by Sally John
Physically she might be in shape. And, too, she appeared intensely disciplined as far as coaching and teaching went. Although she recognized when she was becoming disrespectful, that wasn’t about to stop her from speaking freely.
He let the music drift into his consciousness. Loud and upbeat as it was, it wasn’t what usually emanated from the weight room. The words were about Jesus… Hmm. They were…worshipful.
Joel set the bar in its rack and listened for a moment.
The memories came then. They were why his church attendance was sporadic, why his worship remained…measured.
He understood that he was in a right relationship with God because some years ago he had put his trust in His Son, Jesus. That choice had brought him purpose and hope and sanity. His slate was wiped clean.
But he didn’t know what to do with the memories. And so, he avoided them.
Now he sat up and shook them off.
Eight
Alec parked his car in the garage and sat. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but he was home, three hours ahead of schedule. He had been driving around the countryside since noon.
He should go catch Peter at the church office, talk to him. This was a spiritual matter, wasn’t it? All of life was a spiritual matter. This didn’t feel like a spiritual matter. It felt like an unforeseen beating by an invisible assailant. His head felt as if he’d been wearing a football helmet and someone had grabbed it and jerked him to the ground. His ribs ached as if they’d been kicked while he was down. Red flags should be floating in the air, calling it against someone, penalizing someone.
He made his way across the backyard and walked heavily through the porch and the kitchen door. “Anne!” he called out.
Friday afternoon. What was her schedule? His mind wouldn’t focus. “Anne!” he shouted loudly. She was never home. There was PTA, room mother stuff, basketball practice, now Val’s extra needs, the pharmacy job—
“Alec! What’s wrong?” She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “Why are you home?”
They held each other for a long time.
“Alec?” She undid his tie. “What happened? Who died?”
“Nobody died. Let’s sit down.” They went around the breakfast bar and settled onto the couch. “That promotion I expected?” He blew out a breath. “Didn’t get it.”
“Oh, honey.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “What happened?”
He slouched against the back of the couch. “I went in this morning as a corporate trainer, expecting nothing this first day of the month. Maybe in two weeks I expect to be named manager, make the change at the end of the month. Start out January with a little raise, a little different day-to-day challenge. Just a natural progression. It’s what happens to men with my seniority, my reviews, my goals, my company, and above all, with my ability to play their game. I come home, still a corporate trainer for the remainder of December. For the remainder of the entire next year. Maybe until I turn 65.”
“Didn’t your boss get promoted to VP?”
“Frank got his promotion, all right, his new office, his raise.”
“What about his current position? Who gets that?”
“They’re bringing someone in from plant management. Someone they want to put out to pasture until he has the good sense to retire. That’s just between Frank and me and you, by the way. As if that helps.”
“Then this is a demotion for this man? Why would he take a backward move to Rockville?”
Alec shook his head. “Who knows? Who cares? And to top it all off, there will be no bonuses this year.”
She rubbed his shoulder. “We kind of expected that though, didn’t we?”
“But we expected a raise, too!” His wife snuggled against him, and he put an arm around her. “I’m glad you’re home, sweetheart.”
“Ordinarily I’d still be at the pharmacy, but it was empty this afternoon. Lia sent me home. God’s timing, huh?”
“Must be.”
“Alec, you like your job, don’t you?”
“I did. Now I’m not so sure. As manager, I expected I’d be traveling less next year. I expected on getting out of the routine. And I expected a raise! That’s not even in the picture now. I want to pay off the van and get Drew a car. I want to buy you something extravagant for a change. I want—”
Anne placed a finger on his lips. “You know the money part will work out. It always does. And I don’t want something extravagant.”
He pulled her close. She fit so naturally against him. “I’ve been doing the same thing for ten years. There’s nowhere else to move into except manager. You can’t become vice president until you’ve been manager. You know how much Kevin makes?”
“Kevin’s a podiatrist. We wouldn’t want his headaches or his lifestyle. And yes, unfortunately I know what he makes because Val has given me all the dreary details of what two households cost. Speaking of headaches, do you want some ibuprofen, honey?”
“Yes, thanks. But Val works a full-time job. They can’t be hurting too much.”
She sat up and rubbed his temples. “In our economy, no, they’re not hurting much, but it’ll probably turn into a big, ugly issue in the divorce.”
“Mmm, that feels great.”
“Are you calming down?”
“I’ve been driving around since I left the office at lunchtime.”
“Oh, Alec. This isn’t against you personally, you know. It’s just politics.”
He closed his eyes. What did she understand? She was a woman. “I thought I might call Peter.”
“Good idea. Why don’t you invite him and Celeste over for pizza tonight? I’ll be home from practice early.”
“Do you have something you can cook? Pizza gets expensive.”
“Alec, our money situation hasn’t changed, has it?”
“Not yet. It might if I resign.”
Anne hadn’t seen Alec this strung out since he was studying for his master’s, working full-time, and attending Lamaze classes with her.
