The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,31
I broach the subject—always with Roy, never with her—he smiles enigmatically and sighs, “If only!”
The home telephone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway. A telemarketer is company, if nothing else.
“Hey, Beth, it’s Jim. Is the Big Man around?”
“Not at the moment,” I say.
“Too bad. I tried to call him a couple of times today, but he must have his other phone switched off. I just wanted to check in and see where he’s at. No pressure or anything.”
Do I tell him the man he wants to hire as the leader of his church is closeted out in the shed waiting for a sign? Would that work in Rick’s favor, or just the opposite? I’m not sure, so I’d better say nothing at all.
“You want me to have him call you?”
“That would be great. And what about you? Where are you at on this thing?”
“Me? I’m just waiting to see where Rick comes down. It’s his decision, and I’ll support him no matter what.” The words come out automatically. Because they’re expected, not because I believe them. Maybe I do, though, on some level. You play a role long enough and you do believe in it. You can’t tell anymore which face is the mask and which is real.
“Well, I’m sure he’s already told you, but between you and me, Beth, lemme make one thing crystal clear. You guys will be taken care of. I know you’ve both made a lot of sacrifices in ministry, but this won’t be one of them. The workman’s worthy of his hire, right?”
“Don’t muzzle the ox, I know.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Jim,” I say.
“Yeah, Beth?”
“Do you remember, years ago, I told you I’d been accepted to law school?”
“Sure I remember. This was before you had Jed, right?”
“Right. I asked you if you thought it was a mistake, not going.”
“And I’ll tell you now what I told you then. You don’t have to go to law school to make a difference. Most people don’t.”
“Sometimes I do regret it. I mean, that was my plan, you know?”
“Listen, Beth, if you feel that way, it’s not too late. We have some great law schools down here. And with the nest emptying out—”
“I’m just thinking out loud. Never mind me. By the way, I was sorry to hear about Kathie, the thing with her hearing.”
He goes quiet. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. But, hey, I appreciate that. I’ll tell her you were thinking about her, all right?”
After the call, I replay the words. That was my plan. Strange to think, I did have a plan. I grew up with a purpose in life, a sense of calling, and now . . .
Best not to think about it. They’re still cooking on TV.
During one of the commercials I glance outside and notice Roy standing at the edge of the patio, looking off into the yard. Deedee is nowhere to be seen. Curious, I creep over and cup my hand to the glass. There she is, walking gingerly through the English garden, martini in hand, turning theatrically to put a finger to her lips, shushing Roy.
I go to the kitchen for a better look, careful not to switch on the lights. Deedee crouches stealthily toward the shed.
“What are you doing?” I ask aloud, remembering the mischief in her smile this afternoon.
She goes on tiptoes at the window, steadying herself with her free hand. The light inside illuminates the impish expression on her face. She sets her drink on the windowsill.
I dislike her spying on Rick this way. It may be funny to her, but to me it’s halfway to tragic. Plus, he’s my husband. Just because I’m mad at him doesn’t mean it’s open season. But does this bother me enough to intervene? Do I really want to make an issue of it?
Deedee freezes, her expression hardening, the muscles going slack. Now I can’t read her at all. She draws back into the shadows a step, denying me the chance. But she’s still watching.
What is Rick doing in there? Is he sprawled on the floor the way I found him two nights ago, twisting his body into the shape of a cross? Is he watching movies on his laptop, or eating miniature Snickers bars, or sitting on the couch in his unzipped sleeping bag, clipping his toenails? Whatever he’s up to, Deedee seems fascinated. She watches for more than a minute. Impatient, Roy calls out—I can just hear him—but she doesn’t respond at first. After a pause, she takes her