there weren’t any. No one organized them. But it’s been forty years, and…well, I wanted to have a go. I keep in touch with the others on social media, but I haven’t seen any of them in person for more than twenty years. I had to send the invitation to you by regular mail because I couldn’t find you. Sounds like your mom still lives in the same house, then.”

  “She does. I’m not really on those websites, so it’s good you mailed it.” In reality, she’d simply made herself harder to find. She’d wanted very little to do with her past, which included not befriending former acquaintances from her missionary days.

  Annie was quiet on the other end. After an uncomfortable several seconds, she said, “I really think you should come.”

  “I don’t know…” Jo didn’t add that she thought the others might not even want to see her.

  “That’s it, you’re coming.” The bounce was back. “Everyone will be so excited when I tell them. Trust me, you’ll have a great time catching up with them. Oh, I can’t wait!”

  Jo sighed. “All right. I’ll be there.”

  “Wonderful! I’ll see you then.” Annie cleared her throat. “Maybe…maybe you and I can catch up on our own, too.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Jo ended the call and stared at her phone. She should call back, say she’d checked her calendar and had forgotten she was busy. Or she could say she didn’t have the money for the trip. Anything to keep from having to follow through on her agreement to attend the reunion. She scowled at her own thoughts. There was nothing for her to apologize about, at least, not to these women. It wasn’t as though anything she—or she and Annie—had done that summer was about them.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. They
could go ahead and judge her. She ought to show up just to defiantly tell them she would never again say she was sorry for who she was. If Annie wanted to pretend that summer hadn’t been life-changing for her, then she could do so. But Jo was tired of carrying her regret.

  That was it, then. She was going. Nothing could keep her away.

  ***

  “I got the Easter cards for the girls. Thank you.” Cindy’s voice was short, impatient, like it always was on her three-times-a-year phone calls. This particular conversation was also a month late.

  “That’s good. I hope they liked them.” It was a formality; Jo knew perfectly well that her daughter would give them the money stashed inside and pretend it was from either herself or Jo’s mother. They would never see the cards.

  “They enjoyed the gifts, yes.” She paused. “Grandma tells me you’re going on a trip next month.”

  Jo held in a sigh. She had no idea what had prompted this, nor why her mother would share the information with Cindy. Jo supposed her mother always did hold out hope they would reconcile. She claimed that if Jo told Cindy the truth, Cindy might come around. Jo, on the other hand, was certain that it would only make her dig in her heels harder. Cindy’s brand of religion assured her Jo was deeply involved in a sinful lifestyle of her own choosing, one which might corrupt Cindy’s children if they spent too much time around her. Telling Cindy that divorcing her father was nothing to do with the woman Jo lived with for over twenty years wasn’t likely to cure anything.

  “Yes,” she said at last. “I’m going to Chicago to meet up with the women from my old missionary team.”

  There was a long silence at the other end. It extended to the point Jo thought Cindy had gotten distracted and forgotten she was on the phone.

  Cindy finally spoke. “Say what?”

  “You heard me.” Jo was in no mood.

  “Yeah, I did. You were a missionary?” There was a softness in her voice Jo hadn’t heard since before Cindy was a teenager.

  “I was. Spent a whole summer in Chicago, teaching Bible studies to camp kids. Helped fix up a few houses, too.”

  “I never knew that.” Now there was an undercurrent of sadness beneath Cindy’s words. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

  “I left that world a lifetime ago.” Now Jo let out the sigh. “Would it have made a difference to you to have known?”

  “I…no, probably not.” Cindy was quiet. “Mom, um…maybe you want to tell me about it sometime.”

  Something wasn’t right, but Jo couldn’t place it. On any other day, she would have been thrilled to hear her daughter asking to talk. She wanted to ask if Cindy was okay, but she knew that would only close her off again. Learning about the mission trip had softened her somehow, and Jo wanted to keep the line open. On the other hand, talking about that summer meant finally coming clean about how Jo had ended up where she was now. It meant explaining about Annie.

  “I would like that,” she told Cindy.

  “M-maybe coffee? After you get back?”

  “It’s a plan,” Jo confirmed. “How about if you call me when you’re free?”

  “I will.” Another pause. “Thanks again for the cards, Mom.” She ended the call before Jo could respond.

  Jo set her phone down. The trip wasn’t for another month, but she thought she could wait that long to see Cindy and put the years of mutual anger and distrust behind them.

  ***

  “Coffee?” Jo’s mother offered.

  “Sure.” She needed the caffeine, even if the only option was Mom’s weak instant grounds.

  Mom set the steaming cup on the table in front of Jo, along with the cream pitcher—filled with skim milk—and the artificial sugar. Jo eyed the items and decided she’d rather drink it black.

  Sliding into a seat across from Jo, Mom said, “What did you want to talk to me about?” She reached for the milk.

  To give herself something to do, Jo stirred her coffee even though she hadn’t put anything in it. Eventually she looked up at her mother and said, “Cindy.”

  Mom’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, really? What’s she done this time?”

  “Called me. It’s not completely unexpected, since I sent her kids Easter cards weeks ago. She said you told her I was going to Chicago, and she asked me about my missionary days.”

