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Authors: Rene Gutteridge

Tags: #Christian Fiction, General

Greetings from the Flipside (3 page)

BOOK: Greetings from the Flipside
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“Look what I bought! It was all on sale. Clearanced at 90 percent off! I figured we could use it somehow. We must have some decor at your wedding.”

At the word
decor
, Hope's attention drifted to the rust-colored walls of the kitchen. It was still unclear in what year the color had been popular. In the living room, the paisley print couch sat atop a green shag carpet. On the end tables were two lamps she swore came straight from the set of
The Brady Bunch
.

Her mom hadn't updated anything since 1979, including herself. Everything about her—from her frizzy, unkempt hair to her polyester floral skirt—seemed a bit faded, like an old photo. Hope watched as her mom continued to rummage through her craft store goodies. As she often did, she imagined they were having a normal conversation, a conversation any mother and daughter might have before a wedding. She'd done this since she was little, sit close to her mother and pretend they were conversing about school or boys or an upcoming dance. That made her feel better. That . . .

And Popsicles.

“When I make the pigs in a blanket, do you want Swiss or provolone? I'm thinking cheddar.”

“Cheddar is fine.” It was the pigs in a blanket that worried her. She'd agreed to let her mother cater only because there were no other options. They couldn't afford to have it professionally done, and their circle of friends was only about an inch across, thanks to her mother's unusual outlook on life.

On the brighter side, her mother had agreed they could pay a florist to do her bouquet and a few other arrangements. She was looking forward to seeing what he was planning. Rumor was that he always sketched out his bouquets before designing them, to get the client approval. It made her feel like she was from Spackenkill.

“So provolone?” her mother asked.

With her mother catering, she feared her wedding might look more like a backyard barbecue, complete with American flags and sparklers if she happened to find them in a discount bin somewhere.

Her mother chattered on about the pigs in a blanket, and Hope grabbed one of the ribbons, running it through her fingers. So much rode on her mother and Hope knew all too well that things dependent upon her mom were in a world of trouble. Hope bit her lip, desperately wanting to ask the same question she'd asked for four weeks now. But why would she assume the answer would be different this time?

Except Hope always seemed to live up to her name.

“Mom, did the travel documents come yet?” She held her breath.

Her mother blinked, as if trying to remember what a travel document was.

“For whatever this surprise honeymoon is that you've been talking about.” Well, Mom mentioned it only once, but that was enough to get Hope's hope up.

“Documents! Yes!” Her mother jumped from the chair and hurried to the kitchen. “Came today!” She returned, clutching an envelope close to her heart, gazing at Hope with her head tilted to the side. She said nothing, just stared at Hope like she was a famous monument.

A tinge of excitement rose up in Hope and she couldn't help it: a grin hit her face like it was catapulted there. “So . . . are we going somewhere tropical?”

Her mother smiled and handed her the envelope.

Hope ripped it open, snatching up the folded contents. Tickets! Actual airline tickets! She turned them over to try to find the destination. A thrill rushed through her as she read the destination.

Then read it again.

Hope slowly lowered the tickets, placing them on the table.

Idaho.

The state.

The place nobody would go to for an exotic honeymoon. Her grin was still slapped onto her expression, but it began to quiver. She was about to burst into tears, but she had to hold it in. Crying extracted the strangest of all her mother's behaviors.

“It's a bed and breakfast!” her mother stated, her enthusiastic expression equivalent to Oprah's when she gives away new cars. “That B and B harvests
their own potatoes
!”

“We're spending our honeymoon in potato country.”

“I know how much you love your mashed potatoes.”

“Is this refundable?”

“Nope! Paid in full, my dear!” She smiled, missing the grave disappointment sinking into Hope's expression. Her mother started messing with the ribbon again.

What was there to say? She couldn't be ungrateful. She was certain her mother saved for months for this. A sharp pain cramped her stomach. Her mother reached across the table, patted her hand, grinned widely enough for the two of them.

“By the way, if your daddy shows up at the wedding, how about we both take an arm?”

No. Not now. Not talk about Daddy.
“Sure, Mom.”

