Faithful (6 page)

Phyllis and Natalie jumped up to hug her, but before anyone could say anything, Gretta had her hands to her hips, exclaiming, “Oh no, you didn't.”

Phyllis looked back with a puzzled expression—and a grin, because Gretta still had a commanding aura about her. At five foot ten with a curvaceous figure and hair that flowed full with carefree spirals from the twists she usually wore, she drew a double take from many a passerby.

“What?” Phyllis said.

“We were in this thing together.” Gretta pointed between the two of them. “Now you gonna leave me and join the skinny girls?”

Phyllis was suddenly transported back to the playground at recess when the boys would run past her on the blacktop, chanting, “Phyl, Phyl, the big fat wheel.” The girls would call out choice words after them, demanding that they leave her alone. They thought they were helping. But by the time the girls yelled for the boys to stop, and the boys, further inspired, insisted they couldn't help it because Phyllis
did
look like a wheel, she'd feel infinitely worse. She'd thought often of what it would be like to be one of the skinny girls, and now here was Gretta saying she
was
one of them. She was exaggerating, of course. Phyllis was nowhere near skinny. But she was nowhere near where she used to be either. Gretta had dredged up a memory that, surprisingly, no longer pained her.

“Gretta, give me a hug, girl.” Phyllis wiped a surprise tear from her eye. “No need to worry about me leaving you. You were already in a class by yourself, Miss Diva.”

“You know I was kidding.” Gretta hugged her tight. “I just couldn't believe that was you. You look fantastic!”

“And you look marvelous yourself, dahling.” Natalie reached for a hug. “It's so good to see you!”

“It's good to see you too!” Gretta fixed Natalie in full view. “If you're not still the cutest little thing . . . The guys sure used to fawn over Natalie.”

“And Stacy,” Phyllis added. “And you too, Gretta. They just couldn't say anything because of Vance.”

Gretta rolled her eyes. “Vance was a trip, wasn't he, acting like he owned me?”

Natalie put a hand to her hip. “He might've been protective, but at least he backed it up with a ring.”

Gretta flashed her hand and laughed. “Can't argue with you there.”

The women gabbed nonstop during the fairly short ride along the Dulles Greenway, and as they piled out at the top of Stacy's drive, they marveled aloud at the natural beauty of living among rolling hills, adjacent to the Potomac River and Goose Creek.

Phyllis took a deep breath and let it out. “It's so peaceful and beautiful. And this house is gorgeous.”

“Where are we exactly?” Natalie pulled on her sweater. “Y'all are
out
here.”

Stacy nodded as a cool breeze whipped her hair off her shoulders. Slim like Natalie, she had light skin, light eyes, and a lighthearted personality. “Yeah, you'd be surprised at how far people are willing to commute in the Metro Area these days, trying to get more for their money. But this isn't
too
far out. We're in Leesburg, about thirty-five miles from D.C.”

Gretta gave her a dubious look as she lifted her luggage out of the trunk. “And that thirty-five miles will take you two hours in rush hour.”

“Yep.” Stacy pulled another bag out. “And
that's
why Wesley works out of the Reston office.”

A swirl of red, orange, and russet-colored leaves tumbled past the women as they moved to the door with their luggage. Their eyes widened as they walked through the double doors, at once taking in a winding double staircase and beyond that, a wooded preserve that seemed to stretch forever.

Gretta was the first to move beyond the marble to the hardwood. “You know what, Stacy?” She looked this way and that. “You missed your calling. As stunning as this home is, it wouldn't have near the impact without your design know-how. And I know you did this yourself 'cause I saw your last house, and it was just as elegant.”

“Look at the walls.” Phyllis was staring upward. “The colors are so dramatic. I would've been afraid to paint that one over there so dark, but it's striking.”

“Thank you!” Stacy was beaming. “I do enjoy decorating. It's kind of a hobby. Wes has to remind me that we don't have an unlimited budget, and that patience is a virtue.”

