Tender Grace (26 page)

Of all the joys of the day, what thrilled me most, of course, was his surprise. After dinner we parked in a crowded parking lot in a semi-residential area and walked around the block to the front of a huge old church. Most people pouring into the vestibule were dressed nicely, but some, thank goodness, came as casually dressed as we were.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He handed me a program he had confiscated from a side table. “A concert,” he said.

“What kind of concert?” I asked, ignoring my program and following him down the center aisle of pews.

“If you don’t like a string quartet,” he said after we were seated, “you’re going to be disappointed.”

I grabbed his arm. “We’ve come to hear a string quartet?”

Had I mentioned I love stringed instruments? When I turned to ask, Zack was nodding toward the stage, where four musicians, dressed in black and carrying their instruments, were taking their seats. No time for a question. I opened my program to see what awaited us and couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

September 29

I met Zack for breakfast in the hotel at eight. I had a long drive ahead of me. I had told him at the elevators last night that I didn’t expect him to do such a thing, but he reminded me that he was an early riser and a breakfast eater.

“Okay then,” I said, getting into the elevator.

He came to my room after breakfast and helped me gather my things and carry them to the parking garage.

“A bellman could have done this, you know,” I said as we rolled bags down the hallway.

“I wanted to do it.”

I stopped in midstride and looked at him. “How can I ever thank you for all the things you’ve done for me in the last week?”

“You can’t, so don’t try,” he said, smiling and starting down the hallway again. “Come on; let’s get you on the road.”

We arrived at my car and he arranged my luggage neatly in the trunk and slammed it shut.

“I need to find a Cracker Barrel. I might be able to rent
Acts of Faith
from its collection of audio books. Wouldn’t that be a perfect two-birds-with-one-stone?”

I said this because I had no idea how to tell him goodbye. We stood beside the car, looking at each other as we had done across a number of dinner tables.

“If this were a date,” he said, “I’d kiss you.”

He looked like he very much wanted to do that. I reached up and put my hand on his face, rubbing my thumb slowly and gently across his lips. “But it’s breakfast,” I said, “and a lugging my stuff to the car.”

“It’s you,” he said, “finishing a journey.”

I managed a smile. Then I got in the car, backed up, and headed for Elko, Nevada. In my rearview mirror, I saw Zack walking toward his car. He had said at breakfast that he was glad he had a book to finish.

I wish I had stopped somewhere to fill up and get a Coke besides the beehive near the interstate. After I filled my cup of ice with part of the cold liter of Diet Coke I had bought, I was heading out of the crowded parking lot to find the ramp for I-80 when she backed into me. It was not the first time in my driving career that my car and I have heard that dreadful crunch.

“Darn!” I said.

The car that had backed into me pulled forward, and a woman, hardly more than a girl really, jumped out of her car, looked at mine, and started sobbing. I got out of my car and walked over to her.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“Lady! I smashed your car!”

I heard crying from a different direction and looked into the back of her little Civic to see two car seats, one occupied by a sleeping infant and the other by a distraught toddler.

“Why don’t you get your little girl?” I said.

She wiped her face with the palms of her hands, and while she retrieved her toddler, I grabbed some tissues from my glove compartment and assessed the damage to my car.

“I can’t seem to do anything right today,” she said when I handed her the tissues. “My husband left for Iraq yesterday, and I’m trying to get to Sacramento to stay with my parents for a while. This is just awful,” she said, nodding at my car.

I went around to check the back of her car. “You’re not in too bad of shape,” I said. “You’ve broken a taillight, but you should be at your parents’ before that’s a problem. Your dad can put in a taillight, I’ll bet.”

“Ma’am, I only have liability insurance. I don’t know what to do about your car.” She looked miserable, as miserable as the girl trying frantically to get into her hotel room in Texas a few weeks ago. But at least she had stopped crying, as had her daughter, whose curly little head was buried in her mother’s shoulder.

“You haven’t done much more than dent a fender, and I have a friend at home who fixes dents. You just take care of your babies and get to Sacramento.”

She started crying again, and I dried her tears with the tissues in my hand.

“Everybody makes mistakes, honey, and you have a lot on your mind. Don’t worry. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, trying to smile.

By the time we were on our way, I had learned her name, as well as her husband’s, and I had told her they were going on my prayer list. I had every intention of praying Margo Greer all the way to Sacramento. She took down my address so she could thank me properly even though I insisted that wasn’t necessary.

Maybe I don’t wish I had stopped somewhere else, even if I do have a fender to fix.

The music filling my car from the Christian satellite radio station gave me sweet truths to celebrate, and I arrived at my destination in a good mood. Since I had told a friend goodbye, had managed to get a fender smashed, and had driven ten long hours—that’s a minor miracle.

twenty-six

September 30

I was on the road by nine this morning. I woke up at seven, got ready, and checked my e-mail. There was a note from Willa, saying the buffalo couldn’t imagine anyone spending the night in Elko, Nevada, and notes from Molly and Katy saying they couldn’t wait until Saturday and everyone would be there by noon. There was also a note from Zack. I delayed opening it until I had answered the others.

I told Willa to tell the buffalo they shouldn’t knock Elko until they had tried it, and I told the kids I was hitting the road again after a restful night in a Nevada hotel room and that I couldn’t wait either.

