The Best We've Been

by Beth K. Vogt

  “When’s your baby due?”

  I’d never announced my pregnancy, but the news had made the rounds of the hospital grapevine, not unlike the news of Axton Miller getting my promotion months ago. Dr. Lerner sending an official e-mail back then had been unnecessary. Protocol, yes, but unnecessary.

  “The end of August. My doctor says August 30.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?”

  “The ultrasound showed I’m having a girl.”

  “How fun. I have two little girls—ages five and seven. Have you picked out a name?”

  “Still thinking about it.”

  I was chitchatting with a coworker as if it were something I did every day. But I’d never done this. Ever.

  Libby wore a sterling silver necklace with two tiny initials dangling from it. Were those for her daughters? Maybe next time I’d ask.

  I’d gained entrance into a private club—the moms’ club. But I didn’t know the rules. Or if I could learn them well enough to fit in. I’d never really worried about fitting in before.

  Was motherhood about fitting in so my child would have a place, have a chance? What would having a child cost me?

  Five minutes after Libby left, Axton Miller showed up as I shut down my computer.

  “How are you feeling?” Axton leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.

  “I’m fine.” I should probably have stood but chose to remain seated. Some days, the pregnancy got the best of me, not that I would admit it to my boss. “No reason to slow down here.”

  “About that . . .”

  “What? I haven’t slowed down, Axton.” I really should have stood.

  “I didn’t say you had, Johanna. Calm down.” He stepped into my office, pulled up a chair, and straddled it. “I wanted to remind you not to push yourself too hard. It’s the beginning of June and you’re still all about coming in early and staying late—every single day. You can ease up a little. I should have said this weeks ago.”

  “I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

  “I know the difference. But don’t wear yourself out to prove a point. I’m happy with your work. We’re on schedule with everything.”

  “But I haven’t heard anything about the off-site chemo program.”

  Axton broke eye contact for the briefest of seconds. “Dr. Lerner and I decided I’ll handle the project. You’ll focus on more of the day-to-day events.”

  “But I’ve been involved with this up until now—”

  “You’re pregnant, Johanna. Depending on how quickly we move things along, we can’t have you exposed to particular chemicals.”

  “I can be involved until then—”

  “If we’re going to pull you off the project, it makes sense to do it sooner rather than later.”

  “You know this is discriminatory.”

  “No. This is about health and safety.” Despite my accusatory tone, Axton’s posture remained relaxed. “Your health. Your baby’s health.”

  And here I was, in yet another tug-of-war with Axton. But he had all the power on his side because he was my boss.

  I sat there, my hands fisted in my lab coat pockets, shaking. My entire body was shaking. But I couldn’t speak, for fear my voice would shake, too. I was not going to come across as some emotional, hormonal female.

  “Johanna, can we forget about titles for a minute? Forget I’m your boss. I’d like to think we’re friends, too. Aren’t we? I’m concerned for you as a friend. I want you to take care of yourself.”

  I had nothing to say to his unexpected request. I had just experienced chitchatting with Libby for the first time. And now Axton was talking about being friends.

  “I don’t have many friends, Axton.”

  The moment I admitted that, I wished I could take the words back. Then again, the man wouldn’t be surprised to hear I had no friends.

  “I know some people warn against being both business colleagues and friends. But I’ve found that it can work, when there’s mutual respect.” Axton held out his hand. “Friends, Johanna?”

  “Yes.” Axton’s grip was sure. “Friends.”

  Axton didn’t linger after my concession. And I was no longer surprised to find myself at the hospital atrium. I was just thankful no one else was there.

  I sat on the bench in front of the piano, allowing my fingertips to brush the tops of the ivory keys. No sound. But then I adjusted my shoulders. Settled my fingers into position. Within moments, a melody from years ago flowed through me. Around me. The notes anchored in a yesterday I’d left behind.

  Back then, it had been all moving past focusing on practicing and being perfect . . . and then being left alone . . .

  “That’s lovely.” The young woman—Robyn?—who’d played the piano several weeks ago stood a few feet away. I’d walked by the atrium several times since our first meeting but had never seen her.

  My fingers stilled.

  “Oh.” I settled my hands into my lap. “I haven’t played that in years. I’m surprised I even remember it.”

  “How long ago did you play it?”

  “More than twenty years ago, for a piano recital.”

  “And you still remember it. That’s amazing.”

  “Not so amazing, really. You practice something enough times and it gets embedded in your brain. It was automatic.”

  “If that was automatic, I would love to hear you play when you put emotion into it.”

  It was time to change the topic.

  “You’re wearing your pin again. Are you here to play for a while?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t mention it last time—the first time we met—but my piano teacher wore the same pin.” The admission slipped past my normal reserve. I could only thank my interactions with first Libby and then Axton.

  “She did?” Robyn touched the edge of the gold brooch.

  “Yes. At first, I thought maybe we had the same teacher, but they don’t have the same name.”

  “Who taught you piano?”

  “Miss Felicia—Felicia Hill.”

  “Miss Felicia!” Robyn’s eyes widened. “She was my mother’s best friend.”

