Vinita Hampton Wright

by Dwelling Places (v5)

  She hasn’t thought of sex much during her nineteen years with Mack. They’ve gotten along just fine in that area, and even with two kids underfoot and extended family forever at the door, they’ve managed to have enough of each other. Enough, at least, until Mack changed, until everything got bleak. Since then, Jodie has discovered what a powerful thing it is that she’d taken for granted through the years. Suddenly it isn’t there anymore, and they don’t know what to do or how to talk about it. A whole part of their life has just dropped out of existence.

  Before that point she never thought of herself as interested in sex more than the next person. But with it missing now, she is hungry as she’s never been hungry before. Suddenly the hunger is defining her and presenting to her a whole new image of herself. Now she is a woman unloved, a woman without sex. She doesn’t know which is the harder trial, to do without the sex or to see herself as someone without it. This new, unwelcome self-image seems to determine the direction of both her thoughts and her emotions most days.

  And now here’s Terry, and she can’t look at him anymore without seeing all of him. She looks at his face but gathers from the corners of her vision his legs and arms, his chest and groin, his whole male self. She can’t avoid this. Terry has become more than Terry a coworker. He is Terry a male, in close proximity to her. The proximity often fills with quick breaths and alarming little throbs. When Terry stands in the same room, Jodie imagines that she can feel him in her own pulse.

  By the time she arrives at the park entrance, she is chilled to the bone. Her legs shake. Suddenly, she wants to cry.

  What are you doing? What are you doing?

  His car is at the far end of the main parking lot. She parks at the opposite end, walks across the pavement to the grass and trees, and wanders in the direction of his car. From the parking lot, the land inclines toward the lake. She sees Terry sitting on a picnic table halfway down the slope.

  “Hi.” She does her best not to sound panicked. She is startled by the look on his face, a weird mixture of relief and panic.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says as she gets closer.

  “I wasn’t sure either.” Her nerves come through with a little burst of laughter.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” He reaches out to her then, and she reaches out to him with no effort at all. The feel of his bones and muscles through all their clothing makes her suddenly desire everything in life. It has been years since she has gripped anyone with such intent.

  “I’m a little scared,” she murmurs against his jacket. She feels a tear slip out.

  He doesn’t mind the tears. He comforts her with a kiss. And then another.

  Her body goes its own way, as if it is a self-contained entity, defined by its own desire. With Terry, back in his car, parked in a little nook away from the lot and main walkways, her body takes the predictable course, and she sits back and watches herself undress and embrace and be embraced and do all the deeply personal things that have remained for most of her life in a particular house with one other person. She watches her body find its way with someone else. She doesn’t quite know what to think of it.

  She thought that this act would bring intense emotion—relief or happiness or guilt. She has dreaded the moment when all of these feelings would collide inside her.

  But after they have made love, she leans against the backseat of Terry’s car and watches him put on his shirt, and the action looks entirely ordinary. She studies his face, gazes with detachment at the lips that kissed her with such power, at the body, now clothed, that pressed urgently. Although Jodie’s head still buzzes, the memories are already dissipating into the chilly air.

  She sees him looking at her.

  “I know,” he says quietly, “that there are all sorts of reasons I should regret what just happened, but I honestly can’t bring myself to regret it at all.”

  She doesn’t reply. She notices just then that Terry uses a lot of words to say not very much. Already a hazy discomfort has begun to slip in. She guesses that this is an early symptom of regret.

  “You okay?” For the first time he looks worried.

  “Sure. Just don’t know what to say.”

  He grins but takes a shaky breath. Jodie realizes then the danger of what they have just done. The lovemaking itself is the least of it. Her real concern is what the lovemaking has started between them. In that moment, when Terry breathes in and out, Jodie understands that she can’t just stop at this. She can never hear him breathe again or watch him walk across a room again. She will have to be held by him again. Something bigger than her will determines this. She wonders if it has hit Terry yet, or if, in the way stereotypical of males, he is even now wracking his brain for a way out, to let her down without seeming heartless.

  But what kind of a letdown could it be? What could be damaged in her life or her marriage that isn’t already near death? Mack is the one who went to the hospital. He is the official victim. And there can’t be a victim without an offender. Of course that would be her. All of them have considered, silently, that if she had been a better wife, her husband would not have wanted to die. Such a thing is common knowledge. Wives are for supporting and loving and helping. Never mind if they don’t get any of that themselves.

  With these few thoughts, she attempts self-justification, some cushioning by way of memories of all the love she has lost. But over these thoughts rests a mist of discontent. Even this longed-for, forbidden act has turned out to be one more motion she has forced herself through, yet another strategy for saving herself. Just Jodie taking charge of Jodie’s life and dragging it across another bumpy threshold into nothing.

  “So what happens now?” Terry’s voice is deep, covered in late sun sparkles through the back glass of the car. They parked at the end of a little road that peters out near the water.

  “What do you want to happen?” she asks. She pauses and studies him. His face appears so much younger than Mack’s.

