Christina could hear Angela snicker over the new makeup guess. She smiled and patiently waited for her friend to figure it out.
Sandy stepped back, snapped her fingers and crowed, “I’ve got it!”
That sent the other women and even her boss dashing over to her desk. Christina felt like hiding under her mouse pad.
“Glasses! When did you get new glasses?” she shrieked.
All at once the murmuring and the “Oh, they are so nice” comments started.
Her boss smirked, “Did I overpay you by mistake?” He then turned to go back into his office with another piece of her peace offering in his hand. Everyone laughed. Christina turned crimson.
“So, does this mean no more head bobbing in front of the computer?” Angela demonstrated for effect.
“And, no more peering over the glasses like a school marm, either, I suppose?” Sandy quipped, not to be outdone.
Christina dragged the vase in front of her and crouched behind the peppermint blossoms. “Come on y’all. Was it that bad?”
In unison, came the “Yes!”—even from the boss’s office, along with, “Recess is over, ladies.”
They slowly filtered back to their workstations. But off and on through the rest of the day, the compliments continued. Relief poured over her when the hands of the clock hit five. She turned off her computer, locked her desk and grabbed her purse. She never liked being the center of attention. In the goldfish bowl of life, she always sought to hide behind the seaweed or the bubbly windmill.
Being an accounting clerk, Christina wasted no time figuring out how to compensate for the charge that would appear on her VISA. She would take her lunch for a month or two and tell everyone she needed to save money. Maybe they’d figure she had to shell out to the IRS.
Then she caught herself. No, she wasn’t going to worry what the others thought, or what Jeff did either. She needed new glasses. Period. Over a year ago he had said it was her choice. It wasn’t a matter of deserving them or not, but needing them. She’d squeeze it into the budget somehow, with God’s help, who had given her the talent of accounting anyway.
Forty minutes later, Christina was on the road again, as a Willie Nelson tune stated. This time, it was back to Allensville. She flicked on her headlights as the pomegranate sun off her left started to set in wispy fingers of pink and gold clouds above the hills beyond the skyline. She decided to stop off at Bubba’s Burger Barn and order Jeff’s favorite type of cheeseburger, and two chocolate sundaes with nuts.
Maybe then he wouldn’t ask too many questions she didn’t yet know how to answer. This Hill Country jaunt and its eye-opener was her secret, her insight, a shiny trinket just for her. She wanted to cherish it a little longer before she shared it with him—and mull it over in her heart more. Besides, she owed him for the flowers.
Old habits die hard. Would he begin to notice a change in her? Did he ever notice anything about her? She told herself to stop that talk. No more. Her inner mind waggled its finger at her. Otherwise called The Counselor, The Holy Spirit, and her eternal guide. She had silenced Him for too long in favor of her own self pity and pride. Two sides of the coin. Both focused on herself, not Him. Something she would endeavor to stop doing.
Still, I wonder if Jeff will notice my new glasses.
So often the “blight flight” of urbanites leads to encroachment on the small towns and ranches, eventually engulfing them in the name of progress. What was once an open field surrenders its existence to strip malls and treeless subdivisions. The boundaries between the sprawling metropolis hustle-bustle and small town familiarity become blurred.
It was in one of those dichotomous areas that Jeff and Christina decided to make their home. They owned a half acre lot in a neighborhood sandwiched between the town of Allensville and yet to be annexed county land, fifteen miles from the capitol city. The best of both worlds. Unlike her mother to her father, Christina chose the small town life over the big city, thus relieving Jeff of the social burden of proving himself worthy enough to have “landed a society chick”. Besides, they could never afford the “goldfish bowl” social life in the old money neighborhoods. In the past, she feared that fact might have labeled her, and him, as a failure, though she preferred the term rebel.
Now the substitute goldfish bowl she had created in her world of suburbia was shattered as well. A freedom swept over her as she headed down the hill to the small lights beginning to flicker in homes and hearths of the valley that nestled her town.
