Laura shook her head. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about that.”
April nodded. “Okay, just curious.”
Since Benjamin Waid told her a month ago about Bethany and Nola Sternson, April had put two and two together and determined that, at least on some level, this was why Laura and Bethany were no longer speaking. And while she no longer had any interest in the goings-on of anyone else’s life, the idea that Bethany Moyer had feelings for another girl had struck a chord in April. She thought about it quite often these days, not as it pertained to the girl’s life or anyone else’s, but as if the girls were made-up characters in a made-up town and she wondered what they were doing, whether they were still together.
April got up off the bed. “Thanks for the music,” she said, and bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead, which her daughter tolerated graciously.
For the rest of the summer, April took very long walks. Early in the morning, before the rest of the town had woken up, or in the haze of the late-afternoon heat, she would walk, headphones in her ears. Best, though, was at night, after the sun went down and the crickets came out, stars dotting the sky, moths gathering in the glowing halos under the streetlamps. She would walk down the empty streets, listening to the Cure.
She did not expect to run into Paul on these walks, not when she went into the all-night Sunoco to grab a bottle of water, not when a car that, for a moment, she could mistake for a green Toyota cruised slowly past her on the street. She didn’t expect it or even really hope for it, but every night, when she came back to the house and took off her sneakers and running clothes and changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she suffered a vague but palpable disappointment. It was the same disappointment she would feel, years ago in college, when she turned down an invitation to a party in favor of studying and then, sitting in her dorm hours later, regret it after it was much too late to change her mind. A sense that she was missing out on something but couldn’t say what. A sort of all-encompassing loneliness.
And as the summer dragged to its end, this feeling grew stronger, more definite, nagging her not just at night but during the day as well—when she didn’t see him at the grocery store, when she didn’t see him on the way to the bank, and even, sometimes, when she got a message on her phone and saw, as always, that it wasn’t from him. Of course, she didn’t expect him to contact her, or maybe even want him to, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed and lonely when he didn’t.
April wasn’t going to church these days, but if she had been, she knew she wouldn’t see him there, either. On the church newsletter email, she had read that they were looking to fill the position of sound person again.
It was as if Paul Frazier had disappeared, as if he’d never been quite real to begin with. She was even tempted to go to church one Sunday just to try to find out what had become of Sharon Frazier’s son—discreetly, of course. But she wouldn’t let herself stoop to that. It’s better this way, she told herself. Every day after she once again didn’t hear from him, every day that she didn’t run into him by surprise in this small town, she told herself, It’s better this way.
The Swanson house was quiet these days, with the children quite literally left to their own devices—Laura spending most of her time on her laptop and Jason on his gaming system. Other summers, April would force them to get off their electronics and drag them to the riverfront beach, the park—anywhere the sun was shining and people were out, determined to squeeze what little was left out of the summer. But this year, that was the last thing April felt like doing, so she let her children stay cooped up in their rooms if that was what they wanted. And there were hours, like now, when it felt almost as if she lived alone.
This evening was even quieter than usual, since Laura was away for the night. And as April wandered upstairs, she felt lonely for her daughter. She wished she could go to her room and annoy her, as she sometimes did, bursting into Laura’s domain in a torrent of neediness cloaked in some mundane request.
When April eased open the door of Laura’s bedroom, she found, to her disappointment but not surprise, that the room was clean and neat, with no dirty clothes for her to throw in the laundry, or empty dishes to clear away. This was probably for the best. If Laura noticed that her mother had been in her room without her permission, she’d be annoyed. Last year, for the first time, Laura had said to her, “Please don’t go through my stuff without me there.” April had at first been surprised, but soon saw it as a rite of passage for a teenage girl to express her need for privacy, and she respected her daughter’s wish—mostly.
Standing in the bedroom, April admired her daughter’s choice of posters on the walls: Kurt Cobain on one, the band Radiohead on the other, all of them staring listlessly past April with a forlorn look in their eyes.
She wondered what it meant when girls put up pictures of sad men on their walls, but she bet no teenage boy hung up pictures of girls looking similarly depressed. Marilyn Monroe—by no accounts a happy person in reality—always seemed to be having the time of her life in all the posters April had seen. And she’d be willing to bet that in the pictures of Britney Spears—or whoever was the current adolescent sex symbol, she’d stopped keeping track—they weren’t looking off into the distance like the guys on her daughter’s wall, ignoring you because of how sad they were.
Shutting the door of Laura’s room and walking back down the hall, April heard Jason’s voice. He was talking to someone in his bedroom, though she knew he was alone. Her son hardly ever talked on the phone. She knocked quietly on his door.
“Yeah?”
April opened the door and peeked inside. Jason was sitting on his bed, a video game controller in his hands, staring at the small box TV on his dresser. On his head was a pair of headphones with a mouthpiece.
“Oh, man, I just died again! I’m really sucking right now. That’s the third time already.”