It was a typical chaotic Saturday morning in the Sutton household. At the moment she wasn’t sure where the kids were. All she knew was that as she and Alec crossed paths in their bedroom, she made an idle comment about intending to paint the room in the spring, maybe put some paper on one wall. How opposed was he to something floral?
“Anne! We’ve got to stop spending money.” He hadn’t shaved. He wore a sweatshirt he had pulled from the laundry hamper. “That pizza last night cost—”
“We don’t buy pizza regularly, Alec. It’s a treat. And it was a treat for Peter and Celeste. House maintenance is an ongoing thing. These walls haven’t been painted in five years. The pittance I make at the pharmacy will buy the paint.”
“You said wallpaper.”
“That too. One wall won’t cost that much.”
“Val makes more than a pittance.”
“Yes, and between managing the Community Center and teaching aerobics, she practically lives there.”
“Your pharmacy job is more like volunteer. And coaching per hour probably nets you two bucks.”
“You’re not allowed in the den with the checkbook before dawn again. Come on, Alec! Nothing has changed.”
“Don’t you get tired of our tight budget?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be 40 years old in a few months, and I’m still counting nickels and dimes.”
“So do our parents.”
“They’re retired. They have to.”
She sighed in exasperation. “We don’t go without anything we need. Except for the van and the house, we’re not in debt. I only shop for necessities, and that’s fine with me. I don’t like shopping except at Christmastime. I don’t need any more money!”
“Don’t buy me anything for Christmas this year.”
She burst into laughter. “Oh, Alec! I am not joining your pity party.”
“You could get a job like most women. Like Val.”
Her smile disintegrated. He was serious. She sank
onto the bed. “We agreed from the start that I would be a stay-at-home mom. It was as much your desire as it was mine.”
“That was 17 years ago. A lot has changed, especially since yesterday. Since two of our kids became teenagers.”
“I didn’t finish college.”
“I realize that. I know you put me through grad school.”
They stared at one another.
He sat beside her. “Anne, I’m just thinking out loud, exploring options here.”
“Do you know when the last time was I soaked in a bubble bath?”
“What’s that got to do—”
“The first of November. That was the last time I had a spare 30 minutes.”
“What if you dropped your part-time work and volunteer stuff?”
“And worked full-time? Forget bubble baths. There wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to clean, cook, do laundry, and grocery shop.”
“The kids need to be given more responsibilities. They can help more with all that. Maybe that’s why God let this happen. So we could all pull together and learn from it. Otherwise He’s having a good laugh at me.”
“Alec, God doesn’t work that way.”
“I don’t know anymore.”
She poked a finger in his chest. “You’re losing it, mister. Why don’t you go soak in a bubble bath?”
Late Saturday night, the old yellow school bus rumbled down the road toward Valley Oaks. The interstate surface was relatively smooth compared to the two-lane county highway which they should hit in about ten minutes. In the front seat across from the driver, Anne felt her bones jar and wondered if, as a late thirty-something woman, she had outgrown her capacity for such treks.
But then, she’d begun questioning every jot and tittle of her life since Alec’s career went on hold 24 hours ago. She pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail and absentmindedly fingered the strands loose.
As usual after an away game, the bus was nearly empty. Most of the sophomores and freshmen rode home with their parents. Britte required her varsity girls to ride the bus. By junior year, all of them either had a car or a friend with a car parked back in the school lot. They didn’t grumble about their coach’s rule.
Anne suspected another reason they didn’t gripe was because Britte treated them well. Fast-food restaurants were plentiful along the far-flung routes they traveled. It was tradition to stop as a team and eat on the way home.
“Annie.” Britte slid onto the padded bench seat beside her. She had been making her rounds—another tradition— talking individually with the 11 members sprawled about the darkened bus. Rehashing successful plays. Instructing. Listening through their headsets to a curious mixture of music. Joking. Connecting.
“Annie,” she repeated. “I am so sorry about this schedule.”
“Don’t worry about it. The schedules don’t conflict like tonight’s except three times during the entire season. Drew can play three times without his mommy watching.”
Britte’s face was in shadow, turned as it was from the dimly glowing dashboard, but Anne imagined her friend’s eyes. A cartoonist could easily make them dominate her face, poke fun at their proximity. It was that nearness, though, and the royal blue color that made them so arresting.
Britte said, “But can Mommy survive missing him play?”
“Yes, I can. One down tonight, two to go, and Alec’s videotaping.” If he remembered.
“Well, Tanner can take over for you the next two times. I don’t mind if you don’t mind. He’s capable, and those games shouldn’t be our toughest.” She slapped a hand against her own thigh. “If you’re sure it’s not basketball, then what’s up?”
What was up was Britte, pumped as usual after a game. Anne smiled. Did the community know the treasure they had in this young woman, tucked away in her high school role, growing gracefully into the big shoes of her Great-Aunt Mabel? “You are perceptive, my dear.”
“Not really. You just didn’t complain once to the refs, and you let me run poor Whitney ragged.”
“Alec’s job is what’s up. He didn’t get a promotion we assumed would be automatic.” She explained the situation.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It’s a major bruise to his ego, no matter how much they downplay it and blame the economy or politics.”
