Everything’s Coming Up Josey (23 page)

“That's great, Chase,” I manage, lying through my teeth. Sorta. Because, while I am wildly ecstatic at God's activities in his life, an existence without Chase suddenly seems like pizza without pepperoni.

I'm not going to ask God for signs anymore. It's too confusing.

 

It's country music night at the Gray Pony. And Russia's version of down-home Alabama is women in low-cut shirts, sequined vests and spiked boots. All black, of course. I'm looking Gull Lake in my jeans and a black pullover and my spiked boots (because you know, I want to fit in). Someone is singing “I'll Always Love You,” by Dolly, and at the moment, I'm wondering what I'm doing here.

Oh, yeah, it's Chase's last night here, and it's Caleb's idea to take him out when I'd much rather be back at my place, talking Chase into making me some macaroni and cheese or something.

But I don't trust myself not to break down and sob. Or worse, drop to my knees and beg him not to leave. Because, as usual, the thought of losing Chase has overwhelmed me anew, and again I'm left wondering, are my feelings for him real, or is it the danger of not having him that produces all this angst?

He's looking painfully cowboy tonight in a corduroy shirt, rugged whiskers and his jeans. He's drinking a Diet Coke and laughing with Caleb over a pair of ladies (and I use that term loosely) bellied up to the bar, hunting trouble.

Caleb, I've decided, is an interesting Christian, and his perspective is starting to rub off on me. He's not afraid of hanging out at the Gray Pony, and doesn't compromise his principles while doing it. He has a billion friends, especially Russians and they gravitate to him like rubber bands, here, there, back again. Because he's got a smile for everyone, even me, who doesn't deserve it.

Whatever has happened this week between me and Chase, I have to thank him for making things okay between Caleb and me. I'll not take my grungy friend for granted again.

“Hey, how about a song?” Caleb says as Dolly finishes. “C'mon.”

“Um,
no
,” I say, but he grabs me by the elbow. I throw a “help me” look at Chase, but he's just grinning. “Stand By Your Man!” he yells to the DJ and pushes a mike in my hands.

I ache, right in the middle of my chest, and it only halfway has to do with the terror that has vise-gripped me. What am I doing here? Mostly the pain comes from knowing that Chase is leaving, maybe forever.
Please, God, fix this?
Only, frankly, the Almighty is to blame and I don't know what to make of that. Especially after all my prayers for Chase.

The song starts, and I'm blinded, harassed by catcalls and lights. Hello? My brain is just starting to catch up to the moment and I realize I'm in the middle of Russia, about to croon a song that I, of all people, have no right to sing. I start to hand the mike back but suddenly Caleb appears. “C'mon.” And then he starts singing. Stand by my man? Which one?

I'm an idiot, but standing next to Caleb, with Chase grinning somewhere outside the ring of light, I choke out the song, soon bent over in hysterics. Russians never do anything halfway, and tonight they're singing along, as if this is a Soviet oldie. Caleb and I finish off in a rousing finale, and then escape as another troubadour mounts the stage for Ronnie Milsap's “Smoky Mountain Rain.” We hang on the railing and listen to the Russians decimate the song. At least they know the words. Sorry excuses for Americans, we are.

“Thanks for letting Chase stay with you,” I say, watching the crowd, but peeking at Caleb.

“Sure. He's okay. And he's learning what it is to live for God, which rocks. I could see him in Moscow.”

“Yeah?” I love that idea, and maybe Caleb can push him—only, I'm thinking maybe that's not the right way to go about things. Not only is there Caleb, but do I really want to stand between Chase and God telling him where to go?

Probably not. Because I'd never know if I was God's choice for Chase, and vice versa.

And, it's sorta looking like I'm not.

I blink back the sting in my eyes. Well, at least now I know.

“I have to apologize to you for something, Josey,” Caleb says quietly—well, as softly as one can over the words to “Boot Scootin' Boogie.”

I eye him.

“I was pretty angry with you after I saw you with Vidal Sassoon.”

