Bridge to a Distant Star (5 page)

“Not really. It’s just—”

“Colleen’s being a typical mouthy teen and Bill’s … shall we say, pushing your buttons?”

Maureen stared at Vanessa’s profile, embarrassed by her friend’s insight. “And how did you gather all that?”

“Immutable signs.” Flatly stated.

“Immutable, eh? You into big words today?”

“Been reading a book on theology. Impressed?”

“Definitely. But don’t dodge, Nessa. Get back to my ‘
immutable
signs.’”

Vanessa drew a deep breath, prepared to tread softly. “Know how they say skin on a scar will always be thinner and more sensitive?”

“Sure. I have enough scars to prove that theory.”

“Well, you’re …
thin.
Does that even make any sense?” she laughed at herself.

Maureen kept her gaze straight ahead, staring out with unfocused eyes at the car in front of them. “Bill has always told me that I register every single emotion on my face. I hate that.”

“So … want to talk about it? Or, maybe … not?”

Maureen leaned her head against the window. Deciding she just didn’t have the emotional energy to go through it all now and then again with Sherry and Emilie, she said, “I think I’ll wait, Vanessa. It’s just too much—”

“To plow through twice?” To Maureen’s nod, Vanessa replied, “I understand. And besides,” she gestured toward their destination, “conveniently, we’ve arrived.”

As they pulled into the restaurant, Maureen pointed out, “Look—there’s Sherry. And Emilie’s car is already here too.” She opened her door, calling out, “Hey, Sherry.”

Sherry waited, hands on hips. In her typical tailored business suit, Sherry looked very much the professional she was. She kept her light blonde hair neatly bobbed, and the intelligent eyes that peered at them through tortoiseshell-framed glasses were without makeup. What softened Sherry’s entire look, however, was her wide grin and outstretched arms. “Been looking forward to this since we set it up. Give me some hugs, you two.”

The three linked arms as they walked up the sidewalk. Vanessa conspiratorially winked at Maureen. “The Clarkson family is into decrees these days—more on that topic later, Sherry,” (eliciting another laugh from Maureen) “so I’m gonna propose yet another one: Today, no salads allowed. Only glorious, fatty entrées for us. And dessert. Something tells me we’re all gonna need the happiness that only fat can bring.”

“Sounds like a divine idea,” Sherry agreed, and all three were laughing together as a smiling host held the door for them.

The cozy, intimate restaurant was a converted home from the late 1800s, and was one of their favorites. As the three walked in, they noticed the intermingling smells of spices and freshly baked bread, at once enticing and soothing. An assortment of brightly colored flowers—large baskets of pansies—looked welcoming on windowsills and tables scattered throughout the gracious interior. They glanced at each other and grinned in anticipation, hugging each other closer within their locked arms.

The host, mirroring their happiness, gushed, “Welcome to The Cottage, ladies.”

“Thank you. We’re meeting one more, Emilie Esteban. I think she’s arrived?” Vanessa inquired.

“Yes, I believe she has. Follow me right this way, please.”

Leading them to a corner table, he motioned to a secluded niche where they would have a good deal of privacy. There was still much bustling about as they distractedly greeted Emilie, decided who would sit where and settled in, at last giving Emilie their total attention. And then simultaneously, as though choreographed, all gaiety came to an abrupt end.

Emilie appeared stricken, shrunken, weak. Her shoulders were slumped over, head tilted down, hands clenched together in her lap. When she did glance up, they saw that her eyes were red and swollen, her face raw and chapped, every flaw of her deathly pale skin—wrinkles, sags, lines—highlighted. Emilie looked like an old woman.

Maureen reached over and clutched Emilie’s hands. “What is it? What’s happened, Em?”

Emilie lifted her chin, but closed her eyes as she slowly shook her head. The silence was unbearable. And so they filled it, voices overlapping with peppered questions.

“Is it one of the kids?”

“Is it Ed? Is his business in trouble somehow?”

“Has someone been in an accident?”

“Oh, Em … is it
you?
Have you been to a doctor? Is that why you missed the meeting this morning?”

“Let us help.”

“Tell us what to do.”

“Emilie?”

When she finally spoke, the flatness of Emilie’s voice was like a generated recording, devoid of personality and emotion. “Ed’s met another woman. He’s moving out.” She glanced down at her wrist, checked the time on her watch. “Right now, as a matter of fact.”

They stared at her, mouths open. And though they didn’t realize it, each one held her breath, features frozen in disbelief.

“He told me just as I was about to go out the door this morning. Oh, sorry I wasn’t there today, Maureen.” An aside, eerie in its calm. “Says he’s in love—for the first time in his life. And so he knows this is what God wants him to do. Go to be with
her,
of course.” Emilie began to speak faster, slurring one word into the next. “After all these years … he was living for me and the kids, he says … sacrificing his own personal happiness … and finally it’s
his
turn in life to be happy. So he says now … with
God’s blessing
, he says … that …”

Emilie stopped then, allowing the words to slip away as though she were a music box that gradually wound down. Silenced now, she was smaller still.

The three friends exchanged quick, horrified glances and then Maureen, still holding Emilie’s hand in her own, squeezed tighter. One thought raced frenetically through her mind:
Say the right thing.
Whatever you do, Say the right thing.
“I don’t believe Ed would follow through with this, Emilie. He’ll come to his senses.” Maureen looked around the table for affirmation from the others. “I bet he’ll be back before you know it.
Certainly
he’ll change his mind.”

Vanessa started to add something, but hesitated and stopped, flustered.

And then Sherry whispered under her breath, “Maybe it would be better for Em if he
didn’t.
”

That drew an astonished look from Maureen, but a shrill, staccato laugh from Emilie. It was nothing like her usual beloved, boisterous laugh, and that sarcastic sound—more than anything that Emilie had said so far—brought a stab of pain to Maureen’s heart.

