by Elena Graf
“You know Mainers,” the waitress said. “We’re not afraid of a little snow. Otherwise, we’d have to shut down the state for seven months.”
“Yes, I guess we would. Hard to imagine,” said Brenda, forbidding herself from glancing at Cherie as she walked ahead of Liz on her way to the table. The cool, expressionless face didn’t look in her direction either. Why does this woman hate me? Brenda wondered. What have I ever done to her?
The newcomers took their seats in the old-fashioned, tubular-metal chairs. The diner hadn’t been updated since it had opened in the 1950s. The one exception was the vinyl on the padded seats, which had been replaced because the tape holding it together was sticking to people’s pants. Otherwise, customers, especially the tourists, seemed to like the worn, slightly shabby look that suggested a place forgotten by time.
“Brenda,” said Liz with a nod.
“Liz.”
“Good morning, Chief Harrison,” said Cherie. Her southern accent made her voice sound warm even though her glacial expression said otherwise. Then she smiled, and Brenda’s heart skipped a few beats. Maybe she doesn’t hate me after all.
“I brought Cherie along because I’m putting her in charge of the high school drug program,” said Liz casually.
At the sound of her name, Cherie smiled again, a pleasant professional smile, but those gorgeous eyes stubbornly refused to meet Brenda’s.
“I don’t have time for it now that the Rotary has elected me president,” Liz continued. “I have too many things on my plate.”
“Well, that’s an understatement,” said Brenda. “President of the chamber of commerce, the Rotary…and the fish and game. Pretty soon you’ll be in charge of the whole town.”
“I don’t think so,” said Liz dismissively. “Cherie’s background in social work makes her especially well-suited for the high school program. Plus, she’s younger, so the kids won’t feel like they’re being lectured by their grandmother.”
“How old are you, Cherie?” asked Brenda. “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
“Forty-nine. Fifty in May.”
Only a couple of years younger than I am, thought Brenda. God, she would be so perfect, if only she didn’t hate me.
“Cherie has some ideas on how to do outreach to the kids. The problem is so many have access to the prescription opioids their parents use.”
“Well, if you docs weren’t so liberal with the scripts.”
“You must be thinking of someone else, Brenda. You know it’s not me or anyone in my practice.”
Liz’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” She got up and headed to the anteroom at the entrance.
Brenda turned to Cherie and smiled. Cherie returned the smile, but it was strained. She glanced out the window.
Damn! Here I have a moment alone with her, and she won’t even look at me. Brenda momentarily panicked as she tried to think of something to say.
“How do you like it in Maine?” she finally ventured.
Cherie turned and gave her a penetrating look. Then her eyes softened a little. “Except for the cold, it’s like coming home. My father talked about it so much when I was growing up, I felt like I grew up here too.”
That was the most Cherie had said to her since she’d known her. Encouraged by the response, Brenda asked, “Where did you grow up?”
“The Big Easy. New Orleans. We moved to Shreveport when I was eleven.”
“You’re a long way from home,” observed Brenda.
“Yes. A long way,” said Cherie. “How about you?”
“I’m a New Yorker. Born in Brooklyn, way out in Brooklyn, a forty-five-minute subway ride. I was a New York City cop before coming up here.”
The open interest in Cherie’s eyes suddenly shut down. “I’m not a big fan of cops.”
Brenda blinked, startled by the remark. “Why?”
“It’s a long story,” said Cherie. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Okay,” said Brenda drawing out the word. “Maybe you’ll tell me another time.”
“Maybe,” said Cherie, but she sounded doubtful.
Heart pounding, Brenda decided to go for broke. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
Cherie’s eyes sought the tabletop. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Before Cherie could answer, Liz slid back into her seat. “Sorry about that. Mrs. Johnson was having heart palpitations again.”
“She all right?” asked Cherie.
Liz nodded. “I’m starving. Where’s Lisa?” She waved vigorously at the waitress.
In a moment, Lisa was standing at their table, pad in hand. She looked at Cherie. “What can I get for you, Miss? I already know what these two want.” She smirked and nodded toward Brenda and Liz.
Liz shrugged. “What can I say? At least, I’m consistent.”
When Cherie asked for eggs over easy with bacon and wheat toast, the others at the table started to laugh.
“So that makes three,” said Lisa, busily writing on her pad. “I’ll put it right in. Sorry for the wait. The plow guys are all in here at the same time.”
“Just taking a break before the next run,” Brenda said. “This is definitely a two-plow storm.”
The waitress went off with their order. Liz looked from Cherie to Brenda and back again. “Everything good here?”
“Of course,” said Brenda with false heartiness, but she could see Liz wasn’t buying it. Fortunately, she chose not to share her thoughts. There was already enough tension. Instead, they talked about the storm.
Lisa brought their plates and refilled their coffee cups. They were all silent while they ate. Liz was a fast eater and polished away her breakfast before the others.
“Did you tell the chief your ideas for the drug program?”
“No,” said Cherie, glancing at Brenda. “We got diverted to another topic, but I can send Chief Harrison my notes for her feedback.”
“No need to be so formal. Just call me Brenda, please.”
Cherie’s only response was to glance in her direction.