I tilt up my mouth, one-sided. His humor bathes the sting of those words. “Vovka.”

“Right. Well, when I saw him, I wondered if maybe you'd only come to Russia for one thing—a husband.”

Gulp. If he only knew. In fact, it was lack of husband that drew me here, but still, the right theme.

“But when I met Chase, I knew that you were here for bigger reasons.”

Huh?

But he's not stopping for me to get to the bottom of that statement.

“In fact, I knew that God had been answering my prayers for you.”

“You've been praying for me?” Which, all at once, seems a better line of questioning, so as to deter him from that husband-hunting topic.

“Yeah. Pretty much all year. I remembered our conversation about you reading Ephesians, so I prayed Paul's Ephesians' prayer.”

I shake my head, realizing that Caleb is so much better at this missionary stuff than I am.

“Paul prays that the Ephesians would know God intimately, and specifically three things—that they would gain a deeper understanding of their salvation, a sense of belonging to Christ, and experience the power of God in their lives.” He smiles and touches my arm. It's a brotherly touch, because there are no tingles. “After talking to Chase, and hearing about the things you are doing, the way you handed over your career and your future to God, and tackled the challenges of Russia, I know that God is working in your life.” He squeezes my arms. “I'm glad to know you, Josey.”

Wow. That's about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me—well, besides Chase's “I'm proud of you” comment. I feel warm to my toes as I reach over and hug Caleb.

He smells pretty good, for a grunge guy. He's wearing mischief on his face when he steps away. “Wanna try the ‘Achy Breaky Heart'?”

“Uh, no.”

I glance at Chase and he's watching us, an enigmatic smile on his face. He looks kind of sad and I'm wondering if he is thinking about what isn't between us.

The Gray Pony is packed with ex-pats tonight, as well as Russians and I see Tracey sitting at a table with a few of her NGO pals. I wave, she smiles. I've done a great job of intercepting her and Chase this week. No sparks there, thank you.

I'm about to dare Caleb to Achy Break when I see trouble walk into the Pony. Vovka. And he's standing tall by the door, looking for his woman.

Yikes.

I've only seen Chase in a fight once. It was at Jerry's, after Gull Lake lost to the Miller Hill Moose. A bunch of arrogant Moosies were running their mouths and guess who was in the middle, defending the Gull Lakers without a thought to consequences. I know, big shocker, especially since I think things through so very well. I think I might have even poured a beer over someone's head.

I remember pushing, and lots of yelling and suddenly I was outside with a crowd. I shoved through sweaty bodies and to my horror found Chase squaring off with a Miller Moose the size and demeanor of said beast defending my honor.

But Chase is fast. He's smart. There were two quick punches, some blood, screaming and then Chase strode toward me, looking like he might like to have a go at me next.

He hauled me onto the back of his motorcycle and I didn't say anything as we drove through town toward Berglund Acres. I still remember him trembling, however, as I curled my arms around his waist and held on.

I never asked him where he learned to fight like that. I had a dark feeling it had to do with his father. And the resident six-pack.

That memory rushes back to me when I see Chase eye Vovka. Vovka doesn't seem happy to see my Gull Lake pal and I am suddenly visualizing International Incident.
Brawl breaks out during the Dixie Two-Step. Thirteen injured; UN troops surround building.

Vovka ignores the Yankee, however, and stalks over to me, a proprietary look in his eye. “I've been looking for you all week.” His voice holds hurt and I feel like a jerk. He doesn't deserve to be treated like yesterday's casserole. He's still so very hot. And he loves me.

Which Chase doesn't.

Or, at least in the “will you be mine forever” type of way.

I smile up at Vovka, aware that Caleb is watching me out of the corner of his discreet eye. “Hi. I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. This is Chase's last night here, so we decided to go out.”

Chase is off his chair, walking over to us. He's watching Vovka, and the look he's giving him seems so high school, it makes a small ripple of half fear, half hope ripple through me. Is Chase jealous?

