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Ethan was away at work, getting last-minute paperwork sorted. Doing double duty, he planned to be on vacation a day earlier than scheduled. He wanted a day to “enjoy” his wife, he’d told Lydia as he left the house. Whatever that means. She couldn’t help pondering his words as she packed her carry-on luggage.
Getting everything organized early kept Lydia from snapping at everyone around her. She’d learned this as a young mother. At 19, with a one-month-old and a still newlywed husband, she planned a weekend away. A weekend she scrimped and saved for and then sabotaged by screeching at her husband on their anniversary, all because she packed her pre-baby swimsuit instead of her new one-piece.
Married life proved to suit her. Motherhood had adorned her like a crown, molding and shaping her into a strong woman of God. She learned humility and patience and true joy as she discovered the richness of the Father’s love for her by loving a child of her own.
Becoming pregnant on their honeymoon had not been in their grand plans, but Ethan and Lydia had grown closer in comradery raising their daughter.
Now that Joan was out of the house, Lydia felt frumpy and ancient. Meanwhile, Ethan grew friskier and aged backward. A part of Lydia hoped empty-nester life would pull them together as partners and calm Ethan down. Another part envied his youthfulness and wished she could jump into his frivolity.
Using all the courage, she could scavenge from her teenage self, she tucked a secret into her husband’s luggage. A lacy blue nightie hid beneath Ethan’s favorite gray polo shirt. She shut and locked the suitcase before she could change her mind.
The house phone shrieked. Lydia startled as if someone would discover her shenanigans. The ringing continued as Lydia hurried downstairs to her kitchen, home to her business and landline.
“This is Lydia.” She greeted the caller, out of breath. Only breath replied. Lydia listened for the automated click, signaling a telemarketer’s computer was picking up the line. Instead, a male voice cursed at her before hanging up. Angry and bewildered, she replaced the phone and shook her head. “Kids,” Her mouth said out loud while her mind drove a familiar blue car around her own block.
Her next task, after packing, meant dropping off donations for Mission Youth House. Joan emailed a list of items for the charity to Lydia. In the same email, she’d explained her need to stay in Africa through Christmas. Her favorite black leather jacket sat atop the box, an omen of the heart changes happening to her little girl. God was on the move. It was a marvel to witness and a sadness not to take part in.
But Christmas was coming, and this Friday she’d be on her way to her baby’s side. Lydia scooped up the jacket and hugged it, taking in the fragrance of her missing joyful girl. She cried into the collar, just for a moment, prayed a blessing over its new owner to be and set it down. It would grace the shoulders of someone else’s daughter soon.
✽✽✽
The B.F.F. was loud with activity. Flora ironed costumes. Her children and Kat’s painted ornaments for the Senior Center, a tradition Joan took part in during previous seasons. Lydia beamed and toted her donations to the clothes pantry. She set the offerings on the appropriate shelf.
In a burst, two arms flung around her waist and smashed all the air from her gut. An involuntary yelp popped from her mouth before she identified her assailant.
“Oh, Jess.” She hugged the little girl and led her back to her mother.
“Lydia, I’m so happy you’re here. Wait, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be getting ready for Africa.” Kat put down her clipboard and greeted her friend. Her energy revived Lydia. Kat just seemed younger. Her rushing about and volunteering and constant doing reminded Lydia of a twelve-year-old on a sugar high.
“I’m all packed and ready. I’m just doing last-minute chores. Three more days.” She almost shouted.
“We all miss Joan. I can’t imagine having my babies’ live oceans away. Though, sometimes I dream about it,” Kat spouted.
“You don’t mean that.” Lydia glimpsed Flora’s hands rub her belly as she remembered all the littles she’s hosted there.
“You never can tell.” A child shrieked, and another wailed. Kat inhaled and hobbled, as quickly as her injuries allowed, toward the fray.
Conversation over, Lydia squeezed Flora and the children, wishing them a Merry Christmas and promising them postcards during her absence. She’d miss her friends but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Joan alone at Christmas. Her excitement swallowed up her paranoia. Christmas songs from the eighties shook her speakers as she sang along on her drive.
✽✽✽
Ethan arrived home, late, just as planned. He found Lydia on the floor of the bathroom rocking and whimpering, with mascara in all the wrong places. He dropped to his knees and embraced her. “Joan? Is Joan okay?”
Lydia poured herself into his strong arms and spoke between howling. “I lost my purse!” She pounded a fist into her thigh with one hand and shoved at her cheek with the other. “I’ve looked everywhere. Everywhere! I’ve torn through every suitcase, every closet, my car, the dumpster, everything. I retraced my steps. But I can’t find it.”
With a relieved exhalation, Ethan loosened his hold and stroked Lydia’s shaking shoulders. “Oh baby, is that all? I thought something was wrong. It will be okay.”
Recoiling, Lydia’s eyes launched poison barbs at her husband. He backed away from her. “Okay? No, it’s not okay!”
“It’s just a purse. You can get another one. No one’s hurt or sick. It’s fine.”
“No, Ethan,” She spat his name like a curse word. “It’s not just a purse. It’s my driver’s license and my passport.”
Reality struck harsh and stone-faced. “Your passport? What was your passport doing in your purse?” Ethan rose and paced around the master bathroom.
“I picked it up yesterday. It was still in my purse because my purse is going in my carry on.”
“It’s got to be somewhere.”
“I’ve looked everywhere, Ethan, everywhere.”
They relived Lydia’s day through the night. Unpacking and repacking every duffle bag and suitcase at least twice. They drove to the church, deconstructed the entire clothes pantry, and searched under every pew.
The couple didn’t want to surrender to the truth. Even standing outside 3 Alarm Coffee, waiting for its 6 am opening, they contemplated any remaining possibilities. Nothing spared them the inevitable. With three days left until take-off, Lydia had no way of getting a new identification and a passport before the trip.
Hobo Joe, set coffee before the somber couple. “Have a muffin, on me.” He placed the planetary sized pastry down and returned to the counter. Ethan offered a habitual thank you and squeezed his wife’s hand. He rubbed his thumb across her wedding band, staring at its glittering gem.
“Well, that’s it. I’m supposed to be at work in two hours.” With no tears left, Lydia nodded and rubbed at her reddened nose. Ethan’s voice cracked as he continued, “I’ll call Joan after work and explain we won’t be coming for Christmas.”
Ethan teetered on his bistro chair as Lydia whipped her hand out from under his. “What? No!”
“I’m not going without you. I’m not leaving you alone at Christmas.”
“Yes, yes, you are. We are not leaving our baby, in Africa, alone, for her first Christmas away from home. No, we’re not. You’re going.” Ethan’s eyebrows assumed their position of surrender. He would not fight after a night of panic and sleepless suspense.
Lydia was a diehard mama bear. She’d gnaw off her left arm to save her cub. There was no point explaining that her cub was now an adult. Not just an adult, a responsible, thriving adult who was pursuing her Savior through service.
Ethan predicted all Lydia would hear, no matter the logic of his argument, was the cry of their little girl. It wouldn’t be the voice of their 19-year-old missionary daughter on the day she went away to Africa. It would be the whimpering of their 9-year-old pigtailed princess the day she broke her arm trying to backflip from the monkey bars. There was no getting his point across.
“Okay.” He sighed, and Lydia forced a smile. “But I’m taking off work the rest of the week. Promise not to stay home alone all Christmas. And if you can, fly to Africa and meet me.” He hoped, with the stress off, Lydia would miraculously recall where she’d set her purse and the whole night would become a bad joke.
“Deal,” She agreed and kissed the top of her husband’s hand. The weary spouses split their consolatory muffin and returned to their empty nest.