Second Time Around (32 page)

Suddenly, Reverend Mennard’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Our Scripture reading today is from Galatians 5:1. ‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery’”

Freedom! That was it! That’s what she was feeling. Ever since her mother had re-entered her life, she’d been teased with the offer of freedom. Not from her troubles—she still had many at the moment—but from the burden of thinking she didn’t have a choice. The truth was, she didn’t have to do things her father’s way. She could think for herself. She
should
think for herself.

The organ was playing again, and Vanessa noticed ushers in the aisles, passing collection plates. Out of habit, her hand found her purse on the pew. But then, unbidden, it found a new purpose, one that shocked her so much she rested her wrist on top of the purse a moment to let the thought fully form.

No, I couldn’t…

Oh yes. You can. You must!

She must.

She opened her purse and pulled out some specific bills, so neatly folded in half. She kept them hidden in her palm. Her father glanced her way but couldn’t see. No indeed, he couldn’t see what she was doing. Not until it was done.

The offering plate approached from her right. She took the folded bills and placed them on top. The hundred-dollar bills nodded at her decision.

She passed the plate to her father.

He saw them.

He touched them, then looked at her.

Her heart pounded and she wanted to look away, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Yes, Father. It’s exactly what you think. And I dare you to snatch that money out of the offering plate in front of the world. I dare you.

He suddenly glanced to his left. The woman on his other side had her arm extended, ready. He put his own offering envelope on top and passed the plate along. Away.

The money was gone. Vanessa was free of it. Free of the decision the money bought.

Free of him.

Almost.

When the congregation stood for the doxology, she sidled out of the pew and left the church—and all that was inside.

Vanessa didn’t drive to her mother’s house in Decatur; she coasted on adrenaline. The contrast between yesterday’s trip
toward
her father’s world and this trip
away
from it was the difference between hiking a mountain trail with a forty-pound pack and running barefoot through a field of wildflowers. How long had she been carrying that pack? Five years? Or even longer? At least the weight of it hadn’t permanently stooped her shoulders.

It was 10:05. Hadn’t Harry said their church service started at 10:30? She hoped they hadn’t left yet, because she had no idea which church was theirs.
Please, make them still be there.

As soon as she turned onto the right street, she craned her neck to see if her mother’s Volkswagen was in the driveway. It was.

She pulled behind it, cutting over the curb. The front door was open and she caught a glimpse of red pass by. Then a face in the window. Then the door pulled wide just for her.

“Nessa! You’re here!”

She put a hand to her belly. “We’re both here.”

Before her mother could respond, Vanessa ran into her arms. They rocked, right there on the stoop. Sentences were exchanged without a word, and five years evaporated into the all-important moment of
now.

It was just as she’d imagined: sitting in a pew, her mother on one side and Lewis on the other. It was as if she’d come home.

And Lewis’s voice… it was everything her mother had said it was. When they stood to sing the hymns, she had to force herself not to stare at him. They shared a hymnal, yet he never looked at the page. His face was raised and his eyes were closed. It was as if he was singing for an audience of One. And Vanessa knew—she knew—that God heard his voice and was pleased. Though her own voice was more curdle than cream, she gave an extra effort because of her seatmate. Did God appreciate her song, too?

The minister was the opposite of Reverend Mennard at her father’s church. Pastor Bill smiled. He made people laugh. And when he read verses from the Bible, his eyes got all excited like he’d burst if he didn’t share this very cool thing he’d just discovered. Reverend Mennard preached
at
them. Pastor Bill spoke
with
them.

And he wasn’t the only one talking. The first time the old lady at the end of the row said, “Amen!” Vanessa looked at her mother, embarrassed, only to find her mother nodding as if she could easily say it out loud, too. As things got going there was an “Alleluia,” three “Praise the Lords,” and even a few soft calls of “Thank You, Jesus!” No one, but no one would dare interrupt Reverend Mennard s monologue with such comments, no matter how heartfelt.

But that was the point. Vanessa couldn’t imagine anyone who heard her father’s preacher being moved to exclaim anything—except maybe a muffled “Thank heaven, that’s over” when the benediction was finally pronounced.

The clincher was that Vanessa found
herself
nodding a few times when Pastor Bill talked about people feeling helpless and hopeless as they dealt with complicated lives. He said Jesus was the way through all that. Jesus was the answer. Vanessa didn’t know about that but was willing to listen. What could it hurt?

