Potter Springs (20 page)

“How’s the carnival coming?” She changed the subject.

“It’s good. We’ve got it just about ready.” Hoping to entice her with the excitement of life in Potter. “You should see how
everybody’s pitched in. Ervin, Penny, all the deacons. And Courtney’s been great with the organizing.”

“Courtney … Williams?”

“Yeah, you know her. She’s president of the ladies’ group, volunteers all the time?”

“Oh, I know her. She of the
LeFleur
cosmetics.” Amanda heavily accented the French term.

“You should have her over sometime. She’s really nice. I think you two could be friends.”

The silence on the other end of the line told him his wife thought otherwise. He overcompensated for the awkwardness. “You
know, she’s divorced. Apparently had a tough time of it. Married to a real jerk. No kids. She could probably use a friend
like you.”

“Maybe,” Amanda said. “Maybe she wants a friend like you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mark rolled to his side, squishing the pillow. “She’s committed to the church. To the kids’ program.
That’s all.” He switched to the defensive. “It’s not like you to be jealous.”

“It’s not like you to go on and on about other women.”

“Mandy, let’s don’t do this. When are you coming home?” Same song, same dance.

“I don’t know.”

In his mind he heard,
I don’t want to.

Still, he told her that he loved her.

Me too,
she’d whispered across the miles, then left him alone in the dark, the receiver pressed tight to his ear.

The roar of the carnival broke through Mark’s memory. He lifted his head from the door and rubbed his temples. He’d call again
tonight. Maybe just a few more days. He left the sanctuary of the closet and let the carnival swallow him again.

Returning with the promised glow balls and erasers, Mark handed them over to a still-swamped Courtney.

“My hero!” she announced, sorting the toys into her bins.

“Do you need anything else? A Coke or something?”

“How thoughtful. But I don’t think I’d even have time to drink it.” She turned to the game. “No, no, sugar. You’ve got to
put the duck back
into
the water. It’s not to take home. But here, here’s a brand new eraser from Pastor Mark.”

The toddler looked up at him, awed. He knelt down and gestured for a high five. The child’s light slap on his hand left a
sticky residue.

“Oh look. You’re so good with kids,” Courtney gushed, gathering tickets from the next player.

“Thanks,” he said, straightening. He wondered if the church’s bathroom soap had antibacterial qualities.

“I know what I’m talking about.” Handing out a Kit Kat, she informed Mark over her sleeve, “Teaching elementary, you get a
knack for that kind of thing.”

The microphone amp crackled at the cakewalk. He should get over there and check on it. “Sure about that Coke?”

“Hmmm.” Courtney checked the gym clock, high above the pushed-in bleachers. “I can’t right now. I still have another thirty
minutes on my shift.” She faced him, guileless in her Alice blue. “But how about later?”

G
reen-gray clouds swam over the Houston moon, bloated and heavy. In her parents’ house, Amanda peeled back the bed comforter,
pink roses on brushed cotton. As if on cue, her Princess phone rang its warbled tune.

“Hello?” She balanced the phone on one ear, settling in for her nightly visit with Mark.

“Hello, Mrs. Reynolds. Forgive me for calling so late. This is Dale Ochs, from the Lakeview Board.”

“Yes, Mr. Ochs.” Surprise made her voice louder. Dale the Watchdog, calling her long distance in Houston. “Is everything all
right?”

“Oh yes. And please call me Dale. Actually, I’m calling on behalf of the board to check on you. To update our prayer logs
for members. Tell me, how is your father?”

“Much better, thank you,” Amanda said, relieved. “He’s home now, getting stronger by the day.”

“Wonderful. Can’t tell you how glad we are to hear it.”

An awkward pause filled the line, as if Dale expected further discussion. Or maybe an explanation for her continued absence.

Amanda wasn’t about to give one. Or inform the deacon that she planned to head back to Potter Springs tomorrow morning. Mark
deserved to be the first to know.