“I want to talk about something else,” said Liz, “something important.”
Brenda finished chewing her toast and said, “Okay. Shoot.”
Although it was just a figure of speech, Cherie flinched.
Liz, sitting next to her, asked, “You okay?”
“I don’t like guns,” she said, frowning in Brenda’s direction.
Unconsciously, Brenda’s hand touched the service weapon on her hip. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like me.
Meanwhile, Liz went on about some Chinese virus she’d been reading about in the financial pages. Brenda listened, half-interested, while surreptitiously admiring the woman sitting across from her. Fortunately, Cherie’s attention was focused on her boss, and she didn’t seem to notice Brenda’s furtive glances.
“That’s scary,” said Cherie. “Sounds like another SARS outbreak.”
“Yes, it does,” Liz agreed, “but it could be a whole lot worse than SARS. There’s very little hard data coming out of China, but it sounds like the mortality rate is high. We should prepare now, just in case.”
“I don’t know,” said Brenda skeptically. “We spent a lot of money on getting ready for that SARS thing, and nothing ever happened.”
Liz gave Brenda a direct look. “Just because nothing materialized in the past doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen in the future. Look. I’m no epidemiologist, but from what I’ve read, we’re ripe for a pandemic.”
Brenda sat back in her seat and studied her friend’s face. She’d never known Liz to be anything but steady and thoughtful. That meant this could be serious. “So, what do you suggest?”
“I think we should plan ahead like we wou
ld for a natural disaster. Stock up on water, first-aid supplies, batteries, flares, whatever. But most important of all, we should order PPE. Gloves, masks, face shields, paper gowns.”
Brenda threw her napkin on the table. “We had so much stuff left over from the SARS scare. The mice got in and pooped all over it. It smelled god awful!” Brenda made a disgusted face.
Liz glanced at Cherie’s plate. “Thanks, Brenda. Don’t you see Cherie’s still eating?”
Cherie looked up. “It’s all right. I have a strong stomach.”
That’s hopeful, thought Brenda. She’s forgiving me.
“Next time put your supplies in airtight containers like I told you,” scolded Liz.
“We did, but then we needed the containers for something else. Well, you know how it is.”
“I don’t,” said Liz, scowling. “I’m sorry, Brenda. I know it’s laid back up here, but we need to have discipline about our supplies.”
Brenda glanced at Cherie for sympathy. “Still thinks she’s the big boss down at Yale.”
“Come on, Brenda. I’m not kidding. This could be serious. And we need to talk to Jim Duvaney about the fire department and ambulance corps. They need to do it too.”
“You talk to Duvaney,” said Brenda, folding her arms on her chest. “He never listens to me. He thinks I’m too bossy as it is.”
“Well, you are bossy. And so am I. But I will talk to him if you want me to. I just need you to back me up.”
“All right. If he gives you trouble, I’ll chime in. But if this doesn’t turn into anything, we’ll both look like assholes. Not like we have the budget to throw away on PPE that the mice can shit on again. I thought the feds have a stockpile of this kind of thing.”
“They’re supposed to,” Liz said, “but who knows? Remember all those RVs they bought for Katrina? They never got used by people who really needed them. They just sat out in a field, getting moldy.”
“Do you want me to do some research?” asked Cherie. “Figure out what we might need and where to get it?”
“That would be great,” Liz replied.
“I’ll work with you on it,” Brenda said in a hopeful voice.
The sharp look in Cherie’s eyes was instant and definite. “I’ve got it.”
Liz turned to Cherie. “That’s actually a good idea. You should work with Brenda. She can help you figure it out.”
Cherie audibly sighed, but she nodded in agreement.
Chapter Three
Reverend Lucille Bartlett ended her vocal practice and flipped the switch of the enormous pipe organ at the rear of the church. As the bellows deflated, she headed downstairs to put on her vestments for the morning prayer service.
Erika had suggested that Lucy’s singing was inspirational to others, so she’d been quietly spreading the word about her wife’s secret morning practice. Now, it was no longer a secret. More and more parishioners slipped into the church by the side door to listen to their rector, once a star of the Metropolitan Opera, sing secular and sacred pieces. Since Tom Simmons had joined the parish as associate rector, Lucy had the time to revive morning prayer as a regular feature of the parish liturgy. As more people came early to listen to her impromptu recitals, the attendance grew.
On her way to the robing room to put on her vestments, Lucy surveyed the group who had come for morning prayer, pleased to see such a large crowd despite the bad weather. She was especially pleased to see some young people, not only the gray-haired ladies who formed the core of her congregation. Lucy’s agnostic wife might be an ironic evangelist, but she was definitely effective.
Erika smiled as Lucy passed. She blew a kiss, then got up and quietly left. She was due in Waterville for her eleven o’clock class. As Lucy watched Erika leave the church, she silently prayed for her safety. It was a long drive to the Colby campus, and it would be even longer in the snow.
Lucy knew that Erika’s professional life would have been easier if she’d kept her apartment on the Colby campus, but she wanted to be with her family. Since Erika’s beach house had been renovated, they had plenty of room. As an opera star, Lucy had toured the world. Now, she couldn’t imagine sleeping anywhere but the spacious bedroom overlooking the salt marsh, snug in the comfortable bed with her new wife.
