Claire Knows Best Page 11

  Just like that, my fingers start to tingle. Dread engulfs me. My heart begins to speed up and I press my fist against my chest. Fighting for breath. These panic attacks are coming with more and more frequency. I know I should go see a doctor. But how embarrassing to admit life is overwhelming me.

  Remembering John Wells’s paper bag trick that day in the coffee shop, I look for one. Nothing. My head is beginning to swim, but I find a plastic Wal-Mart bag and start to breathe deeply inside. I stumble to the living room and stretch out on the couch. I’m lying there, eyes closed, breathing into a plastic bag and hoping that I’m not sucking in carcinogens, when someone knocks on my door. A moan stirs up from the bottom of my throat. The last thing I want to do is get up.

  “I know you’re in there, Claire. I saw your van.”

  Linda?

  My friend isn’t normally aggressive, so I know her visit is important. But I can’t move. I just can’t bear the thought of opening that door. “Go away, please,” I groan, knowing full well there’s no way she heard me.

  When my cell phone chimes out “Going to the Chapel” I know Linda’s really, really serious.

  I feel around for my phone on the coffee table. “Hello?” I say in a pitiful voice.

  “I know you’re in the apartment. I heard that ring. Are you going to open up, or do I go get the manager to let me in?”

  “Use the emergency key.”

  She lets out a little gasp. “I can’t believe you do that when you’re living in an apartment. It’s dangerous.”

  The lock rattles and the door opens. My head stays on the couch pillow and I flip the phone down.

  “Claire. You can’t put your spare key under the welcome mat. Are you nuts? You’re in the college section of town.”

  I hear the key clink on my coffee table and I open one eye to look up at my friend. “What’s up?”

  She extends her hands palm up to take in my position on the couch. “This! This is what’s up. You’ve been ignoring your phone all weekend. Where were you Sunday? You missed an awesome service.”

  “They’re all awesome,” I say glumly, not the least bit interested in hearing about the service I had to miss. “So it doesn’t really matter which ones you miss.”

  She plants her hands on her hips. “Since when have you been having panic attacks again?” She snatches the plastic bag away from me and plops down on the coffee table. “Stop breathing that garbage. Don’t you have a paper bag?”

  I dissolve into tears. Not because she’s being a little tough-lovish with me, but because I’m fed up. First my career, then a tornado, then dumb Greg wants to preach, and I can’t get my contractor to work on my house. I blubber pitifully while I confide all of this to my friend. At not one red cent per hour. Maybe I’m paying too much for Emma.

  She hands me back the plastic bag as I fight for air. I breathe deeply of the man-made material.

  “Listen, Claire, you’re going to have to calm down.”

  Oh, gee. I need this advice? I glare at her over the bag.

  “Okay, sorry. I know.” She sits on my coffee table, rubbing my arm, and it’s helping me to relax. “So, Greg wants to be a preacher?”

  I nod and suck in a mouthful of plastic.

  “Well, that sort of makes sense. He’s pretty awesome on Wednesdays and when Pastor’s gone.”

  So not the response I’m looking for.

  “You didn’t tell him how you feel about it, did you?” Her voice is filled with that say-it-isn’t-so tone.

  I look at her without committing.

  “Oh, Claire. Good grief. Poor Greg.” She snatches a Kleenex from the table and hands it to me.

  “Poor Greg? Poor Greg?” I sit up, stuff the bag between the couch cushions, and swipe at my nose. “Greg misrepresented himself in this relationship.”

  Her mouth drops open. But she closes it with a nod. “Okay, I can see how you might think that. He never told you he wanted to be a pastor. But Claire, the signs were all there. You know they were.”

  My head swims as I shake it so hard I think I might have to lie back down. “No. No, I don’t see that at all.” And even if I do, I’m not saying it out loud. I sit back as my head starts to spin again. “The truth is, I’ve known Greg was happiest doing ministry work. Really, I do know that. I just thought he’d be happy doing it part time. He’s such a great teacher. Why would he want to drop everything and go to Bible school?”

