Logan Airport
“Attention passengers for Flight 761.”
Meredith glanced up from her Bible to listen to the announcement.
“Due to inclement weather, all flights to Grand Rapids have been cancelled until further notice.”
Meredith’s spirit joined the chorus of groans from the passengers at her gate. The snowstorm must be moving faster than the meteorologists had predicted. No rookie to changed travel plans, Meredith was on her feet in an instant and the first at the counter.
“Meredith Crowley,” she stated for the attendant. “I’m trying to get back home.”
The woman shook her head. “Everything’s shut down because of the storm.”
Meredith tried to keep her voice polite. Reassuring. Based on the size of the line forming behind her, this worker was about to deal with several dozen irate passengers. Meredith didn’t want to make this any harder on her than necessary.
“What about flights to a nearby area? Is the Detroit Airport still open?” The last thing Meredith wanted to do was stay here in Boston. A detour through Detroit wasn’t the worst-case alternative.
The woman smiled at her albeit without much patience. “You could go to the main airlines counter. That’ll be your best bet if you wanted to try to re-route. Do you need directions there?”
Meredith shook her head and let out a sigh. Gone were the days when you could tell the ticket counter attendant where you needed to go and they’d print you up a boarding pass right there at the gate and offer you meal and hotel vouchers if you ended up delayed overnight. Well, Meredith didn’t plan to stay in Boston overnight. In fact, she doubted she’d ever want to return to this city after everything she’d gone through in the past twenty-four hours.
Meredith thanked the woman, clutched the handle of her carry-on, and made her way toward the correct terminal. With the snowstorm now spreading like wildfire, she would probably have to carve her place in line with hundreds of others. She might do better to call the airlines directly. Maybe she’d do both.
“Miss Crowley! Miss Crowley!”
Meredith turned around and saw a woman running toward her. Journalist if you were to judge by the small hand-held microphone she was waving in her direction.
“Chelsea Harris, reporter for Channel 2.”
Meredith wished she hadn’t paused for the stranger.
“Do you have a minute? Can I ask you a few questions?”
“I’m actually headed to a different terminal.” Meredith kept her voice curt, hoping the reporter would take the hint.
It didn’t work. “I’ll walk with you. Talk about a stroke of good luck. I’m on my way to report about the elementary school scandal in Detroit, but I’ve been following your story for quite some time now. My mom’s a big fan of your Bible studies.”
Meredith glanced at the young woman and suddenly felt every day of her age.
“My mom would never forgive me if I didn’t stop and talk with you,” Chelsea gushed. “My producer either. I just want to say how thankful I am that you’re championing the cause of women’s rights in the evangelical movement. Even my mom supports you one hundred percent, and she’s about as conservative as you get.”
Meredith did her best to sound polite. “Listen, I’m really thankful for your mom’s support, but my flight just got cancelled …”
“No problem.” Chelsea swiped the screen of her phone and shoved it into her back pocket. “We can be totally off the record. But I just have to ask you how it feels to be one of the only women willing to speak up against the patriarchy in conservative Christian circles.”
“That’s certainly not what I set out to do.” Meredith’s mind was reeling. For the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours, she reminded herself as well as the Lord that all she wanted to do when she founded Living Grace Ministries was create Bible studies to encourage Christian women. How in the world could a mission that simple become so controversial?
“I heard things have been a little rocky for you ever since you published that blog post on domestic violence last year. Is it true that some members of the board of directors asked you to take your original article down?”
When the board fired her yesterday, Meredith had told herself one silver lining she could find in the midst of her turmoil was that she’d no longer be a lightning rod for political controversies. Maybe she’d spoken too quickly.
“Listen,” Meredith said, hoping not to come across as rude or impatient as she felt. “I’m actually not legally able to discuss my relationship with the board of Living Grace at this time.” That much was true. Just a few more days, and this reporter could read all about Meredith’s resignation in the press. “I want to thank you for your interest, and please tell your mother thank you for her support, but I really can’t comment.”
Meredith sped up her pace, but unfortunately, Chelsea hurried along right beside her.
“Oh, I totally get it. Remember, we’re off the record. Can I just say how happy I was to read your blog post last year to women in abusive relationships? You’re, like, the first Christian leader I know who actually had the guts to say that it was okay for women to get a divorce.”
Meredith paused long enough to brush a strand of sweaty hair out of her face. “Actually, I never specifically advocated divorce. I just encourage women in danger situations to take whatever steps were necessary to get themselves and their children to safety.” Meredith had defended her arguments from last year multiple times on multiple platforms. Based on the new drama with the Living Grace board, her writing to defend and protect abused women felt decades old.
Chelsea shrugged. “Tomatoes, to-mah-toes, right?” She gave Meredith a wink. “I’m just glad someone came out and said it. I suppose you knew going into it the backlash it would cause.”
Meredith nodded, even though she couldn’t be in complete agreement with the reporter’s assessment. When she encouraged church leaders to stop telling battered women to overlook their husband’s explosive tempers, she guessed that some people might skew her words. She didn’t delight in ending marriages for any and every reason; she just didn’t want to see victims battered, bruised, or dead.
Meredith’s cellphone rang. Thankful for the chance to pull herself away from this awkward conversation, she excused herself, reached into her purse, and took the call.