“Her mannerisms are so similar—her laugh, those eyes that seem to see too far into life, the way she turns her phrases. Ev, you should have told me. I knew something was eating at you.”
He nodded, chewing on his lower lip and squinting. “Yep. First time I saw her, I thought I was seeing my baby sister. Strange. Thirty-five years of life somehow morphs into ten minutes, and there she is again, alive, breathing, fragile, sharp, desperate, hurting. All I see is Tate.”
Now Annie placed her face next to his, and her warm, smooth skin soothed him. She smelled of fresh soap and bacon, of breakfast waiting. “Maybe I was wrong, Mr. MacAllister. Maybe it’s not your job to help this young lady. Maybe you’d best leave her alone.”
“Can’t do it, Annie. I want to, but I can tell the Almighty’s up to something. I wish He weren’t. I told Him I wasn’t going back. What’s done is done. Problem is—I don’t think He’s gonna let me get away with it.”
Annie stood, fiddled with her hair, and made a little clucking sound deep in her throat.
Ev knew what it meant—she didn’t agree and was preparing her rebuttal.
“You know I’m not one to argue with the Lord… .”
Ev raised his eyebrows and gave a half grin. “Really?”
“Well, not often.” She winked. “But you’ve got a weak heart, and I’d like to keep you around for a few more years.”
“Fine, Mrs. MacAllister. You explain it to the Almighty, and let me know what He says. In the meantime, I believe Lissa Randall is coming for a lesson on Thursday.”
________
For the first time in over a year, Lissa heard no voices when she awoke. She had a smile on her face and stretched lazily as the alarm went off. As she thought of the dinner at the MacAllisters’, her body relaxed into contentment. Then a thought came, warm and comfortable.
They understand me. Or at least, they are beginning to. And they want to help.
She did her sit-ups, and the imaginary spot on the ceiling did not accuse her. She washed her face and was surprised to see a little gleam in the dark brown interior of her eyes. She brushed her hair and glanced at her wristwatch. 7:15. She was early. Early!
After she dressed, she bounced down the stairs. Her father was still sitting at the little breakfast table, his face hidden behind the
Chattanooga Times
. Half a piece of buttered toast sat on a small plate with the raspberry preserves next to it, top off, knife sticking out.
“Hey, Daddy!” She went over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
He set down the paper, surprised. “Well, Miss Liss! You’re up early. I thought I’d have to pull you out of bed after your late evening. When did you get in?”
“Oh, it was only a little after eleven, Daddy.”
“And you enjoyed it?”
“Very much so.”
“Well, that is fine. Still wish you would be hanging out with kids your age, but that’s fine.” He smiled at her. “I guess all the kids your age are off at college, aren’t they?”
The hurt washed over her like a cold burst of water. Her father was already looking at the paper again. Lissa went into the kitchen, but instead of the hungry growling of her stomach that she’d felt a few short minutes ago, she felt sick and leaned over the sink in a silent gag.
Failure! Your fault! Never good enough!
Janelle listened to the report on the radio proclaiming the bombing in Algiers. She shuddered. Brian was scheduled to go back at the end of November. His heart was in North Africa, she knew. Two years ago the military-backed government, intent on ridding the country of any religious group that might pose a threat, had upped their security. Since then Brian’s travel to Algeria had become clandestine and less frequent. Now, as regional director of the mission agency, he supervised a correspondence school and a radio station that was broadcast throughout the Arab world.
The doorbell rang, and Janelle turned off the radio and went to greet the women arriving for a prayer meeting.
Dahlila and Oumel entered her home, their heads covered with their
hijabs
. It seared her heart. Their husbands could literally kill them if they were discovered at a Christian prayer meeting. Infidels! Even in France. Compared to these women, Janelle had nothing to fear, nothing to complain about. And yet her heart felt heavy.
And why are you comparing, Janelle? Every person’s burden is different. I am here to carry them all.
The faint voice of her Savior startled her in the midst of the prayer time. She felt for one brief second that old familiar thrill, that intimacy and security.
Savior
.
