“Hey, Girl!”
Carla looked up. “Hey yourself!” She grinned at Nancy. “Ooh! Don’t you look cute!” she said, admiring how pert and pretty Nancy looked in her new mauve maternity dress.
“Ah, thanks,” Nancy said in her sweet voice. “Do you have time to take a break outside at 10:00? I have a question for you.”
“Sure,” Carla nodded.
“Good. And goodbye! Gotta go. By the east door, OK?”
“OK.” Carla was genuinely curious, but she had no time to think about it. She knew Marc needed two reports before nine, and she was still waiting for data from two of the engineers to finish up the second one.
She picked up the phone and dialed one of the men as Marc walked in, lifting his hand in a “Hi!” gesture as he went past her desk. She nodded her head in return. After a brief conversation, she called the other man involved in the reports, then got up from her desk, tapped the door frame to Marc’s office and entered.
“Marc, neither Ken Byers nor Hal Pingree have their data processed. Apparently the field manager from Norcross hasn’t sent it over.”
“All right. Call Hal and tell him to bug Norcross until they get it to us. I have to have that report completed by eleven at the very latest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Sorry.”
“And, Carla. Don’t let Hal wheedle his way out. He should have bugged them Friday, but apparently he didn’t. So don’t bend a bit. Understand?”
“I do!”
“Let me know what he says.”
“What about Ken?”
“When Hal gets his info, Ken will too.”
“All right.” Carla smiled and went back to her chair. Within moments, she was back in the doorway.
“He didn’t sound very happy.”
“I’ll call him myself at 9:15. Don’t fret your pretty little head.”
Carla smiled, sloughing off the compliment. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely. “I would appreciate that.”
“Would you mind closing that door?” Marc asked. “You probably wouldn’t appreciate my upcoming conversation.”
“OK.”
Five minutes later, Carla watched Marc fly out of his office and heard him taking the stairs two or three at a time. She sat back in her chair, wondering what could be the matter. Fifteen minutes later, he was back again and signaled Carla to follow him into his office. He waited for her to be seated, then shut the door carefully.
“The problem’s not actually the guys. It’s Rita. She’s out today. She found out Friday that she has breast cancer.”
Carla’s mouth dropped open. “Rita Helgessen?”
“Yeah.”
Carla inhaled sharply. “Is it… bad?”
“Not good, I guess. She’s going to have to be off for some time for radiation and chemo. The guys are pretty upset. She’s the workhorse for all five of them, you know, and she’s been here a while.”
“She’ll be hard to replace—even for a few weeks.”
“I know. We’ll have to see what we can do. Meantime—today—would you mind pinch hitting and getting that data from Norcross? You can go up to Rita’s desk if you want and work from there. It might be easier.”
“Well… sure.”
Ten o’clock came and went, and Carla completely forgot her promise to Nancy. She called her extension when she finally remembered at 10:55.
“That’s OK, Carla. I knew something big must have come up, and I heard about Rita. I was just going to ask you what you’d think of inviting Rita to our little supper club, but she probably can’t now.”
“Invite her anyway, don’t you think—even if she can’t come? It might give her an extra little dash of encouragement.”
“Well, I guess you’d be exactly right!” Nancy said. “I’ll get her home address and get a card we can both sign. Maybe Patrice will sign it, too. I’ll try to catch up with her.”
Carla shook her head, as she hung up the phone, reproaching herself for not having even thought before this very moment to pray for Rita.
“God, You know ourselves better than we do. Help me to love like you do. Show me—and Nancy, and Patrice, too, Lord. Show us how to be Your arms wrapping her in love. Give Rita Your peace and every single thing she needs. Help her to feel Your loving care. I pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen. And Lord, please work lots of good out of this.”
……….
“I have some great news!” Midge looked at her dad and then her mother at the dinner table with a “Just-wait-‘til-you-hear” look on her face. “Mr. Connell stopped me after class today and said he thought I should apply for the Schoening Scholarship for young writers.” Midge beamed.
“Really?” Lou exclaimed, jumping up to hug her daughter. “That’s our Midge. I’m glad other people recognize your talent, too.”
“And it’s not just for one year—it’s for four years—ten thousand each year.”
“A $40,000 scholarship?” John Ferguson’s face showed his acute surprise. “Could you still go the University?”
