Paint Me Fearless, page 27
“Wow,” Dean repeated.
We watched as a few musicians bounded onto the stage. They laughed and kidded with one another, clearly comfortable together.
As they queued up the sound equipment, a beautiful woman with the most amazing long, brown hair smiled at us. She too wore a red T-shirt, hers sporting the words Alive across the chest. “Hey, welcome.” She hummed to herself as she waved, seemingly happy in her own skin.
“I hope we aren’t interrupting something,” I fretted to Dean.
“No, I’m sure it’s fine, or Veronica would have told us.” He looked up at the ceiling, like a kid at Disneyland. “Maybe they’ll sing a song.”
I was thinking this had been a mistake, when a man approached, a friendly smile on his face. “Hi, guys. I’m Timothy, one of the pastors here at North Lake.”
“I hope we’re not intruding—”
“This place is great,” Dean said.
“Not at all,” he told me. And to Dean, “Thanks.” Timothy was tall, with expressive blue eyes. His hair was shaggy, and I couldn’t help but notice the tattoos lining his arms. He was not at all what I’d expected, and I wondered why I’d never googled the pastor at North Lake.
“We’ve been meaning to stop by,” Dean said. “Just… you know.”
“I do know. I totally get it.” He added, “No judgment here.” He placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “How are you?” It wasn’t just a fleeting sentiment. He really looked at Dean.
“Well, I guess I’ve been better, to be honest.” As Dean spoke, Timothy glanced at me. “I hear good things about this place though. Some of the folks I work with—” Dean stopped.
Timothy offered gently, “I understand that you don’t know me, but if you feel like sharing, I’m here to help.” Timothy eyed the musicians on stage, as well as a few teenagers who’d piled into the sound booth. “We all are. We’re a community here at North Lake.”
“I was going to say I work at Dazé & Nolan here in Lexington,” Dean told him. “But I guess I don’t anymore,” Dean looked at me, hesitant now that his identity had been stripped away. “I’m sick. I just found out, so I officially retired today.”
Timothy nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is the prognosis hopeful?”
“No,” Dean answered. “Pancreatic cancer usually isn’t. But no.”
“I’m sorry.” Timothy looked at me. Really looked at me like he’d gazed at Dean a second ago. “I’m glad the Holy Spirit led you here today.”
I said nothing as tears slid down my face.
“Tell me,” Timothy said. “Do y’all have children?”
“Yeah, we do.” Dean grinned. “The Dynamic Duo. Twins, Violet and Sterling.”
“They’re in North Carolina now,” I added. “At school. We haven’t told them yet.” I held Timothy’s gaze, imploring him to take this burden away from us. Which was silly. What could he do? Just because he was a man of God didn’t mean he could perform miracles like Jesus himself.
“Maybe we can help with that,” he said. “We have counselors on staff here. They counsel people with drug addictions, people going through divorce or having marital problems. We also have support groups for people who are sick.” He glanced at Dean. And then he looked pointedly at me. “And counseling for their families as well.”
I couldn’t speak. I simply stared numbly at the kindness in Timothy’s face.
“And”—he grinned—“if it’s something we can’t handle, we have a mighty big following here.” He glanced around the auditorium, which held an enormous number of seats. “Our community, or as we like to say, our bench, is deep. And we’re here to help. If you want us, we’re your family. You’re not alone.”
“That’s nice,” Dean said. “We appreciate it.”
“If you want to come to Sunday services, we can have someone come out and pick you up.”
“We can get here on our own,” I told him.
“Bring Violet and Sterling,” he said. “We can all pray together afterward. Maybe it will help. And if this is going to be a financial burden on you,” he added, “we can assist in that way as well.”
“Oh no,” I insisted. “We’re fine.”
A beat passed, and he asked, “Would it be okay if I prayed with you?”
Dean reached for my hand, and I held his tightly in my lap.