  Linda raises a silky eyebrow and pins me with a pointed stare. “Maybe for the same reason you want to stop writing romance novels and move to another type of book?”

  Ooh, that’s just not fair, using me against me.

  “But if he does this, I’m out of his life, Linda. How can that be God? I really thought Greg was the one for me.”

  She gives a short laugh. “Why can’t it be God for him to marry you and become a pastor?”

  Oh, come on. Is she kidding? Okay, maybe not. Her face goes expressionless as she waits for me to enlighten her. Nothing to do but oblige. “I can’t be a pastor’s wife, for the love of pete.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, it’s so obvious!”

  She gives me that I’m-not-following-you look.

  “For one thing, I don’t socialize well. Darcy had to beg and plead just to get me to start coming to Ladies’ Bible Study.”

  “And look how well that’s going.”

  “Yes, but only because I don’t talk to very many of the women.” Oh, man, I’m starting to sweat again just thinking about it. I grab the bag.

  Linda pats my knee. “Take it easy,” she soothes. “Don’t get upset.”

  “Oh, sure, easy for you to say. Everyone likes you. I work at home to avoid socialization. Do you know what pastors’ wives have to do?”

  “Sleep with the pastor?” She gives me a cheeky grin and waggles her eyebrows. “You know there are women in the church who would run off with Pastor in a heartbeat if he wasn’t so in love with God and his own wife.”

  I sort of give a huff. “Why is that, anyway? Why do women always fall for the pastor?” I’m waxing philosophical. “He can be fat, bald, old, skinny, with bad breath and half his teeth, but if he’s the pastor, someone wants to take him away from his family.”

  She shrugs. “I think it’s the anointing of God. You know, like the light that surrounded Moses when he came down from the mountain?”

  “I guess.” Now I’m thinking of Greg. He has plenty of glory surrounding him when he’s ministering. “So women can’t resist that, huh?”

  “It would appear so. Sad thing is that for the Jezebels who actually succeed, that glory lifts and all that’s left is a fat, bald, old man with bad breath and half his teeth.” Linda gives a chuckle. “Serves them right.”

  “Greg doesn’t even have bad breath,” I mutter. Even without the anointing, Greg’s a major catch.

  “You don’t have to worry about him looking twice at anyone.” She gets up from the coffee table and heads to the kitchen. “Unless he doesn’t have a woman of his own, that is.”

  “You’re not going to jealous me into agreeing to this,” I call into the kitchen.

  “Who says I’m trying to make you jealous?” she calls back.

  I stand on trembly legs, glad the attack is wearing off. I meet her next to the coffee pot, where she’s dumping grounds into the filter basket for a fresh pot. “Do you think you’re really serious about not marrying him?” She asks as though the thought is just now occurring to her.

  Seeing that she has everything under control, I drop into a kitchen chair. “I can’t be a pastor’s wife.”

  “Even if it means losing him?”

  Tears spring to my eyes. “I guess so.”

  She takes the chair across from me. “But why, Claire? Don’t you think God knew He was going to be calling Greg to go train for the ministry? Even before the two of you started dating?”

  You’d think He would have. True. But apparently someone read the signs all wrong. And most likely
it was me. “Trust me, God never intended for me to marry a pastor. He knows I’m not wired for it. As I just said, do you know what pastors’ wives do?” I grin. “Besides sleep with the pastor.”

  “What?”

  “Social stuff. They have to cook dinners and arrange bake sales and teach Ladies’ Bible Study. And work in the nursery.”

  “You can’t do those things?”

  “I don’t want to. I like my life, Linda. I was never called to work in the church. I mean, I shop for extra food items to donate to the food pantry that feeds the lower-income families. I always pay my tithe and give in special offerings. Not everybody who goes to church has to work it. I love our church, but my ministry is geared toward the women I can reach with my books.”

  There, let her try to deny that. After all, it was through reading my book Tobey’s Choice that she was able to forgive her unfaithful husband. God used the book to heal their marriage.

  I flash her an I-so-have-your-number grin.

