Paint Me Fearless, page 28
“Oh.” Robin’s relief was palpable. She turned to us. “Come on. Dean will be so happy.” As Dean whirled around in his wheelchair, I was shaken to the core. He’d always been thin, but now he looked emaciated. His hair, it seemed, had turned white overnight. And he looked sunken and gaunt. Yellow and… deathly ill.
“Who’s winning?” Robin asked as she stood behind Dean’s wheelchair and snaked her arms around his neck.
“Your husband. He’s a shark,” Billy ranted. “Ain’t nobody can beat him. Even preacher man, here. And he’s got the good Lord on his side.”
“Awww, look,” Dean squeaked. “It’s my lifelong friends. Fellows, you’re looking at my history standing there.”
As I bent into an enthusiastic hug around Dean’s fragile frame, Lenny seemed frozen in place. He was stunned, distraught, and unable to speak or move.
The man with the tattoos hopped up and introduced himself. “I’m Timothy. Y’all must be Desi and Lenny.” He shook Lenny’s hand and discreetly coaxed him toward Dean. “I feel like I know y’all, I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yeah, me too,” Billy chimed. “My man Dean tells me y’all got some wicked card game called Bouré in Louisiana. Ya gotta teach me so I can keep this shark here from getting too cocky.”
I pivoted away from Dean when Billy took me in his arms and hugged me. But behind me I heard the moment Lenny finally pulled himself out of his shock and embraced his friend. His sobs mingled with Dean’s as their reunion resounded with sadness. I found myself unwilling to do anything other than burrow my head deeper into Billy’s big chest.
“It’s all right,” Billy comforted. “I gotcha.”
†††
Later, as we all sat and enjoyed some lemonade and Robin’s special zucchini bread, Lenny taught Billy the finer points of Bouré. “Better watch out, Dean. I got the hang of this now. Better bring your A game.” Billy winked at Timothy. “And don’t be taking notes, preaching on revenge this Sunday. A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”
“I know where you sit, Billy.” Timothy chuckled. “I’ll be looking right at you.”
With some effort, Dean pushed himself up on the arms of his chair and cleared his throat. “Robin, did you know Billy’s nephew is one of the keyboardists at North Lake?”
“No, I didn’t. We’d love to meet him.”
Robin tensed as Billy’s expression transitioned from good-natured jokester to capable nurse. Focused, Billy adjusted the oxygen tank beside Dean’s chair.
“Yeah, he thinks he’s all that,” Billy said before turning to Robin. “All right, it’s time to get the missus over here and see if she paid attention to my lively tutorial.”
“Oh, is it time?” Robin hopped up and looked at the indicator on the tank. “So when it reaches that level…” She mumbled to Billy. “I unscrew this…”
“Good. That’s good. But you gotta get your new tank ready to go first.”
“That’s right.” As Robin started lugging a heavy tank over, Timothy jumped up to assist. “No, don’t.” Robin waved him off. “I have to learn to do it myself.”
We watched as she twisted a lever on the new one, unhooked the empty one, and switched Dean’s tank. When she finished, she tenderly placed the plastic tubes back into his nose. Billy nodded his approval, gave her a high five.
“Now tomorrow I’m gonna teach y’all,” Billy said to Lenny and me. “And there will be a quiz.”
As everyone laughed, Timothy said his goodbyes, taking an extra moment with Dean. I was a little taken aback when he asked me to walk to his car with him.
“It means so much to them that you’re here,” he said as we stood in the driveway next to his car. “I understand it’s difficult seeing someone you love go through this.”
“It is.” I nodded. “But we wouldn’t have it any other way. They’re really excited about your church. About you. I think it came at the right time for them.”
Timothy’s blue eyes lit up with wonder. “God’s timing is amazing, isn’t it?” He opened his car door, fished through some folders, and handed me a pamphlet. “All this is online as well, but Robin mentioned you were going through a hard time. Even before the news about Dean. I just want you and Lenny to know that if you’d like someone to talk to, feel free to come by my office. Or check out any of the counselors in the pamphlet. We’re willing to help. Totally free.”