Then the dim mood of the room was undone by what could only be described as the spontaneous prayer version of Tourette's syndrome. “Lord! Please hear this our prayer!” Her mother shouted, like there was some racket she needed to be heard over. She waved one hand in the air. “Bring Hope's daddy back in time for her vows!”

Her mother's eyes were squeezed shut so Hope rose, went to the freezer, and grabbed a blue Popsicle. She'd gone through ten or twelve Popsicles a day when her dad left. Now she only needed them every once in a while . . . like now. They had a calming effect, maybe because they temporarily froze her brain.

“Bring her daddy home, dear Lord!”

Hope returned to the table, sat down, sucked on her Popsicle.

“And please, please, please Lord, convince Hope and Sam they don't need to move away.”

Hope's heart sank. Her mother was having a hard time with it, and it kind of broke her heart. But she needed to leave. She had to.

“It's going to be okay, Mom,” Hope said, patting her on the hand. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Good-night. I love you.”

In her bedroom, against her will, she picked up the picture of her dad, the one where he grinned like he could see their whole future together and it was magnificent. It was winter and they were bundled tightly together. His mustache was thick enough that it seemed it could keep them both warm. She always wondered what he'd look like now, whether he'd still sport that mustache or not.

“I'm not going to get any silly ideas about you coming to the wedding,” she said to the photograph. “There's a new man in my life now. He is my family. He is the one that will be there tomorrow. Not you.” She tossed the frame aside and grabbed her cell phone, speed-dialing the man who would take her away from this place, forever.

His voice mail picked up. “Hey, it's Sam. I'm probably off playing some outrageously sick gig right now. But if you're important, maybe I'll ring you.” A guitar vamp roared through the phone, followed by a delicate beep.

“Hey, it's me. I love you and can't wait to walk down the aisle. I can't wait to hear the song you're writing for me. I can't wait”—she glanced at the picture of her dad on the bedspread, still grinning—“to not live in Poughkeepsie anymore . . .” She was talking as if the voice mail might converse back. “You know what, I'm just rambling now. I've got lots to do, so I'll catch ya on the flipside.”

Outside her room, her mother sang some gospel music or something. Hope hopped off her bed and went to her closet, where her beautiful white gown hung, wrapped in plastic, off the back of the door.

She was actually getting married. Crazy was about to be a distant memory and normal was where she planned to relocate.

2

I
n solid sheets of white, rain gushed over the 1972 Oldsmobile that Hope drove along at fifteen miles an hour because, starting in 1994, her mother refused to drive in anything but pure sunshine. Wouldn't even drive on a cloudy day.

And as luck would have it, on their way to the church, the windshield wipers stopped working. Her mother now hung out the window and loudly declared the wipers to be HEALED!

“Oh God!” she wailed, soaked to the bone on her right side, “Come! Heal these wipers.”

When the wind shifted, rain splattered against Hope's cheek. Good thing she never had any grand ambitions about her wedding day. She hadn't pictured frills and carriages and perfect weather. Of course, she hadn't pictured her mother hanging out the car window praying over the windshield wipers either, but things could always be worse.

“Mother!” Hope yelled over the rain.

But her mom couldn't hear her. She still hung out the window, trying to fix the wiper blades, half her body teetering out of the car and one arm wrapped around the car frame. She wouldn't drive on a cloudy day but had no problem with this.

“Lord! Hear our prayer!”

Hope glanced down at the speedometer. She was now going thirteen miles an hour.

Her mother started manually moving the wipers back and forth across the windshield. Hope slumped in her seat. At this point, frills and carriages and an ounce of sunshine wouldn't kill her.

God, please . . .

Suddenly, the wipers squeaked to life again. Her mom emerged from the rain. “There! Sometimes when the wipers of life get stuck, you gotta arm wrestle them to life.”

Hope smiled, trying her best to enjoy each moment of this day. This would turn out to be one of those memories you laughed about. Later.

The downpour started up again. “So today's the big day!” her mom shouted over the racket of the rain and the squeak of the wipers. “You finally get to hear the song Sam's been working on for you!”

