Devoted (24 page)

In the note I left under her pillow, I promised Ruth I would get in touch, but I can't figure out a way to get the letters to her. Even if I leave my return address blank, my parents are sure to open any mail addressed just to Ruth. And even letters about mundane things like making supper are forbidden if they're written by someone like me.

Since I can't call her, a letter is the only way. Maybe the day my letter arrives might be the day Ruth gets the mail. But I think she'd probably show it to my parents.

I bite down harder on the pen and frown. Finally, I think about the one thing I wish I could tell Ruth right now. And it's not mundane and it wouldn't scare her. It's just the truth.

Ruth, here in the place where I am staying, I sleep on a friend's couch. And sometimes at night I hug my pillow and pretend it's you, and I whisper all the things I want to tell you.

My throat tightens up. Now that I've found something I want to say, I can't even get the letter to her.

“How do I look?”

Lauren interrupts me by walking out of her bedroom. She's wearing tight black jeans and a skin-hugging red T-shirt. Her red lipstick is the color of fresh apples. Her eyes are framed with dark liner, and her hair—still blue—is artfully arranged in soft curls around her face.

“You look pretty,” I say, grateful for the distraction. I swallow a few times until the lump in my throat is gone and examine Lauren's outfit again. I still can't imagine myself in anything like what she's wearing, but Lauren does look pretty. Light-up-a-room, notice-me pretty. Confident pretty. Pretty pretty.

“Thanks. Jeremy's picking me up in a few secs, so…”

“Jeremy? Your old boyfriend?” The one she caught kissing someone else?

“Yes, and I don't want to talk about it. Just tell me to have fun, okay? Please?” She smiles brightly and slips off to the kitchen. When she comes back she's sipping from a glass. She finishes it pretty quickly as she messes around on her phone.

“Okay, he's downstairs,” says Lauren, setting her glass down on the table. “Don't wait up.”

“All right,” I say, wondering why Bryce came to the front door to meet Lauren and Jeremy just sends her a message from his car outside. “Have a nice time.”

After Lauren leaves, I watch
Law & Order
, figuring out the plot twist long before the assistant district attorney does. I usually choose nature shows when I'm in the apartment alone, but when Lauren and I watch
Law & Order
together she has me guess the ending at the halfway point because she knows I'm almost always right. I have to admit I enjoy solving the puzzles. I've even gotten used to the short skirts. When the show's over, I turn off the television so I can go read some more of the Madeleine L'Engle books Mark brought. I haven't seen him at Diane's this week, and I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever see him again. And I want to. I want to see his kind smile and hear his silly jokes. I'm not sure what to do about the fact that he makes my heart beat double time, but I do know the last time I went to Diane's I thought about pinning my hair up to show off my face even though I didn't do it.

I change into my nightgown and lie down to read on the couch until a little past eleven. Reading whatever I want for as long as I want to read it makes me sigh out loud with happiness even if there's no one around to hear me sighing. I'll never get sick of it.

Suddenly the door to the apartment swings open with a wild force. I jump at the sound, my eyes wide.

“That guy,” Lauren spits. “I seriously hate that guy.” She slams the door so hard the framed
Don't Mess with Texas Women
poster she has hanging by the door skitters off the wall and lands with a crash on the hardwood floor.

“I hate that fucker like I hate my dad,” she yells, her voice cracking. Two black half moons of melting eye makeup stain her face, and her carefully applied lipstick is now smeared, careening off her mouth and down her chin like a child's scribble.

“What happened?” I whisper, but Lauren takes the glass she left on the table and hurls it at the door. Then she crumples into a ball right there on the floor, and in that moment she looks impossibly tiny. Younger than me.

“Lauren!” I shout, and I scramble to her, careful not to step on the glass. She's sobbing now, hard. The choking, can't breathe sobs I know from my first days away from home. Mucus runs freely down her nose, but she doesn't seem to notice or care.