Timothy thanked the Holy Spirit for leading us to North Lake, and he prayed that God bless us and strengthen us, as we’d been given this cross to bear. He prayed for our children, that they’d find peace and a deepening of faith through this challenging journey. He asked God to open our hearts, to allow the love and support offered from the community, from our family, and from our closest friends. He prayed also that God would show him ways to better support us, that he give him the words to ease our suffering, and that God use him as a tool to help us through this daunting and heartbreaking season.
“Jesus, it’s in your name we pray,” Timothy finished. “And all God’s children said—”
“Amen,” we said.
Timothy prayed silently for another few seconds, and then he looked up and clasped our hands. “If you want to hang around for a while and listen to our Creative Team rehearse, feel free. Those knuckleheads aren’t half-bad.” He teased. “Or if you just want to be quiet, they can rehearse another day.”
I was flabbergasted that they’d even consider holding up a big production for the likes of Dean and me.
“No, I’d like to hear the music,” Dean said.
After Timothy left, we sat together in the comfortable seats and watched as the sound booth and the musicians coordinated their numbers. Most wore red T-shirts with phrases like Redeemed or Free across the fronts. I was amazed at the pink- and blue-haired teens; the tattooed young adults; the nose, lip, and eyebrow rings. Poor Mabel would have surely had a stroke. And yet it was undeniable, and there really was no other way to say it—these people exuded joy.
A talented man with a buzz cut and thick-lensed glasses strummed a few riffs on his guitar, evoking an impromptu burst of enthusiasm from the group. An attractive young man, slim with a blond mohawk, belted out the chorus of a random hymn to spontaneous and robust praise.
And then the beautiful girl with the thick, long hair waved at us again. She spoke into her microphone. “Hey there, I’m Millie. We’re glad you’re here. Sometimes our first song is pitchy, so we hope we don’t chase you off.” The band members chuckled.
As the song began, I was immediately drawn in by the smooth, melodic tone of Millie’s voice. She sang of storms, sorrows, and heartache, and how Jesus called us to lay it all at his feet. The poignant lyrics combined with her passionate delivery brought me to tears as her voice rose with emotion.
Dean gripped my hand tightly. “I think the Holy Spirit did lead us here today.”
†††
Dean had had a bad few days. Maybe he was anticipating the kids’ upcoming visit. Maybe it was the new medicine. Or maybe it was just the poison eating him up on the inside.
The doctor had lined us up with Saint Joseph’s outstanding hospice care service, and after one trip, Dean had made a new friend. Billy was a big, brawny nurse with long dreadlocks and a sense of humor.
I was grateful for his strength, because Dean was becoming too much for me to handle physically. But even more so, I was grateful for Billy’s upbeat demeanor. His lightheartedness was sunshine amid heavy darkness.
“All right.” Billy chuckled as he rolled in the hospital bed on wheels. “I’m gonna put this right here next to the missus’s bed. That way you can reach her if you’re feeling romantic.” When Dean threw his head back and laughed, Billy nodded, “That’s right. You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
Billy liked to read murder mysteries, and he was forever telling Dean about the twisted plotlines of his current book. While I’d never seen Dean pick up a novel in his life, every day as soon as Billy would arrive, Dean would ask about the latest developments. “Did that bonehead detective ever figure out the poison was in the dog food?” Or “Something is off with that artist guy—his fascination with ears is a little unsettling.” And off they’d go, Billy pushing Dean’s wheelchair onto the porch, catching him up on his whodunnit.
It was at these moments, when I was alone, that I thought of Desi. When Timothy had prayed about us opening our hearts, allowing support from our closest friends and family, I knew I should call her.
Had it only been a week since my world was upended with Dean’s diagnosis? To think, my biggest worries had been whether my husband was cheating, the destructive actions of my best friend, and if the scales gave me the okay to step out of the house on a given day. My Before. It was so shallow.
I was ashamed of all the time I’d wasted. Of the life I’d wasted. Mine. And Dean’s. But I couldn’t dwell on those thoughts. Heck, I could barely linger on the fringes of those thoughts before I broke apart. So I busied myself putting sheets on Dean’s hospital bed, preparing a bland and tasteless meal for lunch, and putting medicine in Dean’s pill case.
