by Sally John
“So what happened after you scrubbed the frying pans?”
“I marched right into Scott’s office, interrupting his session with the guy who’d called and interrupted my birthday breakfast. And I let loose.” She wrinkled her nose. “Screaming mimi.”
“Eww.”’
“Eww is right. I said this stay-at-home business was supposed to be a joint effort. But while I’m doing laundry, he’s out there in the world getting fulfilled.”
“What’d he say?”
“He didn’t get it. Totally clueless. He didn’t understand how I could be perfectly content one day and ready for the funny farm the next. Truth is, I can’t either.” She shrugged.
“Maybe it’s like Andie said about herself turning a corner. Her perspective simply changed.”
“That’s it. Life no longer looked the same to me, but it did to Scotty, and he refused to budge. Pastoring consumes him.”
“He’s probably on call twenty-four hours a day?”
“And then some. Neither one of us was very well balanced.”
“Past tense?”
“Some days.” Molly smiled.
“How’d you get to ‘some days?’”
“I went on strike. Except for Hannah and myself, I didn’t cook, clean, or do laundry. The rest of them lived on hot dogs and cereal and wore dirty clothes. I didn’t remind anyone of schedules; I didn’t keep track of homework or personal items. Eli was late for school twice. Betsy missed a clarinet lesson and failed a spelling test. Abigail forgot about soccer practice and had to sit out most of a game. Scott lost his Bible and sermon notes. That was one interesting sermon, by the way, completely off the cuff. Lots of rustling in the pews that day.”
Jo doubled over in laughter. “They must have been begging you to come back. How long did this last?”
“A week.”
“And did it work?”
Molly tilted her head from one shoulder to the other. “It helped, but now I feel so guilty. I keep wanting to call home and check in on them. It’s like needing a fix.”
“Oh, Moll.”
“The good news is I started substitute teaching. I gave up running the Sunday school. I gave up my little job of after-school care for three other kids. I’ve given my four more responsibility. Scotty pitches in at home and tells me it’s okay to whine like some angst-ridden adolescent trying to find herself.” She paused. “The bad news is he feels he’s not giving a hundred percent as a pastor. And on the days I sub, home life is absolute chaos. I can’t imagine teaching full-time, which is what I want to do.”
“The chaos probably adds to your guilt.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even want to make this trip. I keep slipping into the old role, thinking the real ‘Molly’ should wear Superwoman’s cape. I forget it’s Christ who fulfills me, not what I do.”
Although the sun remained hidden, a brightness had begun to dispel the mist. Jo slipped on her sunglasses, not quite fast enough to hide a flicker of her eye.
Molly sensed she was losing a connection with her. She took a deep breath. That was the other thing that separated them: While her faith had deepened through the years, Jo had grown indifferent to spiritual things. It had begun in their college days.
Lord, give me the right words. Give her ears to hear.
Molly said, “I don’t mean to preach.”
“It just sounds so flippant. ‘Christ fulfills me. He will take care of everything.’ But how?”
How to explain such an intangible? Molly reached into their common past.
“Jo, what do you remember from church? From when we were little?”
She pondered the question for a moment. “Candles, incense, and incomprehensible jargon. Endless words. Words, words, words. Words so familiar we rattled them off without thought.”
“They were Scripture, hon. And based on Scripture. They were alive, straight from a world we can’t see but the one where God moves, where He answers prayer.”
“I keep looking for something a little more concrete.”
“They’re kind of like…” She paused and lowered her voice to radio announcer depth. “The List.”
Jo’s quick smile was wistful. “Grandmère Babette. What would we have ever done without Andie’s grandma and her list?”
“Hopelessly floundered. Remember why she gave it to us? It’s not a list of dos and don’ts. She said if we took those words to heart and followed them the best we could, they would make a difference. They would help us grow into confident women.”
“I remember.”
“God says the same thing. It’s not about dos and don’ts but about His words infused with power and changing us from the inside out.”
Jo turned toward the ocean.
Molly knew the can of worms had indeed been opened. Now she could almost hear the contents being dumped into a Tupperware container, preserved for another time. She changed the subject. “So what was your favorite item on the List?”
Jo smiled and looked again at Molly. “‘A real woman has eight matching plates, goblets, and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored.’”
“I was there once, right after the wedding. Then Eli was born. I now have five of each. Only two of the plates aren’t chipped. My lasagna works every time, though, even on paper plates.”
“I own twelve and have used them twice. Maybe three times. I served a great salmon dish.”
“I like ‘a real woman has a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, a hammer, and a black lace bra.’ I trust you have those?’”
“Definitely. You?”
“Yes. Scotty has his own.”
“All four?”
She grinned.“No. By the way, my nest egg paid for this trip.”
“Ah, nest egg. Another thing a real woman has.” Jo raised her coffee cup.“Three cheers for Babette. You could say her list got me here too.”
“Which item?”
“The bit about how a real woman knows ‘where to go—whether her best friend’s kitchen or a charming inn—when her soul needs soothing.’ I’d already done the inn thing.” Her smile softened the bitter undertone. “Speaking of kitchens, we ought to go roust our roomies and hit the grocery store.” Jo’s demeanor snapped down the last corner of the Tupperware lid.
