CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

A fuzzy cellphone photo of the daughter-in-law of Senator Larson dancing with the graduate of an ex-gay program spans two column widths. If Kate and Lucy were any closer they would need to be horizontal. Inset within is a sharper photo of Kate with Senator Larson under the Marrisota banner at the state capitol.

Kate sniffles. “We didn’t actually do it. I talked to her for five minutes.”

“Wow, she’s a close talker,” Erik says. “You’ve already cheated on me in your heart. So what does it matter?”

He shakes his head. “I guess part of me still thought it was just this innocent flirtation thing that women did sometimes. But, hell, I know what you’re like in bed. What would make me think it would be any different with her.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I told you we didn’t do anything.” Kate’s eyes sting with dried tears. She mumbles, “At least you finally get what she meant to me.”

“I already got it, all right? I got it a long time ago.” Erik grips the table and coffee splashes up out of their cups. “And now so does the rest of the world!”

“That’s not my fault. But I’m sorry. I really didn’t plan—Well . . .”

“Kate, I look like a real idiot. I gotta go to work with this? On top of the Sojourn allegations, Dad’s doing all he can to stop Mom from swallowing a whole bottle of Xanax.” Erik slumps back in his chair. “What the hell’s happening with us?”

The door is closing on the girls again—the Andern car pulling up to the bluffs, its lights striking the clearing of Maiden Leap with a harsh glare.

She heads straight to her sewing station, wraps the kaleidoscope quilt in plastic, and tapes it closed. She latches the cover on her sewing machine, closes her kits, and carries them down to the storage room. It’s time to make the living room livable again. She straps the package onto her Schwinn and sets out.

A film of humidity has settled in the late summer air, making the distant oaks more blue than green. Cicadas whir electric in the shadows and aggressive yellow jackets have officially launched their campaign of annoyance and fear.

Kate coasts without braking down the hill to the lift bridge, daring another crash. The thick breeze across her perspiring body feels delicious and perhaps the only thing closest to joy she will feel today. On the Wicasa side she passes the bustle of Main Street—the fudge shop, the Irish pub, the hat store—and climbs Center Street, a mile long hill that connects the old bluff town to its newer subdivisions widening on the prairie. Her quadriceps ache but her lungs are strong, her heart damn well up to the challenge.

Senator Larson and her husband live in a modern three-story colonial up here beyond the bluffs in the Pine Creek golfing community, where everyone knows everyone because they look exactly like each other. And there goes Bert and Claudia’s daughter-in-law rolling by on her rusty bike, you know the bisexual who makes those bizarre blankets?

CLAUDIA SITS IN her robe with the new quilt on her lap, her hands smoothing across the satiny shards of color. “Ah, it’s a rainbow, God’s promise to Noah.”

Kate plops down beside Claudia on her in-laws’ pristine white couch. “Well, actually, that wasn’t—okay, just promise me you’ll use it.”

Claudia’s face squinches up and tears rolls down her cheeks. “Gracious,” she dabs eyes, “everything’s making me cry today.”

“Yes, yes. I know. It was perfectly innocent. Erik already told me. It was a birthday party and everybody was acting like teenagers. I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. Bert and I are on our second day of fasting.” Claudia eyes the silver tray of butter cookies with disdain. “Just pray the Lord’s advice comes soon.”

“Oh, psst, I know how these things go when alcohol gets involved. But anytime you walk into one of those places, you put so much in jeopardy, Katie. Don’t you realize that?”

Claudia’s pupils are dilated mostly black with just a slight frost blue ring of iris. She’s higher than a screech owl in a cottonwood. Kate has rarely seen the woman so unhinged. There were glimpses, certainly. Once when Brace’s diaper leaked onto her pastel twinset in church. Or the time she misspoke Revolutionary war dates on Channel Five’s Face Off and then after, in the green room, continuously struck her own forehead until Bert yanked her wrist away. There was a brittleness there that required protection—like saving the flesh from a bone’s compound fracture.

Today all Kate had to offer was her last quilt. She fills her mouth with a butter cookie.

Claudia nods, gazing out the window. “One must always behave oneself in a small town, Katie. You never know whose child is going to grow up to be a novelist.”

“I realize now Ms. Van Buren has had it in for me. For years. And probably you too, Katie.” Claudia hands Kate a school form copied from an old Xerox machine. In the notes section at the bottom:

I do think the Andern child would make a good mentee. She’s a straight ‘A’ student, save for her time in contact with the defendant. But I would not consider sponsoring the Van Buren girl. While it is true that a ‘B’ student can be more clever than an ‘A’ student (who tends to learn by rote) they are less malleable. WBHS would be better served if Ms. Van Buren were isolated from the other children.

My recommendation is expulsion. — Claudia Larson

Kate hangs her head. “This changed her life, Claudia. There were no adults looking out for her.”

“Perhaps I was too harsh. Perhaps my mistake was believing there was only room for one powerful woman in this town.” Her voice rises, quavering. “Or, perhaps Ms. Van Buren is an actual witch, who has cursed the Larson family name.”

“My poll numbers are cratering. All thanks to her and Sojourn extorting those families. But it is a test for us, Katie. A test of our faith.”

“Now I know you would never hurt Erik, so let’s not ever let that happen again.” Claudia looks at Kate, her upper lip quivering over her tall teeth. “Because—because there would be hell to pay, for all of us, now wouldn’t there?”

A cottony lump lodges in Kate’s throat, making the dry cookie even tougher to swallow. She reaches for the tea. “Are you threatening me, Claudia?”

“With what? With what do I have to threaten you? It is not me that stands in final judgment. I know there are temptations. There are choices. But I have seen the Lord’s good works first hand. People can change. This family has survived, was built, from the power of change.”

“Certainly you. And others.” Claudia draws a sip from her cup. “Others have changed and never looked back.”

Kate nods, pondering it. Who are these others? She glances back at Claudia. “You?”

“No. Goodness, no, don’t be ridiculous.” Claudia shudders. “But trust me, I have seen it. You’d be surprised what the Lord can change if you really want him to.” She pats Kate’s knee. “We’ll get through it, Katie. When the Lord returns, it will all be old news. You’ll see.”

KATE RIDES SLOWLY up to her house, her legs loose and rubbery, ready to give out.

Erik is on the lawn, watering the blue spruce bushes that border the foundation, his stare casting aimlessly about the yard.

She lays her bike down in the driveway, stumbles up, and throws her arms around him. He drops the hose to hold her but his stance feels like that of a man ready to leap.

It doesn’t take a fancy shrink to figure out why I hate bullies.

But someone had to stop them, didn’t they? Why don’t I feel any better?

Posted by Liesl ~ 8:00 AM ~ 4 comments

Rolf68 commented:

As much as I loathe conversion therapy, you lowered yourself to their level.

InChrist commented:

It’s in the Lord’s hands now.

WildeRosemary commented:

You don’t fool us, Liesl. I know you are soft on the inside. Have you considered the correlation of not being able to forgive and the onset of inflammation, of cancer? You’ve got to break the cycle if you want to survive.

Andirons commented:

Looks like you’re the bully now.