The Mor Road

by Jennifer AlLee

  The reporter glances back and, realizing her time is nearly up, gets out another zinger. "I think it is my business. You claim to be an expert on marriage, but your own just fell apart. I think you owe me, and all these ladies, an explanation."

  When the men reach her pew, they exchange a few quiet words, then she exits without a fuss. They follow her back up the aisle and out the rear door. The whisper of voices swirling around the sanctuary picks up speed. Left unchecked, it will be a roar of confusion. The reporter was right about one thing. I've spent the last hour with these women, giving them advice about keeping a happy home. I owe them the truth. Or at least part of it.

  I hold up my hands, motioning for silence. "It's true, my husband filed for divorce yesterday. It was his choice, not mine."

  "Why?" A voice calls from the crowd.

  How much should I say? How much will that reporter be putting in her story? If the divorce is public record, isn't the rest of my life, too? "He had an affair. That's all I want to say about that."

  What I really want to do is leave the podium, but another voice calls out, angry and accusing. "How could you come here tonight?"

  It's the wrong reaction, but I laugh. "Because I thought I was doing the right thing."

  "By lying?"

  "No, by keeping my commitment." Now I'm angry. Angry at the reporter for outing me. Angry at Tony for not keeping his commitments. Angry at these women for judging me. And angry at myself for everything else. "You're right, I shouldn't have come. But by the time I remembered I had this event, it was too late to cancel."

  There's a collective gasp as every woman in the room makes the next logical leap: if I forgot about the event, then I forgot about the people too. Now it's become an even more personal affront.

  Jade is on her way up the side aisle. She probably hopes she can pull me off the stage before I say anything else I'll regret. But she's not walking fast enough. My mind is already whirling, trying to come up with some way to repair the damage.

  I fall back on my old standby: humor.

  "I guess now you understand why I'm dressed this way. If I'd had more time to think about it, I would have dug out my funeral clothes from the back of the closet."

  Now I've done it. A few women stand up to leave. Jade is running. She vaults up the stairs to the platform and grabs my arm. "Thank you all for coming!" she yells to the audience. "God bless you!" And she drags me back through the office.

  "I'm sorry," I mutter. "I never meant to insult anybody. I just wanted to make a joke, to lighten the mood. But it's hard to be funny when you just found out your husband's been banging his assistant and now she's pregnant and—"

  "Turn it off! Turn it off!" The woman who greeted me upon my arrival runs into the room. "The mic is still on. They can hear everything you're saying!"

  "I'm so sorry." I pull the pack from my waistband and the mic from my lapel. Before I turn it off, I put it to my mouth and say one more time, loudly, "I'm so sorry."

  I hand it to the soundman, who has the good grace not to say anything. Then I turn to the woman, ready to apologize again. But the most amazing thing happens. Her face softens, transformed by compassion. Patting my shoulder, she says, "We'll be praying for you, dear."

  There's actually sympathy in her eyes. I don't know if it's for my dead marriage or my ruined career, but she and I both know I shouldn't expect to be booked for more speaking engagements anytime soon.

  8

  Jade and I don't speak as we get in her car and drive away. It's pointless, really. I mean, what is there to say? We both know I've just kissed my career good-bye.

  In the world of motivational speakers, particularly Christian ones, there is a very active communication system. It will probably go something like this: one of the ladies at tonight's event undoubtedly works in the church office. During casual conversation tomorrow, she'll mention the debacle to the pastor. He in turn will use it as a funny anecdote when talking to a colleague over lunch. Said colleague will share it with his wife, who realizes that her friend—a pastor's wife at a church in the next town—mentioned booking me for their ladies' convention. She'll call her up to double check that I am indeed the scheduled speaker, and to suggest that perhaps they might want to rescind the invitation. For the good of all concerned, of course.

  Good news may travel fast, but scandal rides a bullet train. Between the old-fashioned gossip network and the reporter, I fully expect a slew of cancellations within the next few days. But just in case . . .

