Club Sandwich

by Lisa Samson

  Mr. Moore inches his way up the path to his porch. His Bible hangs in a blue grocery-store bag from the hand that’s free of his cane.

  “Ivy!”

  I slam the car door and run over. “Good morning!”

  “Just getting back from church?”

  “Yep. Rusty sang this morning.”

  “Hoo, that boy can sing. Mama loved to hear him sing.”

  I smile. “Remember when he used to come over and sing to her?”

  “Oh yes. I certainly do.”

  “So how was your church?”

  “A real blessing. Hearing about Jesus always is.”

  I need to remember that earlier on Sunday mornings. Like when I first wake up. I need to stop giving God my castoffs and acting weary even about that. I need to lift His name in my heart before I can lift it with my mouth.

  I feel like the priesthood in the book of Malachi.

  “You’re a real blessing too, Mr. Moore.”

  “Well, praise the Lord, then, child.”

  “We’re having roast chicken for dinner. Why don’t you come on over? Rusty and Mom would be so glad to spend some time with you.”

  “I believe I will. Let me drop off these things and put on a clean shirt.”

  “You don’t need to go to any trouble. It’s just us.”

  He lays a hand on my arm. “My mama taught me to be respectful of the table, Ivy. Which really means to respect those sitting around it.”

  We drop Rusty off at the airport at seven. Life returns to normal.

  10

  I couldn’t believe Brian agreed to meet me Monday afternoon. I needed to run out to Hunt Valley for shoes at the discount warehouse. If Persy’s feet get any bigger, I’m going to send him out to sea.

  So here we sit at Panera sharing a loaf of oat bread and a tub of jalapeño cream cheese.

  “So tell me what’s going on, Bri.”

  “Sis …”

  “No, really. I’m not going to come down on you. I promise. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  He sits back in his chair. “Same old. Dad’s been calling me. Bugging me about a place to live.”

  “No kidding. He wants to come live with you?”

  “There’s no way I’ll have that man come live with me.”

  I don’t blame him. “What about his fiancée?”

  “She dumped him.”

  “Big surprise there.”

  He reaches forward and slices off more bread. “He’s about to lose the lease on his apartment and doesn’t have enough for a security deposit on a new place.”

  “What about all that work he’s been doing down in Canton?”

  “Showed up too late one too many times is what I’m guessing. Of course, he’s got a ton of other excuses, and none of them are his responsibility.”

  Sound familiar, Bri?

  An unused apartment molders in our basement, nasty now, creepy-crawly. It reminds me of a setting in a movie where the killer lies in wait for the tough but feminine detective who’s frightened but moves forward for the good of society. But there’s a bathroom, a bedroom, a living room, and a kitchenette. Only spiders and our junk inhabit the space.

  Crud. There you go, then, Ivy. Save the day.

  I spread some more cream cheese on my bread. “How did a man who lived with our mother end up with nothing of her rubbed off on him?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Faith.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, I mean it, Bri. It’s like he doesn’t think about God at all.”

  “Well, neither do I, if you want to know the truth, and I lived with her longer than he did. It doesn’t make him a bad person, Ive.”

  He sits back in his chair again and stares at me. Crosses his arms.

  “…”

  He blinks. “Yeah, well it’s all okay for you, Ive. It does what it needs to do in your life.”

  I want to tell him my life isn’t what he thinks, I’m not what he thinks, but something tells me to just let him keep going. So I stay silent. He fills it in, like we Starlings usually do.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe in God anymore. It’s just never done much good in my life. Practically speaking.”

  “How so? Just asking.”

  He turns his knife over and over between forefinger and thumb. “Do you think I haven’t prayed to change?”

  I shrug, trying to keep my expression open and accepting.

  “Well, I have. And year after year, I just end up more like the old man.”

  Go, Harry.

  “Ivy, it shouldn’t be that hard for God to change one person who wants to change.”

  “Nobody can change on their own, Bri.”

  “I’m not trying to. I want help.”

  “Brian, remember that day when you were nine and you walked down the aisle in church?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “I thought so. But look at my life now.”

  “It’s nothing Jesus can’t fix.” I need to remember that myself.

  He sets down the knife. “Well, maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I just don’t have the faith I need. I don’t know if I even believe in all that anymore.”

  “So you want to change, but on your own terms?” I say this as gently as I can.

  “Yeah, I guess. When it comes down to it.”

  “You want God’s help, but not from God’s places and God’s people.”

  He scrunches his brow.

  “Why don’t you start coming to church with us?”

  “If church was the answer, Ive, the world would be a better place than it is.”

  I can’t argue with that. “Okay. I agree. I don’t get much from church either. Scrap that idea. But Jesus and the church are two different things. How long has it been since you’ve read the Gospels?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever read all four books.”

  “Will you try?”

  “I don’t understand all those antique words, Ive.”

  I take a bite of my bread. “You should see the translations they’ve got available these days. Plain English now. Not all that KJV-only nonsense we grew up with. I’ll get you one.”

