Remember (9 page)

How shortsighted she’d been to think it would involve Ryan!

The big plan Pastor Mark must have sensed was this vision she had now, the one that seemed real enough to touch. A ministry for other hurting women, women who would meet with Kari one-on-one for Bible study and comfort. The setting would be private, protecting the identity of the women who came. Kari could meet with a different woman each day of the week if necessary.

Excitement began to build until it overflowed from her heart. Back before she’d known about Tim’s affair, she had pictured the two of them working such a ministry together. Meeting with couples, mentoring them, helping them reach a higher place in their marriage. But clearly that was not to be.

This ministry, the one God had placed on her heart now, was one that would give her life new purpose and direction. The lifeline that would lift her from this season of grief and loss, and vault her into a time of grace and hope for women whose relationships still had a chance.

Kari opened her Bible and studied the words she’d read earlier that morning. They came from Romans 12:

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with  God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

When she’d read the words before, they had seemed rather obvious. A list of directions on how to treat people. Certainly nothing remarkable or life-changing. But now, in light of the vision God had given her, they seemed vibrantly alive.

A new kind of love resonated within Kari, a love for women suffering in marriage. It was a love as sincere as anything she’d ever felt. She hated the evil of adultery, hated it enough to pray with women who’d fallen victim to it, enough to pray with those determined to cling to the good in their marriage and trust God for renewal.

Then there was the joy part.
Be joyful in hope. . . .
Wasn’t that the feeling rattling the windows of her heart even now? Joy? After months without feeling any whatsoever, Kari had no doubt that it was. The idea of helping other women mend their marriages filled her with more joy than she’d thought possible. Obviously the only way she could answer this call of God was by being patient, by praying, by sharing and practicing hospitality among the women who needed her support—just as these verses instructed.

But the thing that seemed handwritten in the text for her alone was the part about honor.

That’s what it came down to, really. Tim had honored her by leaving his girlfriend, repenting, and promising to work on their marriage. Ryan had honored her by moving away, letting her love Tim the way she knew she should.

Now it was her turn to honor the women at their church who needed her support—by using the memories of all that had happened in her own life as a way of giving others hope.

Jessie’s faint cry sounded from the other room, and Kari shut her Bible. As she did, she realized there were tears on her cheeks. Tears that had sprung from a place in her heart that had felt numb and dry before tonight.

A place that had somehow, in the past few hours, been brought back to life.

Chapter Nine

Ashley wondered if she’d ever get used to the smell.

It was her first day on the job, and even after an hour with Irvel and her friends that morning, the pungent odor that clung to the walls and furniture was still enough to gag her.

Lu had said there was nothing anyone could do to make the house smell better. “It’s clean,” Lu told her when they talked by phone after Ashley’s interview. “Just tinged with the smell of death.”

Ashley would have to get used to it if she wanted to work there for long. She sat at the breakfast table and smiled at the faces around her.

At the head of the table sat Irvel, the self-appointed social coordinator. Next to her on the right was Edith, a quiet woman who picked at her food and said little. Across from Edith was Helen, without a doubt the loudest in the threesome. Laura Jo lay down the hall, confined to a bed and probably weeks away from death. And then there was Bert, the only man in the mix.

Lu had warned Ashley about him. “Take his meals to his room.” Lu had clucked her tongue. “Bert’s a doozie. Gets up in the morning and circles his bed. All day.”

“Circles it?” Ashley hadn’t understood.

“After he’s up, you’ll make his bed and lay out his bathrobe. The minute he’s done eating, he starts circling. Starts at the top of the bed, making circles with his hands along the comforter—slow, careful circles. He works his way down to the foot of the bed and back around to the other side. Then he starts again. Every day, same thing.”

So far Lu was right on.

Before feeding the three more mobile residents, Ashley had brought a liquid breakfast to Laura Jo, who’d never even opened her eyes. Next she took a tray to Bert. He sat in his rocker and ate while she laid out his clothes and made his bed. Like clockwork, the minute she took his tray, he eased into the robe, shuffled to the top of the bed, and began making circles on the comforter.

Poor crazy guy,
Ashley thought.

These women, the ones around the table, were more fun. They were the reason she’d taken the job. Irvel and Edith and Helen—the girls, Irvel called them.

“Well, girls . . .” Irvel slid back from the table. She’d eaten half a piece of toast and an egg. “Hank’s fishing, so I’ve got all day.”

