Argosy Junction (29 page)
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Mighty Aphrodite?
Laney,
You have got to be kidding me. Where ever did Kirky get the title Mighty Aphrodite? That is just ridiculous. Besides, I think it’s a bar in Fairbury! I do have a few suggestions if you insist on changing. There is always “Little No Sheep “or “Sheepless shepherdess.” I have other ideas, but I doubt you’d like to hear them.
Branson eh? Boy, first Bakersfield, then San Antonio, now Branson. You two will be the toast of Nashville before long. Please promise me that you won’t cut your hair in weird ways and tease it within an inch of its life. Oh, and no rhinestones or fringy clothes; just stay Lane. You’re perfect as you are.
Tad told me about Whitney. Of course, he doesn’t realize that, but he did mention her, casually of course, about thirty times in the last email. Do you like her?
Patience told me a little about the church thing. Your Dad hasn’t written much about it except to say that he did ask forgiveness for his mistakes and that it went better than he expected.
Lane, I wonder if you have ever read the Gospels without your Brethren filters on? Have you ever just read what Jesus said? You see, my problem is that I want to find common ground with you, and I think we have a lot of it, but I think you have a hard time seeing things without Brethren colored glasses.
So can we start where we know we agree? I want to pretend that this is only important to me because it is about the Lord, but we both know that is a lie. I haven’t seen you in three months and I miss you. I try to be careful with what I say. Our friendship is more important to me than proving my point. But, your relationship with the Lord is more important than my friendship with you. I know that in my head. My heart screams for me to leave it alone before you shut me out of your life permanently. So, I write what is in my head to you and what is in my heart fills the drawer beside my bed.
You believe in the Creator God and so do I. From your words, I surmise that you believe that He is all loving, powerful, and knowing. He created this earth and everything in it. What was the purpose? What did He do once He created us? Was it anything like the Genesis account of creation and how do we know we were created? I was taught in school that we are nothing more than mutating cells always changing into something better. Why isn’t that what happened?
I have a paper due for my class, so I should go. I can’t wait to hear about your Branson success. I am sure it will be one. I’ve written my sonnet that you told me to write, and I am working on a ballad for you. “The Ballad of Exmoor.” Blackmore would be proud. *cough*
Standing on common ground hand held outstretched—
Matt
~*~*~*~
Lane snapped the laptop shut. The airport terminal buzzed with activity. Tad’s surprised expression irritated her and she snapped, “What? You’ve never read an email and been provoked?”
“What did Matt say this time?”
“What makes you think it was Matt? He’s not the only person that I correspond with you know.”
“Yes, but you don’t get that angry at Dad, Kyle, and Patience.” Tad’s expression told her she wouldn’t win.
“I made the mistake of mentioning God last time so he’s on the hopeful road to help me out of the lake of doubt and into the highway of holiness once more.”
Rolling his eyes at the weak illusions to
Pilgrim’s Progress
, Tad jabbed a finger at her laptop. “And it is that very trait that first attracted you to him. You liked that he wasn’t intimidated by your challenges. Don’t punish him for being exactly who you wanted him to be just because the topic isn’t one you like.”
Denial rose in her throat, but she immediately realized that it was no good. She could pretend all she wanted, but Tad was right. She was just like a wife who after five years of marriage complains about the very things that attracted her to her husband. She just didn’t expect them to manifest in any way that was irritating!
Relief washed over her as their flight was called. She slipped her laptop in the case and swung it casually over her shoulder. “Ready, brother mine?” she quipped as she grabbed the handle to her rolling suitcase and moved to the boarding line.
~*~*~*~
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Home
Dear Matt,
It is so good to be home. There are days, like today, where I almost tell Tad to forget it and tell Jude to stop working on the website. He’s trying to learn how to build one while creating ours. Fortunately, he is a perfectionist about stuff like this so we don’t have to worry about making him feel badly. He’d never put up anything we hated because we never get to see the bad things more than once.