“Oh.” I nodded, embarrassed. “Things have been a little rough. And to be honest, my church at home isn’t helping lately. In our small town, if you have a disagreement with the preacher, folks just up and build their own church. Preach their own message.”
Why was a I sharing all this with this tattooed stranger? Was I that needy?
“Sometimes when bad things happen in your life, no matter how faithful you are, you need a little help climbing out of the muck.” Timothy looked thoughtful, as if speaking from personal experience. “I’ve found that it really helps to get one-on-one attention. To get objective advice from someone you can be honest with, someone you can talk to without feeling judged. Seems like it would be a good opportunity to do that while you’re here.”
“Okay.” I glanced down at the pamphlet. “Thank you.”
“And, Desi,” Timothy added, “you’re not a bad person because you’re struggling to connect in church lately. It happens to all of us. Me too.” He raised his chin toward the sounds of laughter sweeping from the porch, “Just don’t tell them that.” He reached for the pamphlet in my hand and scribbled something on it before handing it back to me. “Just something that came to mind. Might be encouraging.”
“Thanks.”
“See you in church Sunday. Or maybe sooner.” Timothy stuck his tattooed arm out the window and waved before heading down the driveway. I waited until he was out of sight before glancing at the Scripture he’d jotted.
Matthew 11:28–30: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest.”
A real rest sounded good right now.
†††
Apparently, the Kentucky bluegrass was getting to me, because after all this time, I’d just told a perfect stranger what Tom did to me. Ruth, one of the counselors at North Lake, had kinky brown hair, old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses, and a thick southern accent. She didn’t have to coax or press the trauma out of me either. I just spilled it in a perfect little pile for her.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, sweetie.” Ruth pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “And I’m sorry about your mom. It sounds like losing her the way you did was even more traumatic than Tom’s abuse. Quite simply, he didn’t matter to you. But your mom, she was very important in your life.”
“She was everything to me.”
“And she died before you could make peace with her.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m so mad about that. I hate myself for that. I hate myself even more than I hate him. And believe me, I despise him. The way he prances around town with his new wife. Can you believe he remarried less than a year after Sunny died? Sometimes I think we should move so I don’t have to ever see him again. But… Mama’s buried there, so I could never move.”
“I understand that. But where is she really? Do you feel her with you, in your heart? Tell me how you think of her now.”
I admired the pictures of Ruth’s grandkids all over her office. “Oh, I think of her every day. And I hear her voice. I’ve heard that’s the first thing people forget.”
“I’ve heard that as well.”
“I dream about her almost every night. At least four nights a week.” I couldn’t seem to stop talking. Maybe it was her kind, matronly face, or maybe the volcano inside me had been bubbling, eager to erupt for a long time. “I didn’t, for like three months after she died, and it was terrible. I kept praying for God to bring her back to me in my dreams. I wanted her to come back and tell me what to do now that she was gone, how to… reinvent myself.” Unwilling tears fizzed up. “That’s what she’d say. It was her way of starting over again. She made it sound fun. That’s how she was. She made everything shiny. I guess that sounds cheesy.”
Ruth smiled with empathy. “Not at all, sweetie.”
“Until him. He stole her from me. I’ll just never understand why she stayed with him.”
Ruth nodded. “You had married Lenny, had a family of your own. Maybe just knowing you were happy was enough for her. Or maybe she felt so guilty for bringing you into the situation with Tom in the first place, so she felt like she was serving a kind of penance and letting you go was her punishment.” When I said nothing, she pressed, “Tell me about the dreams you have about your mom.”
“When I finally dreamed of her, it was more like a nightmare. It wasn’t her coming to me one night, telling me she was happy in heaven and here’s what I should do.” I swiped a tear away. “It was just the opposite. She looked decrepit and gray and… dead. I thought it meant she was in hell.”
