Shelter Me

by Mina Bennett

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marissa

  No matter what she says about it now, it was my mother's idea in the first place.

  When Mark first came to Eternal Grace Church, of course I sat up and took notice. Everyone did. He had a kind, patient face, wise beyond his years, and the piercing blue eyes of a movie star. Whenever he talked to you, he made you feel like the most important person in the room. Some people eat that sort of thing up. Me, I never liked it much.

  But after my mom met him, she was smitten. I remember her saying it, as clearly as if it happened yesterday:

  "Mari, if only you could marry a man like that..."

  I didn't think much about it at the time. But at church the next week, I kept hearing her voice echoing in my head. After the service, as we all filtered into the social building for coffee and muffins, Mark made a point of pulling me aside for a chat. I figured someone must have told him about my reputation: There's a girl who could use some guidance.

  "It's Marissa, right?" he said, after shaking my hand.

  I nodded.

  "It's really nice to meet you. You probably heard in the service, but I'm going to start leading the youth group next week. I'm really excited to get things moving in a new direction."

  Good sales pitch, I wanted to say, but why are you wasting it on me? But I'd been told enough times by now to "bite your tongue" that I'd actually started to listen. So I just smiled, and nodded again.

  "Try not to get too excited," he said, smiling back. "Hey, I know what the situation is. Pastor Dave practically got down on his hands and knees begging me to come here and take his place. He doesn't know the first thing about leading a youth group and he always felt lost. He never knew how to serve your needs. I mean all of you, as a group, not you specifically. But maybe you specifically too, huh?"

  I made a small, noncommittal noise.

  "Anyway, I'm going to make sure that changes. I'm going to make sure that you all get what you need. My goal here is to serve you."

  His actual goal was to get a nice new paragraph of experience for his resume, but it was hardly worth arguing over. I'd seen plenty of youth group leaders come and go, in my time. It was, by its nature, a transitional period for seminary students to get some real-world experience before they started leading their own church. Nobody ever stayed for longer than a year. I couldn't blame them, but I wished they'd quit pretending.

  "I don't want to put you on the spot," he said. "But this week, if you get a chance, think about what you'd like this youth group to be. What would help you? What are some ways that this community could bring some joy into your life or help lighten your load? Next week after church I'm going to talk to you again, and if you think of anything, you just let me know."

  ***

  "Reputation," said Pastor Dave, leaning forward on the lectern. "When we say that word, what are we referring to?"

  I was absentmindedly thumbing through my Bible - supple and leather-bound, with the words of Christ printed in red letters. My mother had my name embossed on the front as a gift when I first told her I'd accepted Jesus into my heart. I was six years old. They flubbed the embossing and damaged the front cover. My mom got a discount, and I got a Bible with a big silvery-gray smudge on the front cover, right under my name.

  "Reputation is about how other people perceive you," Pastor Dave went on. "So why does it matter? After all, God knows the truth. We're told in the scriptures that God knows everything that passes through our minds and hearts. And ultimately, He will be our only judge. Based on that, why should we worry about our reputations here on earth?"

  The room was silent. A few coughs.

  "But we do, don't we? When we have to make a decision, when we're choosing how to conduct ourselves - we think first about how our actions are going to be perceived by others. For all the 'WWJD' bracelets and bumper stickers, it's clear where our priorities lie."

  I shifted in my seat. I knew a "but" was coming.

  "But," he said, and I smiled to myself. "Our reputation matters, doesn't it? We don't live in a vacuum. Everything we say, everything we do, reflects on ourselves as Christians, on the church as a whole. And even on God.

  "The trick is to think of it in these terms - am I concerned about this because of my reputation, or am I concerned about this because of God's reputation?"

  He paused, looking around the room, waiting for that to sink in.

  "When you find yourself faced with a decision, consider yourself first as an emissary of the Lord. That's the only thing that really matters. Your own reputation isn't what matters, but it should still reflect your status as a child of God. The scriptures give us plenty of guidelines to follow. We're to be generous, kind, meek, non-judgmental, steadfast, honest, and pure. I'm sure you can think of others. We've all read the verses many times. But we have to remember not to be these things just because we think we're supposed to, or because we want people's praise or positive attention for our own satisfaction.

  "We have to remember to always seek recognition for God first."

  As he broke the bread for communion, I thought about reputation. I thought about the fact that my oldest sister, Mary, had what Pastor Dave later called "a lapse in judgment" in the backseat of her boyfriend's car. My nephew Ian came in the spring of the following year, but something in my mother's eyes, and in her heart, changed long before that.

  I saw the way she started eyeing me with suspicion, and coming quietly into my room to look over my shoulder when I sat at the computer. I noticed her picking up the books I had lying around and thumbing through them, with a slight frown on her face. I noticed the way I couldn't have a conversation with her anymore. Not really. Almost anything I said was ripe for sharp criticism or probing questions. It got tiring, so I kept my mouth shut, which only led to accusations that I was "too secretive" and demands to know "what I was hiding."

