Friendship Cake (19 page)

Beatrice seemed to have it all figured out. At least if they knew it wasn't going to be anytime soon that Jessie was moving, they could clear the air of this heaviness and she could share more of her photographs.

“Did you see the shots from when we went snorkeling?” She dropped her hands to her side and picked up the box again.

“Beatrice, we don't want to see any more of your pictures. Frankly, the thought of seeing Dick in a bathing suit is more than I can take right now.” Louise tugged at the front of her shirt. “I can't believe you've been thinking about this for three months and have not mentioned it to us.” She was hurt at Jessie's silence.

The other women dropped their eyes. They felt the same way. Margaret, especially, felt a sense of betrayal that Jessie had not spoken of the possibilities. Hadn't they just been together last
week at the mammogram? Why hadn't Jessie said anything then? And then she realized her own secret and figured that she had no room to make judgments.

“I'm sorry,” Jessie said. “I was still trying to get used to the idea myself.” She paused. “I like the idea of moving somewhere else. But it was hard thinking about telling anyone.”

Charlotte didn't know what to say. She was as surprised and disappointed as the other women. Jessie was very dear to her. She was the voice of reason in the congregation, a person, like Margaret, that she knew would always find and tell the truth. She was solid, strong, and resilient. She held that community together; and Charlotte couldn't imagine being in the church without her.

“Well, I think this is horseshit.” Louise was the only one not letting Jessie off the hook for her decision and her silence. And because these women knew Louise and loved her for who she was, even Jessie was not put off by her bluntness. “You've been considering this the entire summer and you haven't let on, haven't asked us what we thought, haven't wanted our opinions. Well…” She stammered a bit. “I just think that's horseshit.”

Still, the room was quiet.

Jessie faced her friend sitting beside her. “Okay, Louise, tell me what you
really
think about me moving.”

Louise didn't skip a beat. “I think it's horseshit. You let that man come back into your life after he walked out on you, and now you're just going to take up everything and follow him to California?” She was not to be stopped. “Suppose he gets bored out there, then what are you going to do?” She hoped for some help from Beatrice and Margaret, but they were silent.

“Horseshit,” she said one more time.

“He's my husband, Louise. I love him. And I'm not doing this because he wants me to. Sure, it was his idea. But I very much like the idea. I've never wanted to stay here.”

These words stung and the women showed as much.

Jessie realized how that sounded. “I don't mean it like that. I love you all. I love this house and my community. But I'm not at home here either. I like to travel. I've always thought I'd move somewhere else, but then there were the kids and Mama and Daddy to take care of. I want to experience life in another place before I die. I want to go with him. But I also just want to go.”

“Well, I for one don't need to hear any more. This hurts me, Jessie, and I'll just have to be hurt for a little more before I can be nice.”

Louise made an exit before anyone tried to stop her. All four watched as she stormed out the door, and then they listened as she pulled out and drove away. An awkward silence followed.

“Horseshit, huh?” Jessie asked the other women. “That what you think too?”

Margaret forced a laugh. “It's hard news to hear, Jes. You're like a sister to her, to all of us.”

Jessie nodded without saying anything else.

“Well, look at the time!” Beatrice jumped up. “I have a husband of my own and he'll be waiting for me.” She moved in front of Jessie. “I'll help you however I can.” She reached out her hand. “And don't worry about Louise; she'll come around. I mean, she might not be pleasant, but she won't stay mad.”

Jessie stood up and hugged Beatrice. “Don't forget your pictures.”

“All right then. I'll see everyone on Sunday.” And she bounced out the door.

“I guess I should go too,” Charlotte said as she got up from her seat. She walked into the kitchen and set her coffee cup and saucer on the counter behind her. “I can't believe this, Jessie.” This was all she could say as she walked back into the room where the other women waited. She hugged her friend and then turned to Margaret. “You coming?”

Margaret shook her head. “I want to talk a bit to Jessie.”

Charlotte nodded and headed toward the door. She turned around and said, “Tell James I said goodnight.”

“Yes,” was Jessie's response. The young pastor left. She went to her car and sat down, but she did not leave.

Jessie began cleaning up. She wasn't sure what kind of reprimand she was about to get from her friend.

“Jessie, please, sit down.” Margaret remained in her seat.

“Margaret, I'm sorry. I should have told you,” she said as she went back to the sofa. “I just…” She stammered a bit. “I just…it's just harder than I thought. I couldn't bring myself to tell you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

Margaret reached over and they held hands. “I know,” she said.

There was a pause until they heard James moving things around in the back bedroom.

“That man!” Jessie said in exasperation. “His big mouth, and now if he wakes that baby!” She got up to leave, but Margaret held her hands tighter.

“Wait,” Margaret said. “I have something I need to tell you too.”

Charlotte watched through the window from her car as Margaret told the news to Jessie. She knew she shouldn't be spying like that, but she had been so curious about what Margaret was going to do. After the ultrasound and then the aspiration and hearing the doctor's recommendations, Margaret had decided to tell the group tonight. She was scheduled for surgery in two weeks.

Charlotte had sat in the room with Margaret as all the reports were read. She reached for and held Margaret's hand at one point. But she felt incomplete, fragmented; and she had told Margaret so. “The others should have been with us,” she had said to Margaret, who had nodded in agreement. And they both decided at that point that, for the rest of the way, Margaret would let the other women be a part of the process.

Jessie sat back at first and then dropped to her knees in front of Margaret. Then Charlotte watched as Jessie pulled Margaret out of her own chair and into herself, and they stayed like that for a very long time.

The young woman folded her arms around the steering wheel. She wept while she watched two women, two friends, fall into each other and into the sadness and into the fear and the sorrow. She saw them rock and sit and wipe the tears and hold each other some more.

It was powerful, she thought, what women bring to each other in calamity. It may not be forceful or disciplined or organized. It may not solve anything or provide a linear direction for others to follow. It may not have the intensity or action that men's responses often have. On the surface it might even appear sparse or meager, insignificant, small. Many will pass right over
it, never even recognizing its strength. But Charlotte knew it to be what it was. It was the place from which everything else grew. It was rich and fertile, the foundation of life. It was the bedrock of faith, but one she knew she did not have when she had sat in the hospital room with Nadine. And she wished she could have offered what these women seemed to possess.

Having witnessed enough, the young pastor started the car and pulled out into the night.

Recognizing that this book could not have been possible without the support, direction, and love of many people, I gratefully acknowledge my family, who have put up with me a very long time, especially my husband, who loved me even without a publishing contract, and his parents, Charlotte and Eddie; my agent, Sally McMillan, who believed in my stories; my editors, Joann Davis, for saying yes, and Michelle Shinseki, who has made this endeavor such a joy; Sylvia Belvin and Frances Holt from Fran's Front Porch and First Christian Church, Greensboro, North Carolina, for allowing me to use their recipes, Lynn and Edith and Eddie for the cooking advice; Carlene Neese for first explaining the friendship cake tradition to me; Kaye Crawford for “hatch, match, and dispatch”; the women with whom I romp on the first Thursday of every month, Julie, Judy, Peggy, Dorisanne, Terry, Dale, and Jacqueline; and all the other friends who make my life so rich, including Julie, Robin, Melissa, Ronny, Terry and Melanie, Charles, Steve, Katrin, Dave and Ella, Don, and, of course, Tina.

Finally I wish to say thank you to all the folks at Mount Hope United Church of Christ and First Congregational United Church
of Christ. From you I have discovered how to recognize and honor grace.

And please note: A portion of the proceeds of this book will go to Hospice of Alamance-Caswell Counties, for here is where I have learned my greatest lessons.