As I fought back a desperate sob, I was aware of Ruth coming around her desk and sitting in the chair next to me. She handed me a Kleenex. “Tell me about the dreams you have now.”
“Oh.” My voice was thick. I blew my nose. “They’re different now.” I looked at Ruth, astoundingly eager to share. “Now she’s beautiful. She’s wearing bright, cheerful colors like she used to.” I laughed through tears. “She’s drawn on her ‘smoldering-but-oh-so-subtle’ beauty mark along her cheek. That’s what she used to call it.” I laughed out loud, embracing the memories I’d suppressed for so long. “And it’s so weird, but in my dreams, I’ll be talking to Micah and Luke or to Petey, and she’ll suddenly just be there sitting across the kitchen table from us. And the kids will be having a conversation with her, like of course, that’s Nana. Like she’s been with us all along. I love those dreams so much. When I wake up the next morning, I feel so happy. Throughout the day, details will come back to me, like little gifts.”
“I think they are gifts from her. And from Jesus.” Ruth smiled. “You know the counseling we do here is faith-based, so I’m not going to hold back on what I think. Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I see your mama in heaven at Jesus’s feet, and I think she’s finally free of all the burdens she struggled with here on earth. And like you said, I think she’s happy now. And beautiful again. And even though she died when your kids were young, she’s been with you all along. And with them. And she’s a part of your life even now. Because you think of her every day.”
“I do. I really do. Sometimes I’ll hear a song and I’ll remember… or Petey will say something playful. His lively, spirited personality is so much like Sunny’s.”
“That’s a blessing. And I believe your dreams are her way of letting you know she’s fine now, and wants you to be happy.”
“Do you think so?” I wanted to believe this so badly.
“I do.” She nodded emphatically. “And you know what else, Desi? I think you should forgive yourself for what happened with Tom.”
I breathed. “How’d you know?”
“Because people who’re abused often feel like they’re to blame. And you need to know, that no matter what—”
“But you don’t understand. We had this thing—Mama used to call it oodling. It makes me sick to even say it now, but I knew I could get what I wanted if I did it. I got my dog, Winston, that way, and a lot of other things. Oodling was—”
“It doesn’t matter what it was. He was a grown man. What he did was wrong.”
I ignored her, pushing on. “It was sitting on his lap, talking to him really sweet. Kind of begging,” I choked out. Dropped my head into my hands, reeling with shame.
“Desi.” Ruth touched my hand. “You were a child. You’re not to blame. What happened was not your fault.”
I couldn’t raise my head to look her in the eye.
“This shame you’ve carried for so long is unwarranted. Jesus loves you. He bore your shame on the cross. He removed it, and He restored you to honor. Holding on to it like this, it’s robbing you of the good life Jesus wants for you.”
I nodded, full of misery. And yet an inkling of redemption twinkled along the edges.
“Have you told anyone else about what happened?”
“Lenny, my husband. Although I spared him the details. He loves me anyway.” I smiled at Ruth.
She hugged me. “What about your friend Robin?”
“Well, that’s a little more complicated.”
“I think you should talk to her,” Ruth suggested. “When the time is right. I know she has a lot on her plate now. But I think you’d be surprised how sharing this would deepen your friendship.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I agreed. “When the time is right.”
†††
Now that I’d met Timothy and Ruth and some of the other North Lake staff, I enjoyed going to Sunday services. Although Robin was always dressed to the nines, she assured me my moo-moo dresses were fine. “You look nice, Desi. And you’ve seen how casually everyone dresses. Shorts, flip-flops.”
Lenny bounded down the stairs in jeans and a casual polo shirt. “What?” He looked at me, and then at his feet. “No flip-flops.” He winked at Sterling, who hovered next to his dad’s wheelchair.