“Funny, I was thinking some of those same things when Ed was first telling me his ‘
news,
’ shall we say. My mind was racing, thinking surely he’d change his mind, he’d come to his senses, blah, blah, blah. And then he’d beg my forgiveness for this … this temporary
insanity.
” She reached for a crumpled, much-used tissue from her lap, dabbed at her eyes.

“And then he put his briefcase on the counter, pulled out papers. Turns out my efficient husband has already contacted an attorney.” She blew her nose and then closed her eyes. “It’s been going on
that long.
And here I was …”—she glanced over at Maureen with a look on her face like she’d just been slapped—“so
blind
that I was actually considering having another baby.”

Maureen rehearsed their conversation of the night before, trying to remember Emilie’s exact words. “Em, it … this makes no sense. Didn’t you and Ed just discuss this?
Recently?
Did I misunderstand?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t misunderstand a thing.” Emilie grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “He was falling all over himself with apologies about that ‘small but well-meaning indiscretion,’ he called it, this morning. A lapse in judgment. But he was only trying to ‘pacify you, dear Emilie,’ as he so
thoughtfully
put it.”

Maureen felt sick to her stomach and leaned down to find a tissue in her purse. Anything to break eye contact with Emilie—and those piercing, accusing eyes. She had no idea what to say now … how to respond. All she could do was glance up from her search to meet Emilie’s gaze momentarily before looking down again. Like a puppet on a string, Emilie followed Maureen’s lead, looking down at her purse too. It was like a bizarre, synchronized dance. And in the midst of that ballet, Maureen could only think,
Why is she so intently focusing on
me?
What am I supposed to say? What does she want me to say?

“That is just …
disgusting.
” Sherry had been married to an apparent charmer who turned out to be a total fraud. He had cheated—not once, but repeatedly. Once she discovered his infidelities, she divorced him without a backward glance and often pointed out that she’d never trust another man again. Not in
that
way. With narrowed eyes and grim line of her mouth, she slowly shook her head in disdain.

“It’s also pathetic.” From Vanessa.

Emilie turned again to Maureen, eyebrows raised.

“I just don’t know what to … Ed’s always been such a godly … he’s an elder at church. And he’s the head of your home, Emilie, and …”

“
Maureen.
” Sherry gave Maureen a piercing glare, cutting her off. And then, before anyone could say anything more, a server arrived at their table.

“Welcome, ladies. I hope you’re all having a
great
day.” Not waiting for an answer, she chirped, “My name’s Becky and I’ll be your server. What drinks can I get you to start with? May I suggest a nice merlot or maybe a margarita? We’ve got a special going on mango margaritas today, if anyone’s interested?” She appeared totally oblivious to the tension that sat like a grey cloud over the table.

“I’d like water with a lemon, please,” Sherry answered succinctly.

“Sparkling water? We have—”

“Tap water will do fine.”

“The same for me, please,” from Vanessa.

“I think I’d like iced tea.” Maureen looked over to Emilie. “Em, isn’t this where we got the peach tea that we both liked so much?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Would you like that too then?” Still no response from Emilie. “Two of those for us, please. Thanks.”

“Any appetizers today? We have avocado and crab dips with one of our specialty breads?” Her cheerfulness was like a laugh at a funeral.

Several responses of
no
before she continued, “Okay then. I’ll be right back with these and then we’ll get your order.” She turned and bounced away, four sets of eyes following.

“Better look at the menu now,” Sherry suggested.

Vanessa and Maureen glanced over at Emilie, who merely stared at the closed menu before her. Making no move to open it, she sat completely still.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Maureen pushed the menu aside and quietly asked, “Emilie, are you going to feel up to eating anything at all? I mean …”

“Of course she is.” Sherry responded with authority like the professor that she was. “She’s got to eat. And we’re going to make sure she does.”

“But maybe that’s not what Emilie needs. I mean, we could just leave and—”

“
No,
” Emilie emphatically interrupted, surprising them all. “I want to stay here. I don’t want to go home! I can’t walk back into the house just yet …” She caught her breath, stopped. And then the tears came.

As if on cue, everyone reached for Emilie’s hands, arms, anything to touch her, reassure her. Emilie began openly weeping, the other three tearing up also, feeling the heartache along with her.

But then, as suddenly as the tears had arrived, Emilie pleaded, “Um, we’ve got to get ourselves together.” Flustered, she grabbed for the rumpled tissue again. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this yet. It’s been hard enough telling you all, and …” she paused, swallowing, “well, I’m not ready for this to get out. And then there’s the kids. Oh, God,
how am I ever going to tell the kids?
” Despite her resolve, she had to wipe away more tears.

“Em, are you positive this isn’t just some huge misunderstanding?” Maureen asked. “Or maybe … maybe we need to look at this from God’s perspective, like Joseph. You know, he meant it for evil, but God meant if for good?”

Sherry’s intensity pulled her toward Maureen, and though she whispered, her words came out like a snarled hiss, “Maureen, listen to me.
Shut up.
It doesn’t work that way in the real world, and you know that.” Seeing Maureen’s hurt response, Sherry purposefully eased herself backward, resettled, closed her eyes a moment, and then took a deep breath. “Look, Maureen, I think I understand what you’re trying to say. But the idea that if we can only figure it all out, then God will simply make it vanish—”

“I’m so sorry.” Maureen’s eyes darted from Sherry to Emilie. “I didn’t mean … I’m only trying to help Em see, to help us all see, that sometimes there’s a blessing underneath. That good can come of the worst. Isn’t that right?” She searched Emilie’s face for answers, but it was Sherry who spoke into the tense atmosphere again.