  “But you said your piano teacher was—”

  “Mrs. Davenport. She got remarried in her forties.”

  “Miss Felicia is remarried?” The idea shifted my memory of the tall, slender woman who’d lived alone in a small house filled with an assortment of antiques and a stately grand piano. “How wonderful. I always thought she was so lovely. And her house. I loved the hutch in her dining room—how it contained all these beautiful teacups and saucers. We used to drink tea after my lessons. And she’d tell me stories about traveling overseas . . .”

  As I talked, a curtain seemed to pull back for just a moment so I could glimpse a time in my past I rarely thought about. What else could Robyn tell me about Miss Felicia? Did she have children now? Did she still teach piano?

  “Does Miss Felicia still live here in the Springs? Or did she move after she got married? I’d love to contact her.”

  Robyn glanced away. “I’m sorry . . . there’s no easy way to say this. She died. It’s been about eight years now.”

  “She . . . died?”

  “Yes. In a car accident. Her husband let my mom and me choose some of her jewelry since they didn’t have any children. I chose the pin.” Robyn reached out as if to touch my hand, but I slipped my hands into my lab coat pockets. “I’m so sorry to tell you like this.”

  “It’s fine . . . I mean, I hadn’t seen her in years.”

  “How long did you take lessons with her?”

  “I started when I was three.”

  “Three? That’s so young for piano lessons. And my mom said Mrs. Davenport was very particular about who she took on as a student.”

  “Yes. Well, I was advanced for my age—or so people said. I took lessons until I was ten.”

  “And then?”

  “My mother had twins when I was eight . . . and life got hectic. After a while,
my piano lessons didn’t fit anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not important—certainly not all these years later.”

  It was as if I’d been given a gift, only to open the box, dig through the tissue, and find it empty. I’d almost reconnected with a brief time of joy from my childhood—only to discover Miss Felicia had died. I had no chance to return to her as an adult and thank her for who she’d been in my life.

  I pressed the palm of my hand against the sudden tightness in my chest. I hadn’t realized how much I’d lost all those years ago, when I’d chosen to stop taking piano lessons, despite Miss Felicia’s protests.

  “Johanna, this makes no sense. You are my best student—and I do not give praise lightly.” Miss Felicia sat beside me on the piano bench.

  Her nearness surprised me. It couldn’t matter all that much to her if I played the piano or not. It didn’t matter to my own parents.

  “Nothing to say? To explain why you’re stopping lessons? Your mother told me it’s your decision.”

  “I don’t like playing the piano anymore.”

  And that was the truth. I didn’t.

  It was better that I’d decided to stop lessons before my parents told me I had to. Why play when no one cared? When no one listened? And it wasn’t as if my parents had tried to talk me out of quitting. They’d probably been relieved to have more time for the twins.

  I pushed away from the piano, stumbling a bit as I stood so that I braced myself against the keyboard with a small clash of sound. “I should let you have the piano.”

  Robyn pulled sheet music from her satchel, arranging it on the piano. “Do you ever think of taking lessons again?”

  “No. Never.” I slipped my purse onto my shoulder. “I’m a pharmacist, not a pianist.”

  We all had to grow up sometime.

  24

  ANOTHER WEDNESDAY NIGHT. Another Bible study get-together where Payton sat beside Zach and listened to him and everyone else in the room discuss the how-did-they-know-all-these-details of Galatians.

  Payton was perfecting the art of listening. Bringing a fruit salad and listening.

  She still struggled to remember if Galatians was spelled with an -ians or an -ions, but every week she brought a bowl of fresh mixed fruit to share with the group. And so far, no one even knew she was a vegan. No need to stand out for any other reason besides the fact that she was so new at all of this that she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to pray for. There was no need to be labeled as the newbie believer who didn’t eat meat. Or dairy. No, thanks. She’d let everyone think she just had a thing for fruit.

  “So how was everyone’s week? Any updates?”

  Paul’s question signaled the end of casual chitchat. This was the most relaxed part of the study for Payton—when Paul and Sara had everyone go around the room and share a brief update about their week. She’d learned to let Zach take the lead and then she’d chime in with some version of “Pretty much the same for me. Volleyball. Classes.”

  But this time, as the conversation veered in her direction, warmth invaded her body, causing her to shift in her seat.

  No. She was not sharing. She didn’t have anything to say.

  “Zach? How are you this week?”

  See? Even Paul was sticking to the routine, expecting Zach to talk, not Payton.

  Zach was unaware of her inner struggle. “It’s been a pretty normal week—”

  “I, um, had an interesting experience.” Payton raised her voice, rushing over him, heat flushing her face and neck. “Related to the study. My prayer request for patience, actually, if you can believe that.”

  And now she had the group’s attention, as if she’d stood up in the middle of the room, prepared to give an impromptu speech. But now everyone was staring at her and she realized she hadn’t prepared. She should have written something down on index cards to get through this.

  Zach, bless him, grabbed her hand and squeezed so that her wedding rings pressed into her fingers. Was he telling her to stop? Go ahead? That she was crazy to have said anything? That he was praying for her? Well, Paul had asked how everyone’s week had gone. And she was a legit member of the group, no matter how inexperienced she was.

