Potter Springs (24 page)

“The Lord will provide for him,” Dale argued. “It’s not our job to worry about such things.”

“But who would take his place? He does a heck of a lot around here-”

“Again, God is greater than our fears. Who knows, he might have in mind someone right here from Potter to take his place,”
reasoned Dale. “Someone local, already living a godly lifestyle, of unquestionable character. Somebody who really knows this
congregation’s needs.”

“Someone like you, Dale?”

“Well”-a humble chuckle-“I wouldn’t be opposed to answering that call. Of course I’d have to pray about it.”

“Tell you what.” A new voice joined the mix. Deeper, with more twang. Unmistakably Ervin’s. “I’ll think on it, Dale. You’re
right, we do need to consider what’s been said tonight. Your leadership here and your loyalty to this church, well, let me
just say I appreciate you.”

“Why, you’re quite welcome.” The conversation drifted away as boots ground out burning stubs. Pickups sparked to life and
rolled into the night.

Mark sat alone, the lamp’s yellow light weak around him. He remembered Ervin’s promise.
I’m going to bat for you, son. You can count on that.

“Some at bat,” he said in the silence, looking down on a smiling bride long since gone, her face captured under glass. “I’m
not sure what I can count on anymore.”

He grabbed his keys and turned off the lamp. “Or who.”

T
he phone rang in the curtain-drawn hotel room. Swathed in blankets in the blast of the air conditioner, Amanda struggled to
wake. A cold room in hot temperatures worked like a drug on her. She’d never slept so hard. Or so late.

“Yes?” Reading the digital clock on the nightstand, she tried to sound lucid. She’d missed the breakfast buffet by a good
two hours. Luckily, lunch was right around the corner.

“Still having a good time, dear?” As usual, Katy bypassed hellos.

Of course, Amanda knew it would be her mother. No one else had the hotel number. Katy remained her only link to the outside
world.

“I don’t know that I’d call it a good time, but I’m working on

it.” Disappointment had tasted so bitter, for such a long time, she yearned for something fresh. Spending hours each night
with her journal and her memories. Reading the Psalms, looking for answers. For her joy.

Instead, as the onion-thin pages rustled like silk, she had found less of an arrow to point the way than snapshots of realization.

Scrawls in her diary had stained her fingers as she relived the moments, wondering where, and how, they’d gone so wrong.

Mark’s distance when she lost the baby. His refusal to acknowledge her grief.

Her inability to reach out to him, an unwillingness to scream out for help.

The countless hours of church work, Mark ministering to others while her heart withered and died.

But she’d never asked him to please stay home.

Victim versus victor, no longer so clear, smeared into muted blue. The color of regret.

They’d missed each other all along. And now, she missed him so much she ached, but she still had work to do. More pages to
fill, truths to uncover.

She cradled the phone to her chin, twisting the cord around her finger. “I can’t thank you enough, Mom. I plan to pay you
back someday.”

“Nonsense. My payment is knowing you’re thinking things through.” Katy never mentioned Mark directly. Just casual remarks
about happiness and choices.

“How’s Daddy?” Amanda walked to the window, dragging out the long beige cord. She winced in the sunlight and took in the view
below.

Endless water waving at her. Same as yesterday. Time ceased to exist in Mexico. Days floated by, surreal. The past whispered
away in each morning’s fresh-drawn beach, white and pure.

“He’s fine. In fact, we’re going to the lake house again this weekend.”

“You’re spending lots of time there.”

“The sun does him good, I think. He’s like you. Sun worshiper.” Katy audibly shuddered. “Plus, getting away helps.”

“Away. With you.” Amanda pulled the tropical curtains aside and tugged the drifty sheers into place for privacy. As if the
sky stretching from horizon to horizon would spy on her and judge her in its length.

“Yes,” Katy replied, exhaling smoke. “With me.”

She heard her mother’s smile. “I’m glad for you, Mom. Really.” Standing in front of the mirror, Amanda’s face didn’t match
her words. Sad around her mouth. Full blue eyes, blinking slowly. Older. She looked older. Older and alone. She turned away.

“Well, it only took about twenty-five years and a heart attack, but we may get the hang of this marriage thing yet.”

Amanda smiled, bittersweet. “Is that all?”

A deep inhale. “You know Mark is nothing like your father.” Katy sounded the first shot. The unspoken ban on the M-word lifted.

“And is that supposed to be good or bad?” Amanda thought of her father, forever working in his garage, now laid up and taking
getaways with his wife. Daddy. Her childhood hero. Her measure of a man, in spite of his shortcomings. Those bad habits landed
him in the hospital, almost through death’s door.

Amanda remembered, as a girl, helping her father build a picture frame for one of her mother’s blurry watercolors. It was
her first time to direct the saw on her own, and she carefully followed her father’s pencil traces in the wood. Steady and
slow.

Even so, the blade knew her inexperience and bit her, cutting into soft flesh and stealing her breath away. Her father cleaned
and bandaged it himself, assuring her, “Why, I’ve had worse spots on my eyeball.”

Her tender daddy. Always taking care of her. But no more. She must learn to stand on her own.

“That’s not for me to say,” said Katy. “Have you talked to him? Your
husband?”

Amanda ignored the extra inflection. “No. He tried the cell. I turned it off.”

“I still haven’t given him the hotel number, but he’s making me crazy with the calls. Isn’t it a little ridiculous you won’t
even
talk
to the man? What exactly did he do?”