  “It’s your money. But don’t expect much, sis. I think I’m a lost cause.”

  “Nobody’s a lost cause.”

  Except maybe Harry.

  My soul recoils at my own knee-jerk observation.

  “How about coming over for supper tonight? The kids just got Pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “I’ve got a date.”

  “Bring her.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Actually, I can think of lots of reasons, but sometimes you just need to go out on a limb, right?

  I stop at the bookstore. Pick up a friendly translation of the Bible and pray. Dear God, let him show up tonight.

  This prayer from the woman who can’t wait to see another man at lunch tomorrow.

  Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but God really does have a sense of humor. Brian’s latest girlfriend is a preacher’s wayward daughter. Only Brian doesn’t know this. I want to laugh myself silly, but I don’t. When I headed back to the kitchen to fix some snacks, Danielle followed me in her clingy jeans and cropped top. The girl’s abs ripple like you wouldn’t believe. John Basedow, look out.

  She pointed to the plaque over my kitchen door, which reads, Home. Where each lives for the other and all live for God. “We had something like that in my house growing up.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “My dad was a preacher.”

  “What kind?”

  “Independent fundamental Baptist.”

  It certainly all makes sense now.

  “That must have been tough.”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

  “I grew up in a strict church. Needless to say, I don’t go there anymore. No pants, no nail polish, Sister This and Brother That.”

  “
Sounds too familiar.”

  “I didn’t realize there’s a whole big world out there in the church. It took me a long time not to feel guilty when I went to the movies!”

  She laughed. “I’m glad to be past that.”

  “Can’t blame you there, Danielle.”

  “Sometimes I want to go back, but I’m not willing to risk it. It took me years to stop looking over my shoulder for lightning bolts. Call me Dani, by the way.”

  “Hey, would you get the mayo out of the fridge? It’s in the door.”

  “No prob.”

  Dani’s about thirty, I think. Brian told me she’s a trainer at Gold’s Gym.

  “You look great, Dani. How many hours do you work out a week?”

  “Probably about thirty. But hey, it’s what I do. If I had as many kids as you and had to run a restaurant, I’d be totally out of shape.”

  At least she didn’t put a too on the end of that. “You have kids?”

  “One. A little girl, Rosa. She’s almost four.”

  “I bet she’s cute.”

  “She’s adorable. Best thing that ever happened to me.” She hands me the mayonnaise.

  “Nice nails.”

  “Thanks. What’re you making?”

  “Just some mustard dip. I picked up those little smoked sausages at the store.”

  “I love those.”

  “You’re not a health nut?”

  She grimaces. “No way. Now that’s one thing I kept from my heritage. The ability to ingest large amounts of animal fat.”

  I like her.

  “Know what you mean. My new church doesn’t believe in potluck suppers.”

  “No way.”

  “Now, I ask you, what’s wrong with a potluck supper?”

  “I do miss the potlucks.”

  I spoon two parts mayo to one part honey mustard into a small bowl. “When I was growing up, there was this one lady, Sister Norma, and she made the most gorgeous fried chicken. First platter to be cleaned.”

  She picks up a sausage with a toothpick. “That was Brother Joe at our church. Now his wife, Sister Grace, she made a broccoli salad like you wouldn’t believe. She sent me the recipe years ago, right after I got married, and darn it, I follow it religiously but just can’t make it taste like hers.”

  “Brian wouldn’t admit this, but I think he could trace his love of food to the church.”

  “I know I can.”

  “So what about your parents? They still active in your life?” I sure am nosy.

  “My mom lives with me. She’s calmed down a bit. Just a bit. More like she’s resigned herself to the life I lead. Of course, she tells me she’ll never stop praying for me, and I have to admit, sometimes that’s a comfort.”

  I think of Mom. “Is she healthy?”

  “Not at all. I’m taking care of her.”

  Sounds familiar. “Young child and ailing mother. I can relate.”

  “I know. It’s why I didn’t mind coming tonight. Brian says you’re still really religious, which isn’t my thing anymore, but I figured we’d at least have that in common.”

  “Yep, the sandwich generation.”

  “Never heard it called anything before.”

  “Yeah, well sometimes you’re the lunchmeat and sometimes you’re the bread. Right now, we’re the lunchmeat.”

  She leans against the counter as I arrange sausages around the sauce bowl. “I think I’m spiced ham.”

  Ha! “I’m baloney.”

  “Better than head cheese.”

  “Who eats that stuff anyway?” I hand her the tray of sausage and grab the chips and salsa. “Ready for a little Johnny Depp?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  That sure is the truth.

  Brian yells, “Ive? Can you bring Mom a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

  “Okay!”

  The kids are climbing all over him. Why don’t I invite him over more?

  “Thanks, dear!” Mom. In her voice a tremolo of excitement sings, and I’m happy for her. Maybe things will start turning around for the Starling clan.

  Before I forget, I place the new Bible under Brian’s keys. Not that I deserve to, for I know who I am and what I am. But if a sinner like me can’t pass the buck on to God, then I really don’t know my going-outs from my coming-forths.