  He shrugs, his eyebrows arching. “I want to see you again.”

  She nods but slides her look away from him. “Me too.”

  “It’s hard to plan very far ahead…” He stares into trees bereft of their leaves.

  “That’s for sure. I can’t plan anything right now.”

  “I’m with you there.”

  She touches his face, then withdraws her hand when she realizes that it is the very same way she has touched Mack’s face hundreds of times. “I guess that for now I just want to try out how it might be.”

  Terry appears profoundly relieved. “That’s the way I look at it. This isn’t some fling for me—I don’t want you to think that. I think it could really turn into something. But it’s complicated.”

  They plan their next meeting. There is a tiny motel in a neighboring town. As far as they know, nobody in Beulah has relatives there. And no one would drive through there for any other reason; there is no industry or shop that a farmer couldn’t find closer to home. Terry’s last class of the day is a study hall, and he can get out early, claiming a need for personal time to go to the doctor or something. Jodie is finished in the cafeteria by two-thirty. There is some dead time between then and when she tries to corral the kids for dinner. She’ll leave them a note, claiming that she’s running errands and they can throw something in the microwave. With Mack not in the house, it should be easy enough to get away, taking a back road or two rather than going directly to the main highway within ten miles of town.

  She stops at a fabric store at the mall in Ottumwa. Rita knows that she shops there a couple times a year, because they have good sales and a wide selection. As she throws the bag into the front seat of the truck and turns the key, she sees Terry beside her clear as day. She even hears him breathing. Moments from the past hour flicker through her memory. But nothing inside her jars or even sways. What she expected to be relief is only a form of sadness. A thought floats up: Well, you did what you set out to do. She doesn’t really feel guilt either, but a deep disappointm
ent in herself, for committing an act so unoriginal and yet quite apt to damage them all.

  Kenzie

  She is nervous almost from the start of the Tuesday night youth group Bible study. Everyone is way too chatty. Here they are, trying to understand God’s mysteries and determine what Jesus would do in real-life situations, and Carol is whispering gossip to Jenna, and Bobby keeps trying to hit the wastebasket with tiny pieces of chalk from the blackboard tray. Pastor Williamson, as always, is patient. He and Trent are doing most of the talking; Trent usually takes the Scripture seriously, but that’s because he’s a geek and doesn’t really have friends. He likes to talk to Pastor Williamson as though they are friends, and Pastor Williamson lets him do that because he’s a compassionate guy, but even he doesn’t seem inclined to like Trent very much. This evening they are discussing First Thessalonians, chapter five, about being alert now that it is the last days.

  “If we stay sharp, we can see the signs. That’s what Paul is saying.” Trent acts as though he has just delivered wisdom never heard before.

  “That’s right. And if we’re out partying all the time, using drugs and getting drunk and hanging out with people who aren’t awake, our chances of seeing the truth are not that great.” Pastor Williamson has mentioned drugs and alcohol more lately. Kenzie thinks this is because a couple of families in the church have heard about kids at the high school partaking at a recent party. They called the pastor, and the pastor of course handed responsibility to the man in charge of the youth. Kenzie is certain that Pastor Williamson has been instructed to step up preaching against substance abuse. So he inserts it now, in a place where it sort of belongs, but Kenzie has little patience for it today.

  “Excuse me,” she says suddenly, “but we’re already not awake enough. After all, the Tribulation has started.”

  Everyone gets quiet then and looks at her. Pastor Williamson bends his neck to the side, a habit that apparently keeps him loose but that he does mainly when he senses conflict. He repeats what she’s just said.

  “The Tribulation has already started. What makes you say that, Kenzie?”

  She raises both hands, feeling frustrated at their blank stares. “Satan’s in control of most of the churches right now. They’ve stopped preaching against sin, and they go against God’s laws.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Well, it’s illegal to pray in school, and there’s a movement to take ‘under God’ out of the Pledge of Allegiance. And you can’t even put Christmas decorations in the town square anymore—because anything Christian gets persecuted.”

  Jenna wags her head a little. “We still have a nativity in our square.”

  “Only because nobody’s challenged it. If an atheist or a person of some false religion took the matter to court, we’d have no nativity. The government already belongs to Satan.”

  “That’s right,” Carol says suddenly. “It allows homosexuality and abortion.”

  “But the Rapture has to come before the Tribulation,” Trent says. He has read every book in the Left Behind series and will sometimes quote from them as well as from Scripture. “Everybody knows that the Tribulation can’t happen until we’re taken into heaven.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m watching these teaching tapes on Revelation, and Reverend Francis says that the Tribulation’s already begun, that Christians have to band together right now to fight evil. He even has a retreat center in Lawrence, Kansas, where people can go. Because the enemy will become more and more powerful.”

  “Well, we know that ‘greater is he that is in us than he that is in the world,’” Pastor Williamson breaks in. He is smiling but looks as if he’d rather be somewhere else.

  “But who is in the church—the one who is greater or the one who is in the world?” Kenzie’s voice has become strong, and it trembles some.