“Yes! And more good news: Gerri and Marlene are planning to go to the university, too. We want to get an apartment together. I guess the dorms are all co-ed and really loud.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Lou said. “They’ve proven to be good friends, haven’t they?”
“Yeah,” Midge nodded, enthusiastically. “They really have. They stood by me right through Nicky.”
……….
“Sal?” Gene Chemosh called out to his wife, having just arrived home after work.
“In here, Dear.”
Gene headed for the family room and was surprised to see Sal sitting in his big brown leather chair. “So that’s different,” he said, focusing his eyes with raised brows on her, then on the chair, and back to her again. “Where’s Andy?”
“Outside. He and Tommy Wiltbaum are designing a fort. And they’re serious.” Sally smiled. “We might even have to buy some lumber.”
Gene smiled as he plopped down on the couch. “Do we have a budding architect dwelling with us?”
“Perhaps. So… don’t you want your chair? I have to get up anyway and fix myself a martini. Want one?”
“No,” Gene said. “But if you’ll wait two minutes while I stretch out, I’ll fix one for you.”
“Sure. I’ll wait. I was actually wanting to veg out myself for a few. I’m tired today.”
“You work too hard, Sal. You should just learn to say no instead of volunteering for all those groups and clubs.”
“I suppose.” Neither said anything for a space of ten minutes, until Chemosh started snoring.
“OK, that does it. You’re the tired one.” She stood up. “I’ll fix my own martini.”
“Uh… Oh, sorry. I’m a little tired.”
Sally got up and proceeded to fix her drink. “So how was work today?” she asked.
“Work is work. Wish I could retire and never go back.”
“Gene!” Sally’s voice was full of concern with a shade of reproach. “You used to enjoy going to work. What’s going on?”
Gene was wide awake now and sat up to make room for Sally, who sat down right beside him, offering a sip of her drink.
“Ah…” he sighed heavily. “I’m not sure. You’re right; something’s going on. I don’t know exactly what. I feel… weird… uncomfortable—in my soul, Sally.”
“In your soul?” Sally asked. “Maybe there really is such a thing as a mid-life crisis.”
“Yeah.” Chemosh nodded his head slowly and definitively. “Yeah. I’m a believer.”
“What triggered it?”
Another long sigh. “The nightmare.”
“What did that psychiatrist tell you? You’ve never really talked with me about it.”
“Uh… quite a few things.”
“Like what, Gene? Did he ever interpret your dream?”
“Pretty much, I think.”
“And?”
“And what?” Gene repeated, innocently.
“And what was the interpretation?” Sal’s voice had an impatient edge to it.
Another sigh. “Honestly, Sal, I don’t feel like I’m at liberty to talk about it right now.”
Sal turned to face her husband. “And why would that be? We’ve never kept back anything from each other.”
“No, no, no.” Gene put his hand on her crossed legs. “You don’t understand.”
“You’ve got that right!”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just that I don’t know what to tell you. I want to tell you, and I’m going to tell you—everything. But I have to do some more soul searching to understand this crisis.” He turned to her and squeezed her to himself with his left arm, bringing her head close to his and kissing her gently on her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll be OK. I love you and Andy more than anything in the world, and I’ll get through this—we’ll get through this. I know.” He squeezed her to himself again. “Can you wait to have me tell you—when it’s a better time?”
This time it was Sally who sighed. “All right. I’ll wait.” Then she smiled, relaxing the tension with a tease. “It better be good!”
……….
Several weeks had passed since Gene Chemosh had met with Joe Denspot. They had communicated, however, by phone, discussing the dilemma of Gene’s not liking his work anymore and wanting to quit, with his wife not on the same page.
On a Friday afternoon, Gene walked into Joe’s office. Joe greeted him. “So life is complicated.”
“Ssssheeooh!” It was a long, expressive sigh. “Yeah. Understatement.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I think I’ve told you all I know to tell. Every day I feel this tension between Sal and me. It was never there before.” He looked at Denspot. “You know, I miss our old days.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“Go back? No!” Chemosh’s eyes winced as he smiled wistfully. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted.”
“What exactly were the old days?”
“Well… not a care in the world: just everyday living stuff—paying the bills, keeping staff happy at work, finding time for Sal and Andy and making sure they’re happy. No deep thinking about a purpose to life, about right versus wrong, about all these… things… you’ve introduced me to.”