Lucy buttoned up her cassock and pulled the white surplice over her head. She shook out her hair and tied it back again. She’d wear Susan’s white stole this morning. Before putting it around her neck, Lucy kissed the embroidered cross. As she did, she blessed the woman who’d taught her how to love again and brought her back to God. She sent Susan a little prayer, wherever she was. Who knew when or if she would ever see her again? Strange how people disappeared from your life and then suddenly showed up. Like Emily. Lucy had given her up as an infant, and now her adolescent daughter was living with her. Life was full of weird twists, not all coincidental. As a woman of faith, Lucy didn’t believe in complete coincidence. Some things did happen for a reason.
For morning prayer, Lucy liked to stand in the aisle rather than in the pulpit because she wanted people to feel her presence. She blessed herself and proclaimed: “Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.” She looked around at the sleepy faces. “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Mother Lucy,” came the muted response.
“We’re all so awake on this snowy morning.”
There was a soft murmur of laughter.
“This morning’s hymn is ‘Oh, God, our Help in Ages Past.’” She glanced around to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “Now, don’t make me do all the work.”
Again, there was a murmur of laughter. Lucy waited until it died out before launching into the hymn.
The liturgy followed the familiar pattern, which soothed Lucy as much as it comforted her parishioners. Mrs. Carlson, who was going through a difficult divorce, looked more relaxed. Mr. Bouchet, whose wife was dying, looked a little more peaceful. As they were singing the final hymn, Lucy noticed a newcomer slip quietly into the church from the side door. Cherie genuflected from the outer aisle and moved into a rear pew. Her face looked pinched. Lucy hoped there was nothing wrong.
When the service concluded, Lucy went down the aisle to shake hands with her congregants. Cherie hung back to be the last in line.
“Hello, Cherie,” said Lucy, taking her hand in both of hers.
“Good morning, Mother Lucy.” The worried look momentarily fled her face as she returned Lucy’s handshake. “I wonder if you have a few minutes for me this morning.”
Lucy mentally reviewed her schedule. Wednesday was the day she reserved for writing her Sunday sermon. She hated to give up the time, but she smiled warmly to make Cherie feel welcome and said, “Of course.”
“Mother Lucy, has anyone ever told you, you have the most beautiful smile?”
People said it all the time, but it still made Lucy blush. “It’s a useful thing for a priest to have, I suppose.”
Lucy gave Cherie’s hand another squeeze before letting it go. “Come with me while I take off my vestments. You can give me a preview of what you want to talk about.”
Cherie followed Lucy into the robing room. She watched as Lucy took off the stole and carefully hung it on the coat tree along with the white surplice. When Lucy began to unbutton the cassock, she averted her eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m decent under here,” said Lucy, her fingers nimbly working the buttons of the cassock. Underneath, she was wearing black pants and a thermal shirt. She put on a long-sleeved black clerical blouse and added a black polar fleece jacket. “It’s cold in the rectory,” she explained. “Now that Father Tom is the only one living there, we’ve been keeping the heat down.” Lucy carefully hung up the vestments with the others in the closet. “So? What’s on your mind, Cherie?”
“I need someone to talk to. It’s always embarrassing to admit
that when you’re a therapist yourself.”
“We’re all just human. We have problems like everyone else. Sometimes, we just need another perspective.” Lucy reached out her hand. “Come with me to the rectory, and I’ll get you some coffee.”
At the door, Lucy stepped into some low duck boots. They looked ridiculous, but Lucy always smiled when she put them on because Erika had given them to her for Christmas. “You’re a real Mainer now,” she’d said. If that was all it took, Lucy would be grateful, but living there took real grit and stamina. Fortunately, the summers and natural beauty made it all worth it.
When they opened the door, a blast of snow came in. “Come on. Let’s hurry,” Lucy urged.
They walked across the quadrangle to the rectory. The pavement had recently been plowed, but the snow was piling up fast. It was dry and fine and crunched under their feet.
“What a day!” said Cherie, looking down to avoid the snowflakes being whipped into her eyes by the wind.
“Do we have time to talk this morning?” asked Lucy. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Not until this afternoon. I have Wednesday mornings off.”
They reached the rectory door. Inside, they stomped off the snow on the industrial grade mat from Marden’s. Lucy changed her shoes.
“I’ll take off my shoes,” Cherie offered.
“No, don’t. Your feet will get wet. We’ll mop up the melt later.” Lucy loosened the clip and shook the snowflakes out of her hair. She left it loose so it would dry. “Come on. Let’s get you that coffee. I could use one too.”
Once they were settled in Lucy’s office, there was silence as they both sipped the hot coffee. Lucy set down her cup and smiled to signal she was ready to listen, but the silence continued until it was uncomfortable.
“Is it something hard to talk about?” asked Lucy gently.
Cherie nodded.
“Take your time. There’s no meter running. You’re on my pastoral counseling time.”
“That’s good. I’d rather not have Dr. Stolz know I’m coming to see you.”
“How would she know unless you tell her? And why would she object?”
