Authors: Carolyn Astfalk
“To be honest, Chris, I never heard anything good
about Catholics. John, I mean Father John—I’m never going to get used to
that—he totally confounded me, I guess because he didn’t have seven heads and
horns or something. And I kind of had mixed feelings about going to Mass with
you. But what I’m reading in your books makes so much sense, and it’s really .
. . some of it’s beautiful about sex and the meaning of our bodies.”
Chris couldn’t get his mind and his mouth to work
in tandem to formulate words. He’d prayed for this, but he didn’t realize until
that moment its importance to him. He repositioned himself in the seat and
cleared his throat. He wanted her to come to her own conclusions, not scare her
off. “Well, when you’re done, there’s plenty more on my bookshelf if you’re
interested.”
“Thanks.” He heard a bag rustle on her end and then
the sound of running water before she spoke again.
The odor of cheap cigarettes drifted into the car
as a balding, middle-aged man made his way to his truck. Chris wrinkled his
nose. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
Without anything in particular they wanted to
discuss, they filled the better part of three hours talking about everything
and nothing before Rebecca yawned.
“I’m going to let you go. Thanks for keeping me
from getting bored out here.”
“How long are they going to be?”
Chris started to say he didn’t know when Scott
pushed open the door followed by Eric and then Tom. Tom immediately took off
for the side of the building where he vomited behind an outdoor ashtray.
Great.
Should be a fun ride
.
“They’re here now, and I’m the designated driver,
so I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Tom was standing upright now and caught up to
Eric and Scott where they waited for him at the corner of the building.
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you.” A pause followed, and he dared to
hope.
“Good night, Chris.” His name on her lips felt like
a tender caress. He tried not to let it bother him that she still hadn’t said
it. He slipped the phone back in its holster, got out of the car, and walked
around to the driver’s seat.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“You missed a good time,” Scott said, “Aside from
lightweight here tossing his cookies a couple times.”
A couple times? Yeesh. Why didn’t they bring some
kind of bucket for him or something? Oh well. Not his car.
“Yeah,” Eric said, slurring his words. “Savannah got her—”
“I don’t need a play-by-play. Let’s get Tom back
before he pukes again.”
No one could argue with that, and the ride back to
the hotel was quiet.
***
Chris wanted to bring a souvenir back for Rebecca, but
new clothes for a new job and coming up with a down payment for a car had left
him strapped for cash. He had his eye on one small thing at another vendor’s
booth, but it needed something else to go with it. Today would be his last
chance.
He had borrowed Eric’s car to go to church. Since
he had already been pegged as a square for not going along with the previous
night’s activity, why not go all the way and be tagged a holy roller as well?
As he walked through the hotel lobby, a noxious
floral scent assaulted him. The desk clerk smiled, and he silently commended
her bravery for opening her mouth to those fumes. He spotted the culprit: a jar
candle that burned on the desk. Thank God the wick burnt low, which gave him an
idea.
“Could I have that jar when the candle burns out?”
“Sure. In fact, you can take it now if you want.”
She blew out the flame and handed it to Chris. “Lid, too?”
“Yes, please.”
“Careful, it’s still hot.” She handed the empty jar
to him from across the desk.
“Thanks.” He took the candle back to the room,
wiped it out with some paper towels, and then used hot water to get out the
remaining wax. The clerk had kept the wick short, and few black marks lined the
rim.
Figuring Eric and the others were still sleeping
off last night, he hurried to the car for a quick trip to the beach and back
before breakfast.
***
Chris called about nine o’clock at night from
somewhere east of Lancaster and asked if he could stop by. He had to get his
motorcycle at work, and he’d be passing through Harrisburg on his way home. Did
he think she’d say no? She considered leaving her pajamas on, but then decided
she ought to get dressed. She wouldn’t bother with makeup though; he’d seen her
look worse when they were camping.
The mere knock on the door filled her heart near to
exploding. She opened it, and before she could even get out a “hello,” his
palms squeezed her cheeks and his mouth crushed hers.
“See how much I missed you?” he breathed against
her lips.
“Wow, that much?” She took a step back to let him
through the door.
“More. I was holding back.”
Her heart thudded.
That
was restrained? What
would it be like if he
weren’t
holding back? “Is it safe to let you in?”
