But pray for what, I wondered. To win? To go to the next level on The Great Party Showdown? Or to lose and go back to life as usual—crazy as it had become—here in Summit View?
As I eased myself between the sheets of our bed, Vernon stirred and rolled over. In the moonlight sneaking between the blinds at the windows, I spied the brilliance of his eyes peering toward me. “Hi,” he said.
“Hello to you too.”
“Got it all done?”
I nodded, adjusting the covers as though to end the conversation. I needed to get some rest, I thought, as though all the sleep the night could afford would make up for how hard I’d worked—we’d worked—that day.
“You think you’ve done a good enough job to win?”
I sighed. “Oh, Vernon. I don’t know if I want to be made a fool in front of the whole world by losing or to win and have to continue the competition in New York. What in the world was that woman thinking?” I didn’t need to define who “that woman” was.
Vernon chuckled, and I turned on my side, exposing my back to him. He placed a hand on my hip and sighed deeply. “Get some sleep,” he said, patting me. “Tomorrow we’ll just have to wait and see what God allows now that you’ve done all you can do.”
From the back of my mind came the rush of an old saying, one taken from Ecclesiastes and Isaiah: eat, drink, and be merry …
And in the quiet I whispered its end: “For tomorrow we die.”
The smell of coffee traveling from our kitchen, tiptoeing up the middle-to-top staircase of our split-level home, and sneaking around our bedroom door finally made its way to our bed and into my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, smiling. Then I frowned. What day was it?
Oh, Lord
, I prayed.
Not Thursday already
.
I peered at the clock on my bedside table. It glowed red at me, telling me it was but a few minutes after seven. A groan emitted from deep within. Why couldn’t I have slept later?
Typically I was up with Samuel, my husband, even before the sun rose. Together we would make coffee, then go to the patio, where we would sip from steaming mugs in silence until the sun rose and we were forced to get up and do our individual “thing.” During the summer months, my “thing” is to hang out at home, read, work in my garden, and—occasionally—go to work with the catering company. Samuel’s is to get ready, then head out to the Gold Rush Bank, where he is VP.
But today …
You know, Lord. You know I didn’t make it home until after midnight. And you know that—tired as I was—I found I couldn’t sleep. And you know, Lord … you know how long it took me to finally get to sleep.
Three and a half months ago, I’d have reached for a bottle in an effort to ease the tension from my aching muscles and to help my troubled mind release all rambling thoughts. Now I praise God daily for the night Donna Vesey pulled over my speeding car and realized I was driving intoxicated. It was what I needed to stop depending on alcohol and start depending on God’s holy and supportive Spirit.
I stretched as I continued my inner prayer. Thank you, Lord.
Thank you for this day. Thank you for the tiny little bit of sleep I was able to get last night. And thank you for a husband who quietly prepared coffee this morning and who miraculously didn’t wake me when he got up.
I sat up, slid my feet into well-worn bedroom slippers, and then padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Samuel stood before the coffeepot, pouring himself what I was sure to be a second cup. He looked over his shoulder, and his lips parted in a smile, gorgeous slicing into handsome.
“Well, good morning, Mary Sunshine,” he said. “I tried not to wake you.”
I sidled up to him for a kiss, then reached into an overhead cabinet for a mug. “You didn’t,” I confessed. “But the smell of this coffee did.”
Samuel chuckled deep within his throat. “What time’d you get home last night?”
“After midnight.” I poured coffee into my mug and inhaled deeply.
“You girls ready?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” I began preparing my coffee as I like it. “To be honest with you, Lisa Leann’s idea of using the Hollywood 1930s theme of Animal Crackers has me a bit worried.”
“How so?”
I shot him a quick look, then took a sip of coffee. “I’ve heard of
Animal Crackers
, of course. You can’t work in the media center and have a decent background in Hollywood cinema if you haven’t heard of it.”
“You do love those old classics.”
I grinned at him. “That’s why I love you, Samuel Prattle.”
“Touché.”
I sighed. “It’s just, I thought the theme of … I don’t know …
Little House on the Prairie
might be a good idea. But Lisa Leann wouldn’t hear anything of it.” I turned and rested my hip against the counter, then took a sip of coffee.
