Pretense (19 page)

Until their mother went to work part-time, both girls had been guilty of taking her work around the house and in the

129

kitchen for granted. They didn't always have the clean clothes they wanted now, and about once a month they had to settle for whatever was in the cupboard.

Remembering what her father had said about thankfulness, Mackenzie bit her tongue against complaining and asked, "How was your day at the office, Mom?"

"It was fine." Marrell was pleased to be asked. "Things have picked up for spring, but the busyness makes the day go faster."

"Do you have to work on our Easter break?"

"No. I already told Shay I would need it off. It's going to make things more hectic both before and after, but it'll be worth it to be home."

"I wish Dad could be here."

"Me too," Marrell said with a sigh. "I sat outside on my lunch hour today and counted the days."

"How many?"

"He's done there June 26, so he could be here as early as the twenty-seventh."

"He'll miss my birthday," Mackenzie said wistfully.

"Um hm."

"So how many days is that?" Delancey still wanted to know.

"Eighty-nine."

Delancey groaned. "That's forever."

At the moment Marrell felt the same way but stayed quiet. She had done so much growing since Christmas and continued to be hungry for the Word, but the job of single parenting and seeing to so many needs on her own was a hard task.

Help me to be thankful that I have a husband, Lord. So many marriages don't even make it. Help me remember to thank You that my husband is coming home in less than three months.

"Oh, look at that car," Mackenzie said. "It looks fast."

"You and your fast cars, Micki," her mother replied with a small chuckle. She liked sporty cars herself, but they didn't turn her head the way they did Mackenzie's. "Makes me dread the next three years."

"In California you can get your permit when you're 15, so it's only two years and three months!" Mackenzie's tone was nothing short of triumphant.

"Thanks for the warning. I might start riding the bus."

130

Mackenzie laughed. "Dad will take me out. He can do anything."

Marrell threw a smile over her shoulder. "A 15-year-old girl behind the wheel? I don't know if any man is that strong."

Both girls found this very funny, and Marrell was still smiling as she pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building.

"Will you girls enjoy getting back on the base?" she asked.

"I will," Mackenzie said. "I want a place for a basketball hoop."

Delancey, who had a crush on one of the boys in the apartment upstairs, said nothing at all.

Sebastopol, California

They spent Easter Sunday with Oliver, Shay, and Oliver's family in Sebastopol. The day was warm and sunny on the Lacys' farm, where the couple grew a variety of apples. In the fall they would be sold by the bushel or bag. They were also made into pies or caramel apples, or pressed into cider. The girls loved getting out of the city, and Marrell especially enjoyed the fellowship at the church they attended.

For most of the day, the talk was on Oliver and Shay's upcoming nuptials. The wedding was scheduled for May 2, just under two weeks away, and naturally everyone was excited. Mackenzie was happy for Shay and Oliver but tired of wedding plans. She wandered out onto the front porch and dropped into the padded glider, the seat moving gently beneath her. The rocking chair looked comfortable too, but it was in the sun, and Mackenzie was already hot. She had been on the porch for only five minutes when Oliver's father, Greg Lacy, appeared.

"May I join you?" he asked congenially. Mackenzie smiled. He was so like Oliver with his dark red hair and kind smile. He was just the way she'd always pictured a perfect grandfather- warm and caring, but not too old to be in touch.

"Sure," Mackenzie agreed. "Is the game over?"

"Yes, and they've got the bridal magazines out again, so I made my escape."

Mackenzie laughed.

"I've got something to show you, Micki." Greg held a book in his hand. "Do you have a scrapbook?"

131

"No. My mom has one, but I've never started one."

"Well," he sat on the other end of the glider from her and put the book between them, "I thought you might like a little of this." He opened the first page. "My mother was very good at keeping things, and I was in track from the time I was your age."

"Oh, Mr. Lacy," Mackenzie breathed reverently as she took in the old newspaper photos and articles. "You did hurdles."

"Yes, ma'am, I did. Just the way you do now."

"Oh, I didn't know. Oliver's never said."

Greg smiled humbly.

"Now, which one are you?" Mackenzie asked as she studied the photos.

