Potter Springs (13 page)

“Peggy can’t be there,” Mark continued, once out of Barry’s earshot. “Her aunt’s got shingles, so she’s gone to Talukah.”

“I know. I got her message.”

As Ervin’s wife and unofficial director of women’s ministries, Peggy would normally be in charge of the luncheon. “You can
do it, honeygirl,” the older woman had promised on the answering machine, right before Amanda pressed delete.

Mark lifted the price tag on a dusty dinette. “This one’s in our price range.”

“It’s
chrome”

Barry hollered from behind the counter. “That style’ll last you forever.” He jabbed his thumb in the air again. “Classic!
I can come down on the price, but only ’cause you’re friends and all.”

Amanda had never laid eyes on Barry before today. “Do you know him?” she whispered.

“Thanks,” Mark called in return, and pulled Amanda to the rear of the store. “Barry sings in the choir. Gave me his card a
month ago and asked me to come by. I’ve been promising I would.” He stopped in front of a pillow-top mattress. “Honey, about
the luncheon. Somebody from the staff, or staff family, should go. And it’s a women’s function.”

So, because I have ovaries, I’m subject to an afternoon of horrible food and small talk?
Amanda sighed and sank down on the bed. “How long will it last?”

Mark grinned in victory. “Just a couple hours. You’ll know some of them already from the move-in.”

“There’s no way I’ll remember their names.” Moving day was a blur, but a few stood out in her memory. Of course, crying all
over Peggy wasn’t something she’d soon forget. But Ervin’s wife seemed the forgiving sort, especially since she hadn’t even
pressed for an explanation. “Hardly anyone will know me.”

“But they will, once you go. I’m sure there’ll be name tags. And you’ll meet Courtney Williams, the president of the Ladies’
Guild. She said she’d show you around.”

Barry appeared out of nowhere and bounced on the edge of the mattress. “Feel that support? Come on, give it a try. Comes with
a lifetime guarantee.” He gave a flashy grin. “Quality!”

“Oh, we’re not really in the market for a new mattress,” Mark explained. “But if we were, this sure looks like a winner.”

Barry beamed.

Only Mark would take the time to soothe a furniture salesman’s ego.

“If you don’t mind, Barry, we need to discuss our options.” Mark stroked Amanda’s shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Barry nodded knowingly. “You and the little lady talk it over, we’ll see what we can do.” He retreated behind the counter
and stared. Lip-reading, no doubt.

“Fine,” Amanda whispered. She didn’t see any way out of it. So far, she had avoided Sunday mornings entirely. Now she wished
she’d gotten her feet wet before facing the masses by herself. “I’ll do it.”

Heedless of Barry, Mark pulled her close. “You’re the best.”

“No, I’m the worst,” she told his neck. “But I love you, so I’ll go.”

Mark shook Barry’s hand in good-bye and the man looked close to tears as they left the store. “Zero percent financing, and
that’s the best I can do!”

AMANDA MUTTERED CURSES
of regret through her teeth as she entered Lakeview Community Church. A pink sign, announcing today’s Getting to Know You
Luncheon in the activity center, fluttered with the closing door.

A small stage and fake green trees decorated the church’s activity center, aka gym. Gingham cloths and cutesy centerpieces
adorned circular tables. Women’s chatter filled the area, high and low voices blended with various perfumes and tea light
candles for a distinctly feminine mix.

Amanda shuffled in, hoping to be unnoticed, and looked for a seat in the back. Not one woman stopped her. She must be as invisible
as she felt.

She’d battled anxiety that morning, trying to decide what to wear to an arm-twisting. She settled on her favorite black pants
and a light blue sweater set. Thankfully, she hadn’t underdressed for the occasion. Most of the women wore stretchy pants
and colorful tops.

A quartet sang onstage. Two ladies sat on stools with their legs propped daintily on the rims, long floral skirts flowing
to their pumps. The other two, wearing pantsuits, stood and made passionate hand movements, like gospel divas. They sang with
eyes closed and full-throttle voices.

It’ll be fun, you’ll see.
Mark’s promise echoed in Amanda’s mind as she found the most remote corner possible. To her relief, she recognized a face.
It went with a name tag. Missy Underwood. The pansy gardener.

