was where I wanted those feelings to go. But like I said, such things would have to wait for when I had time to think about them.
For now, I went to work and to church—on slow days, I slipped off to noonday prayer. Those retirees know how to pray. I hadn’t had time to touch the phone outside of business…or the computer, thanks to Tracey handling my Web site and covering my devotionals. Being out of touch was great, in a way. I’d forgotten what it was like to just pray and sing all by myself. Like it was when I first got saved and Rochelle was busy with her business and Tracey was in school for the tenth time, before finally hitting upon her call in life, graphic design.
I took a deep breath and took my church dress out of the closet, hoping it would be looser since the last time I wore it. I slipped it over my head, noticing at once the grip the sleeves had on my shoulders.
Tighter, not looser.
I frowned, thinking of Tracey, who’d given me this outfit when she’d abandoned her flab. Amazing what affect Ryan had on her. When I’d dated him, he’d driven me so nuts, I was on a first-name basis with the pizza man. Tracey, on the other hand, was so in love she’d forgotten to eat…or so she said. Whatever the case, she’d sure looked good in that wedding gown. And here I was about to explode out of another dress.
I’d been doing okay with my eating, but couldn’t seem to squeeze in time to get to the gym. The blistering cold kept me from my summer walks and work seemed to beckon from every corner. Gone were the days where excess pounds dropped off in a week or a month. Less than a year shy of thirty, I had to fight to lose even an ounce. And at this time of the month, it was pretty much a lost cause.
Shoving back my closet door, I stared at the satin cemetery of bridesmaids gowns in the back—ten dresses in a rainbow of pastels, peach, lavender and robin’s egg blue. A lovely canary yellow that had actually looked good on me. The last, a shocking pink with a ruffled skirt, sported two slits down the sides.
Remembering it was the third Sunday and the choir needed to dress the same, I reached for a black wrap-around skirt and white blouse, both in a size I’d vowed never to wear again.
Why’d you keep them, then?
Just in case, the same reason I still had my hope chest full of dishes that Mama had given to Adrian and me. The thought made me a little queasy. I’d have to get rid of that. It was just weird.
I stared at the clock. Six-thirty. At noonday prayer on Friday, I’d promised Mother Holly I’d pick her up for church this morning. Did she go to the early service? I’d forgotten to ask. I’d been too busy soaking up her powerful prayers for my situation with Jordan and Rochelle. I didn’t give the details, but having been my mother’s friend, she knew enough to read between the lines.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” she’d said in that singsong voice of hers. “You just do your thing. Keep your eyes on Jesus. He’s got this.”
I smiled at the thought, both knowing and wondering if she was right. He did have this thing, didn’t He? ’Cause I didn’t.
Peeling off the tight-sleeved dress, I smoothed my skirt down over my stockings, then tucked my blouse into the flexible waistband.
Ahh…much better.
Nothing like elastic when you bloat up like the Good Ship Lollipop.
The phone rang, interrupting my silly thoughts. I walked toward it, put my hand on the receiver, but didn’t pick up. Surely Rochelle wouldn’t choose now to try and “get things straight” as she had on many other Sunday mornings. Nah. Maybe later, after her solo, when she felt especially holy.
What about Adrian? Besides our inopportune run-ins in the business owners’ parking lot and my constant glances across the street, e-mail had been our only contact. And even that proved more than I could deal with. Three messages from him awaited my reply.
“You have reached Dana Rose. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Leave a message and have a blessed day.”
“Dane! It’s Tracey. I know you’re there. Probably standing up in your stockings talking to yourself. Pick up! I—”
She knew me so well. “What is it, silly? And I’m not talking