Natalie moved into the sitting room, and Stacy and Gretta followed, but Phyllis was drawn to a wall of artwork. Three ornate frames of antique gold showcased different verses of Scripture in gold lettering on what looked like handmade papyrus. Phyllis couldn't take her eyes off of them, struck by their beauty but even more by the prominence they'd been given in the home. Once she'd bought a small plaque with the names of the fruit of the Spirit painted whimsically around a bowl of grapes, oranges, berries, and bananas. She perched it on the kitchen windowsill above the sink as a personal reminder to keep a right attitude, but Hayes accused her of trying to preach at him. It was gone by night.

“Stacy, where did you get these?” Phyllis called.

Stacy and the others joined her. “Oh, a local woman makes them. Each one custom. You give her the verses, select the frames and the matting, and she goes to work.”

“You picked great verses.” Phyllis eyed the middle one:
Choose for yourselves today whom you will serve; as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord—Joshua 24:15
.

“Wes picked them, actually. He said he had dibs on this one wall, and told me what he wanted to do. Of course I was all for it.”

Phyllis lowered her eyes.

“These are awesome.” Natalie surveyed each one. “Does she ship out of state? I know Michael would love it—Oh!” She turned to them excitedly. “I don't think I told you all that he started taking classes part-time at the local seminary. He loves it!”

“No way!” Gretta hit her arm. “Wait till I tell Vance. That's his dream, to go to seminary. Just doesn't know how he'd carve out the time.”

Phyllis listened to the three of them trade husband stories as Stacy led the way into the kitchen. The guests settled on barstools and watched Stacy, the gourmet among them, toss a salad to go with the shrimp and broccoli frittata she had made.

At a break in the chatter, Natalie turned and said, “Phyllis, how's Hayes doing?”

Phyllis opened her mouth to give a quick answer—an easy answer—but her emotions wouldn't let her. The well had been filling and began to overflow.

“Oh, Phyllis.” Natalie hurried to her side. “What's wrong?”

Phyllis lifted a tissue from the box Gretta put before her. “Just something that happened this morning.” She dabbed her eyes.

“What happened this morning, Phyl?” Gretta stood with an arm around her.

Phyllis tried to compose herself. “The short version is Hayes refuses to take the kids to church on Sunday, and the boys and I had really been praying.” Phyllis hadn't talked to her friends regularly, but they knew Hayes didn't share her faith. She'd asked them to pray long ago.

Gretta nodded. “Remember I was praying those same prayers for Vance? Looked like he'd never turn around. But God did it, Phyllis.”

She squeezed her. “I know He'll do the same for Hayes. I'm believing with you.”

“So am I,” Natalie said. “I'm still praying for him. That's why I asked.”

“I pray for him too,” Stacy said.

Phyllis acknowledged them with grateful eyes. “Thank you.” She almost said more, how her life was an exercise in walking on eggshells, how she couldn't play the music she wanted to play because he didn't want to hear it or give the opinion she wanted to give because it was too “spiritual.” But talking about it would only make her more depressed.

She balled up the tissue in her hand. “You know what? I told myself to focus on the weekend, and that's exactly what I plan to do—have fun.”

“Amen.” Stacy set their salad plates before them. “We're going to have a great time. We get to have a pajama party here, plus a reunion, plus homecoming festivities.”

“Absolutely!” Natalie said. “I can't wait to see everyone at Jasper's tonight.”

Phyllis started into her salad as the ladies bandied about names of people who'd be there tonight and people they weren't sure about, sparking outbursts of “Remember when . . .” Phyllis was fine there. The past she could laugh about.

It was the present that had her crying on the inside.

Five

“S
O
, I'
M STILL
not hearing what I was waiting to hear. What did Scott have to say for himself?” Dana's sister, Trish, stood with arms crossed, staring down at Dana and Cyd as they sat at Dana's kitchen table.

Three years older, Trish had the same dark brown hair—hers shoulder length and stick straight—and the same pear-shaped body that directed excess to the hips and thighs. But where Dana was usually sunny and animated, Trish could be moody and gruff, especially since her divorce five years ago. She wasn't the best person to call at a time like this, when well-chosen, comforting words were key, but Cyd didn't have much choice. The wedding rehearsal started in one hour, and she didn't want to leave Dana alone.