The woman’s eyes widened as Amanda approached. “Hello! Oh, you’re
here.
Come sit down … if you want. Everyone will be so happy to see you!”

So happy they hadn’t stopped their conversations to make time for a quick hello? Or had they seen her? “Thank you.” Amanda
hung her purse over a chair. “This seat’s not taken?”

“Not at all. I try to sit in the back in case I have to slip out to feed the baby.”

The baby. Emptiness blossomed in Amanda’s womb. Pain petals unfurled and snatched her breath away. She fought it, sucked in
some air and forced herself to smile. “The baby?”

“Taylor. He’s ten months old. And a hearty eater.” Missy unconsciously brushed her breasts as she spoke. “The nursery has
to pull me from time to time ’cause he gets so ornery if I’m not there to feed him.”

“Do you have other children?”
Breathe deep. Be normal. This is normal, two women having a conversation about children.

“Yes, a four-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy.”

“You’re pretty busy, then.” Amanda parroted clichés, her mouth moving at random.

“It’s not bad. I get to stay home with them, so that’s a blessing.” Missy fiddled with the sugar packets on the table as the
quartet finished to enthusiastic applause.

A tall blonde in fitted pants and heeled sandals grasped the microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies of Lakeview Community Church!
For those of you who don’t know me, and I don’t think there are many, I’m Courtney Williams, your Ladies’ Guild president.”
The women clapped politely. Courtney brushed her hair from her shoulder and let the applause continue before she spoke again.

“We’ve got lots to talk about, starting with our fall activities. But before I get into that, I want to introduce you to a
special guest of honor whom you might not have met yet. In fact, I’d begun to wonder if she existed at all! But I’m told she’s
here and we’re glad to have her.”

The burn started up toward Amanda’s face. She willed serenity, in spite of her pounding heart.
I am cool. I am calm. I am the pastor’s wife.

“Amanda Reynolds—wife of our own precious Mark Reynolds!”

Amanda Reynolds, come on down!

Courtney peered into the shadows. “Amanda, would you stand up for me, please?”

Amanda stood and waved to the women, who stared at her.

“No, I need you to stand up!”

Laughs all around. More unadulterated fun in the form of short jokes.

“Y’all be sure and give her a hug after the program. Introduce yourselves and make her welcome. Now, for our announcements
…”

Having performed to expectations, Amanda tuned the speakers out and started in on her lunch. Thinking as soon as she finished,
she could leave.

Next to Amanda, Pam Hart, according to her marks-a-lot name tag, shifted forward in the plastic school chair. “So, Amanda.
How do you like our fair town so far?” Pam chewed on a tortilla rolled with cream cheese and olives, and intermittently dipped
it in a bowl of salsa. Double dipping.

“I like it,” Amanda answered, almost honestly. Driving to the church this morning in her Toyota, the crisp breath of fall
whipped through her open windows. The air cleansed, cut through her in a way that Houston breezes never did. She’d even turned
on the radio and sang through her nervousness to the latest Alan Jackson coming through her tinny factory-edition speakers.

It wasn’t until she hit the church’s parking lot that she wished, with overwhelming urgency, that she’d never agreed to come.

Still, she must make an effort. Her cave’s darkness had covered her for so long. If she didn’t try, she’d stay inside forever.
Baby steps.

After all, she was here to get to know the women. That, and to try to consume dry chicken and lukewarm green beans without
choking to death.

“Tell me about your sweatshirt.” Amanda pointed to Pam’s brightly colored top.

“Oh, my goodness! Can you believe that?” A hot sauce trail dribbled over the puff paint sweatshirt. Pam smacked it with a
paper napkin. Paper balls peeled off the napkin to stick to the wet spot. “Not fifteen minutes into the meal.” Pam blushed
her apology. “Such a mess.”

“No, you’re fine. It hardly shows.” Amanda hid a smile.

Pam heaved a sigh and set the blotter down. “It’s a gift from my daughter in Chitapee,” she explained. “Works at the high
school over there. Voted teacher of the year. That’s hard to do, you know.”

“It must be nice to have family close.” Amanda salted her rice pilaf, which held all the flavor of shredded cardboard. “Your
daughter enjoys your company, I bet.”

