by Roger Bruner
chapter sixty-four
I was dead tired from going to bed so late, and my legs, feet, stomach, and back—plus body parts I couldn’t even identify—were so sore I could barely wiggle, but nothing could keep me from getting up to watch one last sunrise with Graham.
When the colors finally showed, he turned to me and said, “Sunrise good.” I knew he was just teasing by pretending to revert to guilt-speak.
“Sunrise very good,” I replied.
We stood there together for probably twenty minutes. He put an arm over my shoulder, and I wrapped mine around his waist. We stood together as two beanpoles taking up the space of one average-sized human being.
I whispered in his ear, “I love you, Grandpa.”
Graham couldn’t come to the airport with us. The power company was going to do its long-awaited hookup that morning, and furniture for the units was scheduled for delivery that afternoon. He’d spend the next few days setting the rooms up in preparation for the building inspection later that week. Once the hostel passed inspection, Graham would receive an occupancy permit. He already had a backlog of people waiting for reservations.
During the van ride to Sacramento, Dad renewed a long-forgotten discussion.
“We still need to decide about a place to live, Kim. We talked about an apartment or a condo.”
“It’d be crazy to buy something since you’ll probably move elsewhere after you finish seminary.”
“You won’t be living at home forever, either.” He steadied his eyes in a mock stern look. “And that’s an order.”
I laughed. “I don’t know what my future holds, but I can’t wait to go back to Santa María, and I want to be able to speak the language next time. The most perfect Spanish possible.”
“I know that’s right,” he said, punching Aleesha playfully in the shoulder while still addressing me. “We don’t have to move out of the house unless you want to.”
“I’m in no rush.”
“Folks,” Rob said, “would you like some advice from a building trade professional? Not to mention someone who’s done a lot of moving …”
“Go for it, Rob,” I said at the same instant Dad said, “We’re listening.”
“Selling a house is like looking for work. Best time to do it is when you don’t need to.”
“Hmm?” Okay, but I didn’t have experience looking for work. Just in avoiding one kind in favor of another.
“So you think we should …?” Dad’s voice tapered off.
“With the housing market the way it is now, I’d put that house on the market as soon as possible. Price it reasonably and then don’t compromise. If somebody makes an offer tomorrow, great. If it takes two years, okay. Better to start a two-year wait now than in two years, when having an unsold house might be more of a liability.”
“And if we sell it before I move out of town …?”
“Get an apartment … with a month-to-month lease, if you’d like.” Rob was so smart.
We didn’t let him hang around the airport with us. He was going home for a long stay. He hadn’t seen his wife in weeks,
and he missed the grandkids, too.
“What’s that saying Jewish folks use in parting?” he asked. “‘Next year in Jerusalem’?”
“That’s it.” He shook Dad’s hand and then hugged each of us girls in turn. “See you next year … in Jerusalem. Or somewhere.” Then he turned to me and added, “And you’ll be fluent in Spanish by then, won’t you?”
“I learn. I speak. Do good.”
Rob was still laughing his head off the last time I looked back.
Rob’s question about Spanish really made me hungry to get going on my studies. I could probably get into the local community college for the spring semester even at this late date, but I wanted to start studying sooner than that. My guilt and its various side effects had kept me off-course far too long.
I’d brought Don Quixote in my carry-on luggage. As if I’d be capable of reading it. I was dying to try, though. It symbolized what I wanted to accomplish. Maybe that’s why keeping it close by seemed important.
I barely noticed Dad slip away from our gate and walk toward a small cluster of shops. I looked up when he came back, though. He was holding something behind his back. A chocolate chip muffin, maybe? I salivated and reached out with both hands.
“Not so fast, baby girl. Close your eyes.” Even though it had taken eighteen years to become his baby girl, it still felt great. I closed my eyes, and he put a plastic bag in my hands. A dozen muffins wouldn’t weigh this much. I barely managed to keep Dad’s present from falling. I opened my eyes. What? A bookstore bag?
I must’ve hugged the daylights out of him for his thoughtfulness as the best dad ever. Who would have thought he’d buy me a Spanish grammar book and a Spanish/English dictionary—a big one—on the way home? I started picking out random words from Don Quixote, pronouncing them aloud, and then looking them up. Half an hour later, I put the Cervantes novel down and got out a clean sheet of paper.
Dad grinned. “You planning to write your translation of Don Quixote down?”
“Nope. Gonna try translating something into Spanish, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Sure,” I said as I winked at him. “The words to ‘Victory in Jesus.’”
epilogue
Heading home from the Welcoming Arms Christian Hostel couldn’t have differed more from leaving Santa María. I’d left the northeastern California mountains by van rather than a flat portion of northwestern Mexico by bus. I was waiting to fly out of the Sacramento airport rather than San Diego International, and I was with Dad, Jo, and Aleesha and not by myself. I wasn’t carrying, dragging, or kicking a leaking tote bag of pebbles, and I didn’t sprawl out of control at my departure gate.
Although I’d lost the world’s best mom before I finished getting home from Santa María, I’d reconnected with the world’s finest dad on this trip. And I didn’t just have the two greatest gals for my best friends, either. I had two best friends who were now best friends and sistahs with one another.
As we boarded the plane, I couldn’t help smiling at the memory of Aleesha and Jo sitting on the rock singing “Victory in Jesus.” Four disturbing months of prancing on pebbles had made me fall in love with God all over again. As one of the writers of Psalms said, “His trustworthiness is eternal.”