  Why she skipped over Martha and went straight to me, I'll never know. I won't pretend I was too nice to ask. In one or two fights, I remember screaming at her, asking her why she never hassled Martha the way she did me. But that was always, inevitably met with a "don't change the subject."

  She wasn't alone. The rest of the people here looked at me differently, too. Maybe I just didn't smile enough, or they thought I wore too much black, or too much eyeliner. But from then on, I was branded as a problem child, and nothing I did - or didn't do - could convince anyone different.

  I rolled a bite-sized piece of bread around in my mouth for a moment, before washing it down with a thimble-full of grape juice.

  "The Lord bless you and keep you," Pastor Dave was saying, with outstretched hands. "May he make his face to shine upon you. May he lift up his countenance to you, and give you peace. Amen."

  People began to stand and filter out. I tucked my Bible under my arm and followed the crowd into the lobby, snatching a piece of muffin off the table and standing in the corner to pick at it. I was hoping to remain unnoticed until my parents decided it was time to leave, but of course Mark spotted me and immediately started to cut through the crowd.

  "Hi Mari, how's your week been?"

  Who on earth had told him to call me Mari?

  "Fine, thank you," I said, with measured politeness.

  "Did you have a chance to think about our conversation last week?"

  I cleared my throat. "Group activities," I said. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

  "Group activities," he repeated. "Like...what kind of group activities?"

  "Any kind," I said, looking down at the carpet.

  "Okay," he said, finally, with a tone in his voice that I couldn't quite place. "That's a start."

  ***

  When I got home, I collapsed on the bed and let out a massive sigh. My cat George came over from his favorite spot by the window, sashaying over to me and sniffing at my face, curiously.

  "Hey, Georgie-boy," I cooed, letting my hand slide along his back. "How'd you like sleeping in? I'm so jealous."

 
; He purred, curling up by my side. George had been my constant companion since we found him as a kitten, curled up and shivering under the car in the driveway. He was old enough to eat solid food, but barely. We put up fliers, but the phone never rang, and at a certain point we stopped waiting. He took to me for reasons that no one could really explain. It was always my door that he scratched at, and it was only when I got home that he roused himself from his near-constant napping and came over to say hello. It didn't matter who fed him or paid him the most attention, all he wanted was to be close to me. Even when I was absorbed in my own problems, barely aware that he or anyone else existed, he was there. It was like he somehow knew that I didn't have anyone else.

  George was getting on in years, but I didn't let myself think about that. He was strong and healthy like he'd always been - just a little more hesitant to jump up on high shelves. I told myself he was just getting more cautious with age.

  Someone was tapping at my door.

  "Yeah?" I called out, and it swung open slowly.

  "Hey," said Martha, smiling tentatively. Her smiles, when aimed at me, always seemed tentative. She walked in, perching gingerly on the edge of my computer chair. "So, what do you think of the new guy?"

  "Who, Mark?" I knew who she was talking about, but for some reason I felt the need to ask.

  "Yeah. I noticed you guys were talking."

  "He was talking to me," I corrected her, swinging my legs down to the floor and sitting up. George sprawled out, kneading at my leg with his paws. "Sheesh. Ow," I scolded him as his claws dug in.

  "He seems nice." Martha was still smiling a little. I couldn't figure out what she was driving at, but I knew there had to be something.

  "Sure," I said.

  Martha's smile was becoming more strained. "Give him a chance, Mari."

  "I'm going to," I said, irritated. What on earth was her problem? It wasn't like I'd scared off the last guy, although he left so quickly when he was offered a paying job at another church that you'd think something spooked him.

  "Okay," she said, quietly. "Mom said to let you know dinner's almost ready."

  I waited to get up until she left the room. I'd never exactly been close to my sisters, but ever since Martha went off to college, the rift between us had become blindingly obvious. We could hardly even have a conversation. Having her home for the summer ought to have been a relief - something for my parents to focus on, besides me - but it just made things worse.

  For a while, I just stood there beside my bed, absently petting George and thinking of nothing at all.

  I actually had forgotten about dinner until I heard my mother's voice echo up the stairs.

  "MARI! DINNER!"

  Coming back to the present, I shook my head and walked towards the door. I didn't even have my hand on the knob yet before I heard her start thundering up the stairs.

  "MARI! FOR PETE'S SAKE -"

  I pushed my door open just as she was reaching the top of the stairs. "I'm coming," I muttered, as she whirled around and stomped back down the stairs.

  "I don't know why you have to make everything so difficult," she said, more to herself than to me.

  As it happened, I didn't know either. But I just kept that to myself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jacob

  "Remember to take Molly out every couple hours, especially if you're going out. But try not to go out. Don't stay out for a long time. No bike rides."