"Here, and here again." He pointed to pictures as he went, giving a brief history. The pages mapped his career from junior high through his high school years and into college. He lingered a bit long on one of the middle pages, but when he turned it, his eyes were on Mackenzie's face. He had the headline memorized.

"The Olympics!" Mackenzie's mouth was agape. "You ran hurdles in the London Olympics?"

Before she could even see him reaching toward his pocket, Greg was dangling a medal in front of her.

Mackenzie gasped as he handed it to her. "A bronze. You won a bronze medal in the Olympics!"

Greg smiled at her enthusiasm.

"This is so cool." She fingered the medal and studied the scrapbook articles. Oliver came out to the porch then, and Mackenzie brightened at the sight of him.

"Oliver, isn't this cool?"

"Yes, it is. I've been meaning to tell you, but it just kept slipping my mind. Did you show her my favorite picture, Dad?"

"The one with your mother? Not yet."

Greg flipped through the book and came to a photo of the award ceremony. Seated in the front row of the stands, in a startling clear shot, was a very young Carol Lacy.

"How wonderful," Mackenzie said softly, "that she could be there with you."

"I didn't know her," Greg inserted, his eyes on Mackenzie's face again.

132

"You didn't know who?" Mackenzie lowered her brow in confusion.

"I didn't know Carol," Greg said. "We hadn't met yet."

Mackenzie's mouth, which opened but made no sounds, was fun to watch.

"You had better tell her, Dad." Oliver's voice was amused.

The 12-year-old could only stare at the older Lacy.

"There was a small party that night for those of us who had medaled in the track and field events. I was still floating on a cloud from the race, but I noticed this young woman sitting against the wall. The chairs all around her were empty, so I took my glass of punch over and asked if I could sit down. I can't say I did it because I felt sorry for her, but I was ready to wind down a little, and she didn't seem to be busy. We were joined by two other girls right after that, and after we exchanged names and the towns we were from, we got to talking.

"The two other girls were both English, but Carol Wagner was an American and from California to boot. We talked for more than an hour, and when the other girls got up to speak with someone, I asked Carol if I could see her the next day. She had to work. She was a nurse at a hospital over there, and by the time she was going to be off duty, I had to return to California. But we exchanged addresses and started to write to each other."

"Wow." Mackenzie looked at the picture again.

"It was weeks before I saw this picture and made the connection," Greg told her.

"Yes, by the time he saw it, Mom had moved back to California and they were engaged," Oliver added.

"It's like something you would read in a book," Mackenzie said, and both men could see that the wheels in her head were turning.

"Hey, Micki," Delancey called from behind the screen door, "we need someone for hearts. Do you wanna play?"

"Oh, sure. Thank you for showing these to me, Mr. Lacy."

"You're welcome."

Mackenzie handed the medal back and stood, but for some reason she didn't want to leave. She started to move away and then looked back at her host.

"Do you still run, Mr. Lacy?" she asked shyly.

133

"Yes, I do." That was all he said, enjoying the spectacle his young guest trying to get the words out. She couldn't dc so he rescued her.

"I don't do hurdles anymore."

Mackenzie laughed a little. "It's really not my business, 1 I did wonder."

Greg Lacy winked at her then, and she swung around head inside. The men exchanged smiles the moment she lefttheporch.

"How was your Easter break?" Brett Cooper asked Mackenzie Monday after lunch. The seventh grader tried to answer him without staring; he was so tall and good-looking.

"It was fun," Mackenzie replied, thinking of the day before at the Lacys'. "We didn't do too much, but that was okay. How was yours?"

"Boring," Brett answered, and Mackenzie mentally flinched. She knew that he sounded like everyone else, but her father had finally gotten through. There was always so much to be thankful for, but most of the time the kids she knew were bored and bent out of shape about something. She had been too, until he had started getting on her. In every letter and phone call, her dad asked her to tell him at least five things she had to be thankful for. He also had a habit of sending home news clippings and photos from around the world-articles of people who didn't have it so good. It had really started her thinking.

"We didn't do anything," Brett went on, his voice bitter. They were still walking toward Mackenzie's locker, and when she didn't say anything, Brett told her he had an oral report due that day.

