Spring came with rainy fury, and the flowers responded with fervor. Other than the fact that it required a continuing effort to be Rita’s friend, Nancy Herring found her job at Transton a pleasant way to earn money. Little by little she was putting away savings and making plans to help make her wedding day one to fondly remember. She had already made arrangements for the cake and for the flowers. Michael was taking care of the photography, and together they’d found the church building they wanted for their ceremony, after they’d mutually decided that Rock Church was just too large and plain for the event of their lives.
Each new day Nancy loved Michael more than the day before, and she was anticipating their wedding day, now officially established on printed invitations. There was so much to do, but Nancy found herself enjoying every moment of preparation.
And Patrice. Patrice’s friendship had proven hard to hold onto—fluctuating between elusive and promising. In Nancy’s mind, she was the sister she’d never had, and Nancy would not give up, even though Patrice had not made any effort to return Nancy’s friendship. Michael thought it was because a couple relationship like their own was too painful a reminder of Patrice’s lack of one. Nancy didn’t think so. She thought it was a deeper sense of self-worthlessness in Patrice that Nancy considered everyone subject to, when under enough pressure, if a person didn’t know God’s love first hand.
“You know, Pat, I never had a sister, and I’ve always wanted one. So I’ve adopted you,” Nancy bluntly declared one Saturday afternoon when she’d gone down to Patrice’s apartment to return a decorating magazine she’d borrowed.
“What?” was Patrice’s surprised response.
Only Nancy in her sweet candor could pull off this one. “Yep!” she smiled disarmingly. “I’ve adopted you as my sister. Do you have a sister?”
“Uh…no. But I’m OK with that.”
“Well, I’m not. How about if you let me be your kid sister? I’ll try not to bother you too much, but I still want you to know that I love hanging out with you, and I’ll do just about anything to get to spend time with you.”
“I really don’t understand, Nancy.” Her tone had equal amounts of bewilderment and irritation. Nancy was not put off, however.
“That’s OK. Just remember I’m down the hall, and you’re a special person in my life. You go your way, I’ll go mine; but I’m hoping—praying, actually—that our paths will cross and recross many times, and that one day you’ll want me to be the sister you never had.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t hold your breath. I’ve never missed having a sister.”
Trying her best to absorb the rebuff as just a statement instead of the rejection it felt like, Nancy had smiled, struggling with all her might to not let on her hurt and what she recognized as wounded pride. “I’ll hold my breath,” she’d said quietly, and then she’d turned and walked back to her own place.
Nancy had let herself cry openly when she was safely behind her own shut door, but she also had a sense of triumph—a very real sense of triumph—over the unseen enemy she knew she was contending with. It was a triumph over the spirit of rejection she was certain Patrice had been subject to. She knew with relief that she’d been able to communicate verbally the love she had for her aloof friend. Nancy prayed that the little conversation would play over and over again in her “sister’s” mind. She also prayed for another opportunity to let Patrice know she was absolutely sincere. That very night she prayed, “You know I’m willing, Lord. Give me the chance to show Patrice that I really do care for her.”
Two weeks later, that prayer was answered. Late one Saturday night, Nancy heard a woman’s scream coming from the open stairwell. “God, help me!” she prayed, and ran out of her apartment towards the voice. She saw Patrice running up the last flight with terror on her face. On the flight beneath, Nancy caught a glimpse of a large man cursing as he climbed faster and faster. Was he drunk? There was no time to find out.
“Here, Pat, quick!” she whispered. “In here!” She grabbed the terrified woman and almost tackled her into the room, bolting the door behind them. Amazingly the man hadn’t seen her as he made the last turn in the stairwell, and he ran right past the apartment. Nancy held her right hand over Patrice’s mouth and put her left index finger on her own mouth in a silent desperate plea for Patrice to control herself and to stay quiet. Together, their hearts pounding, they listened to the kicking and banging on a door down the hall—it could only have been Patrice’s.
Patrice looked up at Nancy, obviously in control, and a respect and gratefulness shone in her eyes, terrified as she was.
“It’s OK,” Nancy whispered quietly, gently. “He didn’t see you come in here. But don’t talk until we hear him go downstairs again.”
“I’m so scared…” Patrice’s lips quivered.
“No, Pat,” Nancy reprimanded gently but firmly. “You must be quiet; God will take care of us.” Nancy pulled the girl’s face to her chest and held her tightly. “It’s all right. It’s all right. Thank you, God; thank you, in Jesus’ name.”
……….
On the following Monday, Carla, having learned of the incident, related it to Mr. Garman. His reaction was immediate.
