Age Before Beauty

by Virginia Smith

  “I don’t blame him,” Gordy said as he stepped back into the room. He popped the top on a can of Coke. “She’s a lot prettier than you.”

  “No argument there.” Ken grabbed a folding chair and flipped it around so he could straddle it. “But she wouldn’t appreciate him coming for a visit tonight. She’s been looking forward to having her sisters over, and Tori isn’t crazy about Trigger. Says animals who weigh more than she does make her nervous.”

  Ryan, in the process of reaching for the chip bag, straightened and turned an interested look toward the door. “Tori is next door?”

  “She will be soon.” Ken punched him on the arm. “Forget it. It’s a sister sleepover. No guys allowed, right, Eric?”

  “That’s right.” He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees and spoke to Ryan. “And don’t even think about a panty raid. I tried it once when Allie and I were dating. She came out of the house swinging a baseball bat. Nearly took my head off.”

  They all laughed, then Ken said, “Hey, speaking of baseball, you guys should see the stuff Eric and I picked up today. Mrs. Caldwell donated a whole box of baseball cards. I tried to talk her out of it, told her she could probably make a bundle selling them on eBay, but she insisted she wanted to support our mission trip.”

  “Baseball cards, huh?” Gordy’s eyes lit. “I might bid on those myself.”

  “I took some stuff by the church yesterday.” Ryan rubbed his hands together. “We’re going to rake it in Tuesday night.”

  “I hope so. Medical supplies are expensive.” Ken glanced at his watch. “We’re missing the pregame show. Eric, the remote is over there somewhere.”

  Eric found the remote control shoved between the couch cushion and the arm. He pressed the On button and relaxed against the soft back. He might not have much to contribute to a conversation about mission trips, but he spoke football fluently.

  “I don’t know how we can have a Sanderson Sister Sleep–over without pizza. Carrot sticks just don’t make the same statement.” Tori glared at the orange strip in her hand.

  Allie snatched the carrot from her sister and bit it in half. Tori had been grumbling about one thing or another all evening. Joan was so right to insist that they get their little sister away from work. If only she would relax and enjoy the sleepover.

  “Well, not all of us are a perfect size 2, you know.” She eyed Tori’s designer jeans. Allie hadn’t worn a size 2 since 2Ts. And she was only one then.

  “Oh, don’t be a grouch.” Seated on the love seat beside Tori, Joan leaned sideways to shove Tori’s shoulder with her own. “Dip the veggies in that spinach dip. It’s yummy. I’ve got some more good stuff in the kitchen too. Apples and baked tortilla chips with salsa, and air-popped popcorn to eat during the movies.”

  “All of it sounds extremely healthy.” Tori’s dainty nose wrinkled. She looked down at Joanie in the crook of her left arm. “I was hoping to feed my niece her first pepperoni.”

  “Do it and die.” Allie pointed the half-sized carrot stick at Tori like a weapon. “Besides, I appreciate Joan’s efforts. It’s hard to diet when the smell of pepperoni fills the house.” She leaned forward to dunk the other half of her carrot into the low-fat, low-cal spinach dip.

  “Hey, no double-dipping.” Tori grabbed a stalk of celery off the tray on the coffee table and scooped a huge mound of dip. She lifted it to her mouth, leaning away from the baby in case she dripped, and paused with the food in front of her lips. Her round blue eyes caught Joan’s and then shifted to Allie’s. She heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry to be such a grump, you guys. You just can’t imagine the stress I’m under at work.”

  Joan picked up her glass and leaned back. “Tell us about it.”

  Tori stared thoughtfully at the celery for a moment. “I work for Attila the Hun.” She put the stalk in her mouth and sucked the dip off without biting. “They hired her last month from some high-powered New York marketing firm. The word is she’s being groomed to take over when the chief marketing officer retires next year. You’ve seen The Devil Wears Prada?” Allie and Joan both nodded. “That’s her. A total demon draped in designers and three-inch heels. She scares the daylights out of everybody, including me.”

  From the wide-eyed look on Tori’s face, Allie figured the woman must be a corporate monster. Her baby sister wasn’t intimidated by many.

