The Beach House (41 page)

Like basking in the nearness of her three old friends who gallantly tried to sing unfamiliar words and tunes.

Like wondering,
Lord, why is it that while I’m letting You down Jo is paying more attention than ever? This does not make sense
.

After a time, they all sat down on blankets shaded by a large canopy. A sweet-faced young man stepped to the microphone and introduced himself as Pastor Jamie.

Molly nearly groaned. She knew what Jo would be thinking, that the kid never drank a beer or said a cuss word in his life. He got saved as a three-year-old, married his darling next-door-neighbor childhood sweetheart, and they had two point five rosy-cheeked, well-behaved kids. She knew Jo was thinking all that because, details aside, it was the gist of how she once described Scott and his Bible college friends who were groomsmen in their wedding.

Lord, You know Jo needs someone who
—

“Let be then: learn that I am God…”

Suddenly Molly stopped being busy with other things. She tuned in to the sermon.

Jamie was their age and had a history to turn one’s stomach.

Molly stopped the internal rescue dialogue. Jo and Andie and Char and Jimmy Mack and her children and Scott and every Oregon school kid slipped from her thoughts. She stopped telling God how to fix them all, how to save them. She stopped thinking she let God down—as if He couldn’t do things without her being Superwoman, Miss Goody Two-shoes, and a perfect saint all wrapped into one human being.

Instead she heard what was intended for her alone.

“Let be then: learn that I am God…”

Let be. Let go. Cease striving. Pause a while. Stand silent. Be still. Let be and be still. I am God. Lord, You alone are Yahweh
.

“Yes, Lord, You are. You alone.”

Molly murmured praise softly. She sat cross-legged on a thin rough carpet in a corner of a musty old bookstore, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Bibles lay about the floor, a myriad of translations and paraphrases, all open to Psalm 46. How many ways could “shhh, it’s okay, I’m here” be expressed? Would she ever comprehend what it meant to take her hands off? Could her soul ever absorb the enormity of His mighty power and audacious love?

In the beach house over lunch, the four women had discussed the church service. As one they agreed that their futures—what Jo had referred to as their “iffy tomorrows”—were in God’s hands. No amount of anxiety would change a thing. Easier said than done, Jo unnecessarily pointed out, but she had smiled and even thanked Molly for making her go to a service again. That Jamie guy was “all right, lots of grays in him.”

Molly felt a new peace settle about them all. They decided to spend the day in quiet activities, things like browsing in secondhand bookstores and strolling through a desert garden at Balboa Park

“Molly,” Char said now. She shared the small “Religion Section” corner with her and sat on a child-size wooden chair. “May I interrupt?”

“Sure.”

“I was skimming through this and found a verse someone highlighted in yellow.” Char looked down at the Bible in her lap. The book was small with a pretty blue cover and gilded page edges. “It says ‘I know the plans I have in mind for you—it is Yahweh who speaks—plans for peace, not disaster, reserving a future full of hope for you.’” Her eyelashes flittered quick as wings on a moth approaching a porch light.

Molly waited. She was into being still.

Char looked up. “So. Is that for me?”

Molly smiled and whispered, “The Holy Spirit is speaking to your spirit.”

Char’s eyebrows disappeared under her shaggy bangs. “He won’t let Cam buy a restaurant! I felt it!” She sprang to her feet. “I’m going to buy this Bible.”

Molly resisted the desire to catch her by the arm as she scurried from the corner. It was that business about being still. It slowed all her reflexes.

But shouldn’t she explain how sometimes God’s plans could easily look like disaster to a person? That He used difficulty to mold and shape and pour out His love?

Take, for example, an unplanned, undesired pregnancy at the age of forty
.

Molly sighed loudly. Char was God’s responsibility, not hers.

She picked up the nearest Bible and began flipping pages in search of Char’s verse. Somewhere in the twenty-ninth chapter of Jeremiah was reassurance of a future full of hope.

Molly emerged from the store. The business district was borderline shabby, made up mainly of shops carrying used items such as books, clothing, and furniture. But little trees lined the sidewalk, and her friends waited in the shade of one. Like herself, they held plastic bags full of treasures unearthed on the bookshelves.

“Okay, Jo, where to—What’s wrong?”

Andie was grinning, but Jo and Char wore expressions that reminded her of Hannah’s when she stuck a bobby pin into an electrical outlet.

Andie said, “Jo got a phone call.”

“A phone call? Aw, come on, you guys. You agreed to turn those things off for the afternoon. We’re having a ‘be still, let go’ day.”

