“The question?” Harold asked, holding his clay cup gracefully.
“How do I love this person?” Liz answered. She was looking at Harold.
“Yes.” Sienna composed her expression, not wanting to draw attention to Liz’s flirtation more than necessary. After all, Liz was correct again, if a bit more forward in her expression than Sienna might have been. “Well. Thank you for the tea, Harold. I hope we see you here again.” She rose and left him to his companion.
The children were tired, and families left in a large wave, just as they had entered. Sienna wished them well and began to gather their detritus. Most of the crayons were intact, but she separated out the ones with tooth marks. They would be fine after sharpening. On the table where the children had sat were drawings of rainbows, dogs, superheroes, a princess, and several teapots. She gathered up spent napkins and used cups onto a tray, and she stopped midway while piling dirty forks. The children had made a picture of her, or more appropriately, for her. There was a stick woman with dark hair and earrings as large as saucers. She held a pizza in one hand and a teapot in the other.
“Dear Miss Tea Lady, Thank you for the meal,” it read.
Sienna bit back a huge grin. She tore the drawing in a square from the brown paper and put it in her pocket. It brushed against Bethel’s note—Susan was here. Overcome, Sienna walked the tray quickly to the kitchen. She set it on the counter and walked to the handwashing sink. She ran the faucet to cover her giddy sniffles—that strange mixture of tears and laughter that comes when relief and joy collide—then rinsed her face with the cool water. She reached for a towel, and Jessie’s song broke through to her, bringing forward her dashed dreams for Susan with an unexpected hope.
Come, ye weary, heavy laden, lost and ruined by the fall,
If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come at all.
I will arise and go to Jesus. He will embrace me with his arms.
In the arms of my dear Jesus, oh, there are ten thousand charms.
Now that she was hearing the words, Sienna’s thoughts of Susan shifted. A tiny baby, no longer still, but warm and cuddled close in strong arms of love. She tried to push the image away, afraid the comfort would only make her hurt, but it stuck in her mind like the caramel at the bottom of a sticky bun. She drew a breath and accepted it just as Jessie reached the final line of the hymn.
Grace washed right through her, sending a tingle of relief from her belly along her spine until her face, hands, and feet felt warm and relaxed. She leaned against the sink and heard the papers crinkle in her hip pocket. Joy and sadness overcame her so that she stared blankly until she felt a soft hand on her shoulder.
Sienna looked up to see Lettye’s kind brown eyes. “Hey, there, boss, you okay?” Lettye asked in such a way that Sienna knew she would not judge her either way.
“It’s just all too much sometimes.” She swallowed, but a few tears surfaced. “I think I’d better go home.”
“Do you need a lift?”
“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you.”
“We’ll take care of things here. You take care.” Lettye patted Sienna again and pressed lightly before lifting her hand away. Sienna felt sure that Lettye was blessing her.
She walked to her car and sat for a few minutes with the doors locked, waiting for the tears to subside. They ebbed out slowly, turning over the events of the day in the impartial way of the ocean; emotions took shape and vanished along with the salt water, leaving you no choice but to accept them. At length, she felt calm enough to drive. Her phone buzzed. It was an email notification. She tapped through to the message from Bethel. A photo popped up of Sienna and Savitri hugging, the warm tones of their hair and skin and smiles forming the perfect frame to the words on the paper they held.
Susan was here.
Notes from Sienna’s tea files
Savitri, 57, restauranteur, social justice worker, prophet, friend. Masala chai prepared with 7 spices and blend of mellow Assam and Darjeeling. Or peppery coffee roasted to perfection and brewed strong in a French press, served with thick cream. No sugar, but dried apricots on the side. Warm and hearty, restorative.
Chapter Eight
Peter was awake when Sienna greeted him the next morning.
“I brought you a surprise,” she said, holding up a white bag from the teashop. “We got in a special order bright and early from Pieman. It’s your favorite, Shaker lemon pie.”
