Castles in the Sand

by Sally John

  The group had assembled for a communion service right there in the beach house. Millie and Leona had organized it and asked Zeke—who said he held preacher credentials, although her dad disbelieved him—to lead it. Millie told her they were commemorating the Lord’s Last Supper.

  Since nothing was going on at her dad’s church that night, the real boycott wouldn’t happen until tomorrow, Good Friday. The twins planned to hold a solemn memorial-type service then in remembrance of Christ’s death.

  As she reentered the living room from the bedrooms, she noticed the lights had been dimmed. Aidan caught her eye and pointed to the loveseat where Emmylou sat, her husband on the floor beside her. Other people were sitting down in whatever space they could find, the older folks on the couch, armchairs, and kitchen chairs, younger ones on the floor. Conversations quieted.

  Aidan smiled. “Loveseat’s reserved for soon-to-be mommies.”

  Soon-to-be mommy? He had never referred to her like that.

  She sat next to smiley Emmylou, who reached over and patted Kenzie’s stomach. Aidan slid onto the floor, leaning against her leg.

  The rectangular kitchen table had been moved so it ran lengthwise, making it look sort of like an altar facing the living room. A white linen cloth covered it; white tapered candles glowed from four tall crystal holders; an open Bible lay in the middle. Beside it were the communion elements: bread and wine. A chunk of whole-grain bread, torn from a loaf, sat on a small plate. The wine sparkled in a crystal goblet.

  Behind the table, the countertop was covered with baskets and trays. Earlier, before Aidan arrived, Kenzie had watched the Marthas complete their preparations. Leona’s homemade unleavened bread was torn into bite-size pieces and piled into napkin-lined baskets. Mildred uncorked bottles of red wine—real red wine with alcoholic content and a California label. Tess nodded in her somber “right on” expression. Susan’s eyes got big, but she didn’t say a word as she helped pour wine into the cough syrup-size tumblers on the trays. Gwyn’s lips scrunched as though they were holding in a smile. She murmured something about how a thimbleful wouldn’t hurt anyone, except for maybe her two recovering alcoholic friends, but they would know better and besides, they weren’t coming.

  Now Zeke stepped behind the makeshift altar and a broad smile split his face. He looked imposing. His deep chocolate skin and dark hair contrasted with the whites of tablecloth, candles, and shirt. “Brothers and sisters! Welcome to our Lord’s Table! We gather here to remember Jesus when He instituted the sacrament of the Eucharist. It was the night He was arrested, the night His Passion began, the night His blood started to pour out for our sake.”

  He lifted the open Bible. “In Luke 22 we read, ‘And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me. In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.’”

  Zeke looked up. “In essence He told them He was going to be sacrificed and that they should not forget it. Tonight, we do not forget it. We remember it. We know Sunday’s a-coming, but for now we turn our hearts toward His Last Supper and we linger there a spell. We remember that God’s own Son prepared to take the world’s sins into Himself. He shared supper with His friends with the shadow of tomorrow’s cross looming within His sight. And we ponder His offer. He says to take and eat and drink this new life He makes available through the breaking of His body and the shedding of His blood.”

  Zeke set down the Bible, placed one hand over the goblet, the other over the bread, and shut his eyes. “Lord, we ask Your blessing on these gifts of bread and wine. We ask that we might receive them in remembrance of Your Son’s death and that through His sacrifice we might receive remission of all our sins.”

  He opened his eyes. “Sister Millie has made copies of an ancient prayer for us to read together to prepare our hearts before we come to the Table. Does everyone have one?”

  Papers rustled. Aidan held a sheet of paper high enough so Kenzie could read along with him the typed words. In unison, the group spoke.

  “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou are…”

  The print jiggled. A whooshing noise filled her head. Kenzie could read no further and heard only the last phrase. It reverberated in her head: not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table, not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table, not worthy, not worthy…

  No way could she eat His body and drink His blood.

  Blindly, she made her way through the crowd, people seated on the floor and in chairs shoved together. Some now stood; some moved toward the table. The Table.

  She walked to the back corner of the kitchen, through a doorway, past a bathroom and the side door that opened onto the sidewalk between the house and Julian’s. She went into a small bedroom where she kept her things.

  Aidan spoke from behind her. “Kenz, what are you doing?”

  She found her backpack on the floor. “I’m not worthy. I’m out of here.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m not worthy,” she mumbled again, ignoring the concern in his voice. Her vision cleared long enough for her to see his face, but she couldn’t read it. She could only read her heart, and it was black. Christ didn’t want her. Her own family didn’t want her. The Carluccis didn’t want her. And even if Aidan thought he did, that wouldn’t last. It was already on its way to becoming history.

  “Kenzie, are you sick?”

  “No. I just need to be alone.”

  “Now? Before the service—”

  “I’ll go to the apartment. Please, Aidan, this is just too much right now, okay? All this church stuff. All these people from my dad’s church. I can’t handle it.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Please don’t. I want to be alone. And I need you to tell my mom for me. Please?”

