Bridge to a Distant Star (10 page)

“I don’t believe this. This isn’t fair—I have stuff to do.”

“So do I. I need to give your sister a bath.”

Aubrey, her own battle temporarily forgotten, centered her total attention on the conflict between mother and sister. She was so focused on Colleen’s next move that she sat uncharacteristically still while Maureen wiped her hands and face, only squirming when Maureen’s head blocked a clear view of her sister.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maureen caught a glimpse of Colleen, who’d added full-scale bodily revolt to the earlier steely glare. She stood ramrod straight, arms crossed in front of her chest, muscles twitching.

“But that’s what you’re supposed to do—make dinner, clean up, stuff like that. What else do you have to do all day besides that stuff? How come you’re making me do your job? Don’t you want me to get good grades?”

Maureen hesitated only a second, and in that gap, Colleen seized the upper hand. “I have to get busy now, Mom, or there’s no way I’m gonna get my homework done.” She held up her hands, ticking off the list: “I have a test in math, a quiz in history, and a book report due for English. And I haven’t finished the dumb book yet either.” She waited, boldly meeting her mother’s gaze, and when Maureen closed her eyes, Colleen quickly turned on her heels. Threw over her shoulder, “It’s not my fault my teachers are so mean.”

Maureen’s gaze followed Colleen’s retreating back until she disappeared; then, shoulders slumped, she walked to the window to look at the birdhouse. Leaning heavily against the window, crossing her arms over her chest, Maureen searched for the beloved bright blue.

“Want me to help you wash dishes, Mommy?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll help you.” Mimicking her mother, she cupped small hands around her eyes to peer outside just beneath Maureen. “Hey, whatcha lookin’ at?”

Maureen reached down to twist a soft red curl around her finger. “Just looking for the bluebirds, little one.” She sighed and scanned the backyard again. “I don’t see them anywhere, do you?”

“Nope.” Aubrey pulled her eyebrows together in a puzzled frown. “Do mommy and daddy birds get married?”

“Not like people do.” Maureen smiled down at her. “But maybe God marries them?”

The frown remained. “Will they stay together for always?”

“Yes,” she said very firmly, and nodded emphatically at Aubrey’s concern. “They will.” Maureen reached out to take a dimpled hand. “Now, let’s get you in the bath, shall we?”

“Aren’t we gonna wash the dishes?”

“How about if we just throw them into the bathtub with you?”

Aubrey giggled. “Oh, Mommy, no.”

Later, putting an ear to Colleen’s door, Maureen asked, “Colleen? Are you heading to bed soon? It’s getting late, sweetie.” She could hear books being slammed on top of one another, papers shuffled. To Maureen’s slight pressure, the door cracked open.

“Mom. I’ve got a lot more stuff to do.”

Maureen pushed the door open farther so she could peer in, saw Colleen stuffing tiny headphones and iPod into her desk drawer. Although plainly caught in the act, she gave her mother a mutinous look.

“Apparently not that much. Or you wouldn’t be listening to music, hmm?” To Colleen’s continued unblinking stare, “Just wanted you to know I’m making French toast in the morning, ready at six thirty sharp. So whatever you decide about staying up late, I don’t think you’ll want to miss out on breakfast.”

“Whatever.”

Maureen looked at Colleen a few more seconds, waiting. “Well then. Good night.” She closed the door, feeling the familiar weariness settle over her like she’d pulled a heavy coat over her head and shoulders.
A drenched wool coat,
she thought to herself.
Scratchy and weighing roughly the size of a petulant thirteen-year-old girl.
Despite the too-real imagery, Maureen smiled.

Surprisingly, she slept so soundly that she was only vaguely aware of Bill’s climbing into bed with her later, a mumbled exchange of
You okay? Sure. Love you. You too.
Breakfast felt like an extension of that unsatisfying connection: muttered conversations, hazy encounters with one other, and a dreamlike quality to all she viewed and did. Turned out that only Aubrey enjoyed the French toast; Bill slept in as late as he could, which meant he only had time to grab a breakfast bar in his rush out the door, and Colleen was obviously still on strike.
The only accessory she’s lacking is a placard,
Maureen observed.