Andie said, “Well, we discussed it and decided we wanted Scott to be able to get through.”

Molly tried not to roll her eyes. She had already talked to him and all four kids separately.

“And there’s Cam, who we think will definitely call Char as soon as possible. And I want to be available to my boys in case Paul goes off the deep end. Who knows what he’s going to do? Anyway, then there was the real estate agent.” Andie paused for effect, her eyes wide, laughter imminent in her wide grin.

“Real estate agent?”

“He sold Jo’s house!”

“No way! In one day?”

They all nodded.

“Whoa!”

“Exactly!” Jo said. “As in whoa, Nellie. This is happening too fast for comfort. I don’t even have a hold of the reins yet!”

Molly laughed with Andie.

Char said, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Oh my word. What will I ever do when Cam says he’s selling
our
house?”

Jo’s glance would have withered a lesser woman.

Char reached into her bag of books, whispering to herself. “Jeremiah. Plans for peace, not disaster.”

Molly turned to Jo. “Can you take some time to think about it?”

She shrugged. “What’s to think about? Two offers came in. It turned into a bidding war. The final one is more than I was asking. Lots more. It’s an outrageous amount the house would never appraise out at. A bank wouldn’t give such a loan, but the agent told me this guy doesn’t need a loan! He’s paying cash!”

Andie threw an arm across Jo’s shoulders. “Will you make enough money to lease that space next to the clinic?”

Jo tilted her head onto Andie’s shoulder and sighed. “And remodel. Equip. Hire staff. The whole shebang.”

Char looked up from the Bible in her hand. “But where will you live?”

“Um, well, one idea has crossed my mind. I own this apartment building…”

Molly pointed a finger. “Josephine Zambruski, admit it. You’ve been thinking about this. You have a place to move to. You want to do this!”

“But a week ago I never could have imagined such a crazy thing. Which makes it sound truly demented.”

Molly cocked her head. “And your point is what, dear?”

She moaned. “It’s your fault, the three of yours. Why don’t you all just go home?”

Molly giggled with Andie. Eventually Jo and Char smiled and snickered. Before long the four of them had to sit down on a bench, doubled over in hysterical laughter, tears streaming down their faces.

Not far from the shopping district, they all sat in Jo’s car across the street from her apartment building. As one they exclaimed over the flourishing palm trees and bougainvillea. The building itself was three stories of pale pink stucco with no distinguishing features. Small bungalows sat on either side of it, an elementary school down the block, a church across the street. Parked cars lined the curbs, older models, nothing fancy. Nothing particularly extra nice or attractive.

Jo did a lot of shrugging. “It’s investment property. A management company runs it. Gardeners care for the yard. I don’t do a thing except take full advantage of its write-off benefits. It’s rather ugly.”

Molly playfully punched her arm. “Jo, it’s great. Just think. It could be your future home.”

She shrugged.

Char said, “Sugar, I am glad to see you are not a slumlord. I must admit I was concerned a few blocks over. Are we near that clinic?”

“Yes. The neighborhoods run together. This area is nicer, but obviously it’s not high-end rent. If I…” She swallowed as if the words were difficult to say. “If I lived here I’d be ten minutes from work. Housing would cost less. I’d spend a pittance on gas.”

“What are the units like?”

“Last I saw when I bought it seven years ago, they were all right, clean enough. Updated electricity and plumbing. All are one bedroom. Old-fashioned with a lot of wood. Nothing fancy. It was built in the twenties.”

Andie said, “It reminds me of the beach house.”

Jo twisted around in the seat and gawked at her.

Now Andie shrugged. Her smile wrinkled her nose. “Same era. Is there an empty apartment?”

“No, so this talk is a waste of time. Year leases are in effect, with the first one up in February. I wouldn’t kick someone out. They’re all the same people who lived here when I bought it. Everyone pays on time. No one complains.”

Molly said, “Anyone have moving plans?”

“No!”

Molly added her own shrug. “Let go and know that God is God.”

“He’ll kick someone out?”

“If He needs to.”

Char reached over the back of the seat and squeezed Jo’s shoulder. “He got Cam off the couch and out to San Diego.”

“You’re all nuts.” Jo started the car and pulled away from the curb. “This discussion is over.”

After a bit, their chuckles slowed. Char and Andie engaged in conversation in the backseat.

Jo glanced at Molly. “I’d say you’re walking your talk again.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and all that glowing peace is so obnoxious.” She winked. “Does this mean you’ve come to terms with things?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Let be then: learn that I am God
.