I help her up and walk with her to her bedroom, grabbing a bunch of toilet paper from the bathroom on the way so she can clean her face. In the dim light shining in on us from the hall, I can see she's finally stopped crying. Her breathing is shaky, coming in fits and starts. She falls into her bed, not even changing her clothes.

“I'm sorry about the glass,” she finally says, her voice soft. Not at all like the bombastic Lauren I'm used to. “I'll clean it up tomorrow.”

“No, I'll do it later,” I say. “Don't worry.”

“Oh, you don't have to, Rachel.”

“I don't mind.”

“Thanks,” she says, scooting closer to the wall, making room for me. I sit next to her and bring my knees up to my chin.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Lauren shrugs and doesn't make eye contact when she answers. “Stupid stuff. Drinking stuff. We messed around.” She glances up at me. “I mean, we kissed and everything.”

And everything. I wonder what the
everything
part means.

“Anyway, we spent all night hanging out, and I thought it was going really great, like all the crap that had gone on between us was in the past, but then when I brought up maybe, like, starting to hang out again, he said he thought I had too many issues and he wasn't the right guy for me because he wouldn't be able to help me in the way I needed help. God, it sounds so awful and gross just saying it out loud.” She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “I mean, that is so him. He makes it sound like he's doing me a favor while he breaks my heart.”

Tears start sliding down her face, but she wipes them away with the back of her hand.

“The truth is, he's right. I do have too many issues. I'm seriously fucked up. I'm just this fucked-up girl, and I'll never
not
be fucked up. And no one will want to be with me.”

“Lauren, that's not true,” I say. My hand sits uncertainly for a moment and then I reach out, pushing her hair away from her face. I pet her gently for a while, and I sense Lauren's shoulders start to sink just a bit and hear her breathing even out.

“How is that not true?” she whispers, still avoiding my eyes.

“You left your house when you were my age, but you didn't have anyone to go to. And you did it. You made it. I couldn't have done that. I couldn't have left without you to go to.”

“Yes, you could have.”

“But you did it, Lauren,” I insist. “You did it all by yourself. And you got your GED and a job and an apartment. You're a hard worker, and you care about people. You spend all day helping animals. And you're helping me now. You're a good person, Lauren.”

Lauren sniffs a little and manages a tiny, wry smile. “Remember how Pastor Garrett always used to say it didn't matter if we were good? How good people went to hell every day? How the only thing that mattered was whether or not we were born again in Christ Jesus?”

“Yeah, I remember,” I say. And suddenly I know—suddenly I accept, in every space in my heart—that Pastor Garrett is wrong.

“What's going to happen to us, Rachel?” Lauren asks. “What's going to happen to our lives?”

To our wild lives. Our precious lives.

“I'm not sure,” I answer. “I wish I knew.”

“Me, too,” Lauren whispers, and she stifles a yawn.

“You need to go to sleep.”

“Sit with me till I do?”

“Sure.”

I wait until she's drifted off. I take a deep breath.

God, help me. Guide me. Give me the compassion to be there for Lauren as I know you would want me to be. Help me to show her love, God.

I pray and breathe and watch Lauren sleep, and when I'm sure she's resting deeply, I tiptoe out of her bedroom and set to picking up the shards of broken glass.

 

19

Diane asks me to come
in next Friday even though it's usually my day off, and when I knock on the door, I expect to be met by trails of Diane's sweet perfume and the tap of her high heels. But when the Treatses' front door opens, I'm face-to-face with Mark.

“Oh, hey,” he says, grinning. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” I answer. “I mean, hi.” My face feels warm.

“Hey, hi,
hola
, it's all the same thing,” Mark says, heading into Diane's office. He takes a big bite of an apple he's holding and bellows out, “Mom! Rachel's here!” in between bites. Then he stretches out onto the love seat and keeps eating. I put my purse down on the desk just as Diane walks in, dressed in a mint-green suit and matching pumps.

“It's so lovely for you to let me know in a calm and measured tone that my responsible employee is once again on time for her job,” Diane says to Mark, rolling her eyes. “And take your shoes off the love seat.” She's carrying a large paper bag full of clothing which she places alongside some others by the front door.

