Endless Chain. Emilie Richards
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Mostly, as they both knew, Christine sleeping somewhere else would keep Sam from succumbing to his fiancée’s considerable charms.
“I’m glad you decided to come.” He took a loaf of bread from the cupboard, a knife from a drawer and a butter dish from the counter. Then he made himself comfortable at the small kitchen table and started spreading butter from one crust to the other.
“I didn’t want to.” Christine began breaking eggs into a bowl. “But I missed you. I don’t see why you haven’t been able to get away and come home.”
He didn’t remind her that Atlanta was not his home and probably never would be again. He didn’t remind her that he had a job that required his presence on weekends. She knew both and chose to forget them whenever the facts got in the way.
“I’m coming to see you next month,” he reminded her. “For Torey’s wedding.” Against his better instincts, he had agreed to help preside at a ceremony in his former church for one of their friends.
“Well, I’m here now. But the whole time I was packing, I thought about that fundraiser Savior’s Church did in the last year of your ministry there. Do you remember?”
He remembered all too clearly. At the time he had been the assistant minister of The Savior’s Church, one of Atlanta’s oldest and most influential congregations. He had given an invocation that had prompted the wealthiest members to fund a fledgling television ministry. Just two months later, they had begun televising their early-morning service, at which he almost always presided. The church’s membership had increased substantially because of it.
In case he didn’t remember everything, Christine hit the high points. “City Grill catered the dinner. We had Kobe beef and smoked trout. We flew in the Preservation Hall Jazz Band for entertainment.”
He remembered that part too well. The African-American members of the band had been in a distinct minority that night.
She flicked on a burner and reached for his one and only frying pan on a rack above the stove. “I wore an outrageous red dress by Zac Posen. He was brand-new on the runways back then, and I knew he was going places. The air reeked of politics. Daddy introduced you to Sam Nunn during dessert. Daddy told him that one day you would be the next Georgia senator named Sam.”
He waited until she was clearly done, using that time to slip the bread onto the rack of the tabletop toaster oven. “I suppose the point of this trip down memory lane is to draw a contrast between that night and the one to come?”
She faced him, her back against the stove as the pan heated. “A Mexican fiesta, Sam? In some damp field in the middle of nowhere? To raise money for what? Books and crayons for immigrant kids? It’s a noble cause. I hope you get enough money to buy crayons in every color of the rainbow. But this isn’t where you belong, and you know it.”
“Don’t you mean it isn’t where you belong?”
She didn’t deny it. “That, too.”
“You didn’t have to fly in for this. I didn’t expect it.”
“Sometimes I want to shake you silly. Are you trying to misunderstand?”
“Chrissy, I may not have left Savior’s Church of my own accord, but I have a job here, and I’m grateful after everything that I do.”
“And I’m not.” She turned back to the stove and poured the beaten egg mixture into the pan. From this angle her wild red hair hid her shoulders, but he knew they were hunched in frustration.
He rose, went to her and put his arms around her, resting them just below her generous breasts. For a moment all he wanted was for things to be the way they once had been.
* * *
Elisa appreciated honesty, even if she no longer practiced it. Two minutes into the trip back to the trailer park, she knew she liked Helen Henry. Some people decided late in life that pretense was too much work. They simply said whatever they wanted in the short time that was left them. Elisa suspected this was not the case with Helen. Helen had probably been truthful her entire life and scared away a lot of people in the bargain.
They were only half a mile up Old Miller Road when Helen started expounding on Christine. “Maybe that Christine Fletcher is pretty, if you like women who make ‘pretty’ their life work. She dyes her hair, you know. Nobody’s hair is that color.” Helen said the last in a tone that brooked no resistance.
Tessa, who was driving, resisted anyway. “No, her hair is natural, and she’s stunning. And you were not very nice, Gram. Do you really expect her to remember everybody’s name in between trips?”
“I expect her to try. She doesn’t like us, and that’s a fact. I’m not sure I cotton to Sam Kinkade, you understand, but I did expect better from him.”
“You adore Sam, and she seems pleasant enough.”
“I won’t ask Elisa what she thinks. You can hardly say, can you, girl, when you’re hoping to get a job there.”
Elisa tried not to laugh. “I have no opinions about anything.”
Tessa laughed for her. “We’re going to leave poor Elisa out of this.”
Helen shook one finger at her granddaughter. “You just mark my words. Either Christine will take Sam away from us, or he’ll tell her to hit the road. But there won’t be a wife in that parsonage anytime soon, at least not one with dyed red hair.”
Tessa changed the subject. “Elisa, have you been in the area long? Are you from the valley?”
“No, I’ve only been here six months.”
“What brings you here?” Helen asked.
For a moment Elisa was stumped. Clearly a job had not brought her. If it had, it was unlikely she would be looking for another so soon. If she claimed the reason had been family, then someday she might be expected to produce them.
“A friend invited me to share her home while I looked for work. I was ready to leave...Texas.”
“I would imagine so.” Helen sounded as if she could not conceive of anyone who wouldn’t prefer Virginia.
Tessa slowed at a crossroads, then sped up again. “Do you like it here?”
“I like everything but the rain.”
“It’s not usually like this. Last summer was dry. This summer is wet. Maybe next summer will be just right.”
“Too dry, too wet, just right... Sounds like you’ve been practicing your Three Bears,” Helen said. “Getting ready for the baby.”
Elisa wanted to slip out of the spotlight. She leaned forward. “I couldn’t help but notice there’s a baby on the way. Will it be soon?”
“It better not be,” Tessa said. Elisa thought there was a touch of anxiety in the reply.
“She’s due in January,” Helen said. “And she refuses to find out the sex. And she hasn’t chosen names because that’s bad luck.”
“No, we haven’t chosen names because there are too many choices.”
“Because it’s bad luck,” Helen repeated.
Tessa sped up some more, as if she hoped to distract or drop off her grandmother quickly. “Do you have children, Elisa?”
“I’m not married. My roommate has two. I enjoy them.”
“I never did see the point of babies,” Helen said. “Of course, Tessa’s will be different.” She said this as if Tessa had better make sure of it.
Rain began to fall in earnest, not the teasing harbinger of a storm but the real thing at last. Tessa snapped on her windshield wipers and slowed to a crawl. “I’m certainly glad you didn’t try to walk home in this.”
Elisa was glad,