“But Sally’s still back there?”
“Yeah,” Gene replied quietly, nodding his head.
“And the nightmare—has it surfaced lately?”
“No, thank God.”
Denspot chuckled. “He’s the one to thank, all right. Have you and Sally discussed the nightmare—my interpretation, that is?”
“No.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know, really. I just haven’t felt it’s the right time. So many issues are tied to it.”
“Like?”
“Like this vocation crisis. Sally knows I don’t like going to work anymore, but she doesn’t see things like I do, and she’s frustrated.”
“Maybe you should try to tell her. And if you’re not comfortable doing abortions, get a job in an ob-gyn office where you won’t be doing them.”
Gene took a deep breath. “I’ve spoken to a couple guys already about that. But I don’t know how to approach telling Sal about the nightmare. It’ll make her feel guilty, and I don’t like thinking about the consequences of that. She’s a wonderful girl, you know, and it was I who pushed for the abortion.” He looked up at Denspot leaning against his desk.
“Joe, do you think our child was a son for sure, since that’s how it’s played out in my dream?”
“That would be my guess.”
“I uh… I think I want to name him.” He scratched his head. “Actually, I’d like for Sally and me to come up with a name together for him—a full name.” A long sigh escaped as he went on. “I think it might help bring the reality of what we did into focus.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Denspot’s compassion showed in his eyes and his serious smile as he nodded his head in approval. “I’ll be eager to hear what it is.”
Gene smiled. “You’ll be the first to know,” he assured him. He stood up. “But you won’t be the last. If I have my way, Sal and I will be on a mission, honoring our son.”
Joe Denspot raised his eyebrows at this statement, questioningly. “Well, one thing at a time, one day at a time,” he cautioned. “Don’t tell me about the mission until you’ve gotten past the first hurdle.” He smiled. “In your favor are plenty of factors. I do think it will help tremendously, however, if you have a contract you’re ready to sign for a new position before you tell her, so that Sally doesn’t have financial insecurities—even temporarily—and doesn’t have to face the stigma of your being without work.”
“Mmm… I’ll keep that in mind.” Chemosh headed for the door.
“One more thing, Gene.”
Chemosh turned around.
“Do you still have your ten rules?”
“Right here,” he replied, opening his sport coat and patting the inside pocket.
“I think it might prove worthwhile for you just to review those. You’re no longer exempt from the first rule, you know. It was preeminent four thousand years ago and is every bit as important today.” He gave his friend a reassuring smile, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly as he held open the door. “My clinical suggestion,” he added as an afterthought.
……….
Before he started his car, Gene pulled out his rules cards and read through them, reading the first rule twice. “I don’t think I love You with all my heart and soul and mind, but at least I’m talking to You,” he muttered. He had driven about five minutes when he felt as much as heard a voice demanding his attention. He continued driving, puzzled for a moment.
“What?” he spoke out loud. It seemed so strange, this whole experience with the supernatural.
You need my help.
Gene frowned.
I said you need My help.
“OK…” Gene acknowledged, hesitantly.
Maybe you should talk to me a little bit.
“Well…”
Do you want me to help you?
“Yes, Yes, I do.”
I will. You’re needed at home. Step on it. You don’t have a moment to lose. I’ll take care of the traffic.
Amazingly, the lights changed, each one just in time for Chemosh not to have to slow down, and he made it home in record time. Feeling urgency, he jumped out of the car without even closing the door. He almost ran into the house, just in time to hear a loud thud, and Sal cry out in the same moment.
“Andy!”
Gene ran into the family room to see Sal kneeling over Andy, whose right arm was pinned beneath the front edge of the big brown leather chair. Gene pushed the chair onto its side, amazed that he could do it at all, let alone so quickly, and knelt over his son. Andy’s right arm was obviously broken, and his eyes were shut. He was out cold.
“Get a wet towel!” The words were a sharp command, and Sal was back in fifteen seconds. Gene gently rubbed the cold wet cloth on Andy’s forehead and cheeks. Andy’s eyes opened and his dazed look turned into one of fright. “My arm, Dad. My arm!” He screamed when he tried to lift his hand.
“It’s all right, son. Your arm is broken, and we’ll get you to the doctor right away. Your mom’s getting a pillow right now for you to rest it on.”
