The Beresfords (43 page)

I had never seen her drunk before, and I hoped never to see her that way again because I can hardly recall a more unpleasant dinner. We were on the far end of the family table, buffered from the others by stalwart Uncle Roger on one side and little Jimmy on the other. Rachel waited for the salad to be served and the hum of music and conversation to swell before she leaned in toward me.

“He never loved me, you know.”

My heart sunk. I knew who she meant immediately, and I had no desire to hear any wine-induced confessions. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“Not one bit. That’s why I left him.”

I concentrated on buttering a roll for Jimmy, but Rachel swayed toward me again. “He loved you.”

“Please, Rachel—”

“Please, what? Don’t be-besmirch your ears with this? You’ve always been too good for the rest of us. No—no! Don’t move your chair. You’re going to hear this, Miss Goody Two Shoes. When he came out to New York I flirted with him. I admit it. I always thought he’d treated me like crap, making me think he liked me and taking what he wanted. But he was just playing with me. Well, I could play too. So I flirted with him. He didn’t respond at first. Caroline said I should leave him alone because he was in love with you—Frannie! I didn’t believe her, and why should I? She turned out to be no better than she should be, didn’t she? I didn’t care what Caroline said. I threw myself at Eric and—he gave in.” Rachel studied the Merlot in her glass as if it contained tea leaves she could read. Her lovely face was hard. “Weird. He was a mess after that. Had some kind of existential crisis. But he said he felt responsible for me and for his actions—really romantic stuff”—she gave a snort—“so I invited myself to live with him. He said he would marry me when my divorce went through. That that would be the right thing to do. But it didn’t go so well. He got more and more depressed. Started spending all his time at work. He looked at me and Jimmy sometimes like he had no idea how we got there. We started fighting. And then it all came out—that Caroline had told the truth. He had loved you—
did
love you. That he’d been the biggest fool the world had ever known and you would never love him now—never, never. I had no idea he could look like that or think like that or
feel
like that. Didn’t know he had it in him. He was still willing to marry me, but, well—what could I do? I mean, I have my pride, too. I took Jimmy and I left. So there you have it, Frannie, my sad, sordid story. Do you feel like you’ll never be clean again?”

“Rachel.” The toasts were beginning. I blew my nose on my napkin and tried to avoid Jonathan’s gaze down the table. “Rachel, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I thought I was too good for you. I didn’t mean to. Sometimes I’m so awkward and shy that I come across that way, and I hate it about myself.”

“
Aah
.” She waved my words away, her blue nail polish catching the candlelight like dragonfly wings.

“I always loved you and Julie,” I persisted, just loud enough for her to hear me. “And I wished we were closer. I still wish it. Don’t shake your head, Rachel! Please don’t be angry at me that Eric Grant said those things. It’s not my fault. I never asked him to—
to
like me, and I wish, for your sake, that he could have treated you better all along.”

There was a burst of applause. Uncle Paul sat down and Tom got up, taking the microphone.

“But you are,” she almost sobbed, “better than me!”

“No, no!
Shhhh
…” I clutched her hand under the table. Uncle Roger looked our way.

Awareness dawned in Rachel’s eyes, and she lowered her voice to a hissing whisper, putting her mouth right next to my ear. “You are better than me—otherwise, why didn’t I recognize what a scumbag he was, all along?”

Strangely, I found myself wanting to defend him. “I think he was getting better,” I whispered back. One thing I knew: even if Eric Grant didn’t remember God, God remembered
Eric.
If we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot deny himself
. “Eric Grant might even yet turn out all right. I think you were just too much temptation for him. You’re so pretty and all.”

She gave me a watery smile. “Listen to you. Are you sure you’re not in love with him? Because if you are, I think even now you would just have to show up at his door and he would fall at your feet.”

“
Shhh
…don’t, Rachel. Let’s not talk about Eric Grant anymore. Or Caroline. They’re gone, and we’re still here. Everyone’s starting over. Let’s you and me start over, too, okay?”

“Okay. I think I need to pee.”

“Me too. I’ll go with you to the bathroom in just one minute. After Jonathan gives his speech.”

“Jonathan!” she said, a shade too loudly. “He’s another one who thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”

I kicked her foot. “That’s not a bit true. And every hard thing you went through with Eric, he went through with Caroline, and then some, so have a little mercy.”

“God! You got me in the instep! But I guess I should have known. Jonathan never could do any wrong in your eyes. Honestly, you two were made for each other.”

My face flamed, and I wanted to kick her again. Our new relationship was foundering on its maiden voyage. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

“But Jonathan’s speech!”

“I think I’ve heard everything I need to hear. He’ll have to forgive me. Everyone will.”

Without waiting to see if she would join me, I fled.

I succeeded in avoiding Jonathan at his graduation reception—the conversation with Rachel supplying more than enough wretchedness for one evening—but I was not so fortunate the next weekend.

While Uncle Paul and Aunt Marie chatted nearby at the coffee station, I waited on one of the benches in front of the church, glancing toward the breezeway every few minutes to see if Todd was coming. He had whisked me away to brunch last Sunday, but then been on a leaders’ retreat the rest of the week. The two of us had been “hanging out” for several months now. I never pressed him to clarify our status, something he appreciated at first (“Frannie, I love how you’re just so cool with everything—no games, no over-analyzing”), but which even he finally grew impatient with (“I told my mom you were my girlfriend. That was okay, wasn’t it?”).

The head I spied making its way upstream through the milling congregation, however, was crowned by golden-brown hair, rather than Todd’s red. Shrinking back, I looked away, pretending to read the verses engraved in the half-walls surrounding me, verses I’d read a hundred thousand times before on a hundred thousand Sundays of my childhood.
If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation
. And,
There is now therefore no condemnation, for those who are in Christ Jesus.