“I’ll behave, I promise. I just missed you like
crazy, and I’ve got a caffeine buzz. The other guys weren’t up to driving, so I
got to man the wheel while they slept. I needed some high test java to keep me
going.” He picked up a small gift bag from the floor and walked in.
“Can I get you something? A mild sedative maybe?”
She took a seat on the couch next to him, smiled, and took hold of his hand.
“I’m good. Thanks.” His left knee bounced up and
down, and he took the brown paper shopping bag from the coffee table where he
had set it and handed it to her. “This is for you.”
She let go of his hand and set the bag in her lap.
Reaching inside, she discovered a heavy jar. She held it above the bag and
turned it in the light. “Sand?”
“I couldn’t bring you to the beach, so, I brought a
little of the beach to you.”
“So sweet.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“There’s something else in there, too.” His knee
slowed and stopped as he leaned toward her to peer into the bag, too.
Rebecca lifted white tissue paper out of the bag
and held it in her lap. She unfolded the paper and pulled out—well, she wasn’t
sure what. It was beaded and silver and beautiful, but she didn’t know how to
wear it. Judging by the size and placement of the loops and the lack of a
clasp, it wasn’t a necklace, and as one slipped onto the floor, she realized
there were two of them.
“Chris, it’s very pretty, but I have to be honest.
I have no idea what these are.” She feared she’d hurt his feelings by not
recognizing his gift, but he must not have expected her to know.
His eyes teased her, and he grinned. “Give me your
foot.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your foot, please.”
Rebecca lifted her bare left foot and rested it on
the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She never paid her feet much
attention. She knew Abby and everyone else got pedicures all the time, but she
had never had one, didn’t care to have one, and couldn’t justify the expense
anyway. Her nails were clean, short, and unadorned.
“Give me one of those,” he said and gestured to her
mystery jewelry. She handed one to him and he slid the large loop over her foot
and around her ankle. Then he stretched the small loop at the other end and
fitted it around her second toe. “Other foot.”
She lifted her right foot, handed him the other
piece of jewelry, and he slid it into place as well. She loved the sensuous
feel of his hands moving over her feet. When he was finished, she placed her
feet side-by-side on the edge of the coffee table.
“There,” he said. “What do you think?”
“They’re beautiful. The make my feet look pretty
and exotic.”
“Sexy.”
She cast a sideways glance at him. He meant it. Her
cheeks warmed, and she wondered how two little syllables from his mouth did
that to her.
“What do you call them?”
“Barefoot sandals. They’re handmade. I hope you
like them.”
“I do. You didn’t have to get me anything, but
these are so feminine. I love them.”
“A woman should have some frivolous, pretty things,
and I get the sense you don’t buy those kinds of things for yourself.”
She shook her head and continued to look at the way
the sandals made the curves of her feet look so delicate and alluring.
“Let me see.” He sat back on the couch. “Lie down
and put your feet in my lap.”
Rebecca scooted back onto the couch and propped a
pillow against the arm so she could lean against it. Chris took her feet and
laid them on his legs. His fingers traced the line of beads and caressed the
arch on each foot. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and in a matter
of minutes found herself drifting off to sleep.
His voice roused her. “I should go home and let you
get to bed, but I can’t figure out how I’m going to be able to sleep.”
“The caffeine will wear off eventually. Abby and I
used to sneak downstairs and drink milk and eat graham crackers when we
couldn’t sleep. It always seemed to help.”
“Worth a try, I guess. I know—why don’t you sing me
a lullaby?”
Suddenly his hands on her feet felt more irritating
than relaxing.
“You know I don’t sing.”
“Aw, come on, Rebecca. I bet you have a beautiful
singing voice. Please.”
“No.”
“You don’t want me to be so tired I can’t get up in
the morning, do you?”
Seriously? He’d send her on a guilt trip over this?
“Try the milk and graham crackers.”
“Please, Rebecca. I love you.”
He had just moved from irritating and pesky to
hurtful. Was his love conditional on her singing? “That’s not fair.”
He raised his palms in a gesture of surrender.
“Okay, okay. I love you whether you sing or not, but I’d really like to hear
you sing.”