She hadn’t meant to stay so long, but problems in Potter Springs seemed bigger, and harder, than simply easing into life in
Houston. She slept in her childhood bedroom and played cards with her father, convincing herself that his continued care,
and her companionship, provided reason enough to stay.

Going home meant facing truths she wasn’t sure she could handle. The hurts on both sides, she realized after the van fiasco,
ran deeper than she’d thought.

But the calendar ticked by and her father looked better by the day. Amanda sensed her usefulness as a houseguest coming to
an end.

“Why don’t you come with me to the fund-raiser this Saturday?” Katy had asked over eggs Benedict at the breakfast table this
morning, flipping through her calendar.

“I don’t think so, Mom.” She’d been to enough of the things to know she’d be squished into panty hose surrounded by her mother’s
obsequious friends, as plastic as the Botox in their faces.

Amanda imagined bringing some of
her
new friends to such a function. Kendra Sue in her socks and Earth sandals, or Pam with her gastric problems and puffy sweatshirts.
With a smile, she realized she missed them. “Besides, I should be getting back.”

“What for?” Katy adjusted the tie on her cashmere robe.

“For Mark,” Amanda answered easily. The truth dawning as she spoke. “He needs me.”

She couldn’t wait to tell him when he called. He’d ask,
When are you coming home, Mandy?
and instead of her standard,
I’m not sure,
she’d whisper,
Tomorrow.
After weeks of pleading, and persuading, he’d be so pleased.

“Isn’t Fall Festival this evening?” Amanda made conversation with Dale, wondering why he lingered on the line.

“That’s right,” he answered. “Just finished up. Quite a turnout. Your husband is rather
effective
with the congregants.”

The way Dale said it didn’t sound like a compliment.

“He’s gifted that way,” Amanda agreed. She flipped through one of her mother’s fashion magazines, noting that most of the
outfits cost more than her car. Her old car anyway.

No stores back in Potter carried that kind of high-end couture. Everybody shopped at Super Wal-Mart or Target, and Amanda
found a freedom in the simplicity. A lack of ferocious fashion and competitiveness she’d experienced in her mother’s world.
She decided she liked the Potter Springs way of things better.

“Between the Ladies’ Guild and Mark,” Dale went on, “it was a tremendous showing. They’ve worked closely together.”

“Who?” She didn’t like the way he slid through “closely together.”

“Mark and the Ladies’ Guild president, Ms. Williams. Do you know her?”

“A little.”
As much as I want to.
In the magazine, an article promised to reveal “Ten Secrets to Sizzling Romance.”

“They’ve become quite a team. A regular Frick and Frack.”

“How nice.” Amanda stifled a yawn and looked at the clock.

When would Mark call and get her off the line with this nutcase?

“In fact,” Dale added, almost as an afterthought, “they must have some follow-up work to do this evening.”

“Follow up?” The glossy pages rustled.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all. They left together, after the carnival. Courtney’s hard to miss in that Camaro. Perhaps
he needed a ride home. The church truck, from what I understand, is in the shop for repairs. That would leave him without
transportation, now wouldn’t it? Thank goodness he and Courtney are such good friends.”

Left the carnival together. Red Camaro. Such good friends.

Blood rushed to Amanda’s head and the magazine fell shut. High on wooden shelves, her porcelain doll collection became jeering
gargoyles in the shadows of the room.

“Yes. I guess so.” Hollowness filled her. She focused on one doll, its Shirley Temple curls forever perky, the rosebud lips
pursed just so. Smirking.

“Anyway, just wanted to check in about your father. We’re praying for you. On behalf of the board, let me extend our best
wishes for a continued speedy recovery.”

“Thank you for calling.” She could hardly breathe.

“And can we expect you back in Potter Springs anytime soon?”

His question slithered down her neck, reptilian and cold. “Yes,” she answered, the pressure crushing her throat. “Soon.” She
hung up the phone and rubbed her ear.

Ugly scenarios whirled in her brain like a film reel.

