Looking over my shoulder, I grin at her. "You mean it wasn't totally lame?"
She tosses a pillow at me. "No. Not totally."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"In fact, it's been nice getting to know you."
"Getting to know me? You make it sound like I was a stranger."
"You kind of were."
"And whose fault was that?"
We both say "yours" at the same time, then we exchange looks like the other sister is crazy.
"You were never around," Lindsay says.
"That's not true. We did a lot of stuff when you were little. And when you were bigger I tried to hang out with you, but you were so . . ." There's no other word for it, so I say it. "Bratty."
"Do you think it was easy having you for a sister?"
Frustration curls my fingers up into fists by my sides. "What was so hard about it?"
"You were a sex expert."
An appalled exclamation escapes my lips. "I was a romance novelist. A Christian one. There were no sex scenes in any of my books."
She blows a long breath out through her teeth. "Yeah, and then you wrote your first marriage book. Remember that?"
"Yes."
"What was the title?"
Uh-oh. I think I see where she's going now. "It was Between the Sheets: A Christian Gal's Guide to Romance After Marriage."
"I was in fifth grade. How do you think it feels to have all your friends asking if you know as much about sex as your sister does?"
"But it was a book for adults. Your friends shouldn't have been reading it."
"They weren't. But their mothers were."
It never occurred to me that my writing might cause problems for my sister. "Why didn't you say anything before now?"
"What could I say? Please give up your career because it embarrasses me? Besides, Mom and Dad were so proud of you. I just didn't know how to handle it."
My fingers relax as all the fight drains away, and I sit on the edge of her bed. "I am so sorry. I had no idea."
She uncrosses her legs and scoots over so she's beside me. "I know. And that made it worse. I felt exposed at school and invisible at home."
All those years, when she was acting out and getting into trouble, was it from a desire to prove she was nothing like me 0r that she was better than me? The prospect of what she might have done in order to put space between herself and my professional image makes me shudder. There's still so much I don't know about my sister, and here I am, getting ready to leave her again.
"What was your dream, Lindsay?"
"What do you mean?"
"After you left college. You must have had a dream, a goal for your life. What was it?"
She puts her hands on the edge of the mattress and kicks her heels against the bedframe. "You'll think it's stupid."
"No, I won't. What was it?"
"I wanted to be an actress." She looks up at me, waiting for the response she's sure is coming, but I surprise her.
"Really? That's so cool."
"You think so?"
"Sure." We're not so different, Lindsay and me. She wanted to create characters through acting. I did the same thing, only through writing. "So, what happened? Why did you give it up?"
She looks down, picking at the edge of the sheet. "I went on auditions, got some jobs doing extra work. But it's a tough business. Lots of rejection."
I can relate to that.
"One good thing came out of it."
"What's that?"
"Ben. We met each other on cattle call for a music video."
"What's a cattle call?"
She laughs. "Pretty much what it sounds like. As many actors as you can find herded into one audition. It's madness, and you have to wait around a lot. So Ben and I got to talking. Neither of us got a job, but we got each other."
It remains to be seen just how good a thing that was, but for now, I'm giving Ben the benefit of the doubt. I put my arm around her and she leans her head on my shoulder. There's only one thing left to say. "I love you."
"I love you too."
46
It's about a forty-five minute drive to the airport. Normally, I'd be itching to get there as soon as possible, but this is the first time Dad and I have been completely alone since I got home. There's so much I still want to talk to him about, I don't know where to start.
"I'm really glad you and your sister came home, Sugar Plum. It's meant a lot to me, and your mother too."
"I'm not sure how much it's really meant to Mom."
He rubs his thumbs against the steering wheel. "I don't have scientific proof, but I truly believe she picks up more stuff than we think she does."
"I hope so."
"You know how coma patients will sometimes say they heard things while they were unconscious? That's how I think it is with her. There's a part of her subconscious that's collecting information and storing it away. That's why I'm so careful about what I say in front of her."
"And why you still take her to church?"
He nods. "I want her surrounded by positive, uplifting experiences as long as possible."
The door is now wide open for a topic we've both been avoiding. I can't put it off any longer. "How long do you think that will be?" He doesn't answer, so I rephrase the question. "How long can you care for her by yourself?"
"As long as it takes. There are challenges, but we can manage."
It's a beautiful, self-sacrificing sentiment. It's also naive and a sign that he's in denial. "You're doing a great job with her. But it's not always going to be like this. It's going to get worse."
"I know. And when that time comes, we'll deal with it. But not today." He sniffs hard and musters up a smile. "Now, unless you want me to go to pieces and run us up a telephone pole, I suggest we change the subject."
He's right. This subject is much too emotional for a moving car. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I want to know how you and Tony are doing."
"Didn't you hear?" I pull out my old friend, sarcasm. "We're getting a divorce."
"Sugar Plum." The way he says it turns my old nickname into a gentle rebuke.
"Sorry. But there's nothing new to tell. Tony's girlfriend is still pregnant. He and I are still getting a divorce. And I'm still trying to keep him from selling my home."
