Sisterchicks on the Loose (4 page)

From that day on Gloria decided she didn’t like my rude, uninformed friend. She started referring to Penny as “Daveswife.” For some unspecified reason, Gloria adored Dave and thought we should have named our youngest son after him. She even said once, in front of our children, that she couldn’t understand why Dave married Penny. Gloria said she doubted if Daveswife was “redeemed.”

Joshua, who was four at the time, said, “What’s that word mean?”

I will never forget Gloria’s answer. “
Redeemed
means you stop being rude and become a nice person.”

My innocent son tilted his head. “Gamma Gloria, are you redeemed?”

Grampa Max intervened by whisking Josh out to the garage in search of some phantom fishing pole Max said he had left at our house. Gloria changed the topic.

It had been six years since that incident. As I now lingered over the dryer, folding towels, I thought how Penny was more redeemed than the rest of us, if that’s possible.

I’d grown up with God the same way I’d grown up with Jeff and all the other steady surroundings of Chinook Springs. When I was five years old, I prayed a simple prayer one night with my sweet mother. I asked Jesus to come into my heart. That was it. I never knew anything other than Christ’s forgiveness and God’s provision. Salvation had been handed to me by the same soft hands that had tucked me in under a fluffy comforter each night. I acquiesced to God at the simplest level of childlike faith, and His presence in my life was as comforting as the glow of the hallway night-light.

For Penny, salvation came after weeks of hand-to-hand
combat with the same hands that compressed the stars and sent them spinning across the galaxy. Once she grabbed hold of the tiniest piece of Him, she wouldn’t let go until He blessed her. Penny sought God and fought God until He was all she could think about. She took long walks so she could argue with Him in private. In the end, I like to think she won His heart the same day she gave Him hers.

I returned to the kitchen with a stack of folded towels. The fresh pot of coffee was ready. Pouring a cup for my mother-in-law, I wondered about the real reason for her visit that afternoon. I placed the coffee in front of her and reached for the cup of cold coffee she had been sipping.

“Sharondear, you’re not going to throw that out, are you? I told you I would drink it.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Well, it’s no wonder you kids are so low on money the way you throw away food. Do you know how expensive coffee is these days? I would think that with one son in college and another about to start in the fall, you would be more concerned about your finances.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“I guess you must be doing fine. If saving money were important to you, I don’t suppose you’d be wasting it on passport applications and travel books.”

Bingo! This was what she really came for
.

“I can’t imagine how you and Daveswife came up with this irrational idea. I asked Jeffrey last night why he’s letting this charade go on, when all of us know it’s not going to happen.”

“And what did Jeff say?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

Gloria turned away and muttered, “He said he thinks the trip is a good idea.”

“It is a good idea.” I smiled inwardly at the unwaning support of my darling husband. My mother-in-law might know the same language as the guilt vulture that had been circling for days, ready to devour the dream once it gave up its last breath, but my Jeff was speaking a different language over me. He chose to believe the truth even before I did.

“A good idea? Sharondear, how can leaving your husband and children to go gallivanting around Iceland with that Daveswife be a good idea? I never would have expected you to turn on your family like this and insist on taking this selfish trip.”

That’s when something inside of me snapped. Inwardly I was whooping and hollering, frantically waving invisible arms. Short of throwing a few sticks and stones, I set out to chase away this ominous spirit of shame that had been trying to feather a nest on the roof of my soul. I told that dark-winged mother of all guilt to fly away and take Gramma Gloria and her basket of Styrofoam balls with it.

The words that spilled from my mouth at that moment were a surprise even to me. “This trip is a gift to me, Gloria. I intend to accept it graciously, and nothing you can say will make me feel bad about it.”

I felt strong. Strong enough to fight for the chance to get on that airplane in sixteen days and fly to the other side of the world, whether my mother-in-law approved or not.

When I related the incident to Jeff late that night in the soft glow of candlelight in our bedroom, he reached across the bed and rubbed his rough hand down my arm. He asked what his mother said to me after that.

“Nothing.”

“My mother didn’t say anything?”

“No, because Josh walked in the door right then with two of his friends. Your mom was sweet as pie the rest of the time she was here.”

“What about the decorations?”

“Kaylee saved the day. She cut out paper hearts, which she turned into bouquets and stuck in the Styrofoam balls.”

“Good for Kaylee.” Jeff moved closer, and I drew in the faint scent of cedar trees that rose from his tousled brown hair.

This is what Jeff and I were good at, believing in each other. We had no trouble being close. We were still in love. We both knew I could leave him and the kids for a week and a half and have no reason to feel guilty.

“You know what I thought, when I watched your mother this afternoon?”

“Hmmm?” Jeff pressed his lips against my shoulder.

“I thought about getting old.”

“You know you’ll always be eighteen in my eyes.”

I smiled as Jeff planted tiny kisses in an orderly, landscaped pattern across my shoulder.

“We have no guarantees when it comes to our minds though, do we?” I said. “Your mother is only in her sixties. She’s in good health. But her mind has wandered off into a tangled forest. One day my mind might enter that same forest.”

Jeff pulled back slightly. I turned to meet his questioning gaze.

“I was thinking this afternoon that once a person’s mind enters that forest, she never finds the way out, does she? It’s pretty dangerous.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jeff smoothed my hair.

“I’m saying, I realized today that growing old is a risky
journey. I don’t want my trip into old age to be the only risky journey I ever take.”

Jeff looked confused.

