A Promise to Remember (14 page)

Several years ago, when one of her neighbors started taking
Jeff and Sarah to church, it seemed like a good idea. She knew
the dangers of a missing father figure and a mother who worked
full-time and wanted them to learn good morals. But in the intervening years she'd met enough people who called themselves
"Christians" to know they weren't a lick better than she was. These
days, in fact, she was probably a morally better person than most
everyone going inside. What did she need church for?

"Good morning. How are you today?" The woman who greeted
her had perfect hair, a perfect sweater, and perfect makeup.

Her last chance for escape had passed. "Fine. Thanks." She took
the offered paper and walked forward. Panic built with each
step. She followed the crowd through another set of doors that
led into a huge auditorium.

There were no somber pews, no stained-glass windows. The
chairs were individual and a muted shade of plum. The carpet
carried the same color, with contrasting circles of black and
tan. Interesting. Not quite like the vague memory she had of
churches from her past.

"Hi. I'm Trish." A woman with shoulder-length, frizzy blond
curls stood beside Melanie, offering an extended hand and a
bright smile.

"Melanie." Melanie shook her hand, annoyed at the woman's
cheeriness. She knew with one word she could wipe the smile
off the woman's face. Now would be just as good a time as any.
"Johnston."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"I said Johnston, my name is Melanie Johnston." She waited
for the smile to fade, the sparkle to dim from the eyes.

Trish's face did change. It took on a quiet consideration, but
Melanie did not sense the outright hostility she had braced for.
"Melanie Johnston." Trish nodded her head thoughtfully. "I'm
so glad you've come."

"Yeah. Well, thanks."

"You know, I have my things in a seat up toward the front.
Will you join me?"

Something about the woman seemed real, not at all like the
phoniness Melanie had expected. She considered the offer
for a split second, but remembered her vow to get out of here
quickly. "Thanks, but I was planning on sitting toward the back.
I need to leave as soon as the service is over, and don't want to
get caught in the crowd."

Trish nodded her head. "I know what you mean. Tell you
what, I'll get my things and join you-how about that? I'll just
be a minute." Before Melanie had a chance to respond, Trish
rushed up the aisle toward the front.

Melanie found a seat on the outside aisle of a row near the
back. Seconds later, Trish slipped in beside her. "I've always
meant to try a new spot. You get in a rut of sitting in the same
place week after week, and you never see any new faces. Know
what I mean?" She adjusted her purse and looked toward the
front. "Oh good, we're getting started."

Melanie watched a group of people, most dressed in baggy
jeans and casual shirts, walk to the front. Some pulled guitars
from stands, while others perched behind drums, keyboards, and
microphones. Two large screens at the front of the auditorium
displayed projected words, and the music began.

The musicians were as talented as they were young. Melanie
decided they looked more like a rock band than a choir. They
should call themselves the Dirty Dozen.

Somewhere during the course of the singing, Melanie began
to relax a bit. She looked around the room. The mix of people surprised her. Some were fashionable, while others wore jeans.
There were young children and elderly couples, and near the
front she saw a row of teen boys. Melanie's son had come here.
Week after week. Maybe even sat with that gang of guys. And
yet she'd never been part of this. She couldn't even imagine him
here listening to the music. Why had he come?

After a handful more songs, the man who had to be the pastor
came forward. He looked to be in his fifties, with balding hair
and a trim physique. He wore khakis and a dress shirt but no
jacket, no tie. A microphone-the kind pop stars use in their
televised concerts-looped across his ear and extended forward
toward his mouth.

He smiled at the crowd and gestured with both hands opened
toward the audience. "Forgiveness." He walked back and took
a seat on a chair previously occupied by the guitar player. After
several uneasy seconds, the crowd began to shift in their seats.
He finally stood, walked forward, and put his hands on the
wooden lectern at the front of the pulpit. "Forgiveness."

Part of Melanie just wanted the guy to get on with it, but
somehow, during the silence, another part of her began to feel
a growing uneasiness.

The pastor began to pace. "If you don't leave here with
any other thought today, I want the word forgiveness to ring
through you like a bell in a tower for the rest of the day. Maybe
even the rest of your life. That's what we're all about, people.
Forgiveness.

"Sure, you're thinking, 'Yeah, Pastor, Jesus told us to forgive
seventy times seven-we know all that.' But what you're not
remembering is that God watched His Son die a terrible death,
able to stop it, but unwilling. Why did He do that? So that He
could offer forgiveness-to you."

Melanie heard little else of what was said. She'd gone to
church intermittently as a child, depending on the inclination of her current foster family She knew a passing amount about
the Bible and the major stories from it. But this seemed different from the fire-and-brimstone stuff she remembered hearing
as a kid.

This preacher, in this warehouse called a church, had put
something in a completely new light to her. God allowed His
son to suffer and die. For her. It was almost too awful to bear.
She would've gladly taken Jeff's place in that car, anything to
keep him safe, and yet God allowed it....

There had to be more to it. Jeff and Sarah were too kindhearted to believe in a God that cruel. There had to be more...
but Melanie couldn't come back. Things were never as they
appeared at first glance. As soon as these people figured out
who she was, they wouldn't want to see her again, that much
was certain.

The preacher finished, and the Dirty Dozen returned to the
podium. As the music cranked, Melanie knew now was the
perfect time to make her escape. She'd made her appearance.
She wanted to get out before the service ended and she had to
swim through the sea of krill again and out of the whale's mouth.
Jonah. The name came back to her. She didn't move.

