by Cindy Maddox
“No, it’s all taken care of,” Mish assured her. “We’re ready to go. I’ll have you back home by bedtime.”
“Oh, speaking of home, somebody has been calling you.” She handed the phone over to Mish.
Mish looked at the number. “What in tarnation?”
“You don’t recognize the number?”
“No, I do,” Mish corrected. “It’s my son’s cell phone number. I just don’t know how he got mine.”
Juliann was confused. She knew Mish and her son weren’t really close, but she didn’t think they were estranged or anything. “You haven’t given him your phone number?”
Mish shook her head. “Livie must’ve. She’s the only one I gave it to. Well, he’s waited this long. He’ll wait a few more minutes.” She put her arm through Juliann’s. “If you don’t need anything else, let’s get going. Can you set my phone to talk through the car so I don’t have to waste time talking to him? I’d rather hit the road.”
“Sure, I can connect your phone via Bluetooth but then I’ll hear the whole conversation. It won’t be private.”
“Oh, hon, I don’t care about that. I can’t imagine he wants to say anything you can’t hear.”
Juliann wasn’t so sure about that, but when she got in the car, she did as Mish requested. Then she put her home address into the map app so she could navigate. She’d keep an eye on the map while Mish spoke with her son.
Mish pulled out of the parking lot, and Juliann guided her back to the interstate. “I guess I’ve put it off long enough. Go ahead and call my son.”
Juliann tapped on his number and made sure it was going through the car’s speakers. He answered on the first ring.
“Mother?”
“Well hello there, Bobby. How are you today?”
“Where the hell are you?” he demanded.
His tone of voice made Juliann shiver.
“Excuse me?”
Juliann heard the reprimand in Mish’s voice, but apparently her son had not.
“I said, where the hell are you? You leave town without telling a single soul, you get pulled over by the police—who you lied to, by the way—and now you call like nothing’s wrong?”
“Well, there ain’t nothing wrong. Except for you yelling at your mother, of course. There’s something seriously wrong with that!” Mish’s knuckles were starting to turn white on the steering wheel.
“Oh, but there’s nothing wrong with you disappearing with God knows who, leaving your whole family worried sick. Don’t you think you should have told us? You’re eighty years old, for Christ’s sake!”
“Actually, I am eighty-two years old. And the last I checked, that means I am a full grown adult. I can go where I want, when I want, with whoever I want. You don’t get a say in that. You’re not the boss of me, Bobby.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” he muttered. “So who are you with?”
“I ran off to Vegas with my new beau. Good-looking guy, still has all his own teeth. I like that in a man. We got married by Elvis in the all-night wedding chapel and now we’re on our honeymoon. That’s why I didn’t answer the phone. We were busy having—”
“Mother, you were pulled over by the police in Maryland. You have a girl with you that you claimed was your granddaughter, but Olivia is still in school in Florida. Who the hell are you with? Is it this Ann person?”
They heard some rustling and suddenly a female voice came through the speakers. “Mom, are you safe? Did you get kidnapped? Just say ‘yes’ if you’re in danger. Or—or—say something that will assure me that it’s you and you’re safe.”
“Oh, bless your heart, Claudia honey, but sometimes you are crazy as bat shit.”
“That’s her,” Bob said. “Now give me back the phone. Mother, I want to know where you are and who you’re with and when you’re coming home.”
“Where am I? I’m in the state of ‘none of your business,’ and I’m with half a mind to knock you three ways from Sunday, and I’m coming home when I’m damn good and ready. In the meantime, you better change your tone because I will not be spoken to like a child. That’s one lesson you learned from your daddy that you better unlearn mighty quick. Now hang up the phone.”
It took Juliann a couple of seconds to realize what Mish had said. “Hang up?” she asked.
“Yes, hang up the phone. I’m done talking to my son.”
“Mother, hold—”
The line went dead as Juliann pushed the button. She turned wide eyes to Mish. “Wow,” was all she said.
“Wow,” Mish repeated as she took a deep breath.
“I am so sorry. I got you into this mess and now you’re in trouble with your son.”
“I am not in trouble with my son,” she corrected. “My son is in trouble with me. This ain’t your fault so don’t go blaming yourself for the fact that my son is being a jackass. Promise?”
Juliann nodded, but she didn’t mean it. Mish could deny it all she wanted, but if it weren’t for Juliann, Mish would be safe at home crocheting, not driving to DC to help a teenager get an abortion. If this incident caused a rift in Mish’s family, it was another thing Juliann would have to try to forgive herself for. She would add it to the list.
13.