Helen scowled at her plate. “I thought we were having lasagna. Where’s the lasagna?” She banged her fork against her plate three times. “Where’s the lasagna?”

“You know”—Irvel shook a finger in Ashley’s direction—“that girl has the most beautiful hair.” She cocked her head. “Has anyone ever told you that, dear?”

“Thank you, Irvel. I appreciate that.”

“I said . . . !” Helen banged the table. Lu had warned her about that too. Helen was always banging something, hitting a wall, or smashing her fist against the table to make a point. “Where’s the lasagna?”

“Umm, Helen . . .” Ashley cleared her throat. “We’re having eggs and toast this morning.”

Helen glared at her. “I was having lasagna.”

Irvel nodded in Ashley’s direction, trying to keep control of the situation. “Yes, dear, I think she was having lasagna. That’s what she says.”

“Eggs and toast.” Edith’s voice was quiet amidst Irvel’s chirping and Helen’s thunder. Still, Helen heard it and slammed her fork against her plate again.

“Lasagna. My mother makes me lasagna every Sunday, and this is Sunday.”

Irvel placed a gentle hand on Helen’s arm. “Dear, I believe it’s Wednesday.”

“Oooh, boy.” Ashley muttered the words and blew out a short, hard breath. Were Monday mornings always like this? She stood and planted her hands on her hips, remembering Brooke’s advice about distraction. “How would you like a cinnamon roll, Helen?” Ashley smiled at the stocky woman. “They’re cool enough to eat.”

“Cinnamon rolls with lasagna?” Helen spat something from her mouth onto her plate. Ashley couldn’t bring herself to look at it. “I want more lasagna.”

Irvel looked at Ashley, her eyes wide. Then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders in as dainty a manner as Ashley had ever seen. “The girl wants lasagna.”

“Well.” Ashley brought the tray of cinnamon rolls from the kitchen and held them out for the three older women. “The lasagna’s gone. All we have now are cinnamon rolls.”

“What?” Helen sat back slowly in her chair, her face a twisted mass of sorrow and disappointment.

“It’s gone, Helen.”

“Really?” Angry tears appeared to well up in Helen’s eyes. “The lasagna’s gone?”

“Yes.” Ashley forced an adamant tone. “Completely gone.”

Helen thought for a moment. “Fine.” A huff slid from her weathered mouth. “I’ll have a cinnamon roll.” She went to take one from the tray but stopped her hand in midair. “Wait a minute.” As quickly as she could, she turned and stared at Ashley. “Have you been checked?”

Ashley glanced at the skin on her arms, her hands.
What in the world?
“Checked?”

“They have to check everyone. Very carefully.”

“Good.” Edith painstakingly lifted a forkful of eggs to her lips. “Good, good eggs.”

“Yes.” Irvel folded her hands delicately on the table. A serious look came over her face as she glanced about. “We’ve all been checked. Right, Ingrid?”

Helen fired an impatient glare at Irvel. “The name’s Helen!”

“That’s what I said, dear.” Irvel gave a light roll of her eyes toward Ashley, as if to say that Helen was quite possibly a few drawers shy of a file cabinet.

Ashley smiled and shifted the tray to Irvel. “A cinnamon roll?”

“Why, yes, dear.” Irvel used the tips of her fingers to take a single roll.

Edith hesitated for a moment, looking from her plate full of eggs to the roll and back again. “I like the eggs.”

For the moment Helen was forgotten. “Would you like a cinnamon roll, Edith? You can have both if you want.”

“She’s already been checked,” Helen barked. “Give it to her.”

“I like the eggs.” Edith lowered her brow. She began to tremble, nervous and perplexed by the daunting task of deciding whether or not to take a cinnamon roll.

Poor woman.
Ashley tilted her head and gave Edith an understanding smile. “You eat your eggs, Edith. That’s okay. You can have a roll later.”

Ashley set the tray down on the middle of the table, inches from Helen’s plate. “Help yourself.”

“That’s it!” Helen looked at her friends and threw her hands in the air. “Has anyone checked her? She shouldn’t be here if she hasn’t been checked.” Helen lowered her head as though this next part wasn’t for Ashley’s ears. “What if she’s a spy?”

