17

Do you want a cup of coffee? It might help you wake up.” Michele stood in their bedroom doorway looking at Allan, who was now sitting up in bed. This was the second day he’d been home from his mission trip, and the second day spent recovering from a nine-hour jet lag. She hoped he pulled out of it soon; tomorrow he returned to work.

“You going to have one?” he asked.

“Sure, we can drink it out on the patio. We’d be in the shade, now that the sun’s starting to set.”

“Sounds nice. I’ll take a quick shower while you make it.” He got out of bed and stretched.

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m heading downstairs now. Don’t get back in that bed.”

“I won’t. I’ll turn the shower on right now.”

After giving him another kiss, she headed for the stairs. It was so good having him home. In a few more days, he’d be back to his old self, and they’d be back to their old routines. She reached the kitchen and started the coffee. It was an odd time for coffee; dinner was already in the oven. But if it helped Allan stay awake until their normal bedtime tonight, it was a small price to pay.

They still hadn’t had any in-depth conversations yet, the kind Jean had urged her to have about her pregnancy struggles. Partly because Allan had spent the morning and the better part of the day getting caught up on their bills. Before his trip, he had intended to set things up so she could take care of them all while he was gone. That hadn’t happened. But Michele knew the real reason they hadn’t talked yet.

It was her. She was a chicken.

The very thing she used to hammer her mom about when she’d lived at home, she was guilty of. Being too passive, not speaking up when something bothered her. Is that when this fault had started with her mom? Years ago, when she was first married? Allan was nothing like her dad, at least the way her dad was back then. He wasn’t bossy or controlling. Allan was kind, a good listener. He seemed genuinely interested in her welfare and, for the most part, took the initiative to ask Michele questions when he noticed she wasn’t doing well.

For the most part . . .

That wasn’t happening here, not in this situation. Allan hadn’t asked her a single question about her infertility discouragement since that last conversation with her mom in the kitchen, over a month ago. Why? Was he changing too? Slowly becoming dull and self-absorbed like her father had? Did all couples drift into problems like this a few years after they got married? Michele was almost used to hearing women at church, particularly older women, ask “Is the honeymoon over yet?” She would always respond proudly, “Not even close.”

Would she say that the next time they asked?

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen. She carried the sugar and creamer out to the patio table, then went back to check on her dish in the oven.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting out on the patio together, enjoying the shade and slight breeze. “What’s that good smell going on in the oven?” Allan asked.

“It’s that sausage and spinach noodle casserole you love.” Michele had stumbled on this dish by accident a few months after their wedding.

“Mmm, can’t wait.”

“It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. We can eat out here too, if you want.”

“Let’s do that.” He sipped his coffee and looked around their courtyard. “So glad we decided on a town house instead of a house with a yard. I’d hate to have to come home from one of these trips and spend hours getting caught up on yard work.”

At the far end of the courtyard was a stand-alone garage, a smaller version than her parents’. But big enough to serve as the base for a cozy one-bedroom apartment just above it. They had discussed renting it out someday, but not until Michele had gotten pregnant and stopped teaching altogether. They might need the extra money then. Now they liked the privacy.

“Looking at this scene,” he said, “and being here with you . . . it’s so dramatically different than what I was seeing and doing just two days ago. I still can’t get the images out of my mind.”

“I’m having a hard time getting the smells out of your clothes.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to do a load of laundry that last day before I packed, but it didn’t work out.”

“That’s okay. I’m just running everything through a second time with a little ammonia.”

He looked at her. “But you know, all those people in Korah, they can’t ever escape the smell. It’s a hundred times worse being there than what you’re smelling on my clothes. Can you imagine it? They’re smelling that smell right now. Talking about it, I can almost smell it again.”

“This trip has gotten to you more than the others did.”

He thought a moment. “You’re probably right. I wish you could’ve seen it, Michele, especially the kids. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. I think they’re the reason I’m still kind of stuck emotionally.”

“Well, you better get unstuck pretty soon. You’re heading back to work tomorrow.” Michele regretted the way that came out.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I scheduled some light duty the first few days, since I’ve done this now a time or two. I know it takes a little while to get back up to full steam.” He took another sip of coffee. It didn’t seem he’d noticed her slight frustration.

Turning in his seat toward her, he said, “So how about you? How have you been holding up since I’ve been gone?”

“I’ve been . . . okay. I hate how bad the communication is. You know that’s the worst part of it for me. It’s like the Stone Age. Do you realize we only talked five times the whole time you were away?”

“That’s just Africa. They’re still so far behind. But you know it’s getting better, right? My first trip, when we were dating, you remember that? We couldn’t find an internet connection anywhere, and the cell phone coverage was terrible.”

Saying that didn’t help. “I know. But it’s still crummy.”

“One of these times it’ll be better,” he said.

That didn’t help, either. Reminding her of his plans to go back again someday. Probably someday soon, if he got his way.

“Did anything big happen while I was gone? Anything you didn’t get to tell me over the phone?”

“Nothing too big. Something’s going on with Tom and Jean. I don’t know what yet. It’s supposed to be some kind of surprise.”

“A good thing, a bad thing?”

“I think a good thing. Mom and Dad were supposed to tell them last night over dinner. I thought somebody would call me today and let me know, but they didn’t.”

“Well, why don’t you call them, Jean or your mom?”

“I will, after dinner. But that’s the only thing that went on out of the ordinary. Oh, Ray’s wife wants to talk with me. She called while you were gone.”

“Julie? What about?”

“She wants me to help her evaluate a new children’s ministry program and maybe train some of the workers if we wind up using it.”

“That’s good, right? Weren’t you wanting to get a little more involved?”

“I guess.” She really had said that. For some reason, though, she wasn’t that excited about it now.

He leaned forward and reached for her hand. She gave it to him. He gave a little squeeze. She squeezed back. “Something else is bothering you,” he said. “What is it?”

Should she tell him? Was this a good time?

Her phone rang. “It’s my mom.”

Saved by the bell.