“What I’m trying to say is …” I waited to hear the inner rustling of dark wings, but all was calm. All was bright. “I know it’s risky, but I want to go to Finland, Jeff.”

“You are.”

“I know,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

With an eighteen-year-old heart, I gave myself freely to my husband as if it were the first time and the last time and the best time, all in one.

T
he day my passport arrived
, my son broke his wrist.

Benjamin, our normally reserved, mildly competitive, bright, athletic son claimed a burst of senioritis made him take the dare to shimmy up the flagpole after school. Three of the other guys on the track team had made it to the top, tagged the flag, and slid down unharmed. Ben tagged the flag but then had no idea how he lost his grip and fell to the cement.

I still picture Ben’s guardian angel leaping in and cushioning the blow at the moment of impact. Ben easily could have broken more than his wrist.

“A clean break” was what the doctor called it. He predicted Ben would need to wear the cast for a month. Six weeks at most.

On the drive home from the hospital Ben said, “I just lost my scholarship, didn’t I?”

I tried so hard not to cry in front of him. For two years Ben had his heart set on going to Rancho Corona University in Southern California. A track scholarship was his best chance
for getting in. At the close of his junior year, he ranked third in the state for pole vault. Now he wouldn’t be able to compete during the spring of his senior year. In that one moment, Ben’s college plans went
poof!

Jeff was silent at the dinner table that night. He seemed to be having a hard time finding a place to put his disappointment. Jeff was the one who wanted to name our second son Benjamin because it means “son of my right hand.” Now his Benjamin had no use of his right hand and was making a mess of dinner with his left hand.

Over the next few days, homework became a problem. Morale was a problem. My husband wanting to yell at our son but holding it all inside was a problem.

I called Penny five days before we were to leave and said I didn’t see how I could go. I thought she would understand and suggest a logical solution. Perhaps the trip could be delayed a month.

Penny was quiet for a moment and then said, “This will be the making of Ben.”

I didn’t like her tone, so I jumped in and described again how Ben had difficulty dressing himself and eating, not to mention being benched at track practice, and contending with my husband’s simmering disappointment.

“Sharon, listen to yourself. You can’t fix this. Benjamin is old enough to be in the army. He can handle this with or without you. You can’t stay home just to button his shirts and cut his meat. Tell Jeff to yell at him and get it over with.”

“Penny!”

“Well, it’s the truth, Sharon. All this means is now you have to trust God in a bigger way than you did before this happened.”

I had no strong, confident words to give back to her.

“Sleep on it and call me in the morning.”

I didn’t like what Penny had said. I didn’t like Ben being old enough to be in the army. I didn’t like the way I felt inside. And I especially didn’t like the way Gramma Gloria stopped by wearing a smug grin and offering a plate of cookies for Ben while I was in the middle of my phone conversation with Penny. I had no fire left in my belly.

Instead of “sleeping on it,” I lay awake and fretted until, by morning light, I finally felt exhaustion coming over me. As much as I didn’t like it, Penny had spoken the truth. I couldn’t fix Ben.

After sending the kids off to school, I called Penny at her real estate office. “Okay,” I said firmly. “I’m going.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“I’m not happy. I was awake all night.”

“Practicing for jet lag?”

“Not on purpose.”

“It’s the right decision, Sharon. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” Penny had to dash off to a meeting. She said she would call back that evening, but I didn’t hear from her until the following afternoon when she called from her mobile phone on the way to an open house.

“Feeling better about Ben?” she asked.

“Yes, a little bit. Max came over this morning and said Gloria was having some abdominal pain. He’s taking her to the doctor this afternoon.”

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know. Max looked concerned.”

Penny paused. I thought the phone signal had cut out. “I
hope it’s nothing serious, and I hope …” The line crackled, but I could guess what Penny was saying. She probably was questioning Gloria’s timing and the validity of her sudden affliction.

It was better I didn’t hear what Penny said because I’d probably jump in to defend my mother-in-law. No matter how irritating or bothersome my extended family could be, I rallied to the side of blood over water every time.

“Have you started to pack?” I asked once the crackling on the phone line subsided.

“I pulled a few things together last night, but I haven’t thought through my clothes yet. We’ll probably have snow. How about you? Are you taking boots?”

“Yes, my old brown pair. I sprayed them with some water-repellent stuff a few days ago. They’re my most comfortable shoes.”

“What about a bathing suit?” Penny asked. “Are you bringing yours?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Bring it. I’m taking mine in case we end up at a hotel that has a heated pool or hot tub. Dave thinks I should take a flashlight and a travel alarm. I put them on my list. I’m going to do some shopping later this afternoon. I still need to buy film for my camera, and—oh, did I tell you? The house in Moraga closes tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Penny.”

“I know. Money will be the least of our worries on this trip.”

I wanted to believe that Penny’s comment referred to my reluctance to leave Ben and my possible Gloria crisis. But I thought I heard something else in her tone.

I asked if everything was okay, and she said, “Couldn’t be
better.” I hung up thinking that Penny could be hiding a whole basket of worries and choosing not to tell me about them yet. She tended to be selective as to when and where she would allow a personal crisis to unfold. Our conversations for the past month had centered on our trip. Penny had said very little about Dave or their three kids, I now realized.

The good news was we would soon be together twenty-four hours a day. All would be revealed.

Wednesday night I couldn’t sleep. My bags were packed. Everything was checked off my list. I couldn’t have forgotten anything because the last two days had been consumed with thinking and checking and packing and rechecking.