Tessa (From Fear to Faith)

by Melissa Wiltrout

  “That’s nice. Feeling good doesn’t pay the bills, though.”

  “I know. But it does mean we don’t have to spend all that money on beer and cigarettes.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. I woke up this morning, and I was so happy. I don’t need any of that stuff. I don’t even want it.”

  “Well, that’s great. But you can speak for yourself. I have no intention of quitting.”

  “I haven’t said anything about you, have I?”

  “You’re being very nice, so far. I hope it lasts. Now let’s get you into your chair.”

  Listening, I marveled at the confidence Walter already had in his new life. Maybe he really had changed, like the man in the radio drama. If he didn’t want to drink or smoke anymore, did I dare to hope he wouldn’t cook meth either?

  At breakfast, Mom presented each of us with a small, neatly wrapped package. “It’s not much,” she said.

  I tore the paper off mine, uncovering a Christmas album of Alan Jackson. “Hey, thanks. I’ve been wanting this one,” I said.

  Mom nodded. “I thought I remembered you liked Alan Jackson.”

  Walter worked away at his gift with his one good hand and soon drew forth a bag of roasted peanuts and a Snickers bar.

  “You can chew on that instead of yelling at me now,” Mom said.

  Walter smiled. “Thank you, Julie. I wish I could’ve gotten you something.”

  “You can,” she said, with a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. “Keep being nice like you are right now.”

  The remainder of the day passed pleasantly. Mom made potato soup and buttered toast for dinner. I played my new CD through twice. Walter said little, but he radiated a thankfulness and joy which lightened the atmosphere of the whole house. Mom kept gazing at him in bewilderment, and whenever he caught her doing so, he’d smile at her.

  After dinner, Mom helped me mix up a batch of sugar cookies. I spent several hours cutting them out and decorating the various shapes with bright frostings and colored sugar. This is how Christmas is supposed to be, I mused. Lois and Sandy, with all their gadgets and fancy presents, have nothing on me this year.

  As I worked, I hummed songs from my new CD as well as a few carols I remembered from the service the night before. I’d enjoyed the service so much. Too bad I couldn’t go again tomorrow morning. Or could I? When Mom stopped by to check on my progress and eat a cookie, I presented my request.

  “Say Mom, do you think I could go to church tomorrow? I know Ericksons wouldn’t mind taking me.”

  “Why…” She gazed at me in surprise. “You’re gonna start going to church now?”

  “Only if you don’t mind.” I picked up a teddy bear shaped cookie and spread yellow frosting on it. “I wanna try it.”

  “All right. I’m sure Walter won’t care. But if you leave early, you have to make your own breakfast.”

  “That’s okay.”

  It wasn’t until after I’d made arrangements with Patty that I remembered the possibility of running into Pat. That could ruin everything. As I decorated the last cookies, I prayed she wouldn’t be there.

  37

  I kept a sharp eye out for Pat as we walked into church the next morning, but I didn’t see her. I attended Sunday school with Heather, where we watched a short video with the other young people. Afterwards, Heather made a few introductions, and then the two of us stood around nibbling doughnuts and watching people until it was time for the service.

  I was enjoying myself until we walked into the sanctuary. There was Pat, sitting with some other women on the far right side of the room. Today she wore hoop earrings and a flashy black and gold blouse with butterfly sleeves. How had I missed her coming in?

  I did my best to forget about her as the service began. I listened as the pastor read from the Bible and talked about the importance of treating God with reverence. I partook of communion and passed the collection plate. And I did my best to follow along with the songs, none of which I knew. But a gnawing uneasiness in the pit of my stomach kept me from relaxing and enjoying the time.

  As we walked out of the sanctuary, I tugged Patty’s sleeve. “I’ll go wait for you guys in the car.”

  A look of surprise crossed her face. “Why? Don’t you want to stay and meet some more people?”

  “She’s afraid of Pat,” Heather cut in.

