“Thanks, Joe.” Gene Chemosh half stood up from his booth bench at Covella’s to greet Joe Denspot and shake his hand.
“No problem,” the older man said, a hearty smile on his face. He sat down and picked up a menu, idly perusing it while he said nonchalantly, “So what’s on your mind, Gene?”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah?”
“You know I haven’t had the nightmare nearly so often as I used to, and I don’t know exactly what to attribute that to, but I think your therapy’s in the picture somehow.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear the nightmares are decreasing.”
Chemosh shook his head emphatically. “Oh, man, you can’t begin to know how good it feels.”
“Mmm.”
“I’ve been trying to abide by the ‘rules,’ you know.”
Joe Denspot nodded. “How are you coming with that second set?”
“Well, I’m finding ‘Thou shalt not lie’ is a big one for me.” He proceeded to tell Joe about the incident with his lying to Sally to avoid visiting his mother-in-law. “I’ve always found some way to get out of visiting Sal’s mom, because I could never stand being around her. Usually it was a golf game I used as an excuse. And I did try to set up a game at the time of the visit after I’d told Sal I had one set up. I didn’t want to lie to her: I just didn’t want to see my mother-in-law.”
Denspot took a gulp of coffee, waiting for Chemosh to continue.
“I figured out something that is making quite a change in my life.”
Denspot looked up with keen interest.
“Whenever I lie, what I’m really doing is reinforcing something inside.”
“Inside what?”
“Inside me—like a… a character flaw.”
“Oh?”
“For instance, with my mother-in-law. The real problem is that I can’t stand her.”
“Hmm.”
“Well, could you? Would you enjoy visiting with a manipulative, nosy old biddy who has to have her own way about everything?”
Denspot smiled. “Probably not.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. But I’m stuck with her because she happens to be my wife’s mother.”
“So you lie to avoid having to be around her.”
“Yes, I do. But when this happened—when Sal gave me the third degree—I knew I’d have to make a decision whether to tell Sal I had lied—which of course she already knew—or give up on the rule therapy.”
Joe raised his eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgement.
“Denspot, I’ve put my best into those rules—with good results. I didn’t want to lose ground. On the other hand, I knew it would be a lot harder to get out of those old biddy visits without lying. So I took some time thinking it through.” He stopped for a moment to take a bite of breakfast and wash it down with coffee. “I didn’t get to it that same day, or all the next day. And that night, sure enough, I had the nightmare again.”
“Really,” Denspot replied, thoughtfully. “Hmm.”
“Now I know this is going to sound strange—well, maybe not to you, but to any normal person.” He smiled apologetically at Joe’s mock expression of indignation. “But I think ‘God’ set me up in this case. Not so much to make it hard to follow his ninth rule as to show me a darker side of myself. I haven’t thought much about how I’ve resented my mother-in-law over the years—I haven’t had to. If you’re never around people you can’t stand, you don’t have to deal with the feelings you have towards them. So here I was with all this disgust and resentment shelved inside, stored up for the time I’d have to see her again.”
“Hmm,” Denspot replied, obviously listening intently.
“I don’t think ‘God’ likes resentment like that—does he? That’s the conclusion I came to—especially after he sent another nightmare my way.”
“You think the nightmares come from God, then?”
Gene Chemosh took a deep breath and clamped his lips.
“Well, I guess that is what I think, but I’d be the first to say I don’t know.”
“I’d like to hear why you think God has sent them, but first let’s address your question.”
“Thanks,” Chemosh said, laying down his fork and preparing himself to totally concentrate on Denspot’s words.
“No, God doesn’t approve of resentment.”
“But it’s not one of his commandments.” Chemosh couldn’t suppress his puzzlement. “Why is that?”
“Well, actually, that’s not the case. Without going into a lot of detail, I can tell you that Jesus Christ, when he came to earth, came to fulfill the law—to complete it. He said the first rule was the ‘great commandment’—Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. And then he said the second is ‘like unto it’—Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. And that ‘on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’”
“But is my mother-in-law my neighbor?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Denspot replied, nodding. “Jesus considered the way-laid stranger a neighbor of the Samaritan man who’d never even met him. But whether Sal’s mother is actually your neighbor doesn’t matter that much according to Jesus, because He told us to love even our enemies and bless them that curse us—to do good to them and pray for them. Jesus said there was nothing great about loving those who love us back, because everybody does that.”
“I think that’s a little unrealistic,” Chemosh observed wryly.
“It’s a good example of God’s ways being higher than man’s. Jesus said ‘Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect.’ Whether that’s unrealistic depends upon what perspective you take, I suppose. From Jesus’ perspective, it was obviously possible and he expects it from us.”
“But how can anyone be perfect?” Chemosh dragged out the last word almost disdainfully.
“We can’t, but with supernatural support, we can make it our aim,” Denspot said. Despite noticing the skepticism clouding Chemosh’s face, he stood up, smiling and reaching across the table to shake the other man’s hand. “I’m sorry, Gene. I’m afraid I have to rush. I have a 9:30 client, so I’m out of here… You’ll have to explain why you think God sends the nightmares next time we get together. But let me suggest two things: Keep adhering to the ten rules; that’s the first thing. The second is this: Say aloud something nice about your mother-in-law every day, even if you have to make it up.”
