Chapter 15

It had been a long day, and all I really wanted to do was take a hot shower, lie in bed, and read. It wasn’t even dark yet. I was pretty sure a sign of getting older was the desire to lie in bed with a book when the sun was still up, but I would have to leave a meltdown crisis about my youth leaving me for some other day. Right now, I was simply too tired to care. I pushed open the front door of the house, and stepped inside. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear voices. One was obviously my mother’s, and there was another I didn’t recognize. At the top of the stairs, I realized with some horror that the voices were coming from my bedroom.

I’m not a terribly private person, but the idea of my mom in my room at all wasn’t one I loved. If she was in my room, then she had something to complain about. There was no doubt about that. I had grown up in that room, until I graduated from high school and had to get out of it and the town. Looking back, I was pretty sure it had simply been an undeniable desire to get away from my overbearing mother. Hearing her in my room now, as an adult, I remembered the feeling well.

The door was open a crack, and I couldn’t see my mother or her guest. I reached out and pushed the door open fully. My mother was standing near my small dresser, bent over it, motioning toward some candles I had there. A slim man stood with her. He was decades younger than my mother, with a thin mustache and black hair parted severely to the side. He turned to me when I came in, and I could already tell I wouldn’t like him.

“Oh hello, Laurel,” my mother said, tossing a glance my way over her shoulder, as if it was all right that she was in my bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Ian here had some concerns,” she said.

“About my room?” I asked.

“Hello,” the man said, stepping forward and offering me his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From my mother?”

“Oh yes. We’re great friends.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. He looked confused as to what exactly I could be sorry about.

“I do have friends, you know, Laurel,” my mother said, finally turning around to face me.

“I assume Ian here goes to your church?” I asked.

“Of course he does,” my mother answered.

“My relationship with God is the most important relationship I have,” Ian said to me. “When you find the same, you’ll be happier. I know your mother worries about you so much, dear.”

It was strange to hear someone my own age like Ian call me ‘dear’. I shuddered involuntarily. “I’m sorry, but you have no right to be in my bedroom,” I said.

“You should respect your mother and not speak to her like that,” Ian said. “If I had focused on relationships like that, perhaps I would still be married.”

My mother snorted. I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want me to know that one of her friends had been divorced, or for another reason. “Ian, don’t you fret,” she said stonily. “It’s not your fault you got divorced, as undesirable as that is, as I think you made the right choice.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Years ago, when my mother had heard that our next door neighbors were getting divorced, she had taken them off the Christmas card mailing list, and had them barred from a block party that summer. If I remembered correctly—and I pretty much always remembered the stuff my mother said, in case I ever decided to write a book about her—she had said, “Divorce is the very worst thing anyone could do. It’s making a mockery of God.”

“Divorce is making a mockery of God,” I said, turning to Ian. “According to my mother, that is.”

The man’s face fell and he nodded. “She’s right. Another gem of hard truth from your mother. She’s full of them, and I thank God that he brought us together in friendship.”

“Ian’s ex-wife was not a Godly woman, although she pretended to be,” my mother said, “and that’s all I’ll say about that.”

“That’s all I wish to hear about her as well,” Ian said, nodding.

I cleared my throat. “At any rate, I’d love to hear why you’re in my bedroom.”

“Well, I didn’t see a lock on the door, so I thought you wouldn’t mind,” my mother said somewhat defensively.

“I’d prefer you not to bring strange men into my room, Mother,” I said with an edge to my voice.

“Ian is not strange. He’s one of my best friends.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Why are you in my room?”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “Perhaps we should have asked before entering your private area. I know how privacy can matter so much to those who have yet to find God.”

I ignored his comment and turned back to my mother. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her.

“Ian has been seeing a woman for the last year or so. When they know each other, she likes to light candles. Ian was concerned that she might be into the New Age. I told him that you were New Age, and he came to compare the candles.”

“New Age?” I asked.

“You believe in the power of stones and things like that,” my mother said.

“The power of stones? Mom, I just like scented candles.”

My mom waved her hand at me. “Regardless,” she said, “I invited Ian over to see if the candles were that similar New Age type stuff.”

