In response to a questioning look from the hostess, Maureen replied, “I’m looking for a party of three women?”
“Oh, yes. Follow me, please.”
The place was packed, and Maureen could barely keep up with the agile guide. She squeezed in between chairs at filled tables, dodged other customers, and cautiously passed servers with huge round trays mounded with salads, all types of steaming seafood, hush puppies—and all the pleasing smells associated with those dishes.
Just as Maureen warily passed a server with a particularly full-to-overflowing tray, she looked up to see a large window overlooking St. John’s Bay—the churning, white-capped waves, the blue sky beyond, the ocean itself. No matter how many times she’d gazed out over the gulf, Maureen still caught her breath at the initial glimpse of the panorama. She gave homage to that tableau before shifting her gaze to the three women who sat at the table beneath it.
Before she could say anything, Emilie jumped up and came around the table to her. Immediately hugged Maureen and then pulled back so they were face-to-face, giving her friend a reassuring look while whispering, “It’s okay.” And then Emilie announced to the other two, “Now. We’re all here so I can tell you what I told Maureen yesterday. You’ve probably guessed already … but here it is: Ed’s home. He’s moved back. Isn’t that the most wonderful news ever?”
Sherry’s jaw dropped in a round silent O, but Vanessa was gushing. “Oh, Em. I’ve prayed for this very thing to happen, and now I’m surprised that it has. That’s a lack of faith, isn’t it? I wasn’t really praying that he’d come straight home like this, but that’s simply wonderful and …” Vanessa’s voice dropped off when she noticed Emilie staring expectantly at Sherry.
“And you, Sherry?” Emilie asked, leaving the question open. Like bait in a trap.
“Well, I’m pleased for you, of course. Elated for the kids. But did I understand correctly? That he moved back in with you already?”
“Oh, yes. And I’ve forgiven him. Completely, just like Scripture tells us to do.”
Sherry’s eyes narrowed. Maureen felt sick to her stomach, the once-tempting smells around her now overbearingly strong.
“I think the Bible teaches forgiveness, absolutely,” Sherry calmly replied. “But it also talks about consequences—consequences for sin. Do you think Ed sinned, Emilie?”
Emilie and Sherry were directly across from one another, and their words had the effect of swordplay—attack, parry, jab, attack again. When Vanessa caught Maureen’s eye, they both had the look of frightened, unwilling bystanders.
“Yes, he did, Sherry. But just like the prodigal son was welcomed home, I’ve totally forgiven Ed.”
What Sherry did next took them all by surprise. She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs as though she were getting comfortable for a long session. It appeared that she was about to tell them a story, and when she began, Sherry’s tone was that of a teacher to students.
“I’ve been reading in Genesis lately, and just yesterday I studied the chapter about the fall. I noticed something that I’d never thought about before. Funny, isn’t it? You’ve read a passage so many times. And suddenly you see something new.”
Vanessa fidgeted with her wedding ring, staring at it as she turned it back and forth; Maureen sat as rigid as a statue and rather than look at Sherry, she too gazed elsewhere—out toward the view of St. John’s Bay again. Only Emilie stared warily into Sherry’s eyes.
“You know how it goes … God tells them the curse, he makes clothes for them out of animals’ skins, the first blood sacrifice.”
Maureen balled her hands into fists so tight that her fingernails stabbed her palms.
“In the past, I’ve always skimmed right by that.” Sherry shook her head. “But this is what struck me yesterday.” She stopped, leaning forward over the table. The dramatic pause drew Maureen’s and Vanessa’s eyes to her face now, joining Emilie’s. “The skins didn’t just magically appear on Adam and Eve. God had to kill those animals. And then this possibility hit me: We don’t really know for sure since Scripture doesn’t say, but I doubt that God shielded them from having to watch what he had to do. Think about it. Would he take the animals elsewhere, protecting Adam and Eve from the horrible thing he had to do? Would he have gone to a different part of the garden, killed the animals there and then brought those skins back to Adam and Eve?”