After dropping Colleen off at school and Aubrey at Bill’s folks’, Maureen drove along the shoreline toward the restaurant where the gang had agreed to meet. Her first glimpse of the dark greenish-blue gulf waters prompted her to open the van’s front windows. She wanted to breathe in the salty air. Listen to the sounds of rippled laughter from the beach. Concentrating, Maureen hoped to hear the soothing heartbeat of the waves hitting the shore, the familiar rhythm that calmed her like nothing else.

The seafood restaurant was adjacent to the boardwalk, and as she turned her car into the parking lot, the smell of fish was heavy on the air. Though a majority of boats had left early in the morning and were out fishing for the day—they wouldn’t be back until dinner time, many displaying their catch for the tourists to admire—a few remained docked.

Maureen stood on the boardwalk for a few moments and watched the men hosing down equipment, curiosity enticing her toward the railing. Those who went about their tasks were a class unto themselves: skin tanned and wrinkled from the sun, nonfussy clothes for ease of movement, hair tied back or tucked into stained hats faded to indistinguishable colors. They were all pleasant looking in their weathering, blending in with their boats, their livelihoods. The camouflage attire of the people of the sea.

Maureen turned toward the restaurant, but she just stood there, staring intently but not reaching for the door handle. She smoothed her hair, checked that her blouse was neatly tucked in, opened her purse to make sure she’d put the keys in the side pocket. Finally she took a deep breath and opened the door, the cool air hitting her face and bare arms like the icy blast from an opened freezer. She blinked her eyes, attempting to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and retreated a step, taken aback by the noise from within. Glasses and dishes clinking, voices attempting to be heard above the background din, elevator music all competed and joined together to create a raucous cacophony.

In response to a questioning look from the hostess, Maureen replied, “I’m looking for a party of three women?”

“Oh, yes. Follow me, please.”

The place was packed, and Maureen could barely keep up with the agile guide. She squeezed in between chairs at filled tables, dodged other customers, and cautiously passed servers with huge round trays mounded with salads, all types of steaming seafood, hush puppies—and all the pleasing smells associated with those dishes.

Just as Maureen warily passed a server with a particularly full-to-overflowing tray, she looked up to see a large window overlooking St. John’s Bay—the churning, white-capped waves, the blue sky beyond, the ocean itself. No matter how many times she’d gazed out over the gulf, Maureen still caught her breath at the initial glimpse of the panorama. She gave homage to that tableau before shifting her gaze to the three women who sat at the table beneath it.

Before she could say anything, Emilie jumped up and came around the table to her. Immediately hugged Maureen and then pulled back so they were face-to-face, giving her friend a reassuring look while whispering, “It’s okay.” And then Emilie announced to the other two, “Now. We’re all here so I can tell you what I told Maureen yesterday. You’ve probably guessed already … but here it is: Ed’s home. He’s moved back. Isn’t that the most wonderful news ever?”

Sherry’s jaw dropped in a round silent
O,
but Vanessa was gushing. “Oh, Em. I’ve prayed for this very thing to happen, and now I’m surprised that it has. That’s a lack of faith, isn’t it? I wasn’t really praying that he’d come straight home like this, but that’s simply wonderful and …” Vanessa’s voice dropped off when she noticed Emilie staring expectantly at Sherry.

“And you, Sherry?” Emilie asked, leaving the question open. Like bait in a trap.

“Well, I’m pleased for you, of course. Elated for the kids. But did I understand correctly? That he moved back in with you already?”

“Oh, yes. And I’ve forgiven him. Completely, just like Scripture tells us to do.”

Sherry’s eyes narrowed. Maureen felt sick to her stomach, the once-tempting smells around her now overbearingly strong.

“I think the Bible teaches forgiveness, absolutely,” Sherry calmly replied. “But it also talks about consequences—consequences for sin. Do you think Ed sinned, Emilie?”

