Composing Amelia (27 page)

She stopped at the coffee shop next, just to relax before she walked back to the apartment. She felt bad spending money on herself—she didn’t deserve it after being so lazy and dependent on Marcus—but she had forgotten her water bottle at home and knew she had to stay hydrated for the baby’s sake, if not her own. She purchased a bottled water and sat by the window, taking in the shops along the street that she hadn’t yet paid much attention to.

After a few minutes, she was vaguely aware that someone was watching her. She glanced to the side and saw one of the women she’d met at church—what was her name?

The woman snapped her fingers and smiled. “I thought that was you. Amelia, right?”

Amelia smiled, embarrassed. “Um, yes, hi—but I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

“Holly,” she said, standing and shifting her chair over to Amelia’s table. “The others were Lauren and Connie. In fact, they should be here—we do this every week—but Lauren’s daughter has chicken pox and Connie is volunteering at some activity day at her sons’ school. But since I’m a creature of habit I thought I’d come anyway. I’m glad I did.” Her smile was genuine, and even though her look was stuck in the ’90s, Amelia had to admit she was friendly. She remembered Marcus’s indictment against her for being judgmental toward the people of Wheatridge, and she vowed not to let her California sensibilities stand in the way of getting to know people who might make life in this little town more bearable.

It had been a while since Amelia had tried to make new friends, but Holly made it easy. She was chatty enough to keep the conversation going but didn’t dominate it. And she blew away Amelia’s presuppositions about small-town people. Not only had she grown up in a city (well—in Lincoln), but she’d traveled abroad in college and graduated with a double major. She’d met her husband in college and they decided together to move to Wheatridge when they wanted to start having children. “We were living in Omaha before this, and sometimes I miss city stuff—the restaurants, the entertainment—but I love the pace of life here and how friendly people are.” She’d motioned to Amelia with her iced mocha. “What about you? What do you think of Wheatridge so far?”

Amelia aimed for diplomacy and hoped she’d hit the target. “It’s not where I expected to end up,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I have to be honest and say I miss LA. But … I can’t complain about the cost of living. And you’re right, people are friendly.” Friendlier than she’d allowed herself to believe.

They talked for an hour before Holly had to leave to pick up her daughter from preschool. “I’m so glad we met up,” she said as she shouldered a clunky faux-leather purse. “Now you know when and where we meet; please just come join us whenever you want.”

“I will,” Amelia said. She was drained from the interaction, but pleased that she’d been able to handle it at all. “Thanks for the invitation. You all seem really nice.”

Holly chuckled. “Thanks. I think we are. And you’re sweet too. I think you’ll fit right in.” She waved and left, and Amelia headed for home.

As the week progressed, Amelia found herself feeling better and better. Her energy returned, her thoughts cleared, and for the first time she finally felt excited about the baby. She met Holly and the others at the coffee shop the next week, applied to substitute teach at the schools, and auditioned for—and was offered—the position at the Blue Note. She finally called Jill and caught her up on everything that had happened since she’d moved. And when she went to church with Marcus, she socialized, remembered people’s names, and did what she could to make Marcus proud to have her there.

Unfortunately, none of it seemed to have any effect on Marcus at all.

She was agitated at his lack of reaction. Didn’t he see how hard she was trying? Heck, not just trying—didn’t he see how she was succeeding? Getting jobs, finding friends—what else did he want from her? She wanted to lay it all out for him, outline exactly how much she had improved and demand that he give her some recognition, but her pride stopped her from being so bold. Besides, it wouldn’t mean as much as him actually noticing. Usually he was a lot better about that sort of thing.

Usually he was a lot better about sharing what was on his mind, too. So the fact that he was obviously troubled but unwilling to share why when she had asked him—he had given the passive “nothing” and changed the subject—fueled her imagination and sent it in all sorts of frightening directions.

Her thoughts grew more and more irritated and angry as the days passed without Marcus showing any recognition of her effort or revealing why he was upset. Her mind began to race as it had when she’d been depressed, except now her thoughts birthed an electric-like current that kept her body humming day and night. She stopped sleeping again, this time because she couldn’t settle down enough. She stopped eating again too, mostly because she was so busy with other things she just didn’t think to. When she did eat, it was in huge quantities that made up for lost time and left her feeling sick.

She started trying to pick fights with Marcus, just to get him to engage. He shrugged her off most of the time, but twice he fought back, and the sparks flew like fireworks. Amelia slammed doors and Marcus yelled; the next day they received a letter of reprimand from the management saying complaints had been filed for the noise, and Marcus went back to being sullen.

Amelia started staying out of the house when he was home. First she spent her time at Blue Note, where she played the baby grand for hours on end. Then she started taking the car to the mall once Marcus had come home from work, both because it was too far to walk and because she knew it stranded him at the apartment, and after how petulant he’d been acting, she spitefully enjoyed the thought of him wallowing alone. Whether or not he was willing to open up to her, which she had requested of him more than once, she was going to make progress.

On one such trip to the mall, she had been drawn to the baby store, and in the end spent hundreds of dollars on gear and clothes, despite not knowing the baby’s gender. Two employees hauled the purchases to her car and packed them into the trunk and backseat, and the look on Marcus’s face was priceless when he saw her dragging two giant bags behind her as she entered the apartment.

