Words Unspoken (11 page)

That and a visit to see Miss S. A. Green.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26

Janelle pulled herself out of bed with the alarm, feeling the weight of a new day descend upon her, heavier than the stuffed backpack that Luke hefted onto his back when he left each morning for fourth grade. Brian had risen early, very early, as was his custom, even on Saturdays. Janelle could barely stumble downstairs in time to get the box of cereal out for the children.

Go home!

She ignored the voice and yanked the covers up on the bed.

Go home,
she heard later, as Sandy fretted over her spelling words in between bites of soggy cornflakes.

“Sandy, you know how to spell
être
and
avoir.
This is just a review. We went over that last week.” Janelle tried not to sound exasperated. Not this early in the day. “Hurry up, or we’ll get there after the gate is closed.”

Sandy frowned and grumbled something and then trudged back upstairs to get her pink
cartable.

Luke called up to her, “Would you pick up a little speed, sis?” and slung his backpack over his skinny shoulders.

A nine-year-old should not have to carry a backpack that weighs fifteen pounds
, Janelle thought.
And children shouldn’t have to go to school on Saturday morning!
She hurried out the door with the kids.

“Bye, Mom,” Luke said, taking off at a trot to meet up with his friends. Having his mother drop him off was no longer acceptable.

“Bye, Mommy,” Sandy said, hugging Janelle’s neck and kissing her cheek as the car stopped in front of the elementary school. “Have a good day. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie,” Janelle whispered through the catch in her throat. Sandy scurried through the gate and ran to catch up with her classmates.

Go home,
Janelle heard again as she left the school. Her stomach got that awful lurching, and she wished that Brian had not rushed off so early for his meeting. Back at the house, she read his hastily scribbled note:
See you around five. Great to be home!

Yes, she felt thankful too. Glad the family was complete.

Go home.

She sifted through yesterday’s still-unopened mail—a bank statement, a form letter from missionaries in the Philippines, and a notice from their mission, informing them that they were behind on their monthly support. Yes, she was aware of this.

Sitting at the little wooden breakfast table, sipping a second cup of coffee, Janelle skimmed through the missionary letter, filled with reports of what God was doing in another corner of the world. Children being fed, families learning a skill so they could provide for their own, several hundred people converting to Christianity from another religion. Statistics and information, glorious information of lives transformed and dear people serving God in hard places.

She set it down. She had not written a prayer report for six months. What did she have to say?
I struggle to get up in the morning, I hear accusing voices all day, and I ache for my dead child.

Josh! She closed her eyes and saw him there beside her, a beautiful, laughing toddler. Then the horrible image of his little body floating facedown in the pool flashed through her mind. She clutched her stomach, and the sobs escaped, rushed out, like the gushing waters of the Lez after last week’s sudden rains.

“Lord, it sneaks up on me and overpowers me—this grief.” She spoke out loud. Then, to herself, she admitted that way down in the depths of her soul lay the true culprit, a writhing, slithering reptile, ugly, hideous. Anger!

“I’m angry with you, Lord.” This came out, as always, in a whisper. “I love you, and I am so thankful for my family, and I know this is where we are supposed to be, but I’m having a hard time trusting you. And I hate the anger.”

Cradling the coffee mug in her hands, she climbed the stairs and walked down the narrow hall into the tiny room they had made into an office. She looked at the desk she and Brian shared, strewn with mail to answer, Bible studies to prepare, a half-written Christmas play. She left the office quickly and stood frozen in the hall, unable to decide. Correspondence? Impossible. She physically could not get herself to write a letter. The play? Not one creative thought in her head. She would surely write the saddest of tragedies today. The study? No.

She walked past Luke’s room, peeking in at the hastily made bed with the Star Wars comforter and the array of Legos lined up against one wall. She came to Sandy’s room, paused, went in and sat on the bed with its Barbie sheets and the horse statues with real horsehair manes and tails. She let another sob escape, looking across the narrow space to where
his
bed had been. Now a brightly painted armoire stood in its place, an armoire she had purchased at the used-furniture store and painstakingly painted in pinks and greens and blues. Sandy had helped her stencil on the little white flowers.