Jeff stood at the large picture window in his living room, staring at the golden leaves against the bright blue afternoon sky. A Carolina blue sky was how he always thought of it, which probably wouldn’t please all his West Virginia parishioners. Glorious fall weather always reminded him of his college days in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
Home. The word came to him out of nowhere and surprised him with its intensity. It was true that North Carolina was home to him, the place he’d longed for all his life. With his dad being a Methodist minister, they’d moved so often that he’d never had time to put down roots. Or maybe he had time, but after the first two, he didn’t have the heart to try again. He knew it would all be ripped away with the next assignment, their family at the whim of the district supervisor who ordered the moves. But North Carolina was his. It had been his choice to go there for college, and his choice to stay until he went to seminary. Asheville was the closest to a hometown he’d ever known.
But last time he visited, it felt different. Favorite restaurants had disappeared and new ones took their place. Microbreweries were as plentiful as vegetarian restaurants had once been. Asheville had lost some of its funk. He left and the place had moved on without him. Just like the people. And now every time he thought of his once-beloved town, he couldn’t help but hear in his mind the old Olivia Newton John song, “Home Ain’t Home Anymore.”
And West Virginia wasn’t home either. He wondered if it ever would be. He didn’t know how long he’d stay here or where he’d go next. Sometimes he envied people who were rooted in one place. Maybe he was bound to be rootless. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He heard movement behind him and then felt arms around his waist. “What are you thinking about?”
Jeff gave a noncommittal shrug. “Home.”
“Geographically or metaphorically?” Stephen queried.
“Both, I guess.” He turned in his partner’s arms. “Do you ever miss it?”
Stephen tilted his head. “Home? Oh, you mean Connecticut. Sure, I miss my parents. I miss the familiar, driving by places where I have childhood memories. But that’s just my hometown. It’s not my home.”
“Then where’s home?” Jeff asked. “Is West Virginia home?”
“It is for now.”
“How do you do that? After growing up in one place, how do you make some place you’ve only lived a few years ‘home’?”
“Because home isn’t a place. It’s a state of being.”
Jeff nodded. “You mean because we have each other.”
“Yes, and no,” Stephen hedged. “I mean, yes, abs
olutely, home is with you. As long as we’re together, in many ways I’m home. But that’s not actually what I meant. I meant that if you’re comfortable in your own spirit, if you’re at home in your own body and soul, then you carry home within you. Then you can be at home wherever you go.”
Jeff stepped out of the embrace and plopped down onto the sofa. He let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think my parishioners know?”
“Know what?” Stephen asked as he sat down at the other end of the sofa.
“That you’re more spiritual than I am. For all the talk about the ‘spiritual but not religious’ crowd outside the church, I’m afraid I represent the ‘religious but not spiritual’ contingent. I’m just the professional. You’re the one with all the heart.”
“I don’t believe that’s true. You have lots of heart. Your head just gets in the way sometimes. Take today, for example. What you did today was the perfect example of your heart. You dropped everything on your day off—when you’re in a bit of a crisis yourself—because one of your people was in trouble.”
Jeff waved away the comment. “Anybody would have done the same.”
“I don’t think that’s true either, but I’ll stop arguing with you. So do you want to talk about what happened today? You were pretty quiet on the ride home.”
“I don’t have much to say,” Jeff said with a shrug. “I just have questions.”
“Okay, then let’s hear the questions.” He nudged Jeff playfully with his foot. “If I’m not being too pushy.”
“All right, here goes.” Jeff began ticking them off on his fingers. “For starters, who is this Ann person? Is that who Mish is with? Why is Mish willing to give her twenty-five thousand dollars? Where did Mish even get twenty-five thousand dollars? How did some woman at a diner convince Mish that she was Jesus? How is she getting sent on these “missions”? What’s going to happen now that Mish’s son knows about her delusion?”
“Delusion?” Stephen interrupted. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. Thinking you’re getting direct messages from God is pretty much the definition of delusional.”
“Hmm.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jeff asked.
“What is what supposed to mean?” Stephen replied. “All I said was ‘hmm.’”
“Yeah, well, your ‘hmm’ always means something.”
“I just thought that was an interesting statement coming from a minister.”
“Just because I’m a minister, I’m supposed to believe that Jesus came back as a woman who frequents the Bluebird Diner and that my parishioner is getting text messages from God?”
“I didn’t say that,” Stephen said. “I just find it interesting that you don’t believe in divine revelation. I thought that was kind of a job requirement.”
“Well, when you put it like that, of course I believe in divine revelation. Of a sort. But that doesn’t mean I have to believe Mish.”
“So God wouldn’t speak to Mish?”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words all around.”
“I’m just trying to understand how you can believe that God inspires your sermons but doesn’t inspire Mish’s actions.”
“I never said God inspired my sermons.” Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. He did not like the way this conversation was going. They weren’t completely back to solid footing after their argument this morning, and now here was another one.
“Of course you have,” Stephen said. “I’ve heard you say repeatedly, when someone thanked you for a sermon, that it wasn’t from you, that it was from God.”
“That’s just something preachers say…”
“So you don’t actually believe it? Why would you say it if you don’t mean it?”
Jeff let out a loud huff. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t want to seem arrogant, so I just—I just say something to deflect the compliment.”
