The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,27

tea when she drops the bomb about everybody in the world being pro-choice. She’d be lucky to get out of there alive.

“I’m sorry to break up the party,” I say, putting a brave face on the situation. I make my way toward the gap in the hedge, Chas trailing in my wake with a confused expression.

“You don’t have to go,” he says.

“I think I probably should. But thanks for inviting me. I enjoyed it. Really.”

On the sidewalk, hidden once more from their scrutiny, I feel myself shaking with anger, maybe self-pity. I should have fudged when the question came up. At the very least, I shouldn’t have mentioned where Rick works. The Community is too high profile not to have rubbed some of these people the wrong way. But no, I am who I am. There’s no point denying it. There’s a Jesus fish on my bumper, and that’s all you need to know.

I pause at that bumper, staring down at that fish. He’s looking a little dim and dirt-speckled. Part of me wants to kneel down and wipe him clean. The other part wants to pry him off.

“Beth, wait.”

Marlene comes up behind me, tentatively, her earlier confidence gone.

“It was nice meeting you,” I say.

“You’re not mad, are you? Don’t go away mad.”

“No, I’m fine. I knew there was some potential for culture clash. It’s not a big deal.”

“Good,” she says. “Anyway . . .”

“I’d better get going.”

I open the door and pause. She’s standing on the curb, hesitating, wanting to say something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I used to go there,” she says. “To your church. My parents made me when I was in high school.”

“Oh.”

“I remember your husband, I think.”

“You do?”

“I always thought he was nice. The youth pastor, some of the others, I always thought they were full of themselves. But he was different.”

“Thanks for saying that.” She’s probably confusing Rick with someone else. But no, that’s unfair. He is different, only I lose sight of it sometimes. I mean, there’s nobody else on the pastoral staff planning to spend his vacation in a shed waiting to hear from God.

I drive home in a cloud of pipe smoke and guilt. As judgmental as it sounds, implying her life is off the rails, the words keep repeating in my head: We failed that girl. I failed her. And I didn’t even know who she was. She’s a college student now—at Towson, she told me—but a couple of years ago she was in the same youth group as my son Jed. They might have known each other, or at least recognized each other by sight. And now, going soccer mom again, I’m reinterpreting everything about her—the hair, the piercings, the pro-choice advocacy—as a reaction against her experience with us. The Community.

I want to talk to Jed, see if he recognizes her. I want to talk to Rick too. It can’t be a coincidence, me running away from church and straight into Marlene. I want to tell him what she said, in case it might encourage him. Remembering him on that stage this morning, so different from the man he used to be, I want to encourage him.

Eli is in the driveway with his bike standing upside down on its handlebars. He looks up from tinkering with the new wheel, waiting for me to park.

“Where’s your brother?” I ask.

“He went to the movies with some kids from church.”

“Okay. What about your dad? His car’s gone.”

“He said he was going to Sports Authority. He needs a new sleeping bag.”

“I see.”

He spins the bicycle wheel, watching the chain dance around the hub. “So, Mom . . . how was your afternoon with Chas? I bet he was surprised to see you.”

“Chas thinks I should bring you to the big peace demo in Washington DC two weeks from now. It’ll open your eyes, he says.”

“It sounds lame. Maybe Jed should go instead.”

“Maybe so. All fixed?”

He rights the bicycle and throws a leg over the top tube, rolling back and forth to test the weight. Satisfied, he kicks forward, rolling down the driveway and into the street, where he circles once or twice before waving good-bye. I stand there and watch him disappear.

Then I turn toward my empty house. I walk in.

chapter 6

Desert Father

There’s an elephant in the room, a big, gray elephant swaying his snout back and forth over the breakfast table, probably astonished at how completely we’re managing to ignore him. The boys do most of the work. Eli can talk for hours