Molly accepted the hint and drained the last of her cooled latte.
Thirteen
Andie cradled a mug of tea in her hand and stood at one of the front picture windows. The ocean was silent this morning.
But that voice in her heart was not.
Mystery shrouded the silver-gray expanse. Perhaps the previous night’s thought that it called to her was fanciful, but she could not deny a new ache. A craving to spend time alone with God was awakened. She longed to meet His challenge to come, to let go, to receive His love.
Unsure what exactly that meant, she declined Jo and Molly’s invitation to breakfast in order to be with Him. Since they’d left, she had simply been waiting.
Recalling the precious sense of God’s nearness while standing at the seawall last night, she stepped over to the door and placed her hand on the knob.
That’s not a flattering style on you. Paul’s voice stopped her cold. Sweats? It’s broad daylight and there are people out there. Have you considered coloring your hair? Where’s my coffee? I need a blue shirt for tomorrow. This red tie has a spot on it. Marinara, I believe.
“Dear Lord.”
Andie shook her head free of words that would continue to kill her if she listened to them. Better to think of Molly’s words of encouragement and God’s presence.
In a burst of energy, she pulled open the interior door and then smacked the screen door. It banged against the outer wall.
“Oops,” she whispered. “Sorry, Char.”
Barefoot, hair matted, tea mug in hand, face unwashed, not one stroke of blush on her pale cheeks, and clothed in baggy sweats, Andie Sinclair stepped onto cold flagstones. She marched across the patio and through the gate. With a smile a
nd a hearty “Good morning” for a bicycler, she waited for him to pass, and then she walked across gritty concrete straight to the seawall. She sat on it, swung her legs over, dangled them above the sand, grinned at the ocean, and felt downright spunky.
“Good morning, Lord.”
She inhaled deeply several times and giggled to herself at the thought that some pedestrian might stop and ask if she needed oxygen.
“What a glorious, glorious morning,” she murmured.“Thank You.”
“Good morning, Andie!” Julian’s voice rang out from a distance.
Panic tightened her chest.
I’m such a sight!
Fighting down all-too-familiar unease, she turned to see him walk through the opening in the low wall that surrounded his patio. She called merrily, “Hi!”
He sauntered in her direction. Like yesterday, he wore cutoff blue jeans, a T-shirt—this one was white with faded lettering—and no shoes. He carried a large white mug.
And she felt safe.
What was it about him? The pitch of his voice was deep yet soft and crisp. So like her dear father’s, it drew her in. Even the accent added a sense of familiarity. Not that Julian’s Scottish lilt resembled her dad’s odd mixture of French and English with a New England twist. It was just that neither sounded like the average American.
Julian smiled as he approached. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed his gentle manner when they first met. Probably because she hadn’t noticed much at all except for the fact she still shook in terror, visions of crashing on the freeway at eighty miles an hour dancing in her head.
“How are you?” she asked when he neared.
“Great.” He slid onto the seawall and faced her, his back to the ocean. “Ready to dive in?”
Dive in to what? “Huh?”
“The ocean.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came to mind. What an absurd question!
“You know what they say about fears. Meet them head on and poof! They’re gone.”
“I stuck my toes in it yesterday.”
His eyebrows rose up and his glasses moved with them.
“That counts.”
“Oh, yes, definitely.” He crossed his arms and raised the cup to his mouth.
“It does.”
He swallowed.“No disagreement from me. But.” He leaned slightly toward her. “Does it take care of the situation?”
“Sure.” She sipped her tea and stared out at the ocean. The thought of entering it made her legs feel like jelly.
“I started with boogie boarding. It’s like a kickboard, only wider and longer. One just holds on to it and more or less floats. It’s quite simple. No muscle or skill required. No need to venture out as far as those surfers are.”
“Hmm.”
“Faith’s house has everything you need. The equipment is locked in that storage shed out back.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she asked in a low voice, “Equipment?”
“Boogie boards. Wet suits. Most novices find the water rather cold.”
Another pause. “Anybody can use this…this equipment?”
“Comes with the house. You’ll find a key in a kitchen drawer, far left end of the counter.”
She turned in time to see the passing twinkle in his brown eyes and the corner of his mouth lift momentarily.
At once he was the sibling, the older brother she’d never had, the confidant, the alter ego. He was the bridge that spanned the gap between Mousey Andie and Spunky Andie.
He murmured, “It’s all about letting go.”
Fourteen
Jo led the way from Kono’s dining patio out onto the wide boardwalk. She and Molly passed the entrance to the restaurant. It was a funky little place she had known her vegetarian friend would enjoy. They turned right and strolled by the Crystal Pier, its gate just opened now at eight o’clock to the public. Two fishermen carrying poles and pails walked through it. Only the eastern half of the sky shone brilliant blue, but sunlight crept toward the ocean, burning off the gray cloud cover in its path.
A sense of contentment washed over her. God, thank You for Molly.
