Authors: Sally John
“And now you can receive from Him.” Her eyes softened and she tilted her head. “So simple.”
“Faith 101. We both learned it at our mothers’ knees.”
“Calissa says I haven’t forgiven you yet.”
“You don’t need to for my sake.”
“No. It’s for my sake. Strange how it was easier to forgive my dad.”
“Well, you don’t have to live with him or wonder if you can ever trust him again.”
She nodded. “I do forgive you, Eliot.”
“Faith 102. Forgiveness is a choice, and love is a verb. No feelings involved.”
“Eliot the erudite.”
“But it takes time to work out such choices. I mean, the words are easy to say, but they come with emotional tails. My pressing question is, will you . . . ?” A shadow shifted inside of him, quick as a flash. It was the curtain. It floated downward. He lost the thread of his thoughts.
“Will I what?”
Eliot clawed his mental way to the front side of the curtain. He had to hear. No, he had to ask her. Ask her what?
God, help me.
What was it?
Sheridan held his hand on his lap. He must have lowered his arm from around her. She had felt so good against him.
“Eliot, you’re wondering if I’ll stay. You’re thinking that if I’ve forgiven you, then why wouldn’t I stay?”
That was an easy one. “Because you have better things to do than tend to an invalid. And you do, Sher. I understand.”
“You’ve always understood. It’s one of the things I most appreciate about you.” Her smile faltered. “Thank you. I . . . I do love you.”
She wasn’t answering the question.
He moved his lips. The smile to coax more from her twisted into a grimace. He dove under the curtain, swimming toward his shoulder blade where the bullet had entered. The area needed his entire attention.
“Eliot? Eliot!”
Mazatlán
Two weeks after the breakthrough with Eliot, Sheridan whined into a pay phone in a Mazatlán cafe. “Liss, everyone is looking at me as if I’m the ultimate ugly American.”
“You sound like one, Sher. Buck up, wouldja? Get a grip.”
She rubbed her forehead. Calissa and Bram had begun their honeymoon across the States and that week were visiting a Texas ranch. Her sister kept talking like a cowpoke.
Calissa said, “You were saying the deaf-mute has returned with a vengeance.”
“No. I said Eliot hasn’t been doing well at all.”
“Same thing. He hugged you two weeks ago. He was his old self for about twenty minutes. Then life went kaput again.”
“Yes.”
“James, chapter one, verses two, et cetera, et cetera. It says, ‘Yippee-ki-yay! More trials! Am I glad or what? Ain’t no way I’d ever learn to live by faith without them big challenges, so bring ’em on; I say, bring ’em on, Lord.’ Or something to that effect. It’s like our mantra here. It has to do with not giving up when a cow doesn’t do what I want it to do.”
“Huh?”
Calissa laughed. “The ranch owners are Christians. Do you believe it? Bibles in the bunkhouse.”
“And you stayed.”
“Darn tootin’ I stayed. Bram’s here.” She giggled. “Oh, Sher, I feel like I did when we were in high school. He was a senior and I was a sophomore. Total infatuation.”
“That’s—that’s great, Liss. I’m happy for you.”
“And I’m happy for you and your challenges. You are so far ahead of me in the mature faith department; I am jealous.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to lighten the conversation. You have to apply the James verse for yourself.”
She had been telling her sister about life in Topala. Eliot’s efforts to reconnect with her were evident. They had even begun to work together again on his memoirs, jumping ahead on the timeline like he wanted, zeroing in on his career as ambassador’s assistant and ambassador. Reminiscing on their nine years together in the foreign service was a good exercise.
He tired so easily, though. When the pain was tolerable, he only checked out emotionally while still engaged mentally. Sometimes, though, the pain took over and he had unbearable nights and fuzzy, medicated days.
Sheridan said, “It’s just the way life is. I suppose the sooner I accept that fact, the sooner I’ll . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“You’ll what? Tell me, Sher.”
“The sooner I’ll stop greeting each sunrise with a hopeless sigh and my own mantra: ‘All right. I’ll stay for today.’”
“Do you say that out loud?”
“Yes, but I’m the only one on the balcony. I get through most evenings with a silent ‘All right. I’ll stay until I can’t stay any longer.’”