Peter smiled and held Sienna for a long moment when she leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you. A perfect breakfast with the woman I love.” He looked her over carefully. “What is it? Something’s changed.”
“That’s not the only surprise.” Sienna pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. She handed it to Peter. “Bethel took me to lunch and gave me a way to remember Susan’s life.”
“It’s beautiful.” Peter leaned back onto his pillows, a tender expression in his eyes. He held Sienna’s hand and squeezed. Quiet stretched out into peacefulness as they looked from the photo to one another. At length, Peter spoke again. “When I get out of here, let’s go to the other places, too. Let’s get a photo of you in the bee balm, and at the other restaurants, and the make-out benches in Duke gardens.” His eyes sparkled. “And of course, at the beach house.” Susan had been conceived while they were on a particularly memorable vacation down in Charleston.
“Peter!” Sienna returned his mischievous grin.
“Well, she was.”
“At least in the twinkle in our eyes, you mean.”
“Yes.” Peter smiled, then looked at Sienna soberly. “I’m very grateful to this Bethel, and I’m keen to thank her when I get well enough to leave. She has given you back the brightness in your eyes.” He kissed her lightly on the tiny fine smile lines that stretched out from her eyes.
“It wasn’t just Bethel.” Sienna told him about the Jesus icon and the sweet, healing smell.
“So that’s what it was,” Peter said when she had finished with an account of her prayer for him the previous day. “The doctor who prodded me awake this morning said my numbers were looking far better than they expected and asked if I had been eating beefsteak and liver. He’s from the old school, you know, that thinks organ meats can cure half of any ailment.” He kissed her hand. “But it was you, bringing me myrrh from a hazel-eyed Jesus.”
Sienna chuckled at the expression. Peter had a way of summarizing miracles into quippy turns of phrase. She supposed the ability was akin to his skill as an architect, indicating an entire way of life in the way a shelf or window framed a room. “Father Max comes into the shop to play chess with Cleotis most days. Maybe I’ll see if he can come see you.”
“That would be nice. I like being around people who dispense myrrh.”
“Good. Because I think I might be drawn there, to the Orthodox church.” She quirked her lips in a half-smile when he raised his eyebrows. “Even Marnie thinks so. She told me explicitly that she’d still be my prayer partner if we convert.”
“Well, then that’s that.” He kissed her hand. “I know how particular Marnie can be.”
“That’s one way to put it.” She grinned. Marnie had a habit of threatening to withhold prayer privileges if something displeased her. Half the parish had been threatened at one time or another, especially in basketball season. “If you root for that team, I’ll strike you from my prayer list!” she would hiss in the coffee line. Usually, when Sienna teased her about praying for someone anyhow, Marnie would affect a sheepish look and say she had repented. “But I suppose even Marnie wouldn’t argue with the Holy Spirit.”
“Hmm,” Peter grunted doubtfully.
“Well, Marnie approves, so it must be okay.”
“Are you sure you’re not just doing it for me?”
“You mean, am I trying to bargain with God to get you well?”
“Well, yes, that. But also, are you sure you feel a calling there? Before, when we explored the idea, I was more enthusiastic than you.”
“I t
hink at the time I was just overwhelmed at the prospect of so many changes at once. You know what they say about Orthodoxy?”
“Christianity, only harder?” Peter grinned.
“That’s right.”
Peter cupped her face. “You have had enough hardness already.”
“We both have.” She bent toward him, and they kissed.
“What we need is rest for our souls. I think we may find it there.”
“I think so.” She leaned back as an announcement in the hall indicated a code that sent footsteps running past the door. She tried not to think of such an alarm for Peter.
“What will you do today?” Peter deftly changed the subject. In the months since Susan had died, he had grown adept at distracting Sienna from her panic.
“I miss the dogs. I think I’ll go to the shop through lunch, then go get the dogs and take them home.” She breathed deeply and noticed that Peter’s thumb was stroking her hand.