“They have to move. It’s not safe.” He looked up at Carla from his desk chair. “I can’t do anything about Patrice, but your brother’s got to get Nancy out of there.”
“I’m not sure he can. The last time I talked with them was yesterday, and nothing was mentioned about moving.” She raised her eyebrows in resignation. “All I know is that if Patrice stays there, Nancy stays there. In some ways she’s fiercely independent.”
“Nancy? Stubborn?” Marc Garman smiled despite the seriousness of the subject. “Sweet little Nancy?”
“There’s a whole lot more to Nancy than sugar.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. She’s a cut above the crowd.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Garman.” Carla somehow felt justified saying an around-the-bush ‘I told you so.’
“Call me Marc, remember? Yes, you were right about her. And I’m very grateful to her. But we can’t let her stay there, even if Patrice chooses to. And she might.” He stroked his chin with his long fingers. “She’s a bit independent, as well,” he added in a dry tone.
“Yes, sir.” Carla agreed sympathetically, assuming he was referring to the abortion.
Marc Garman turned in curious surprise, and Carla blushed, knowing she’d let herself be caught off guard. Marc didn’t know she knew of Patrice’s abortion.
“So Nancy’s arrived at that conclusion?”
“Oh yes, sir,” Carla quickly replied, relieved at the way Mr. Garman had unwittingly covered her blunder.
“So…you might have to convince your brother that it’s imperative for Nancy to move.”
“I don’t have to, sir. He knows. It’s a point of contention between them, as far as I can tell, although neither has discussed it openly with me.” She sighed. “I really try to stay out of their affairs, and it’s always bothered me that Nancy moved there in the first place.”
“And why, exactly, did she? Sit down, Carla.” Marc gestured toward the chair, his eyes full of curiosity. “Tell me. Why exactly did she?”
“As I told you before, sir, she feels—compelled, I guess, to be there for Patrice. In fact…” Carla bent her head and looked at the floor, unsure whether to go on.
“In fact? In fact what?” he demanded.
“Well, if you must know, sir, Nancy has always missed having a brother or sister, and…”
Marc Garman waited, silent.
“And she feels that Patrice is her surrogate sister, if you will…that God put Patrice in her path to fill a void for herself as well as to help Patrice get on with her life.”
“Get on with her life?”
“Oops,” Carla thought to herself. “Watch it!” Out loud she said, “Get past the depression she’s been in.”
“Oh. I see.”
“And if anyone can help Patrice, I think it would be Nancy. She seems to have a handle on…on…genuine love.”
“Mmm.”
“I don’t know what to think, sir. I just know I’m really worried about her—them,” she corrected herself. “But I don’t know of anything we can do.”
“You’re a Christian, Carla, right?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Do you pray?”
Carla couldn’t tell whether Mr. Garman was serious or ridiculing.
“Yes, sir, I do,” she replied, unabashed.
“Well, I guess you’ve got something to pray about.”
“Oh, I have been, sir. Believe me, I have.”
“Well then, I guess that’s that.”
“I wish I felt that way. I’m having a hard time not worrying about them.”
“And I’m not the one to help you.”
“No, sir, I realize that.”
“But since it sounds like it’s going to take an act of God to get them out of there, you’d probably better pray hard.”
Carla smiled helplessly and reiterated, “I am.”
From the hallway came Nancy’s cheerful “Hello? Carla?”
“Oh, hey, Nancy,” Carla called back, looking questioningly at her employer.
“Step into my office, Nancy.” Marc spoke loudly enough for Nancy to hear. “We were just talking about you,” Mr. Garman said, smiling, motioning to her as she came closer. “Carla informs me that you’ve had an exciting weekend.”
“Yes, Mr. Garman. It was a little out of the ordinary,” Nancy replied, stepping gingerly into the room.
“I’m just glad you’re OK—that you’re both OK.”
“Oh, we’re very much OK.”
“You do see the necessity of moving out of that building—out of that area of town, don’t you?”
“Patrice would like to move.”
“She would?” Carla interjected excitedly.
“Mmhmm.” Nancy smiled demurely.
“Well? Are you planning to move then?” Mr. Garman spoke up before Carla had a chance.
“Yes. That is, as soon as we can find a suitable place.”
“We?” Mr. Garman didn’t try to hide his surprise.
“Yes, we,” Nancy answered smugly. “We’re going apartment hunting Saturday.”
“You and Patrice?” Carla asked, as curious and dumbfounded as Mr. Garman. “You’re getting a place together?”
“Yes.” Nancy looked from one to the other. She smiled unabashedly. It was as if she were enjoying having the upper hand in this conversation. “You both look surprised.”