“Good morning, Frannie.”

“Good morning, Jonathan.”

“Remember how many times we’d wait here on a Sunday?” he asked. “It feels good to be back.”

“You didn’t…want to go to your old church in Mountain View today?”

“Not today. I had a longing for the familiar.” He gave a short laugh. “And maybe a disinclination to see people who last knew me married. Explanations can be exhausting. So can sympathy, sometimes.”

“Oh.” I spun the silver love-knot ring on my pinky around so the knot was centered.

“I haven’t had much of a chance to speak with you, Frannie, since I came back.”

“It’s been busy.”

“But I thought we might go for a walk now, or something. Have lunch. Catch up.”

There was nothing I would enjoy more in the world. But should I? I vowed to avoid him, but maybe I could use the time to my advantage. Show Jonathan that I really, really was just a friend and a sister, and he didn’t have to feel weird around me.

Before I could form a reply, feet appeared in the section of pavement I was staring at, and I raised my head to find Todd. He was your typical church youth intern, which wasn’t a bad thing: tall, with above-average, All-American looks; just out of college; played some sport
intramurally
, if not for the school, fun and funny. The red hair was unique, but otherwise—

“Hey there, Frannie. How was worship this morning?”

“Good. It was good.” I jumped to my feet, dropping my purse and having to pick it back up. “How was youth group?”

He grinned. “The natives were restless. Glad I wasn’t giving the talk.” He stuck a hand out at Jonathan. “I’m
Frannie’s
friend Todd.”

“Jonathan. Her—cousin.”

“The one just back from Australia, am I right?

“That’s me.”

“Master’s in Theology, Frannie tells me! You thinking about going into ministry?”

“I am.” I felt Jonathan’s gaze on me, but I was twiddling with the zipper pull on my purse.

“What kind?” persisted Todd. Youth interns are masters of small talk and don’t let monosyllabic answers faze them. Which might explain why he had gone out with me more than once.

“Where does every pastor begin?” said Jonathan. “With youth.”

“Awesome! Let’s hang out sometime. In fact, I was just going to ask Frannie if she wanted to hit The Pancake Spot. You wanna come?” Belatedly he remembered dating etiquette and added, “I mean, if Frannie doesn’t mind.” Seeing me stammer he backtracked. “You know what, Jonathan—I spoke out of turn. Let’s take a rain check on that.”

“Sure,” said my cousin.

I found my voice. “I can’t do brunch today, Todd. We—I already made some family plans.”

“Oh.” Puzzlement creased his freckled forehead. “Okay, then. I know I probably should have called—no, no, I should have. Can we hang out tonight or tomorrow?”

“Here are my aunt and uncle.”

Todd instantly straightened up and put on the serious-earnest face with which he greeted parents. Aunt Marie murmured something friendly. Uncle Paul reined in his forbidding manner and went so far as to invite Todd for dinner that week. After the whole Eric Grant debacle he never gave me one iota more of dating advice, except to say that there was no rush, no rush, for a girl my age.

When we came to a lull in the conversation, Todd took himself off politely, resting his hand for a moment on my shoulder as a good-bye.

“Good to see you, son,” said Uncle Paul to Jonathan. “Maybe you’d like to come to the house for lunch?”

“I was actually hoping to drag Frannie away. We haven’t exchanged ten words since I came back and we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Come over,” my uncle insisted. “We all want to hear what’s going on, not just Frannie. Tom and Marcy will be there. The reception was fun, but we had to share you with everyone.”
 

“Just in the nick of time!” declared Tom when we came in the door. He punched Jonathan in the arm with a muttered, “Good to see you,” before dragging me with him into the living room. “Here she is, Marcy. Show her the two options and make Frannie choose.”

“It’s honeymoon destinations,” Marcy explained, pushing the open magazines across the coffee table at me. “And I think—”

“Uh uh
uh
!” interrupted Tom, clapping his hands over my ears. “No biasing her.”

Laughing, I shook him off and considered the pictures. One layout featured a Hawaiian beach, palm trees, tropical drinks. The other a European-style town with old buildings and wide plazas. “It’s not my honeymoon, but I think I personally would rather go here.” I pointed to the old town.

“Mexico City!” whooped Tom, offering me a high-five. “Told you, Marcy. Every girl’s dream.”

“But, Tom,” I interjected, “it’s a honeymoon—don’t you think you should go where Marcy wants to go?”

“Yeah, Tom! And I want to lay on the beach.”

“You can lie on the beach in Acapulco,” he wheedled. “It’s only a few hours away. We can split the week. Marriage is about compromise. If you don’t want to come to Mexico City, I’ll take Frannie, and then you can join me for the second half.”

“I’m not going on your honeymoon,” I protested. “You’re such a selfish beast that only Marcy will put up with you.”

“Admit it, Frannie,” he ordered. “You adore me. All those months of helping with my PT exercises and mixing my meds with apple juice just cemented it.”

He was hopeless. I shook my head. “Fine. I adore you. What’s for lunch?”

Having gotten his way over the honeymoon, Tom was in an expansive mood, ribbing everyone, praising the sandwiches, prodding Jonathan from his reticence.

“So you’re gonna be a pastor, huh, Jon?” he said around a mouthful. “Can’t say it’s a big surprise—Theology degree
kinda
got the wheels turning in my head—but what’s the plan? What’s the timeline?”

“I’m applying for jobs starting tomorrow, and I’ll start as soon as anyone hires me.”

“Now, you know I think you’re great, little brother, but seriously—you think anyone wants some young divorced guy hanging around their teenagers?”

“Aw, Tom, you’re so insensitive,” said Marcy, “and you can’t even blame it on the liquor anymore.”