  I jabbed her with my elbow and said, “I am not.”

  Heather gave me a look and then sauntered over to the counter to eat the last doughnut.

  Patty glanced across the crowded room to where Pat stood, deep in conversation with a group of ladies. “What have you got against Pat?”

  “She . . . well, she’s a cop.” I felt my face flush. How could I admit to the embarrassing circumstances under which I’d first met Pat, or explain the nervous fear and hate that rose up in me every time I saw her?

  Patty steered me into an empty Sunday school room. “Now look, Pat is just an ordinary woman who happens to have a job as a cop. She won’t bother you, I promise. You need to get over your anxiety about her.”

  “What do you know about it?” I muttered.

  “You’re pretty mad at her, aren’t you? How come?”

  “Will you quit bugging me? You’re as bad as her. You won’t keep your nose out of everybody else’s business!”

  “Tessa,” Patty reproved me, “you must get to the bottom of this. Grudges will hurt you.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Get to the bottom of this? What’s that supposed to mean? I plunked down in a folding chair and rested my chin on my fist. I’m never gonna make up with her, if that’s what you want. She’s so disgusting, so annoying, oh, I don’t know. I can’t stand her. I chewed harshly at my fingernails as my thoughts ran on.

  She had no right to scold me that night. I had to get food or I’d starve. Anybody can see that. Shame swept me again as I recalled the events of that night, and the reprimand Pat had given me.

  “Stealing is wrong, Tessa,” she’d said, with a look that would make a stone hang its head. I winced at the memory.

  But what if Pat was right? Tom and Patty would surely agree with her. So would Mom, I realized. With a growing sense of guilt, I began to recall all the things I’d stolen in my life. Small things, like the dessert from another kid’s lunchbox in elementary school, a candy bar slipped into my pocket during a grocery trip, a card of stickers from Mom’s dresser drawer. Money, stolen a few dollars at a time from Mom’s purse. A necklace of glass beads, taken from a girl in third grade. Cigarettes. Two CDs I’d smuggled out of the department store. The list was endless. Overwhelmed, I bowed my head.

  “Okay, God,” I whispered, as the tears trickled down my cheeks. “I guess Pat was right. I’m sorry. I was wrong to steal that food, and all the other stuff, and . . . and I accept the scolding she gave me. I still don’t like it, but I guess I needed it. I don’t wanna be a thief.”

  When I had finished, I felt better – more secure and less ashamed of myself. Though still unpleasant, the memory of my arrest and Pat’s scolding no longer filled me with rage.

  “Tessa, it’s time to go,” Patty called from the doorway.

  I stood up. “Okay. Hey, I’m awful sorry for talking to you like I did.”

  “All right.” She smiled. “How are you coming on your problem with Pat?”

  “I still don’t like her, but I guess I don’t hate her anymore.”

  “That sounds better,” Patty said with relief, as we walked out together into the nearly deserted hallway.

  38

  I returned to school on the third of January, this time riding the bus with Heather. Thanks to the relative quiet at my house, I’d made significant progress catching up with my schoolwork during the vacation. But I quickly discovered I had made no progress at all
in some other important areas.

  Lois greeted me with her infamous question. “Well, what did you get for Christmas?”

  “A CD I’ve been wanting. How about you?”

  Behind me, Sandy groaned. “Still no cell phone?”

  Lois’s plump face twisted in disgust. “Come on, that’s just pathetic. What are you, Amish? You should see what my dad got me.” She pulled a pink tablet computer from her knapsack and held it up.

  “Hey, that’s a nice one,” said Sandy.

  “Don’t drop it,” I said, squelching the impulse to knock it out of her hand.

  “But that’s just the teaser.” She grinned as she tucked the item back into her knapsack. “I also got two all-expenses-paid, round-trip tickets, to . . . well, you guess.”

  “Disneyland?” Sandy proposed.

  Lois shook her head. Her eyes danced with glee.

