by Kristy Tate
Pastor Parks, a man about Ethan’s age who had taken over the congregation a couple of years ago began his address.
“Although I speak in tongues
Of men and angels
I’m just sounding brass
And tinkling cymbals without love.*
“Paul is telling us that without love, we are nothing. Love is what keeps the world going around. In its purest form, it’s what makes a mother soothe a crying child, it drives a man to provide for his family, it’s what makes doing a million hard things possible. We show our love for those around us by the sacrifices we’re willing to make because we love.
Love comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. It isn’t limited by time or distances. It transcends our mortal understandings and can only be altered and diminished in our minds and hearts. Remembering is loving. As long as we can remember, we can love. And maybe even after our minds and memories fade, love is still there.”
Pastor Parks went on to tell the story of an elderly couple who cared for each other for decades. When the woman grew too weak to lift her head, her husband would place his finger beneath her chin and lift her gaze to meet his. Even though the woman had long lost the gift of speech, she would always smile when their eyes met.
Ethan tried to muster the anger he used to feel when he thought of Allison’s death, but somehow that rage had been replaced with a peace he couldn’t describe. What had crept in to take its place? Acceptance? True, he had thought that they would grow old together. Just like he had thought he’d always be able to paint. But things change. They always do.
Pastor Parks interrupted his thoughts. He was quoting the words of another hymn.
“Change and decay in all around I see,
Oh thou who changest not, abide with me.”*
Change. Hannah would grow up and leave home. He would still love her even though she would no longer be in the room down the hall. Could the same thing be said of Allison? She was no longer sharing his life...but was she?
He thought of all the times he’d catch snatches of her perfume, the times he’d suddenly remember something funny she had said or done. Could she be nearby?
It occurred to him that he was lucky. He still loved her after all these years. He liked to believe that she still loved him. How many couples could say the same? His gaze slid to his parents.
They’d also been lucky. Four years ago, they’d celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. But many of their friends had divorced or been widowed. Of the two, which was the saddest? Is it sadder to have a love physically die, or emotionally die? To be separated by death? Or by indifference? Or maybe even disdain?
Hannah elbowed him and he pulled himself from his thoughts and tried to focus on the hymn. As he sang, the word took on a deeper meaning.
“Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.”
*Abide With Me, Henry Lyte
ZOE SAT ON THE PEW between Laurel and Courtney trying to focus on the pastor’s sermon. He piqued her interest when he referred to the parable of the lost coin.
“The widow lit a candle, which gave light, and swept every corner to find the lost coin. And when she found it, she called her friends and her neighbors together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found that which I had lost.
This story tells us we have to take action, light up the darkness, and sweep until a treasured possession or lost soul is found and returned to a rejoicing home.”
A thrill passed through Zoe. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? That the Sunday after losing her coins, the pastor would choose to deliver a sermon on the lost coins?
This parable had never meant very much to Zoe before. In fact, she had always thought the woman’s reaction to finding a lost coin was over the top. And yet, now it struck her with force. She, like the woman, had spent hours scouring her house in search of her lost coins. And yes, they were just coins, but they represented so much more.
They were a connection to a family and a heritage, something of which she had so little. Yes, she had Laurel, Courtney, Grandma Lillian, and sometimes Mom, but the coins embodied those people who had not only come before her, but by purchasing something of worth and saving it for her, had demonstrated their care and consideration for her and her future children.
Zoe, battling tears, excused herself. Exiting the crowded chapel mid-sermon, she felt questioning stares on her back. She tripped through the parking lot and passed through the wrought-iron gates that led to the cemetery. Within moments, she found herself beside her grandfather’s grave.
She had never known the man. It then struck her that her family was more a matriarchy than anything else. Men had to have come and gone, otherwise Zoe, Courtney, and Laurel would never have existed. But the men had never stayed.
And neither her grandmother nor her mom had ever seemed bothered by this. Not that she could blame her grandfather for dying in the Korean War. But what about her father? What was his story? Had he been a one-night stand? She found this possibility painful, almost as painful as the thought that her father might have known about her and still chose not to have anything to do with her.
If she wanted children, should she consider artificial insemination? Lots of women her age chose to have children without having a husband. Was that something she wanted?
Ethan flashed in her mind. She imagined him sitting on a pew beside Hannah. She could see herself sitting beside him. Fast forward, and she saw him standing beside an altar, a grown Hannah dressed in white standing between him and a young man in a tuxedo, a pastor in front of them.
Did she want to be a part of that picture?
Did she even have a choice? Before Ethan had left for Washington, he’d been unkind, cold...she didn’t need that.