“Mom, come on,” Mark replies. He finishes the apple and tosses the core into the garbage can where it lands with a thud. But he drops his feet down to the floor.

Diane sighs. “Mark told me you've got six brothers,” she says to me. “How do you handle all that male energy?” She drags out the last two words, like saying the phrase “male energy” alone is exhausting.

“Well, I have sisters, too, so I guess it all balances out,” I say.

Diane smiles, then glances at the bags by the door.

“Mark, we have to get all of these things out to the car. The church is having that big yard sale to raise money for the women's shelter, and I said I'd donate what we could.”

Mark groans again and doesn't move.

“Rachel, that gets me thinking,” Diane says, ignoring Mark. “I know you used to go to church with your family, and I was wondering if maybe this Sunday you'd like to come to church with us?”

“Oh, man,” Mark says, sitting up straight. “Mom, don't be weird.”

“What's weird about church?” Diane shoots back. “Don't be so negative, Mark. It's a lovely church. Peace Lutheran of Clayton.” She looks at me and adds, “Mark and his brother were both baptized there.”

Mark gives me an “I'm sorry” look. “My mom is so good at selling houses she doesn't stop there,” he says. “Although I guess as churches go, it could be worse.”

“Oh,” I say. “I guess … well.” I can't be rude. Not after everything Diane has done for me. And anyway, it's the church Diane goes to. It's not Calvary Christian. “I'll go. Sure.”

“You will?” Mark answers.

“Wonderful!” Diane adds. “This Sunday at nine a.m. Do you want us to pick you up or just meet us there?”

“I can meet you there,” I say.

“Terrific. It's a really warm and welcoming place, Rachel. I think you'll enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” I say, my mind catching up with my mouth. I just agreed to go to church with Mark and his parents.

Diane explains my tasks for the day as Mark makes several trips to the car with the sacks of old clothing. When he's finished, Diane swats him gently on the head with a stack of folders before heading out the door. “If you want a ride to work,” she calls, “this is your chance. See you Sunday, Rachel!”

As I take my seat at the desk, Mark stands in the open doorway. “I guess I'll see you Sunday, too,” he says. “Hey, how are the
Wrinkle in Time
books?”

“Oh, they were all so good,” I say, smiling.

“All?” His eyebrows pop a bit.

“I finished them last night,” I answer. “I should have brought them back, but…” I hesitate. “I thought maybe I could reread one or two, if that's okay. If you don't mind me keeping them for a little while longer?”

“You finished all those books in less than two weeks?” He tilts his head and looks at me carefully.

“Yes, is that fast?”

“Uh, yes, that is fast,” Mark says. Then he grins. “It's expeditious.”

I smile, remembering our vocab game from the other day. “It's hasty.”

“It's accelerated.”

“It's rapid.”

“It's brisk.”

“It's swift,” I answer, not sure what I like more—coming up with the words and challenging Mark, or the fact that Mark doesn't seem to mind that I challenge him.

“Mark, let's go!” rings Diane's voice from the front yard.

“Saved by my mother,” Mark says. “But you won anyway. And no rush on getting the books back.”

I'm still smiling after he's shut the door.

But as I set to work, my smile fades. I've agreed to go to church. I've missed certain parts of my family life—Ruth's hugs, Isaac's sticky kisses. But I haven't missed church. I haven't missed Pastor Garrett's blustery sermons that leave me full of contradictions and questions. I'm guessing the Treatses' church won't be like that, but I'm not sure. I've never been to any church but Calvary Christian, so I have no idea what to expect. Part of me is curious, of course. And part of me just doesn't want to hurt Diane's feelings.

I'm still muddling over what Sunday will be like when Lauren gets home from work that evening, just in time for dinner. We sit down at the table and share tomato soup and saltines and something Lauren found called tofu pups that taste like rubber unless you douse them with ketchup.

“So how was Diane's today?” Lauren asks me.