"What's it on?"

"Germany."

"Oh, my dad is stationed there right now."

"He is? Why?"

"He's in the Army."

"Oh. When is he coming home?"

"This summer."

"Will he be stationed there again after that, I mean, in Germany?"

"No, he'll be back at the Presidio."

134

"Will you still go here?"

"Yes. It's the same school district."

The smile on Brett's face caused Mackenzie to blush. She was glad to be able to turn to her locker and spin the combination. The bell rang, and again Mackenzie was relieved. Brett waved to her as he walked away, but Mackenzie was torn inside.

Why does my heart leap when I see the guy, but when the bell rings, I'm glad he's leaving?
With a mental shake of her head, she wiped her sweaty palms down the legs of her jeans, picked up her math book, and walked to class.

"What is your
problem,
D.J.?" Mackenzie nearly screamed at her sister several weeks later. "I'm sick of your mood. Now I want my book back, and I mean
now!'

D.J. threw the book at her sister, and Mackenzie had started toward her when Marrell showed up at the door.

"That's enough, Mackenzie!" Marrell's voice was a lash, stopping the older girl's fist in midair. "To your room. Right now!"

Marrell waited until her older daughter had stomped from the room before going in to address Delancey.

"You've been sulking all evening, Delancey. What is going on?"

"Nothing." Her voice was sullen.

Marrell only looked at her. The maturity was coming. The baby-smooth cheeks were gone, and now oily places around her nose and chin, along with a few pimples, were plainly visible. Her eyes were still like huge blue flowers, her lashes dark and long, but thick blond hair that could go for a week without a washing was now hanging limp around her face after just three days.

"Delancey," Marrell said softly this time, waiting for her younger daughter to look at her. "If you don't want to talk about what's bothering you, then I won't push you, but neither will I put up with your mood."

Delancey looked away for a moment, so Marrell waited. She thought she might share, but Delancey only looked back at her.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

135

Delancey shrugged. "There's nothing wrong, really, Mom."

"Then why are you so cross?"

"I just wish Dad were here."

Marrell nodded, but she had the feeling there was something more. Delancey had been touchy and down since Shay's wedding almost two weeks before.

"How many days is it now?" Delancey's question brought Marrell back to the present.

"Forty-four."

Delancey's sigh was huge.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to talk to Micki now, but if you want to talk, D.J., we still can."

"Thanks, Mom."

Delancey let her mother walk from the room. There was no point in stopping her. Something felt wrong, but she didn't know what it could be. If her mother had pressed her, she wouldn't have known what to say. Mackenzie was reading the only book she wanted, so Delancey reached for her sketchpad. All her recent drawings looked stupid to her, so she turned to a fresh page and started over.

"You will not hit your sister," Marrell wasted no time in saying.

"Mom, she's acting like such a brat today," Mackenzie defended herself. "She threw this book at me, and it belongs to the school."

"Right now I don't care what she did. I'm talking about your hitting her. I won't stand for it, Mackenzie Rose Bishop. Do you hear me?"

"Yes." Mackenzie's tone was none too gracious, but Marrell let that go. She had another bone to pick between them.

"You had a call when you were in the shower."

"Who was it?"

"He didn't leave his name."

"It was a boy?" This brought Mackenzie to the edge of the bed, sitting up now instead of lying down.

"Yes, and there's something we need to get straight right now, Micki. If they're not going to give a name, I won't hand the phone to you, even if you're free."

136

"Oh, Mom, you've got to be kidding." Mackenzie's face was thunderstruck.

"Not in the least, I assure you. Your father and I talked it over, and he told me to handle this any way I'm comfortable."

"Why do you have to know, Mom? A phone call is private."

"I didn't say I had to listen on the other line, Mackenzie. I just want to know who it is. If you're not doing something to be ashamed of, what's the big secret?"

"It's just so embarrassing. I mean, it's hard enough for a guy to call, let alone have to talk to the girl's mother."

Marrell smiled. She had said
mother
as though it were some specimen under a microscope.

"Not talk to a girl's mother," Marrell gasped. "Anything but that!"

Mackenzie, who had a pretty good sense of humor, smiled a little too.