“Do you seriously not believe God inspires your sermons?” Stephen asked.
“Well, they haven’t been very inspired lately, so I can’t say God is doing much of the work,” he grumbled.
Stephen reached out and took his hand. “Oh, honey, do you honestly believe you are doing this job—that you can do this job—on your own? It’s no wonder you’re stressed.”
Jeff pulled his hand out of Stephen’s. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He stood abruptly and grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Do you want—”
“No,” he answered and shut the door behind him, a little louder than he intended. He headed left and down the hill, away from the church. He just felt so amped up, on edge. Some space, even from his spouse, would do him good.
All right, maybe especially from his spouse. Stephen was just so damn sure of everything. He had this “everything happens for a reason” philosophy that drove Jeff absolutely crazy. He also believed that “the universe” gives you what you need to grow, and all kinds of other stuff Jeff used to dismiss as new age nonsense. Because of Stephen he gave these ways of thinking more credence than he used to, but honestly, sometimes it just got annoying.
A short beep from a passing car interrupted his thoughts, and he automatically smiled and waved even though he had no idea who it was. Sometimes he hated living and working in the same neighborhood. The fishbowl existence was particularly tiresome on days like this.
It was just one of the things he disliked about the ministry. Some days he longed to have a normal job—the kind of job you could go to and leave at the end of the day, and not have to be nice to people in the grocery store because you never know if they know who you are and might judge your church because you got impatient with the incompetent cashier. Was this really how he wanted to spend his life?
People always ask ministers about their “call.” When did you get your call? How did you know you were called? Blah blah blah. He usually gave the socially acceptable and not untruthful version of the answer: that it was a gradual dawning, a growing awareness rather than a mountaintop experience. But the whole truth was that he had simply followed the path of least resistance. He majored in comparative religion because it interested him, and then what do you do after that but fulfill everybody’s expectations and go to seminary? Now he was thirty-two years old and stuck in a career he wasn’t sure fit him. But there weren’t a lot of career alternatives for someone with a Master of Divinity degree and a Certificate in Prophetic Preaching.
Can we stop with the existential questions for today? Between his parents and Mish, there were plenty of other topics for consideration. He let the thoughts of his dad go so that he could focus on Mish. He had shared some of his questions with Stephen, but there were so many more. Each one was rooted in the original mystery. Mish had received a text from someone she believed was Jesus, and who she claims she met at the diner. She mentioned one other encounter—his name was Ethan, Jeff remembered—and now it seemed clear that there was at least one more, this person who might or might not be named Ann. Who had lured Mish to the diner? What had they hoped to accomplish by doing so? This woman claiming to be Jesus—had she asked Mish for money? What angle was she playing?
It all came down to the phone. He just wished he could get his hands on that phone. If he searched through her text messages, he could figure out who was writing to her, maybe track them down. Clearly the police weren’t interested, and so far he didn’t have proof of any crime. He’d have to come up with some excuse to see Mish’s phone. Maybe if he asked to borrow it…
And maybe I’m considering a huge invasion of privacy against a dear old woman I love! The thought brought him to a complete stop. What the hell was wrong with him? Being worried about her, being protective of her even, was one thing. But tricking her into sharing private information? To assume he was—what?—her rescu
er or something? Why was he trying to micromanage her life? Maybe because I can’t manage my own?
This second thought took his breath away, but before he could begin to process it, a car pulled up beside him—a big gold sedan with the window down. He tried to plaster a smile on his face and ducked his head so he could see the driver. “Good afternoon, Ruth,” he called. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“I need to talk with you about that sermon of yours yesterday,” Ruth said. Her voice told him she wasn’t pleased.
“I’ll be happy to set an appointment to meet with you,” he said, with his practiced pastor’s smile. “Just call the office tomorrow and I’ll find a time.”
“I have time right now. You can get in the car and I’ll drive us back to the church.”
“Sorry, Ruth, but I don’t have time right now. Please call the office tomorrow,” he said in what he hoped was a polite but firm voice.
“Your walk is more important than my concerns about the future of this church?” Ruth demanded.
“No, but my day off takes priority over your desire to complain.” He stood up straight and marched away. The car sped past him, swerving a little as it rounded the bend. He started jogging, then picked up his pace and broke into a run. He hadn’t run for two years and he knew he would pay for it later. Then again, he was going to pay for that comment later, too, so what was the difference? Both rash decisions were going to leave him hurting.
***
Juliann’s cover story had continued to work. Hailey had texted Juliann’s mom for her, saying she was staying late to tutor, then would hitch a ride to dance lessons. Meanwhile, she had already told her dance instructor that she would be out today, so there would be no repeat of the mistake she’d made with the school secretary. All she had to do was send another text later to explain why she wasn’t coming home from dance class on time, and that would cover her until they got home. Boy, she’d be glad when all this lying was over. Besides, these cramps were really kicking her ass.