Pulling into her driveway, she noticed the front porch light on as well as the carriage lamps at the front of the recessed garage. But, no lights were on inside, except the one over the kitchen sink, a universal signal of no one awake or at home. The shock flushed the back of her neck. Where was he? He was always home, except on Boy Scout council night. And that’s not tonight, right? She idled the car in the driveway as she flipped open and punched the app for her calendar. No, it’s next Tuesday. Hmmm. Where is he?
She shook off the mounting gloom of abandonment, refusing to entertain that thought a nanosecond longer. She punched the opener and pulled her car in . . . next to his? As Christina opened the kitchen door and set down her purse, she saw a note on the counter in Jeff’s hen scratch, still as undecipherable as the Navaho submissions in WWII, even after twenty -five years of trying to read it. It told her he came home early from work feeling lousy and went to bed early. She guessed that was what the note said. Something close to it anyway.
That was one of the differences between her and Jeff. When he felt sick, he slept it off. She never could sleep when she was hurting or had a cold. She always envied him that talent.
Well, at least she’d the rest of the evening to herself for a change. Then she felt bitchy for thinking it. Old habits do die hard, right?
She put the sundaes in the freezer and put her Mandarin chicken salad in the fridge for lunch the next day. She shoved the Paul Newman face on the salad dressing pouch in there as well. No more piercing blue eyes today, please. Tonight, she’d rather chomp into the bacon cheeseburger and fries she had ordered for her husband whose waist never expanded. She prayed hers wouldn’t, then asked for forgiveness for her gluttony.
Fat Cat trotted over to rub against her legs, twisted back and forth in a lopsided figure eight, and looked up with woeful eyes. He always missed her and felt abandoned when she was out of the house, whether it was ten minutes or ten days—at least he purposely made her feel that way. She picked him up and nuzzled into his fur, then passed through the kitchen into the den. She flicked on the lamp to better navigate through the den and down the hall to the first bedroom, now their office. She caught up on her e-mails as she chomped on her dinner. After the tenth one, her eyes drooped. Not even the cute one with the deer licking a kitten and the one with the latest Maxine jokes couldn’t even keep her attention.
“A bubble bath. A hot steaming bubble bath. That’s what I need.” She informed her feline dinner guest.
She ran the tub in the hall bath, filling it with billowy suds. Christina eased down into the luxury, leaned her head against the blow-up bath pillow, closed her eyes and drifted into comfort. The chill of the past thirty hours finally oozed out of her pores. She soaked until her fingers pruned. Then she crawled into bed, all warmed, relaxed and reeking of the lemongrass bubble bath Jeff gave her for Christmas.
The lump next to her grumbled into its pillow. “Hi. You back?”
“Yeah. You sick?”
“I caught that cold going around the office. I took some nighttime cold medicine.” He slurred, then yawned. There was a tug on the covers as he rolled over and settled back down into his nest of sheets.
She leaned over and brushed a lock of grayish hair out of his eyes. “Sleep tight. Hope ya feel better tomorrow.”
“Mmhmm.” Was the response followed by a snuffle and a snore.
Welcome home, she thought. Missed you, too. She suddenly missed the warmth of the Owens’ home. And their company. One in parti
cular.
Chapter 24 Hindsight
In her women’s Bible study the next Tuesday, they read in Psalms about David. He asked the Lord to seek out the motives in his heart and correct them. The study leader asked if any of the ladies felt their motives or thoughts needed correcting.
Timidly, Christina half-raised her hand with every ounce of inner strength. I’ve known these ladies for over fifteen years. Why can’t I feel safe enough to tell the truth? Why can’t I just admit my life’s not Christian perfect, especially as of late.
A yearning for commonality nudged her forward. Maybe, just maybe, someone else here felt the same way.”My thoughts sometimes turn into…well,” she closed her eyes and gulped, “into these, these, oh, I don’t know.” She rushed to get the words out before it became too embarrassing. “Into internal tirades I never thought I could be capable of thinking, and would never, ever, let out into the open.”
