Castles in the Sand

by Sally John

  At least he had called. At least he had called before she cooked the pasta. The spaghetti sauce could keep; the table could be unset later.

  With every passing mile the hymns grew fainter in her mind, the warmth of the scene of a candlelit dinner in front of a cozy fire grew dim. She felt cold.

  Lord, please stop the silly imaginings. You are my song. You are my warmth. You don’t live exclusively at the beach house.

  Her teeth chattered, and she turned the heater fan to high.

  At last she reached the exit, parked in the mall lot, and entered the restaurant. Drake wasn’t there yet. Would he want her to wait at the door until he arrived or should she—

  Drake screens every jot and tittle of what you do…

  Susan asked for a table, followed the maître d’ across the dining room, and then redirected him to a booth. She sat, drank tea, and read the menu.

  You go, girl. You don’t need anyone else’s permission. You’ve got Mine.

  She checked her cell phone. No missed calls were indicated. The power was on, the ringer volume set to high. The time glared. He was twenty-five minutes late.

  Traffic? Endless meeting? Accident? Or simply no consideration for his wife…

  As the waiter approached with a fresh pot of tea, she decided to order.

  You go, girl. Fly. Fly for all you’re worth!

  Drake arrived along with the Tom Kha soup.

  “You already ordered?” He slid into the booth across from her and, without benefit of menu, told the waiter he wanted Phad Thai.

  The young man left.

  “Sorry I’m late. You know how those guys can talk on and on—Your hair.” He stared now.

  Susan smiled and touched it, dipping her head every direction to give him a full view. “What do you think?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I had it cut.”

  “It’s, uh, different.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She loved it. Obviously he didn’t. It was extremely short and layered and, she thought, flattering. And unbelievably carefree. “It’ll grow.” She frowned and rephrased that. “You’ll get used to it.”

  He tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth wouldn’t stay up. “I suppose the ladies will like it. It’s a, uh, a more contemporary style than what you normally have.”

  “The chignon is a timeless classic, but I’ve worn one for twenty years. I was just ready for a change.”

  He only stared. He looked tired, but elegant as ever in a lime green tie and deep brown suit.

  “Nice tie.”

  His smile turned genuine. “My wife gave it to me.”

  She smiled again. “How are you?”

  “Busy. Usual Easter season preparations. Palm Sunday is this week.”

  She nodded. She knew that. She didn’t want to talk about that. “I hoped we could finish our last conversation.”

  The waiter interrupted to serve Drake’s soup.

  While he took his first sip, she explained. “The one about our being apart.”

  “I don’t know what else there is to say, Susan.” He shrugged. “We’re not together on Kenzie. You went behind my back and met with the kid’s mother. Do you know what that makes me look like?”

  “I said I’m sorry for going behind your back.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “But I think there’s something else to discuss.” Her appetite was gone, and she sensed her memorized talking points disintegrate on the spot.

  “Like what?”

  “Like…”

  He set down his spoon. “Things are beginning to appear odd. You were at the wedding Saturday night but not in church Sunday morning. I’ve been making excuses for you for a week and a half now. When are you coming home? I really need you beside me this Sunday.”

  That wasn’t the issue, was it?

  “I do need you, Susan. What exactly are you waiting for?”

  To tell people the truth. To stop pretending. You have My permission.

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t want to talk about this in public. I really wanted you to come to the beach house for dinner.”

  “That couldn’t be helped. If you want private, there is always our own house just up the freeway.”

  She would not be thrown off track. “Drake, what I’m waiting for is for us to stop pretending. To be open about Kenzie with the congregation. To admit to each other that we were in the same situation she’s in right now when we got married.”

  “Susan!” His tone in those two syllables spat chagrin, a spray of darts pierced her being. “That’s far behind us. God has forgiven us and forgotten it.”

  She ignored the pain. “But sometimes I don’t know if I’ve forgiven myself. I know I haven’t forgotten.” Her eyes filled with tears, and a new thought drenched her soul. “I never mourned our baby. I have never even acknowledged his or her existence.”