By the time I finished three brief replies, I had delayed gratification enough. I clicked on Zack’s message. “I’ve grown used to ‘shared experiences,’ ” he wrote. “I looked at the clock at one yesterday and hated that you were getting close to the California border instead of waiting for me in your lobby. Be safe as you head to Wyoming.”

I read his message twice, packed the car, and read it one more time before I answered him and put the laptop in the car.

“You’ll be crossing the border yourself soon enough,” I wrote. “Or have you forgotten you live in Missouri too? I’d like to read your book sometime.”

I listened to praise music until I stopped on the other side of Salt Lake City to fill up and grab a late lunch. Then I did something rash, even in my healthy state of mind. I turned to a station that plays love songs. The interstate was so deserted as I neared Wyoming later that afternoon that I thought it had been constructed just for my return to Missouri. Driving did not require rapt attention; thus, when “Power of Love” began playing, Celine’s voice took me from that interstate to any number of roads on which Tom and I had traveled with that particular song playing. I drew in my breath and blinked away the tears that threatened, and yet something kept me listening.

“I’m your lady, you are my man. . . . We’re heading for something, somewhere I’ve never been. I’m frightened, but I’m ready to learn, the power of love.”

Blinking couldn’t contain the tears. These words described how Tom and I had started our life together. But fear had been discarded quickly, and the promise of the words had been realized: I learned what love between a man and woman can be. Oh yes, I have been there.

Utah was prettier than I had expected it to be, even from the interstate, but the closer I got to Rock Springs, Wyoming, the more beautiful the terrain became. Wyoming is definitely a vacation destination. A national forest nestles in the southwest corner, and mountains and rivers surround Rock Springs, where I stopped for the evening. A little daylight remained when I got there, so before I got something to eat and found a room, I roamed the area looking at the scenery. In the process I located a church to attend tomorrow morning at ten thirty. There must have been endless places to explore if Zack and his kayak had been there. I’ll tell this area what I told the Grand Canyon when I was there with Tom and the kids: “I’ll be back.” For now, I’m in Tom’s horse-heading-forthe-barn mode, though I’m pulling in the reins tomorrow. My plan is to both dawdle and worship the morning away and still make it to Cheyenne by nightfall.

Tonight I didn’t even turn on the television. I seem to have lost interest in it, although I’m sure it will come in handy when I’m home and need to chill. I didn’t open my novel tonight either. I had come to John 19, the death and burial of Jesus.

The account was so matter of fact, but it was full of a cast of characters affected by Jesus in his dying hour. Reading it, I wondered if those who knew him and loved him could have recognized the blood-drenched body of Jesus as he hung between heaven and earth and did his redemptive work. Yet the only words he said on the cross that alluded to his suffering were subtle and ironic. The one who brought living water to the inhabitants of this world said, “I thirst.”

How can that be?

October 1

I made it to Cheyenne without a ticket, a flat tire, or a fender bender. “Woo hoo,” as Willa would say.

Before I left the Rock Springs area this morning, I attended a small church. The few scattered around the room looked anesthetized. I felt sorry for the minister. Maybe I encouraged him, because I was obviously engaged. Or who knows, looking at an expectant face might have unnerved him. I’m sure I’ve depressed my minister many times in the last year as I sat in my pew comatose. “Awake, my soul and sing” seemed like an impossible prayer at the beginning of my journey, but it’s happened. I’m awake. And I’m singing.

In fact, I continued to worship across Wyoming, listening to, and sometimes singing along with, the praise songs on the radio. I heard Phillips, Craig, and Dean’s “Shine on Me,” one of my favorite songs and prayers. “Breathe” is another prayer I heard. I’ve sung it in church many times, thinking, if anything, that it was a bit much. But in the car today, I understood it and owned it: “This is the air I breathe, your holy presence living in me. This is my daily bread, your very word spoken to me.”

Then, wouldn’t you know, I even heard Selah’s “The Faithful One.”

That started the crying.

Everything I heard today moved me. My tissue stash in the glove box was depleted, but fortunately I had snatched a handful of tissues from my hotel room and put them in the passenger seat for such a time as this. I knew I wasn’t through crying. I’m glad my self-imposed silence is over; this music is healing. But I do hope by the time I hit Missouri, all these tears will have done their cathartic work.

I had messages waiting for me when I got settled in my room this evening. Molly wrote asking if everyone could come up Friday evening after the guys get off work instead of waiting until Saturday. I replied that dinner would be waiting for them at six thirty, and in honor of her birthday, an Italian cream cake would be waiting too. That will thrill her.

I was almost nervous clicking open Andrew’s message but relieved to read it: “Friday night went well. I hope that makes you happy.”

“Very happy,” I wrote. I hoped Marlene was reading his message and my reply over his shoulder.

Finished with my messages, I turned to John 20.

The tomb is empty! (Thanks anyway, Joseph.) This chapter records appearances of the risen Lord. This has to be the ultimate contrast of emotions, ultimate healing for desolate hearts.

I can imagine being there, witnessing grief turning into astonishment and joy. I especially identify with Mary. I can imagine how frantic she was when she couldn’t find the body of Jesus. I can imagine how her heart must have stopped for a moment when she heard him call her name so softly and sweetly. I can imagine her turning toward him and finding in his smile everything she had been looking for.