Samuel, in like manner, rested his backside against the opposite counter. Crossing one arm against his middle, he brought his coffee mug up to his pursed lips, then blew. “Why not? Too backwoodsy?”
“Passé, I believe, was the word she used. ‘We don’t want people thinking we’re still living back in the days of cowboys and Indians, do we?’ ” I chuckled lightly. “No, Lisa Leann,” I said, as though she were present, “we want them to think we live in a time where fashionable women wore berets and chinchilla.”
Samuel chuckled at my terse humor. “This isn’t like you, Liz.”
I shook my head. “I know. And maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t. Let Lisa Leann have her fun. No one is going to get the connection between
Animal Crackers
and Vonnie’s mother’s date of birth, we’ll lose the round, and life in Summit View will return to normal.”
Samuel discreetly cleared his throat. “Allow me to play the devil’s advocate for a minute; what do you think will happen if you win?”
“I’ll eat crow.”
“I bet I know what will happen,” he said, then took a sip. He swallowed hard, commented, “That’s still hot.” Then added, “You’ll go to New York.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve been to New York?”
“Quite a few.” His eyes twinkled.
“More than a few. I believe we called it our honeymoon.”
Samuel chuckled again. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
I reached across our narrow kitchen and playfully slapped his arm. “Samuel Prattle.”
He rubbed the spot where I’d slapped him as though I’d severely wounded him. “Ow. Well, it was fun. The theater … the sightseeing … the dining …”
“The shopping …” I countered.
“Ah, yes. I bought you a beautiful little trinket at Tiffany’s, if I remember.”
I touched the hollow of my throat with my fingertips and said, “I’ll have to remember to wear that if we go to New York. Maybe it’ll bring us good luck if I wear it.” My special wedding gift from Samuel had been an Elsa Peretti necklace. “Like you,” Samuel had said as he presented it to me in Tiffany’s classic blue box tied off with white ribbon. “Dainty and beautiful.”
I shook my head. “Not that I believe in luck, mind you. You know that.”
“I know that.”
“I’m praying that God’s will be done. However his will lands, I’ll accept it.”
Samuel took a step toward the kitchen door leading to the upstairs staircase. “I’ve got to get moving here,” he said. “God’s will for me is to get to work on time, I’m afraid.”
“I love you,” I called after his retreating form.
“And I love you.”
An hour later I was sitting on a family room sofa in an empty house that was beginning to feel too large. With last month’s wedding of our youngest daughter, our children—all four of them—were now grown and gone. We were officially empty-nesters, and I was working hard to stay out of my children’s business. Especially that of Michelle, our youngest. Not only has she been deaf since birth— tying us to each other with tighter apron strings than normal—but she was the baby and she’d lived with us the longest. I felt, often, she depended on me more than the others.
But she was proving me wrong.
I let out a sigh. I missed her. Not that she wasn’t just a phone call or a short drive away. But, I missed having her here in our house, running in and out, signing excitedly about this and that. Her quirky mannerisms. Her little girl giggle.
I was about to pick up the phone to give her a call when it rang. I jumped, startled, then smiled, thinking it was Michelle being telepathic (not that I believe in that). Calling me because I’d been thinking of her.
“Hello?” I said, ready to hear the TDD operator announce that Michelle was on the line. Instead, I got Evangeline Vesey’s voice.
“Lizzie? Good morning. I didn’t call too early, did I?”
“No …”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course. I thought you were going to be Michelle.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not.”
“I know.”
“The reason I’m calling is that I think we should meet earlier than originally planned. I think our Potluck Club should gather for its original intent. To pray together. The good Lord knows we need it now more than ever.”
I nodded once for good measure. “Indeed we do, Evangeline. I can’t help but say I’ve been thinking the same thing. Good for you for taking the initiative. What time did you have in mind?”
“Lisa Leann wanted us to meet at the boutique at 3:00 because of that interview we’re supposed to give to some Colorado-based women’s magazine—”
“
Women of Colorado
,” I informed her, as though she needed reminding. Evangeline knew exactly who we were being interviewed by; she just didn’t want to admit Lisa Leann had bought us some exposure with her tactics. “I’m not sure if they’re an online publication or print.”