She’d ached for her own family, even as she gave her mother assurances she was fine. Lasting only minutes on the line with
her daddy before breaking down, his gruff voice telling her he loved her. She missed them, flaws and all, with a palpable
longing.

Almost as much as she missed Grace. Her little flutters. Even the sickness, the sleepiness.

“Sometimes,” Pam agreed. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m so proud of my daughter I could burst-she’s got two young-uns …” She
pulled a well-worn photo of chubby toddlers from her voluminous purse. “They drive me bananas, but they’re my heart. Strange,
that your heart can run around outside your body like that, on two legs.”

“I know what you mean.” Whispers of hurt, the petals stirred inside Amanda.

She missed her pregnancy dreams, the ones where she could almost see her little girl’s face.

Amanda woke some mornings, even after the miscarriage, with the words aching on her lips.
Turn around, Grace. Please turn around and let me see you.

But Grace never did. And now Amanda didn’t even have the dreams anymore. Still, she wondered what Grace would have looked
like, dancing and running outside her heart.

“Anyway,” Pam chattered on, “it’s good to have a little distance. Oh”-she interrupted herself and shot out of her chair-“game
time!”

Chair legs thumped against the industrial carpet as the ladies rearranged themselves into small groups.

“Amanda!” After an excruciating game involving pillowcases and stockinged feet, Courtney grabbed Amanda’s upper arm in the
exact spot she hated most to be touched. The woman pulled her near enough that Amanda smelled Courtney’s coffee from dessert.

“I’m Courtney! Ladies’ Guild president,” she added, as if Amanda possibly needed further clarification on that point. “I teach
at the elementary, Mark probably told you?”

“No.” Mark hadn’t said much about Courtney Williams at all. Taking in the woman’s good looks, and obvious familiarity with
her husband, Amanda wondered why. An unpleasant sensation reverberated in the back of her neck.

“That stinker!” Courtney shook her head.

Our own precious Mark Reynolds…

“Then you probably don’t know I’m also an independent beauty consultant for LeFleur Cosmetics. And you, Amanda, are in danger
of premature aging.”

Amanda refused to flinch.

“I’m not kidding. Your kind of fair skin ages the worst in our climate. The worst! The dry heat, the wind. You’ll be shriveled
up like a raisin before you know it!”

How was it that the prospect of Amanda’s withering skin made Courtney even cheerier? Amanda fought the urge to pull away,
or at least back up from the coffee-breath zone. Space invasion of the multitiered marketing kind.

“You have to guess how old I am. Come on, just guess.” Courtney released her grip on Amanda’s arm to frame her golden face
with her hands, dramatic director style.

Looking over Courtney’s fitted sleeve, Amanda eyed the departing women with envy. Some carried the luncheon centerpieces out
with them, colorful house-shaped planters with ivy cascades down the side. She hoped to snag one, but the odds diminished
by the moment.

“Oh, I really couldn’t say,” she murmured.

Undaunted, Courtney rushed forth with her pitch. “I’m telling you, these products are amazing. You won’t believe what they’ll
do for you. Even with those freckles.”

In incredible detail, Courtney outlined the benefits of utilizing a multifaceted skin care regime, starting with exfoliation
and ending with skin moisturizing illuminators. “I’d be happy to schedule a makeover and skin diagnosis appointment.” She
whipped out a Day-Timer and flipped it open to a full page of highlighted appointments.

“I’ll let you know. We’re just getting settled,” Amanda stalled. “I should get home to Mark.”

“Oh, I gotcha.” Courtney winked. “Newlyweds.” She pressed a wad of brochures and some samples encased in Pepto-Bismol-pink
plastic into Amanda’s hands. “Just think about it. You could host a beauty party and win free LeFleur products!”

“Maybe.”

“Well, you don’t have to decide right this minute. I’ll call you. ’Kay?”

Don’t call me anything.
“Sure, that’d be great.”

At home, Amanda tossed the handouts in her white wicker bathroom trash can and examined herself in the mirror. A newlywed.
An aging newlywed. From the inside out.

Splash stains from Mark’s shaving blurred her reflection in little circles. She got out the ammonia and wiped the streaks
away.