  She gets up and goes to the cabinet to pull out a couple of coffee mugs, then fills them and sets them on the table. “Okay, your books have broad ministry value. But maybe God wants you to stretch your wings a little more. Take the lessons He teaches you through your own books and give them practical application for women who need your brand of ministry.”

  “My brand of ministry?” I stiffen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The simplicity with which you love and serve God.”

  “Some people call that immaturity.”

  Lifting her cup to her mouth, she shakes her head a bit and sips. “I give up. Now, about this contractor.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I think I’ve been swindled.”

  “I thought Greg recommended him.”

  “See? No discernment. See why he shouldn’t be a pastor?” I’m only kidding, of course, but I am a little miffed that he didn’t check into Milton’s credentials before giving me the old contractor’s number.

  “My brother’s still available.”

  “Well, I’m going to give Milt one more day, and then I might have no choice but to call your brother. Only I won’t have much to put down.”

  “I’m sure he’ll work something out with you until the insurance check comes.”

  She downs her coffee and sets the cup on the table with a thud. “Now, go upstairs and shower and change your clothes. We’re going out.”

  My heart pounds at the very thought. “I can’t. I have to work.”

  “No, you don’t. Not for the next couple of hours.”

  “Really, Linda.”

  “Don’t ‘really’ me. We’re getting you out of the house. Into the fresh air and sunshine.” She gives me a quick hug. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to feel anxiety about. I’ll be there.”

  Turns out the walk in the park and a bucket of chicken eaten next to the pond did me a world of good. By the time the kids get home from school, I’m ready to cook them a decent meal that even Ari declares edible. Then we settle down to watch our Monday-night movie together. It’s my turn to pick, so I force the little munchkins to sit through The Wizard of Oz. They groan but manage to stay glued to it and even sing along to “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.” Tommy does a hilarious imitation of the Cowardly Lion, and Shawn impresses us all with “If I Only Had a Brain,” dance moves and all. Ari and Tommy are so stunned by his talent, as am I, that they forget to taunt him about not having a brain.

  Jakey just wants to know how long the dumb movie is because he left his Nintendo paused long enough to do his duty. Family movie night is nonnegotiable. Oh, well, three out of four interactive kids is better than it has been at times.

  “Where are Greg and Sadie tonight, anyway?” Ari asks. One Monday night of the month, Greg and Sadie come over and join us. Tonight is the first Monday of the month, and they should be here.

  “Oh, they couldn’t make it.”

  Her brow scrunches. “Did he break up with you?”

  Now that stings. Why would she automatically assume I’m the dumpee? What if I’m the dumper, which is actually the case.

  Tommy walks back into the room with a can of Pepsi. “No way! Lewis broke up with Mom? Did he find someone else?”

  Shawn stops short and his expressive eyes relay his sorrow to me. “Do you think he asked Ms. Clark out?”

  Ms. Clark, the school secretary, school floozy, and the woman who inspired Shawn’s descent into perverted poetry last fall. Any principal worth the paper his check is printed on would have let her go a long time ago. I mean, she dresses inappropriately in short, tight skirts (vinyl—ew!) and tight, low-cut blouses. But this principal keeps her around for eye candy and all the little boys are learning about the birds and bees by pure male instinct.

  She had a thing for Greg back in the fall and early winter, but I thought Greg had nipped that in the bud. Maybe now that he’s free of me, he’s decided to take a little detour before officially starting Bible school.

  Jealousy shoots through me like a flaming arrow and lodges right into my heart.

  Tommy thumps Shawn on the head. “Ms. Clark isn’t Greg’s type, dweeb. He likes Christian women like Mom.” Tommy’s officially on my good list again, even if he did just thump Shawn and call him a name. “Only, well, maybe he doesn’t anymore since he dumped Mom.”

  Okay, he’s back on the bad list. That didn’t last long. “Keep your hands off your brother and don’t call him names.”

  “So, did you break up, Mom?” Ari asks, obviously not willing to let it go until I answer.

  I give a shaky breath and try to be brave. “I guess so.”