I was at peace. The kind of peace the non-Christian world doesn’t know anything about. Or understand. The kind only God can provide. And the kind that enables Christians to face the future with confidence.
I’m not saying I wanted anything else in my life to go wrong. Who wakes up every morning and asks God for a batch of new problems just so she can enjoy watching Him solve them? No sane person I’ve ever known, anyhow.
As far as I was concerned, my Season of Pebbles had lasted long enough. But at least it had given me new confidence in God’s ability to sustain me whenever new troubles arose. I said “whenever” and “new troubles” because I’d come to accept the fact that growing up doesn’t free a young woman from problems.
Neither does maturation cause them. Not counting hormonally induced challenges and the body’s gradual breakdown as it starts its inevitable race toward old age and death, that is.
But growing up makes a young person more aware of how serious life’s problems can be.
Thank You, Lord, for the peace I have in Jesus. He not only walked on water, but He also pranced on pebbles to show me how. How much more victory is there than rising from the dead and ascending to heaven forty days later?
I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. My mind kept wandering in one direction and then another. I must have fallen asleep, though, because I nearly jumped out of my skin when a flight attendant leaned over and touched me on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, miss, but may I speak with you? Privately.”
I excused myself as I climbed out over the person in the aisle seat. Although Dad had exchanged ou
r tickets easily enough, Skyfly had undoubtedly won an overbooking prize for that flight. I don’t know the exact number of passengers they had to entice to take a later flight in exchange for a free future ticket, but I’d noticed at least five.
So the fact they had to seat the three of us in different sections of the plane was no surprise. As good old helpless, unhelpful Millie Q once pointed out, at least we were inside the plane.
“This way, please,” the flight attendant said. Curious but unconcerned, I followed her forward. She sidestepped into the first food service area she came to and turned to face me. “I apologize for disturbing you, but several of your seatmates have complained about your … strong perfume.”
Huh? I wasn’t wearing any. Ah, but my hair still contained a small yet still odiferous hint of skunk scent. Had the people adjacent to me really referred to it as perfume, or was the flight attendant just being diplomatic? At least she hadn’t sounded sarcastic.
No matter. I couldn’t do a thing about it until Dad and I got home. We had hydrogen peroxide there, not cold tomato juice. I’d merely disliked tomato juice before Miss Nasty Skunk sprayed me. Now I hated it with a passion.
I hoped the flight attendant could understand my inability to get rid of the smell. At least she couldn’t put me off the plane in midair or make me sit on a wing. Of course, she could put me in the cockpit to keep the flight crew awake. Or would the stink knock them out?
“I don’t think it’s bad at all,” she said. “It’s very unique, in fact. Is that what you use to catch fellows?”
I put my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. Next thing, she’d be asking where—
“Do you mind telling me where I can buy some? I think my boyfriend would love it.”
I put my other hand over my mouth, too, and I tried to physically force my mouth into a less tickled-looking shape.
“I got this at a place called Tabletop Mountain. It was readily available there. I didn’t have any trouble finding it.” Under my breath, I said, “Getting rid of it again was the problem.” She apparently didn’t hear that part.
“Oh, we don’t have any of those where I live. Do you think they have it at any places I might be familiar with?”
Lord, I’m sorry, but I have to play this one out. And she’s not even blond.
“Ma’am”—I looked at her name tag—”Charlotte, this scent is found easily in out-of-the-way locations on the outskirts of most towns and cities. Even the smallest towns. I don’t know the place names, but they’re apt to be called something Forest or Mount something. To tell you the truth, you’re most likely to come across this scent when you least expect to.”
Are you such a city girl you’ve never even been to the country?
“Oh, really?” Her face perked up so much I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. “I almost forgot to ask. What’s the name of your perfume?”
“Eau d’Mephitidae,” I said without thinking. Rob had taught me so much about skunks that the family they belonged to was burned into my brain for eternity. “It’s most common on females who wear head-to-toe, white trimmed, black fur coats.”
Her face fell. “That sounds too pricy for me. I don’t get paid enough for fur coats.”
“I couldn’t afford it myself, but I received a substantial sample as an unexpected gift. In fact, the manufacturer’s representative sprayed me without asking. Once this wears off, that’s it. All gone.” I started to add, “And never again if I have my way, “but I didn’t want to burst Charlotte’s happy little bubble by sounding too negative.
“I know you’ll be sorry when that happens,” she said.
“I can’t begin to tell you how that’ll make me feel. Variety is the spice of life, they say, but this is the spiciest scent I’ve ever worn. For variety, I’ll try something more ordinary—more conventional—next time.”
“Well, look, I’m really sorry about those old ladies and their complaints. They just don’t understand how adventuresome
we modern women are.”
I wondered if I could make an explosive laugh resemble a sneeze. Probably so. This poor girl would believe anything. And if I’d told her the truth, she would probably have thought I was just teasing her.
“I promised to move you,” Charlotte said, “but—as you’ve probably noticed—we don’t have any seats left in economy. Would you mind sitting in an empty first-class seat we keep for emergencies? At no extra cost, of course. There’s enough room between seats to keep anyone else from noticing your perfume.”
I tried so hard to keep from squealing in delight that I managed a fairly convincing sigh. “Okay. If it’ll make those funny old ladies happy.” I hadn’t paid attention to my seatmates’ ages. Or to their gender, for that matter.
She thanked me profusely, helped settle me into my new seat, and brought me a fancy dessert dish filled with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
She returned to economy, and I stretched my arms and legs. I couldn’t have reached the seat in front of me if I’d tried.
Lord, feel free to let me prance on pebbles like these anytime.