  Before she could slip around him to the side door, his arms were there, pulling her to himself. “It’s going to be okay, Kenz. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Your mom and dad. Our baby—”

  With force, she untangled herself from his hug. “I know,” she lied. “It’s just one of those times I need some major space!” More lies.

  He would never let her go if he knew it wasn’t one of “those times.” This was something altogether different and further outside herself than she had ever felt. She tumbled headlong down a black tunnel. She sensed only that she had to leave. That if she stayed with Aidan and her mom and the Marthas and Zeke, she would hit bottom.

  “I’m all right, Aidan. Go take care of your family.”

  “You’re my family.”

  You have a funny way of showing it. She shoved aside the hand he held out and strode from the room.

  He followed her outside into the dark night and down the sidewalk. They reached the van in the carport and she unlocked its door.

  Pulling it open, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Drive safe. I’ll call you.”

  She nodded, climbed in, and started the engine.

  He’d always understood when and how to give her space.

  Either that or he knew how to let her go. No fuss, no muss.

  Not worthy. Not worthy.

  Sixty

  “You poor baby, you!” Susan cooed the words of comfort in a high-pitched voice. Her face mere centimeters from Pugsy’s, she ignored the doggie breath as best she could. “Did Gwyn scold you? Did all those people frighten you?”

  Evidently it was a night for breaking rules. First of all Pugsy was on the bed, a practice Drake abhorred. At least the dog wasn’t on the sheet…although he came pretty close to sharing the pillow with her. A short while ago Mildred had served wine, a no-no in the Starr household. At least it happened at the beach house and not, strictly speaki
ng, in the Starr household. Zeke—who, if Drake were correct, purchased his “Reverend” license from some fly-by-night operation—preached from God’s Word, an event Drake never would have allowed in his church. At least the Holy Cross Fellowship congregants were not sitting within their own church walls when they listened to him and partook of the communion served by him and the twins.

  “But you want to know the one that takes the cake, Pugs? The alpha of all rules that I broke tonight? Sorry, it’s not you on the bed, big as that is. Nope, it concerns me. I sang.” She smiled. “Yes, sirree. I sang a solo in public. Well, sort of public. I bet Pepper Carlucci would call singing at an informal gathering in a beach house semi-public. Anyway, it was a rule buster and it was wonderful.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank You, Lord, for tonight. For the breaking of rules that bind us from seeking You. Thank You for music. For the voice You gave me. For the sheer joy of singing for You in semi-public. Amen. Hold on, Pugs.”

  Susan reached over the dog and turned off the bedside lamp. Scooting back down under the covers, she kept Pugsy in the crook of her arm and stroked his silky coat. The busy evening had unnerved the poor thing.

  “You’re like Kenzie, I guess, hmm? Things totally unnerved her tonight too. If you’d both just stay by my side where you belong…But that won’t work with her. Aidan said she needed space. That the church stuff was getting to her. It’s understandable. All those familiar faces, all the gracious welcomes, all the Scripture talk about forgiveness. Reminders of unhealed issues between her and her dad. My poor baby.”

  Pugsy snored softly.

  “That’s okay. I wasn’t addressing you, anyway.” She grinned in the dark. “Lord, am I losing my mind?”

  Sleep eluded her. An odd mixture of joy and peace and unease kept her eyes wide open. She prayed for Drake. She prayed for Kenzie, Aidan, and the baby. She prayed for Mick. She prayed for Natalie and Rex, who hadn’t shown up for the service or phoned. She prayed for Emmylou, so heavy with child.

  What wouldn’t go away, though, was the question of her future. How long could she live at the beach house at her brother-in-law’s expense? How long could she have phone conversations with her husband that were left unfinished and unsettled her?

  She wouldn’t pursue a divorce. She could not imagine Drake doing so either. But of course she never could have imagined him telling her not to come home…even if he didn’t mean it.

  Where did that leave her? It was up to Drake. If he refused to love and accept her and Kenzie as they were, was Susan prepared to sacrifice money, home, prestige? Was she ready to find a job and support herself?

  A feeling surged through her like an electric shock. An image of a bird-of-paradise flower sprang to mind. She recognized it as the one from the backyard, the one growing right through concrete. Music filled her ears. It was her voice singing late at night on the beach. She knew it echoed from another special Thursday night. Her personal “Resurrection Thursday” to be exact.

  “All right, Lord. I get it.” She smiled. “My life is in Your hands and Yours alone. Goodnight.”

  With that she rolled over, her back to Pugsy. His doggie breath proved to be really just a bit much.

  Once again the Martha Mavens—except for Natalie—descended upon the beach house midafternoon. Their plans for Good Friday were far less involved than the previous night’s communion service. Mildred had said, “What else can we do, dearies, but weep at the foot of His cross?”

  Still, there was much to do.

  Susan adored the camaraderie and tried not to worry about Kenzie and Natalie. She had left voice mails for both. She knew Kenzie was working. Natalie probably had an afternoon soccer practice to coach.

  “All right,” Mildred announced from her stance in front of the fireplace. “I think we’re finished.”

  Leona hugged her twin.

  With a heavy sigh, Emmylou sank onto the couch.

  Gwyn said, “It’s perfect.”