Nowadays, to play with your friends, not only did you not have to go outside, you didn’t even have to be in the same house.
Jason took off the headphones and looked at her expectantly when she came in.
“Hey,” she said, smiling, “mind if come in?”
Jason looked doubtful. “Am I in trouble, or something?”
April walked into the room and perched on the end of her son’s bed. “Do you have to be in trouble for me to come into your room?”
“I guess not.”
“Whatcha doing? Shooting some people?”
“Yeah …”
“Okay, sorry.” April moved to stand up. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, it’s okay,” Jason said quickly. “You can stay.”
She sat for a moment and watched the TV screen. Jason was firing a machine gun with abandon. She wondered whether he would run out of bullets or whatever it was called for that kind of gun. Rounds?
“Excited to go back to school?” she asked after a while.
“Not really,” said Jason. They both gave weak chuckles.
A second later, the screen image exploded in blood, and he said, “Mom, why don’t we go to church anymore?”
April supposed she should have anticipated this question sooner or later. You couldn’t bring your kids to church every Sunday of their lives, suddenly stop going for no apparent reason, and not expect some confusion. She should have been ready with an answer. “Well, we haven’t stopped going, we just haven’t gone for a while. I needed a break after VBS and before the school year. Some breathing time.”
“Yeah, but it’s been over a month now since the last time we went to church.”
“Does it bother you that we haven’t been going?” April asked, looking at her son.
He kept his eyes on the screen and shook his head. “No, not really. It’s just a little weird, that’s all.”
Of her two children, Laura was the one usually up and ready for church early on S
unday mornings, while many times April would have to come into Jason’s room and shake him repeatedly to get him out of bed. Once, she had even poured a glass of ice-cold water on his sleeping face, although that had mostly been for comic effect. But now she had to wonder whether not getting rousted out of bed anymore was secretly disconcerting for him.
His next question underscored the thought. “But you’re still, like, a Christian, right?”
“Um, I …” But before April could continue, she heard the doorbell ringing. She gave her son a pat on the shoulder and said, “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
He nodded, feigning indifference and concentrating on his game, and April went downstairs to get the door.
It was Pastor Eric.
For a fleeting moment, she didn’t even recognize him. Not that he was outwardly disheveled. His hair wasn’t messy; his shoes weren’t untied; he wasn’t unshaven or wearing a mismatching outfit. But there was something in his face, in his eyes, that April had never seen in this man before: a look of worry, almost of desperation, that was fierce and uncontained.
The next instant, April collected herself. “Pastor Eric, how are you?”
Eric did his best to smile and said almost calmly, “April, hello. I’m okay. Listen, I’m really sorry to come over here like this, without calling, but I was wondering if I could come in for a minute.”
“Of course. Come in.” April opened the door wide and stepped aside.
“Backsliding”—that was the term used at New Life for members of the congregation who stopped coming to church for one reason or another. You were backsliding. She guessed she also should have expected this—if she stopped coming to church for an extended time, eventually her pastor would come over to find out what was wrong.
“Can I get you anything?” April asked, standing in the kitchen and offering Eric a seat at the table, feeling both nervous and irritated. “Water? Or I have iced tea.”
Eric shook his head. “No, thanks. Listen, April, this is going to sound strange and out of the blue, but I have a very big favor to ask of you.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened to Bethany by now.”
“No, I haven’t.” April felt a cold lump in her stomach. “What happened? Is she okay?”
Eric looked at her doubtfully. “Physically she’s fine. It’s okay if you know, April. I mean, I know word got around. And Laura’s her closest friend, so it would make sense that you would know.”
“Pastor Eric,” she said, “I honestly don’t know a thing.” But now it was becoming clear where this was going. It was becoming clear that this must have something to do with what Benjamin had told her at camp—which she had not mentioned to anyone.
“We’ve discovered—Linda and I—that Bethany has been having a … physical relationship with another girl. Nola Sternson, actually. We don’t know exactly how long it’s been going on or how … far they’ve gone. It’s been difficult talking to Bethany, and Linda and I—we’re really at a loss.” Eric’s eyes filled with tears, and he put a hand to his eyes and pressed hard.
April came to the table and sat beside him, but she had no idea what to say. I’m sorry? It’ll be okay? There, there? She had never been in a situation like this and had no basis for comparison. But she was suddenly reminded of a time, ages ago, when her marriage was quickly crumbling and she had gone to Eric to ask what to do. He had been so cool and calming. How things had changed.
“I’m sorry,” Eric said, letting out a long breath and removing his fingers from his eyes after somehow magically pressing the tears back into their ducts. “It’s just been really bad for us this week. Linda told a friend in confidence a few days ago, and I guess word got around the church. Apparently, that sermon on gossiping a few months back didn’t really take.” He forced a laugh, and April gave a faint smile. “Anyway, I was sure you must have heard by now.”
“I haven’t been to church in a few weeks,” April said, “and Laura and Bethany haven’t been hanging out for a while now.”