  "You'd better go through my calendar and cancel everything."

  Jade exhales a breath so deep, I wonder how long she's been holding it in. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  She balls her fingers into a fist and pounds the side of the steering wheel. "I don't get it. Tony's the one who did everything wrong, so why did that reporter go after you?"

  "Because it's my name on all the books."

  "Well, it's not fair."

  "No, it's not." I look at Jade. She keeps her eyes on the road, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth and her jaw jutting forward. Poor thing. This is almost as hard on her as it is on me. And I know she's blaming herself for most of what happened tonight. I really should say something to her, something comforting and wise.

  Bad things happen to good people.

  We live in a fallen world.

  When life gives you lemons . . .

  I turn away from Jade and press my forehead against the glass of the passenger-side window. All I have are clichés and worn-out platitudes. What makes me think I have anything worthwhile left to share with anybody?

  Did I ever? Or has my entire life to this point been one giant mistake?

  Still, I've got to try. For Jade's sake.

  "It's not your fault," I tell her. "None of it."

  "What?" She sounds completely befuddled, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "I know it's not."

  "Oh. Well, you were so deep in thought. I just assumed—"

  Jade barks out a laugh. "You assumed I was berating myself. I probably should be after tonight, but I wasn't. I'm not nearly as nice a person as you are, Nat."

  "Then what was going through your mind?"

  The corner of her mouth quirks up. "I was thinking of all the ways to inflict pain on Tony without leaving any visible evidence."

  Jade wanted to come inside with me once she got me home, but I wouldn't let her. "I just want to go straight to bed," I told her. What I really wanted was to go straight to the freezer, but she didn't need to know that.

  "Okay," she agreed, even though I could tell she didn't want to. "But I'll be back tomorrow at ten. We'll do damage control."

  I nodded, waved good-bye, closed the door behind her, then ran to the kitchen. I pulled open the freezer door and— crud. No ice cream.

  Which is why I now find myself standing in front of the freezer section of the closest 7-Eleven, trying to decide which flavor of overpriced ice cream would be the best balm for my bruised ego. Jade's words from earlier this evening replay in my mind: the last thing you need right now are choices. How true.

  My fingers are half-numb by the time I get my selections to the counter. The cashier takes one look at my four pints of Ben & Jerry's and shakes his head. "Hard night, huh?"

  "You have no idea."

  "I hope you're not driving."

  "Don't worry. I live just a few blocks away."

  After the shock of seeing my total pop up on the register, I pay the man. "Want this?" He holds up a plastic-wrapped spork.

  I shake my head and wonder how many women he's seen slinking in under the cover of darkness for a sugar fix. "I can control myself until I get home."

  He puts the ice cream in a plastic bag and hands it to me, but when I grab it, he doesn't let go right away. Before he does, he says, "He's a jerk, you know."

  "Who?"

  "Whoever drove you to this."

  The young man is just that . . . young. Probably a college freshman. He could b
e my much-younger brother. Which makes his kindness even sweeter.

  "Have a good night." A tiny smile settles on my lips and stays there as I walk out to the car. Tossing my snack-stash on the seat beside me, I feel a surge of satisfaction. Maybe I won't even need to eat any of it. Maybe it was enough just to leave the house by myself. It's almost as if I took control of my destiny and was greeted by an affirmative soul.

  I snap on my seat belt and start up the engine. Maybe things are going to be okay after all. But then I push the button on the radio. Big mistake. "Just the Two of Us" blares through the speakers, transporting me back to my wedding day. Tony and I are dancing, our first dance as man and wife. His cheek is warm against mine, and his breath caresses my neck as he croons the song in my ear. Just the two of us, he promised. You and I.

  A sob forces its way out of my throat. I drop my head in my hands, but misjudge the distance in this small space and accidentally push against the horn. Jumping back, I say something not at all nice to myself. I have got to pull myself together. I'm acting like an idiot.