Sal ran to obey her husband’s indirect instruction, thankful that he was there and so calm and confident. She was back in a moment, and Gene spoke quietly.
“I’m going to lift you just a little, while Mom slips the pillow onto the floor. Now I’m going to carry you out to the car, and I’ll hold you very still while Mom drives.”
Andy cried out with pain in the motion, but Chemosh was quick to reassure him. “You’re being very brave, Andy. We’re proud of you. I know it hurts, but I’m so glad you didn’t have your leg under that chair as well.” He forced an encouraging chuckle. “You’d have a whole side gone.”
“Thank God you came when you did, Gene.” Sally’s voice rang with relief as she pulled out of the garage. “I don’t know what I would have done. That chair is way too heavy.”
“Yeah, it is. We should probably get rid of it. I don’t like it like I used to.”
Andy let out another scream, and Gene told Sal to drive a little faster. He looked down at his son in his lap, the little arm askew on the pillow. “You’re going to be OK, Andy. I’m so thankful.”
“Will I have to have a cast?”
“You will.”
“They’ll probably let you choose what color you want. What will you choose?” Sally asked.
“Probably blue.”
Gene stole a smiling glance at his wife as she talked to Andy, adroitly distracting their son from the trauma and pain.
“Are you going to let people sign their names on it?”
“Maybe Tommy.”
“How about us? Will you let us?”
“Yeah.” Andy began moaning.
“The doctor and nurse will maybe want to, too. Will you let ’em?” Gene asked, touched as he looked at his little son staying so calm despite undoubtedly intense pain.
“I don’t know,” Andy whimpered.
“Well, if they ask us, we’ll tell them they’ll have to get permission from you, because it’s your cast. OK?” Sally shot a desperate glance to her husband. “And will you tell Tommy that he has to use cursive, or will you let him print?”
There was a reluctant smile on Andy’s face as he answered his mother. “I don’t care. Probably cursive.”
“That’s what I’ll use, too,” Gene added.
“Dad!” Andy acknowledged his dad’s teasing remark.
“What?” Gene replied in mock innocence.
“You always use cursive.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Silly Dad!” Sally added, smiling. A few minutes later, she stopped in front of the glass doors of the ER and bounded around it to open the passenger side door for Gene as he carefully held Andy with the pillow upon which the broken arm lay limp.
“I’ll park the car and be right in.”
Alone in their bedroom that night, with Andy tucked in bed, asleep with the help of a painkiller, Gene and Sally Chemosh finally had some time to talk by themselves.
“That nurse was really giving me the third degree, wasn’t she?”
“When she asked how the accident happened?”
“Yes!”
“Mmhmm. They have to. That was pretty ingenious of you to use the broom as a lever to clean under that chair.”
“How I wish I’d left it dirty!”
“Well, Andy got his favorite marble back. I think we should have it preserved in a cube so he remembers to put safety first and that there are consequences when you don’t.”
“It wasn’t his fault, Gene. I called him to come and get it when I saw it there, but I tripped on the stupid lamp cord and lost my grip on the broom just as he was reaching for it. I’m so sorry.”
Gene went over to his wife and hugged her. Then he stepped back, holding her at arms’ length, and looked intently at her. “I thank God Andy didn’t have his head under there when that beast of a chair came crashing down.”
Sally’s eyes opened wide and she shuddered. “I didn’t even think about that. Oh, Gene!” She buried her head in his chest and pulled herself to him, clinging tightly. Her emotional and physical exhaustion reigned for a moment, and she gave vent to tears of relief.
After a moment, still holding his wife, Gene spoke, “Sal, on my way home today, God told me I needed His help.” He could feel Sally’s body stiffen as he spoke, but he went on. “Then he told me to step on it—that He would take care of the traffic because I didn’t have a minute to lose. I hurried, and I didn’t hit a single red light.” He tightened his hug as he spoke in her ear. “Did you hear me, Sal? I didn’t hit a single red light.” Stroking her hair, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “When I got home, I didn’t even close the door of the car—that’s why it was open when we went out to the garage—and I walked in right when it happened.” He kissed her head, still whispering, “We did need God today, Sal. Andy’s arm is broken, but it could have been so much worse.”
“Just for the record,” he went on, and Sally couldn’t see him raise his eyes toward the ceiling as he finished his sentence, “I am forever grateful.”