Somehow she knew there was more to it than making an
appearance. The pastor's puzzling words. Trish's unexpected
kindness.

Of course, Trish most likely had no idea who she was. This
was a large church. She probably hadn't known Jeff, and didn't
recognize Melanie from the paper. Maybe Trish didn't even read
the paper. She would be the exception to the rule.

The service ended with a final prayer. People began to file
down the aisle and out the back. Melanie pretended to fumble
with her things to give people a chance to see her there. Word
would get around. Maybe they would scowl at her and leave Sarah in peace. Maybe they would at least send the youth group
to build a house for Juanita.

A woman from the aisle grabbed Trish. "There you are."
They started chatting and Melanie walked through the lobby,
alone.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Sarah pushed through the
crowd at the door, her mouth hanging open.

"Mrs. Johnston, how are you?" Beth followed close behind
and threw her arms around Melanie. Several other girls gathered
round. "Mrs. Johnston, so good to see you."

A flood of something warm seeped through Melanie's cold
and weary heart. The genuine welcome of these girls made her
wish for something she couldn't quite understand, something
just out of reach.

"Mom, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Melanie shrugged. "I wanted to surprise you." Truth was,
she hadn't been certain she'd have the nerve to go through
with it.

They moved toward the parking lot, the girls chattering full
speed.

"Melanie. Hang on a sec." Trish's voice came from the doorway.
Melanie turned and saw her frantically trying to catch up.

While Melanie stopped and waited, Sarah and her friends
rambled on through the parking lot, all gangly limbs electric
with teenage energy.

Melanie glanced at her car, parked at the ready for a quick
exit. It would be a relief to escape. "Thanks for the warm welcome, Trish."

"I hope you come again. It was nice sitting somewhere new and
with someone different. You're just the spark I've needed."

Melanie doubted Trish would say that if she knew who she
was. She managed to mumble thanks, and something about
maybe coming back next week if she didn't have to work.

Trish practically bounced up and down. "Oh, I do hope so."

What was it that drove this woman, anyway? Melanie mumbled a last good-bye and walked to the car. She opened the door
and sat in the driver's seat.

"'Bout time you stopped gabbing."

Melanie jumped. Her knee banged against the steering wheel,
a shot of pain shooting up her leg. She reached down to rub it.
"Sarah! You scared me halfway to the moon."

"More like three-quarters of the way with how high you
jumped."

Melanie looked at her daughter, and something seemed to
lodge in her throat. "You're... riding with me?"

Sarah reached across the console and hugged her. "Thanks for
coming today, Mom."Another surge of warmth seeped in through
the barrier. Sarah had avoided her almost completely for the last
month. When Melanie turned the key, she began to think maybe
coming here hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

The other managers were already seated when Melanie walked
into the conference room. The Monday meeting wasn't due to
start for another five minutes, and she was usually the only one
on time. Something was wrong.

She slid into one of the blue upholstered chairs and placed
her notepad on the table. She made a conspicuous point of
looking at her watch. "Am I late? My watch must have stopped."
She shook her wrist and stuck the timepiece to her ear. "No.
Still ticking."

The others shifted in their seats. Still, no one looked at her.
This was starting to feel strangely familiar.

Mr. Mortensen rose from his seat at the end of the table.
"No, Melanie, you're not late. I asked everyone else to come a
few minutes early. To talk about some ongoing problems."

"Problems?" She glanced toward Joe. He stared at the table
and didn't move.

Mr. Mortensen said, "Melanie, I'm going to lay it on the
table. Our business has dropped more than fifty percent in
the last three weeks. The boycott is hurting us more than we
initially realized it would. If things don't pickup, we'll have to
start layoffs soon."

"You can't do that! Several of our people are still struggling to
make up for the financial ground they lost during the lockout
two years ago."

Mr. Mortensen leaned across the table, his blue tie swinging
over the stack of papers before him. "Well, that's not my fault,
is it? I never told the union to strike."

Melanie wanted to argue the point but restrained herself.
Two years ago, when the grocery workers' union decided to
strike one major chain, the other chains banded together and
locked out their union employees. It had been financially devastating for everyone involved. Melanie knew that arguing the
fine points of that event would not help her now. She needed
to take another approach.

As if sensing her hesitation, Mr. Mortensen continued. "We
simply can't afford to pay employees to service customers who
are not here." He ran his hand down the length of his tie and
sank into his chair. "We're starting to get pressure from the
home office. I don't like it any more than you do, but those are
the facts."

Melanie shook her head and looked around the room. "Those
may be the facts, but this is not right."

He sighed. "A lot of things in this situation are not right.
Unfortunately, we can't change that." He looked down at his
papers. "Now, let's get on with our other business."

The meeting continued for the next thirty minutes, but Melanie heard none of it. She sat in stunned silence, wondering how
much worse things could get.

She thought of Tina. A struggling single mom at the bottom
of the seniority totem pole. She would most likely be one of the
first to go in a layoff. Next up the list was Jackie. Her husband
died of cancer last year and she was still paying the bills. What
would become of people like them? Although they could most
likely find other jobs, once again they would be starting over in seniority and benefits. Something needed to be done about all
this. She just wished she knew what.

Andie added a touch of shadow to the Ferris wheel. She leaned
back, squinted, then touched up the right side a bit. There.
Better.