“I don't think we've properly met,” Chase says, but I know him well enough to sense the coldness in his voice. “Chase Anderson, Josey's best friend.”

Vovka smiles, and for the first time I see the lion behind the golden mane and cultured elegance. “Vovka Antrop. Her boyfriend.”

Chase cuts me a look, then a frown. “Oh,” he says.

Oh? That's
it?
Here it is, the moment of truth, and he says,
Oh?
Although, come to think about it, I was about as articulate when he introduced me to Buffy.

Oh.

Please, Chase, say something? Anything more than
Oh
. Some hint that if I leap toward your arms I won't land on the floor, bruised and bleeding.

I stare at him, pouring those thoughts into my eyes, and for a moment, our gaze meets. The look in his beautiful blue eyes is unidentifiable, but a shiver runs up my spine.

“Of course,” he says to me. “Your boyfriend.”

Then he turns and…leaves?

“Chase, wait!” I start after him, but Vovka grabs my arm.

“Let's dance, Zhozey.”

No! Only, well, suddenly my future seems painfully obvious. Vovka, not Chase.

I asked for a sign, didn't I? And God seems to be all about answering prayers these days.

And me? I'm just trying to keep up with the right requests, hoping that along the way I figure out what The Almighty is up to.

The last thing I remember clearly before dissolving into tears is Caleb stalking out after Chase, confusion on his face.

He just left, just like that?

 

Without a goodbye or anything. I called Caleb that night and Chase had already left for the airport. By the time I got out there, he had entered the international area and I couldn't get through.

 

I saw him at the Holiday Station a couple days ago.

 

That's just swell.

 

I've felt sick since a week ago Tuesday when I stood outside customs, painfully aware that Chase had deliberately slammed the door on us. Not that there is an
us,
really, but there is the
us
that is our history, our friendship. The fact that I haven't slept in over a week and have finished off every jar of Nutella in the flat feels painfully like a break-up. Just add shopping, a new pair of shoes and hair color and it will be a full-fledged, gain-ten-pounds end-of-a-relationship heartbreak. In fact, I don't think I've ever felt this empty. As if I'd just lost some major organs, starting with my heart and lungs.

 

Have I ever told you that you sabotage yourself?

 

Thank you for that boost.

 

No, really. Remember in ninth grade when you were dating what's his name, the lead of South Pacific?

 

Drew.

 

Right. You were the one who introduced him to Marci. What, were you testing him? Just like you were testing Chase? How do you suppose it felt to stand there staring at Fabio? Even if Chase didn't jet over to Russia in some desperate hope to win your heart, you pretty much reminded him that he wasn't good enough.

 

Stop. That's not true. (I hate it when she makes sense. Someone with purple hair should not make this much sense!)

 

It is true. Has it ever occurred to you that Chase has been CHASING you for eighteen years? I know you think your love life is a big, sad joke but if I were there I'd give you a smack upside the head. Get a hold of yourself. Do you want him, or not? Because frankly, sis, Chase has done his time. You want him, you chase him. He deserves that.

 

Whose side are you on, anyway? I recall SOMEONE saying that if he is the right one, he'd wait.

 

He is waiting! But the bigger question here isn't does Chase love you, but do you love him? What more do you want from the boy?

 

Stop it, H. You're wrong. He doesn't love me. If he did, he would have said it.

 

I think he has. You just have to learn to speak his language. But that wasn't my question, was it? If you love him, you just blew it.

 

Thanks, Dr. Phil. I feel oh so much better realizing I have no one to blame but myself. Yippee.

 

Be in denial if you want, but you have about three months to figure it out. Maybe. You still want me to drive by his house once/day?

 

Maybe twice.

 

I log off before H can say anything else that spears me in the heart. Chase doesn't love me. He had his chance, five days of chances, in fact, and this time, no Buffy or ocean in the way. And, I don't care what she says, I am not in denial.

Not really.

