Rhythms of Grace (14 page)

And then, in the middle of the school year last winter, Jerry and Zeely had been forced to share a classroom after renovations closed off a wing of the school. For the first time since the divorce, I’d seen Jerry laugh again. Smile even. It didn’t take much for me to figure out why. He spent more nights on the couch, only this time I heard about his new twisted personal theology of how maybe his marriage had fallen apart because of how he’d treated Zeely. We’d both had enough seminary to know it didn’t make sense, but I knew well enough what happened when your sins start winding a story of their own.

A “what if” story.

As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our
transgressions from us.

Twenty questions never was a fun game. There was no way to win, really. Carmel only called Jerry when she needed money or when it had something to do with their kids, kids I knew Zeely desperately wanted but thought she’d never have. We were a mess, all of us, especially me.

Sometimes I blamed Carmel, thinking that if she’d just taken Jerry back, this would all be over once and for all and we’d all be safe—my own relationship issues notwithstanding. That wasn’t how it was with me, though. God gave me rescue but not safety, no matter how much I sought it.

As for Zeely and Jerry, was something going on between these guys or what? It seemed I’d spent most of my life trying to answer that question.

“So what games do you want me to bring?”

I downed the stairs now, a little slower than I came up, stopping to tuck in my shirt. I ran to the hall closet in time for her reply.

She made her decision easily. “How about Bible Trivia? That was the bomb last time. I’ve been studying.”

That should keep things honest.
“Think you can beat me? I was starving last time and I still whipped you. This time you don’t stand a chance.” Neither did I. When I grabbed the game from under a stack of sweaters, a pack of cards fell too. Those went in my back pocket. Until a few years ago, Zeely had never played cards in her life. She played a mean game of spades now though. “You can avenge yourself at cards.”

“Can we play Five Hundred this time?”

“Sure.” Outside now, I rounded the truck and shut the tailgate before climbing in. I eased out of the drive, keeping the tone light, casual. “I guess I have to let you win something.”

“Let me win? You say that every time,” Zeely said.

I laughed then. “I mean it every time. Believe that. Be there in a few.”

She laughed too. “You’re so predictable, you know that? We both are.”

I closed my eyes.

We sure are.

“Speak for yourself, Birdie. I’ll be there in a minute.”

My F-150 bumped over the curb near Zeely’s condo. So much for light and casual. I straightened the wheels and eased back even farther from her driveway. I never parked there. Not that I felt guilty or anything. Jerry said all the time that he didn’t care if I was over, though I did sense some jealousy that he wasn’t given the same invitation. My girlfriend never came on this side of town anyway. Maybe it was too many years of living under the noses of church ladies, I wasn’t sure. It just didn’t seem right.

I kicked one of my truck’s tires before going in, mentally correcting the alignment. When had I rotated them last? It didn’t seem that long ago. Maybe I needed a new car after all. Mindy would love that.

Zeely opened the door after the first ring; and she wasn’t alone. Scents of onions, garlic, and hot, seasoned pork danced out the door like quarter notes and teased my nose. There was something else too, something sweet and warm: chocolate. She held the door open, but I didn’t come straight in. I leaned down, pausing at her ear and took a long sniff.

“Mmmm . . .” I didn’t know what dessert she’d made, but I knew for sure that chocolate was in it. And as good as she looked, she could have stirred some of herself in a bowl and had the same effect. She’d changed her perfume to something light. Spicy. I pressed my lips together and gave her a hug. “Taste and see that the Lord is good, huh?”

She shut the door behind me before walking to the stove. “Come on in and get comfortable. I’ll be out in a minute. I see you brought the game.”

I shook my head.
Here we go.
“I did.”

Thankful for the distance between us, I pulled back a chair at the dining room table with its four place settings perfectly arranged with a coordinating linen napkin as usual. Today’s theme was sunflowers with bright yellow dishes. I peeked toward the kitchen and checked the curtains. They’d been changed too. Everything was apples the last time I’d visited.

I could see her leaning over the range to check a pot on a back burner, ladling cheese sauce into her mouth. I almost ran back to my truck. I’d prayed for casual and light, but that was killing me too. She’d dressed down tonight with her hair up in a clip, a little MAC gloss on her lips, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans with a zebra cuff at the bottom. I stacked the games on the table and wondered if I didn’t need to start reading the answers to some of the Bible Trivia questions for spiritual backup.

“You can’t hide in the kitchen all night, you know. Let’s eat now so the punishment can begin. I’d hate for you to be hungry
and
humiliated.” I was up now and entering the kitchen.

“We’ll see who gets humiliated.” Zeely lifted the lid on the largest pot on the stove, releasing a cloud of all the goodness I’d smelled on the porch. “Bring me one of those plates off the table.”

“At your service.” I bowed once before passing the Pfaltzgraff her way. When she tried to take it, I held onto the edge, pulling her closer. “I can make my own food, you know.”

She frowned. “Let go of it, mister.”

I let go of the plate and watched her heap it with macaroni and cheese. From the hurt look in her eyes a minute before, I knew a speech was coming. I hoped she’d make it short. She was even cuter when she was mad.

“Have you ever made your own plate in this house? I take care of my guests. Even the ones who don’t want me to.” Greens chocked with ham hocks came next, then black-eyed peas and a chunk of cornbread. She set the plate on the table, turned back toward the stove to make a smaller plate for herself, and then followed me to the dining room.

My prayer was simple, all I could muster while reaching around the sunflower centerpiece and holding her hand. Thanks for the food and the friendship. I could have easily added forgiveness, but that was an unspoken verse that blessed all our times together. When we lifted our heads, we looked at each other for a long time. Too long.