  I turn off the radio and close my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts. It's not until a minute later that I realize I've ripped the lid off a container of Half Baked and am holding it beneath my nose. Just the aroma starts to calm me. Something moves in the distance. I look up and through the store's front window-wall I can see the cashier. He's looking right at me, wiggling the spork in the air.

  My mouth twists into a sheepish grimace and I shake my head. Great, here's something else that's been ruined. I'll never be able to come back to this store again. My emergency junk food source has just been cut off.

  With a sigh, I back out of the parking space, gun the engine, and beat a hasty retreat away from the store and back to my empty house.

  9

  When Jade arrives the next day, she finds me sitting at the kitchen table nursing a mug of green tea and nibbling on saltine crackers.

  She immediately frowns and shakes her head. "You fell off the wagon again, didn't you?"

  "I didn't fall off. I dove."

  "What was it this time?"

  "Ben & Jerry's."

  She perks up. "Is there any left?"

  I wave at the fridge. "Deliver me from temptation." The thought of eating ice cream right now makes my stomach turn in on itself. "Leave me the Vanilla Caramel Fudge, though." Just in case.

  A minute later, she's sitting at the table with me, digging her spoon into the ice cream. She savors it, and I can't help thinking of the injustice of it all. She could eat that entire pint without affecting her athletic build. Not me. After what I ate last night, even my bathrobe feels tight.

  "I got up early and did some research about that reporter," she says.

  "How did you find her?"

  "I did Google searches until I dug up the article."

  Groaning, I drop my forehead against my crossed arms on the table. "Oh, no. She already wrote something that was published. What did it say?"

  Jade shakes the spoon at me. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that she's a local reporter who writes for one of those Internet article data banks. I wouldn't even call her a reporter. More a writer of local human interest stories."

  Jade can call her what she wants, the woman is still reporting information. But it's some small comfort that she's not a staffer for the Los Angeles Times. "People can still read what she wrote."

  "Sure, if they know where to find it. The question is how many people will try to find it?"

  I don't want to venture a guess. "I appreciate you finding all that out. But I still think it's best to cancel all my upcoming events."

  "That's what I figured. So I started calling people this morning." She opens the paper planning calendar I force her to keep—despite protests that it's a duplicate of the information on her phone—and pushes it toward me. There are about fifteen appointments written into the month of May. Only five of them don't have a big red X scrawled across them.

  "Are those the ones that still want me to come?" Maybe people are more understanding than I expected. Maybe there's hope.

  "No. Those are the ones I couldn't get hold of. I don't want to leave any details on voice mail, so I need to call them back."

  "I see." I take a bite of my cracker and it falls apart in my fingers, showering crumbs on the front of my robe. Could I be any more pitiful?

  "Don't let it get you down." Jade finishes one more spoon of ice cream, then slaps the top back on the carton. "Even if a place still wanted you to come, I canceled the event."

  "Why?"

  "Because you need some time for yourself. Period." She gets up, puts the pint back in the freezer, and drops the spoon in the sink.

  "So there really were places that still wanted me to come?"

  "Oh, sure."

  "How many?"

  She hesitates, then sits and pulls the planner back toward her. "At least one. It was . . . " Her voice trails off into a flat hum as she moves her finger across the pages. "This one!"

  I lean over and look at the box she's jabbing. My heart sinks. "That one doesn't count."

  "Why not?"

  "That's my church."

  "Oh. Yeah."

  When I sold my first book, Tony and I were living in a one-bedroom apartment with two dead bolts and a chain on the door. We celebrated the signing of my contract by walking to McDonald's and getting hot fudge sundaes. "This is just the beginning," he said to me. "I'm so proud of you." Then he smiled, reached across the table, and rubbed his thumb over the corner of my mouth. "Mmm, chocolate." As he put his thumb to his own lips, my insides went all warm and mushy. We finished our sundaes in a hurry, then went back home, where we continued the celebration.