“It’s not so much what he did or didn’t do. I’m in this too. Not talking to him may seem ridiculous to you, but it’s crucial
to me.”

Mark’s persuasive ways had convinced her more than once. His gifts for speaking, for influencing, crossed over into his personal
life, and she couldn’t risk her heart on emotion for the moment.

“Well, I’m a little tired of playing go-between for the two of you. Have you thought about contacting a lawyer?”

“Mother, I’ve told you-”

“Experience tells me if you wanted to make a go of this marriage you wouldn’t still be in Mexico.”

“If it’s the money, I’ll check out today.” Not that she knew where to go. But she wouldn’t be indebted, or play games out
of guilt. She’d sleep in the van if she had to. Lord knew there was plenty of room in there. “I don’t have to stay here.”
She picked up keys from atop a pile of well-worn paperbacks. They jingled, sharp in her hand.

The stupid van, a fumbling gift that revealed the truth. Though joined by marriage, they traveled completely different

potter springs --- 209

paths. In spite of their connection when they dated, maybe he didn’t understand her at all. Didn’t know her.

Whatever happened with Courtney merely unveiled one more aspect of the tangle. Like a mirror in the morning, harsh and unwelcome.

Maybe Amanda didn’t know him either.

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can stay, as long as you like. You know, whatever it takes, I’ll help you. I never wanted you
to go through the same things I did. And I’m not one to say
I told you
so.”

“Mother, I’m not silly.” She tossed the keys on the desk and shuffled through the books. Favorites and disposables. “I’m not
ridiculous. And no, I don’t want a lawyer.” She thumped the last book down, and it smacked in the quiet room.

“Well, you don’t have to get in a huff about it. I’m just trying to help you sort out your priorities.”

“It’s not a huff. It’s the truth.” She was tired of the facades, of the pretty jabs and parries. “You’ve given me the resources,
the freedom, to work on what’s wrong. So I can figure out if there’s a future for us or not. But I can’t do that when all
I see, when all I hear in my head, is you.”

“That’s nonsense. I-”

“Mother, you’re wonderful, and I adore you.” She took a deep breath. “And know that I love you. But-I’m sorry for this-please
don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

And with that, she gently eased the phone back to the cradle, disconnecting with her last tether to the outside world.

A
ball-peen hammer drove its way into Mark’s skull about the same time he realized Mr. Chesters must have bypassed the litter
box and used his mouth instead. On the couch, Mark braced himself, waiting for the painful thuds to quit. For a blessed second,
they did. He steadily, painfully, rose to a seated position. What happened?

In front of him on the antique trunk stood a saucy stack of beer cans. Mocking him. One lay at his feet, dribbling sour brew
onto the carpet.

Aha. The
bored
meeting. Dale Ochs and the boys discussing his “qualifications to pastor.” Ervin Plumley caving like Styrofoam under Dale’s
pressure.

Mark had slinked away into the night like a kicked dog, looking for some carbonated comfort.

He had found it in the Beer Barn, an awkward red building with a flashing neon sign. Adult beverages to go. He pulled the
church pickup in, edging close to the drive-in window so the kid behind the counter couldn’t see the Lakeview insignia on
the side.

“Whatcha need?” The clerk had severe acne and a pleasant expression. His name tag read
ROBERT.

“Coors. Cold, please.” Mark pulled down the rim of his ball cap and pretended to adjust the radio.

“Sure. We’ve got a special tonight on twelve-pack cans-”

“Whatever, that’s fine.” He scratched his forehead, shielding his face.

“Or, did you want bottles? Because the longnecks are buy three, get… Hey, you look familiar. Aren’t you-”

“Cans are fine. I’m in a hurry.”

Robert handed the heavy paper sack over, and Mark had to reach out of the pickup to grab it. “Thanks.”

“Wait a minute. You’re that church guy.” Robert poked a finger, grinning at having solved the puzzle. “Lakeview, right?”

Mark shrugged and put the truck in gear.

“My grandma goes there,” Robert chatted on, oblivious to Mark’s discomfort. “Letty Hodges. You know her?”

Mark gunned the gas and drove home, dashing into the house with the chilly cans tucked under his arm. Ready for a
fuhgeddaboutit
party of one.

Vaguely, he remembered singing Willie Nelson tunes along with the stereo. Slurring about lost jobs and missing women. Between
the beer and Amanda’s record collection, he’d almost fooled himself into painless delirium.
Happy without her,
he’d informed Mr. Chesters. Don’t need her, don’t want her. Just us boys, doin’ fine on our own.

He hadn’t had this much to drink since his glory days in college. Now the alcohol sucked the water right out of his body.
Even his eyeballs felt dry.

He’d cut off his right arm for a cold glass of water, but the kitchen seemed too far away. Instead, he flopped back on the
couch, shut his eyes and prayed for a miracle. A water miracle. Preferably of the mountain spring variety, bottled and chilled,
to appear majestically before him. On the trunk, where he wouldn’t have to move. Hadn’t God done it for Elijah in the desert?

But this was a desert of his own making. And he was no Elijah.

Wham! Wham, wham, wham!

There went the hammer. He whimpered and covered his ears. What on earth? The sound, on second reflection, came from
outside
his head. Nearer to the front door.

Someone knocking?

Although his subconscious mind whispered,
Amanda’s home,
rational self argued that she certainly had a key.

Still, he jumped up too fast and slammed his knee into the trunk with all his strength. Profanities rolled with the cans as
they clattered to the floor.