  On the floor, at my feet, Molly's tail thumped on the floor at the sound of her name.

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. "Mom," I said, my tone finishing the sentence for me.

  "I want to be able to get in touch with you," she said, firmly.

  I waved my cell phone in her general direction.

  "Half the places you ride don't have service. I'm sure I don't have to remind you about the time -"

  "Yeah, yeah, okay." I swiveled around in my chair. "No bike rides. Got it, warden."

  She smacked me lightly on the back of the head. "You're going to break your leg someday."

  I rolled my eyes and went back to my chat. Brandon was keeping me updated on the painful process of finishing a college essay. He'd elected to take a year off, giving him plenty of time to find just the right school. In theory, at least.

  Brandon: they want me to talk about a time when I was excluded because i'm different

  Brandon: help me jacob-wan

  Brandon: you're my only hope

  I smirked.

  Me: i think they might be fishing for something a little more meaningful than "clearly I am smarter than everybody and I often feel left out because of that, here are several examples"

  Me: so I got nothing for you, sorry buddy

  He lost no time in responding.

  Brandon: thx man deeply appreciate your help as always

  My mom was kissing me on the top of the head. "Who's that you're talking to?"

  "Brandon," I said.

  She made a little face. "All right, well. Don't waste too much time on that instant messenger. Make sure to eat something reasonable for dinner. Okay? If I see something on your Facebook about having nothing but yogurt pops and canned chili, I'll come back here and rap your knuckles."

  "Okay, sure, mom."

  "Love you."

  "Love you too."

  "Are you guys coming?" came my sister's voice, faintly, from out in the car.

  "Be right out, honey. Sorry!"

  My parents finally managed to get themselves out the door, and I cracked my knuckles before going back to my conversation with Brandon.

  Me: so apparently i'm not allowed to ride bikes while they're gone

  Me: no word yet on whether i can have play dates or my blankie

  Brandon: well to be fair you pretty much get yourself lost on a mountain every time you get on that bike

  Me: that happened like one time

  Brandon: yeah one time, six times, what's the difference

  Me: shut up

  Me: brb getting something to eat

  I wasn't really planning on having yogurt pops for dinner, but since she mentioned it, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. She pretty much only bought them for my sister Sara, but everyone once in a while I got a craving for nostalgia snack food.

  Walking back from the fridge with a yogurt pop dangling from my mouth, I considered the bike ride ban. I was sure I could go out without any issues, so long as I didn't stay out of our cell service area for too long. Not returning a call or text for about half an hour could be explained away easily, but much longer than that and she'd get suspicious.

  Following her ordinance simply wasn't an option. I needed to ride my bike like I needed to breathe. Especially at time like this, with Sara going into the hospital again, I desperately needed something to take my mind off of everything.

  Not that it was any big deal. Not this time. It wasn't like that one bitterly cold January morning when we'd rushed her in after she fell and hit her head on the coffee table. And it wasn't nearly as bad as the time she almost bit clean through her tongue. But she'd started having seizures in her sleep again, and they wanted to study her overnight to see if they could come up with a more effective treatment plan.

  The seizures would wake her up and make it hard to go back to sleep, which in turn made it a lot more likely for her to have violent and unpredictable fits during the day. No medication could keep them at bay if she was sleep-deprived, and these days, she had bags under her eyes more often than not.

  For Sara, nothing could ever be easy. That was just the hand she'd been dealt.

  ***

  I was flying.

  Hurtling down the side of a mountain, anyway, which was as close as I was going to get in this life. To call it a religious experience would be blasphemy, but just between the two of us, I'll admit that I felt closer to God on my bike than I ever did in church. The pure exhilaration erased everything from my mind. When I rode my bike, I didn't think about Marissa or my sister or th
e fact that I had no idea what I was doing with my life. It was a blissful escape.

  I'd made sure to take Molly for a long walk and fill her food and water dishes first, and I even called my mom and left a voicemail to check in. Hopefully, that hadn't made her even more suspicious. Brandon used to sarcastically refer to cell phones as "an electronic leash," and at times, he was painfully correct.

  But now, for the moment, I was free.

  I felt my phone start buzzing in my pocket. Coasting to a stop as best I could, I stumbled a little on the dismount, scrambling for my phone before I missed the call. Sure enough, it was from mom.

  "Hi, honey. Just returning your call. How's everything going?"

  "Great. How's Sara?"

  "Well, you know. She's not happy, but that little Nintendo thing you got her is definitely making it easier."

  I grinned. The latest and greatest DS had been an obvious choice for her birthday, but I had to save my chore money for ages to make it happen. She actually squealed when she opened it. I'll never forget the way her face lit up.

  "Good," I said. "That's exactly what I was hoping."

  "Wait, wait, okay. Don't distract me. I was calling to check up on you. What are you up to?"

  "Nothing much." Right on time, a bird on a nearby branch let out a high-pitched warble.