  Jenna laughs nervously. “Jesus is in the church,” she says. “You think he’d just leave without telling us?” The rest of them laugh then, not in a harsh way, but Kenzie’s heart sinks when she sees Pastor Williamson smiling. Of course he doesn’t get it. They’re all blind.

  “Kenzie, there are a lot of ways to interpret the Book of Revelation, and I’m sure this teacher you’re listening to has some good points, but we have to beware of people who try to scare us. Christians shouldn’t live in fear.”

  “I’d like you to listen to these tapes, because I think Reverend Francis is telling the truth. I’m sure we’re in the Tribulation.” She says this with finality, unwilling to argue anymore.

  “I’d be happy to listen to those tapes. Just drop them by the office this week, and you and I can talk about it later.”

  And that is that. They go on talking about staying awake and sober, and whatever. Kenzie can’t wait to leave. She does want to press Pastor Williamson further after the meeting’s over, but of course Trent has him in some deep discussion and no one else can get near. And Jenna gave her a ride tonight and won’t stay a minute longer than she has to. Jenna’s mom has been working a lot of overtime lately, and Jenna has to put her little brother to bed. She’s distracted while she drives Kenzie home, and Kenzie’s too discouraged to attempt conversation.

  Jodie

  She marvels at how her bright moments with Terry are followed by immediate catastrophe. There was the day in the parking lot when he appeared like a fantasy—and then the business in the park with Young Taylor and his weird friends. This evening, when she gets home, she is still energized by sex accomplished and decides to calm down by surfing the Net for a while. She and Mack finally bought a computer last year and hooked it up in the family room. The kids use it mainly, but Jodie has logged on about once a week to look for news or recipes and open her e-mail from two or three acquaintances who routinely send items of interest to neighbors and former classmates.

  The computer software rings to be connected, loud against the evening. Once online, Jodie mistakenly opens a window showing her the sites most recently visited. The first one reads simply “suicide by gunshot.” Fear moves through her veins in a sick rush. She clicks on the site and is confronted by a black-and-white photo of a man on a couch, his head and face a knob of bloody pulp. She clicks on NEXT, and there is a close-up of another man’s head, misshapen and with the top blown off completely. The caption explains that the quickly expanding gases created by the shotgun blast at close range caused the extreme bloat of the lower face and head.

  She closes the site and gets off the Web. She finds neither of the kids upstairs. Empty microwave dinner trays were in the trash when she came in; apparently they’ve been home long enough to eat.

  She hurries out to the truck and heads for the stone house. It’s nearly dark, and when she pulls into the driveway, she sees that there’s a light on in the main room. She taps on the door and calls, “Mack?”

  She hears him shuffle abruptly. The door opens, and his surprised face is inches from hers. “Hi, sweet. What’s up?”

  Jodie hesitates, and Mack brings her inside. “Something wrong? The kids okay? I stopped by a couple hours ago, and Kenzie was leaving for youth group and Young Taylor was gone.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t there. I had some stuff to do and just left frozen dinners to nuke. Did you use the computer?”

  He stares at her, confused. “Not for a couple of weeks. Why?”

  She shakes her head. “Oh, I just had some trouble with it—locked up on me—and I wondered if anyone else had the same problem.” She makes a smile. “And…I wondered if you’d eaten yet. I could make spaghetti or something.” She notices the tan of his throat, near the collarbone. He has the outdoorsy look that used to be normal for him. She sees Terry’s throat, paler, a freckle here and there. Then she sees that awful head from the Internet with its top missing. She has to work at listening to Mack’s reply.

  “No, thanks. I grabbed a bite after work.”

  “You doing okay? Warm enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  She notices for the first time a few s
napshots that are thumbtacked into the paneling. “Doing some photography, I see.”

  “Trying to invent a hobby. I’m pretty crappy at it.”

  She notes the lightness of his voice, the absence of storms in his eyes. This is not a man with violence on his mind. “Well, I’d better get back.”

  “You okay?”

  She is walking out the door and to the truck, and nods without looking back at him.

  When Kenzie gets home from youth group about twenty minutes later, Jodie decides to be direct. “Have you been online today?”

  “Early this morning, before school.”

  She offers no more information, so Jodie moves the discussion along. “Did you have any problem with it locking up on you?”

  “No. Did it with you?”

  “Yes, a while ago.”

  “Was it the mouse or the whole computer?”

  “The screen just sort of froze.”

  Kenzie asks a few more diagnostic questions. She appears steady and focused as ever. Jodie thinks of how upset her daughter gets when any hint of violence or cruelty pops up in a movie or television show. There’s no way she is examining pictures of splattered brains, but Jodie presses on.

  “Any particular sites you go to—like the news or weather?”

  Kenzie hesitates. Her eyes are wandering over a page of her history book. “There are a couple of websites I check a few times a week. I check out the news, stuff about movies. And there’s this preacher I listen to sometimes on TV. He does Bible studies online.”

  Jodie nods, at a loss. “What about Young Taylor? He uses it quite a bit, doesn’t he?”