WRONG QUESTION. LIVING YOUR OWN LIFE IS NOT NECESSARY. YOU ALREADY HAVE YOUR PATH LAID OUT BEFORE YOU.
Dr. Victoria Bell appeared in the doorway of the cafe, and Jessica set down her coffee and waved.
As Dr. Bell headed over, another woman, in her early fifties judging by her frizzy hairsprayed bun and conservative floral blouse, followed shortly behind, and Jessica was spared guessing when Bell introduced the two. “Jessica, this is Blanche Gowan-Saunders. Blanche, this is Jessica McCloud.”
They shook, Blanche grinning widely, her tongue pressing against her teeth, the pink of it visible through the various misalignments. “I forget your last name is actually McCloud.”
Jessica looked at Dr. Bell, who maintained a poker face. Jessica remembered what they’d discussed on the phone the day before: whatever happens, take it and keep sucking up. Blanche was Jessica’s foot in the credit union door.
And as obnoxious as Blanche’s fangirling might be, it boded well for Jessica getting a loan.
“I can hold the table if you two want to get some coffee,” Jessica offered.
“Oh, I’ll get it,” Blanche said. “You two catch up.” Once Dr. Bell relayed her order, Blanch approached the counter where Rebel was hard at work doing nothing but staring straight ahead.
Dr. Bell cut right to it. “Relax. You’re all tense and that’s not endearing. Humble but confident, like we talked about. She loves you and she can make things happen at the credit union. You got this.”
“How did you meet her again?”
Bell waved her off. “Queer thing. Doesn’t matter. One more bit you should know”—Dr. Bell checked over Jessica’s shoulder to make sure Blanche wasn’t coming back yet—“she’s an angel and she doesn’t know it.”
“What? But she’s old.”
Bell nodded enthusiastically. “I know. I don’t understand it either, but she’s made it work with a weird mixture of religion and superstition that’s handcrafted to justify the strange urges of being an angel. Which means she’s drawn to you and doesn’t understand why. She’ll believe whatever she has to believe to make the impulses fit into her beliefs. So, like I said, you’re a shoo-in with her.”
Jessica nodded, feeling much lighter. “Great.”
Dr. Bell raised her voice slightly. “So I said to Dean Halifax, ‘If you want to create a class on Freakanomics, that’s fine, but I’m not building a syllabus around pop culture.”
Jessica jerked her head back. “Huh?”
Blanche sat down between Jessica and Dr. Bell a moment later, and the pieces came together.
“Colleges cater to pop culture far too often,” Blanche crooned. “You were wise to stand up to the dean like that, Vicky.”
“Thank you. And thank you for the coffee. Now should we get down to brass tacks?”
“I do admire that about you,” Blanche said. “And yes.” She turned in her chair to face Jessica, who felt it appropriate to also turn in her chair so the two of them faced each other directly. Jessica instantly knew this was too much, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I understand you are attempting to bring a little light to this world, Jessica, and part of that requires opening a business not much unlike the one we’re in right now that will serve as a meeting place for the community—only hopefully your employees won’t feel the need to abuse drugs and harass women.” She shot a cruel look back toward the service counter. Rebel nodded back, smirking and clearly misinterpreting the intention behind Blanche’s glare.
“I will absolutely not hire someone like him,” Jessica assured her.
With a small humph, Blanche turned back around to face Jessica directly. “Good. Now for you to hire anyone at all, or even have cause for it, you need money.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I understand that God provides, but everyone knows that’s never meant cash raining from the sky.”
ONCE IT DID.
Jessica swallowed hard against the mental distraction, leaning closer toward Blanche and tilting her head slightly, hoping to play off the gesture as intense interest rather than a vain struggle to suppress the words of God.
“Instead, God inspires His mortal pawns to extend help to those He loves most. In this case, Ms. McCloud, I am his mortal pawn.” She smiled humbly, despite the inherent self-importance of her words. “I would love to help you with this, but I do have a handful of provisions that go along with it …”
BUT THE CASH WAS COVERED IN POISON IVY.
What the shit?
HE HAD IT COMING.
You know, most people would find it incredibly horrifying to hear that God talks like a damn mob boss.
THEN KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND NO ONE GETS HURT.
Again, mob boss. Also, was that a threat?
I SIMPLY MEAN IT WOULD HURT PEOPLE’S HEARTS TO HEAR YOU TALK ILL OF THE LORD.
O-kay. While this is all quite riveting and terrifying, I’m trying to focus here.
“… But as long as you can promise me those five specific things, I have no qualms with throwing my weight around at the credit union to make it happen for you.”
Shitballs.
Jessica plastered on a smile, nodded slowly, and looked to Dr. Bell for assistance.
Bell, who was out of Blanche’s line of sight, nodded vigorously.
So Jessica said, “Yes, Ms. Gowan-Saunders—”
“Call me Blanche, please.”
“Blanche. Yes, I can absolutely promise that what you asked for will be the case.”
“Mph!” Blanche sat up straighter in her chair, a self-satisfied smirk resting beneath her turned-up nose, and cautiously sipped her hot tea. “Then I don’t see how anyone can really argue with a solid business plan and a clear sign from God that He backs the loan one hundred percent, including accrued interest.”