"Are you really serious?"

"Yes, Mic, I am," Marrell's voice answered gently. "All I would have wanted him to do was say, "This is Clem Hinklewart. Can you please tell Mackenzie I called?"

A full smile came to Mackenzie's mouth at this, but she wanted to blush at the thought of telling a guy he had to give his name.

"His name is Brett Cooper."

"Well now, that's a much nicer name then Clem Hinklewart. He should feel no embarrassment in telling me that."

Mackenzie bit her lip to keep from smiling, and Marrell stood.

"Are we all set?"

"I think so. It doesn't look as though I have much choice."

Marrell shrugged. "Maybe your father will handle it differently, Mic, but with three women living here alone, I want to know exactly who owns the male voice of anyone who calls."

Mackenzie nodded. This made perfect sense. She had no way of really knowing whether Brett had called and wouldn't bring it up unless he did, but the reason her mother just gave made complete sense. If Brett did say something, she knew just how she would reply. In fact, she spent the time before bed writing it all down-what he would say, where they would be, how she would smile--all of it.

She didn't know until the next day that it was all a waste of time. Brett was on a trip with the eighth graders, and she wouldn't see him until Monday.

137

Eleven

P
aul did not surprise his family in the night this time.

On June 27, four days after Mackenzie's thirteenthbirthday,MarrellandthegirlsstoodatSan

Francisco International Airport and waited for Paul Bishop to

deplane.

Marrell's palms were damp with excitement, and the anxiety that she would burst into tears and not even be able to talk to him was mounting. The girls' faces were pale like her own, each daughter looking as if she could cry too.

A moment later he was there. Dropping his bag, he tried to hug them all at once. As they clung to him, tears poured down everyone's face. No one could speak. They hugged for several minutes, and then for privacy Paul gently moved them to the corner of a nearly deserted waiting area. He bent and kissed his wife's wet cheek, his arm going around her, and smiled at the girls.

"Hi, Dad," Mackenzie managed. They all stood very close.

"Hi, Mic. Hi, D.J."

"Oh, Dad," was all his youngest could say. It felt as though he had been gone forever.

"Your eyes are running down your face," Paul teased Mackenzie, and she wiped at the makeup on her face as he leaned to kiss her brow.

"I wasn't going to do this," Marrell finally spoke, her cheek still laid against his chest. "It just feels so long."

"Doesn't it, though? They had some difficulty with my first plane, and I dreaded calling you and telling you I wasn't on the way."

"Oh, I'm so glad I didn't know about that," Marrell said fervently.

138

Paul laughed. "We'd better get down to the luggage carousels. Are we up to it?"

The females nodded, but all looked drained and emotional. Little talk was shared as they walked through the airport and down the escalator to retrieve Paul's two bags. But the walk to the car took some time, and everyone perked up a little on the way.

Marrell told him that since her last letter Shay had accepted an offer on her business, and that she would need to put in only a few days of work in July. Delancey shared about the garage sale she wanted to have, and Mackenzie wanted permission to go to Great America with a group of friends. Having just spent the last 27 hours on a plane and in airports, Paul forced himself to at least tell the girls that he would think about their requests.

They were almost home when his brain clicked into gear, and he said out of the blue, "D.J., we don't have a garage."

Marrell laughed at him and shook her head as Delancey launched into the perfect way to have this sale in the parking lot of the apartment building. By the time she finished, he was glassy- eyed again but managed to get them safely into the parking place. The girls scrambled out, taking the keys to get the luggage and heading inside. Marrell sat looking at her husband for a long moment.

"I've never felt for you what I do now," she said softly, thinking that God had blessed her beyond measure.

Paul smiled. "I've been thinking about that too. How about we get married again?"

Marrell's mouth dropped open. "When?"

"August 28."

"Our anniversary! Oh, Paul, what a wonderful idea."

"I think so. It just seems so natural after all the changes. We'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay."

They leaned simultaneously and kissed before climbing out of the car. The girls had made some things for their father, so as soon as he was inside, they presented him with a picture Delancey had drawn and a cake Mackenzie had baked.

"Oh, thank you. This picture is super, D.J. You're getting better all the time."