Silence filled the air between them.
“Liss, I do have some great news. Mercedes and—”
“Sher, he can sense it.” Calissa’s voice was low. “He can sense the
if
inside of you. Does he know you’re in Mazatlán?”
“He knows I was going to Mesa Aguamiel. I decided on the highway to keep on going. I needed the ocean. I needed distance just for a few hours.”
“You should call Mercedes’s aunt. Maybe somebody can get a message to him.”
“Liss, it doesn’t make a difference. I’m only sixty minutes farther away.”
“Are you leaving him today?”
“What? No! I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t just take off.”
“Okay. He probably needs to hear that.”
“Next time he checks in, I’ll tell him.”
Calissa waited a beat. “So what’s Mercedes’s good news?”
Sheridan noted a customer’s glare. She returned it with one of her own. The woman huffed and swiveled to face the wall.
“It’s great news, Liss, and it’s all your influence. Javier asked her to marry him.”
“Really?”
“Mercedes said you told her how you regretted not saying yes to Bram when you were eighteen and he ended up marrying his parents’ choice.”
“Yikes. Does this mean if it doesn’t work out, I’ll be blamed?”
“Yes. But it will work out, so you’ll get all the good credit. They’re perfect together.”
“They’re a sweet couple. How they put each other’s interests ahead of their own is amazingly mature and poignant. Is that true love or what?”
“I think the cattle are calling you.”
Calissa laughed. “Yep. Time to go knot up my lariat.”
They said their good-byes and Sheridan hung up. A moment later she realized she was frowning. She massaged the crease from between her eyes and counted her blessings.
First off, she was able to drive to the ocean. Second, she could call her sister’s cell phone, not from home but less than two hours from home. What else? Today was open for her to spend it however she chose. Alone, yes, but free from schedule restrictions. She could find some way to reenergize herself, like walk the beach, shop for an engagement gift for Mercedes, browse bookstores. She had money to buy as many books as she wanted.
She had money to buy a one-way airline ticket.
Sighing, she gathered her things. On the way out, she apologized to the woman for being rude.
It wasn’t her fault that Sheridan lived in Topala and spent every other day struggling to put her husband’s interests ahead of her own sanity.
* * *
Topala
Traffic had delayed Sheridan’s exit from the city longer than she anticipated. She arrived home after dark.
Eliot was a mess.
Padre Miguel sat with him in the study, on the ottoman next to him in the recliner. “Señora!” He flew to his feet. “Señor, she’s here; she’s here. See? Just as I said she would be. Women take longer than I do with their business in town. Sit, señora; sit, please.”
“Eliot.” She slid onto the ottoman and placed a hand on his forehead. He felt as he appeared—feverish. His eyes were unfocused and he was restless.
“You came back.” His voice rasped.
“With books!” She reached into the bag still in her hand and pulled out book after book. “I spent hours in bookstores. Here, Padre Miguel. This one is for you.”
His eyes lit up as he took it from her. “Deep-sea fishing!”
She smiled. The man had lived his entire life in the mountains. “And, Eliot, look at this. Honduras. I figured the photos will help jog our memories. I have one about Chile because we’ve never been there. We can all travel by books. I got cookbooks for Mercedes. One is Italian dishes. I even bought her a pasta maker. It’ll be fun. I think I’ll ask her for cooking lessons. Look at this—”
“Sheridan.” He still fidgeted, his face contorted in pain.
She bit her lip, holding in her sister’s phrase—buck up. “Let’s get a cool washcloth for your head. Did you eat anything?”
Padre moved toward the doorway. “I’ll go get Mercedes.”
“Thank you. Eliot, you’ll be fine. Here, have some water.” She picked up his glass from the end table next to her.
He gestured, bumping it from her hand. Water splattered everywhere. “I’m sorry.”
Sheridan watched the glass roll away while anger built up inside of her. “Eliot.” She grasped his hands and gazed into his eyes. “Look at me. Look at me!”
He responded as if slapped. His eyes found hers. “I’m sorry, Sher. I panicked. I thought you were gone.”
“I’m going to say this just once. I am not Noelle. Okay? I am not Noelle. I will not go out and find a boyfriend. I will not drive like a crazy woman and spin out of control on a rain-slick highway and over a cliff.” Her throat constricted, choking off the words, those words she had spoken to herself last night. They echoed through her head.