Like the wispy sea breeze now stroking her face, the words floated in her mind—and nearly bowled her over. When was the last time she had spoken to God? There was that screaming fit directed skyward four months ago. Not exactly a heartfelt prayer of gratitude. It didn’t count.
She stole a glance at her friend. In that split moment she saw the two of them walking to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting not far from their college campus. It was to be her first. Molly held her arm and never once told her to get out from under the pile.
That was the night Jo dubbed the phenomenon that had affected her for years. She called it the “Molly Effect.” The Molly Effect both attracted and repulsed her. In it she saw the face of God, radiant love and fiery eyes. She always imagined the fire aimed at her for not being as good as Molly.
The notion was probably why she had drifted away from Molly…and why she had called her after all these years. She needed to reconcile the fire with the love.
A bicycler approached now; she and Molly skirted him. People of all ages and cultures, on foot and on an assortment of wheels, traversed the broad walkway, elevated at this point above the beach. An elderly woman in a broad-brimmed hat was setting up an easel and canvas, no doubt to capture the priceless view of pier and ocean.
Palm trees and assorted flowers lined the route. Four-story motels rose on their left, painted in soft Southwestern pastels, desert pinks and peaches. They were neatly landscaped. Steam rose from a pool and Jacuzzi in the middle of a courtyard surrounded by plexiglass dividers and lush green vegetation. Wrought iron encased balconies that faced the ocean.
Maybe they had rooms available?
“Molly.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We could—”
Where was she?
Jo stopped and scanned the area. Six feet back, Molly sat on a concrete bench along the motel side of the boardwalk. Beside her was a black man, his arms wrapped tightly around a backpack, dressed in a coat too heavy for the day. Though…it would have served him well through the night.
Jo hadn’t noticed him. But then homeless people were as prevalent as skaters, dog walkers, and bikini-clad girls. What was to notice?
She retraced her steps and approached the bench. Molly was stuffing bills into the man’s fist.
Another feeling of déjà vu enveloped Jo. She had often backtracked for Molly, finding her engaged elsewhere, usually trying to help someone.
Molly stood and met Jo a few feet from the bench. She shrugged. Wordlessly they turned and resumed their walk.
Molly said, “His name is Jimmy Mack.”
“Why am I not surprised you know his name?”
“He looked so forlorn, totally despondent. Other than his name, though, he didn’t respond.”
“He’ll just buy booze.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Jo leaned around until Molly met her eyes. “You don’t know that he won’t, either.”
“So tomorrow I’ll buy two breakfast burritos.”
“Andie’s what?” Jo stared at Char in utter disbelief. First the ugly beach house, then the unnerving neighbor, then Molly’s unsettling questions about childhood memories of church and linking them with the List. Molly knew she would relate to the List! And now this.
Char, seated on the wall opposite the ugly beach house, stared at her over the rim of an ugly, multicolored, garish coffee mug. Her eyes, mere slits, proclaimed Jo’s earlier assumption correct, that Char never had become a morning person. She was not about to waste breath repeating what she had already said moments before: Andie’s surfing with Julian.
Molly laughed and pointed toward the ocean. “Look! There she is!”
Jo spotted the redhead as she emerged from a flattening wave. White water swirled around her legs. For all the world, she resembled a surfer! Clad in a black wet suit, hair plastered to her face, she gr
inned and turned to the man beside her. Man beside her? It was Julian, sans eyeglasses, his thick curly hair dripping.
Char murmured, “What is that orange thing?”
She noted the spongy raftlike object bobbing at Andie’s knees as the wave receded. A cord led from it, ending in a strap around her wrist. “It’s a boogie board. Something like a mini-surfboard. You lay your upper body on it, point it toward shore, and catch a wave.”
Molly propped a thumb and forefinger at the corners of her mouth and let out one of her wild whistles. Andie looked their direction and waved like a mad woman. Before Jo finished raising her own hand in response, Andie had turned away and began heading back out into deeper waters. Julian followed her.
“As I live and breathe.” Char’s voice was barely audible. “Whatever possessed that woman?”
Molly only chuckled.
Jo thought of Andie’s timidity at the ocean’s edge, her avoidance of Julian, her tears the previous night. She thought of Molly’s prayer, of Molly’s rendition earlier about herself and Andie studying the midnight sea.
The Molly Effect.
Jo shrugged. “Well, Char, all I can say is Molly prayed.”
Fifteen
Andie giggled like a ten-year-old and kicked wildly, clinging to the rough edges of the boogie board with both hands. Her black-sleeved arms spread out over the fire-orange slice of stiff foamlike material. Fire-orange again. It was everywhere. The beach house, the sunset, her hair. It was such a happy color. She felt slender, cellulite and rolls tucked snugly into the thick, sleek, neck-to-ankle wet suit.
A wave undulated toward her. From what Julian had taught her, she knew by its appearance it would break after rolling past her. She was not in position to ride with its curl. Instead, she waited, letting her legs dangle in the water. The wave flowed beneath her and lifted her gently. She glided down the back side of it, her face still pointed to China.