She swallowed her emotions down like reflux acid. Come to think of it, she experienced indigestion lately. Her eyes darted around the circle of women with Bibles balanced on laps, pleading for acknowledgement but not holding out a chance of finding it. “Do any of you…?”
“Welcome to the road of turning middle aged. It gets bumpy from here, dear.” Olive sang-sung. Murmured chuckles sounded and heads bobbed in response.
“Honey,” Mildred said with a wave of her hand as if she’d swatted away a pesky mosquito, “that’s totally normal. It’s just hormones. Right, girls?” She nodded around the room for affirmation. Several others acknowledged back with nods, a short laugh, or a sympathetic peer over reading glasses. “God understands. He made us that way.”
“My mother just went through all of that last year,” Janice volunteered. “I thought she was going to drive us all nuts.”
Several stifled cackles and Bible page shuffles filled the room. Janice crimsoned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you are driving us nuts, Christina. I just meant that, yes, it is normal. I guess.” Janice stopped and slumped in her chair, staring at an imaginary spot on the rug.
Mary Ellen, sitting next to her, reached over and squeezed her hand. “No harm done, dear.”
Christina felt relieved. Her friends didn’t believe that she’d turned into a heathen ogre. With a sigh she said, “Sorry for interrupting the study. Go on.”
The women smiled and continued with the next verse.
When the study was over, Christina scooted into the driver’s side of her car and noticed the clock on the dash said 9:23. She sped home and dashed in the door and dropped her stuff on the bar between the kitchen and the den. Jeff watched a Star Trek rerun on TV through the evening paper held up to his face, a feat only men knew how to do.
“Sorry I’m late. Were you worried?”
“Why would I worry? I know hen sessions can drag on and on. You carry the cell phone I got you. Josh did program in your ICE, right?”
“My what? Ice?”
“I-C-E. In case of emergency numbers. The ones highlighted in red.”
She hated his condescending tone of voice. She had a fleeting, impish inspiration of deleting his cell phone number from the list. Then she chided herself for the thought. She wasn’t sure she knew how, anyway. Instead, she apologized to Jeff for the past few days for her harried state of mind.
“The day after I got back to work Angela’s grandson had to have a tonsillectomy. He can’t go back to daycare for a few more days. She’ll be out for a week.”
“Why?” Jeff snapped the newspaper and peered over at her. As usual he was holding court from the recliner.
“Her daughter’s already used all of her sick leave on his frequent sore throats. Then this afternoon, Mary’s aunt passed away and she dashed out of town.”
“So that leaves who to handle both the account payables and receivables for the rest of the week? Let me guess. You, right?”
“Well, Angela did print and send out the statements. But that’s left me to handle all the phone calls of customers who just got their bill in the mail and of course have oodles of questions.”
“Of course. You take on too much at that place.”
“It’s a small office, Jeff. We depend on each other. Mr. Caruthers does, too. He did give me a hefty bonus last Christmas.” she shrugged off the added stress. “Besides, I can’t fault Angela. She tried to help out instead of leaving us in the lurch.” Christina parroted what she told the receptionist Sandy earlier that day. “Sandy’s solution was to make a recording on Angela’s voice mail.”
“But you couldn’t do that could you?” Jeff responded.
Worry and hurt stabbed her as she misinterpreted his comment. But she didn’t ask for clarification. She just assumed . . . Instead, she picked up a magazine and blinked away the tears. Welcome back to normal. Why would I think it would change?
Two nights later, when she still couldn’t sleep, she lay in bed thinking of what the women and Jeff said. Maybe Jeff was just upset because he worried about her working so hard.
In fact, Jeff became very understanding. The last thing Christina wanted when she got home was to talk on the phone. Jeff surprised her by playing personal secretary and screening the usual “Hi, how are you, did you hear about” phone calls from friends and family.