  He inhaled sharply.

  “We’ve forced Kenzie to believe she has to be perfect to win our approval or God’s. She needs to know we have feet of clay.”

  “Like mother, like daughter.”

  His words whipped more harshly than a slap on the face.

  Something welled up within her, something she’d never felt before. Her body went hot, and then, in a flash, it went cold. A stillness settled into the very core of her being. The room faded from view. Her thoughts zeroed in on one thing.

  “Yes, I got pregnant out of wedlock. But you know what, Drake? You were there when it happened.” Somehow her purse was in her hand. “I’m going to leave now. You know where to find me. I even have a cell number.” Somehow she was standing beside the table. “It is so pathetic I didn’t even have my own phone because you didn’t think I needed one.”

  A few moments later she sat in her car, shaky hands stabbing the key everywhere but into the ignition, unable to remember how she’d gotten from the table to there.

  Susan tromped barefoot at the ocean’s edge under a starry sky, and little by little the rage burned itself out.

  Pugsy chased darting sandpipers and pawed at tiny crabs wriggling into the sand in the backwash of receding waves. With only occasional glances in her direction, he raced and halted and raced again, choosing his own route, wild with delight at not being attached to his leash.

  Susan understood. Not that she’d quite grasped the wild with delight behavior yet, but her self-imposed leash was gone. She alone was responsible for herself. What freedom existed in that!

  The whole thing frightened her to pieces.

  “Lord, are You in it?”

  Something was broken between her and Drake. If they did not face that fact, it couldn’t get fixed, could it? If she continued to kowtow and to tell him he was right no matter what, didn’t she simply prolong the dilemma? Surely God did not mean for a wife to totally suppress her own heart and mind, did He? Perhaps, after all, there was truth in Natalie’s opinion that Susan’s version of submission had gone haywire.

  “Lord, if You are not in it, stop me.”

  Put me back in the straitjacket?

  She shuddered at the thought. It would be worse than a straitjacket. It would be more like death. Like climbing again into a tomb and being trussed up for a second time in a burial shroud.

  She plunked down in her dry-clean-only lined powder blue business suit skirt, pressed the heels of her bare feet into the cold damp sand, and crossed her arms over her bent knees. Boundless sky and ocean filled her vision.

  “Lord, You didn’t raise Lazarus just to die again, did You? He must have been living proof of Your love and power. A constant reminder to his family of Your reality, of Your hand in their lives. Please.” She sighed. “Oh, please make it so with me.”

  As the next wave rolled toward the shore, an organ prelude came with it. Susan hummed along, and then she lifted her chin and her voice.

  “‘Christ the Lord is risen today. Alleluia!’”

  Thirty-Two

  Several doors north of the squished red chili of a beach house, Kenzie sat on th
e seawall, legs dangling beneath her long black skirt, booted heels tapping rhythmically back against the concrete. Through a continual stream of joggers, amblers, bicyclers, and in-line skaters along the boardwalk in front of her, she watched her mother in the distance.

  At first she didn’t recognize Susan. Her hair was short and she wore a multicolored skirt unlike anything that had ever hung in her closet. It flowed to her ankles and the setting sun glittered off its sequins or rhinestones or something sparkly. Instead of the usual blouse and blazer, she wore a plain short-sleeved, green top. If Kenzie didn’t know better, she’d guess the outfit was bought at a shop down the street, the one that sold hippie-style clothing.

  Susan greeted women as they arrived on the patio. Pugsy bopped around, overly excited with the commotion of having company. The Marthas lingered outdoors before going into the house, jabbering and laughing in the warmish spring air. Everyone came for the baby shower.

  Kenzie’s baby shower.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to join them.

  Aunt Nattie was there, of course, the party giver. She’d been the one to call and invite her, the only reason Kenzie sat almost within shouting distance of the beach house now. She promised it wasn’t a big deal. Only the Martha Mavens and Pepper Carlucci were available to attend. Kenzie was at least acquainted with all the women and—the true test—Aunt Nattie liked them. She also promised no dorky games.