  Oh my. I’m glad I checked the coffeepot before I went to bed. Mom set it up but without water and instead of setting the timer, she turned it on. I think I saved the pot, though. I also found a bag of chips in the fridge.

  The next morning I’m surprised to see Brian already at the restaurant. Excuse me, the bistro. He’s pulling the bread and rolls for the day out of the freezer.

  “Hey bro.”

  “Hey Ive. Nice little gig last night. Thanks.”

  “You’ve got a great gal there.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m going to do my best not to screw this one up.”

  “Bri, we need to talk about the DUI.”

  He stiffens. “Dani’s getting me through it.”

  “I haven’t told Mom.”

  “I didn’t think you had. Thanks.”

  “Are you getting help?”

  He turns to me. “I’m forty years old. It’s my business, Ivy, okay?”

  I want to tell him I’m worried that if he doesn’t stop this stuff, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces, but I can’t. I’ve got to leave what dignity remains, not make this about me. Maybe inside of him a strength gathers, and he’ll do the right thing on his own. I can’t be everyone’s savior, right?

  “Got it. I’m here if you need me, Bri.”

  I pour my cup of coffee, pull out my devotional, and sit at the window table. It’s raining today. But two thirty is coming!

  Flannery, our waitress, arrives a little early. She wraps her apron around her waist. “Listen, don’t worry about a thing when your friends arrive. I’ve got it all covered.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just jump up when I need to.”

  “Are you kidding me? Hey, you don’t get opportunities just to hang very often.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “I hate to say it, but yeah.” She looks at her watch, then leans forward. “You’ve got something stuck between your front teeth.”

  “Oh great.”

  Life can be so charming.

  In the bathroom, I dig through my purse, put on a little blush and some fresh lipstick, and actually find a pair of dangling earrings I threw in there months ago. They’re too heavy, but I don’t need them for long.

  Lou’s already sitting down at the table near the back corner. “Hey Ive-O!”

  “Hi Lou. Want something to drink?”

  “Just some ice water.”

  Flannery says, “I’ve got it! Ivy, what do you want?”

  “A Coke?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I sit down. “This feels weird.”

  “You’ve got yourself a gem there in that girl. I may steal her from you someday.”

  “Just wait until Rusty comes back home.”

  Lou rolls her eyes.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Ive, when are you going to say what needs to be said?”

  “Look, if he doesn’t want to be with me, he doesn’t.”

  “So what are you sticking it out for?”

  “The kids.”

  Dear God. I actually said it out loud. In fact, I don’t think I’ve even said that inside my own head before.

  Lou reaches for one of the breadsticks Flannery sets down with our drinks. “Someone needs to give Rusty a good bop on the head.”

  “I’m in more than a pickle, I think.”

  “You have no biblical grounds to leave him.”

  “Believe me, I know. And I can’t help but think, ‘Is this it? Is this what I get from the wheel of life?’ I mean, will my entire life be spent picking up the garbage so Rusty can do what he wants?”

  Lou nibbles the breadstick, then sets it down. “Ive-O, that’s
pretty much life for most women if they’d care to admit it.”

  “It isn’t for you.”

  “Neil is a simple guy. Artsy types are never simple.”

  “I should’ve tried harder to keep Tom Webber.” We laugh. Tom Webber still lives with his mother and manages a shoe store.

  What was I thinking back then? I knew Mitch would have dated me had I given him the slightest encouragement. It wasn’t like he was a geek. Mitch oozed coolness, athleticism, and smarts.

  I observe him from across the table. Dressed casually in khakis and a madras plaid shirt, he laughs with such ease and speaks with such confidence and listens with such attention. What was that supermodel thinking?

  Oh yeah. The supermodel. Even with this lipstick and these earrings, I’m probably about as close to her as Ralph Nader is to the presidency.

  We reminisce and drink wine, and soon the dinner rush begins. “You guys sit. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  I hate my life.

  An hour later Mitch stops at the register. “You’ve got a nice place here, Ivy. By all appearances, you’ve really done well for yourself.”

  “You too, Mitch.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve got to wonder if there’s more, though. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He smiles with half of his mouth. “Anyway, thanks for the nice time. Tell Brian the food was great.”

  I jerk my head toward the kitchen door. “Peek in and tell him yourself. He’ll be glad to see you.”

  A few seconds later I hear great peals of laughter ringing from the kitchen. Mitch seems to do that sort of thing, and though I try not to let it, my heart leaps, and I feel sixteen again.

  11

  Brenda flags me down after I drop Trixie off at her Sunday-school room. “I’ve got the greatest idea!”

  “Okay. Spill it on the way to the coffee maker. I had no time to fix a cup this morning.”

  She takes my arm, all high-school-like, and I’ve got to admit, I like it. I feel so starved for affection. And Rusty called yesterday and told me his normal September visit has to wait until Christmas. I said, “Whatever.” And he didn’t like that. And I didn’t care.