Hmmm. So he’s not all that bad after all, right? Maybe he did understand. I know deep down he is just as hard working so, maybe he’s tried to identify with me.
Twenty-twenty hindsight now made her see she might have assumed wrong—about a lot of things. Perhaps there’d be fewer restless nights. How hard it is to slough off these old feelings, Lord. Please help me do so.
Fat Cat sensed she was awake. He hopped onto the bedside table and swished his tail back and forth. Her new glasses flipped onto her pillow. She had to laugh. Got the message, God. Thank you.
On Sunday, it was Christina’s turn to clean up after the pot luck lunch at church.
“Can you possibly hurry it up?” Jeff muttered in her ear as he leaned on the fold-out table in the church’s parish hall. “The game’s on in twenty minutes.”
“Move. I got to wipe it down.” She didn’t look up, but waved the cloth at him. “Go on. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
He could have taped the darn show. She wiped the table a little harder. He knew the potluck was today. She heard him stomp away and the door shut just a bit too strong.
“The game’s gonna be a landslide and he’ll be in a foul mood anyway,” she predicted under her breath.
Harriet happened to be walking by folding a table cloth under her chin. “You say something?”
“Huh. No. Mumbling to myself.” She looked up. Evidently her expression caught her friend’s attention. “Jeff’s anxious to get home to the game.”
“Can’t see why,” Harriet shrugged. “They never have a good basketball team. To be in the final 16 is a fluke. All the broadcasters said so. Men, huh?”
Christina sighed and looked outside. Through the narrow windows she saw Jeff pacing, jiggling his keys and the change in his side pants pocket.
Boy, how I hate that. “I better get, Harriet. See ya Tuesday for Bible study?”
“Okay, dear. Thanks again. You always work so hard to make these a success.”
“Pfft. No more than you do.” Christina felt her face crimson.
“And that casserole was yummy. I need that recipe.” Harriet dug in her purse for a pen, the pew bulletin on the table in front of her, poised and ready.
“The recipe was in last month’s Stylish Southern Home. It’s not original. I’ll email it, okay?” she called as she closed the door.
She hurried to the truck. He started the engine.
“Are you mad?” she asked as she slid into her seat and shut her own car door.
“No, I just want get home.” He twisted around behind as he backed out of the parking space.
“Did you like the casserole?”
“Sure. It went down okay.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched for a bre
ak in the stream of cars. He pointed to the street. “Dang. See, this is what happens when you stay behind. Now the Methodists and the Baptists have let out. Look at the traffic.”
Christina turned to watch the cars zip by her side-view mirror. She kept silent the rest of the way home, as usual, wishing to avoid any conflict. She wondered why it never occurred to either her or Jeff to just come in separate vehicles. Perhaps because everyone viewed them as a couple, two halves making a whole. Out of habit, perhaps they did as well. They went together and left together. Always had.
Did the people in their congregation admire them for sticking it out so long when so many others of their generation divorced and went their separate ways? Christina wondered how many couples who’d been married as long as she and Jeff still really liked each other.
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Why did I expect it all to change after my escape? We haven’t even talked about it.
She longed for a friendly shoulder rub and a pair of steel blue eyes who’d listen to her troubles.
Chapter 27 Tea and Sympathy
That evening, Christina sat on the steps of the back porch listening to the night creatures begin to stir and make their sounds—crickets, an owl, the toads down by the pond at the end of their street. She heard a little questioning mew and felt the familiar soft pressure of Fat Cat rubbing across her back.
“Momma’s boy. He can’t bear to be without you.” Her husband chided as he pulled the slider screen open and brought her a glass of iced tea.
“I don’t mind,” she replied as she picked up the purring cat and nuzzled his fur. “Is the game over?”
“Yeah, before it began.”
“Sorry.” She looked at her husband whose pallor no longer resembled a mime’s. “You seem a lot better, hon.”
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