The Way of Women (31 page)

Wishing she could be anywhere else but here, Katheryn perched on the edge of the blue plaid couch, resting her elbows on her knees, hands clasped in an attitude of prayer. Would God hear her prayer when she had to force her words heavenward?
Father, please make this possible for Mellie. Make it easy
. How could a task like the one before them ever be easy?

“Lissa, remember how Daddy said that when we die we go home to live with Jesus?

“Uh-huh. He said Jesus loves us.”

“Daddy went to be with Jesus.”

“Really?” A smile lighted her pale face. “When is he coming back?”

“He won’t be coming back.”

“But I want to see my daddy.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Can I go see him?”

“Someday, but not real soon.”

“Oh. I think Jesus was glad to see my daddy.”

“And he was glad to see Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

Katheryn slumped against the back of couch; sitting erect took more backbone than she had at the moment. She watched the two fair heads, hair so fine, the sun turned it to white gold, blue crescents under their now closed eyes.

The creak of the rocker and the purr of the cat, a child laughing on the sidewalk outside, all parts of peace for the moment. Was this His answer to her prayer?

Did Lissa understand?

Do I understand?
Katheryn pushed herself to her feet. When Mellie’s eyes fluttered open, Katheryn whispered, “I’m going for the cat food. Anything else you need?”

“Milk.”

“I’ll be right back. You decide if you want to come now or tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, but that’s such a big bother.”

“No, I’ll be here.”
Anything will be better than being at home
. The thought ran through her like an electric shock.

J
enn, your agent called, said it was imperative that you call him back today.”

Jenn stared at the black public wall phone. “Thanks, Mom.”

“He sounded really upset.”

I’m sure he did
. Herman Edelmeir was most likely frothing at the mouth. She’d told him she’d be gone two weeks, and here it was already three. And she hadn’t called him with her change of plans.

Not that she had any plans, just living day to day. But at least she was living, feeling, thinking. She was alive again.

“Jenn?”

“I’m here, Mom. I’ll call him right now.”

“Good, and Frank left a message too, said to call him at the office.”

Jenn hung up the phone and glanced at her watch. Two. That made it five in New York, but good old Herman would still be in his office. Sometimes she was sure he lived there.

She dialed, wishing she were anywhere but with a receiver against her
ear, waiting to get an earful. He could make a two-ton bomb appear insignificant when he really got going.

“Hi, Nancy, don’t you ever go home either?”

“Hi, yourself. God’s been trying to get ahold of you.”

“I heard.”

“Where in the world are you?”

I’m in the real world, that’s where
. “Out here in Washington State, where the mountain erupted.” She knew that to New Yorkers, all areas west of the Hudson and particularly west of the Mississippi could as well have been frontier.

“Oh, that. You came from out there, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’m staying with my folks.”

“Oh, well, I’ll put you through. Be prepared.”

“Thanks.”
Not really, why don’t I just hang up, call him back—in about a year?

“Where in the …?”

His tirade blistered her ear. She rolled her eyes and held the receiver a few inches from her head.

“Are you finished now?”

“No, not by a long shot. I understood when you said you needed a bit of time off, and I made excuses for you, but a bit of time does not extend to three weeks. With no word in between.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Magazines have deadlines, you know, and you have missed one now and another by next week.”

“I’m sorry.”

He rode on without even acknowledging her apology. “If you don’t get your skinny—”

“Herman! That’s enough! My rear wouldn’t be so skinny if you’d let up on the pressure. And if all you are going to do is yell at me, I’ll hang up right now.”

His silence soothed her ear. Good, let him be shocked. She’d never before yelled back at him, just gone along with the schedule he set, one that kept him in Courvoisier and Ferragamos, dinners at Four Seasons, and tickets to first-run box seats. And nearly killed her.

“You’re not going to go
prima donna
on me, are you?”

No, I’m just trying to stay alive. And away from all that life that was killing me
. She thought of the hangovers and uppers and downers, the nights and the rotten mornings, the guilt and the gore.

“So, when are you coming back?”

Like one of the lightning strikes that flamed trees up on the mountain, it hit her.
I’m not going back
.

“You have”—she could hear the rustling, knew he was flipping calendar pages—“a shoot for
Cosmo
next Tuesday, they’ve already rescheduled it once for you, the catalog for Neimans and the location for
Vogue
in St. Thomas. And that’s the critical list. You want more?”

Jenn wished she’d just told him she quit when she asked for time off. Then they could have gotten another photographer. Now they’d be strapped.
Do I still care about my reputation or not?

“Okay, here’s what I propose. Ask
Cosmo
to start on Wednesday instead of Tuesday.”

“What do you have that is so almighty important there that you—”

“Wednesday, Herman. And don’t just pretend, push. You’re good at that.”

His muttering made her smile, though not a friendly action, more a triumphant one.

“That should give me two or three days to get to St. Thomas.”

“That’s taking the chance that all goes well. You’re not leaving yourself any safety net here.”

“So be it.” She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. “And anything else you have for me on your books, cancel them.”

His roar could be heard clear across the street. Someone walking by turned and looked to see what was happening.

“Herman. Herman. Just do it. We’ll talk later.” She hung the receiver back in the cradle.

Thursday, and all she had left was five days, if she could get a red-eye out on Tuesday night. Five days. And she hadn’t flown up to the mountain again. Was there any way possible? She climbed in her pickup and stared at the racing gray clouds above. Not since the day of the eruption had there been sufficiently clear weather to see the mountain anyway. Forest Service and rescue planes and choppers were all that were flying.