And then I picked up the phone. Desi needed me as much as I needed her. She was in trouble. Her marriage, her psyche, and even her health.
Timothy had talked about counseling.
Maybe she and Lenny could use a trip to the Land of the Bluegrass.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A New Season
Desi
Lenny’s trip as an offshore supervisor hadn’t gone well. He’d come home in pain, worn to a frazzle, and discouraged. And that was before he got a look at me. Or the damaged car. Or suffered through my excruciating confession.
It hadn’t been pretty. I’d spewed everything in a long, drawn-out crying jag. I’d ranted about Tom being the catalyst to my bad behavior. Maybe subconsciously I’d begun my confession with that to gain sympathy. If so, it hadn’t worked. Lenny had only stared at me in confusion.
I admitted I smoked pot occasionally with Wolfheart. I came clean about sneaking his pills. I explained, in agonizing detail, what happened with Adam. I even told him about selling Sunny’s paintings.
Lenny stood there through all of it with his hand propped on the bar for support. Finally, when I’d hemorrhaged enough shameful admissions to the point of exhaustion, he’d quietly walked into the living room and gingerly lowered himself into his recliner.
He eventually asked in a low voice, “Can I have one of my pills? Or did you take them all?”
After I gave him his pill, he closed his eyes for a long time and let the medicine do its work. Just when I thought he’d fallen asleep, he said, “What about Winston? And you and Robin at the bonfire?”
It took me a moment to realize he meant the paintings. Of all my transgressions, this was the one he wanted to address. “I still have those. I could never part with those.”
“Selling away your mama’s paintings,” he said in a numb voice. “That’s just sad.” I saw no point in telling him the majority of the money had gone to pay bills, so I remained silent.
“Swiping my medicine, smoking pot,” he went on. “That’s not you, Desi.” He rubbed his temples. “What Tom did, that’s despicable. But what you do now, that’s on you.” He closed his eyes. “You have to decide if you’re gonna let Tom ruin the rest of your life.” He drifted off then, his eyes tightly closed.
I started to speak, but he shook his head, as if he just couldn’t hear anymore.
“What happened with Adam…” he said eventually. “I guess I’ve gotta decide if I’m gonna let that ruin the rest of mine.”
“Please forgive me,” I said as remorse washed over me. “I’m sorry. I’m going to do better. I want to be better.”
But this time when Lenny’s eyes closed, they rested heavily on his face. I watched him sleep for a long time. As his eyelids twitched sporadically, I was overcome with guilt for hurting him, for exacerbating his pain. Eventually I covered him with a quilt and let him sleep. I figured he was entitled to a little oblivion.
For days it had gone on like that—him sleeping in his recliner, and us circling each other in an atmosphere ripe with pain and regret.
And then Robin called. And everything changed.
†††
Lenny didn’t like flying under any circumstances. But especially when his world was teetering on the edge. The edge of what, exactly, would be determined in the coming months. Destruction? A breakthrough? An epiphany maybe? Perhaps that was being too optimistic.
“We’ll take what we can get,” Lenny told the flight attendant. “Nuts, pretzels. Whatever you got.” He turned to me. “I gotta take one of my pills.”
As I dug into my purse, he quipped, “You want a couple?” It was a joke. Sort of. He was still angry. He was still hurt. And yet he insisted that counseling might be just what we needed. He was even curious about the megachurch. He told Robin that if they’d stopped by a church just to sit for a spell in Shady Gully, they would have had church signs and flags planted in their yard by the time they returned home.
Lenny took his pain pill with a big gulp of water. Grimaced. He hated them. Hated the feeling and the very idea of taking them. I never had to worry about him getting hooked on oxy. Fortunately, I hadn’t been on that kick long enough to even miss them. Now the weed, that was another story. I missed it terribly. I wanted desperately to unwind, block out, and escape. But there was no time for any of that now. We were going to help Robin. And Dean. And if we were lucky, maybe even ourselves.