“What!” Chemosh’s tone was incredulous, demanding of an explanation.
Denspot sat down again momentarily. “For instance, say, ‘My mother-in-law is very tenacious,’ or ‘My mother-in-law has a lot of love for her daughter and for her grandson.”
“What’s the point?”
“I believe you’ll find you don’t dislike her quite so much the next time we meet.” Denspot stood up again and grinned. “If you want to speed up the process, figure out something you can do for her, without her ever finding out about it. You’ll be surprised at how satisfying it will be.”
“And the nightmare?”
“Just keep following the rules, and start being kind to your mother-in-law. Keep in touch, Chemosh. I look forward to our next visit.”
Chemosh looked up at the older man, obviously puzzled, but with respect on his face. “Hmmm.”
Denspot flashed another smile and turned, disappearing around the booth wall.
……….
“Good morning, Carla. How’d the big move go?” Marc Garman asked, walking past Carla and into his office.
“The big—oh, yes, the move. As far as I know, OK. I think they’re pretty much settled.” Carla tried to sound light-hearted, but figured she’d failed when Mr. Garman came back out of his office and stood in front of her desk.
“But how are you?” He put his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned down, as if he were ready to give her answer his full, uncompromised—indeed scrutinizing—attention.
“Me? I’m OK. I wasn’t even there.”
“Mmm.” He stood there as if unconvinced and waiting for her to elaborate.
“Mmm what?” Carla could hardly believe her own forwardness.
Mr. Garman smiled an impish smile. “Do you feel a little…” he said, pursing his lips and scrunching up one side of his face, “…left out?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Unneeded?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Carla answered without apology. In the same moment that she acknowledged she was upset, she decided she had a right to be. “Nancy’s a really good friend. We haven’t gotten together a whole lot in the past few months, since she prefers spending time with Michael, of course. I saw her even less when she moved over by Patrice.” Carla sighed, coming full circle to the realization that the whole Patrice secret detective issue had left a negative impact on her life in the resultant chain of events.
She looked up at Mr. Garman. “And now it’s really going to be difficult for just the two of us to get together since I’m—taboo.”
“Hmm. You know I’ve thought, up to just this minute, that Nancy was the unselfish giver in this whole deal, especially when she moved into such a… sketchy neighborhood. But now she’s in a much nicer place and, thankfully, so is Patrice.” Mr. Garman paused and lowered his voice with a look of understanding. “It’s you who is left with a deficit.”
Carla pressed her left index finger under her nose in an effort to control the threatening tears from the stinging humility triggered by her boss’s sympathy. Mr. Garman deftly closed the door to the hallway and then came around Carla’s desk to stand beside her. “Don’t worry, Carla. I’m sure Patrice’s motive in this arrangement was just to lower the rent.” He paused, and then added, after a moment, “She’s been known to use people before.”
“But Patrice didn’t arrange it: Nancy did.”
“It doesn’t matter; it’ll still work out OK. I’m sure Patrice could never replace you—in Nancy’s eyes.” He gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and Carla, much to her chagrin, felt herself turning red. She felt even more embarrassed when Mr. Garman added, “For one thing, she doesn’t blush very easily.”
Carla quickly covered her face with her hands and half-laughed, half-cried, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Mr. Garman walked over to the door and opened it again. “And since I started all this, the least I could do would be to take you out to dinner sometime.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Well, that’s even better,” he said, an easy smile on his face.
“I’m sorry. I really am OK. But it does feel good to get it off my chest.”
“The best way,” he agreed, walking into his own office to pick up the phone ringing on his desk.
Carla turned back to her work, pulling a file from her drawer to work on. “Ooooh!” she chided herself. “Why do you always have to make a scene?” She was glad for the water bottle on her desk. A couple gulps of water would help get her back to normal.
It was just in time. Within three minutes Nancy came to the hall doorway.
“Hi, Carla.”
“Hi.”
“I missed you this weekend.”
“Thanks. Missed you, too. How are things? Are you all settled?”
“More or less, and I think it’s going to be OK. A little rough but nothing insurmountable.” She raised her eyebrows with a dubious look. “I’m praying it won’t be,” she added in a whisper.
“Do you like the new place?”
“Sure. It’s getting adjusted to each other that’s going to be tough.” She shook her head. “There are lots of things that rub me wrong, but Michael in all his wisdom…” Carla smiled and Nancy went on. “Michael suggested I let her just do her thing and then deal with one issue at a time.”
“Is she smoking?” Carla knew how much Nancy detested cigarette smoke.
“She says she’s not, but she always smells like it. So I don’t know. I want to believe her, and she hasn’t smoked in the apartment—that was our agreement when we first talked about renting together.”
“It’ll work out.”
“I’m sure it will. I’m counting on it. I so want to get close to her, but we don’t have much in common—we’re both finding that out.” She looked at Carla with that wide-open smile that seemed to be her signature. “Pray for us, OK?”
“I will,” Carla said, sincerely, but she couldn’t deny that she felt just a tiny bit gratified that everything wasn’t just ship-shape between Nancy and Patrice.
Nancy started to leave and then turned back momentarily. “Carla, do you have time to go to the mall some night after work? I need to just get away from everything for a while.”
Carla smiled. “How about Wednesday?”
“Perfect.”