  That day, I felt like the entire world was spread out in front of us. We were on a great adventure, Tony and me. We had each other, and soon we would have success in our careers. It never occurred to me then that I could lose it all in the course of a week.

  I pull the calendar in front of me and flip the pages, looking at months of booked dates that haven't been crossed out yet. Even if they still want me, how can I go to any of these events and speak to women about being fulfilled and happy in marriage when I don't even know what that means anymore?

  The answer is crystal clear: I can't. Like it or not, this part of my life is now over. I can either crawl back in bed with another pint of ice cream, or I can do something positive. Which is it going to be?

  "Cancel everything," I tell Jade.

  "Everything?"

  There is so much substance wrapped up in that little word. I nod slowly. "Yes. Everything."

  She closes the book and pulls it to her chest. "And what are you going to do?"

  I stand up, dust off the front of my robe, and let the crumbs fall to the floor. "I'm going to start from scratch."

  Sometimes, a girl needs her daddy. Even if the girl is just this side of forty and her daddy lives halfway across the country.

  "How's my Sugar Plum?" I snuggle into the cushions of the couch and close my eyes as his deep voice rumbles through the phone line and wraps around me in an audible hug. My mother told me he started calling me that when I was two years old and I'd twirl and twirl whenever they put on Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." I don't remember it, but I like the idea of a time when all it took to make me happy was an open space and pretty music.

  "Well, Dad, I've been better."

  Instead of responding, he gives me the open space I need, and I pour out the whole story. I manage to get through it without crying. We even laugh a little when I tell him about the convenience store clerk waving the spork in the air. But then, when I have nothing left to say, he lets out a deep sigh.

  "Honey, I'm so sorry."

  "Yeah. Me too." My spirit is still bruised and battered, but I feel a strange sense of relief. As though the mere act of sharing my burdens with my father has lightened them somehow. "I don't suppose you have some incredibly sage advice for me, do you?"

  "Absol
utely." His response is so immediate he must have been waiting for me to ask. "Come home."

  "Home? To Illinois?"

  "Why not? It's been too long since we've seen you."

  My dad's not the kind to play the guilt card, so I know that's not his motive. Still, the emotion gnaws at me. I meant to go back for a visit last Christmas, but a big event came up and I couldn't get away. Just like the year before. And the year before that. It's amazing how quickly next time turns into you haven't been home in nearly four years.

  "I'd love to, Dad, but . . ." But what? Tony's schedule and the fact that he wants me to be with him no longer apply. I just told Jade to cancel all my existing speaking events. There isn't even a doctor's appointment on my calendar. All the buts are gone.

  "It would mean a lot to me." He clears his throat before continuing. "Natalie, there's something you need to know about your mother."

  No. Not more bad news. "What?"

  "She's getting worse."

  My mother has Alzheimer's, so worse is not something she'll rebound from. "What's going on?"

  "She's been forgetting people's names. People she's known for years. And she's been blanking out on familiar tasks. The other day, I found her sitting on the couch, staring at the TV remote. She had no idea which buttons to push."

  My throat constricts. "With all the buttons on the new remotes, anybody would get confused."

  "Honey," he says gently, "she's the one who taught me to use it in the first place."

  "Oh, Dad." My mind whirls, trying to reconcile what he's telling me with memories of the sharp woman I knew. Yes, she was always a bit on the forgetful side when it came to things like where she left her keys, but she never forgot a face. When we'd look at photo albums, she could rattle off the names of every person in every picture, even if she'd only met them once.

  One of her favorite pictures was the one taken when I was a week old. "Four generations of Tuttle women," she'd say. Mom is sitting on a bench, holding me in her arms. Her mother stands behind her, looking over her shoulder and down at me. And next to Mother on the bench is her grandmother, my great-grandmother. But instead of looking at me, she's staring straight at the camera, her brows furrowed, as if she's trying to remember something.