Embrace Me (24 page)

I lean out my bedroom window picturing the disciples at the Laundromat. “You know,” I say in my mind, “sometimes acid is thrown in your face. And sometimes it's grace. Both leave you changed somehow. Don't ask me how it works. If I analyze it, it might go away.”

The disciples still don't say anything back, even in my mind.

The apostle John looks sympathetic.

He'd understand Augustine's vows. Poverty, chastity, and obedience.

Doesn't that just figure?
Thomas must be thinking.

I hold back a laugh. Yeah, it all just figures.

So what are you going to do with all this?
James would ask if he could speak.

I feel a bit different now, I admit. Like I want to be with him. Oh, not in
that
way, but you know what I mean. Maybe I shouldn't keep him at arm's length like I've been doing. Maybe he's right. Maybe there's more than just romantic love.

Peter looks like he thinks that's a good thing.

That's it. I'm ordering my own icon.

I jump online and find one with Jesus and all twelve disciples, only it's not the Last Supper like Augustine's. Jesus is washing their feet.

Aunt Dahlia brought in ribs from Love's Rib Room. She minced up a rib and mixed it into the mashed potato side dish. Augustine's the only other person who's done that sort of thing for me. Lella told her right up front that I feed her, and Dahlia didn't try to shoulder into the job.

I enjoyed the ribs.

I figure a walk to the dock will do me good. Lella and Dahlia are already asleep after sitting down in the living room with Rick for a rerun of
CSI
. I sit with my legs dangling over the water.

The edges of the lake catch the rays of moonlight, outlining the far shore in silver. Someone's chopping wood across there. In the middle of the night. Funny what people do when they can't sleep.

It turned cold again this evening.

The stillness around me, no breeze tonight, coupled with the staccato chop of the woodcutter connects me to the world.

“Valentine?”

A hand rests on my shoulder.

“Hey, Charmaine.”

“Two a.m. again.”

“Yep.”

Bundled up in down jackets, scarves, hats, and gloves, we could be twins.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Better than ever, I think. Or at least better than in a long time.” I lean into her. “Nope, I think better than ever.”

“That's good, honey.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Oh, Mama was walkin' around and when I finally got her settled back in bed, I just didn't feel like sleeping. I was hoping I'd find you sitting here, so I took a chance.”

“How come?”

“Well, it's like this. We all need to be known for who we really are.”

Uh-oh.

Thank goodness she continues to stare out over the lake, as do I. I'm not the type to endure that eye-to-eye intense look-at-me conversation.

“I agree, Charmaine.”

“I heard you singing the other night at the concert and my suspicions were confirmed.”

“Okay. So?”

“I know who you really are, Valentine. Or rather who you were. And I do mean were.”

“At least you realize the truth of that.”

I remain silent, gaze locked on the new night, a night of fierce, sparkling calm.

“You're going to make me come out and say it, aren't you, Daisy?”

“I'm not Daisy.”

“Not Daisy, or not Daisy anymore?”

“Never again Daisy. Daisy's gone. She was destroyed and there's no hope of a resurrection.”

Charmaine grabs my hand. “What happened, Valentine? Who did this to you? Who burned you?”

“I don't want to talk about it, Charmaine. You know who I was. I loved you back then when I was Daisy. You were the only person who made sense, who lived just like she spoke. I still love you. You have to know I love you more than you could bear if you just knew.”

Charmaine begins to cry. I've never seen Charmaine cry. She's just not a crier. “I won't make you tell me, Valentine.”

“I may never want to. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that.”

“It's okay.” She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipes her eyes and nose. “I'm just sorry you've had to go through all of this. I'm glad we're back together now though. Those years must have been tough. All alone and all.”

“I made it through.”

“Well, we all make it through, Valentine. It doesn't mean it was good.”

“That sure is the truth.”

We sit in the chilled night air. Charmaine reaches into her pocket and takes out two pieces of chocolate wrapped in foil. “Here.”

I chew mine up fast. She savors hers as the moon barely moves across the sky.

“So what now?” she asks later.

“What do you mean, what now? Just because you know, Charmaine, doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to come out of the closet.”

She barks out a laugh. “Fair enough. Well, maybe it's just enough that you know I know.”

“I figured you were onto me a long time before this.”

“You were right.”

“When did you get an inkling?”

She waves her hand. “Oh, I thought you might be Daisy the first night on the dock.”

“Really?! What gave me away?”

“Your speaking voice. Even with the bitter edge you've got now, and the change in pronunciation because of your lips, Valentine, you can't change the tone. I'm a singer. I notice these things.”

“Bitter edge?” I stare at her and begin to laugh. She joins in.

“I guess this is all okay,” I say. “I know you can keep a secret.”

“That's for sure. I'm the queen of that.”

ELEVEN

DREW: 2003

T
he sun climbs onto the saddle of the valley's horizon, illuminating the strata of rock in front of us as we stand outside the visitors' center at Sideling Hill. A massive cut opened up this ridge in 1983 to make room for I-68.

Layers of rock in a U-shaped semicircular pattern speak of 350 million years of formation according to one of the displays inside. My brethren at the seminary I attended would have had the proverbial field day with that kind of dating. Some people spend their whole lives trying to prove otherwise. Me, well I don't know and I never did really care. But I learned to keep my mouth shut about that.

Hermy's gleeful. “That dark stratum near the top is coal and shale.” And he proceeds to point out shale, sandstone, igneous, and combinations thereof. He's disappointed when I suggest we hit the road.

I don't doubt God made all this. I never have. And it stands to reason I never will. I just wish He could control His people like He does the great earth. Particularly me.

The wind slices through our clothing as we climb once again into the car.

We pull into the coffee shop at the Best Western in Cumberland for a quick breakfast and a hop onto the Internet. I map the journey, we eat eggs and home fries, jerk back some coffee, and head back into the Allegheny Mountains.

I let Hermy drive. The car devours I-68 and 79, though Hermy rarely exceeds the speed limit by more than five miles an hour. God bless West Virginia's seventy miles an hour. You can say whatever you want about the state, but it doesn't micromanage its populace, and face it, at the end of the line, people are going to do what they're going to do.

I'm living proof of that, which is saying something. A lot of people are dead proof of the very same adage.

It's afternoon now, we've managed I-64 and have entered Kentucky. According to Hermy we're in the Daniel Boone National Forest.

“Thirty-four hundred miles of cliff-line around here, man. Pretty amazing. You could rock climb practically your whole life and never have to repeat. But you'd want to. Some of the places are that good.”

“Good camping then, I'll bet.”

“Sure. You like just heading out with your tent?”

“Yeah. I do.” No church growth books this time, though.

It's almost time to see her. I'll be there in ten minutes and twenty-one years. We pull into one of Natural Bridge State Park's parking lots and use the bathroom at yet another visitor center.

The room smells barren, of old leaves left for spring cleaning.

“I'm going for a quick hike,” Hermy says. “That okay with you?”

“Take your time.”

I breathe in, grasping the slip of paper with my mother's address. I pull my notebook out of my rucksack, sit on the john, and start to write again.