“That will be good for you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” He looked at her with pain and compassion. “This is when we thought we would bring Susan home.” Even though their daughter was gone, the remembered hope still pulled at both their mouths, making the half-smiles of sadness.
“I had a bit of a fit about that yesterday. That’s why Marnie called and got me to listen till I saw Jesus.”
Sienna looked at their interlocked hands and felt the warmth coursing through her from Peter’s touch. She was surprised that even in a hospital room where nothing could happen between them, he could kindle her desire for him. It was his attention, she presumed, the way he knew her. She exhaled shakily and smiled. The biblical word for marital relations was so accurate. Her husband knew her; she wanted to know him. Peter must have been thinking along the same lines. He leaned forward with effort until their foreheads touched.
“I want to give you babies, Sienna.” Which was far sexier than if he had focused only on the act of lovemaking and not the hoped for result. They were of a piece, as parents knew, the love and its desired fruiting.
They kissed until a nurse interrupted them with a loud knock. It was time for Peter’s checkup, and time for Sienna to be on her way.
“I’ll ask Father Max to visit you,” Sienna said as she stood up.
“Thank you. Please do,” Peter said, squeezing her hand. Neither of them were fond of kissing in public. Instead, they said, “I love you,” and Sienna left.
The dogs were not pleased with her prolonged absence. Even Jonquil pressed against her legs to keep her from the door. Sienna had to stoop down to face the big yellow dog to make her understand that they were coming with her.
“It’s okay, honey. You’re coming home with me.” Jonquil whined a little, recognizing “home.”
“Ms. Bannock?” It was Jonathan, bringing the leashes. He held them out to her and looked on with sympathy for the dogs. “If you need us to look after them again, just bring ‘em on back.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.” Sienna said over her shoulder. Pogo had gotten so excited at the sight of the leads that Sienna could hardly snap the leash to his collar. At length, she managed it and stood. “Alright, y’all. To the car!”
Jonquil walked close by Sienna’s leg and bore Pogo’s bumps with exaggerated patience. In the car, she whined.
“I know, girl,” Sienna said to the dog’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “You miss your daddy.” She turned to look the big dog in the eye. “He’s still in the hospital. But I know God hears your prayers.” Jonquil barked once, quietly. It was a dog’s amen.
Back home, the dogs wasted no time begging for food at their empty bowls. Sienna was glad that they bought dog food in bulk. That, at least, had not run out. She filled the bowls and set them in the dogs’ customary places. Then she laid out the large stainless steel water dish before putting on the kettle for her own libation.
“You two finish up here and then come help me weed the garden.”
Sienna spent a pleasant afternoon drinking lemony mugs of tea, brushing and petting the happy(ish) dogs, and pulling a wheelbarrow full of henbit and crabgrass from the edges of the flower beds. When the air began to cool, she remembered that she had not eaten. She decided to call in an order at an Indian restaurant only ten minutes from her house. Savitri’s Love and Lentils was her favorite for eating out, but she liked India Palace for take out.
She paced the thyme lawn while the phone rang and stopped in front of the bee balm to place her order. Distractedly, she pinched off a blossom in between specifying naan, a chicken dish, and a dessert of gulab jamun. She twirled the bright bloom between her fingers as she wrapped up the details, thinking of the rosewater syrup on the gulab jamun. Peter had kissed her for the first time with the syrup on his lips. Smiling, she tucked the bee balm flower in her hair and returned the phone to her pocket.
“Okay, you two,” Sienna called to the dogs, “you hold down the fort, and I’ll be back shortly.” They panted happily from their favorite resting spots in the sprawling mint and lemon balm.
At the restaurant, Sienna chatted happily with the man who greeted her. As owner, he was always happy to hear from long time customers. She told him about the teashop’s successful party the previous evening and hoped he could stop by. His wife joined him and promised to consult with Sienna on her chai when she visited, which both women hoped would be soon.
Sienna thanked them and picked up her bag, heavy with fragrant food—she wanted to have leftovers on hand so she would not have to rely so much on Tovah to feed her—and nearly ran into Greg, who was standing just inside the door when she turned.