She didn’t need him. He was, she decided, like the bread in a French toast recipe. Without him, her life would be an omelet—lovely and complete in its own way. But if she wanted French toast—a fuller, richer, more satisfying life—she would have to find the bread. And, to take the analogy a step or two further, the bread didn’t even have to be perfect. In fact, if the bread were slightly stale, that would be even better.
She, herself, wasn’t perfect, either, of course. She couldn’t expect Ethan to be more than she could give. But maybe together, they could create something luscious.
But was he even interested?
Zoe sank down on the grass before her grandfather’s headstone. “I lost the coins,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to, but I did anyway.”
A slight breeze blew through the graveyard, rustling the leaves in the trees. In most parts of the Northern Hemisphere, trees were barren in November, but not here.
In Southern California, the trees were often confused. The perpetual sunshine encouraged year-round foliage. People lived and died, but the trees didn’t have to be dormant. Not ever. Not here. Zoe sat back on her heels, thinking of families. She loved her band of women. They didn’t need men.
Her gaze landed on a sign attached to the stone wall surrounding the cemetery, where a poem had been inscribed.
Your tombstone stands among the rest
Neglected and alone
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marble stone
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn,
You did not know that I’d exist
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew,
That someday I would find this spot
And come to visit you.*
&
nbsp; All these people—men and women—had helped create her. True, she couldn’t see them, but that didn’t make them any less real. Could they see her now? Were they silently cheering her on? Witnessing her day-to-day decisions? Encouraging her in some way? Would she meet them on the other side?
Did the coins matter? Or had they done their job by bringing her here to this place, face to face with her own mortality?
She’d dedicated her life to baking bread. Was this really what she wanted to do? Her work brought others joy. Her bakery provided a warm, friendly shelter from the crowded sidewalk, the contentious office cubicle, the stormy sea...not that she’d seen any beleaguered sea captains lately, but still. Her work might not win awards, or change lives, or cure diseases, but it did make people happy.
She didn’t have to pass down coins to her posterity—should she ever have any—but she could hand down recipes. In fact, she could give recipes to anyone. Weren’t they all children of God?
Zoe stood, brushed off her skirt, and headed for the chapel. She spotted her sister, Grandma Lillian, and Laurel standing on the steps, looking for her. She greeted them with a wave.
“Where were you?” Laurel asked.
“Just planning out my cookbook,” Zoe said.
“What cookbook?” Courtney asked.
“The one I’m going to write.”
“What sort of stuff are you going to have in your cookbook?” Laurel asked.
“I haven’t given it too much thought, yet,” Zoe said, “But I know I want omelets for sure and maybe French toast.”
“A breakfast book?” Laurel asked.
“And lunch and dinner and lots of snacks in between,” Zoe told her.
CHAPTER 9
The next Monday at school, Ethan spotted Courtney near the principal’s office and hurried to catch up with her. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
She blinked at him and flicked his tie with her finger. “I forgot you worked here.”
“So, we’ve established why I’m here, but what about you?”
Courtney sighed. “I’m looking for something I’m afraid my daughter lost.”
“Daughters.” He made a face. “They can be a problem.”
“Especially those pesky preteens.”
“That’s the truth,” he agreed. “What did Laurel lose? Other than Hannah’s friendship, of course.”
Courtney looked baffled. “Hannah and Laurel are friends again. Didn’t you know?”
“When did that happen? I thought they’d never recover from the Jon Frank fracas.”
“Well, last I heard, Jon is now going out with Polly Pennington, so the girls can be united in hating Polly.”
“And they’re friends? You’re sure of it?”
“Absolutely. Laurel invited Hannah over to swim in Grandma Lillian’s pool, and Hannah agreed to come. Hasn’t she asked you?”
Now that Courtney mentioned it, that morning Hannah had asked him about going swimming.
“How’s Zoe?” Ethan asked.
“She hasn’t said so, but I think she misses you.”
“I miss her, too.”
“Talk to her.”
The bell rang. “I’ve got to get to class. You didn’t mention what Laurel lost. Maybe I can look for it.”
Courtney sighed. “Coins,” she said. “Gold coins.”
Ethan froze. “Tell me about these coins.”
ETHAN MET UP WITH HANNAH at the end of the day. “Hannah, where did you get those coins?”
She clicked into her seatbelt and answered with an eyeroll. “I told you.”
“I don’t want to hear that God gave them to you, because I don’t believe He came down from heaven and handed them to you. I want to know how they came to be in your pocket.”
She pressed her lips together and stared out the window. “They were on the floor under my desk,” she said after a long moment.
“At school? Just lying on the floor?”
“There was an old box there, too.”
“An old box? What sort of old box?”
“A really old and beat-up wooden box, the kind that looks like it couldn’t have anything valuable in it, but then it does.”
“I think those coins belong to Laurel. Where was she when you found the coins?”
“Remember how we got to school late that day?”
