The Beach House (40 page)

“Hi, y’all.” Char joined them at the table, a tall paper cup in hand. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

While Molly clued Char in on the topic at hand and Char added her own “get out from under the pile,” Jo tried not to stare. The change in Char, however, was too obvious to ignore. It took her a few moments to identify the difference in her.

Jo never would have described the petite blonde’s demeanor or physical attributes in the least bit harsh—until now, when an absence of harshness glared. A new softness about Char suggested she might just float away. She smiled, but it was different somehow, not that annoying, pert variation she often pasted on her face.

“Jo, sugar, do I have spinach between my teeth?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just… just…you look so different!”

“Oh, my. Does it really show?”

They nodded as one.

Char beamed. “All I can say is that I feel different. Cam and I have been
communicating
. We talked and talked for hours and hours and then—well, obviously I didn’t come back to the beach house! But you don’t need to hear all
those
details. Anyway, we talked like we haven’t since we were first married.”

Andie smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

Jo said, “Bravo!”

“Super!” Molly added. “Do you feel reconnected?”

“Most definitely. And you’ll never guess. He said he hates being a dentist. He wants to run a restaurant!”

“No way!”

“You’re kidding!”

“Wow! Where did that come from?”

Char laughed. “I am in shock, absolute shock. He left just now for the airport because he still has to be a dentist tomorrow and the day after that, but…” She held up her palms. “He wants to investigate turning his business over to some other dentist he knows.” Her smile shrank into the pert one, her eyes glowed too brightly. “Is there an epidemic in the medical profession I haven’t heard about? I mean, does he sound like you, Jo, or what?”

She nodded in surprise.

“But you don’t support a spouse and two children!” The tiny smile kept slipping, and her voice rose from its usual purr. “I adore him for making such an effort to get here and for how he listened so sweetly and forgave the Todd thing and understood how I need
daily
assurance that he loves me, but my word! What will I ever do if he quits his job?”

No one had an answer.

Jo thought of her own fears of total upheaval, of downsizing, of financial unknowns. Char’s fears would be multiplied along those lines. Then there was Andie’s confrontation with Paul, which placed a huge question mark on her future. Good old solid Molly was a mess over the glitch in her future plans. Now this healing of Char’s marriage stirred up a host of things for the Wilcoxes.

But… “Ladies,” Jo said, “we are moving forward, right? Not one of us is staying stuck in a corner.”

They looked at her with puzzled expressions.

“We’re forty years old. We’ve been pulled from the status quo. We’ve turned corners and have glimpsed the unknown. That’s scary, yes. But I don’t think any of us would choose to go backward. No, it’s onward and upward. The only choice is whether or not we…” She looked pointedly at Molly. “Get out from under the pile.”

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.”

Jo smiled sweetly. “Care to show us how it’s done? After all, this is your day, and for the moment, none of us can change a thing about our iffy tomorrows.”

“You’re paying me back for making you celebrate your second fortieth.”

“
Au contraire
. I’m repaying the favor because I will be forever grateful that you yanked me out of my corner. So, birthday girl, what would you like to do?”

Molly’s smile was not sweet. “Go to church.”

Church. Jo felt her own grin disintegrate.

Not funny. I don’t care if your name is Saint Molly
.

Since her second year in college, the mere mention of attending a Sunday church service filled Jo with loathing. Weddings and funerals held in churches did not count. She had no problem with mere social events nor the buildings themselves.

No. It was the clear memory of finger-pointing that still unraveled her.

As a child she participated in traditional church practices, from Sunday mornings to confirmation to thirteen years of parochial school with required daily chapel. She complained and rebelled to a certain extent, but she went along with it. After all, it was just what the Zambruskis did. It was on the same level as dinners in the formal dining room in appropriate dress, as ski trips to Switzerland between Christmas and New Year’s, and as August cottage stays in Michigan.

Until her second year in college.

Molly’s fault, of course.

One Sunday morning, with nothing better to do than nurse a hangover, Jo tagged along with Molly to a church service. By that winter the Molly Effect had gained momentum. Jo’s saintly roommate could not get enough of church. She visited a myriad of denominations and seemed to enjoy every single one. For her, Jesus had become a real entity. She got excited learning different expressions of worship.

Jo didn’t understand it.

That particular day they went to what Jo called a hopping place. No one could say three words without exclaiming
Praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord this, Praise the Lord that. And the hand clapping and foot stomping! Somebody should have called the cops. The peace was definitely being disturbed.

Jo’s headache did not go away.

But she endured the hullabaloo.

Then the preacher took the stand. Or rather pulpit.

And then came God’s fire. It rained in that place.