Jessica’s eyes popped open, and she risked a glance at Bell, who seemed just as surprised as Jessica. “Right. So, uh, remind me what sign from God you need?”
Blanche chuckled and swatted playfully at Jessica’s arm. “Oh, I wouldn’t flatter myself to tell God how to express Himself. Anything will do, so long as it’s obvious enough.” She nodded her head to punctuate the statement, then folded her hands in her lap and waited.
But for what?
Oh no, does she expect a sign from God right now?
It sure looked like she did.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, let me just, um …” Jessica looked around, trying to concoct some crazy scheme that might look like a God act. Could she smite something? That seems like the most obvious solution. But also that seemed like a terrible solution that could go wrong in an instant.
YOU CAN JUST ASK ME FOR A SIGN.
I already know you’ll never let me live it down.
HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT IT?
Fine. Just this once.
TELL HER FERGUSON SAYS MEOW.
What the actual fu—
STOP QUESTIONING THE LORD.
Blanche shifted, the first signs of impatience surfacing in her tense lips and arched brows. She didn’t seem like a woman Jessica wanted to annoy, even if she weren’t relying on her for a fat loan.
“Ferguson says meow,” Jess mumbled.
Blanche grasped her chest and gasped then began coughing as her eyes turned red and watery. “Ferguson? You mean … he’s in Heaven?”
“Yes,” Jessica supplied, struggling to sound confident. Just because God knew about Blanche’s apparently dead cat didn’t mean the cat was in heaven, but whatever, because it seemed to be working.
Blanche dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a crooked knuckle. “That sounds just like something he’d say, too.”
Do cats go to heaven?
I GET WHY YOU’RE ASKING, BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW FERGUSON IS NOT A CAT.
Huh?
“Thank you, God, for giving me such a clear sign!” Blanche proclaimed to the ceiling, drawing the attention of a couple around Jessica’s age a table over, who’d previously busied themselves with shameless erotic touching and sh
aring of a bran muffin.
Blanche returned her attention to Jessica. “I’m sorry I’m so emotional. It’s just that, well, Ferguson and I had something very special. Long nights of purring and sharpening claws …”
Ferguson isn’t a cat?
NOPE.
“Lapping milk from our bowl.”
Our?
IF YOU WANT THE MISSING PUZZLE PIECE HERE, THE LORD SHALL PROVIDE.
Thou shalt not provide.
OOO, LOOK WHO’S FEELING BOSSY.
Blanche stood suddenly. “I’m sorry, I just need some time to regroup. But it was great meeting you, Jessica, and I’ll let you know once I get a meeting set up with the right people at the credit union.”
Jessica stood and offered her hand, but Blanche lunged forward and pulled Jessica into a tight hug instead.
The woman smelled like cats, leaving Jessica further confused.
Bell cleared her throat once Blanche was out of sight. “That went well.”
Plopping back down into her seat, Jessica felt energy drain from her muscles. “Did it?”
“I thought so.” Bell returned to her seat as well, sipping her drink. “Ferguson isn’t a cat, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you don’t have a business plan written yet.”
“Wha— of course I—” Dr. Bell’s unyielding skepticism stopped her in her tracks. “Okay, yeah, I don’t even know what a business plan looks like.”
“Well, fortunately”—the professor reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder—“I do. Here.” She scooted it across the table. “That’s for you. I didn’t know all the details, so some of it’s guessing. You just have to go back through and tweak it as it fits your purpose. The finances should be close, though.”
Jessica opened the folder and flipped through the pages, pausing when she came to the expense spreadsheet. “Whoa, you did all this?”
“I made sure it got done, which is slightly different and involves an air of authority established through years of hard work and a couple adjunct professors desperate to advance, but yes, I suppose I deserve the credit.” She smiled quickly, then pointed at a line. “That’s the amount I told Blanche you needed to start.”
“Whoa. That’s … will she really be able to pull in a quarter of a million?”
“If she can wrangle a dollar, she can wrangle a million. I figure we shoot for the amount you need to open your dream bakery—or something close to it—while we’re already relying on a hope and, literally, a prayer. If anyone can get us that amount when you have no actual credit history and no savings to your name, Blanche can. Don’t let the church lady demeanor fool you—she’s a bit … domineering.”
Jessica held up a palm. “Say no more. Please. This is amazing, Dr. Bell.”
“I know. Now listen up. You’re having a little trouble transitioning to this new phase of life, that’s obvious, so I’ve done most of the groundwork here. But now it’s yours. You have to do the rest of it. I’ll answer your questions and put you in contact with people I know, but this is your launch pad, and if you don’t do the rest, you won’t feel the accomplishment of being a business owner and your business will flat-out fail. I mean, unless you ask your Father to bail you out, which clearly you’re not doing or else you’d already have a bakery and we would’ve been spared Blanche’s emotional display at the memory of her former lover.”
“Ugh. Was hoping we wouldn’t go back to that.”
“Do you hear what I’m saying, Jessica? Not the part about kitten play, but the other stuff.”
“Kitten what?”
“Focus.”
“I’m trying.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying about you doing the rest on your own?”