“We are!” Mr. Garman said, glancing first at Carla and then back at Nancy.
“I guess it’s true that ‘God works in strange ways His wonders to perform,’” Nancy said with a smile as she turned to go, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “See you at lunch, Carla.”
……….
“Sal?” Gene Chemosh called out.
“In the laundry room, Gene.”
“Your mom’s on the phone.”
“Oh, OK. Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”
A couple minutes later, she said as she hung up the phone, “You haven’t scheduled anything for Sunday, have you? Mother wants us to come for dinner.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Hon. You and Andy will have to go without me. I’m playing golf with a couple of the guys.”
“You are?” Chemosh could hear the disappointment in his wife’s voice. “Who?”
“Mmm… Bill Schmidt and Clay Edwards.”
“I thought Clay and Sue were going to Cancun this week.”
“No, they rescheduled their trip. Something came up and Clay couldn’t go.”
“Really. Well, we’ll go without you. Worse things have happened.” Sal’s smile was superficial, adding to the discomfort Chemosh already felt.
“I’m sorry, Sal.”
“No problem. Andy and I will have a good time. And if it rains, maybe you can come anyway.”
“You bet.” From the time he’d first told her he couldn’t go, the little laminated card in his pocket had held his attention subconsciously, and now, walking into the den, he took it out and glanced through the rules, stopping at number 9. “Thou shalt not lie.”
Chemosh threw himself into his favorite chair and sighed loudly. “Denspot was right,” he thought to himself. He’d blown it without even thinking. But really, was this what ‘God’ was talking about? Probably not, Chemosh reasoned. He frankly couldn’t stand his mother-in-law. An old busybody always making over Andy in such a way that Chemosh felt she’d turn him into a sissy if she had two solid days alone with him. He really didn’t like having anything to do with her, and he’d actually managed to keep her out of his life pretty well in the past fifteen years.
Gene had always been open with Sal about his dislike for her mother. Why she ever made plans for him to accompany her and Andy was beyond him. He was pretty sure she knew he’d fabricated his ‘plans’ to golf, but usually she didn’t challenge him. Why this time? Maybe it was just the first time she’d known by happenstance the discrepancy between what he’d said and what she knew to be the case. He turned on the TV and proceeded to forget all about it.
Less than an hour later, Sal awakened him from his catnap. “Andy and I are going to catch a bite to eat. Do you want us to bring you back something?”
Chemosh got up immediately. “No, I’m not staying home by myself,” he objected, teasingly.
Sal didn’t pick up on the friendly tease. “Well, we’re leaving, if you want to come along.”
Chemosh caught up with her and tweaked her on the cheek. “You OK?” he asked.
“Sure. I’m OK. Are you?”
“Just hungry. Let’s go.”
“So when do you tee off Sunday?”
“Sunday?” Chemosh stalled, wondering again why Sal was suddenly so inquisitive about his fictional golf plans. “I’m not sure. Clay set it up and said he’d call me.”
“So he hasn’t called you yet?”
“Hey, why the third degree?”
“I’m just making conversation. We can talk about something else if you like.”
A little red flag waved, but Chemosh dismissed it, asking aloud, “Andy, what’re you doing today?”
“Not much.” Playing his newest game was obviously more interesting than conversation with his dad.
“How’s Tommy doing these days?
“He’s OK.”
“You guys still planning to go camping this summer?”
“Ah, I dunno. Maybe.”
Chemosh finally gave up on initiating dialogue, at the same time realizing that Sal, in a manner uncustomary, was contributing nothing to the conversation. The red flag waved again.
“You sure you’re OK, honey?”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so.” Chemosh felt he needed to persist.
“Well, I am.”
Chemosh had an idea. “Hey, how about going to J.T. Porter’s?”
“J.T. Porter’s?” Andy echoed excitedly. “Yeah! Let’s do!”
“Sal?”
“I guess. Is the food good?”
“They’ve got games, Mom—tons of ‘em.”
“Ah.” Sal smiled.
All the rest of the way, Andy was busy recounting to his parents all the games he’d heard J.T. Porter’s had. Sal appeared to be listening. For his part, Chemosh was remembering his conversation with Joe Denspot and how the latter had admitted he’d had to eat crow quite a few times before he’d learned not to lie so readily. It was a double dose of strong medicine, Chemosh thought wryly to himself: having to admit to Sal that he’d lied, and thereby getting sucked into visiting with his mother-in-law. Nevertheless, he was determined to follow through. Crow for dinner, but he’d be rid of that red flag.