Jo had been around church enough to catch on that God had His fiery side. On occasion she recognized it in Molly, a ramrod demeanor at times overshadowing her compassion.

The preacher that day was a large man, height as well as width-wise, with a booming voice to match. His eyes were pinpricks in a florid face. His smile was that odd inverse kind in which the corners of his mouth dipped downward instead of up.

But it was his forefinger she remembered most clearly.

He pointed it at her. Directly at her.

She and Molly sat off to one side, in the back row. She did not imagine his aim.

He pointed it at her as he shouted his most explicit words of condemnation:
You are going to hell!

Twenty-one years of sins, venial and mortal, confessed and unconfessed, raced through her aching head. And those were just the ones she knew about. Her heart pounded. Bile rose in her throat.

Of course she was going to hell.

But she didn’t have to sit there and listen to a raging bull tell her so.

His voice followed her out the door, something along the lines that if she left that place, she would never get saved.

She had avoided Molly for days after that. The first thing she said to her was, “I will never, ever go to church again.” Except for funerals and weddings, she had kept her word.

And now, on her friend’s second fortieth birthday celebration, she was committed to doing whatever Molly wanted.

Saint Molly, of course, wanted to go to a Sunday morning church service.

Molly led the way from the dining patio, Andie and Char close behind; Jo brought up the distant rear.

Molly felt Jo watching her like a hawk. Perhaps they had pushed each other too far this time. Her friend’s silent wariness was eerie.

Their pertinacity to challenge each other had gotten out of hand. Jo wouldn’t let go of the old phrase, “Get out from under the pile.” Molly felt guilty for not being able to do so, for not even wanting to do so, for not walking her talk. She felt guilty for Jo not accepting all Jesus had to give.

That was why she went for the jugular, “I want to go to church,” knowing full well Jo’s promise to avoid it at all costs after that disastrous service they attended during college.

The meeting had been so thick with God’s condemnation it suffocated His love. Years later Molly could see that, but not before a judgmental Miss Goody Two-shoes had thoroughly engrained herself and taken a good hold of Molly’s persona.

Molly reached the busy boardwalk now. Char and Andie veered toward the pier to pick up Andie’s overnight bag at the motel. They were deep into a conversation about husbands. Molly waited for Jo to catch up and then fell into step beside her.

“Jo, the service is on the beach.” She nudged her with her elbow. “No shoes required. Probably no shirts, either, for that matter. You could wear your swimsuit.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“If things get weird, you can leave.”

“Nope. We’re committed to sticking things out with the birthday girl. No complaints allowed.”

“I got carried away. I know how you feel—”

“That was a long time ago. Don’t worry about it.”

Molly glanced off to the side. Jimmy Mack wasn’t on his usual bench. She looked around but didn’t spot him. At least she hadn’t disappointed him by walking by without a gift of food or money.

Good grief! Did she really think she could rescue everyone? Not even Jo was within her alleged power.

“Jo, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For being Miss Goody Two-shoes all those years. For causing you to think I really am Saint Molly.”

“But you are. A saint and very, very good. You always were. You are the most together woman I’ve ever met.”

“I am none of those things. On my birthday I saw myself for what I am: a one-woman razzmatazz overly concerned with being right and priding myself on carrying the whole load while Scotty did his thing.”

“Superwoman.”

“Yep. And I don’t like being that, but now I’m thinking again that I can do it all. I can have a fifth child and teach full-time. That’s crazy, even with Scotty’s help and understanding. Then I get upset with God for dumping this load on me. Not very saintly or good.”

“You said you came here to find Molly and to depend more on God because your real identity lies in Him. Right?”

Jo’s memory could be most annoying. “Yes.”

“How are things going?”

“Not well.”

“What would ‘well’ look like?”

She gave her a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t be such a mess over being pregnant. I would function just fine without talking to Scott and the kids all the time to make sure someone hasn’t forgotten to wipe their nose.”

“In other words, you wouldn’t be real?”

Molly stopped and stared at her.

“You would look like Superwoman, the perfect saint, and Miss Goody Two-shoes all wrapped into one human being with a perfect family to boot?”

“That’s not it. It’s about me not walking my talk.”

Jo smiled and took hold of her elbow, steering her back into the pedestrian flow. “Only I would notice, dear. And that’s only because I’m searching for shades of gray. If you don’t have any, walking your talk doesn’t mean a thing to me. Let’s get to church.”

Molly wanted to join in the singing, but she was way too busy with other things.

Like digging her bare toes into sand and listening to guitars and drums and seeing new acquaintances in the congregation. Jimmy Mack swayed to the music. Zeke clapped his hands. Julian closed his eyes and sang.