She ducked back out of her truck to the phone booth, address book with phone numbers in her hand. The man at Pearson Airpark barked a laugh when she told him she wanted a plane complete with pilot. “Lady, they might take the president himself up, but not you, nor me. Sorry.”

Swallowing her pride, she dialed the number Mitch Ross had given her.

“Sorry, but he’s out of the office. May I give him a message for you?”

“Tell him J. E. Stockton called regarding an upcoming flight.”

“And your number?”

She gave her parents’ number and hung up again. Three strikes and you’re out.

She dialed the sheriff’s number, and after a brief chat with Maybelle, Frank came on the line.

“Things have settled down enough, so I could come for dinner tonight.”

She groaned. “Mom has a thing at church, and I’ve got an appointment.”

“Hot date?”

“Get a life, Frank. If you call photographing the dinner hour at the Toledo shelter a hot date.”

Should I tell him I’m leaving again? Why? What difference does it make to him? One less body for him to worry about
.

“Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll check and leave a message with Maybelle.”

“Good.”

The phone clicked in her ear. Frank never had been one for the niceties. How many years had it taken her to get over that schoolgirl crush she’d had on that older man? Six years back then made a lot of difference. And when he’d married, she’d put away girlish dreams, gone to the wedding with a smile on her face, and soaked her pillow that night. As soon as she graduated she headed for New York, sure that a modeling career awaited her. Frank had been the first to realize how the camera loved her. He’d been the first to tease the beanpole that she’d make a great model—and laughed at her gawkiness.

Well, the last laugh had been on him. The celebrated face of the ’70s. Jennifer Stockton. She’d even made
Time
magazine due to her astute asset management that turned her into a household word and her investments into a portfolio, the envy of stockbrokers wherever she went.

But no amount of money would buy her a ticket to circle the mountain, to drop her off on one of the ridges so she could personally see the destruction through the eye of her best friend.

If the truck were her own, she’d put a CB or police radio in it.

What would life be like if she dumped her fashion photographer career? Closed out her apartment, left New York for ever? Could she make a living as a photojournalist? Freelance photographer? Did she need to worry about making a living? Instead, let her money make money. Would she be sorry, look back with regret if she lost her place, her edge in the world? After all, any number of photographers were ready and willing, nay, willing to kill to take her place.

She shifted into reverse and looked over her shoulder for traffic. As if this were really traffic. She never even drove in New York. Rented a car when she needed one.

God only knows, she quoted her mother. One of these days she might have to decide if God even cared. These last days made her wonder.

Thinking of God led her to Jesus, which led her to Lissa.
Wonder if her mother has told her yet
.

She dropped by the camera shop to pick up the rolls she’d taken in to have developed, and she bagged up six more.

“I’ve got those reprints ready for you too,” the man behind the counter said.

“Good.” She took the packet he offered, paid, and headed back out to the truck to drive up I-5 to Toledo.

After shooting another couple of rolls, laughing at the antics of a stand-up comedian who arrived to entertain those housed at the shelter, and listening as a woman storyteller enthralled her audience of all ages, she drove on home.

Time to call Mellie and Lissa.

“I don’t know,” Mellie said in response to her greeting. “I learned we won’t get Harv’s body back for days, perhaps weeks. I talked with our
pastor about the funeral, and that’s what he found out. I feel like I’m wandering in a fog, and when someone calls me, they disappear before I can find them.”

“Your appointment is tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, Katheryn is going to come get us.”

“Good. You’ll let me know what you find out?”

“Yes. If you want.”

“I want. Is Lissa awake?”

“She’s right here. You want to talk with her?”

“Yes.” Jenn could hear the two of them chatting.

“Hi, Jenn.”

“Hi there, Lissa.”

“My daddy’s in heaven with Jesus.”

Jenn caught her breath. Talk about laying it right out there. “I know.”
Do I know? Do I believe that?

“Mommy said he won’t come back.”

That part I do know
. “He loves you.”

“I know.” A small silence. “Jesus does too.”

“Yes, He sure does.”

“Do you love Jesus?’

Out of the mouths of babes.
I used to
. No, that wouldn’t cut it. “I think so, yes.”

“ ’Cause He loves you and me and Mommy and Daddy and even Kitty.”

The old tune tinkled in her head.
Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so
. “Was your kitty glad to see you?”
Little ones to him belong
.

“Can you hear her purring?”

They are weak but He is strong. For when you are weak, then I am strong
. “Yes. She has a good motor.”

“I go to the doctor tomorrow, and then I get to see Lucky.”

“Who is Lucky?” Never had she enjoyed a conversation more, in spite of the voices singing in her head.

“Mrs. Sommers’s dog. Do you like dogs?”

“I sure do. Let me talk to your mommy again, okay?”

“Bye, Jenn. When we going to cut out more paper dolls?”

“When I come see you.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Let me talk to your mommy now.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Lissa.”
Oh, God, if you can hear me, please keep her safe
.

“Call me, okay?”

“I will.”

Jenn took a breath and exhaled a decision. “I have to go back to New York Tuesday night. Can I come up and see you before then?”

“Oh, please do.”

“I’ll let you know when tomorrow.”

“Thanks for calling.”

They hung up, and Jenn flopped back on the sofa. She’d bring the photo of Lissa and Adolf. That would make her laugh. Lissa had the most carefree laugh she’d ever heard. When she felt better. But what lay ahead? What could she do to help bring smiles to that precious little face?