He nodded.
“So, I got there and the rest of the class was gone. Which was weird. But then I heard everyone had gone to the lunchroom to have tea, or something, with the visiting ancestors...or grandparents. And then there was the earthquake...I was feeling sad because I didn’t have any ancestors or grandparents with me, but then I found the coins. I thought it was God’s way of cheering me up.”
“We have to give them back to Zoe.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
He slid her a glance. “But I thought you didn’t want to ever see Zoe again.”
“Oh, I like her now.”
“How come? What changed?”
“Grandma told me she wants you to give me a baby sister or brother and for that to happen, you have to marry someone. I figured it might as well be Zoe, because then we can have cookies whenever we want. Besides, it would be really cool to have a brother or a sister.”
Ethan ran a finger around his collar and loosened his tie. Talking about making babies made him uncomfortable. Preteen girls, they were as fickle as pickles. Dill, sweet, bread and butter pickles—they all had to soak in a vinegary brine. Just like all girls had to go through a sour stage. He couldn't expect Hannah to be an exception. As a brother of five sisters, Ethan knew this better than most.
His darling Hannah, just like his sisters, would go through the sour pickle stage, and wouldn't it be easier to bear if he didn't have to shoulder the brunt of it on his own? Suddenly, his cold and aloof behavior toward Zoe seared him. He'd been a briny mess and Zoe, sweet Zoe, didn't even know why he'd suffered a sudden change of heart.
It wasn't too late to win her back, was it?
“Dad? Are you listening to me?” Hannah brought him back to the here and now.
“I have no idea if Zoe wants to have babies with me.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No.”
“You have to ask her.”
Hannah grabbed his arm. “But wait, it has to be good! You can’t just go up to her and ask her to make babies with you!”
“Right. What do you think I should do?”
“Something you hate! Something she knows you hate, but you’ll do it for her because you love her so much!” She gasped. “I know just the perfect thing!”
CHAPTER 10
"Are you sure about this?" Zoe asked Courtney.
"I'm positive," Courtney said.
Zoe's suspicions grew the moment she walked into the club and saw her mom and grandmother standing near the stage. Zoe had never known her mom to leave the house without her makeup expertly done. Heaven forbid anyone should see her without her cat-eye eyeliner. Courtney had inherited her mom's ironing-board build, but Mom had long ago fleshed out her figure with a boob job. Swaying to the music, she looked like a teenager, as long as you didn't catch a glimpse of the crepe on her neck.
Laurel and Hannah ducked behind the curtain.
"What are the girls doing here?" Zoe asked.
Courtney put her arm around Zoe's waist. "Special occasion. We got permission from Jose at the bar.”
"I'm not singing," Zoe insisted, lingering beneath the exit sign.
Courtney grabbed her arm and pulled her into a chair. "We'll see about that."
"There's nothing you can say or do that will make me sing," Zoe said.
Courtney gave her a secretive smile and pushed Zoe into a seat between Mom and Grandma.
The lights faded to black then slowly came on, revealing a lone man on the stage, turned away from the audience, showing off his exceptionally fine backside. As the music began, he spun around. Ethan, looking like a young Paul McCartney and dressed in tight
jeans, a white button-down shirt and skinny tie, began to sing “Can’t Buy Me Love” by the Beatles.
When it came time for the chorus, he beckoned to the audience, asking them to join in.
Zoe stared, open-mouthed, while Ethan dropped to his knees and held out his hand. The gold coins sparkled at her.
"Can I buy your love?" Ethan asked her.
"I don't know what to say," Zoe said.
"Say yes!" Grandma yelled. "Go on, sweetie, take his hand!"
As if on cue, the music switched to "I Want to Hold Your Hand."
The audience sang about feeling happy inside while Zoe climbed onto the stage with a racing heart and a thousand burning questions.
"How? Where?" she asked.
Ethan laughed and took her in his arms. "I was thinking New Year’s Eve, because I don't want to spend another year without you."
"That's not what I meant," she said.
"I know," he said. "But it's what I want and what I hope you want, too."
He spun her around and kissed her long and deep.
She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “But where did you find the coins?”
“Hannah found them. She said that God had given them to her. At first, I didn’t believe her.”
“But now you do?”
“God has given me you.”
Grandma and Courtney climbed onto the stage and began to sing into the microphone about diamonds and feeling all right.
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER
On the night of the Lawrence Atelier grand opening, Ethan stood staring at the soaring ceilings and tall glass windows. Converting the cigar shop into a gallery had been relatively easy; getting rid of the tobacco smell, not so much. But Zoe had been right, his paintings—both the old and the new—looked incredible. And the fact that the atelier was right next door to the bakery so that he and Zoe could share office space and see each other as much as they wanted made the situation all the more ideal.