“Whatever. So, I say a good half hour before that. Thirty minutes should give us plenty of time to stand before the Almighty and make our petitions known.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from bursting into laughter. Evangeline has such a way of expressing her spirituality and understanding of theological issues. “I think you’re right,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
I left my house with enough time to swing by the full-care facility now housing my mom, who suffers from Alzheimer’s. Though she recognizes me as her mother rather than her daughter and is getting the best of care without me, I still feel it is my duty to check in on her as often as possible. Sometimes I help give her a bath, sometimes I help feed her, and sometimes I just sit and stare at the television with her. There have been days when we’ve talked a while, but in the end I am left feeling drained and depressed. These are the times I wish we’d said nothing at all.
I arrived at the facility to find the nursing and other medical staff gathered around the front station, gabbing like teenagers on the Monday after prom weekend. Seeing me enter, they all turned and headed toward me like a tsunami approaching a sleeping harbor town. I held up my hands in defense, worried that my mom had done something awful like running naked through the hallways.
They spoke at once:
“Mrs. Prattle, tell us everything!”
There’s really nothing to tell at this point.
“Is Gianne as eccentric in real life as she appears on television?”
I wouldn’t know. I haven’t met her. Yet
.
“Do you think you’ll make it all the way to the finals?”
Only the good Lord knows.
“Donna Vesey told me there’s going to be all kinds of security tonight at the church. How will Mrs. Westbrook ever get her mother to the party?” This from the charge nurse, Janie Pearson, who was on our exclusive invitation list.
Indeed. How will she?
“I’m just here to check on Mom,” I said. My hands were still raised as though I were a bank clerk being held at gunpoint.
Janie stepped up then and raised her voice an octave. “Okay, boys and girls! That’s enough! Back to work now.”
Janie looked at me, large brown eyes batting long dark lashes. Janie was young—probably in her early thirties—and a little thing, but she was like a small keg of dynamite when it came to running her shift and its staff. “Sorry, Mrs. Prattle. Even I got caught up in the mayhem.”
I nodded. “That’s okay. How is Mom today?” We began walking toward my mother’s room.
“She’s doing just fine. Of course, in her condition, she could be in dire circumstances and not know it. She just seems happy to be here and happy to be alive.”
“That’s good,” I said. “So, you’ll be coming tonight?”
“Oh yes. Luckily for me I have a dress for the occasion. Last year we had a 1920s swing dance for our seniors. and I dressed the part of a perfect hostess.”
I smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be adorable. Fortunately the caterers wear the pink tux suits and our pink aprons Lisa Leann designed.” I winced at the thought just as we stopped in front of Mom’s room door, which was closed.
“Well, I think it’s all going to be fun.”
“I’m just not sure anyone is really going to get the theme. How many people have ever heard of
Animal Crackers?
”
“I have. My roommate in college was a film major.”
Ah, my point exactly. “But if she weren’t?”
Janie shrugged. “I can’t really say, now can I? Anyway, who cares? It’s a party, it’ll get Marty and me out of the house for an evening, and you’ll have lots of good food. Like I said, it’ll be fun.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I turned toward the door, then back to Janie. “Oh, and speaking of food, be sure to sample the honeyand soy-glazed salmon.” I winked at her. “I remember how much you love seafood, and this is especially delicious.”
“I’ll do that,” Janie said, beaming. “I’ll leave you to your mom, now. Stay as long as you’d like.”
I glanced down at my watch. “I have to be at the church in a half hour, so I won’t stay long.”
“This early?” Janie asked, cocking one hip and crossing her arms.
“Yes. We have an interview with Women of Colorado at 3:30, and then the film crew arrives at 4:00. But the six of us are going to gather at 3:00 for prayer time.”
Janie patted me on the shoulder. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Don’t forget to pray before this madness begins.”
Madness was right. When I arrived at the church there was already a team of county and local law enforcement ready to direct traffic and keep the uninvited away. I frowned at the thought. I hated that Lisa Leann had given me a list of “only socially acceptable” people to invite. At the same time, I understood that some people would see this as their chance at stardom and hurt our chances of winning or simply disrupt the show entirely. I spied the cars of my fellow potluckers—including Lisa Leann’s Lincoln that I assumed hadn’t been parked long, seeing as she’d made a quick trip to the airport to get Nelson, and no doubt his camera, earlier in the day.