I’ll stay until I can’t stay any longer.
Until she couldn’t stay any longer. What did that mean exactly? Until things got—until they got what? Unbearable? How did one measure unbearable?
Was she keeping score? Did this situation in front of her right now deserve extra points because it was out of the ordinary? because he had given in to a fear that shouldn’t be there? because it was more irrational than a simple physical response to his condition? because it upset her more?
“Sher.” Eliot reached over and clumsily brushed his fingers over her damp cheek.
They came now, the words. “I am staying, Eliot. I will stay.” She couldn’t add the postscript. She couldn’t say
“until I can’t stay any longer.”
Because it wasn’t true.
He cupped the side of her face in his large hand.
She leaned toward him. “Do you hear me? I am staying.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly.
Her anger at him and life and the world in general fizzled out. “And another thing. I’m tired of not kissing you right here.” She lowered her head and gently kissed his lips.
He didn’t flinch.
She did it again.
“Does this mean you’re staying?”
She frowned at him and then saw the laughter in his eyes. “Eliot Montgomery, you are teasing.”
“Maybe full-blown anxiety attacks are good for me.”
They chuckled softly.
It was a new sound in their house in Topala.
One proper hug. One heartfelt kiss. One visit to church for Sunday Mass. Three trips together to Mesa Aguamiel. Four shared moments of near hilarity. Semiregular dinner guests in the form of Padre Miguel and Javier. A daily touch, the brushing of fingertips or a cheek caressed. A nightly kiss between best friends.
All that within four weeks.
“But who’s counting?” She scrunched her nose. “Way to be chipper, Sher. You can do it.”
Actually she
was
feeling chipper. She and Eliot planned to spend the day in Mesa Aguamiel. Besides their usual errands, they hoped to call Calissa and, if Eliot was up for it, visit Mercedes’s aunt. They owed that woman a thank-you gift for the use of her telephone during Sheridan’s trip.
She sipped her tea on the wet balcony and waited for a sunrise that would be another no-show. The summer rains had started a little early, the end of June instead of the first of July. Low, thick clouds hid the mountaintops, but for now the torrential downpours were halted.
She had kept up her daily routine of rising early, but new things permeated the alone time.
For one, she refused to linger in past memories. It did no good to recount life with Eliot B.C.E.
Her prayers had changed too. She focused more and more on thanking God for His beauty revealed in nature and for Eliot’s life rather than her old demands that God change their situation. The pronouncement “I will stay today” became a prayer: “Lord, give me the strength to stay in this marriage today, physically and emotionally. I choose to forgive him.” The stabs of loneliness were turned to a whimpered “Let me love him like You do.”
Daily, though, she fought the battles. She still wanted to leave, still wanted a different life. On particularly bad days she still cried and mourned the death of her life’s work.
There was progress, the kind that came with three steps forward and two steps back.
“Chipper, chipper!” Grinning, she turned to go inside, but the sound of footfalls against the cobblestones pulled her back to the railing. She saw shadowy movement, and then a figure appeared in the mist.
Luke Traynor.
She laughed and hurried indoors and through the house. Flipping off her shawl, not slowing for shoes, she flung open the front door and rushed down the walkway. She went through the gate and nearly fell as her feet hit the wet stones at a fast clip.
“Luke!” she cried out, almost upon him, and laughed again. “Am I desperate for company or what?”
Smiling, he caught her in his arms, lifted her off the ground, and hugged her tightly.
If Mercedes had seen them, the girl would have once more questioned their relationship. Sheridan knew because at the moment she wondered the same thing herself. Most days she wondered it. On particularly bad days, she longed for his presence.
He lowered her to the street and held her at arm’s length. “Yeah, I’d say you were desperate for company to welcome me like that, but I’ll accept the greeting anyway.”
She smiled. “You’re not just passing through?”
He laughed. “No.”
“Coffee?”
“Mercedes’s?”
“Yes.”
“Love some.”
* * *
Mercedes made coffee and put together pastries for them. Despite the damp, Sheridan preferred the outdoors. They wiped down the back patio table and brought out chair cushions from the house to sit on.