This brought a genuine smile to her face. “I know!”

“That boy has some God-given talent! I see him in a church one day,” she declared, lifting her hand toward the windshield like it was a portal into heaven. “Yes, yes, yes I do. Leading a choir of hundreds.”

Over his dead body
. But Hope kept her mouth shut. Sam had wanted to wed at Pairaview Hall, where Black Sabbath once played. She'd told him that wasn't going to fly.

Hope wasn't a big church attender, but a church seemed like the proper place to wed . . . a good way to start off the whole deal. There would be lots of things coming against a marriage. God shouldn't be one of them.

Finally they arrived at the Poughkeepsie Community Church, quaint but colorless on this dreary day. The wedding dress was double-wrapped and her mother insisted on carrying it in. Hope resisted twice. Her mom insisted three times.

As she watched her mom maneuver the dress up the steps of the church, Hope was certain something catastrophic was going to happen on its way through the front doors.

Potato-farm catastrophic.

Hope held her breath and wondered how she was going to break the news to Sam that they were going to Idaho. It was supposed to be a big surprise. Well, it was surprising all right.

Okay, so . . . their first big disappointment to tackle. Fine. They could do it. Besides, Sam was a pretty laid-back guy. He could find the fun in anything, which was what first attracted Hope to him. He'd probably suggest they go cow-tipping or something.

Hope pulled her mom's industrial-sized raincoat over her head and raced toward the church. Inside, she found her mom in the room where Hope was to get ready. It smelled musty and the carpet was dense, dark, and old. The rain thumped loudly against the wooden roof and poured down onto the concrete sidewalk just outside the window.

Her mother joined her at the window. “This is going to be the perfect day, my dear. Just perfect. Who cares about the gloom outside? It's going to be warm and sunshiny inside, just like you!” She gave Hope a tight, sideways squeeze. Sometimes her mom's misplaced enthusiasm came in handy.

Her mom disappeared into a side room to change and Hope stood and watched the rain. She wondered how her mom could see her as warm and sunshiny. She wasn't that person. Witty, yes. Sarcastic, nearly always. She just didn't smile that much. But her mom, well, she saw reality a little differently.

“Hope Landon, you should be smiling. It's your wedding day!” Becca breezed in, carrying her sapphire-blue matron of honor dress, made especially for her pregnant body. She hung it on the door and frowned. “Why aren't you dressed? And what's going on with your hair?”

“Just waiting for you.” Hope moved away from the window, smiling for Becca's sake. Hope plopped down in a chair and pointed to her hair.

“No kidding,” Becca said. “Looks like you drove here with the top down!” She fluffed Hope's hair with her fingers. “But no worries. I can fix it. I brought all my magic.” She grabbed a large bag off the floor.

“This is my wedding day.” The breath in her lungs felt inadequate. “It seems surreal.”

“You're going to look stunning. The hair's definitely going up.”

And for the next thirty minutes, Becca sprayed and combed until her hair looked sassy and elegant and part of this decade. She then went to work on Hope's makeup.

“Take a look,” Becca said, handing her a mirror.

Hope gasped. “I
do
look good!”

“Dress time!” Becca sang. She helped Hope into it, tugging on the zipper as Hope sucked in. Her mother flitted back into the room, twirling in her new outfit: cream and almost no polyester except her floral vest, which was trimmed with burgundy piping. Hope thought she looked pretty, with her hair pinned back by jeweled-toned clippies. Her lipstick was vibrant—enough to come with a radiation warning—but even that looked right on her today.

“Gorgeous, Mom.”

“Me? Look at you! Good heavens, Lord Almighty! You are a drop of sunshine in a bucket of chemical cleaner, my dear. You're like the smell-good in the Pine-Sol.”

Hope leaned toward the window. “There are actual cars out there! People are coming! I thought nobody would show up.”

“Are you kidding?” Becca said. “Now suck in, or they're going to see more than they bargained for.”

Hope obeyed. “I'm sorry, I ate a Popsicle last night.”

BOOK: Greetings from the Flipside
5.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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