Eric nodded. He didn’t remark on April’s absence from church of late. The only thing that concerned him now was his daughter. “Yeah, I wonder if Laura found out, and that’s why she …” He looked at April. “Bethany did tell us Nola was the first girl she’d ever … been like that with. So you don’t have to worry that anything happened with Laura.”
April couldn’t think of anything to say. This whole conversation was strange, but now Eric was acting as if his daughter had a virus or something and was assuring April that her own daughter hadn’t caught it. Before, she had only felt pity for the man, but now she wasn’t sure what to feel.
Eric didn’t seem to notice the confused look she was giving him, though. “A few nights ago,” he said, “we thought we might do better—talking to Bethany, I mean—if we went away somewhere. So we could really talk. We decided to drive upstate to Linda’s parents’ cabin on Lake Ontario—I don’t know, we thought a change of scenery might help Bethany open up to us, get some perspective. I guess it was just wishful thinking. Things got even worse there. Linda and Bethany really went at it. They were screaming at each other. Linda even began to throw things—books, dishes. I’ve never seen my wife act like that before. And she was saying things. At one point, she said she thought Bethany had a demon inside her.” Eric shook his head and picked up the saltshaker from the table, looked at it as if he didn’t know what it was, then put it back down. “I don’t know anymore. But I came here to ask you if you would come over and try to talk to Bethany.”
April started. “Me?”
“She’s in her room now. She won’t come out. She won’t talk to her mother or me. I’m really worried. At one point, at the lake, she talked about … doing something to herself.” He hesitated at April’s confused look. “Suicide,” he finally said, and then shook his head violently as if to get rid of the thought and, thus, the possibility. He looked at April. “Bethany always liked you, April. I don’t think there’s any adult in the church she respects more. And I thought if anyone could get through to her right now, it would be you.”
“I don’t know what I’d say to her. What you would want me to say.”
He looked at her desperately. “I just need her to talk to someone. I can’t let this get any worse than it already is. Please, just try.”
They took Pastor Eric’s car, and now that April had agreed to try, now that they were moving, his mood had changed. His desperation had morphed into a crazed and hopeful energy. As they drove through the town, and the clouds broke up to reveal a golden sky softening in twilight, Eric talked almost nonstop, every now and then glancing at April in the passenger seat for signs of agreement.
“I think she’s really confused; that’s what I think. I know, I know Bethany isn’t that way, deep down. She’s a girl who’s going to grow up to do great things for the Lord—everyone can see that. It’s just that, well, I think for girls it can be difficult to separate the emotional from the physical. Especially at her age, with all the hormones and the changes going on, I think it would be easy to get confused about it. You have this new friend, who you were trying to witness to, and you’re sort of enamored with her. At that age, it would be easy to mistake that for love. I mean, it is love, even maybe, just not the sort of love Bethany thinks it is. With men, it’s a little more cut-and-dried, but girls can get confused. Don’t you think?”
“I … uh …” April shook her head. She was aware that the man beside her was rattling off some pretty insulting speculations, but she would have to go home and clear her head before she could properly take offense. “Did Bethany tell you she loves Nola?”
Eric nodded. “That’s one of the only things she will tell us. Linda hasn’t been helping, to be completely honest. This is very hard for her. I keep telling her we need to be patient, we need to show Christ’s love here. That’s the only way she’ll respond
. But Linda, well, she’s just having a really hard time. She was the one who found them together. She opened Bethany’s door without knocking, and there they were, on the bed, kissing. It was hard to see. I think deep down, Linda’s blaming herself. I mean, I can’t help thinking, how did I not see this coming at all? I’ve been so focused on the church, on my job, that I forgot about what’s most important: my daughter, my family. If this has been going on for so long—at least, Bethany feeling this way—how did I not pick up on it?”
“It’s not always easy to tell how your kids are feeling,” April said, feeling for the first time that she had a useful tidbit of experience to offer. “They have ways of throwing us off the scent.” She felt true compassion for the man beside her in the car. She had never seen him this way—so vulnerable, so desperate. Even at funerals, even in the wake of a national tragedy like when the World Trade Center collapsed, she had never seen him look like this. And yes, that might say something horrible about the man, but in a bizarre way, it also said something about how much he loved his daughter—whoever he thought she was.
“I’m just scared,” Eric said when they had pulled up in front of his house and he turned off the car. “I’m scared that if we don’t get her back now, I’ll lose her forever.”
Again the tears welled up in his eyes, and this time he couldn’t hold them back. He began to cry, shaking silently there in the driver’s seat. April still didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She just put her hand on his shoulder and left it there.
Eventually, Eric wiped his eyes. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go inside.”
LAURA
“Abortion stops a beating heart! Abortion stops a beating heart!”
This was the chant decided upon—I’m not exactly sure how, since I didn’t hear or see any of us discuss it. It was as if everyone had known ahead of time. Apparently, I’d missed the memo.
Another Life Page 29