However, the highlight of the service was not the sermon or even the music. It happened during the singing of the final hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy.” It happened when Lewis wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Vanessa noticed that with their hands sharing the hymnal, their bodies created a circle. Unbroken. She heard a song in her head. The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band singing, “Will the circle be unbroken? By and by, Lord, by and by…”

The thing was she didn’t want this circle to be broken. Not ever.

At that moment, Lewis turned his head and looked at her.

His smile was her amen.

“You’re practically glowing. What happened?”

This question was posed by both Vanessa’s mother and Lewis after church—and at various times throughout lunch. And though she would have liked to explain it to them, she couldn’t. Because she couldn’t explain it to herself.

Her transition from wimpy child to free woman had been swift, yet it had been brought about by so many different emotions and incidents intertwining that it was hard to pinpoint event from sentiment. Action from reaction.

And as the day wore on and she spent more time with these two wonderful people, she realized that maybe knowing the why and how wasn’t essential to enjoying her new self. As the day wore on, she realized it was okay to just accept the changes as real and good. On faith.

Amen. Alleluia. Thank You, Jesus!

Dawson—1987

By the time Lane and Brandy got back to school from their outing to Olson’s Ice Cream Shoppe, it was lunchtime. The halls were busy, and no hall more so than the one in front of the drama room.

Lane pulled up short. “We’re too late. The list is up.”

She heard Melissa Peterson squeal. “I got it!”

From the faces of some of those grouped around the list, it was clear not many thought this was good news.

Melissa spotted Lane and hurried toward her. Lane was appalled when Melissa actually took her hand. “Oh, Lane, I’m so sorry you didn’t try out.”

Lane didn’t know what to say.

Brandy did. She pushed Melissa’s hand away. “Get away from her, you witch.”

The group moved closer to the real drama being acted out right in front of them. It was surreal and all Lane could think was,
No, this isn’t happening.

But it was.

Melissa pushed Brandy so she nearly fell. “Don’t call me names, you frizzy freak.”

Brandy attacked with a push of her own. Within seconds Lane was engulfed by the crowd—who loudly egged them on. How had this happened?

Mr. Dobbins burst out of his classroom and broke it up. He finally stood between the two girls, his arms holding them apart. “Talk to me, girls.”

Melissa pointed a finger at Lane. “She’s jealous because I got the part of Juliet.”

Mr. Dobbins’s bushy eyebrows dipped. “I don’t see Lane fighting.”

Brandy rallied her entire five-foot-two frame. “I’m fighting
for
her.”

Lane hated being on the receiving end of Mr. Dobbins’s disappointed look. She put a hand to her chest. “I’m okay about Melissa getting the part. Really. I didn’t even try out.”

Mr. Dobbins opened his mouth to say one thing but seemed to change his mind and say something else. “All right people, move on. Get to class, lunch, wherever you’re supposed to be. This show’s over.”

The hall emptied of all but the three girls and the teacher.

Mr. Dobbins looked at Melissa, then at Brandy. “Shall we go to the principal’s office?”

Right on cue, Melissa started to cry. “Please no, Mr. Dobbins. My parents will kill me. I’m sorry. I blew it.” She looked imploringly at Brandy. “Can’t we just forget this ever happened?”

Brandy’s mouth was in its
aghast
mode. Then she rolled her eyes and applauded. “Bravo! There’s Oscar written all over that performance.”

Melissa’s torso flinched, as if she wanted to pounce.

Mr. Dobbins sighed. “Go on. Get outta here. And behave yourself.”

Lane started to leave, but Mr. Dobbins said, “Lane? Got a minute?”

“Sure.” She and Brandy exchanged a glance, then Lane followed her teacher through the drama room, into his cluttered office. He moved a pile of scripts from a chair, and she sat across from his desk.

He fell into his own chair and ran a hand through his hair, which was as frizzy as Brandy’s.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Dobbins. I never asked Brandy to defend—”

He raised a hand, dismissing her comments. “I take it your audition in Minneapolis went well?”

It took her a moment to change mental gears. “Uh… I didn’t go.”

He gave her an extended blink. “When you didn’t try out for Juliet, I assumed your movie audition had gone well.”

Lane let her backpack slip to the floor. Right then she felt her energy level drop. She leaned forward on her thighs, covering her face with her hands. “I’ve really blown it. All around.”