Jessica sighed, staring down at the mug between her hands. “Yes. I get it.”
The idea wasn’t her favorite, but she knew her old professor was right.
It was time she stopped messing around and started getting down to business. Now all she had to do was figure out what the hell that meant.
Chapter Five
“It’s Dr. Bell again,” Chris said from the passenger’s seat of his F-350. “Should I answer?”
“What is there to say?” Jessica snapped, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’re getting there as quickly as we can.”
Chris answered the phone anyway. “Hello. Yes, Dr. Bell. We’re doing our best. I know. Yes, she’s aware. I guess just keep stalling and we’ll be there as soon as we can. Uh-huh. See ya.” He hung up the phone. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“No!” Jessica spat. “You drive too slow.”
“Well,” Chris said, gesturing to the cars on all sides, “it’s not like I could do any slower than this crawl. I’m just saying, you’re a little stressed, and I don’t want to end up in an accident or—”
“Please stop talking.”
“I’m not saying you’re a bad driver. Normally, you’re great at it.”
The middle lane began to move, and Jessica went for it, using the size of Chris’s truck to bully a Kia out of the way so she could change into the faster lane. She’d heard this strategy never worked over the long haul, but it sure felt good. “If you must know, God doesn’t let me get in accidents.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” He leaned his head back against the seat, relaxing for a split second before he bolted up straight again and pointed at her. “What about the one that killed Mrs. Wurst? He let you get into that one!”
“Shit, I forgot about that,” she mumbled. “Okay, fine. He’s never said anything about protecting me from car accidents. I just wanted you to relax because you’re seriously stressing me out.”
Chris shot her a mean look for the lie but relented, turning his attention back toward the road. “I guess what’s the worst that could happen going five miles an hour, right?”
Jessica’s eyes shot open, blood pulsing aggressively through her temples as she rounded on him. “Why would you say that? Why? We’re practically asking for it now. A crane falling over or discarded metal from the space station falling on us.”
“Whoa. Take a deep breath, Jess. You don’t want to show up all stressed out.”
She growled slightly, but he was right, so she inhaled deeply against her tense muscles, and when traffic in the middle lane came to a complete standstill, she allowed herself a moment to shut her eyes and think about something that would calm her.
I’m surrounded by a lounging tower of Namibian giraffes, a tangle of knobby legs all around me as we watch the sun go down after a long day of grazing from treetops and Sir David Attenborough summarizes our small victories and the challenges we face in the coming days …
She’d waited all week for this meeting, chipping away at the business plan and generally feeling more productive than she had in months. What Dr. Bell said was right: doing it herself was important. It felt good, and her vision for the bakery was starting to come together.
Now all she needed was to get to this damn meeting at the credit union, presumably sign a contract, and then it would be smooth sailing until she opened the doors of her bakery, sometime early next year.
Assuming she could make it to the meeting before everyone left. How was traffic so insane?
“Did you know it was a festival weekend?” she asked her moral support.
“Nope. You know I don’t care about music.”
“And that’s one of the things I love about you, Chris.” She adjusted the AC vents, hoping in vain that she wouldn’t arrive at the meeting drenched in sweat after an hour in direct late-August sunlight. “What’s our ETA?”
He glanced at his phone again. “Um … you’re not going to like it.”
“What is it?”
“Five minutes later than the last time you asked.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”
The car ahead of her began pulling forward, and before she could do the sa
me, another car inserted itself in the tiny space.
“NO!” Jessica pounded the steering wheel with her palms. “Why?! Why would you change lanes?! We’re not even near an exit.”
Chris glanced timidly at her. “Your road rage is a little much, Jess.”
“Your road rage is a little much, Christopher.”
When the cars in her lane started to inch forward again, the one directly in front of her stayed where it was, the driver clearly not paying attention.
“Are you kidding me?! Fuck! MOVE!”
She recognized the sensation immediately. It pulsed through her, but this time was stronger than ever, and while part of her was annoyed by this new discovery, mostly she thought, About damn time!
It started with the car ahead of her sliding sideways to the right. Then the car in the far right lane started sliding too, all the way over toward the shoulder until it was only an inch from the concrete half-wall in the construction zone. Then the next car over slid until it was only a couple inches from the one by the wall.
The same thing happened in the left lane, too, cars sliding over, one after another, moving farther and farther up the highway until the middle lane was clear for as far as Jessica could see.
“No way,” Chris said once he looked up from the phone. “Did you …?”
“I think so.”
“Did you know you could do that?”
“No,” she whispered.
Chris groaned, shifting in his seat. “I want you so bad right now.”
Car horns sounding from either side of the clear lane snapped Jessica fully back into reality.
“Why aren’t you going?” Chris asked.
“Uh, because as awesome and convenient as this miracle is, it’s also kind of a dick move, don’t you think?”
“Please don’t talk about dicks while I’m this turned on.”
She nodded and slowly drove forward between the sea of pissed off drivers. Rolling down the automatic windows, she shouted apologies as frequently as she could, and Chris did the same, except his shouts were of a more impure nature …
“I get to have dream sex with this woman! Deal with it!”
It is Risen Page 5