"I see." He puts on his blinker, glances in the rearview mirror, then changes lanes. "How do you feel about all that?"
"Like a failure. An idiot. The punch line of a lousy joke."
"You're angry."
"I have a right to be, don't I?"
"Yes, you do. But that kind of anger, the kind that smolders under the surface, will only hurt you." He looks quickly in my direction, his smile sad, then turns his eyes back to the road ahead. "You need to forgive him."
Of course, Dad would think that. He's the type of man who keeps his promises, no matter what. And he expects me to be that kind of woman. "I'm sorry I've disappointed you."
A frown twitches on his lips. "Where did that come from? I never said you disappointed me."
"No, but I'm sure you don't agree with this divorce."
He doesn't respond for so long that I think he's done talking. But then he finally speaks up. "I am disappointed, but not in you. I'm disappointed in Tony and the choices he made. Normally, I think divorce should be a last resort. But in this case, not only was he unfaithful, he fathered a child. Now there's another innocent life involved in all this."
"So you don't think it's wrong to end my marriage?"
"Honestly, I think Tony ended it already. All that's left now is the legal part."
It's almost exactly what Adam said to me. Which makes me appreciate my new friend's wisdom even more.
Dad gives my knee a quick pat. "Honey, I'm so sorry this happened. But you have to know that God has a plan for you. A wonderful, amazing plan. Hold on to your faith, look to Him, and you'll be all right."
How in the world can God use any of this mess to give me something
amazing? Still, I want so much to believe my father. "You promise?"
He makes the sign of a cross over his heart. "I promise."
Getting back to California is much easier than leaving it was. My flight takes off on time. Not only do I snag an aisle seat, but the seat next to me is empty. And because the flight is only half full, the attendants let everyone have two bags of mini-cookies instead of one.
For reasons unknown, we land ten minutes ahead of schedule. As I go down the escalator to baggage claim, I wonder if my early arrival means I'll have to wait for Jade. Then I hear her screeching.
"Natalie! Natalie, over here!"
She jumps up and down beside a row of black-suited, cardholding limo drivers. I weave my way through the crowd and throw my arms around her. The way we're laughing and talking at the same time pulls smiles and a few snickers from the professionals.
"Come on." I link my arm through hers and lead her to the right baggage carousel so we can wait for my luggage. "How was the traffic?"
"Crazy. Typical LA traffic. How was your flight?"
"Great. Very untypical." Overcome by a wave of happiness, I sandwich her face between my palms and give her a good squeeze. "It's so good to see you."
She pulls back and rubs her cheeks. "Okay, now you're scaring me. What happened to grumpy, down-on-life Natalie?"
"I left her somewhere between here and there. She may still be hanging out on Route 66."
"Good. I want to hear everything about your trip."
"Of course. Oh, I've got a surprise for you." I rummage in my carry-on bag and pull out the back scratcher.
She takes it and reads what's printed on the back of the handle. "I've got the itch to travel 66." Her mouth quirks to one side and she shakes her head. "Thanks. I'll think of you whenever I use it."
A buzzer sounds and the blue light atop the carousel begins to flash and spin as bags spit out onto the moving belt.
"Let's find my luggage and I'll tell you all about it on the way home."
It takes another twenty minutes to locate both my bags, drag them to short-term parking, and make our way out of the lot. Once we're on the freeway, Jade orders me to talk, and I comply. I tell her about the drive, our adventures in Oatman, the Grand Canyon, the Wigwam Village. I tell her about Ben and how he stalked us—only he wasn't stalking us—and how he turned out to be an okay guy after all. I tell her about my parents. I tell her about Lindsay—how much better things are between us. The only thing I don't tell her about is Adam because I'm confused enough about him as it is, and I'm fairly certain Jade would encourage me to pursue the relationship and confuse me even more.
An odd feeling comes over me when we turn onto my street. Nothing's changed while I've been gone, yet it's foreign. And when we pull into the garage and she says, "Welcome home," I don't feel like I'm home. It's almost like looking at someone else's house.
Each of us carries a bag in through the kitchen. It doesn't even smell the same. "Have you been baking?"
"That'll be the day." She points at a tiny vase full of bamboo reeds on the counter. "It's a vanilla oil diffuser. Smells good, huh?"
"Delicious." It's a nice, homey touch. Only it doesn't make this house feel like home. Instead, it reminds me of the way my parents' house used to smell when I'd come home from school to find a plate of freshly baked Toll House cookies sitting on the kitchen counter.
Jade carries my suitcase toward the stairs, but I call after her. "Not up there."
"You don't want to sleep in your own bed again?"
Not that bed. I shake my head. "I'm going to hang out down here in the guest room."
"Okay." Thankfully, she doesn't press the issue.
As we walk down the hall, I change the subject. "Did you have a chance to read any of that e-mail?"
"I did."
Her omission of any details makes me nervous. "And?"
"And it wasn't at all what I expected."
Terrific. If it was worse than she expected, it must be pretty bad.