  “So why don’t you quit?” she asked. “You can find another job.”

  Tori’s shoulders deflated. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it. I just hate to give up, you know? I don’t want her to beat me. Quitting feels too much like failure.”

  Allie let out a sarcastic snort of laughter. “I know the feeling.”

  Both sisters’ heads whipped toward her, surprise etched on their faces. “Isn’t the Varie Cose thing working out?” Joan asked.

  Allie didn’t meet either of their eyes. Instead, she leaned forward and grabbed an olive off the relish tray on the coffee table. “It’s not as easy as I thought.”

  “Is that what’s been bothering you lately?” Joan asked. “You haven’t seemed yourself for a while now.”

  Tori nodded. “I figured you were suffering from a touch of postpartum depression.” She jiggled the arm holding Joanie.

  Allie looked from Tori to Joan. Why should she feel any surprise that these two, of all people, had noticed something wrong with her? They were her sisters and the best friends she had in the whole world. They’d shared everything with each other since they were little girls.

  A lump formed in her throat. She could tell these two anything. Her darkest secrets. Her deepest fears.

  “I . . .” She stopped, and flashed an apologetic grimace at Tori when the words came out in a squeak. “I don’t think I’m depressed. Not clinically, at least. I just need . . .” She swallowed.

  Joan got off the love seat and slid onto the couch beside her. She put an arm around Allie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Go on. You can tell us.”

  And Allie knew she could. That’s what Sanderson Sister Sleepovers were all about.

  “I’ve gotten my business into a financial bind. I owe tons on my credit card, and I’m not making money as fast as I thought I would. Eric will kill me when he finds out.” She rolled the olive between her thumb and her forefinger. “It’s not as much fun as I thought, either. In fact,” she paused as a painful fact she’d been ignoring dawned clear in her mind, “I pretty much hate it.”

  “So quit,” Tori said. “Eric is not going to kill you. You two can figure something out together.”

  Without warning, the memory of Molly’s flirty smile loomed vividly in her mind. A hot tear slipped down Allie’s cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t tell Eric.”

  Joan’s arm tightened on her shoulder. “Are you still worried about Eric having an affair?”

  More tears spilled over. Allie tried to gulp them back as she nodded. Tori shot off the love seat like a rocket. She stood rigid, Joanie still tucked in the crook of her left arm, her mouth so wide she could have shoved an orange in it. “No way. I don’t believe it. Eric is devoted to you.”

  A deep sob heaved in Allie’s chest. She thought so too. Once. Now she wasn’t sure about anything.

  Joan’s arm tightened around Allie’s shoulders. “Did something else happen since we talked?”

  Allie nodded and gasped some air, trying to get her emotions under control so she could speak coherently.

  Tori’s lower lip protruded. “You talked before? Without me?”

  “You weren’t here,” Joan told her. “And you’re already stressed enough.” She turned on the couch cushion to face Allie. “What happened?”

  “It’s his co-worker Molly. She’s slim and pretty and he works with her all day and then comes home to my elephant thighs. I think she’s after him.” Allie told them what she had seen the other day when she walked into the dispatch center. “The worst part is that I remember Mrs. Nelson looking at Daddy the exact same way that woman looked at . . . ,” she d
rew a shuddering breath, “at my husband.”

  Tori drew herself up, outraged. “The hussy! Let’s go pay her a visit right now.”

  She looked so fierce Allie couldn’t help but laugh, though tears dropped off her jaw to splash onto her pants. Petite Tori wouldn’t be able to lift a finger against Molly, but Allie believed she would risk bodily injury trying to defend her sister.

  “Listen, Allie, are you sure?” Joan shook her head. “Have you considered what I said the other day about the whole father thing?”

  Allie nodded. “I’m sure. It has nothing to do with Daddy. Or,” She grabbed her lower lip between her teeth. The olive squashed as her fingers tightened around it. “Maybe it does. Maybe I’ve picked a man that has the qualities of our father because I’m trying to relive a childhood where I couldn’t fix the problem. Maybe subconsciously I was trying to give myself a second chance to make it work.”