Jude messed up though. Branson is this coming weekend so we leave in three days. This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me want to forget all of this. I didn’t want to be gone all the time. However, we’re taking Patience with us this time. I couldn’t stand to think of us being at Silver Dollar City and not have her there too. She’s never been to an amusement park!
I’m skirting two issues. I bet you realized that already. You know me too well for my own comfort, but on the other hand, it is nice to know that someone does understand you so well. I guess that’s called being “a woman.” The never-ending contradiction that is self.
So, I’m going to do something absolutely astounding and come right out and talk about these things.
First, the letters in your drawer. May I have them? Am I arrogant to assume that they are addressed to me? I know how private those letters are, and I will understand if you say no, but I had to ask. I really love to see that part of you that you are so reluctant to show. Is it unfair of me to ask? I wonder.
Second, I owe you answers about God. You asked, you weren’t pushy, and I have to have somewhere to vent about all of this or I’ll go mad!
You asked if I’ve ever read the Gospels without my “Brethren filters “on. That is a good question. I confess I was annoyed when I read it. I don’t want to read the Bible. It angers me every time I try. However, I have to admit that no, I’ve never read any of the Bible without seeing it as it was lived before my eyes.
You also asked why God made the earth and those of us who now inhabit it. (I assume that’s what you meant) The only answer I know is that I don’t know. Why does anyone create something? Why does an artist paint? Part of it, I think, is because that is who the artist is. They can’t NOT paint. Do you see what I mean? The other part, I think, is because it shows whom the artist is. You can get a glimpse of the heart and soul of an artist by what he paints. I assume that may be why God created everything. It is a reflection of who and what He is.
What did He do once He created us? I don’t know. If it was like Genesis, then He put us in the Garden and gave us the chance for success and failure. I wonder why He did that knowing, as He would have to BE God, that we would fail? I think it was probably a lot like Genesis. Then again, it could have been nothing like it. I don’t believe, however, that there was a bunch of nothing that exploded (with nothing as the accelerant so to speak) and became something, which then became something else and so forth. That is why I give some credence to Genesis. All that “after its kind” stuff. It makes sense. Dogs always give birth to dog-like creatures. They don’t give birth to monkey like creatures.
I still don’t know of course. I’ll be honest too. I won’t guarantee that I’ll read any more. I am not sure I want to. There are times, however, that I want so badly for us to be ok that I’m willing to try anything to make it happen. Is it wrong of me to admit that? I promised myself I wouldn’t ever allow myself to meddle with your heart. Mine isn’t so cooperative sometimes.
Packing again,
Lane
Twenty
Matt glanced at the clock. There was time. The plane wouldn’t arrive for another hour. Tad had said they’d leave the secure areas and go eat at the steakhouse next to the airport. A five-hour layover was too long to sit in the terminal.
He grabbed fresh clothes and raced for the shower. Minutes later, he towel dried his hair and ran a comb through it grumbling about his laziness in getting it cut. It looked ridiculous. He ran his hand over his jaw thinking quickly. It’d take another five minutes to shave and he might miss them. What if they decided to try somewhere else for dinner?
At the front door, he froze. An inward battle raged. Did he dare share the letters Lane had requested? Would they anger her further? He didn’t have time to find the ones that were the most angst riddled.
With a groan, he rushed back to his nightstand and grabbed the stack of rubber band encircled letters. Stuffing them in his jacket, Matt raced out the door, down the steps, and around the back of the building where his father’s car sat. The back tire was flat.
Matt kicked the tire with a force that could only mean pain for him. The subway didn’t run all the way to the airport from his line and he didn’t have time to switch trains. He also didn’t have enough cash for a taxi, but Matt risked the angst of a driver and raced for the subway station. If he made it, he’d save a bundle by riding to the end of the line and take a taxi from there.
An hour later, he stood at the gate watching as passengers rolled their suitcases through the connecting tube. Patience saw him first. Almost knocking over a small woman in her eagerness, she raced down the passageway and into Matt’s arms. Lane watched with a pang. She hadn’t expected to see him, but she’d have given anything to rush to Matt like that.