Each question drove home her point. Maureen flinched at the reality Sherry so graphically painted for them.
“Do you suppose he simply put the skins on them, ones all cleaned up and minus any hint of the blood that had been shed? Like the coats and purses and shoes that we buy, you suppose?” She smirked then, adding a small laugh. “Considering the immense gravity of what they’d done—the grievous sin they’d committed—would he actually have desired they not make the connection of their sin to the actual killing of an animal?”
Maureen glanced at Emilie and Vanessa; their gazes remained fixed on Sherry, eyes widened. Vanessa’s lips were slightly open, but Emilie’s mouth was set in a grim, hard line.
“And then it dawned on me: Adam had named those animals. Naming had major significance in biblical times. Surely Adam felt honored to be given that task as God brought them before him, one by one. How he must’ve loved it—and loved those animals, too. And now … now one or more of them had to die … because of him. Because of what he’d done.”
Sherry shivered as if she’d felt a chill. “Can you feel the foreshadowing of Christ there? Adam knew his beloved animals were innocent. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet they died. When it was his fault.”
Tears filled Sherry’s eyes and she bowed her head, embarrassed by the naked display of feelings. Maureen blinked back tears also, but noticed a rustle of activity next to her. It was Emilie. Gathering purse and keys, pushing her chair away from the table. Maureen reached out for her, questioning, “Emilie?”
From Vanessa, “Where … why are you—?”
The only response was a slight shake of her head, a clear warning. Before any of them could say another word she had snaked through the crowded restaurant. And was out of sight.
The abrupt and unexpected exit jolted the remaining three. Sherry folded her napkin and put it on the table, stuttered out, “It’s—it’s completely my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking—clearly I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“No.” Maureen interrupted, her voice shaky. “It’s my fault, Sherry. Emilie and I had a difficult conversation yesterday. It was about blame … it came out all wrong and I never got the chance to set it right.”
“I need to go. I shouldn’t have come with all the grading I have … I’m behind and …” Sherry’s voice trailed off. She looked up at Vanessa and then Maureen. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? I hope … I hope our friendship can survive this.” She bit her lip, rose, and walked away.
When Maureen and Vanessa reached the parking lot, they turned to each other, suddenly awkward, uncomfortable.
“We’ll work this through, Mo. It may take some time, time away to heal.” She gripped Maureen’s arm so tightly that Maureen nearly flinched. Vanessa glanced down, then back up into her friend’s intent face. “But we’ll find each other again, I know we will.”
“Sure.” Maureen nodded, went through the motions of hugging Vanessa. And then drove home—though when she walked into the kitchen, she barely remembered how she actually got there. The ticking of the family room clock and Bobo’s pattering feet on the tile were the only sounds that greeted her. Until she heard a fairly loud thump. Curious about the source, Maureen picked up the dog and went to investigate where the sound might have come from.
Stepping out into the hot sunshine, she put Bobo down. Glanced around the yard. Totally out of character, Bobo immediately raced off to the left and then halted, tail wagging furiously. Walking toward him, Maur
een froze when she spotted a patch of blue.
That blue. Lying in the grass, and absolutely still.
“Bobo, no.” Frantically, she ran the short distance toward the object that, incongruously, she dreaded reaching. Pushed Bobo away. Knew now the thump was the sound of the mama bluebird’s hitting the window, suffering a fatal blow—against the window of her house. She was the cause of its death. Maureen immediately felt hot tears overflow and spill down her cheeks. There was not the slightest movement from the little body, the tiny head hanging at an awkward angle. Picking up the bluebird to gently cradle it in her hands, Maureen fell to her knees. And slumped there, sobbing.
Maureen had no idea how long she’d been there, miserable, weeping. But when she finally looked up, she spied the brighter male, sitting atop the bluebird house. The sight of the female’s mate, now alone, sent another stab of pain to her heart.