I pulled back my hand and went for the cornbread before I lost it totally. It was scratch with a little Jiffy mix, I could tell, the best kind for crumbling. I mixed it with my greens and doused it with hot sauce, while Zeely shook her head.

After my first mouthful, I was shaking my head too. It was so good that I had to pause for a minute and let it sink in. A lesser man might have cried. In our little dinners together, I’d always made the greens. It’s a wonder she’d eaten them at all.

“Girl . . .” I grabbed the hot sauce again, trying not to talk with my mouth full. “This is crazy good. How’d you get the greens so tender?”

My eyes started to water from the hot sauce before she could answer. She disappeared, only to return with a glass of blue Kool-Aid, my favorite. I took a gulp. Perfect.

She acted like it was nothing, but I knew she was pleased with my reaction. If she only knew.

“I washed the greens seven times. Mama used to put hers in the washing machine, but I’m not up for all that. A pinch of sugar in the ham water. Vinegar too. A splash of olive oil—”

I held up both hands. “What? Slow down, girl. A pinch of this. A splash of that. This isn’t the Food Network. I need a recipe!” I pulled a paper towel off the roll in front of me. She’d known I would need them.

“Recipe? Can’t help you there. You’ll have to come over and watch next time I make them.”

My fork froze in midair. I’d like to watch her do anything. Breathing even. “I’d be honored.” I noticed that the plate in front of her was untouched, her silverware still arranged. “Aren’t you eating too?” “I’ll eat it later. I took Dad his already. I’ll send most of this home with you. The rest will last me the week.”

She was sending most of it home with me? It’d been way too long since I’d been over. Mindy considered it generous if she got up to bring me a glass of tap water. I probably needed that now to cool me down and not because of the hot sauce either.

“Oh, I get it. You’re trying to fatten me up while you stay fine. Make me sleepy with the food while you know all the answers. Hmmm . . . sneaky, but I like it.” I took another bite.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh be quiet. I don’t need a strategy to beat you. I can do that all by myself. Besides, you never gain weight. You thickened up some since high school, but it looks like all muscle from here.” She squeezed my bicep to accentuate her point.

And destroy any remaining cool I had.

I pulled off another paper towel and mopped my brow. We both went quiet as if knowing a time-out was needed. I wiped my lips next, never taking my eyes off hers.

Zeely shot up from her chair, a saucer in hand. “Ready for the cake?”

Nice save
.

I pushed my half-full plate aside and reached for the game. “No cake yet. It’s game time.”

She rubbed her hands together. “It’s on now. I’ll try not to be too rough. This time you’ll realize that I can take you.”

My body settled into the chair. On nights like tonight, I wished she’d take me forever.

17

Jerry

It’d been a good weekend, but a long one too. Work, school orientation (other work), work, church, work, church concert, and now there were a few hours to sleep before going to my second job.

I tossed my keys onto the table and headed for the recliner instead of the bed so I wouldn’t be so comfortable that I’d oversleep. That definitely wouldn’t be a problem in this chair. I lowered myself into it gently, hoping it wouldn’t choose tonight to break completely. As I sank into the threadbare seat, my ex-wife Carmel’s face floated before my eyes. Too tired to blink her away, I meditated on the face of the woman who I fought with so often now, wondering where things had gone wrong between us. We hadn’t married under the best circumstances, but we’d loved each other once.

Maybe we could love each other again.

Maybe not, if her new boyfriend had anything to do with it.

Every time I thought we could work things out, Carmel pulled another stunt, leaving me with my finger on the trigger. A stack of bills teetered on the coffee table, anchored by the fattest envelope, the one weighing heaviest on my mind. Another of Carmel’s tricks, authorized without my permission, but left for me to pay for.

A frustrated sigh brought me deeper into the recliner. It creaked beneath my weight. It was hard to believe that three years ago I’d been a sportscaster, coming home each night to a happy wife and a house full of custom-made furniture tailored to fit my large frame. That was before for the new baby, the old bills, the mess we couldn’t clean up . . .

The birth of little Justice had shaken us in ways I didn’t expect, especially Carmel’s faith in my love for her. Like a man in midlife crisis, she went over and over the details of how we’d gotten together and whether I would have married her if she hadn’t been pregnant.

“Be honest,” she’d said, and so I was. Big mistake. Everything that had been an obstacle became a wall, and before I knew it, I was back in Testimony, broke, divorced, and unable to offer any explanation. Carmel moving home too and taking up with a doctor from the hospital she worked at was just extra. She said it was for the best, and at times I believed her, but my life was wearing thin.

My patience too.

I picked up the thickest letter from the bottom of the pile and slit the seam with a toothpick. The pronouncement was the same one I’d find on the other letters, with the same urgent, red type. The phrase that summed up my life:

Overdue.

One flip landed it back on the pile, now scattered across the table. I was overdue all right: overdue for a blessing; overdue for a nap. The latter came without invitation, cut short by the whir of a Pontiac fan in my driveway. I sat up and wiped my mouth, ashamed and awed by how quickly sleep came upon me these days. How deeply. I knuckled the grit from my eyes, trying to remember the schedule. It wasn’t my night, I knew that much. Not that it would mean anything to Carmel. It never did.

A fist pounded against the door. When I got up, my eyes caught on my 7-Eleven uniform draped over a chair a few feet away. I’d stayed awake during the concert tonight. I’d promised Ron I’d go months ago and I was trying to do better about keeping up with friends. This was as far as I could stretch without sleeping. Any longer and I’d have to call in.

Again.

I cracked the door. “Who is it?”

Four rhinestone-covered nails curled around the door. They were worn at the edges and long overdue for a fill, but from a distance, they caught the light from every direction. My ex-wife stood in the doorway with a baby on her hip. She looked almost as tired as I did.