Okay! Yes, I can't quite get a grip on what I feel for Chase. We've been friends for so long, all these emotions could be about finders keepers, and not the real thing. And even if it is the real thing,
he isn't reciprocating.
Which means it's a moot point, not denial. Besides, what does God want for me? Because, you know, that counts. What did Caleb say about God having a master plan?
God is for us, not against us. He is ultimately about showing Himself and His unbelievable love, to us, and through us as He takes us through life.

Oh, I hope so!

I grab my pillow and press it to my face. Oh, great, snot on the pillow. I get up, go to the kitchen, search the cupboards. No more Nutella. And the cheese spread is gone, too. Yeah! I found some peanut butter
padushki.
I crunch it slowly as I stare out my window at the sunrise winding through Moscow.

What, exactly, are You doing here, Lord?
March is tiptoeing toward spring and suddenly Moscow seems like it's been gray-scaled. The sky, slate gray and dispensing drizzle, black snow along the streets, the smell of diesel and not a lilac bud in sight. To add to the pallor of depression, Matthew has returned, and Rebecca confronted him. I found him sleeping on the sofa in his office yesterday, looking drawn. He's a lot of fun to be around.

My relationship/whatever with Vovka seems holding steady, although I've done a duck and run every time he flashes his lips near me. Keep thinking of pizza for some reason.

Most of all, I'm wondering at Chase's words. He wants to make a difference, like I am. Ha. Right. I've made a huge dent in the landscape of Russia, in fact there is a parade committee meeting tonight.

Tracey is already in bed, and I have to give her credit for not throwing herself at Rick, who has begun calling every night, asking her out. She, at least, knows what she doesn't want.

I've been praying for you.
Caleb's kind words return to me like an embrace. Sweet grungy Caleb.
Praying that you would know God.

I finish off the
padushki
and head back to my bedroom, pulling out my Bible and flipping to Ephesians, and continue on my question with Ephesians 1:15-18, and I remember Caleb's words—“Paul prays that we might know God, be
enlightened
to who He is.”

And since I've been enlightened (like that word!) I'll better understand…

1. “The hope of his calling—” Meaning then that, if everything crumbles around me, I have something no one can destroy…salvation. That thought in itself should keep me in tears. But how does this hope change me? I guess it gives me an endgame. It gives my life both security and purpose. I'm not in it alone.

2. “Riches of the glory of his inheritance—” Okay, so confused. But I think it means that I belong to Jesus, I'm His inheritance, which is a pretty cool thing considering I wouldn't consider anything about me worth inheriting (even the $3,295 in my bank account). But He does. In fact, He considers me a treasure. Whoa. And that fills my chest with a strange sweetness.

But does he also think the same way about Tracey? That thought should change the way I look at her, I suppose.

3. “The exceeding greatness of his power—” Super Josey! No, sorry, that's going a bit overboard, but the verse does say God's power directed at me…in fact His
resurrection
power—the kind that takes the dead and makes them alive. Which means…well, that at the very least, I have power to not teach the class such words as “two-timing scum” instead of Mr. Winneman.

So, if I sum up verses to date—

I'm here because God likes me and wants to do something good in me. Hmm. And, as I grow closer to God, I'll get a better understanding of my salvation, my worth and God's power in me.

Which, I can probably boil down to this: it's not only about the product, but the process. Which feels pretty good as I climb into my still size-12 Gap boot-cuts, needing a refresher on my highlights and knowing that I'm starting season four here in Russia without one conversion on my notchless belt. More than that, despite the fact that my heart feels like it's been taken out, flogged and reinserted in my chest, it still beats a tune of hope that there is something bigger at work here. That God is still doing something here in Russia, in me.

I pull on a sweatshirt, then close my Bible and find myself again on my knees, something that is happening fairly often these days…in fact, something I'm starting to look forward to it, like one might look forward to a Oreo shake, or a piece of French silk pie. Yum.

“Lord,” I say, “I don't know why You brought me here, but I know it is about You. About knowing You better. And if You can teach me something through this hole burning in my chest over the Chase thing, well, then please give me wisdom. I'm truly overjoyed at this change in his life, and his salvation. So, I pray that he would know You better.”