Edith’s hand shook so badly her fork rattled against the plate. Ashley shot a concerned look in her direction. The mound of scrambled eggs was only slightly smaller than before. “Are there . . . are there more eggs?”

“Of course.” Ashley patted Edith’s hand. “As soon as you finish those, I’ll get you some.”

Edith studied her plate. The skin around her eyes bunched curiously. “I did finish them.” She lifted her eyes to Ashley, fear and confusion slow-dancing across her face. “Someone gave me more. Is it okay to eat them?”

There had to be a better way. Ashley lowered her chin. “Yes, Edith. Go right ahead.”

“Dear . . .” Irvel cupped her fingers around her mouth and lobbed a quiet note of concern toward Ashley. “Edith is becoming a bit forgetful.”

“Right,” Ashley whispered. “That’s okay.”

“Yes.” Irvel wrinkled her nose politely and nodded. “I thought so.” Irvel stopped suddenly and stared at Ashley. “My goodness, dear, you have beautiful hair. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your hair is?”

Ashley cast Irvel a patient smile. “Yes, that’s very nice. Thank you for—”

“This is ridiculous.” Helen brought her fist down on her thigh and winced at the contact. “Is anyone going to answer me?” She pushed her chair back and gestured toward Ashley. “The girl needs to be checked. We can’t have spies running the place.”

“Helen”—Ashley nodded with conviction—“I’ve been thoroughly checked.” She held up her hands in surrender. “It’s okay. I’m not a spy.”

“Well!” Helen slapped her knee for emphasis. “It’s about time.”

The sound of a door opening stopped the conversation. Ashley checked her watch. It was nine. Time for Belinda’s shift to begin. Belinda worked nine to five and, according to Lu, she spent most of the day in the back office handling paperwork, ordering medication, and dealing with suppliers who kept the house stocked. Belinda would help give baths after breakfast, but otherwise Ashley would be on her own.

“Uh-oh.” Irvel dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s that woman.”

Helen nodded, suddenly on Ashley’s side. “Is she a spy?”

Irvel sank down in her chair and looked at Helen. “I think so.”

Edith picked at her plate. Her fingers shook more than before. “I like the eggs.”

Ashley’s heart rate quickened. What was this sudden tension over Belinda’s arrival? What had the supervisor said or done to make them so nervous?

Belinda tramped into the kitchen, set her purse down, and glared at Ashley. “It’s nine o’clock.”

“Yes.” Ashley settled back in her chair. “Some of us pretty girls can tell time.”

“We start baths at nine o’clock.” She waved her hand at the older women. “Why are they still eating?”

“Well . . .” Ashley raised an eyebrow, careful to keep her tone calm and gentle. She put her hand on Edith’s. “Edith isn’t finished with her eggs.” Ashley pointed to Irvel and Helen. “And the others are working on cinnamon rolls.”

Belinda scowled. “What took so long?”

“Madam . . .” Irvel cleared her throat. “If I might explain . . . ”

Gone was the social coordinator bubbling with enthusiasm over how she and the girls were going to spend the day. Instead, Irvel’s voice trembled with uncertainty. Ashley stared at the white-haired woman in awe. The poor dear was scared to death, but still she cared enough about Ashley to take a stand. The gesture touched Ashley’s heart more than she could grasp.

Belinda rolled her eyes in Irvel’s direction. “Make it quick.”

“Well”—Irvel smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress—“we were chatting. Getting to know each other.”

“Look, Irvel.” A chortle worked its way up Belinda’s throat, and she gave that old woman a sardonic smile. “If you girls don’t know each other by now, you might as well stop trying.”

“Yes, but . . .” Irvel swallowed, looking to Ashley for help. “Hank dropped me off an hour ago, and the girls and I were going to visit. Maybe have some peppermint tea.”

“That’s right.” Ashley stood and began clearing dishes from the table. From her spot by the kitchen sink—out of view from Irvel—Ashley shot a look at Belinda. “No harm in taking a few minutes to visit.” Her voice remained kind, but she made sure her eyes got the point across. “Is there?”

“Yes.” Irvel’s voice regained some of her earlier confidence. Ashley returned to the dining room and anchored herself protectively near Irvel. The woman reached up and took hold of Ashley’s hand. “Visiting is nice. At least until Hank comes to get me.” Irvel smiled at Belinda. “Isn’t this girl’s hair beautiful? I’ve never seen such beautiful hair.”