Chris Reynolds made Rebecca want to sing, maybe
like no one or no thing ever had before. She remembered singing praise songs as
a little girl for the simple pleasure of singing and for the love of God. Chris
made her want to sing like that again, out of sheer joy, but now singing was a
sad reminder. A reminder that she didn’t measure up. That in her father’s eyes,
the thing she did best was disappoint. That even when she hadn’t failed
per
se
, her femininity—the very thing that Chris seemed to foster and
treasure—caused sin and shame. She curled her toes, and pulled her feet from
his lap, hugging her knees to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said as he reached for her. “I
pushed too hard.”
“You talked to Abby about it, didn’t you? My
singing.” Oh, no. The tears. Where were the tears coming from? She had been a
child. Why did it still hurt?
“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I hate to see you bound by a
heartless, thoughtless comment made so long ago.”
She pushed off the couch and took her jar of sand
to the counter that separated her kitchen and living areas. “Please, let it go,
Chris. I know you mean well, and I appreciate it. Truly, I do, but I can’t
sing. I won’t.”
He was off the couch now, too, and walking toward
her. “I won’t push again, I promise, but I’m going to keep asking.” He pulled a
tissue from the box on the counter and wiped her eyes. “I’d better go.”
She nodded and walked to the door with him. He
stopped before he opened it.
“Alan texted me this afternoon. They want to have
us over on Friday. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Your family must think we’re serious.”
He shrugged. “I think they know you mean the world
to me.”
The blue intensity of his eyes made her feel small
and ashamed. Why did she have to overreact about the singing anyway?
“Thank you for the gifts. It was very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled and gave her a quick
kiss. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”
She opened the door and then closed it behind him
as a weight settled on her chest the way a mood had settled over her when Chris
had asked her to sing. Maybe it was all an illusion. Maybe she’d just drag
Chris down, too. Tempt him. Keep him from finding a woman worthy of his love
and generosity.
“Goodnight, Chris.”
I’ll Back You Up
Rebecca inhaled the smell of scorched food as it
wafted through the screen door. Apparently Chris and Alan hadn’t been
exaggerating when they said Jamie couldn’t cook. The shrill and incessant beep
of a smoke detector punctuated the continuous clattering of pans culminating in
a loud curse that included the Lord’s name.
Chris winced. “Everything okay in there?” he yelled
through the front door of Alan and Jamie’s gray-brick ranch house. He slid his
arm around Rebecca as she clutched her homemade cheesecake to her chest.
“Should we go in?” She didn’t want to intrude, but
she thought maybe Jamie could use her help.
“Let’s give them a minute.”
In less than ten seconds, Alan strode toward the
door with his phone in hand. “Hey, guys. How does Italian sound? I’m going to
order some cheese-stuffed shells, salad, rolls. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Chris said, sharing a look with
Rebecca. “And Rebecca made a cheesecake for dessert.”
“Awesome,” Alan said as he let them in and then
adjusted the screen to bring more fresh air into the house, which smelled like
burnt pasta. There was another curse from the direction Rebecca assumed was the
kitchen, followed by a choked sob.
“Maybe I can help. Is the kitchen this way?” She
pointed down a hallway with gleaming hardwood floors.
“Yeah,” Alan said. “I can’t seem to do anything
right for her. Maybe she’ll be more receptive to another woman.”
Rebecca found the kitchen and Jamie on the floor in
front of a cupboard. Her face was hidden by her hands and her red hair hung
like a long, straight curtain at her shoulder. Above her, the countertop was
cluttered with pots and pans, the sink was near to overflowing, and the vent
above the oven whirred at high speed.
“Jamie? Is everything okay?”
Jamie wiped her face with her hands and clambered
to her feet. “Rebecca. I’m so embarrassed. I’m an utter failure in the kitchen.
It’s pasta for crying out loud. I had to boil the noodles and heat the sauce,
and I nearly burned down the house.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I once turned a
dozen Zip-loc bags into a molten pile of goo while trying to make toast.”
Jamie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s
the worst you’ve got?”
Rebecca didn’t know what to say. “So, cooking’s not
your thing. You’re good at lots of other things I’m sure.”
“Yeah, but it would be nice to be good at something
we have to do three times a day every day of our freakin’ lives.”
Rubbing Jamie’s shoulder, Rebecca spoke softly. “I
think Alan ordered dinner. Why don’t you let me help you clean up?”
“Thank you. I just wanted us to have a nice evening
together. Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Water or iced tea would be great. Thanks.” Rebecca
loaded what she could into the dish washer and then started filling one side of
the sink with warm, soapy water.
