The Desire (8 page)

I
t was Wednesday, just before noon. Marilyn was searching for a parking place in front of Giovanni's, her favorite Italian restaurant and café, right on Main Street. That was where she was meeting Christina for lunch. After her talk with Jim this morning, she was even more excited about this.

He had given her the green light for Christina to move into the garage apartment. Doug had surprised him on the phone when they'd talked that morning. Jim had expected at least some resistance to the idea. But all Doug asked was, “Where would I sleep when I came home?” As they thought about it a moment, Doug answered the question himself. “Guess I could just sleep on the pullout sofa bed in your office downstairs.” Jim mentioned that Tom and Jean would be moving into Audrey Windsor's place in a month or two. Doug could sleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms after that.

“Yeah, that'll work,” Doug had said, and that was it.

Marilyn got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant. Christina's car was right by the entrance. She couldn't wait to share the news with her. As soon as she came through the front doors, she saw Christina sitting in a chair in the
waiting area, wearing a pretty blue dress. She really was an attractive young girl. “There you are,” Marilyn said, extending her arms for a hug.

Christina hugged back in an awkward way. Marilyn remembered she was from New York. Maybe they didn't hug so freely up there. “You look beautiful,” she said. “I love that dress on you.”

“Thank you,” Christina said.

The hostess walked up to seat them. “Could we sit at one of the café tables outside?” Christina asked. “I've always wanted to do that.”

“Sure, no problem.” The hostess picked up two menus. “Follow me.”

“I like it outside too,” Marilyn said.

After they sat, the waitress took their drink orders. Christina looked all around; she seemed mesmerized by the scene. Marilyn wondered if she had ever eaten in a place this nice. “Order whatever you'd like, Christina. My treat.”

“Are you sure?” Christina smiled. “Because I'm pretty hungry.”

“Well, you've come to the right place. The food here is very good, and they serve lots of it.”

Christina opened the menu and began to read, her eyes like a child reading a storybook. She wound up ordering something simple, linguine in a white clam sauce. She said it reminded her of home. Marilyn ordered veal marsala, the lunch portion.

As they ate, Marilyn spent the time getting to know Christina better, steering the questions and discussion away from anything that might make her tense or sad. This wasn't supposed to be a counseling session, and Christina had far too much sadness going on in her life as it was. Marilyn learned
that Christina had an older brother named Angelo that she seemed to think fondly of. He lived somewhere in southern California, but they didn't talk that often. She had lived in this area for over a year and had yet to visit a single theme park. “We'll just have to do something about that,” Marilyn had said.

Christina liked to garden, but since she'd always lived in apartments, her gardening was restricted to potted plants. Marilyn smiled when she heard this, knowing the wonderful gardening opportunities awaiting Christina on Elderberry Lane.

Christina was going to church every Sunday, but she didn't understand half of what the preacher said. So far, she hadn't made any close friends. Marilyn asked her if she'd like to visit their church this week and, without thinking, invited her over for dinner after. She hoped Jim wouldn't mind this little surprise, because Christina instantly said yes.

After they had finished eating—and Christina wasn't joking; her plate was wiped clean—Marilyn asked for the check. When the waitress walked away, she said, “Christina, do you have to get right back?”

“I'm off the rest of the afternoon. Why?”

“I'd like to invite you back to our house for a little while. It's just a few blocks from here. You could follow me. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

“I'd love to do that,” Christina said. “I've been dying to see what one of these River Oaks places looks like on the inside.”

“Wonderful. Let me take care of this check, and we'll be on our way.”

“Marilyn,” Christina said, “I just have to tell you . . . I can't remember when I've had this much fun. I don't know how
to thank you. For this, for fixing my car on Monday . . . for just making time in your life for me.” Tears began to form in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

“Christina, I've enjoyed this so much. Really, it's been my pleasure.”

Marilyn kept her eyes on the rearview mirror. Christina stayed right with her all the way down the service lane road and onto the garage driveway. “I'm going to pull my car into the garage,” Marilyn said through the window. “You can park yours right there.”

Christina's eyes were almost popping out of her head. “You live . . . here?”

“We do.” Marilyn was aware of a totally different sensation than what she used to feel at times like this. For years, bringing people to the house for the first time was a matter of prestige and boasting, a chance to impress people with their wealth and her gift of decorating. She was so grateful to find how much her heart had changed. Right now, she felt concern for Christina. She wanted to do everything to make her feel accepted.