“You told him.” Her words to Tad were ground through a pasted on smile.
“You need to see him, and you know it. Patience needed to see him. I needed to see him.”
“We’re a very needy family,” she hissed before she turned and smiled at Matt. “Hey! I didn’t know you would be here!”
Matt glanced awkwardly at Tad. “I thought—”
Lane laced an arm through his and tugged him toward the doors. “Who cares? I’m famished. Let’s go eat!”
“No luggage?”
Tad hailed a cab as he explained, “We checked it all. We didn’t want to have to wheel it around everywhere for five hours. We only carried on a backpack for munchkin here and Lane’s laptop.”
The steakhouse was loud. Country music blasted from huge speakers on all sides of the room. Popcorn and peanut shells littered the floors. Waitresses wearing shorts that barely covered granny’s underwear and sleeveless western shirts buttoned low enough to give an excellent view of the peaks and valleys of the girls’ topography, competed with waiters wearing jeans and shirts tucked in, but not buttoned.
Patience seemed oblivious to the sensual attire around her, but Tad, Matt, and Lane found it difficult to ignore the blatant sexual behavior of the wait staff. While the music thundered in their ears, making it impossible to talk without shouting, Patience bounced eagerly in tune with a song about one more night of sin before “little miss goody two shoes” wins.
Halfway through the meal, Lane excused herself. Her head pounded from the loud music and the constant shouting. She bounced off a waiter carrying glasses murmuring profuse apologies and then blushing furiously at the lecherous look he gave her. At the sight of the waiter raking his eyes over Lane’s retreating form, Matt excused himself, grabbed his jacket, and followed.
Matt tried to pretend that he accidentally-on-purpose bumped into said waiter causing the drinks he carried to soak the waiters shirt. He also tried to pretend that his profuse apology for his clumsiness was genuine, but the truth was too obvious to ignore. The fact is, Matt saw an opportunity and took it. He bumped the waiter’s arm at just the right angle to ensure two margaritas ended up soaking his chest and the front of his jeans. At the sight of a large wet spot surrounding the man’s zipper, Matt grinned.
“That should help cool your heels. And other things…”
Outside, Lane sat shivering on one of the benches provided for those waiting for a table. Few sat there in the chilly October air. He slipped his jacket over Lane’s shoulders and sat next to her. “I’m sorry. I would have told Tad to steer clear if I had known.”
“I know. I’m just tired, and I have a headache, and that awful music—”
“If it makes you feel any better, the waiter is covered in strawberry margaritas and not only reeks of alcohol, but looks like he didn’t quite make it to the bathroom in time.”
“You didn’t!” She studied his face carefully. “Oh, my goodness! You did! I love you!”
Lane clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d have said the same thing to a stranger at that particular moment, but somehow it felt like she’d slapped Matt in the face. Matt leaned and whispered into her ear, “I’m glad to hear it. I hope that never changes.”
“Oh, Matt—” She buried her face into his chest and sighed. It wasn’t fair. She knew she was being inconsiderate of him, his feelings, and their situation, but she didn’t move.
His arm twitched in the chilly air making Lane feel selfish. “Oh, it’s too cold to be out here without a jacket. Let’s go in—” Matt glanced around for somewhere that they could talk without his teeth running away from him. “Come on.”
Around the back of the restaurant, an entryway to the storage rooms blocked the brisk breezes that sent shivers over both of them. Matt glanced at his watch. They couldn’t stay outside forever. It’d get colder by the minute, and it was rude to leave Tad and Patience waiting for them.
He pulled Lane against his chest and slipped his arms into the arms of his jacket that was currently settled over Lane’s shoulders. They stood leaning against the brick enclosure for several minutes alternately talking and then reveling in the silence. Lane looked up at him as she started to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. “I—”
“I know.” Matt didn’t have anything to say to help either one of them.