Molly and Jo sat at a small round table on a dining patio high above the beach. The morning sky was overcast, the air cool. A handful of other diners spoke in hushed tones or read newspapers, respectfully sharing with each other the singular quiet of early morning. In the distance, visible over the misted plexiglass barrier around the deck, a few scattered surfers floated about in the placid water.
Relaxed in the Oregon-like environment, Molly inhaled a deep contented breath.“That black-bean-and-egg burrito was perfect. And a latte with soymilk? Well worth a twenty-minute, predawn walk. Can we come again tomorrow?”
Jo smiled. “And the next day and the next, if you like.”
“Andie would enjoy it. Char, too, if she managed to get up before lunchtime.”
“Apparently she hasn’t changed into a morning person.”
“Apparently not. I wonder if she packed that ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign or found it in the bedroom here?”
Jo smiled again. Molly thought she looked better today, refreshed. Her thick gray sweatshirt added bulk, hiding her thinness.
Molly turned and watched the surfers. How good it felt, the four of them together again! “Why do you think…” She fingered the paper ring encircling the coffee cup and reconsidered the question. Maybe she didn’t want to go there. Given her haywire hormones and the emotional stress of recent months, she could give it a rest. The past was over and the morning so pleasant.
“Moll?”
She faced Jo.“Hmm?”
“Why do I think what?”
“Oh, nothing.” Again she paused. “Looking backward can lead to such a can of worms.”
Jo smiled. “Better open it now. That’s what vacation is all about, to set those worms free. You only have a week.”
Molly nodded. “It’s this business about turning forty.”
“Turn on the can opener!”
She flashed a smile at Jo’s lighthearted tone. “I’m still processing things.” A stab of homesickness struck her. For a change, it was not for her family but rather for “girl talks,” the kind she’d only experienced with Jo. “Things like us losing touch. Why do you think that happened?”
“Distance and marital status.”
“That was quick. I’d say you’ve thought about this.”
“Of course. I bet you have too.”
“Yep, and I reached the same conclusion. Distance and marital status. And kids. I sometimes feel guilty for being married and having children. It seemed to ruin a perfectly good friendship. We didn’t have anything in common after my wedding.”
“Moll, you still have a silly streak. We had our wacko mothers in common.”
She groaned. “Let’s not open that can!”
“I noticed you haven’t asked about mine.”
“And you haven’t asked about mine.” A long silent moment passed before Molly posed the question. “So how is yours?”
“Unavailable. Yours?”
“Ditto.”
“Unavailable” was the adjective they’d finally chosen as the most apt to describe their mothers. “PTA” and “sleepovers” and “movies” were words that never crossed the women’s lips. The thought of sitting on a bleacher, watching their girls’ volleyball game, was as foreign to them as strolling through the slums of Cabrini-Green.
Jo smiled. “Back to us girls…Distance divided us first. I moved away, remember? Followed a guy I thought I wanted to marry halfway across the country.”
“And I thought you came out here for med school.” Molly winked.
“Yeah, right. No, first and foremost was Ernesto Delgado. I never regretted not marrying him.”
“Then you truly are contented? Fulfilled?”
Jo leaned back in the chair. “I thought so, until this year. On my birthday I even asked myself if I did regret leaving Ernie. Maybe I’ve only been fooling myself all these years. But I don’t think that’s it. More likely ‘it’ is turning forty and realizing my career has not fulfilled me.” She shrugged.“How about you? You don’t really feel guilty for having a family, do you?”
“No. Marriage and motherhood have been my greatest joy, and on most days still are. But like you with your career, I have not been fulfilled by them. Which is what struck me on my birthday. And it scared me.”
“It scared you?”
“Mm-hmm. When we got married, I was so in love, so happy to leave Chicago for a higher calling, and a year later so happy to care for my own child instead of a classroom of other people’s kids. It never entered my mind I’d want something different someday.” She paused. “And then I turned forty.”
“What exactly happened on your birthday?”
“Breakfast in bed was a sweet gesture. It was great. Then Scotty had to leave and I had carpool duty since he reneged on his promise to do it. Later, as I was eating cold pancakes and scrubbing frying pans—the eggs and bacon that they’d burned—I realized I wasn’t happy. Not really. The more I thought about it the more disturbed I got. I was fed up with being known as Pastor Scott’s wife, mother of Eli, Betsy, Abigail, and Hannah. Where was Molly? Obliterated by marriage and motherhood!”
“But at the airport you said life was great.”
“It was. Then all of a sudden, wham! I’m forty and guess what? I have succeeded: I don’t look like my mother! But I don’t look like Molly, either. I didn’t lose myself in a career like your mom or in the social scene like my mom. I wasn’t ever unavailable to my husband or kids. But I lost myself somewhere along the way. In being so available, I created five monsters. Well, four. Hannah’s too young; she doesn’t count. But the others depend on me for every single thing. I’m not just talking about picking up socks. I mean the whole kit and caboodle, every detail involving house and schedules and kids, not to mention running the Sunday school department.”
“So what happened after you scrubbed the frying pans?”