As they continued to pray, the burden lifted, the words of prayer from other lips became a balm. This time Janelle heard the words not as an accusation but as an invitation.
Come home.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29
“You’re not doing well, dear. That much is obvious.”
Brian and Janelle sat facing each other in a small café on
Place de la Comedie
for another of their rituals. As soon as possible, when he got home after a trip, they went out for morning coffee—one of the “perks” of the job, they called it. A flexible schedule. Their afternoon and evenings were filled with people, but sometimes Brian could get away in the morning.
Today she could barely meet his eyes. “I’m just tired, I guess. The
rentrée
always is such a hectic time. Luke is being a bit defiant, wanting independence. And Sandy is having a rough time with her French verb
s
.”
Brian reached across the table and took her hand. “Nelli, it’s not that. I know the
rentrée
is hard, but for a different reason. I know you’re thinking of Josh.”
Janelle’s eyes brimmed with tears. They had decided shortly after Josh’s death that never would they refrain from using his name, as if he had never existed. His name, no matter how painful, would be pronounced and cherished and spoken so that healing could come, for Luke and Sandy, for themselves. His pictures still hung on the walls of the house and sat on the bedside table. He was there with them, a smiling cherub, a part of the past. Family.
“I can’t talk about it here,” she managed, turning her head down as tears slid down her cheeks. Her coffee sat untouched.
Brian squeezed her hand. He left francs on the table and stood. “Then we’ll go somewhere we can talk, Nelli.”
They laced their way among the people along the open square, across the cobbled stones of centuries past. Brian waited patiently for her to speak, but she couldn’t. She turned a hundred words on her tongue, but could pronounce none. She thought of the image of the vines, ripe with grapes. She thought of Brian’s work at the radio station, of the thousands of North African people who were hearing a message of hope through this means. How could she dampen his enthusiasm?
She thought of the gentle whisper she had heard yesterday afternoon at prayer meeting.
After ten minutes of silence she finally blurted out what she could not say calmly. “I want to go home! I’m dying here. I have nothing in me. I’m as dry as the Sahara, with no oasis in sight. All I hear is
go home.
Go home
.” She took a breath, swallowed, tried to collect her thoughts. “But how can I go home? Home is here! Josh is here! Why? Why, Brian? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Brian led her away from the main square onto a little side street. His arm was tight around her, and she leaned into him. She knew he was processing. He didn’t answer her heartache with a solution. He’d learned long ago that didn’t work.
Finally he said, “Darling. I think you
should
go home.”
Then silence soaked into the pavement.
“I think you need to see someone. Need to grieve. I’ve, I’ve talked about this with Norm at the headquarters. He agrees.”
“You’ve talked about it?”
“Nelli, this is not new. It rushes on you at times and is dormant at others, but it isn’t new. It’s depression. You know it. I know it.”
“We did get help. Six months of help where I kept you from your work, holed up at headquarters in Atlanta, bawling my eyes out, the kids going to that little elementary school, jerked back and forth in their worlds. I won’t do it again.”
“Nelli—sometimes it takes longer. Sometimes it takes years.”
“You’re over it! How can you never think about it, about him! How can you be fine!” The anger in her voice, the accusation, startled her.
“Nelli—I think of Josh every day of my life, you know that. I know I have the ability to compartmentalize life. It’s not that the hurt isn’t raw and real. It’s just it doesn’t bleed in front of me all the time. It’s just a different way, Nelli. Just a different way. You know that.” His voice cracked, his arm around her tightened.
They passed the open
marché
in front of city hall, stepping around people buying apples and figs and tomatoes and leeks. The red and green canopied stands of the merchants blinked happy color into the fall morning; the sounds of the vendors calling out their wares in the slow drawl of the Midi punctuated the chatter of the crowd. Brian turned onto a tiny side street that eventually opened into a small cobbled square with a gurgling fountain in the middle. It was empty of people. Benches sat under plane trees that were shedding their leaves.
They sat, and Brian held her as if she were a frightened child with a skinned knee.
“I’ve been thinking this through, Nelli. What if you spent a month with your parents, saw the counselor again? Had time to rest, sleep, wait, pray? Then we can decide together what our next step should be.”