“You don’t drink, do you?”
“Not much.” Rebecca hoped Jamie would leave it
alone.
“Do you like chocolate?”
Maybe there was something they could bond over
after all. “It’s my favorite food group.”
“Then you’ve got to try some chocolate liqueur.
Next time I pick some up, I’ll get a little sample bottle for you. You’ll love
it.”
Jamie placed a glass of water next to Rebecca on
the counter as she took a long drink from her wine goblet. “Thank you for
bringing the cheesecake.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I hope it turned out okay.”
“The way Alan raves about your baking, if Chris
weren’t so far gone over you, I think he would make a move.”
Chris stood in the living room, where Alan showed
him a Blu-Ray movie he'd pulled from a bookcase filled to capacity with them.
He glanced up and gave her a wink and a little wave.
When Jamie spoke again, Rebecca turned to find her
staring at her and Chris in the background behind her. “I’ve never seen him
happier,” Jamie said. “You’re good for him.”
Her heart fluttered. She flattened her breezy
summer skirt with her hands. Another new skirt and top. She was worried the
dressy tee shirt hugged her chest too tightly, but Chris had said he liked it.
“He’s…he’s more than I ever dared to dream.” She
didn’t mean to share something so heartfelt, but with him standing there so
handsome in his khaki pants and Polo-style shirt with eyes only for her, she
didn’t even think before she spoke.
“I kept trying to set him up, but it never took.
Alan’s friend has a sister who’s had a thing for him since they were kids. I
gave them every opportunity, but Chris would rebuff her every time.” Jamie
swiped at the counters with a wet dishcloth, occasionally shaking it out over
the trash can. “When he brought you to our wedding and you two shared that, uh,
soul-melding kiss on the dance floor, I think she finally conceded.”
Megan. It had to be Megan. Did Chris even know
they had been trying to set him up? And did she just hear a hint of
disappointment in Jamie’s voice?
“Anyway,” Jamie continued, “I’m glad he has you. I
mean, not only is he great eye candy, he’s a great guy. Great husband material.
Even if he is a little loopy about the God stuff. But I suspect you already
know all of that.”
The God stuff?
The doorbell rang, and Alan headed for the door
while Jamie searched through her purse looking for cash. When they both went to
meet the delivery man, Chris came into the kitchen and put his arm around her
and kissed her temple. She felt a twinge there just as she had earlier in the
day. Over the past hour, a mild headache had crept up on her. It might be
tension or maybe a change in the weather. Sometimes barometric pressure changes
gave her headaches.
The shells were rich and filling, but by the time
Alan sliced the cheesecake for them, both Rebecca’s temple and her jaw on her
right side were aching. No, throbbing.
When Chris had finished his dessert and coffee, she
leaned into him and whispered, “I’m not feeling well. Would you take me home?”
Chris’s brow creased, and the worry in his voice
touched her. She laid her hand on his leg. “I’m okay. I think it’s my tooth,
but the pain is in my jaw and my cheek and my whole head.”
“I’m sure Alan has some ibuprofen or something.”
“I’ve got some in my purse. I’ll take a couple, and
then maybe I can call my dentist on the way home. He said he thought this molar
was trouble.”
Chris made apologies for them and made sure she was
seated comfortably in her car while he said a final thanks to Alan and Jamie.
Alan joked that it was the first time someone left their home sick and not from
Jamie’s cooking. Rebecca felt sorry for her; she had really tried. So she
couldn’t cook; maybe Alan should give it a try if home-cooked meals were that
important to him.
Rebecca’s jaw pounded and pain shot through her
temple by the time she got a hold of her dentist through his answering service.
After describing the situation and reminding him of the warning he had given
her about that tooth, he told her he’d call in a prescription and ordered her
to see him first thing Monday morning.
She leaned against the headrest and closed her
eyes, grateful that she could count on Chris to see that she got home safely.
She kept her head as still as possible while he
drove and tried to focus on anything other than the pain. What had Chris told
her dad about suffering? He called it medicine for salvation. Well, then this
was some strong medicine.
Through her conversations with Chris and reading
the books he had loaned her, she knew that Catholics didn’t dismiss suffering
as something to be avoided at all costs. If she understood things correctly,
his faith valued suffering if it was united to Jesus’ pain at the crucifixion.