Eventually she got up and buried the tiny bird under a tree in the backyard. The male bluebird continued to hover, causing Maureen a fresh jab every time she saw him. And then she made a decision. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and hit Bill’s number. Expecting his recording, she was surprised when Bill picked up.
“Hey, honey. Whew. Been a circus here, but you caught me at a good time.” She could hear the sounds of his leaning back in his squeaky chair, putting feet up onto his desk. “What’s up?”
“I’ve had …” Maureen realized she hadn’t prepared herself well, hadn’t given herself enough time. She swallowed, took a deep breath, seeking composure. “It’s been a rough day, Bill. Any chance at all you could get off early and pick up the girls?”
“You okay?”
The instant concern in his voice brought the threat of fresh tears. She blinked them back and swallowed again, feeling the uncomfortable lump in her throat like a pill was stuck there. “Um, sure. I was just hoping to take the afternoon to get some things done.”
“Well, ironically, I was going to call you and offer just that. I’ve had so many late nights lately that … well, I miss my girls. Thought I’d better make it up to them.” Maureen could hear his moving around in the chair again, pushing it away from his desk so he could open a drawer. “I’ll get Aubrey from my folks’ and then pick up Colleen. Maybe we’ll grab dinner out? Want me to get something for you, too?”
“No. Thanks.” Clipped words, hiding emotion. “I’ll be fine. And Bill. Thank you.”
“Glad to when it works out, honey. Like I said, I was planning to anyway. Guess we’re on the same page today, eh? Isn’t that nice for a change?”
Maureen pictured the smile she knew had eased onto his face, the familiar crinkling at the corners of his eyes, the slight dimple that would appear in his right cheek. She closed her eyes at the wave of feeling that threatened to erupt.
“Sure. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And have a good afternoon, okay?”
Maureen hurriedly clicked off the phone. Taking a deep breath, she picked up Bobo, depositing him in his bed. After changing into casual clothes and walking shoes, she headed out toward the beach. It was five blocks away, and Maureen set a brisk pace.
Once she reached the sand, she removed her sneakers. Couldn’t wait to dig her bare toes into the soft whiteness, luxuriating in the sand’s caress. The breeze off the water produced its usual magic: The tightness in her neck eased a bit, she visibly lowered her shoulders, the muscles in her face relaxed. And then Maureen waded into the water, allowing the surf to rise nearly to her knees before she backed away. Watching the retreating water pull at her ankles, seeing the curve of the eroding sand around her feet, finding the pea-sized holes created by tiny clams and shells rolling back into the surf from the wake of the wave—all the familiar sights welcomed her. Helped to soothe her inner turmoil.
And then she walked. Attempting to shut out all but the smell and feel of the sea breeze and the touch of sand and water on her feet, Maureen sought solace from her God.
Hours later, the beach was emptying when she noted how much lower the sun had sunk out over the gulf, producing a glorious pink-tinted sky. Families had gathered up kids and belongings, abandoning brightly colored plastic shovels and buckets, various piles of gathered shells. The cries of laughing children were replaced by the insistent cawing of the gulls. A gnawing in her stomach reminded Maureen she’d missed lunch and dinner. Reluctantly, she turned toward home.
Dusk. Maureen’s favorite time of day. As she hurried home, she stole glimpses into front windows to spy on families together. Often she’d be so intent on looking into a picture window that she’d miss the unevenness of the sidewalk and trip. Maureen smiled at herself, thinking how Bill would have accused her of kravatzing—their family’s made-up word for snooping. Finally spotting the welcoming lights of her own home, Maureen hurried through the back gate, eagerly reached to open the door. It was locked against her. She froze—one hand still clutching the handle, the other pathetically poised to push back the screen—as she took in the highlighted scene in the kitchen.