  Although Pepper ran a close second, Aunt Nattie won first place as the coolest woman Kenzie knew. If she sang in a band, her style would be bluesy jazz. Her voice was smoky, hoarsened from a lifetime of shouting at high volume on athletic fields.

  Her aunt had introduced Kenzie to soccer, Jack Kerouac books, and U2 music. She seldom got bent out of shape, even with her two sons who behaved like total brats at times. As far as her husband went, absolutely no Starr family resemblance existed between Uncle Rex and Kenzie’s dad. Grandma and Grandpa Starr must have adopted one of the brothers and kept it a deep secret.

  Emmylou Bainbridge arrived now. Kenzie grimaced when she saw her. She was humongous and walked as though she’d been riding on the back of a horse for days on end. Was that what pregnancy did to a body? Maybe Emmylou was expecting twins. Or triplets. Quadruplets? Kenzie really hoped so, hoped it wasn’t the norm.

  Emmylou was funny and sweet. Definitely a country western style. No one could understand half of what she said in that thick drawl of hers. If her husband showed up, lingering doubts about going inside would vanish in a heartbeat. Robbie was a Marine, just as friendly as his wife, and—more importantly—the hunkiest hunk at Holy Cross Fellowship.

  Mildred and Leona, the elderly twins, hobbled into view now. They were—

  “Hey, sister!” The friendly voice came from behind her. “Is that you?”

  Kenzie recognized the voice before she turned. It belonged to Zeke, a guy who knew everyone at the beach but seldom remembered a name. He addressed them all as “sister” or “brother.” Considering how he talked a lot about Jesus and often carried a Bible, it sounded natural coming from him.

  “Hey, Zeke!” She shook his outstretched hand and grinned.

  Zeke’s exuberance was enough to fill her with laughter, but his looks carried it to another level. If he were a musician, he would definitely sing reggae, Bob Marley style. She once asked him if he was born in Jamaica, but he said no, San Diego was his birthplace. His long deep brown hair sprouted every which way in countless twisted dreadlocks, and his dark brown eyes were like magnets drawing her in. She had no idea how old he was.

  She said, “How you doing?”

  “I am fantastic, sister. Fantastic. Living and breathing in God’s grace day by day. Watching Him work wonders in the souls of my homeless brothers. How about yourself?”

  “Fine.” She groaned. That was so her mother’s voice. “Actually.” She wore a denim jacket of Aidan’s that covered what now resembled a serious beer paunch. Holding it aside she patted her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!”

  She laughed. “Yeah. I’m down here for a baby shower. My mom’s staying at Faith’s house.” Zeke had known Faith Fontaine and was friends with Julian.

  “Who’s the daddy of this little one?”

  “Aidan Carlucci.”

  “Oh, oh! Look at you blush, just saying his name. You are in love, aren’t you? I hope he’s a good one.”

  “He’s a good one. We sing together. He writes most of our band’s music.”

  “No kidding? He’s gifted then.”

  “He is. We’re going to make a CD. You know, a real professional kind of thing that stores will sell. We didn’t plan on a baby already but…” She shrugged.

  “Our Father knows this baby, knows when it’s time for him to be born. He sees him right now and loves him more than even his mama or daddy can.”

  Kenzie sure hoped so.

  Comfort flowed from Zeke, and she wished she could bottle it up and take it home.

  He glanced toward the beach house. “Looks like quite a group. How come you’re over here and not over there?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess because I don’t feel welcome over there.”

  “Say what? I thought you said this shower was for you.”

  “It’s a bunch of churchwomen. And Aidan’s mom. She’s cool. But see, Aidan and I aren’t married and my dad—” Her throat closed up.

  “Hmm. He’s a preacher, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Mm-hmm. Probably got a reputation to uphold in front of his congregation. He thinks this puts him in a bad light.”