  “Ah, I see.” Mom set her spoon next to her cup and took a sip, making Jo impatient. She wanted to tell her to hurry up and say something else, to give some indication she understood the importance. “And what did you tell her?”

  “The truth, mostly. What else?”

  “Which part of the truth?”

  Jo sighed. That was what she’d been waiting for. “The work part. Not the…other stuff.”

  Mom was quiet again, and it was clear she was weighing her words. “Have you ever told her any of it?”

  “No.” Jo stared at the liquid in her cup. “I’m not sure what difference it would have made.”

  It was Mom’s turn to sigh. “You kept it from her for ten years that you and Kristina were in a relationship before she finally caught on.”

  Mom wasn’t making an accusation, merely stating facts, but it made Jo uncomfortable anyway. By the time Jo had acknowledged Kristina was her partner, Cindy was deeply involved in her church. Forbidding her access only made her more rebellious. The moment she was free, Cindy hadn’t looked back. She wasn’t there for the wedding, and she wasn’t there when everything with Kristina went to hell.

  “Would it have mattered?”

  “Only you can answer that,” Mom said. “So, you didn’t tell her the whole story, then.”

  “No. But she wants to get together to talk.” Jo frowned. “Something’s going on, I can tell, but she didn’t give details over the phone.”

  “I can imagine she wouldn’t.” Mom grimaced.

  “You know something.” It was Jo’s turn to be accusatory, though she wasn’t feeling angry or envious. She was disappointed that her only child didn’t feel ready to confide.

  “Not much,” Mom answered. “She wouldn’t tell me either, aside from saying it’s something with her and Ron. I hope it’s not serious.”

  They sat in silence after that, sipping their terrible instant coffee. Jo wondered again how her mother survived on the stuff, allowing those thoughts to distract her from all the questions swirling around in her head. Whatever was going on with Cindy and Ron, she couldn’t imagine her daughter wanting her to be involved.

  Mom broke into Jo’s thoughts. “Are you staying for lunch?”

  “Sure, if you want me to.”

  “I do.” Mom smiled at her, and Jo was grateful at least one person in her life welcomed her as she was.

  ***

  Phil, Jo’s only remaining friend from her missionary days, was waiting for her at their favorite diner. It had been a few weeks since they’d been out for coffee, and she was looking forward to catching up. She slid into the booth beside him. The server caught her eye and came over. Once Jo had ordered black coffee and a breakfast combo, she turned her attention to Phil.

  “I’m going to Chicago next week.” She cleared her throat. “For a reunion.”

  Phil’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?” His mustache twitched with his poor attempts to conceal amusement. “How did that come about?”

  Jo stopped herself from reacting. Phil was one of the good ones; he understood better than anyone what the big deal was. He’d been there.

  “Annie sent me a postcard.” Jo let it sink in.

  With a snap, Phil closed his mouth. He said nothing. After all, what was there to say? He could tell her it was a bad idea, which she already suspected. Or he could tell her it was a good idea, which she might not believe. He had no stake in it. The three boys from their church who had been on the trip—Phil being among them—were not invited.

  Phil scratched his beard. “Okay,” he said.

  “That’s all? ‘Okay’?” Jo frowned. “Aren’t you going to give me your expert opinion on the situa
tion?”

  “No.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip just as the server brought Jo hers. He set the cup back in the saucer. “You’re an adult. You make your own decisions.”

  Jo stirred sugar and cream into her coffee. “You think I shouldn’t go.”

  “I never said any such thing.”

  “Did you keep in touch with anyone from back then?” Jo asked.

  “Here and there. I don’t know if I’d be any more welcome than you are, especially after leaving the ministry.”

  The server delivered their food, and they were quiet for a few minutes. Jo thought about what he’d said. She remembered Phil at seventeen, the way adults had described him as “gifted” and “full of holy boldness.” There’d been no question then on where he was headed. Even the other kids called him Preach.

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Jo lamented. “All their perfect lives with their perfect children and grandchildren. Happy, smiley pictures of them at their kids’ weddings and cuddling their grandbabies. Celebrating all their accomplishments. And here I am, chief among the sinners.”

  Phil laughed. “You’re hardly Saint Paul, and I doubt their lives are perfect. What makes you think they’ve lived that way anyhow? The difference between you and them is that you’re honest about who you are.”

  “I wasn’t always.” She certainly hadn’t been honest in her first marriage, not until she couldn’t keep it all inside anymore. She hadn’t been honest with Cindy, either. “Was it hard for you?” she asked.

  “Was what hard?”

  “Everything.” Jo waved her hand around. “Being honest.”

  Phil chewed a piece of bacon. “Yes and no. I was upfront with my wife about being bisexual, if that’s what you mean, and there’s never been a problem between us. Not telling the church the truth—well, that’s a mistake I wouldn’t make again. Maybe if I’d found a more open denomination, I wouldn’t have left.”

  Jo didn’t think that was entirely true, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Hiding his past relationships with men wasn’t the only part of ministry which burned him out. She’d reconnected with him at the end of his time as pastor, when any good he could’ve done was overshadowed by the constant pressure.