"And there's so much of it. You've probably gotten more mail in the last month than in all the time I've worked for you."
I groan. "Don't remind me. That inbox is overflowing."
"It's not just the e-mail. It's snail mail too."
"Really? Actual letters?"
"Yep." We walk in the bedroom and she motions to the suitcase. "Where do you want this?"
"Against that wall is fine. Who sent me letters?"
"A lot of people. You won't believe it unless you see it." She walks past, crooking her finger for me to follow.
At my office door, she stands aside and waves her hand for me to enter. "There you go."
I take one step into the room, then freeze. I've gotten reader mail before, but never anything like this. Stacked beside my desk are six white plastic tubs with United States Postal Service embossed in blue on their sides. From what I can tell, they're all full.
The edges of my vision blur, most likely because I haven't eaten anything but cookies in the last eight hours, but possibly from shock. I grab Jade's arm, afraid I'll pass out.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"That's an awful lot of hate mail."
"It's not hate mail."
I blink, clearing my vision. "It's not?"
"No." She wobbles her head from side to side. "Okay, some of it was. About ten letters. But that's just because there are crazy people in the world. I got rid of those. But the rest, they're all good."
"What do they say?"
"Oh, no. You've got to read them for yourself. The e-mails too."
It's going to take me forever if I do it all by myself. "Will you stay and help me get started at least?" Jade considers it, and I know just the thing to bring her over to my side. "We can order pizza."
With a smile, she whips out her cell phone. "I've got the pizza place on speed dial. And you have a deal."
47
Listen to this."
I pop a piece of pepperoni in my mouth as Jade reads from one of the letters.
When my husband left me I felt like my world had ended. It's bad enough he broke my heart but my life as I knew it was torn apart too. None of our friends know how to talk to me anymore and I'm starting to think they were more his friends than mine. It's the same way at our church. One woman actually said I needed to fix what I'd done wrong and save the marriage. Even though he had an affair, it made me wonder, did I do something wrong? Was it my fault somehow?
Jade staples the page to the envelope it came in, then sets it on top of a stack of already-read letters. "I had no idea there were so many scumbag husbands out there."
"Neither did I." It's overwhelming. We've only gone through a fraction of the letters, and almost all are from women with the same story.
Jade rises from her cross-legged position on the floor and picks up the dirty plates and cups. "It's enough to make me want to swear off men entirely. Isn't there a convent somewhere nearby?"
The idea of Jade as a nun nearly makes me choke on my last swallow of soda. "Don't give up hope. Not all men are like this."
"Oh yeah? Like who?"
I call after her as she carries the trash into the kitchen. "Pastor Dave. My dad. Your dad. Other guys." Guys like Adam.
She comes back in and plops beside me on the couch. "Your dad sounds like an amazing man. I'd like to meet him."
"Want to come with me to Lindsay's wedding? Then you could meet the whole crazy family."
Looking up at me from beneath sooty lashes, she smiles. "As tempting as that sounds, I don't think Lindsay would be very happy to see me."
"She's grown a lot in the last month. And not just because she's pregnant. I think she'd surprise you." I yawn and look down at my watch, which is still set to Illinois time. No wonder I'm so tired.
"And that's my cue to go." Jade gives me a hug, then stands up. "Do you want me to come by tomorrow?"
"Yeah, if you can. Since I'm carless, you could help me with some errands."
"Cool.
See you then."
After she leaves, I look at the Post Office tubs we moved into the family room. So many letters. So many women. I wish I could reach out to every single one of them. But right now, I'm so tired, the only thing I can reach out to is my bed.
There's time enough to deal with all this tomorrow.
There's not enough time in the day to take care of everything. The list I made during breakfast fills up two entire legal pad pages. Every time I wrote down one task, I'd think of three or four others associated with it.
"That's what you get for running away from your problems," I grumble to myself.
At least I don't have to worry about grocery shopping. God bless her heart, Jade made sure there was food waiting in my pantry and fridge. Smiling, I stir a few soggy pieces of Special K around in the milk puddle at the bottom of the bowl. Mom would love this meal.
A high-pitched ding sounds from my phone. It takes me a second to realize it's signaling a text message. Since I'm not big on texting, I rarely get them. After tapping the screen, I discover the message is from Adam.
How are you doing?
Clamping my lower lip between my teeth, I type back.
Good. How did you get my number?
The answer comes quicker than I expected.
From your dad.
Great. I wonder what Dad thought when Adam asked him for it? But more important, what do I do now? I feel like a teenager passing notes in class, and I'm afraid of being caught by the teacher.
I miss you.
Three words from Adam, and my insides turn to mush. I'm in trouble. As quickly as I can, I type a response.
Will call you soon. Gotta go.
Not exactly poetry, probably not the response he wanted to read, but it's all I've got right now.
OK. Am praying for you.
"That's good," I say looking at his last message. "Boy, do I need it."
Twenty minutes later, Jade arrives. When she sees my list, she turns on her heel and walks back outside. Once we're both in the car, she asks, "Where to first?"
The Mor Road Page 20