  I swallowed hard and said, “Mall of America.” Lois loved to shop. But she again shook her head.

  “It’s tropical, sand and seashells, palm trees waving in the breeze…”

  “You’re kidding,” Sandy said.

  “Am not.” Lois pulled out a glossy travel brochure with Jamaica printed in a fancy script at the top.

  “Wow! I don’t believe it. Do you know somebody there?” Sandy asked.

  “Not exactly.” Lois grinned again. “But I hear those Caribbean boys are really cute.”

  Sandy laughed and made a couple of crude comments. I saw my chance and headed down toward my locker. My mind churned. Why does Lois have to boast until she makes everybody jealous? Even if I had gotten a cell phone, you can bet she’d tell me it wasn’t as good as hers. I am so sick of that girl!

  At lunch that day, I stepped in line just ahead of Lorraine and Brittney.

  “Where’s Crystal?” I asked over my shoulder.

  Lorraine just shrugged. “Who knows. She probably ran away again. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “That’s too bad.” Lorraine had told me Crystal was staying with a foster family, but what had led up to that, I could only guess. Had she been in a situation like mine? I decided to change the subject.

  “So did you get something nice for Christmas?”

  Lorraine flipped back a lock of long black hair so she could see me better. “Don’t know. What’d you get?”

  “Just a CD.”

  She appeared relieved. “Well, I got this hoodie. Pretty, ain’t it?”

  “I love it,” I told her, even though the image on the front of the thin black garment portrayed a vampire with blood dripping off his fangs.

  “And a new video game,” she added. “You should come over sometime, Tess. I’d love to get to know you better.”

  “Hey, I’d like that,” I said, though I had no idea how I’d really get there. “Maybe some evening?”

  Lorraine assumed a thoughtful expression as she chipped black nail polish off one of her fingernails. “Sunday,” she finally said. “That would be the best day. Britt can come over too, and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  “Yeah right,” piped up Brittney. “Last I heard, Tess is permanently grounded. Aren’t you, Tess?”

  Permanently grounded? I did a double take. Did Brittney somehow know about my midnight trip to the farmhouse? No, that was impossible. She must have overheard something I’d told one of the other girls.

  Lorraine was staring at me. “Good grief, Tess, what’d you do?”

  “Nothing,” I declared. “It’s just that my mom can be really unreasonable.” I stepped forward and took a tray, then a foam plate and a napkin.

  Lorraine nodded as if she understood perfectly. “Well, I’ll call you sometime, and we can talk awhile.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up a roast beef sandwich. “But I don’t have a phone, so…”

  Lorraine laughed. “Don’t worry. Man has lived millions of years without those stupid toys. But don’t tell anyone I said that. Most of these kids think their life has ended if their iPod falls in the toilet.”

  All three of us laughed. Inside I felt warm. Lorraine accepted me. It didn’t matter what I had or what I could do. It would be fun to get to know her better.

  “Gonna sit with us?” Lorraine asked me.

  “I, uh…” I scanned the crowded cafeteria until I spotted Janet and Heather sitting at Lois’s table. “I’d like to, but I really need to talk to Lois about something.”

  “Hypocrite,” Lorraine teased.

  “Hey, I just wanna hear the rest of the story she was telling this morning. Maybe another day.” I hurried across the room toward the one empty chair left at their table.

  Lois reached over and clamped a hand on the chair before I could pull it out. “What’s up with you and Lorraine?” she demanded. “Everybody knows she’s a pothead, and there’s rumors she’s into the hard stuff too.”

  “So what! We were just talking.”

  Lois rolled her eyes, but released the chair. “Like old friends,” she added. “I hear Crystal’s in the hospital. Bet she didn’t tell you that.”

  “What’s wrong with Crystal?” I asked, curious, even though I didn’t want to feed this conversation.

  “She overdosed.”

  My blood ran cold. “You’re kidding. What on?”