  Tess nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  If she didn’t know better, Susan could have sworn Tess Harmon had never taken charge of a single thing in her life. Her cooperation and deference to the elderly twins was a sight to behold indeed.

  Mildred said, “Susan? What do you think?”

  She gazed around the room. Much of the floor space of both living room and kitchen areas was covered with folding chairs provided by Julian. Unlike last night, they and the other furniture were arranged facing the fireplace. Votive candles—more than she could count—sat on the mantel and every other flat space, including book shelves, kitchen and coffee tables, and countertop.

  Aside from water bottles and plastic cups, no refreshments waited in the kitchen. Several boxes of tissues were placed in various spots, beneath chairs and alongside couches. Almost as many Bibles lay about the room.

  The focus was the fireplace. There, propped on the hearth and resting back against the mantel, was a thick rough-hewn wooden cross about five feet tall. Zeke and a friend had delivered it, gently carrying it through the front door. With an almost reverent air, they’d positioned it.

  Susan looked at Mildred. “Only one thing is missing. Well, besides Kenzie and Natalie.”

  The old woman smiled and nodded as if she expected what Susan was going to say.

  Naturally she would expect it. Susan’s suggestion was what the Prayer Warrior herself would say.

  Susan smiled back at her. “Prayer is missing.”

  “Mm-hmm. It’s time, dearies. Shall we sit and invite the Lord to visit?”

  Susan thought back to the time the Martha Mavens first showed up at the beach house and Mildred said almost those same exact words. How she had cringed at the thought of prayer! How she had pretended her life was hunky-dory! How awful she could not say aloud the words that Kenzie was pregnant!

  “Lord, preserve us from ourselves,” Susan murmured.

  Gwyn said, “What?”

  Mildred chuckled as she waddled to the couch and lowered herself beside Emmylou. “Oh, she’s just getting started. She can’t even wait for us all to sit down. Susan, will you lead us?”

  She stared. “In prayer?”

  The white head bobbed, the big eyes behind thick lenses sparkled.

  And Susan remembered the bird-of-paradise. Abundant life could indeed blossom in the face of what looked like insurmountable obstacles.

  As the sun inched its way toward the horizon, Gwyn and Tess lit the myriad of votive candles about the room. Emmylou dimmed lamps, but turned off most of them. The result was an inviting atmosphere of contemplation. Gwyn even ignored Pugsy. In turn the dog remained calm and chose to boldly nap atop the bed. Susan moved his food and water into the bedroom and shut the door.

  People trickled into the beach house a few at a time, their greetings subdued. No hours had been set to begin and end worship. Mildred wanted the entire evening left wide open to the Spirit’s leading. The only plan was to read aloud the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion.

  To Susan’s surprise, Julian and Zeke returned. With them came four men whose grubby appearances suggested they were homeless. She knew Zeke spent most of his time ministering to the homeless; Julian helped him now and then. When the strangers nodded to her politely, her concern vanished. They weren’t like some she had noticed on the boardwalk, so obviously mentally ill and almost violent in their voice and behavior.

  A steady stream of Holy Cross Fellowship members began to flow through the front door.

  Robbie Bainbridge touched her elbow. Married to Emmylou, he was every inch a Marine from the crew cut to the ramrod posture. “Miss Susan.” He hadn’t lost his Southern manners, either. “You go sit down. I’ll stand outside and man the door.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “To tell you the truth, I can’t concentrate real good. Those Braxton whatevers have been going strong for a while. And they’re pretty regular too. Like the real thing. Emmylou’s thinking she’d prefer Easter and not Good Friday night for a birth, b
ut I don’t think that’s our call. I’d just as soon be standing up and ready for anything.”

  Susan smiled. “Like whisking her off to the hospital?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you again for saving a parking spot in your carport for us. Knowing my truck is close by gives me my only peace of mind at the moment.”

  “You’re welcome, Robbie.”

  She made her way to the far side of the room, heading toward a vacant folding chair near the hallway. At least forty people already sat, some on the floor like last night. Not many more would fit comfortably inside the room. Maybe some would see it like a come-and-go open house and leave to make way for others.

  Oh, Lord, I really did not want this boycott to succeed. Please take more people to Drake’s service than to here. Please let him feel only Your prompting that he be more real than he has been.

  Then the expressions caught her attention. Many faces registered awe. She saw peace. She saw tears. Every eye not closed gazed at the cross. The sound of a woman’s hushed voice broke the silence. “‘From the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, eli, lama sabachthani?” that is, My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’”

  And Susan understood that none of it was about a boycott after all.

  Susan didn’t know how long she sat there, listening to the familiar words read by different people, Scriptures from the disciples’ accounts of the crucifixion and from Old Testament prophecies. All enhanced her imagination of Jesus suffering for her, of His taking all of her sins and the sins done against her into Himself.

  On the cross.

  She caught herself humming and stopped.

  Then she heard the silence. No one was reading. No one was moving.

  The pitch sounded in her ear, so clear she wondered if it were audible to others. She opened her mouth and the notes took shape and the words seemed to sing themselves.

  “‘On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame; and I love that old cross, where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain. So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross, till my trophies at last I lay down; I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown.’”