Emilie and Sherry were directly across from one another, and their words had the effect of swordplay—attack, parry, jab, attack again. When Vanessa caught Maureen’s eye, they both had the look of frightened, unwilling bystanders.

“Yes, he did, Sherry. But just like the prodigal son was welcomed home, I’ve totally forgiven Ed.”

What Sherry did next took them all by surprise. She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs as though she were getting comfortable for a long session. It appeared that she was about to tell them a story, and when she began, Sherry’s tone was that of a teacher to students.

“I’ve been reading in Genesis lately, and just yesterday I studied the chapter about the fall. I noticed something that I’d never thought about before. Funny, isn’t it? You’ve read a passage so many times. And suddenly you see something new.”

Vanessa fidgeted with her wedding ring, staring at it as she turned it back and forth; Maureen sat as rigid as a statue and rather than look at Sherry, she too gazed elsewhere—out toward the view of St. John’s Bay again. Only Emilie stared warily into Sherry’s eyes.

“You know how it goes … God tells them the curse, he makes clothes for them out of animals’ skins, the first blood sacrifice.”

Maureen balled her hands into fists so tight that her fingernails stabbed her palms.

“In the past, I’ve always skimmed right by that.” Sherry shook her head. “But this is what struck me yesterday.” She stopped, leaning forward over the table. The dramatic pause drew Maureen’s and Vanessa’s eyes to her face now, joining Emilie’s. “The skins didn’t just magically appear on Adam and Eve. God had to kill those animals. And then this possibility hit me: We don’t really know for sure since Scripture doesn’t say, but I doubt that God shielded them from having to watch what he had to do. Think about it. Would he take the animals elsewhere, protecting Adam and Eve from the horrible thing he had to do? Would he have gone to a different part of the garden, killed the animals there and then brought those skins back to Adam and Eve?”

Each question drove home her point. Maureen flinched at the reality Sherry so graphically painted for them.

“Do you suppose he simply put the skins on them, ones all cleaned up and minus any hint of the blood that had been shed? Like the coats and purses and shoes that we buy, you suppose?” She smirked then, adding a small laugh. “Considering the immense gravity of what they’d done—the grievous sin they’d committed—would he actually have desired they not make the connection of their sin to the actual
killing
of an animal?”

Maureen glanced at Emilie and Vanessa; their gazes remained fixed on Sherry, eyes widened. Vanessa’s lips were slightly open, but Emilie’s mouth was set in a grim, hard line.

“And then it dawned on me: Adam had named those animals. Naming had major significance in biblical times. Surely Adam felt honored to be given that task as God brought them before him, one by one. How he must’ve loved it—and loved those animals, too. And now … now one or more of them had to die … because of him. Because of what he’d done.”

Sherry shivered as if she’d felt a chill. “Can you feel the foreshadowing of Christ there? Adam knew his beloved animals were innocent. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet they died. When it was his fault.”

Tears filled Sherry’s eyes and she bowed her head, embarrassed by the naked display of feelings. Maureen blinked back tears also, but noticed a rustle of activity next to her. It was Emilie. Gathering purse and keys, pushing her chair away from the table. Maureen reached out for her, questioning, “Emilie?”

From Vanessa, “Where … why are you—?”

The only response was a slight shake of her head, a clear warning. Before any of them could say another word she had snaked through the crowded restaurant. And was out of sight.

The abrupt and unexpected exit jolted the remaining three. Sherry folded her napkin and put it on the table, stuttered out, “It’s—it’s completely my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking—clearly I wasn’t thinking at all.”

“No.” Maureen interrupted, her voice shaky. “It’s my fault, Sherry. Emilie and I had a difficult conversation yesterday. It was about blame … it came out all wrong and I never got the chance to set it right.”

“I need to go. I shouldn’t have come with all the grading I have … I’m behind and …” Sherry’s voice trailed off. She looked up at Vanessa and then Maureen. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? I hope … I hope our friendship can survive this.” She bit her lip, rose, and walked away.

When Maureen and Vanessa reached the parking lot, they turned to each other, suddenly awkward, uncomfortable.