Trish stepped closer to her sister. “And, Dana, you've got to eat. You don't need to get sick on top of everything else. Cyd said you haven't eaten all day.”

Dana looked down at the food Trish had brought—Dana's favorite, Chinese—and picked at it some more. She had yet to take a bite. “He said he needed to talk to
her
.”

Trish grunted. “But what did he say
after
that? Didn't he call or come back home at some point?”

Dana continued picking at her food.

Trish threw up her arms. “Okay, really. What is up with Scott? You haven't heard from him
yet
? It's six o'clock! He should be home by now . . . begging. What on earth is he doing?”

Cyd sneaked a look up at Trish from the other side of the table.
Hello? You are
not
helping
.

Cyd had been thinking the same, though, biting her tongue, watching the minutes and hours tick by, willing Scott to walk through that door. She was sure every second of his absence multiplied the hurt. He was with Heather, that's all her mind could conjure. What was the man thinking?

Cyd had been with Dana since the incident, easing from her side only long enough to call Hayes to ask if she could pay the boys to walk and feed Reese. They had keys to each other's homes in case of emergency.

Dana stayed in the same spot on her bedroom floor for hours, crying intermittently until she grew silent. When the bus brought Mackenzie and Mark home, Cyd helped provide a happy welcome and a snack for them. Trish had since dropped them off at her home where her teenaged kids could look after their cousins, leaving the women to deal with the situation in private.

“Did you see how thin she is?” Dana's voice was a shell of itself.

“Don't even go there.” Cyd's heart ached. “You were thin when you were twenty-five too.”

Trish plopped down in the seat next to Dana and opened her own to-go entrée. “Twenty-five? Hmph. Sounds just like Frank.” Trish didn't find out about her husband's affair with his administrative assistant until he announced that he was marrying her. She looked at Cyd. “I can't believe you know this woman, and I really can't believe she goes to our church. I wish I knew who she was.”

“You do.” Living Word packed in thousands of people every week, of all ages and multiple ethnicities, yet Heather stood out. Cyd shook her plastic fork at Trish. “Two weeks ago she sang one of the solos. Remember? Long blonde hair, petite—” Cyd cringed and sneaked a peek at Dana.

Trish almost choked on her noodles. “
That's
her? She looks like Barbie!”

Dana nodded her head slowly. “So that's the connection. I thought she looked familiar.”

“Oh yeah, it's all clear now.” Trish nodded as well. “Scott in choir practice, supposed to be worshiping the Lord—”

“Trish,
please
.” Cyd gave her the eye outright this time.

“What?” Trish's voice took on a high pitch. “I'm just—”

The three of them jumped when the garage door groaned as it rose from its slumber. Cyd stood, looking at Dana. “We can leave out the front door.”

“No.” Dana's back was to the garage door, and she turned to look at it. “Stay. He might have that girl with him still, for all I know.”

Cyd took her seat, and Trish, water in hand, lowered herself into the chair next to Cyd. A second later the key went into the lock and the door swung open.

Scott crossed the threshold. He was alone, dressed in the same suit pants and long-sleeved white shirt. About six-one, he had boyish good looks with dark hair and a handsome twinkle in his eye.

Could've been a typical entrance after a day's work, except there was no greeting. No hugs. Whenever Cyd was at the house when Scott walked in, he would hug his wife and then he would hug Cyd.

She had known him since he and Dana were dating, more than fifteen years ago, and they had always gotten along famously. He was easygoing and fun. Next to her father, she'd always thought of Scott as a model of the kind of man she wanted, a man who loved his woman fiercely and loved God even more. Part of her wanted to snatch him into the next room and jerk him back to his former self.

Scott held his keys and met the gaze of each of them except Dana, who eyed the table. “Where are Mackenzie and Mark?”

“At my house. They're staying there tonight.” Trish's tone indicated she'd been waiting for the chance to say something to him.

He tossed his keys to the counter. “I need to talk to my wife.” His voice held the same emptiness as Dana's.

Cyd jumped up, but Trish stayed put, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms.