Heavens to Betsy (24 page)

“That was his only reason?”

She plucks at the holes in the knees of her jeans. They’re stretched wide due to the aforementioned lotus position, and her kneecaps are as bony as a child’s. If I sat like that, I couldn’t walk for a week.

Cali sighs. “I think there’s someone else.” Again, she peeps up at me through her bangs. “You would know, Betsy, wouldn’t you? If he had someone else?”

A rush of heat suffuses my face. I’m sure the guilt is written on my forehead in nine-foot letters.

“He hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

As a minister you learn to tell the diversionary truth. Technically you’re not breaking one of the Big Ten or other God-type rules. Don’t think of it as a lie. Think of it as a method of nondisclosure.

“There must be somebody. Guys only leave if they have another girl lined up.”

Is that true? Guys have never needed another woman in the wings as an excuse to break up with me.

Cali nods her head, and I feel incredibly small. But what can I tell her? That I made a pass at David and he rejected me, too, after he’d dumped her? That would hardly make her feel better about herself. Or me.

A surprising thought occurs to me, and the fork falls from my fingers. Did David break up with Cali because of me even before Saturday night?

At that moment there’s movement on the Web cam. This time I see it. It’s a woman with white hair and glasses. She’s bustling around the sacristy, a squirt bottle in one hand and a rag in the other. We have several custodians, so I don’t know who—

“Betsy, what’s that?” Cali’s eyes have followed mine to the PC monitor.

“Mmm…overzealous parishioner, I think.”

I wish I had something handy to drape over the monitor, but my coat is hanging on the back of my office door.

“What’s she doing with that box thingie?” Cali asks and points.

At this precise moment I realize two things. First, that’s Edna Tompkins on my computer screen. Second, she’s got a key to the offering box.

“Hey!” Cali exclaims. “Is she supposed to be doing that?”

We watch as Edna reaches in the offering box and pulls out the bank deposit bag. With a stealthy glance over her shoulder, she unzips the bag and begins to pull out the cash.

I shiver as if I’ve been plunged into ice water. Then I flush hotly, adrenaline surging through my body.

“Um…well, not really, but I’m sure she’s just helping out the treasurer.”

“Oh.” Cali shrugs. “So, can you talk to David for me?”

“What?”

“Talk to David for me. Convince him we belong together. You see that, don’t you?”

“Um…well…”

Cali’s face falls, which distracts me momentarily from Edna.

“Look, Cali, I can’t be the third side in this triangle. You need to talk to David yourself.”

In a split second, her California sunshine darkens to New York black.

“It’s you, isn’t it? I knew it. You want him for yourself.”

I can feel my face collapse into a guilty expression. “It’s not that simple——”

“Yes, it is. You either want David or you don’t. So which is it?”

Why is everyone asking me what I want these days? I turn away from Cali and watch as Edna stuffs a large wad of cash into her sensible handbag. Should I confront her now? Should I wait? No case study in divinity school ever covered this scenario.

I look back at Cali, whose demand for the truth intimidates me almost as much as the prospect of confronting Edna.

“Yes, yes. I want him, okay?”

“You made a play for him!” she shrieks. “I thought you were supposed to be all good and everything. I thought ministers had to be.” She tosses her hair back and switches from hunted to huntress. “I’m going to tell on you.”

What is this—third grade? But I can hardly argue with her because
she’s right. I made a play for her boyfriend, didn’t I? Okay, technically he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore when I invited him to the fundraiser, but I didn’t know that at the time.

“Cali, I’m sorry—”

“You’re not sorry you tried to steal David. Like everybody else, you’re just sorry you got caught.”

I have no reply to that because she’s right.

“Good-bye, Betsy. Some friend you turned out to be.”

Cali storms from my office, and I sink back in my desk chair. On the monitor, Edna zips her handbag and scuttles out of the sacristy.

And in the office of the associate minister of Church of the Shepherd, I engage in the only appropriate response I can think of. I cry. Because I don’t know who I’m more disappointed in. Edna, who I know is evil. Or me, the one person I always thought would do the right thing.

Normally, life has a way of balancing itself out. For example, your job might reek, but you find a fabulous pair of shoes on sale to console yourself with. Or your outbound flight on your vacation gets cancelled, but the airline upgrades you, and eventually you travel where you’re going in business class.

So where is the equity in my life right now? I’ve lost my mentor (Velva), my best friend (David), and the respect of an honest if naive young woman (Cali), and I have to confront my nemesis (Edna).

How did it all get so complicated? A month ago it seemed quite clear. I was leaving for law school and a new life where things would be refreshingly clear-cut. Now I’m further than ever from my escape.

I wish I knew how other people figure out what they want. Velva’s roommate, Dottie, knows what she wants—to live to be a hundred years old even if it means another eighteen months of pain and suffering. David wants to rebuild his church after the tornado, no matter how much conflict it causes in his congregation. LaRonda wants to prove she can be a big-steeple preacher, just like a man.

LaRonda. That’s who I need right now. I reach for the phone. I’ve worn the Speed Dial button for her church smooth from frequent use. As I suspected, she’s at her desk, using the Sunday-afternoon lull to catch up on the important-but-not-urgent tasks that get ignored in the daily grind of ministry. Things like prayer and Bible study.

“Ronnie? How about a latte?”

She sighs with relief. “Starbucks in twenty.”

That’s the extent of our conversation. It’s good to know that even when my other major relationships are falling apart, my best girlfriend won’t let me down.

Two seconds before I step out of my office, though, the phone rings. I debate answering it, but that niggling sense of impending doom that accompanies a preacher everywhere she goes won’t let me walk out the door.

“Church of the Shepherd. This is Reverend Blessing.”

It’s the nurse from Hillsboro Health Care. Velva’s roommate, Dot-tie, isn’t doing so well. “Can you come right away?” the nurse asks.

I guess this is why God made cell phones, so that ministers could
break their plans with each other at a moment’s notice. I call LaRonda to postpone as I’m getting into my car. It’s not very Christian, but I
harrumph
all the way down Broadway and 21st Avenue to the nursing home. When I arrive, however, my personal pity party comes to a screeching halt.

“She’s in the quiet room,” the nurse says.

The quiet room? They didn’t say anything on the phone about the quiet room. That’s where they put you when you’re ready to die and your roommate might object to your kicking the bucket in the next bed over.

I swallow the lump in my throat and follow the nurse down the hallway. Inside the room, Dottie’s alone. Her pastor hasn’t been to visit since Carter was president, and she has no family. Dottie’s covered with a sheet. At least, what’s left of her is covered with a sheet.

I move closer to the bed and hear her familiar whisper.

“Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine…” Her voice trails off at the critical number.

Easy deaths are a blessing. I’ve seen enough of the other kind to appreciate a good death. Sounds weird, doesn’t it? But death is like life. Some people have fairly easy ones, and others suffer every step of the way.

I pull up a chair next to Dottie’s bedside and take her hand in mine. It’s more like a bird’s claw than a hand; her fingers are gnarled into talons. I think of Angeliques violently red fingernails and realize that sooner or later even our hands succumb to the passage of time, manicures or not.

“Dottie? Can you hear me?”

She turns her head slightly, but her eyes remain closed. Her gray curls are matted to her head, which would have angered Velva.

I imagine Dottie was just as stubborn in life as she is in death. As physically deteriorated as she is, she’s not about to let go until she celebrates her hundredth birthday.

“Dottie, it’s Betsy.”

Her lips curve slightly. “Nine…ten…eleven…”

That’s the moment when inspiration strikes. At least I’m going to call it inspiration. Or mercy. It’s just that so much has been wrong today. Edna’s theft of the offering. My betrayal of Cali. And here’s one thing, at least, that seems so clear-cut. God didn’t intend for people to suffer like this.

“Dottie? I’ve come to see you for your birthday.”

For the barest moment, her fingers tighten around mine.

“You’re one hundred today, Dottie. Congratulations.” I reach out and smooth her curls away from her forehead like my mother used to do to me when I was a child. I’m so inadequate in most areas of my life, but in this moment my path seems so clear. Dottie needs to be released from her suffering, and if she can’t do it for herself, then it’s my job to help her.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to her. “It’s okay now, Dottie.” On instinct I begin to recite the Twenty-third Psalm. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not be in want…”

As I recite the passage from memory, the quiet room grows quieter. Dottie’s stopped counting. “Happy birthday, Dottie,” I whisper in her ear when I finish, suddenly aware that if the nurse hears this conversation, she might not approve. I’m not even sure I approve, but I can only go with my instincts.

A moment later the nurse sticks her head around the doorframe to check on us.

“You did it, sweetie. You’re one hundred.”

Now her smile is a little bigger, and her breathing is slower. And then even slower. For the next hour I sit beside her, holding her hand as she fades away. Maybe someone else would say what I’m doing is wrong. Maybe they’d say that any form of life is better than no life at all. But I say there’s a rhythm to the dance of life, and God wants more for us than simply drawing breath. It’s why I’m here right now, in this moment and in this place. Because someone has to do this work. Someone imperfect. Someone inadequate. But someone who shows up to represent God at a time like this.

I watch Dottie as she begins to change. The human will is an amazing thing. I think it’s that part of God within each of us that motivates us to do things we could never do on our own. The Greek word for “spirit” is
pneuma
or “breath.” I hold Dottie’s hand as she draws that last bit of spirit into her lungs, and then with a whispering sound, she releases it. And releases herself.

The quiet room is completely quiet.