Janelle knew the signs of depression, knew that the circle of grief could not be hurried. She even knew what she needed to do—what she must do—right now. She stood up from the bed, walked back down the stairs, left the empty coffee mug on the kitchen counter, grabbed her keys, and walked to the front door. She went outside, shutting and locking the door behind her.

She walked quickly, reciting Scripture, speaking out loud to the Lord. “Yes, I am hurting. Yes, I am angry. But, Lord, by your strength I am going to fight this. Just for this morning.”

She walked around the little subdivision, then out into the field across the street, veering away from the road that led to the cemetery. As she walked, she whispered, “When I am weak, you are strong.”

________

Katy Lynn observed herself in the mirror. The blue silk dress she’d chosen brought out the color of her eyes—“a cloudless sky in autumn” was how Hamilton had once described them. Why did he have to crowd into her thoughts now? She needed to concentrate on the fund-raiser for the symphony. But every time she tried to put on the mascara, her eyes welled with tears; she blinked, and then the mascara left little black exclamation points above her eyes.

Her life was ripping apart, and all she could think about was mascara!

Keep up appearances. Show the world you are strong. He will not get the best of you.

She sprayed a mist of perfume on her neck and wrists, then placed the strand of pearls around her neck and rummaged through her purse to find the right color of lipstick. These ludicrous, maddening details kept her sane, she thought, just as Dad used to say. “When your heart is heavy, engage in the mundane. Let the small details take your mind off the hollowness for a few moments.” Whatever else Dad was, he had a way with words, she thought bitterly.

Katy Lynn walked down the hall to Gina’s empty room, went inside, and stared at the bright blue- and white-striped walls, the perfectly coordinated bedspread and overstuffed pillows, the bathroom door, half opened, with the matching blue towels hanging on the towel racks. She winced a little. She certainly wasn’t going to leave Gina alone tonight, not after she’d carved her feelings into her flesh. Her daughter’s skin-deep cry for help definitely made it hard to keep up appearances. Everyone could read their family’s story on her daughter’s arms. So be it.

At least tonight Gina was safe at Caroline’s house. Bill and Ellen had assured Katy Lynn that they would be there. Not that the parents’ presence downstairs could stop Gina from trying to harm herself again.

Katy Lynn planned to call the shrink, whatever his name was, the next day. And the lawyer. And the private investigator. Hamilton thought he’d get away with this. Well, he was about to find out how wrong he was!

She picked up her purse and headed downstairs, inspecting herself in the mirror by the front door. She licked her finger and wiped it across her left eyebrow to remove a tiny smudge.
You are a mess,
she admitted.
But no one else has to know it. Not yet at least. Not yet.

“Good evening, Miz Pendleton. You look mighty nice tonight.”

Katy Lynn handed Tom the keys to the Cadillac at the valet parking lot of the country club.

“Thanks, Tom. You doing okay? How’s Charlean?”

“She’s getting better after the hip surgery. Shuffling around, pleased as punch to have her man giving her some attention.” He chuckled.

“You tell her I asked about her.”

“Sho nuf, Miz Pendleton, I will. Thank ya. And you?”

“Making do, Tom.” A car drove up behind her. “I’ll see you later.”

She walked into the carpeted hallway of the club, greeted by the faint sound of music. The party had already started in the downstairs lounge. She hurried across the foyer and down the winding staircase.

“Katy Lynn! You look smashing! That blue is so you!” Lanie rushed up to her.

Katy Lynn managed a smile. “Thanks, Lanie. You’re the one who’s gorgeous. You look about twenty-two in that dress.”

Thank heavens for petite, brunette Lanie with the sweetest smile and kindest voice on planet earth. A true friend.

Lanie grabbed Katy Lynn’s arm and pulled her into the women’s restroom. “Is it true? Hamilton’s asking for a divorce?”

“How did you hear?”

“Chad told me last night. Hamilton called him at work. Wanted Chad to represent him, but Chad said no. What’s gotten into him? That’s insane!”

“I’m afraid some cute little thing at his office has gotten into him,” Katy Lynn replied bitterly.

“He’s seeing someone?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, after I get Gina to the shrink and pay the mortgage on the house and finish planning the Christmas gala, I’m gonna make his life, and
the other woman’s
, absolutely miserable. Just you watch.”