Courtney, ever the saccharine saleswoman, going on about LeFleur’s incredible products.
Just feel my skin!

Courtney tossing her hair. Courtney licking her gloppy lips. Courtney crossing her Barbie-doll legs.

Wow,
Mark would say.
That’s some lotion.

Amanda picked up the phone again. Dale Ochs must be wrong. Checking the clock on her desk, she figured it out. The carnival.
Mark must be exhausted. He probably went straight home and fell asleep. That’s why he hadn’t called.

She dialed. No answer. The click of the machine. No one home. She imagined the brown phone by the bed, its cord twisted in
knots, the ringing loud enough to wake the dead. The one he whispered
I love you
into each night, to her.
Me too,
she always said. But not tonight. Tonight, he wasn’t home.

She didn’t leave a message. Her heart twisted, and nausea surged. The thought of it, of Mark with Courtney, roiled inside
her. She ran to the bathroom and vomited. Wiping her face, she stared in the mirror. Her eyes streamed, sorrow and fear pinched
her brow.

Could Mark have done this?

No. After what his father had done to Marianne, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, because he knew better. Didn’t he?

A DREAM CATCHER
hung behind Courtney Williams’s velour couch, the long feathers dangling above Mark’s head. Her oak bookshelf held a variety
of titles.
When Good Men Leave. He Said, He Lied. The Delightful Divorce.

Courtney thrust a glass in Mark’s hand, carbonation fizzing at the top. The bubbles brushed his nose. He drank, then sputtered.

“I hope you don’t mind. I put a little something in it.” She winked, standing in front of him in her Alice costume. “Thought
you might want something stronger than a Dr Pepper, after working so hard. Is it too strong?”

“No, it’s fine.”
Surreal,
Mark thought. That he sat on Courtney’s sofa, her etched Coca-Cola glass in his hand. His Moses wig and beard lay in a scraggly
pile on the floor, the Ten Commandments propped against the wall.

“Thanks for helping me with those decorations.” Courtney pointed to a pile stacked in the entryway. “I had no idea how many
boxes I’d have to carry up here by myself. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. Nothing to go home to.

“Listen, if you don’t mind, I’m going to change.” She stepped past him, her Mary Jane shoes shining in the shag carpet. “Be
back in a flash!”

Just a friendly little drink, she’d said. A reward for carrying five thousand pounds of festival paraphernalia up two flights
of stairs to her apartment.

Mark stared at her coffee table, glass inserts under a floral arrangement. He reached out to touch the flowers. Fake. As Courtney
rummaged in her bedroom, Mark took another drink, and this time it didn’t burn going down.

He remembered the apostle Paul’s biblical admonition to young Timothy.
No longer drink only water, but use a little wine for your stomach’s sake, and your frequent infirmities.
Mark tipped his glass skyward. A tribute to the wise theologian. Maybe next year’s carnival, he’d wear a Paul costume.

“I’m back.” Courtney settled beside him on the overstuffed couch, the only other seat in the small apartment. “Whoops!” The
thick cushions propelled her weight toward him and she pushed against his thigh. Her nail polish twinkled against his burlap
costume for the briefest of instances. “Excuse me.”

She wore loose pajama bottoms and a sleeveless top.

He tried hard not to guess if she had anything on beneath the shirt.

“Like another?” She lifted the glass.

He found himself nodding, and watched her pad to the kitchen. “Thanks.”

When she reached for the ice, the tank top inched up just enough for him to see the small of her back, tanned and slender.

“Good carnival.” She placed the refreshed drink on a wicker coaster.

“We did a good job.”

“Sorry Amanda couldn’t be here to see it. I bet you miss her.” Courtney brushed her hair back, revealing a bare shoulder,
round and shining, like a caramel apple.

“I do,” Mark said. He should be calling his wife now. She never called him first.

“Amanda’s been gone for quite a while,” Courtney said. “You think she’ll be back soon?” Sipping her drink, she held her pinkie
aloft.