I turn over H's IM, and the questions that burn in my heart. Am I a saboteur? Why don't I just throw myself into his arms?

It doesn't matter. Chase is gone. And I'm here. Still, if God does care about me, He also cares about my messes, so—“And Lord, really, I don't know if these feelings I have for Chase are love, or just…(gulp) selfishness. So, if You could help me figure that out before You send him off to Tanzania or something, I'd be grateful.” I run my fingers under my eyelids, swipe away a gathering of moisture.

“Most of all, God, please use me here, for whatever Your purposes are. Help me to know You, and be changed because of it…amen.”

I get up and the sun is turning my dingy lace curtains gold. And inside, the burning has begun to subside to a dull ache.

 

The Venetsia has three kinds of coffee. I know, I expected more from a bistro, but the fact that coffee appears on the menu along with the three pages of vodka and cognac listings, pickled herring and squid salads, makes me happy enough. I love the café
smolokom,
made with espresso and sweetened condensed milk, and I'm on my third cup when I see Matthew enter.

He's looking…pale. I know he's wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday and while that fact isn't an issue in Russia, it registers in my American brain. Ew. He orders a cup of coffee and my heart rams in my throat when he turns and walks toward my table. I'd look behind me for his true destination, but I'm seated next to the wall.

I close my book (from another care box from Jas. Who also sent a picture of her cute little basketball belly). Matthew sits down with his coffee.

“Hello?” I say, wondering if I missed the part where I'd invited him over.

“Hi,” he says. Up close he looks like he's spent a week in Chechnya. Unshaven, bags under his eyes, his oxford and khakis rumpled under that fraying leather jacket. See what happens when you cheat? No I-roning!

“How are you doing?” You scumbag. No, Josey, be nice! Can't you see he's hurting? But I think of Rebecca, at home, decorating and baking and I narrow my eyes.

“I wasn't cheating on my wife, Josey.”

“Please define ‘not cheating' for me, Matthew. Because, well, it looked like cheating from my vantage point on the balcony.” I can't believe those words come out of my mouth! Yeah, me! I probably deserve another coffee.

Matthew rests his forehead on the palm of his hands, and he sighs. I feel it in my bones. Despair. Frustration. Wow, I really relate to that. I've been sighing the same way for a couple weeks now every time I open my e-mail and don't see a listing from Chase.

It makes me soften toward Matthew, just a little.

“I'm sorry. The thing is, even if you weren't cheating, it looked…bad. And you have to know that our missionary community is small enough to talk.”

He nods and suddenly appears like he might cry. I look around in panic, at the clumps of Russians in conversation. Please, Matthew, don't dissolve here. I'm not ready for that kind of crisis.

“Do you know where I went this month?”

Not a clue, Waldo. Nor do I want to know. Really.

“I was in counseling in France.”

I knew it. The south of France! Somehow this doesn't improve my opinion of him. I sip my coffee.

“I went there because I'm burned out. I've been here for ten years, with hardly a break, and frankly, I just want to go home.”

It really unsettles me how much I relate with Matthew the Weasel at the moment. I don't hold out my hand to him or anything, but my posture relaxes, and says, “I'm all ears.”

“I've been dodging these feelings for three years, and although it seems to be getting easier physically to live in Russia each year, emotionally, I've hit the skids. Did you know that we arrived during the days when toilet paper was a luxury?”

Okay, over sharing. But I have heard stories of the lean years, right after the fall of communism when the grocery stores were empty and the black market stocked. “Rebecca loves it here. She thrives on challenge, on redoing our lives. But she's at home, and I'm out here, trying to make a difference.” He sighs and the look he gives me zings me in the heart. “Yeah, right.”

Don't cry! I take another sip of my coffee, pulling in the emotions that want to stand up and scream, Me, too! “That doesn't give you the right to cheat on your wife.”

“I wasn't cheating. I was just—”

“Lonely?”

“Responding.”