  “Meth and alcohol.” Lois shrugged now. “At least that’s the rumor. They say she could’ve died.”

  I felt like somebody had slugged me in the stomach. Was it some of Walter’s meth? Had I helped make it? No, that was impossible. It was all just a rumor.

  “How do you know all this?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  “My aunt works with her foster mom at the hospital. They’re pretty good friends.”

  “Oh.” My stomach was still churning. “So is she gonna be okay?”

  “I guess so, this time anyway, but they say she really needs to get some help.”

  “Well, I hope she does then.”

  The conversation turned to other subjects after that. I was relieved. But on the bus on the way home, after most of the other kids had been dropped off, Heather broached the question again.

  “So tell me, are you and Lorraine really friends?”

  I shrugged. “Like I said, we were just talking. Got a problem with that?”

  “Not really. It’s just . . . if you’re gonna hang with kids like that, you better have standards. Do you?”

  The question irritated me. “Look. I know a lot more about this stuff than you ever will. So get off my back.”

  Heather studied me, her brows knit. “What are you saying?”

  Shame hit me. What had I just said? A simple denial wasn’t going to get me out of this one.

  “Well, I just meant, it’s not the kind of thing they teach you about in Sunday school, where you seem to have spent most of your life.”

  Her face flushed. “Will you quit labeling me as the good little church girl? I’ve been around a lot more than you think.”

  The bus screeched to a halt in front of my driveway. I stood up and grabbed my knapsack. “Yeah? Well you haven’t seen anything yet,” I tossed over my shoulder as I stepped off the bus.

  I got the mail, then trudged up the driveway to the house. Tomorrow I’d apologize to Heather and tell her I didn’t mean to pick on her. But really, what right did she have to lecture me on my choice of friends? Not that anything significant was likely to happen between me and Lorraine anyway. I dreaded the teasing I’d face if I publicly befriended her. But she was fun to talk with on occasion, and I was quite sure she didn’t use meth.

  39

  Life settled into a routine over the next few weeks. Mom took a job with a cleaning company, working afternoons five days a week. Sometimes she worked until six o’clock or later. When I got home
from school, there’d be a casserole in the refrigerator with a note directing me to put it in the oven for a certain length of time. I’d follow the instructions, and by the time Mom came home, I’d have the food hot and the table set. Often I had part of my homework done as well. It would have been an ideal setup, except that Mom usually returned in a foul mood.

  “I go out and work all day, and what do you do? Sit there,” she’d fume at Walter. “And then I come home and you expect me to do your laundry and make you supper and take care of you. I don’t know why I put up with you all these years.”

  “When I can work again, I sure will,” he’d say. “But it’d be stupid for me to even try right now.”

  “Yeah, I bet you will.” And then she’d remind him of the unfinished furniture in his shop, the customers he’d cheated, the mounting medical bills, his newest court summons, and a dozen other embarrassing things. Before long, Walter would start yelling back. I spent many evenings in my bedroom with the door closed, just to maintain my sanity.

  Despite the unpleasant arguing, though, I thought Walter was doing well. Every day he pestered me to read to him from the Bible, and when I returned from church on Sundays, he begged me to reconstruct the sermon for him. A couple nights a week, Tom came over to visit and pray with him.

  Walter’s mobility also continued to improve. After two full months of confinement, he had been outfitted with a set of crutches. It was clumsy, but by using a strap to fasten his newly healed left arm to a crutch, he could hobble around the house.

  Then one afternoon in mid-February, I came home to what smelled like a brewery. Walter was sprawled on the couch in a half stupor, with at least a dozen beer cans scattered around him. From the looks of the carpet, some of them hadn’t been completely empty when he discarded them.

  I tiptoed past the mess to my bedroom, sick with disappointment. Was this how things were going to end? What about the announcement he’d made Christmas Day that he didn’t need to drink anymore? Or was that no longer in effect now that he had access to alcohol? Next he’d probably go back to the farmhouse and start cooking meth again.