Stepping Into Sunlight (27 page)
When we both sat at the table cradling our mugs of apple-cinnamon spice, Laura-Beth fell silent.
I sipped and waited, confused by the sudden quiet.
“All righty. Guess ya’ figured out I’m not here for a neighborly chat.” Beneath her teased bangs, her face pinched, drawing wrinkles into her forehead and around her mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s you.” Her tone held an edge of anger. “What have you been doing to Jim-Bob?”
I
BURNED MY TONGUE
on the tea and set it down. “What? What do you mean?”
With my only child, I’d had plenty of experience being the protective momma bear, and I recognized the raised neck fur in another.
Laura-Beth drummed her long nails on the table. “He’s been telling me about the stuff you been saying before the boys go to the bus stop in the morning.”
Good morning? Have a nice day? Did you remember your lunch?
I was stumped, and my face must have shown it.
She leaned forward. “You know. Thumpin’ their heads and incanting over them.”
Incanting? Was that one of those southernisms I didn’t know how to translate? “I don’t know what . . . Wait. Do you mean when I bless Bryan each day?”
She crossed her arms and lowered her chin. “Mebbe.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “From the time Bryan was little, Tom and I decided to speak a blessing on him when he leaves the house. We pray for him at bedtime. We say grace at meals. It’s the same sort of thing.”
Laura-Beth lifted her overplucked brows and waited.
“I guess Jim-Bob got tired of waiting for Bryan at the sidewalk,” I said. “So he started coming up to our door while I was saying good-bye to Bryan and blessing him. Jim-Bob wanted to get blessed, too.” I touched Laura-Beth’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I should have asked you if it was okay with you.”
Mollified, she gave me a half smile. “Just so long as you aren’t one of those hoo-doo women.”
“Hoo-doo?”
She lowered her voice. “Voodoo. You know. Ain’t ya seen the house three blocks over near the railroad tracks?”
“The one with all the stuff in the yard painted white?” I whispered without knowing why. Tom and I had noticed the house once when we were out walking. A woman wearing a white head wrap and long white dress had been working in her garden. Bloodred letters with snippets of familiar Bible verses were painted across her porch, and statues of various kinds dotted her cluttered front yard. We’d assumed she showed her faith in eccentric ways. I hadn’t guessed that the candles, symbols, and warnings on small wooden signs were part of a dark religion.
“Yep. Folks go to her for magic. Spells. Potions. You know. If you don’t mind my saying, that house gives me the creeps.”
I shivered. “Believe me. I’m not into anything like that. I’m a Lutheran.”
She scratched her head. “Are those Christians?”
I hid a smile. Back home, most of the town was Lutheran by default. Here in Virginia, we were an exotic breed. “Yes. That’s why I pray for Bryan each morning.”
“My momma was a Baptist, so I guess you’d say I’m one, too. But Ray works so hard that he’s always tired on Sundays, and me with all the kids, ’specially the twins—I don’t wanna go alone.”
Once I might have jumped on her with arguments about the importance of fellowship, but I’d learned a little about the obstacles that could make it painfully difficult to attend a worship service. “I haven’t gone very regularly lately, either,” I said in a small voice.
“But at least you’re doin’ that prayer stuff for your boy. My twins are usually screamin’ for breakfast when Jim-Bob heads out the door.”
I tried my tea again, and let the warmth glide into my belly. “So do you want me to stop praying with Jim-Bob?”
“Nah. You keep it up. It’s good for him. Fact is, he’s even doing a little better in school lately. I guess a little religion is probably good for him. Now, tell me what you hear from that husband of yours.”
Tightness pulled my shoulders. “They’re on some sort of lock-down. We haven’t been able to e-mail or call for a few days.”
Her eyes gleamed with avid interest. “D’ya think that means he’s doing something dangerous?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Whoo boy.” She shook her head. “I get worried when Ray’s away for a couple days fishin’ with his brother. Don’t know how you do it. Do they stop in many ports over there? You know, men always stray when they’re away from their woman for too long.” She patted my arm.
A moment ago, I’d enjoyed the sense of connection with my neighbor and even felt a bit of tenderness for the open door to talk about faith issues. Now I resisted the urge to grab the nearest skillet and slam it on her head. Instead, I smiled tightly. “Tom and I have a firm commitment to each other.”