Janelle closed her eyes and tried to imagine long, lazy days at her parents’ house. After a moment, she said, “I can’t leave you and the kids here. You’ve got enough work without dealing with their schedules.”
A long breath. “Nelli, the work keeps me going. You know that. I need it, and I enjoy it, and I think it’s part of the healing for me. But maybe you need something else.”
“Thank you” was all she could choke out.
“Think about it. The kids are okay in school. We could make the schedule work.”
She stared down at the ancient stones and thought of home, with the red Georgia clay and maples and oaks and hickory trees displaying their bright fall colors against the backdrop of the mountain. “Maybe … not yet. Let the kids get settled. Not yet, but maybe at the end of October. Maybe then.”
________
“Gina! Gina!” Katy Lynn rushed into the house, head throbbing. “Gina!” She took the steps two at a time.
Gina came from her room, eyes sullen. “I’m okay, Mom. Calm down.”
Katy Lynn let out a sigh of relief, reprimanding herself for the panic that crept into her voice every time she left Gina alone for more than a few minutes. Good grief! This was worse than having a toddler.
“I made the appointment for the doctor, dear. He’s evidently excellent.”
Gina crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to go. I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone.”
“Gina, please. It’s normal for you to be mad. But it’s good to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about anything! I’ve got my friends, and they are helping me! So leave me alone!” She went back into her room and slammed the door.
Of one thing Katy Lynn was sure. Her daughter was not fine. Gina looked almost scrawny, her thick brown hair unkempt, shadows under her eyes, and her arms always covered with a long-sleeved blouse. Katy Lynn wondered if she had carved any other message on those arms.
She went back downstairs and into the kitchen, kicked off her highheeled pumps, and massaged her temples. She should think about dinner, but without a man to feed, she found she lacked inspiration. What to fix for two emaciated women?
Fifteen minutes later, as she stirred a pot of Campbell’s soup, she heard Gina come into the kitchen. Turning, she found her daughter carrying a suitcase and her backpack.
“I’m going to Caroline’s for a few days. Her parents said it’s okay. Her dad’s coming over to get me.”
Katy Lynn opened her mouth to protest, but Gina beat her to it.
“Please don’t argue. Her mom’s gonna call you in a minute.” Her angry expression softened for just a second. “I need to get away from all of this for a while, Mom. Please. I’ll be fine.”
She opened the front door and went outside, and the phone rang.
“Hello? Ellen, yes, hi. Yes, it seems our daughters have been scheming. You sure you don’t mind? Just a few days. Yes, thank you.”
Well, at least Ellen Lewis was not nosy. She’d doubtless heard the rumors; maybe Gina had spelled it all out to the whole family.
Oh, let her go.
Katy Lynn was too tired to put up a fight. Her daughter would be safe enough at the Lewis house, and maybe this would give her a chance to talk to that investigator. The thought exhausted her. All she really wished was that she could just pack up her bags and disappear.
She heard the car drive up, the door slam shut, but Katy Lynn didn’t budge from her spot in front of the stove, stirring a can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup.
Katy Lynn searched for the phone number and found it stuffed inside an old phone directory. She made the decision quickly and dialed the number before she changed her mind. It took forever for the connection, and then it was fuzzy static.
“
Allô?
” It was her brother-in-law’s voice.
“Hey, Brian. It’s Katy Lynn.”
A long silence. Then, “Wow! Katy Lynn! Great to hear your voice!
How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m here in Atlanta, and I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” She could not make her voice sound pleasant. Her crisp tone cut to the core. “Could I speak to Janelle?”
“Sure.”
She imagined Brian finding his wife, whispering quickly that her estranged sister was on the line, calling for the first time ever in their decade of living overseas. She let out a sigh, tapped her foot impatiently, and tried to calm her fragmented nerves.
Get hold of yourself. Keep up the act. Don’t go groveling to your little sister. Not now.
Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute.
“Katy Lynn?” Her sister’s voice was a whispered surprise. The astonishment and worry zipped through the phone line like lightning.