  Jakey, who hasn’t really been paying attention, jumps to his feet and comes to stand inches from my face. He’s glaring, anger reddening his face. “What did you do? I don’t want to break up with Sadie!”

  My first instinct is to send him to his room for yelling at his mother. Well, no, my first instinct is to paddle his behind. But considering I’d like to stomp and pitch a little fit of my own, I cut him a little slack.

  “I didn’t do anything, honey. And listen, just because I’m not going to be dating Greg doesn’t mean you and Sadie can’t still be buds.”

  “But Mom, why did he break up with you?” Ari was a lot cuter when she was six and not so curious. “He always seemed so happy anytime you two were together.”

  Bless her for saying that last. “Listen, kids. Sometimes adults just realize for whatever reason that they aren’t right for each other. That’s sort of what happened with us. And for your information, he didn’t break up with me. If anything, I broke up with him.”

  A grin splits Ari’s face. “All right, Mom!”

  Her praise is implication that I’m a heartbreaking “hip” mom who could have any man I want. It took breaking my own heart to gain my daughter’s approval at last. Life is not fair.

  9

  Two days later, I’m waiting in front of my house— waiting, as a matter of fact, for Linda’s contractor brother. Even after my blatant threat to call the police, Milt still didn’t show up or call.

  Turns out, the police have him listed as deceased. Poor Milt had a heart attack and keeled right over during a steak dinner at Western Sizzlin’. Now I feel bad for leaving all the threatening messages on his machine. I haven’t heard back from any of his family members, so I assume my money is gone. I don’t have the heart to try to collect now. At least not until a little bit of time has eased his family’s grief somewhat.

  Anyway, I was forced to get in touch with Linda’s brother.

  Only he’s late. I glance impatiently at my watch. Fifteen minutes late. What is it with contractors? Is there an unwritten code that demands a lack of punctuality? Sort of like the Hippocratic oath of contractors? Be thou never on time.

  I open the van door and slide out. I desperately need to find a research book in my office. There are a couple of questions I have about eighteenth-century London for the proposal Stu’s about to have a stroke over. I own the perfect book
to give me the information. I can get the book as long as I don’t look out the hole in my wall and roof. Fear of heights and Milt’s warning to stay out have kept me away from the room thus far. But the need to get Stu off my back and maybe get a paying gig is stronger than my fear.

  I ignore my gut, which is crying, No, no, don’t do it! It’s not worth it for a stupid book. Just order another copy from Amazon.com or the local bookstore. No need to risk your life! Rather dramatic.

  In theory, my gut is right. But I’m stubborn. I want what I want. I don’t want to wait four days for a book to arrive. I need this information now. I need to finish up this proposal for Stu to send out to whoever might be interested in buying my Christian romance novels.

  I have enough unease in my life; unfinished business seems to be my middle name. This gnawing sense that I’m doing something wrong won’t stop clutching and clawing at me. I wake up during the night knowing I’ve had a bad dream, but unable to remember what exactly woke me up. Then I remember, I’m living a real-life nightmare—Greg is gone from my life, my house is in pieces, and my career is not fulfilling me.

  I don’t know. Maybe I just want too much. Or do I? Surely there’s love out there for me, even if it’s not Greg. As much as that thought seems foreign and just plain wrong, I would never try to keep him from following the road that he truly feels God is leading him down.

  I walk up the steps to my porch. My house feels eerily empty, like a haunted house or something, when I enter. No one has been here for two weeks, and it has that unoccupied musty smell. I open all the downstairs windows and leave the front door open, including the storm door. I figure any flies that want in have already come through the gaping holes in the ceiling. We tarped it, but in the words of Michael Crichton in Jurassic Park, “Nature finds a way.”

  Okay, enough stalling now. It’s time to go up those stairs and carefully walk along the hallway. It’ll just take a minute for me to snag my book and get out of there. Not even enough time, really, to fall through the floor and kill or maim myself.

  I’m standing at the end of the hall. According to Milt Travis, the hallway shouldn’t be dangerous, but going inside the rooms could be because the boards aren’t structurally sound. We should assume any of them could be dangerous.