  Besides, it was too late now.

  “I know you’re not supposed to pray for patience, but I only learned that after I asked everyone to pray for me about coaching one of my volleyball players. And I figure someone here has been praying because, well, she’s continued to be a challenge.”

  Payton ended her words with a laugh, but no one joined her. Well then. She’d just keep talking. “Um, you all know I’m probably the youngest believer in the group. I’ve been reading and rereading Galatians, trying to keep up with the rest of you. Not that it’s a competition—there’s just a lot I don’t know.”

  “That’s a great idea, Payton.” Sara nodded, offering her an encouraging smile.

  “I was reading Galatians 5 a few weeks ago—where it talks about ‘faith expressing itself through love.’ And that phrase stayed with me all week. I wondered if I was trying to love this girl, or was I trying to boss her around? Get her to do what I wanted her to do?”

  All the while she was talking, Payton wondered why she hadn’t let Zach talk. Stayed with the routine. But she couldn’t stop now—like an awful first date where a guy sat silently across from you and you had to keep the conversation going until you could end the date, go home, and eat a bowl of cereal while you commiserated with your best friend about whether your date topped her worst first date.

  Paul scribbled something in his notebook with his old-fashioned blue Bic pen. Probably a note to skip the Gaineses next week. After tonight, she’d bring lots and lots of fruit salad and never say another word in Bible study—ever, ever again.

  “I noticed the word love came up a few more times in the chapter.” She needed to keep this short. “I remember hearing the pastor saying in one of his recent sermons that ‘love is patient’—”

  “That’s in 1 Corinthians.”

  Paul’s comment, offered with a quick smile, didn’t bother her. “It stayed with me because of, well, you know, the prayer request I never should have prayed.”

  “Did something change with your relationship with the girl?” Sara asked.

  “Honestly? She hasn’t changed how she’s acting. But I’m trying to change how I react to her. I’m trying to love her more.”

  “How?”

  Payton hadn’t anticipated the questions. “I pray for her before practices. Then I try to encourage her during practices. Turns out, she responds really well to one-on-one coaching, so I’ve asked her to come early a few times so I can give her some focused attention. It’s helped a lot. Our team was working well—and I thought this one girl was hindering us. But then I realized it was my attitude toward her that was tripping us up. I needed to change how I interacted with her.”

  “What’s the girl’s name?” Deanna asked. “We can pray for you and her better if we know her first name.”

  “Laney.” Payton was going to hug her—hard—for asking such a simple question. “And thanks. I appreciate that.”

  The truth was, everyone in the group was listening to her. No one yawned. No one stared at their plates of food.

  For the first time, Payton was part of the group. She was seen. Heard—at least by Paul and Sara. And Deanna. And Zach. Always Zach.

  She’d been waiting for the others to include her, but maybe she needed to try to be more involved, rather than relying on Zach all the time. And maybe she needed to stop being so hard on herself. Remove the label of “newbie,” which translated as “less than” in her head. Remember that relationships took time.

  “I think Payton gave us our lesson for the week.” Paul stuck his pen into his notebook, closing it.

  “I don’t think so.” Payton shook her head.

  Now laughter went around the group.

  Paul stood. “Why don’t we refresh our drinks and food, and
then we’ll start the study.”

  Sara stopped Payton as she headed toward the dining room. “Thanks for sharing.”

  “I hope I didn’t talk too long.”

  “Not at all. It’s good to have a new believer in the study.”

  “Kind of like comic relief, right?” She infused humor into her voice. “‘What is Payton not going to know this week?’”

  “That’s not what I mean at all. Sometimes we forget . . . I forget how precious my faith is. Take it for granted because, well, I’ve believed for so long. It becomes a habit. You remind me of when I was first a believer. I’m not laughing. I’m thankful.”

  That was an unexpected perspective. Like an optical illusion, where you look at a black-and-white picture and first see one image, then stare long enough so that another image comes into focus.

  Conversation floated from the other room.

  Payton needed to stop being so concerned about how uncomfortable she was and discover who everyone else was.

  “Payton! There you are. I’ve wanted to ask you a question.” Molly approached her, and Payton scrambled to remember her husband’s name. “I have a stepdaughter who’s going to be starting middle school next year and we want her to try a sport. Is this a good age for her to try volleyball?”

  “That’s a perfect time to try it.” Payton’s shoulders relaxed. Volleyball questions she could handle. “A lot of schools and volleyball clubs offer summer camps where kids can come and see what it’s like.”

  “Could you recommend any?”

  “Besides mine?” When she laughed this time, Molly joined in. “Absolutely. I can give you my e-mail and send you some information.”

  “That would be great. I have some friends who are interested, too. Do you mind if I share it with them?”

  “Go right ahead.” Across the room, Payton noticed Zach watching her, probably wondering if she needed him to come over and rescue her from an uncomfortable situation. She offered him a quick smile to let him know she was okay, that tonight she could manage on her own.

  25