  She nodded again.

  “That happens, sister. That happens. And not just with preachers. All kinds of people let their false self rule their hearts. They just don’t know how to let out the true self, the forgiven one who’s freed up to love and be loved. Then they gotta blame someone else for reminding them how miserable they are.”

  Kenzie swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Your daddy just took his eyes off the cross. He’ll come round. He’s going to be a grandpa!” Zeke grinned, a white slash against his dark chocolate skin. “I got one question for you, little sister.”

  She waited.

  “You think all those women would come if they didn’t want to see you?”

  The Martha Mavens would help out her mom in any way they could. But Emmylou looked ready to pop; she couldn’t be comfortable. The twins had traveled far and through rush hour traffic; old people avoided those things. Aunt Nattie probably should have been at a soccer practice; she always hated letting an assistant take charge. Beautiful Gwyn should have been out on a date. Pepper had come straight from work and literally had a hundred other things to do at home. And now there was Tess Harmon greeting Susan. Surely the director of women’s ministries had more important business.

  Kenzie smiled at Zeke and shook her head. No, they wouldn’t come unless they wanted to see her.

  Thirty-Three

  On the patio outside the beach house, Susan accepted Tess Harmon’s hug. As usual, intimidation wormed its ugly self into her consciousness. She liked Tess very much, but she always had to fight down discomfort in her presence. Once more she wondered why.

  Was it the title, director of women’s ministries? The master’s in theology? The knowledge of Greek? The impressive gift of teaching? The tall dancer’s stature? The unwavering confidence, whatever the situation?

  Or Drake’s almost daily glowing reports of her incomparable attributes?

  “Susan,” Tess murmured, “I love your hair.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, hon.” She straightened and grasped her hands, a gift bag hanging from her own, and looked directly into Susan’s eyes. Concern permeated the hushed voice and tone. “Natalie told me, of course. This is a baby shower, after all. You’re going to be a grandmother! Do I say congratulations?”

  Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

  Tess spoke in
her quick, confident way. “I’m not quite sure. You and Drake must be so stressed, bearing this burden all alone. It’s understandable why you haven’t shared the news with the congregation. The secular media would have a heyday.”

  Susan couldn’t follow the leap and felt her forehead knot. “The media?”

  Tess squeezed Susan’s hands and let them go. “Drake is quite an important public figure. Newshounds are always on the lookout for opportunities to cast aspersion on someone in his position.”

  “We’re talking about a baby. It’s not like our daughter committed some felony.”

  “Of course not. But just the hint of a skeleton in the family closet is fodder. We want to be careful.”

  “I can’t be concerned with the media!”

  “And you shouldn’t be. That’s not your job. I’ll worry about it, and Drake can worry about how and when to inform the congregation. I’m sure he already has a plan.”

  “I’m informing. I told the Martha Mavens.”

  “Well, we Marthas are different. We don’t need to be told how to handle things, how not to gossip.”

  The frustrated sigh building in Susan’s chest flung itself outward, probably loud enough for passersby to hear.

  Tess’ thin brows formed two inverted v’s on her forehead.

  Susan turned aside to shut out the intimidating sight. Words swirled in her mind and threatened to spew forth incoherently. She struggled for control. “This isn’t news to be spun.”

  “I know, hon. It’s about you and Drake carrying on in the face of adversity. You’ll get through it, and then everyone will see God’s faithfulness in your lives.”

  No, it wasn’t about them carrying on as if nothing had happened and pointing to God afterward! She pressed her lips together. Tess didn’t get it. They were in the middle of a nightmare and needed help. The thought of admitting that to this woman made her feel as though she were standing on her head. Rushing blood squeezed her brain until the world tilted crazily and flipped upside down.

  But…she had shed the straitjacket and known what it was to fly, to even sing again. Such sensations always came on the heels of saying out loud to another person that she, Susan Starr, was imperfect and needed help. That was the antidote. Even with cool, calm, collected, intimidating Tess.