  Joan shook her arm. “Stop that. You can’t psychoanalyze everything. Sometimes you just have to trust that God can work everything out.”

  Tori caught Allie’s gaze and gave a quick eye-roll that Joan couldn’t see, but Allie found herself wanting to talk it through. She twisted sideways so she could look Joan in the eye. “I know God is there. He exists. But Joan, I’m not so sure he ‘works everything out’ for people. He didn’t for Mom and Daddy. What makes you think he will for me?”

  “Because he has for me,” she shot back instantly. “He’s the Father I never had, the one Daddy couldn’t be because he wasn’t perfect.” She covered Allie’s hand with her own and lowered her voice. “He loves you, Allie. You can count on that.”

  Tori broke into the moment with a matter-of-fact voice. “Well, here’s what I think.” Allie and Joan both turned to her, and a laugh burst from Allie’s mouth. Tori had grabbed a handful of black olives and covered each fingertip on her right hand like they used to do as kids. At the moment she was shaking an olive-covered pointer finger at them like a conductor with a baton. “I think God helps those who help themselves.”

  “That is not in the Bible.” Joan’s tone danced with laughter.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s true. If Allie sits around and waits for God to drop a pile of money in her lap, she’ll never get that credit card paid off. She has to take care of it herself.” She stuck her finger in her mouth and ate the olive.

  Allie grasped at her words. “I think Tori’s right. I can’t rely on someone else to get me out of a mess I created on my own. Not God, and not Eric. I have to rely on myself, which is why I can’t quit my business. I have to make it work.”

  A struggle appeared on Joan’s face, and silence fell in the room while Allie and Tori watched and waited for her to say something. Her mouth tightened and pursed while she stared at the coffee table with unfocused eyes. Allie wondered if maybe she was praying, and a thrill shot through her. She found herself eagerly waiting for Joan’s words.

  Which was ridiculous. It was Joan sitting next to her. Her sister. Not an oracle from God.

  Finally, Joan heaved a sigh and her lips softened into a smile. She caught Allie’s gaze and spoke quietly. “You’re wrong. You can rely on God because you’re his precious child and he loves you. I know he solves our problems, and he even drops the solutions in our lap if we ask him to. He’s done it for me. But you have to ask, Allie. And then trust him.”

  Allie felt her gaze caught by her sister’s. Trust. Yeah, that was the hard part. There was such certainty in Joan’s brown eyes, such . . . peace. She shook her head slowly. “I wish I could be as sure as you.”

  Warm fingers squeezed her hand. “I wish you could too.”

  Allie woke to the sound of Joan’s slumbering sigh. The television screen showed bright blue, the end of the DVD. Joan had arranged a Mel Fest and they’d spent several hours eating popcorn and sighing over Mel Gibson in What Women Want and Maverick. They never got to Allie’s favorite, Braveheart. She fell asleep during Chicken Run, and since the Braveheart DVD case still sat on the coffee table unopened, apparently the others didn’t make it much longer than she did.

  In the sleeping bag on the floor next to Allie, Tori had curled into a ball with only the top of her bright blonde head sticking out. Joan lay beyond her, dark hair spilling over her pillow and an arm thrown above her head. Allie sat up slowly, noiselessly, and glanced through the mesh sides of the portable crib. Joanie slumbered with the peace of an infant, her little chest rising and falling in a comforting even rhythm. Allie smiled. Her daughter’s first sleepover.

  Her throat was dry, which meant she must have been snoring. She wiggled out of her sleeping bag without unzipping it and tiptoed around her sisters. A dim yellow light illuminated the kitchen with a soft glow, the same seashell nightlight that had lit the darkness during Allie’s teenage years in this house. She filled a glass with water from the faucet and drank deeply, her gaze circling the familiar room.

  They had moved into this house with Gram and Grandpa when Mom and Daddy divorced. Allie was fifteen. She closed her eyes, remembering her first nights here. Full of pain, confusion, guilt. She’d been the one who told Mom about Daddy’s affair, and about the bag of marijuana she found in the garage. If she’d kept her mouth shut, maybe . . .