Dean had insisted Sterling and Violet continue with their school semesters as usual, but that didn’t stop them from driving home on weekends and attending church as a family. It was heartbreaking to see how happy Robin was on these days, especially as Dean’s decline was evident. His deterioration showed in his jaundice color and his dwindling energy. He also went through oxygen tanks twice as fast lately. Thanks to Billy, his pain was under control. Billy had a gift for predicting Dean’s peaks and valleys and dosing him accordingly.
Lenny and Sterling helped load Dean and his wheelchair into the church van, while Robin, Violet, and I followed in the car. Flashing lights could be seen a mile away from North Lake as police directed traffic at every entrance.
The parking lot was packed, and people of every size, color, and age received a chipper “Good morning” or “How are ya?” from the crossing guards.
As we walked in, I put my arm around Violet and pulled her close. “How’re you holding up, honey?” Although she was taller than me by almost a foot, her demeanor suggested she’d rather shrink into herself and go unnoticed.
“I’m mad. It’s not fair.”
Who could argue with that? As I tried to imagine Micah in this situation, my heart broke for Violet and Robin. For all of them.
We kept an eye on Dean and Robin as we followed the congregation into the auditorium. I was touched by the overflow of warm greetings. Hugs for Robin, and handshakes and encouragement for Dean. Reassuring nods for Sterling and Violet. Someone handed them a bag of fresh produce from their garden. Someone else asked about a good time to drop off a homemade dinner. There were lots of prayers, of course, and I even overheard one woman whisper to another, “We meet at ten in the morning at the edge of their driveway to pray. Wanna join?”
“Definitely,” replied the new recruit. No intrusion, no boasting about what they were doing, just taking time out of their day to send up prayers at a respectful distance.
As we entered the auditorium, red T-shirted staff handed out neon bracelets. “Hey, Robin! Dean!” said a dark-haired woman. “We’re having fun today. Put these on.”
“Thanks, Veronica.” Dean beamed. “I love jewelry.”
Robin laughed, her face aglow with… something. Contentment? Happiness? Peace? I’d never seen her look more beautiful.
When Billy and his nephew arrived, Billy endured some ragging from Lenny and Dean over his “spiffy” street clothes. Naturally, we all teased Dean for being the only person who still used the word spiffy.
Robin was fastening Dean’s neon bracelet, when a camera-wielding guy wearing a red T-shirt waved. “Hey, Dean, how’s it going? Why don’t we get your family and friends in a picture? Everybody say Deano!”
“Deano!” We grinned as we gathered around Dean’s wheelchair. Our bracelets glowed against the lights in the auditorium.
“Isn’t this the best?” Dean said. “Wow!”
“Yes,” Robin told him. “It’s the best.”
As the guys moved ahead with Dean to help him get settled, Robin held back and gave me a tight hug. “I’m so glad y’all are here. He’s so happy.” She blinked back tears. “And you know what? I am too.” After a beat she added, “Isn’t that sad?”
I couldn’t admit that it was, so I just put my arm around her and walked up the auditorium steps to join the family.
†††
Timothy’s onstage presence was as genuine and enthusiastic as it was offstage, and his willingness to present himself as flawed and vulnerable heightened the sermon. The theme was fear and shame, which seemed especially germane to me.
“Think about the worse mistakes you’ve ever made. Or the most shameful things you’ve ever done.” He paused, as if to give us a moment to recall our errors. “Now,” he said, “were they driven by fear?”
He let that sink in and continued with examples. “Maybe you were fearful of failing so you took a short cut that you knew wasn’t morally right. Like cheating on a test or using performance-enhancing drugs for a sporting event. Or maybe you were fearful of being criticized or ridiculed, so you participated in something you knew in your heart was wrong. Or maybe you were afraid of telling the truth, of opening up and being honest with someone, so you told another lie. And then another. Folks, when you think about it, so many of our greatest sins and mistakes are driven by fear.
“Maybe you’ve been badly hurt by someone you love, and now you feel betrayed. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t get past it. I know I’ve felt that way. Have you?”
