As far as girl dates go, this one is pretty phenomenal. Doreen and I have already hit five of my favorite stores, and despite my protests, she bought me three really cute outfits and two pairs of shoes. I even feel pretty in the new purchases, despite my eight-pound expansion.
Now my feet are warm and bubbly, and the massage chair I’m sitting in is doing its magic on the tension in my lower back. I mean, seriously, who needs church when you can get a pedicure at noon on a Sunday? Heaven on earth. Right here.
“Stop moaning,” Doreen says through closed eyes.
I poke her arm. “That was you, not me.”
“I can’t help it. How have I never done this before?”
Doreen is one of those women who visits the beauty shop every week for a wash and style. She goes to the same lady who’s done her hair for the past thirty years and gets her version of a mani-pedi at the same time, which is basically just a recoat of color and a little filing. I say you can’t call it a pedicure if there isn’t a massage chair, minty exfoliation scrub, and a hot towel.
“Because you live under a rock in a town of a thousand people.” Or at least that was what the internet said when I looked up the population of Maypearl.
“Got news, missy. You live under that rock now, too.”
That I do, and like her, the small-town mind-set is growing on me. Slow and creepy, like algae in a pond.
“So how was your date last night?” Her eyes are still closed, but a smug little smile is now on her lips.
I twist in my chair. “How did you know about my date?”
“Small-town privilege.”
I roll my eyes because she’s never going to tell me who spilled the beans, though I have a guess. Margie Singleton may be a rocket moving in a thousand directions, but she knows every little thing that goes on at Grace Community. Especially the social comings and goings of her favorite guitarist.
“Well?”
I roll my eyes. “It went fine. Cameron’s a nice guy.”
“And you’ve shared with him your feelings on religion?”
“No.” My chair suddenly feels uncomfortable. “But I don’t see why that’s relevant.”
“If you two are dating, it’s absolutely relevant.”
“We’re not dating. We drove in the same car and had dinner with some of his friends. It was no big deal.”
She turns her head and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Did he kiss you?”
“Doreen!”
“What? It’s a fair question.”
“Yeah, if I was sixteen, not twenty-nine.” I mash my lips together and cross my arms. She’s ruining my happy hangover and my massage. “But no, he did not kiss me. Satisfied?”
She settles back in her chair and closes her eyes. “Don’t let that boy fall for you without him knowing the truth. It may not be a big deal to you, but for a Christian, it’s important to be equally yoked.”
Equally yoked? “What on earth are you talking about?” I can usually follow Doreen’s analogies, but this one is beyond me.
Her eyes pop back open. “A yoke. You know, the thing they put on oxen when they drive a plow?”
“You’re comparing us to farm animals now?” I start laughing. I can’t help it.
“Ugh. Never mind.”
Her exasperation makes me laugh harder until soon she joins me. The two of us make such a spectacle that our pedicurists start talking in another language to each other with their glances flicking in our direction. I imagine what they’re saying about us and it makes me double over. Tears sneak from my eyes, and pain shoots through my stomach muscles before I get myself back under control. “Thanks, Doreen, I needed that.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she grumbles.
“I know.” And because I love my aunt Doreen so much, I concede. “And don’t worry. If Cameron shows any signs that he’s getting attached, I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.”
We both go quiet, and I watch as the lady scrapes and lotions up my poor feet. The abuse I’ve put them through this week shows, and I vow to wear comfy shoes until all my blisters heal.
“Hey, Doreen?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Do you know Sandra Cox?” I don’t know why my thoughts drift to her. Maybe because the blisters make me think of Band-Aids, Victoria, and the nursing home. I know, my brain is weird.
“Of course I know her. She’s been a member of Grace Community as long as I’ve been there.”
“Did you know she’s in a nursing home now?”
“Yes, I did. We bring an audio recording of the sermons to our shut-in members. She’s one of the members on our list.” Why does that not surprise me? Just when I think Aunt Doreen couldn’t do more, she adds something else to her expansive repertoire. “But how do you know her?”
“I found a prayer card from her daughter.” I readjust, careful not to move my feet as the lady is now applying color. “It’s probably totally against the rules, but I’ve been reading to her since . . . you know, she’s going blind.” Oddly enough, I’ve come to look forward to the hour visit. Even yesterday, before my date, I went by for a quick pop-in, just because I didn’t want her to wonder where I was.
Doreen reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That’s incredibly sweet of you, Jan. Her story is a very tragic one.”
“There seems to be a lot of those.” I pick at my fingers, allowing my mind to drift to the hundreds of prayer cards I’ve memorized. “I never realized how many people are hurting around us all the time. But every day, Ralph is flooded with emails asking for prayer.” I shrug. “I guess it must be therapeutic in some ways to think a higher being exists when life feels out of control.”
“Therapeutic?” Doreen shakes her head much like I did when she was talking about the farm animals. “No, Jan. Prayer is not a feeling. It’s a power source, and those who tap into it get far more than a warm fuzzy. They get the strength to move mountains.”
“Then why can’t she see?” My question comes out harsher than I intend, but the thought invades my mind every time she has me read another chapter in Luke. Jesus healed the leper and the paralyzed man, so why not Mrs. Cox?
“That’s a good question. One I don’t have the answer to. Faith requires trust even when we don’t always understand His purpose.”
I snort. That word faith always seems to be their answer for everything they can’t explain. Including the whole earth being millions of years old, which is Mom’s favorite go-to whenever people start in on the religious talk.
“I just don’t really see the point if it doesn’t change your situation.”
Doreen pats my hand like she would a small, ignorant child. “Prayer is not about changing your situation, although sometimes God grants those requests. It’s about changing your heart. The difference between you and me, dear, is that when the bad times come, and they do for us all, I have comfort and peace. And I’m sure you’ve already noticed that Sandra does, too.”
I don’t have a rebuttal for that one because she’s right. Sandra has an eerie peace about her. Even when she’s complaining or admits her frustration, she always follows it up with some kind of positive statement.
My problems, especially in the last few months, pale in comparison to hers. And yet, after the breakup, it was a week before I could pull myself out of bed long enough to call Doreen and ask for help. Another week before I had the strength to pack up the belongings I’d only just unpacked a few months before. And seven more harrowing days before I finally left my ex’s key with the landlord. The only time I felt even a little comfort in that span was when Doreen picked up the phone, and the feeling dissolved the minute I said goodbye to her.
“You’ve gone awful quiet over there,” she says.
“Just thinking.”
Doreen reaches over and pats my thigh. “Good. You just keep on doing that. The answers will come.”