She pushed away from the table. “Sure ’nuf. Besides, I can see why you’d be more worried about some bomb hittin’ his boat. Thanks for the tea. And for explaining stuff.”
She sailed out the door and I squeezed the mug in my hands as if it were her neck. “Lord, I know I was feeling lonely, but was that the best you could send me?” Then I chuckled. A hamster, a computer, or an opinionated neighbor without the gene for tact—none were exactly what I needed, but at least I wasn’t feeling quite as empty.
A few petals of my old joyful nature uncurled inside me. Energy moved through my body like an old friend. I jumped up from my chair and finished cleaning the kitchen. Then I organized some cupboards, and gave the house a good cleaning.
As I picked up Bryan’s room, I noticed Gimli wasn’t moving. I tapped on the Habitrail a few times, and he finally lifted his head and gave me a bleary glare. He didn’t look very healthy, but how would I tell? I didn’t know anything about hamster vital signs. I’d keep an eye on him and see if he perked up for his middle-of-the-night burrowing and wheel running.
My burst of virtuous housecleaning wore me out, and I collapsed on the couch. My notebook rested on the sturdy wood coffee table. I opened it and pondered today’s empty page. I slipped the pen from the spiral binding, and tapped it on my forehead, chewing my lip.
Then I wrote,
Wednesday, October 20. Detective Ramirez. Helped
him dot his i’s.
I doodled in the margin and then added,
Cities of
Chesapeake, Norfolk, Virginia Beach, etc. Assisted in getting a criminal
off the streets.
I paged back and looked at my other kind acts. Many of the past days held notations about an encouraging e-mail sent to a stranger on a post-traumatic stress forum. I sighed. A valid way to show kindness, sure. But I had to agree with my support group. The point of my project was to interact with people live and in person—to show love while also challenging myself to reach out for human connections. When Lydia had prayed with me the first time I went to the mission, her warm hand squeezing mine had done more than a dozen pamphlets on dealing with anxiety. I could either shrink into more and more interactions online or break free from my inertia and get out of the house. Maybe tomorrow when I met with Dr. Marci, we could come up with some ideas.
S
UDDENLY
, I
HAD TO
check my e-mail again. I was desperate for news from Tom. How long would communications be on lockdown? How quickly would the Navy notify me if anything bad happened?
The computer took forever to boot up. No e-mail. No news on the forums.
I grabbed the phone and dialed Mary Jo, the ombudsman. It wasn’t until she answered that I remembered how hard I’d worked to avoid the phone in the past few weeks.
“Penny, it’s wonderful to hear from you. How’s your cold?”
“B-better. Look, I’m wondering if . . .”
“Tom’s fleet is okay? It’s hard when they’re out of communications, isn’t it?” Her voice was warm with understanding and sympathy.
“Yes, and I . . .”
“Do you want to swing by the base? Some of the other wives are meeting—”
“No. I . . . I can’t. But has there been any word?”
“Penny, this is nothing to be worried about. Trust me, the Navy makes it a priority to keep families informed. It’s easy to let your mind create scary scenarios. Don’t go there.”
She had no idea how adept my mind had become at fearful Technicolor images.
“I know you’ve heard this before,” she said. “Being a Navy spouse takes as much strength as serving at sea. This is one of those times when you dig down and stand strong. Then when you hear from him, you let him know how confident you are that he’ll come back safely. How well you’re keeping the home fires burning on your own.”
She reminded me of my high-school gymnastics coach who coaxed me beyond my abilities. When she told me I was strong enough for a twisting back handspring, suddenly I was.
“I can do that.” No more stammering in my voice. “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’d still love to go out for coffee sometime soon.”
“I’d like that. I’ve got company coming into town, but after that, I’ll give you a call.” Alex’s last message from his friends’ in Pennsylvania had said he aimed to arrive in Virginia early next week. But I pulled out my notebook and wrote a reminder to myself to invite Mary Jo over after my brother’s visit.
Not until I set down the notebook and pen did I realize how very normal and ordinary that action had been. Euphoria bubbled up and filled my chest like helium. I was becoming myself again.