They were all laughing together—Bill, Aubrey. Even Colleen. Leaning eagerly toward one another, conspiratorially, their heads nearly touching. The ease and comfort of their banter was near idyllic. Exhibiting none of the tension that had revolved around them lately like a swirling tornado, making family life … miserable.
Bill had just finished scooping ice cream into their bowls, and was in the process of adding the colorful candy sprinkles on top of their mounds of whipped cream. Aubrey clearly gestured for more and Bill obliged, shaking the canister so hard the top came off—dumping a huge pile that covered her bowl. Colleen erupted with such a burst of laughter that she nearly fell off her chair, Aubrey’s shoulders bounced with delighted giggles, and even Bill laughed so hard that Maureen could hear his hearty roar outside.
The glow of the lights put a hazy, warm aura around each of their profiles. And as Colleen reached out to touch her dad’s arm … to playfully steal a scoop of the sprinkles from Aubrey … as Bill reached out to caress a raven ponytail, and then an auburn-colored cap of curls, the individual glows molded and melted into one. The three of them, deliciously happy, content. Complete.
Without her.
Immobilized, at first Maureen could only blink … and feel the pounding of her heart. And then it felt as though it wrenched painfully inside her chest, and instinctively, she reached one hand toward the source of the pain. The other pulled at the door again. As intense desire moved her to action, she tapped lightly on the door, trying to get her family’s attention. But they were laughing so hard, they didn’t hear her. Don’t want to hear me? she asked herself, realizing she didn’t want an answer.
Mere seconds went by, but to Maureen, they felt like hours. Heartbroken and unable to move, she watched. A bystander.
Until Bill happened to glance up and see her. Standing there, arms hanging limply at her sides. Startled, concerned, he jumped from his chair and rushed to the door. “Why didn’t you knock, Mo? Good gracious, you gave me a scare.” When she didn’t answer—didn’t move a muscle, but merely stood there, gawking up at him—he grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her into the bright light of the kitchen. “Maureen? Are you all right, for God’s sake?”
Maureen nodded, mumbled, “Yes. Sorry, I was just—” She saw Colleen and Aubrey both staring at her, mouths open, as though she were a stranger. “I’m going to get ready for bed.” And then she abruptly turned away from them, walked down the hallway.
Bill momentarily stopped himself from following her, gripped the back of his chair for a moment and then, decision clearly made, he said, “Colleen, can you—” He waved a hand vaguely toward Aubrey and the scattered remnants of their ice cream party. “Can you clean up Aubrey and … everything?”
Colleen nodded. She looked up at him with eyebrows drawn together, questioning.
Bill shrugged his shoulde
rs, glanced over at Aubrey and managed a half smile, and then walked resolutely toward the bedroom.
He found Maureen standing in front of her dresser, staring with unfocused eyes at her reflection in the mirror.
“What on earth is the matter with you?” he threw at her, whispering, but his voice seething with frustration.
Maureen looked at him vacantly. “What?”
Bill grabbed her arms, shaking her to get her attention. “Where have you been? What’s the matter with you, Maureen?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, pupils becoming smaller and focused now. And then she reached down to angrily pry his fingers off her arms. “I was walking on the beach.”
“The beach? For cryin’ … I thought you said you needed time to get things done?”
“I did. I needed time to … to think. To be alone, to pray. Is that a crime?”
“When it means selfish time away from your family—yes. It is a crime. What on earth?” He began pacing from one side of their bedroom to the other. “I don’t know what’s up with you, Mo. But this has to stop. Now.” He stopped in front of her, positioning his face only inches from hers. “You will quit this frivolous job of yours. Tomorrow. And then you’ll call Emilie and apologize. For whatever insensitive nonsense you said to her. Obviously you’re not capable of handling anything right now, so I want you to call Pastor Johnson and tell him—”
“How dare you.”
Startled, he took a step back from her. From the completely unexpected force behind her words. “Excuse me?”
“Who are you to order me to do … anything?”
Bridge to a Distant Star Page 8