Arms looped together, Lanie and Katy Lynn walked back into the downstairs lounge, where men and women dressed in semiformal attire were sipping martinis and biting little pieces of bacon-wrapped shrimp off colorful toothpicks, laughing and talking about trips and cars and money and the Atlanta Symphony.

Katy Lynn joined a group of friends by the mahogany balustrade. She made polite conversation and ate her share of spiced meatballs and jumbo shrimp. But she longed to run up the steps and out into the parking lot where Tom stood sentinel in his blue jacket and cap and let him hug her tight as he’d done when she had come running to him thirty years ago, a lost little girl looking for her mother, who was happily lobbing tennis balls over the net on the court down the hill.

________

Lissa knew exactly why she’d accepted the dinner invitation that Sunday night—one less excruciatingly painful dinner with her father. She slipped on her black sandals and ran a brush through her hair, not bothering to fasten it into a ponytail.

“You look nice, Liss,” her father commented as she came down the carpeted stairs. “Where’d you say this couple lives?”

“Off Highway 2 in Fort Oglethorpe. Near the Military Park.”

“Seems a bit strange that your driving instructor would invite you to dinner.”

“He’s nice. He said that he and his wife like having young people around. I don’t think they get to see their kids and grandkids very often.”

“Yes, well … And you’re sure it’s not a problem for him to bring you home?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Maybe he’ll give you a little free lesson in night driving! Before you know it, Liss, you’ll be zipping up and down Lookout Mountain after dusk.”

Lissa stiffened and felt her jaw clench. She glanced at her father— dressed in the impeccable business suit. His six-foot-two frame fit into the suit without a wrinkle, just as ordered. Thick light brown hair, twinkling brown eyes, the round baby face that belied his fifty years. He looked in that moment like the father of yesteryear, jovial, optimistic.

She forced a thin smile and said quickly, “I gotta get my purse, Dad. I’ll be right down.”

She hurried back up the stairs, went into her bathroom, and splashed water on her face. Every word out of his mouth was an icy accusation. A slippery lane, a burst of hail from the sky. And he had no idea. Not the slightest idea!

Never good enough! All your fault!

________

The old house smelled of roasting chicken and corn casserole as Ev came in the back door, passing by the kitchen. The garden’s last ripe tomatoes sat on a plate, thick, pungent red slices covered with fresh ground pepper and oil and vinegar. Ev’s stomach protested loudly. It was time to eat.

“Ev, will you get the plates out?” Annie asked, her back to him, bent over a pot on the stove. The steam was wilting her gray hair.

He stood in the dining room and tried to think what Lissa would appreciate. “Which ones do you want to use?” he called back to Annie.

He could hear her humming “The Way You Look Tonight.” Annie never answered him when she was humming.

He started toward the china cabinet, then stopped beside the mantel above the fireplace and studied the clock, whose little twirling balls of gold seemed stuck. He lifted the glass orb and set them spinning again and checked the time by his watch. 6:54.

Annie rushed into the living room, an old apron wrapped around her waist. “For heaven’s sake, Ev! Are you dreaming? She’ll be here in five minutes!” Then, shaking her head exasperatedly, she added, “Men! Get the nice plates. Sounds like this girl would appreciate a well-set table.”

“Stubborn woman! What do I know about fancy tables?”

It was their game, bantering back and forth as they prepared for guests. Despite appearances, they both knew a lot about fancy tables.

Never mind that.

They made a good team, and enjoyed having youth seated at the table. It reminded them of the years when their kids were teens.

Happy years, delightful years. Well, mostly delightful.

He wiped away the angst as he put the blue and white china plates on the table.

No, not always delightful.

He opened a drawer and took out Annie’s sterling silverware, then carefully retrieved the crystal goblets she’d inherited from her grandmother. He set the table, remembering the times when their family dinner discussions included more than schoolwork and grades and books, times when the kids discussed ideas, and even spirituality. Ah, he almost chuckled, remembering the fierce way his younger daughter judged her friends at school, her determination to reform them, and her ensuing frustration. He and Annie had nodded to each other and whispered, “Give her time.”