“Alec is so likable. And he’s always struck me as solid in his faith. He’s not going to go wacko on us, is he?”
“You mean, pull a Kevin Massey on us?”
“Yeah, that type of thing. He’s too young for a midlife crisis. Too centered.”
Anne thought of Alec’s demeanor that morning. Centered? Solid in his faith? She pulled her winter jacket more tightly about her shoulders.
“Anne?”
“No, he won’t pull a—” She paused. Wasn’t it time to admit that her peachy view of Christian marriages smacked of fantasyland? “The fact is, I can’t say he won’t anything. He’s shook up, but God is faithful. God will see us through this.”
Britte grasped her hand and squeezed it. “I will pray for you.”
Anne nodded. Yes, please pray.
Nine
Britte clasped her hands atop her head as she stood on a braided rug in the center of what used to be her bedroom. Her mother had long ago removed the posters and painted white over the hideous royal blue Britte had favored as a faithful Viking. The furnishings, which she had furtively spray-painted gold one spring day when she was 12, had also been restored to their original white. Still, the room resonated with memories of a happy childhood.
Gina lounged on the white chenille bedspread, flipping through a bridal magazine. Winter sunlight streamed through windows behind her, glistening in her brown hair. Barb, Britte’s mother, knelt on the rug, running a tape measure down her leg.
“Gina,” Britte said, “please tell me this dress has a turtleneck. You could have made ice cubes in the church this morning!”
Gina laughed. “Sorry. No turtleneck.”
Barb stood and dangled the tape measure around her neck. “You do have the longest legs, honey, just like your dad’s.” She wrote numbers on a pad. “Take off that sweatshirt. I can’t measure accurately around that thing.”
Britte complied. “Mom, since you’re making the dress, you can add a turtleneck! Tell Gina I look absolutely pathetic in low cut, off-the-shoulder, fancy-schmantzy dresses.”
“You don’t look pathetic in—”
“But I do! Pull out the old prom photos. Gina, you’ll notice that my sister’s prom photos are displayed in the family room. Both of my brothers’ prom photos are displayed. Mine are stuck somewhere in a drawer.”
Barb pulled the tape snug around Britte’s waist. “Only because every time I hung them, you took them down.”
“I look like a giraffe.”
“How you do run on, child!”
“Just stating the facts. Gina, please, please! No skin showing! Else you’ll have everyone gawking at a frozen giraffe instead of the beautiful bride.”
Gina rose from the bed and brought over the magazine. “Here. This is one of my choices.”
Velvety crimson red enveloped the model in a warmth that almost radiated off the glossy page. The dress had a scalloped neck that rose high in the center. From gathered shoulders, long sleeves were held in place with a row of tiny red pearlescent buttons.
“Gina, is this your first or last choice?”
“It’s my favorite. Simple, no frills, no fancy-schmantzy.”
Britte closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
Gina laughed. “Oh, Britte, you know I’d rather be in a sweatshirt and jeans myself! This is as frilly as I can get.”
Barb, peering over her daughter’s shoulder, sighed. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? And no skin showing!” She nudged Britte. “You’ll look beautiful.”
Britte handed back the magazine. “Well, I know the seamstress can make that dress look at least as beautiful as it is in the picture.”
“Thanks, honey.”
“Gina, when do we get to see yours? I cannot imagine choosing a wedding gown. Do they make wedding warm-up suits? Not that I have any reason whatsoever to be concerned about such things.”
Her mother tapped her shoulder. “Hold still.”
Gina sat again on the bed. “I found one in Rockville, but now Mother’s back in Los Angeles and having second thoughts about my choice.”
Barb said, “Since she’s in the business of women’s apparel, I imagine she has quite a number of resources.”
“Way too many.” Gina grinned. “But she has her own dress to choose, and she can be as frilly as she wants on that one. She’ll tire of trying to find a simple, uncreative one for me. Barb, who was it we wanted to ask Britte about?”
“Oh, Ethan Parkhurst. Brady wonders if you’d like to invite him to the wedding.”
“Sure.” The English teacher was often included in family gatherings. Brady sometimes lectured in his classes. “Is there space?”
Barb and Gina chuckled. Her mother said, “Between Brady and Cal, the list is growing. They seem to be getting into the spirit of a celebration. And how about your principal?”
“Mr. Kingsley? Why on earth—”
“Basketball and Bible study. Hold still.”
“Well, then, he’s Brady’s friend. He doesn’t need to ask me.”
“All done.” She rolled up the tape measure. “Why don’t you stay a bit and help address wedding invitations?”
Groaning, Britte pulled on her sweatshirt. “Oh, man! I thought I only had to do this dress stuff!”
Gina said, “You don’t have to—”
“I’m just kidding. Sort of.” She really did have other things to do, other things she’d like to do.
“We can watch the game.”
Britte returned her smile. “Now that makes it more palatable.”
Her mother said, “You two are so much alike, it’s funny. And your interests don’t even resemble your mothers’.” She joined Gina on the bed. “You know, I was always jealous of your mom in high school.”
“Really?”
“Mom, I didn’t know that!”