Unfortunately, as her energy spurt continued on into its second week, Amelia’s irritation began to spread from Marcus to other areas of her life. She had a craving for sushi and nowhere to go, and it renewed her distaste for Wheatridge with a passion. Holly and the others annoyed her with their lack of culture and small-town mind-sets. Their clothes were lame, their lives were boring, and their conversation dull. They couldn’t keep up with Amelia’s intelligence. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at them, and started skipping out of their meetings after just half an hour.

And the church. That stupid, backward church. The only thing they had going for them was Marcus. She hated to admit it, since she was always so annoyed when he turned on the preacher mode when talking to her, but the man really could teach. Seeing the congregation in rapt attention when he paced the platform and exposited a passage always awoke a burst of pride in her. And even though it meant having to wait even longer to get home, she was pleased to see how many people stopped on their way out to compliment him on his sermons.

But for Pete’s sake, when were they ever going to step into the twenty-first century and get some new music? Their love of the arcane made Amelia writhe in boredom as the uninspired choir sang all four verses of “More Love to Thee, O Christ.” Amelia longed to push the pianist off his bench and introduce them to the Hillsong catalog. Their ministry offerings were equally lacking. There was a monthly tea for the ladies, a monthly coffee morning for the men, and a weekly youth ministry meeting that, as best as she could tell, consisted of playing ridiculous games and then memorizing Scripture. Marcus kept trying to start other ministries, but no one seemed to care. No wonder the little congregation was dying out.

As the days passed, Amelia’s emotions began to take a turn south. Her frustration with the women made her lament that she would never find any real friends in Wheatridge. Her impulse purchases from the baby store sat unsorted on the floor of the living room; neither she nor Marcus were motivated to do anything with them, and their presence reminded Amelia every day of the impending birth she wasn’t ready for. She had more flashbacks of her childhood relationship with her mother and began to truly fear the idea of raising a child. She was in no way prepared for it, in no way equipped. People like her shouldn’t be allowed to have babies in the first place.

She could sense where things were going. The reprieve had been short-lived, and despite her best efforts to keep it at bay, the depression was returning.

Amelia vacillated between resigned and terrified. She couldn’t do it again. It would kill her this time, she was sure. But who cared? And what about her baby? Wasn’t she just dooming another generation to the fate her mother had passed on to her?

The prescription for her antidepressant still sat in her purse. She knew she should go get it filled, but now that she actually knew people here, she was paranoid someone would see her and ask what was wrong, or that the pharmacist would end up being a member of New Hope. But she couldn’t ask Marcus to do it—he’d be mad she’d never started them as she was supposed to. She was paralyzed, unable to see past her fear.

Back and forth, back and forth, until Amelia crept once again beneath the bedsheets, praying for sleep that wouldn’t come and for peace that eluded her grasp.

Marcus had a sermon to deliver in less than seventy-two hours, and he still hadn’t started the research. He hadn’t been this bad the week before, though he’d been up until two o’clock on Sunday morning finishing his talk. This time he couldn’t even decide on a topic.

Doubt consumed his mind, and he didn’t know how to pull himself out of his quagmire. He’d been analyzing the last fifteen years of his life, trying to figure out which decisions, if any, had been driven by his own desires and interests. Extracurricular activities? No—he chose those based on what he thought his father would appreciate, or on his father’s recommendation. The college he attended? His father’s alma mater. His major—the same as his dad’s. And now he questioned everything he did: Was that decision truly a reflection of his actual desires, or was it based on his attempts to be who he thought his father wanted him to be? Did he really care about the things he spent his time on, or did he pursue them in the hopes that doing so would finally win his father’s love?

And what if he wasn’t supposed to be a pastor? What if he’d missed his real calling because he hadn’t bothered to listen for God’s voice at all? It would explain why he still felt so out of sorts in his job and still didn’t enjoy it. But what was he supposed to do—say, “Oops, sorry, my mistake,” and leave? He’d prayed passionately for answers, for God to either assure him he was in the right place or tell him no, he wasn’t. But God was silent, which fed into a whole host of other insecurities and worries.

There was only one decision he could think of that had been made purely out of his own will: marrying Amelia. Had he followed his father’s lead on choosing a wife, he’d have ended up with one of the education majors he’d pursued during his undergrad days. But Amelia had cast all those other women in black and white. They were sweet, earnest, and predictable. Amelia was Technicolor and … exciting. But more than that, she had been so encouraging, so supportive of him and his endeavors. Not that the other women hadn’t been, but theirs had been delivered in a fawning sort of way. He always felt as if they were trying to puff him up so he’d return the favor. Amelia had never sought that kind of recognition; she’d encouraged him enthusiastically and sought to join him in what he was doing. But none of those things ever mattered to her as much as he did. She loved him, pure and simple, not because of what he might someday be, or because of what he did, but because of who he was. He was starting to think marrying her was the only right decision he’d ever made—but then he remembered how things had changed and how at odds they seemed to be lately, and went right back to wondering if their marriage was a mistake too.

He was still too embarrassed and unclear to talk to her about his father. Plus, he worried that his waffling about his choices would not only fuel her desire to return to LA, but would also make her think he hadn’t been listening to God after all.

Marcus shut his book and stood. “I’m, um … going for a run,” he told Amelia, who was curled on the couch with a book.

She nodded. “See you later then.”

He changed clothes, gave her a kiss, and left, feeling guilty. He knew she was worried about him. He still hadn’t told her—he couldn’t bear to. If moving to Nebraska turned out to be a mistake, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to admit it to her, not after the toll it had taken on her and their marriage. And he could tell there was something going on with her, too—he just didn’t have the emotional reserves to confront it, which made him feel even more guilty.