“Oh!” she said, and self-consciously touched the flower in her hair. She stopped herself from looking down at her outfit, since at least the presence of a shirt differed from Greg’s painting.
“Sienna,” Greg smiled. “How lovely to see you. Are you going?” He was dressed in a slate blue cashmere sweater that contrasted just enough with his eyes to brighten them. He took his time looking her over, and the smile took on a pert edge as he lingered on the blossom.
“Yes, Greg,” Sienna smiled tightly. The smell of the rosewater drifted up to her from the sack in her hand, and she felt her heart race under the man’s open admiration. It would not do to engage him more than necessary. She raised the bag of food in answer to his question. “I’d better go before this gets cold.”
“Of course.” He opened the door and held it for her, then stepped graciously forward to open the outer door as well. “Let me walk you out.”
“Um, thank you,” She said, realizing that he already had.
“Any chance you would welcome company?” A bell rang inside the restaurant at the same time he spoke, and Sienna pretended not to hear him.
He was close enough for her to smell his cologne, a citrusy fragrance that she found pleasing. It wasn’t as woody as the scents Peter favored, but it suited Greg. She tried not to pay attention to him, and she was grateful that she had parked close by.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said when she stopped in front of her car. He stepped back and watched her get in, then waved when she drove away.
Sienna pulled to a stop sign while she waited to enter the freeway. Greg lingered outside the door to the restaurant, the last of the sunshine splashing him into sharp relief with the wall behind him. He was beautiful, framed in the oblong mirror. Perhaps he was more beautiful behind her, away from her. There were many lovely things in nature, she reflected, that were best observed from a distance.
She and Peter had hiked Yellowstone a few years before. They had marveled at a lake there that was as gorgeous as it was deadly, a gash of water in a rough land. Peter had noticed first. “It’s mineral beauty. So different from living things. Mineral beauty only shows up in wounds. We get gems from mines and badlands and places that were broken.” That night he had woven her a wreath of wildflowers. His meaning had been clear—to him, she was life and the glory of God. She was the living beauty that stood out against the harshness of yellow l
akes and cold stones.
Perhaps that was why Greg liked her. She attracted him the way that trees and gardens appealed to wounded places. He must have wanted her near to tend him. She could feel his longing, feel the tendrils of desire in her flesh reach toward him the way a sweet pea climbs the highest sturdy stalk. These were dangerous thoughts, and she pushed them away. An old Car Talk CD was sticking out of the player. She pushed it in and smiled at the banter for the rest of her drive home.
The dogs met her at the door when she got home. They followed her to the kitchen, keeping sharp eyes on the food bag. Sienna retrieved a glazed pale-green plate and set it on the counter. She pushed the Indian food containers to the back of the counter, out of the reach of eager wet noses. The phone rang just as she bent to pluck a serving spoon out of the dishwasher.
“Hello. Sienna here.”
“Sienna. Glad you are at home.” Tovah’s voice hid tension poorly.
“What’s wrong, Tovah?”
“Well, I don’t want to worry you.” She paused while Sienna rustled the wrapper on the naan. “Are you eating something? Good. I was hoping you would remember to eat today.”
“Tovah,” Sienna said. She knew her friend was loath to give bad news, especially if she thought the recipient had other worries. “Let me hear it.” She sighed at the long silence that followed. “Okay. You tell me some good news first, while I load up my plate. Then I’ll sit down here amongst the dogs and a pile of Indian food, and you can fill me in.”
“Deal.” Tovah released a held breath. “Bethel was here today, and she left you an envelope. It feels like pictures. Your favorite envelopes came in, the ones with the poppy design on the liners. Oh, and Cleotis Reed had a stalemate with that priest. The tall, kind one with the black robe and the cross on his chest. Not the weasel.” Tovah drew an agitated breath, but she managed not to go on a tirade about Greg, much to Sienna’s relief. She wanted to think of Greg as little as possible. “Are you ready?”
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