I threw my arms wide and spun around, narrowly missing the kitchen table. My giggle whirled through the air. A tap on the back door window interrupted me.
Laura-Beth was back.
Heat flew to my face as I opened the door. Great. Now she’d go back to thinking I was a strange voodoo conjurer.
Her gapped teeth gnawed her lower lip, making her look even more like a prairie dog than usual. She thrust a baseball mitt out toward me.
She wanted to play catch?
“Bryan left this in our yard yesterday when he was playing with Jim-Bob. Figured he’d want it back right away. You know how boys are.”
As soon as I took the mitt, she scurried down the steps and out the side gate of our yard.
I took a step forward, an explanation ready, but then stopped. If she thought I was a complete eccentric, maybe she wouldn’t pop by quite as often. A slow smile pressed against my cheeks, and I closed the back door.
Bryan and I had a fun evening as he quizzed me on every detail of my visit to the police precinct. He was so disappointed that I hadn’t been fingerprinted that I dug out an inkpad I used for rubber-stamping, and we fingerprinted each other. Then we took mug shots with my digital camera.
I was still smiling long after stories and prayers. Bryan slept, and Gimli didn’t even squeak on his wheel. I changed into my red plaid flannel pajamas and crawled into Tom’s side of the bed, where I settled down for sleep, ready for happy, hopeful dreams.
For once my subconscious cooperated. I snuggled deeper under the quilt, as flickers of sleeping scenes gradually took hold. Sunlight sparkled through mimosa leaves. I stroked one of the leaves and it curled up shyly. Wind brushed my skin and cool grass tickled my bare feet. I pushed past a wide lilac bush and crawled through a gap in the tangled greenery. Even while I enjoyed the whimsy of roses blooming on a lilac bush, and daffodils budding at the same time as mums, part of my mind acknowledged that the combination of plants was impossible, even in a botanical garden.
I touched a vibrant blue morning glory, and tendrils of the vine reached out and curled around my finger. Gently, I pried it away and continued through a tunnel of green. Before me, a glass door beckoned.
As I pushed it, sleigh bells bounced overhead, announcing my passage.
Fear began as a tingle in my chest. Cheerful sunshine tried to reassure me, but dark dread called its warning. “Get out. Go back.”
I turned, but the door had disappeared. Through glass walls I saw gasoline pumps and cars.
A back door. Maybe I could find a back door.
I stepped into the store. Rows of shelves stretched into eternity, ten feet tall, leaning inward. Under my feet, the tile felt as wet and cool as the earlier dew.
I looked down and whimpered. There was no dew. Only blood.
The bright sunlight through the glass magnified the horror—made the blood stand out like vibrant red finger paint. My mind wobbled, and for a moment it was easy to believe children had played on the convenience store linoleum, smearing an abstract picture around the bodies.
An old man and woman sprawled across my path, playing dead.
“Sir? Ma’am?” I knelt near them, resting my hand on a shelf of beef jerky treats for support. “The game’s over. You can get up now.”
I touched the woman’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It was a mistake. You can get up now.”
“Get back!” A figure loomed over me.
I skittered backward, trying to hide behind the magazine rack. Wild, bloodshot eyes found me. The man raised his gun.
No. Not again
. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Tom, I love you. Take care of Bryan. Don’t forget to pack a cookie
in his lunch.
Click.
No explosion. No pain. No death.
I slitted my eyes open. The man was fumbling with his gun. I touched my forehead where the bullet should have struck. Sirens wailed in the distance. The man shouted a string of curses and ran from the store. Cheerful bells jingled as he rang out into the sunshine.
Bryan loved that song. “
Jingle Bells
. . .”
I crawled forward to the elderly woman. Lifeless eyes stared in the direction of the beverage machine, as if she were pleading for one last drink. I had come here looking for Coke, with lots of ice to ease the Virginia heat. Why hadn’t I stayed home?
“Noooo.” The wail tore from my lungs.
The bells jangled again. He was coming back to finish me.
I tried to scream but only moaned. Then I bolted upright, tangled in sheets and blankets. Sweat drenched my pajamas, and I clutched a pillow to my chest, shivering in the grip of the nightmare, like a rag doll in a pit bull’s jaw. I concentrated on breathing until I could force myself to turn my head and find my clock.