“I marched right into Scott’s office, interrupting his session with the guy who’d called and interrupted my birthday breakfast. And I let loose.” She wrinkled her nose. “Screaming mimi.”
“Eww.”’
“Eww is right. I said this stay-at-home business was supposed to be a joint effort. But while I’m doing laundry, he’s out there in the world getting fulfilled.”
“What’d he say?”
“He didn’t get it. Totally clueless. He didn’t understand how I could be perfectly content one day and ready for the funny farm the next. Truth is, I can’t either.” She shrugged.
“Maybe it’s like Andie said about herself turning a corner. Her perspective simply changed.”
“That’s it. Life no longer looked the same to me, but it did to Scotty, and he refused to budge. Pastoring consumes him.”
“He’s probably on call twenty-four hours a day?”
“And then some. Neither one of us was very well balanced.”
“Past tense?”
“Some days.” Molly smiled.
“How’d you get to ‘some days?’”
“I went on strike. Except for Hannah and myself, I didn’t cook, clean, or do laundry. The rest of them lived on hot dogs and cereal and wore dirty clothes. I didn’t remind anyone of schedules; I didn’t keep track of homework or personal items. Eli was late for school twice. Betsy missed a clarinet lesson and failed a spelling test. Abigail forgot about soccer practice and had to sit out most of a game. Scott lost his Bible and sermon notes. That was one interesting sermon, by the way, completely off the cuff. Lots of rustling in the pews that day.”
Jo doubled over in laughter. “They must have been begging you to come back. How long did this last?”
“A week.”
“And did it work?”
Molly tilted her head from one shoulder to the other. “It helped, but now I feel so guilty. I keep wanting to call home and check in on them. It’s like needing a fix.”
“Oh, Moll.”
“The good news is I started substitute teaching. I gave up running the Sunday school. I gave up my little job of after-school care for three other kids. I’ve given my four more responsibility. Scotty pitches in at home and tells me it’s okay to whine like some angst-ridden adolescent trying to find herself.” She paused. “The bad news is he feels he’s not giving a hundred percent as a pastor. And on the days I sub, home life is absolute chaos. I can’t imagine teaching full-time, which is what I want to do.”
“The chaos probably adds to your guilt.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even want to make this trip. I keep slipping into the old role, thinking the real ‘Molly’ should wear Superwoman’s cape. I forget it’s Christ who fulfills me, not what I do.”
Although the sun remained hidden, a brightness had begun to dispel the mist. Jo slipped on her sunglasses, not quite fast enough to hide a flicker of her eye.
Molly sensed she was losing a connection with her. She took a deep breath. That was the other thing that separated them: While her faith had deepened through the years, Jo had grown indifferent to spiritual things. It had begun in their college days.
Lord, give me the right words. Give her ears to hear.
Molly said, “I don’t mean to preach.”
“It just sounds so flippant. ‘Christ fulfills me. He will take care of everything.’ But how?”
How to explain such an intangible? Molly reached into their common past.
“Jo, what do you remember from church? From when we were little?”
She pondered the question for a moment. “Candles, incense, and incomprehensible jargon. Endless words. Words, words, words. Words so familiar we rattled them off without thought.”
“They were Scripture, hon. And based on Scripture. They were alive, straight from a world we can’t see but the one where God moves, where He answers prayer.”
“I keep looking for something a little more concrete.”
“They’re kind of like…” She paused and lowered her voice to radio announcer depth. “The List.”
Jo’s quick smile was wistful. “Grandmère Babette. What would we have ever done without Andie’s grandma and her list?”
“Hopelessly floundered. Remember why she gave it to us? It’s not a list of dos and don’ts. She said if we took those words to heart and followed them the best we could, they would make a difference. They would help us grow into confident women.”
“I remember.”
“God says the same thing. It’s not about dos and don’ts but about His words infused with power and changing us from the inside out.”
Jo turned toward the ocean.
Molly knew the can of worms had indeed been opened. Now she could almost hear the contents being dumped into a Tupperware container, preserved for another time. She changed the subject. “So what was your favorite item on the List?”
Jo smiled and looked again at Molly. “‘A real woman has eight matching plates, goblets, and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored.’”
“I was there once, right after the wedding. Then Eli was born. I now have five of each. Only two of the plates aren’t chipped. My lasagna works every time, though, even on paper plates.”
“I own twelve and have used them twice. Maybe three times. I served a great salmon dish.”
“I like ‘a real woman has a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, a hammer, and a black lace bra.’ I trust you have those?’”
“Definitely. You?”
“Yes. Scotty has his own.”
“All four?”
She grinned.“No. By the way, my nest egg paid for this trip.”
“Ah, nest egg. Another thing a real woman has.” Jo raised her coffee cup.“Three cheers for Babette. You could say her list got me here too.”
“Which item?”
“The bit about how a real woman knows ‘where to go—whether her best friend’s kitchen or a charming inn—when her soul needs soothing.’ I’d already done the inn thing.” Her smile softened the bitter undertone. “Speaking of kitchens, we ought to go roust our roomies and hit the grocery store.” Jo’s demeanor snapped down the last corner of the Tupperware lid.
Molly accepted the hint and drained the last of her cooled latte.