I turned to Ian. “And when you know each other? Don’t you know each other all the time?”

“Heavens, no,” Ian said, placing his hand over his chest. He looked like he would pass out, right there on the spot. “Only on Friday nights, after we listen to an hour of gospel music.”

I glanced at my mother, and she too looked absolutely appalled. I simply had no idea why they were so shocked.

Ian went on. “I know we shouldn’t know each other at all, but times are changing, even if Thelma here doesn’t like to admit it.”

My mother forced a laugh and placed her hand on Ian’s arm. I cringed at the sight.

“Well, I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. I’d love to relax in my own room,” I said. “Alone.”

“I was just leaving,” Ian said.

To my relief, he did just that. My mother followed him down to see him out.

I hurried around my room to see if anything was out of place, but the only misplaced items were my scented candles.

“Why must you always be so rude?” my mother asked me, upon her return.

“Mom, this is my bedroom!” I said. “Don’t bring people in here to smell my candles. It’s just too weird, not to mention downright rude.”

My mother snapped at me. “You’re calling me rude? I can’t believe the way you spoke to Ian. Besides, we weren’t smelling the candles—we were just looking at them, you silly girl. Ian’s girlfriend, Sandra, insists on lighting candles when they know each other. He says she won’t know him at all without the candles burning. She says it’s romantic, but he’s afraid it’s New Age. She doesn’t go to our church, you know.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked. I was beginning to lose my patience. “They either know each other or they don’t.”

Mom gasped, and her hand flew to her throat. “That very well might be how things go on with people your age outside the church, but inside the church, it’s a little more than that. You don’t just know anyone! You should only know one person your whole entire life.”

“Oh my gosh!” I said, the light dawning on me. “When you say ‘know’, you mean…”

My mother cut me off. “Don’t you dare say such a thing! We don’t need more filth in this house.”

“More filth?”

“These candles! These New Age tools of the devil you insist on bringing into my house!”

“They are seriously just candles, Mom!” I all but screamed. “They smell good and make light. That’s all!”

Mom’s lips formed into a tight line, and for a moment I was tempted to tell her I was a witch. I wasn’t one, but I would enjoy telling her that I was. Her only child, a witch. I savored the mental image of her eyes bugging out of her head. I was snapped out of my pleasant musings by her voice.

“Ian is upset because he is already knowing the girl. If she is actually New Age, he will be due for an eternity of torment alongside her. You really shouldn’t know anyone outside of marriage, but it is a different time, I accept that.”

“You accept that? Mom, when you got to the register in a busy supermarket and saw that the teenage girl scanning the groceries was pregnant, you left your things on the belt and hurried out.”

My mother nodded. “I was a different woman then. I know now that the girl deserved pity and guidance. I can change, and I have.”

I snorted rudely. “Mom, the only thing you’ve ever changed was my diaper when I was a baby.”

“I live by God’s influence, and I don’t apologize for that,” my mother said. “And I never will.”

“Mom, how come you think it’s okay that Ian is, err, knowing this woman out of wedlock? You always complain about people ‘living in sin,’ as you call it.”

A look of pure horror passed over Mom’s face. “I most certainly do not think it’s okay, Laurel! I think it’s disgusting. In fact, I think Ian has got a thundering cheek! I’m sure that woman thinks he’s going to marry her.”

I was utterly confused. Talk about mixed messages. “Well, why don’t you say something to him?”

Mom crossed her arms. “I’m going to. It’s just not right.”

“I have to say, Mom,” I continued, “I never thought I would see you befriending someone so young, and speaking with him about who he, um, knows and doesn’t know.”

“He’s my friend,” my mother said stubbornly.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” I said, enjoying myself. “And if I don’t think it’s right, imagine what all your friends and the whole church must be saying about you two.”

The color drained from my mother’s face, and it was all I could do not to laugh. She was positively pale, as white as a sheet. She tried to speak, but she just spluttered, her lips and jaws working but no words coming out. She turned on her heel and left my room, finally leaving me alone. I chuckled to myself and lay back on my bed, savoring my rare victory.