She smiled shyly but with great pleasure.

139

"What kind of cake, Mic?"

"Chocolate."

"That's my girl. In fact, I could eat some of this right now."

"Can we, Mom?"

"I wouldn't argue with that. Don't forget the ice cream."

It was a perfectly normal thing to do on their father's first day back. They visited some, but mostly ate in silence, and then Paul produced some gifts he had purchased, including a late birthday gift for Mackenzie. No one was hungry for supper just an hour later, and jet lag was catching Paul fast.

"A nap or an early night?" It was six o'clock when Marrell asked.

"I don't know if I can make it until tonight, and if I nap now, I might not be coherent afterward."

"Don't try. Just go to bed now and sleep the night."

Paul hated to do it, but that's just what he did. He didn't remember his fatigue being this bad in December, but he was nearly dragging as he kissed his wife and girls and headed to the bedroom. Undressing and stretching out on his back, and even sighing with the pleasure of being in his own bed, he remembered nothing else until almost six o'clock the next morning.

Marrell rolled over and for an instant thought one of the girls had climbed into bed beside her. It took a second for her to remember that Paul was finally home. She squinted through the hair that had fallen in her face to find him lying on his side watching her. She smiled.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, her voice rusty.

"Just a little while. You're beautiful in the morning, did you know that?"

She groaned a little. "You sound like a man starved for the sight of his wife no matter how bad she looks."

Paul chuckled and pushed the hair from her face. He kissed her, and Marrell realized he'd been up to shave.

"Are the girls up?" she asked.

"I don't think so. It's only about 6:20."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Very well. I didn't even hear you come in."

"How was your bed in Germany? I never asked you."

140

"It was fine," Paul said before a smile lit his eyes. "But I never got to wake up next to my wife-a keen disadvantage, I can tell you."

"Oh, Paul, I didn't know anyone could miss someone the way I missed you."

He kissed her again. "I assure you, the feeling is quite mutual. Tell me again, what time do we need to leave for Sunday school?"

"About 9:10."

"Perfect," he said as his arms went around her. "Plenty of time to cuddle with my wife."

"Hell is a very real place," Pastor Timm said later that morning. Delancey didn't like the sound of that, but unlike previous Sunday mornings, she wasn't able to shift her mind to other things.

Did people really burn forever? Would God really make someone do that?
The thought was so awful to her that she refused to believe it. One time, while she was still quite little, her mother had been baking a cake. Delancey had touched the pan and burned the side of her small finger. She remembered thinking the pain would never go away. She hated it and had a mark for days after.

What would it be like to feel that all over?
Delancey felt sick at the thought. She chanced a look at Mackenzie, but she was looking bored and disinterested. Delancey knew she couldn't talk to her. She could talk to her mother but hoped by the time the service ended that she would have forgotten all about it. Delancey finally distracted herself by thinking about a dress she had seen at the mall. After a few moments her mind was as far away from the sermon as Mackenzie's.

The following week was busy. On Monday and Tuesday the four Bishops packed. They threw out, cleaned, sorted, threw out some more, and loaded every available box with possessions. They woke up Wednesday morning to go at it again.

"Where did we get all this stuff?" Paul asked at one point, having just lifted a very heavy box and set it by the wall in the living room.

141

"That box holds books," Marrell admitted. "I probably buy two or three a month."

Paul nodded. He had been doing more reading as well.

"Do we need to keep them, or can we donate them to the church library?"

"Oh, I never thought of that. Maybe I should go through them again."

"Not now; they're packed. We'll leave those boxes and sort them once we're on the base."

"All right. Did you hear back about housing?"

"Yeah," Paul's face brightened. "I forgot to tell you. We're back on Infantry Terrace."

"Are we really?"

"Yes. I don't know the number, but that's what I was told."

"Oh, that's the best news I've had all day."

"What's the best news?" Delancey wanted to know.

"Our house on the base is right back where we were on Infantry Terrace."

"Oh, cool," she said calmly as she headed into the kitchen to attack the fruit bowl. She wandered past with an apple and two oranges in her hands, and Paul stared after her.

"Is she about two feet taller than she was yesterday, or is it me?"