  No. Years ago Allie had accepted the fact that she was not to blame for her parents’ divorce. Her college psychology classes had reaffirmed that. Daddy was the one who had been unfaithful. It was his fault, not hers. She’d discovered later that the affair with Mrs. Nelson wasn’t his first, nor was it his last. But the pot had been the last straw for Mom. Allie didn’t blame her, nor did she blame herself. She had realized long ago that her father was unreliable in every way that mattered.

  But she never thought Eric would turn out like him.

  Pain gripped her insides and squeezed. Her marriage was falling apart. She was going to end up like Mom, struggling to raise her daughter alone. A sob rose from deep in her chest to lodge in her throat. She doubled over, both hands pressed against her mouth to keep it in. She could not give in to despair. She had to be strong for Joanie. For herself.

  What a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms.

  She raised up, grabbed her glass off the counter, and slung the remaining water into the sink. Why did that ridiculous song keep coming to mind? She’d never liked it to begin with. It was stupid. What did it mean, even? Leaning meant depending on God to take care of you, to solve your problems. But Tori was right. God helped those who helped themselves. Besides, when you depended on someone else, you opened yourself up to disappointment, betrayal, and pain. Like Mom had done with Daddy. Allie gulped against the painful lump in her throat. Like she had done with Daddy. And with Eric.

  But what if Joan is right?

  That look in Joan’s eyes, that certainty, haunted Allie. Tori didn’t have that. In fact, Tori was almost as stressed out as Allie. What had Joan said? That Allie could rely on God because she was his precious child and he loved her. That she could trust him. With a sudden longing that threatened to overpower her grip on her emotions, Allie wanted to be that precious child. If only she could be as sure as Joan.

  You have to ask.

  That’s what Joan said. God had the answers to her problems, but she had to ask.

  She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “I know you’re there,” she whispered. “I guess I’ve always figured you were watching to see how I’m handling things down here.” The slow breath she drew shuddered. “Not so good, huh? I thought I could handle everything on my own, without you, without Daddy, even without Eric if I had to. But everything is such a mess right now I’m not sure I even know what to ask. What I really need is—” a sob broke her voice—“to know somebody cares.”

  The silence in the room deepened with an expectant hush. Something was happening. Her ragged breath suddenly stilled, Allie waited while a sense of anticipation danced around the edges of her mind. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her tears dissolved as if . . . as if an invi
sible hand had gently wiped them away.

  She felt loved. Like someone had tenderly placed a warm blanket around her tense shoulders and hugged her tight.

  Safe and secure from all alarms.

  New tears sprang to her eyes, not tears of pain, but of joy. With a certainty that Tori would call insane, Allie knew she was being hugged tight by someone who loved her. Someone who cherished her as his precious little girl. Someone on whom she could rely. Someone who could drop the answers to all her problems right in her lap, crazy as that sounded.

  An unexplainable peace flooded her soul as Allie realized she could lean all the weight of her burdens on the everlasting arms that encircled her.

  22

  “Oatmeal?” Tori eyed the round container resting on the kitchen counter with disgust. “You want us to eat oatmeal for breakfast after a sleepover? Where’s the chocolate donuts? The leftover pizza?”

  Seated at the kitchen table while Joanie nursed, Allie looked at her sister’s tiny waist as she reached up into the high cabinet where the cereal bowls were stored. Hip bones protruded through the soft pink PJ bottoms Tori wore. With a rush of envy, Allie realized she hadn’t seen her own hip bones since shortly after her marriage.

  “How in the world do you stay so skinny the way you eat?” she asked. “It is totally unfair that you got all the skinny genes while my genes suck up every fat gram that comes within a twelve-inch radius of my mouth and store it on my hips.”

  Tori picked up a spoon and used it to emphasize her words. “I don’t eat very much as a rule. I know you think I do, because you only see me on Sundays when I’m pigging out on Gram’s cooking. But during the week, sometimes I forget to eat at all.”

  Allie stared at her. Junk food tempted her forty times a day, and her little sister forgot to eat? “I want to hit you.”