Marilyn walked toward the back of the garage. “Follow me.” For a moment, she thought about taking her upstairs to the garage apartment first, then changed her mind. “I'll show you the main house first.”

They walked across the manicured sidewalk and across the pool deck into the veranda. Christina walked slowly behind her, taking everything in, a look of utter amazement on her face. Marilyn unlocked the French doors that led into the great room and kitchen area and turned off the security alarm. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Sure. Do you have decaf?”

“I do. Tell you what, I'll get the coffee started and then take you on a tour through the rest of house.”

“You don't mind?”

“Not at all.”

A few minutes later, they were walking through the master bedroom suite. “Do you and Jim live here all alone?”

“Well, this is the house our kids were raised in. They're all grown up. My daughter Michele is married and moved out. Doug hasn't moved out completely. You met him on Monday. But he's away at college most of the time. My son Tom and his family are living upstairs, but they'll be getting their own place very soon. It's not far from here.”

“I guess this place will get pretty quiet then.”

They came out and headed upstairs. “I suppose it will.” They continued to walk through all the bedrooms, baths, and loft area, pausing briefly at a window that overlooked the backyard.

“What's that over there?” Christina asked.

“That's the apartment over the garage, where Doug's been living when he's in town.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to see it?”

“You think Doug would mind?”

“I don't think so.” They came downstairs again. “Why don't you go over there while I pour our coffee? Once inside, you'll see a stairway to the left. It's right up those stairs. Here's a key to the front door.”

Christina smiled and walked toward the garage apartment. Marilyn brought the coffee, creamer, sugar, and a little dessert to the dinette table, then sat and waited for Christina's return.

Ten minutes later, she did.

She had spent twice as much time walking through the garage apartment than the time they'd spent walking through the main house. Marilyn smiled. She had a feeling she knew why. When Christina joined her at the table, Marilyn said, “So, what do you think of the house?”

“Are you kidding? It's like a fairy-tale castle.”

“How about the garage apartment?”

“It was . . . perfect.”

“We thought you'd like it.”

“We?”

“Jim and I.”

“I don't understand.”

“Christina . . . Jim and I have been talking about how we can best help you at this time in your life. You've shown remarkable courage and faith for such a new Christian, despite facing some really tough times.”

“What are you saying?”

“Jim and I would love to have you live here, in the garage apartment, at least until your baby is born.”

“I don't know what to say . . . Are you serious?”

Marilyn smiled. “Yes. We'd like to rent it to you.”

Confusion instantly appeared on Christina's face. “But I can't pay even a fraction of what it's worth. A place like that's got to be out of my reach.”

“We don't want you to worry about that. Jim and I discussed it. He'll help you work out a budget, and we'll just charge you whatever you can afford.”

“It can't be true.”

“It is true,” Marilyn said. “We've already talked it over with Doug, and he's fine with it too.”

“He is?”

Marilyn nodded. “When he comes home on weekends,
he'll sleep on the pullout sofa in Jim's office, then upstairs after Tom's family moves out.”

“Does Doug come home often?” Christina asked.

“Not as often as I'd like. The place is yours if you want it.”

“I do. I definitely do!”

D
o you want a cup of coffee? It might help you wake up.” Michele stood in their bedroom doorway looking at Allan, who was now sitting up in bed. This was the second day he'd been home from his mission trip, and the second day spent recovering from a nine-hour jet lag. She hoped he pulled out of it soon; tomorrow he returned to work.

“You going to have one?” he asked.

“Sure, we can drink it out on the patio. We'd be in the shade, now that the sun's starting to set.”

“Sounds nice. I'll take a quick shower while you make it.” He got out of bed and stretched.

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm heading downstairs now. Don't get back in that bed.”

“I won't. I'll turn the shower on right now.”

After giving him another kiss, she headed for the stairs. It was so good having him home. In a few more days, he'd be back to his old self, and they'd be back to their old routines. She reached the kitchen and started the coffee. It was an odd time for coffee; dinner was already in the oven. But if it helped Allan stay awake until their normal bedtime tonight, it was a small price to pay.

They still hadn't had any in-depth conversations yet, the kind Jean had urged her to have about her pregnancy struggles. Partly because Allan had spent the morning and the better part of the day getting caught up on their bills. Before his trip, he had intended to set things up so she could take care of them all while he was gone. That hadn't happened. But Michele knew the real reason they hadn't talked yet.

It was her. She was a chicken.