“Well look at that,” Lenny commented as he looked out the window. “I’ve never seen grass that green. “Look, Desi. Isn’t that something?”
I peeked over him as the plane descended. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s a horse! Heck, I see three of them by that barn!” He reached for my hand, squeezed. I squeezed back, loving him for putting his whole heart into this trip. Into being there for Robin and Dean. Into working on our marriage.
As if he read my mind, he gave my hand an extra squeeze. “We’re gonna be all right, Desi. Everything is gonna be all right.”
†††
I almost didn’t recognize Robin waiting for us at the baggage claim. If not for Lenny enveloping her in a warm hug, I’d have thought she was a much-older woman. Her skin was stretched taut and thin, and her once big brown eyes were sunken into her face.
Lenny tugged her into his chest. “If you get any skinnier, you’re just gonna go poof”—he gestured with his hands—“and disappear into thin air.”
Robin managed a pained grin for Lenny, but when her eyes met mine, she crumbled into a wash of tears. Lenny and the other passengers looked on as her frail frame shook in my arms.
As the baggage rolled into view, the airport speakers boomed with a bugler playing “First Call,” like at the beginning of the Kentucky Derby. While Lenny got a big kick out of that, he was even more delighted when a greeter expressed her southern hospitality with a tray of chocolate delicacies.
“Bourbon balls, anyone?”
“Yeah.” Lenny pointed at Robin. “She’ll have two.” He reached into the tray and handed the chocolate to Robin. “Here. Eat this.”
Robin watched as Lenny grabbed our bags. “He seems like he’s doing okay,” she whispered to me. “All things considered.”
“We’re okay,” I said, holding her gaze. Reflexively I opened my mouth to ask how she was, but we both knew the answer to that, so instead I linked her arm in mine.
“So how are the kids?” Robin clicked the remote to her fancy car in the parking garage.
“Good,” I answered. “Luke is enjoying school in Alexandria. And Petey is staying at the house with Micah while we’re here. He said to stay as long as we wanted.”
“His roommate is a slob and he’s tired of TV dinners,” Lenny explained.
When Robin handed him the keys to her Volvo, Lenny’s face lit up. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He made a show of opening the back doors for us and getting us settled in. “Just call me Leonard, the chauffeur.” He punched in the Home button on the GPS, and we left the dark garage for the bright sunshine and the rolling hills of Lexington.
“How’s Dean? Is he having a lot of pain?” I asked.
“He’s… well.” She swallowed. “Billy is keeping up with his pain, so we’re good on that front.”
“Billy is the hospice guy, right?” Lenny asked.
“He’s Dean’s buddy, yes. He’s my angel.” She leaned into the front seat and pointed. “Look, there’s North Lake.”
Lenny whistled. “That is some kind of stairway to heaven.” He raised his eyes to the rearview mirror. “Desi, why don’t you take a picture of that and text it to Jesse and James.”
Robin asked, “What’s new on the As the Bible Turns soap opera of Shady Gully?”
“I guess Dolly is still banished.” I shrugged. “As long as she’s with Mitch.”
“I think I’m gonna ride a horse while I’m here,” mused Lenny as we passed yet another pasture of noble-looking equines.
“Maybe that would flip your back into working order,” Robin quipped.
Lenny laughed, and for a few blessed minutes it felt like old times.
†††
Lenny and I did our best not to gawk at Robin’s sprawling home as we drove along the curvy driveway. But our best wasn’t good enough.
“I hope you’ve got a few maps inside,” Lenny joked. “You know where it says, ‘You are here.’”
“Oh no, whose car is that?” Robin looked stricken as we parked. “Something is wrong.”
Unsettled by her panic, Lenny and I followed as Robin dashed inside.
When we reached the front porch, we encountered a large man with dreadlocks, a man with tattoos all over his arms, and a man in a wheelchair. They were playing rummy.