In fact, it seemed like his church placed
considerable value on the body itself. She’d always felt like having a body
held her back. The way her head throbbed now, she still couldn’t disagree.
After all the sermons she’d heard about the temptations of the flesh, she
couldn’t help but wonder what good a body was. But in Chris’s church, the body
freed you to experience God in a tangible, corporal way, through the sacraments
and even more so through communion. Even through making love to her husband
some day, if she could believe that.
They hit a bump and the car jolted, sending pain
shooting through the side of her face. She groaned.
“Sorry. I couldn’t see that pothole until I was on
top of it.”
She let out a deep breath. “It’s all right.” When
the pain receded, she thought once more about lending meaning to suffering and
said a silent prayer.
Lord, if you can make something good of this pain,
then do it, because otherwise this is a whole lot of misery for nothing.
***
Chris pulled into the pharmacy and looked over at
Rebecca. Was she asleep or resting with her eyes closed? He touched her leg.
“Rebecca, honey, we’re at the drug store. I’m going to run in and get your
prescription.”
She rolled her head slowly to face him and opened
her eyes. She grimaced and then answered. “There’s cash in my purse.”
He fished her wallet out of the purse at her feet
and removed some bills. “Hey, it’s going to get better once you get this
antibiotic, okay?”
She nodded her head, but the unshed tears in her
eyes made his heart ache. She must be in a heck of a lot of pain.
After they got to her apartment and she took the
penicillin, Chris asked what he could do for her. “Make the pain go away,” was
all she said before she buried her head—very gently—in his chest. He wished
more than anything he could do that for her, but they would have to wait until
the medicine got into her system.
“Do you think you could sleep?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you could knock me
unconscious.”
At least her sense of humor was intact. “Why don’t
you try?”
“You don’t have to stay, you know.”
No, he didn’t, but she wasn’t well, and he didn’t
like the idea of leaving her alone. “I could spend the night on your couch if
it’s okay with you. That way if you need anything, I’m right here.”
“I’ll be okay, but I do like the idea of you
staying.”
“Then I’ll stay. I’m supposed to help Tom and his
wife move tomorrow, but I can go straight from here.”
He kissed her goodnight on her pain-free cheek, and
she retreated to her bedroom. After a few quiet moments of prayer that
Rebecca’s pain would go away, he made himself comfortable on the couch.
Thinking he wouldn’t be able to sleep for at least another hour or two, he found
a decent B movie to watch on TV. When the credits rolled, he took the quilt off
the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself, and got as comfortable as he
could.
Despite its small size, she had made her apartment
homey with only sparse furnishings. All the colors went together and she had
arranged pictures of Abby’s kids and landscapes artfully on the walls. Potted
plants filled every window sill, and two large containers near the front window
held more greenery. He’d have plenty of oxygen.
Chris slept and didn’t budge until he heard Rebecca
up and moving around. A glance at her wall clock told him it was half past
four. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Rebecca stood in the
kitchen drinking a tall glass of water.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Much, much better. It’s a mild ache around my
tooth now. I took more penicillin and a couple more ibuprofen. I’m not used to
going to bed so early though, and now I can’t fall back to sleep.”
“Come here,” he said as he rearranged himself and
the quilt on the couch so that she could sit between his legs and lean back
against him. She settled in there with her head nestled under his chin, her
breathing soft and steady, and he felt himself drift off again almost
immediately.
Chris woke again when the sunlight peeked through
her drapes, the warm beam hitting him in the eyes. The wall clock said six
o’clock. He reached over the back of the couch, careful to move only his arm
and not his upper body, where Rebecca still slept with her back to him and her head
leaning on his chest. He yanked one drape so that it overlapped the other,
blocking the light.
He glanced down at Rebecca’s head, tracing the
trail of her hair as it fell over her shoulder. With a lone finger, he
carefully lifted a section of hair and pushed it so that the tangled, wavy
softness rested on her right shoulder, leaving the left side of her neck
exposed.
He couldn’t resist. Didn’t even want to. He leaned
down and pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck where he had cleared
away her hair. No reaction. He did it again, exerting a little more pressure.
This time she let out a breathy sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
“Mmmmm.”
A tingling sensation raced through every nerve
ending in his body. “Good morning,” he whispered into her ear.