The very thing she used to hammer her mom about when she'd lived at home, she was guilty of. Being too passive, not speaking up when something bothered her. Is that when this fault had started with her mom? Years ago, when she was first married? Allan was nothing like her dad, at least the way her dad was back then. He wasn't bossy or controlling. Allan was kind, a good listener. He seemed genuinely interested in her welfare and, for the most part, took the initiative to ask Michele questions when he noticed she wasn't doing well.

For the most part
. . .

That wasn't happening here, not in this situation. Allan hadn't asked her a single question about her infertility discouragement since that last conversation with her mom in the kitchen, over a month ago. Why? Was he changing too? Slowly becoming dull and self-absorbed like her father had? Did all couples drift into problems like this a few years after they got married? Michele was almost used to hearing women at church, particularly older women, ask “Is the honeymoon over yet?” She would always respond proudly, “Not even close.”

Would she say that the next time they asked?

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen. She carried the sugar and creamer out to the patio table, then went back to check on her dish in the oven.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting out on the patio together, enjoying the shade and slight breeze. “What's that good smell going on in the oven?” Allan asked.

“It's that sausage and spinach noodle casserole you love.” Michele had stumbled on this dish by accident a few months after their wedding.

“Mmm, can't wait.”

“It'll be ready in about twenty minutes. We can eat out here too, if you want.”

“Let's do that.” He sipped his coffee and looked around their courtyard. “So glad we decided on a town house instead of a house with a yard. I'd hate to have to come home from one of these trips and spend hours getting caught up on yard work.”

At the far end of the courtyard was a stand-alone garage, a smaller version than her parents'. But big enough to serve as the base for a cozy one-bedroom apartment just above it. They had discussed renting it out someday, but not until Michele had gotten pregnant and stopped teaching altogether. They might need the extra money then. Now they liked the privacy.

“Looking at this scene,” he said, “and being here with you . . . it's so dramatically different than what I was seeing and doing just two days ago. I still can't get the images out of my mind.”

“I'm having a hard time getting the smells out of your clothes.”

“I'm sorry. I wanted to do a load of laundry that last day before I packed, but it didn't work out.”

“That's okay. I'm just running everything through a second time with a little ammonia.”

He looked at her. “But you know, all those people in Korah, they can't ever escape the smell. It's a hundred times worse
being there than what you're smelling on my clothes. Can you imagine it? They're smelling that smell right now. Talking about it, I can almost smell it again.”

“This trip has gotten to you more than the others did.”

He thought a moment. “You're probably right. I wish you could've seen it, Michele, especially the kids. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. I think they're the reason I'm still kind of stuck emotionally.”

“Well, you better get unstuck pretty soon. You're heading back to work tomorrow.” Michele regretted the way that came out.

“I'll be okay,” he said. “I scheduled some light duty the first few days, since I've done this now a time or two. I know it takes a little while to get back up to full steam.” He took another sip of coffee. It didn't seem he'd noticed her slight frustration.

Turning in his seat toward her, he said, “So how about you? How have you been holding up since I've been gone?”

“I've been . . . okay. I hate how bad the communication is. You know that's the worst part of it for me. It's like the Stone Age. Do you realize we only talked five times the whole time you were away?”

“That's just Africa. They're still so far behind. But you know it's getting better, right? My first trip, when we were dating, you remember that? We couldn't find an internet connection anywhere, and the cell phone coverage was terrible.”

Saying that didn't help. “I know. But it's still crummy.”

“One of these times it'll be better,” he said.

That didn't help, either. Reminding her of his plans to go back again someday. Probably someday soon, if he got his way.

“Did anything big happen while I was gone? Anything you didn't get to tell me over the phone?”

“Nothing too big. Something's going on with Tom and Jean. I don't know what yet. It's supposed to be some kind of surprise.”

“A good thing, a bad thing?”

“I think a good thing. Mom and Dad were supposed to tell them last night over dinner. I thought somebody would call me today and let me know, but they didn't.”

“Well, why don't you call them, Jean or your mom?”

“I will, after dinner. But that's the only thing that went on out of the ordinary. Oh, Ray's wife wants to talk with me. She called while you were gone.”

“Julie? What about?”

“She wants me to help her evaluate a new children's ministry program and maybe train some of the workers if we wind up using it.”

“That's good, right? Weren't you wanting to get a little more involved?”

“I guess.” She really had said that. For some reason, though, she wasn't that excited about it now.

He leaned forward and reached for her hand. She gave it to him. He gave a little squeeze. She squeezed back. “Something else is bothering you,” he said. “What is it?”

Should she tell him? Was this a good time?

Her phone rang. “It's my mom.”

Saved by the bell.