What right did she have to talk that way? There seemed little point in going back. But even more troubling was Sonny’s reaction. Or rather his lack of one. Send her away with his car? What had that been about? And not to have come with her?
Hurt as much as angry, Martha got up from the pew and paced in front of the altar. Frustrated, she stopped, looked at the cross, lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and shouted, “Why can’t you let me be happy? I deserve to be happy!”
From the back of the sanctuary, Cal Troyer answered, “Looks like you’ve come to the right place, Martha.”
Martha spun around and saw the short pastor coming slowly down the center aisle. “How long have you been there, Cal?” Martha asked.
“Just got here now,” Cal said, removing his coat and stomping snow off his boots onto the carpet. “I saw a car in the parking lot.”
His long white hair was tied in a ponytail. Calm eyes anchored his round face, and he smiled at her as he approached.
Martha, unnerved as usual by his peacefulness and grace, sat down and said, “Everything’s falling apart, Cal. My boyfriend’s mother hates me, and I can’t sleep through the night. My professors aren’t happy with my work anymore, and my parents think I’m a tramp. I just want to be happy, Cal. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all,” Cal said. He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Maybe you and I need to pray about this.”
“A lot of good that’ll do,” Martha said bitterly.
“I can’t believe you mean that.”
“Maybe I’m not the girl you think I am, Cal.”
“You know you can talk to me,” Cal said. “Any time, and about anything.”
“I’ve lost my way.”
“Is it really that bad?” Cal asked.
“Nothing’s right anymore, Cal,” Martha said. Tears formed in her eyes. “There’s something wrong with me. Something really big. Something’s broken, and I’ve known I wasn’t normal for a long time. It’s horrible. You wouldn’t believe my nightmares. I can’t get a minute’s peace. I don’t know. Everything goes rotten on me. School, friends. Boyfriend. Why does God hate me?”
“He doesn’t,” Cal said softly.
“Why can’t I remember my childhood?”
Cal waited a beat, then said, “What do you mean?”
“My psychiatrist knows more about my childhood than I do.”
“You weren’t much of a talker, Martha.”
“Yeah, but why? Something must have happened. From five or six to about nine, I can’t remember a thing. After that, I did bad things, Cal. Still do.”
“What does Dr. Carson say?”
“That I have issues. Something I haven’t been able to face. She says when I’m ready to face it, I’ll remember.”
“Tell me about your nightmares.”
“You’ll think I’m nuts.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s always a blue shirt. An Amish shirt. Flies off a clothesline and wraps over my face so I can’t breathe.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s heavy, Cal. The shirt is heavy on me. It gets on top of me, and I can’t breathe. Then all the other laundry on the line starts whispering. It’s Amish laundry. Amish whispering. It all piles up on me. It’s supposed to be light as a breeze, but I can’t move. Can’t get up. I’m gasping for air.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Just you.”
“Dr. Carson could help.”
“I don’t want doctors anymore. Don’t want to be sick anymore,” Martha said, crying again. “Why can’t I be normal?”
“We need to pray about this,” Cal said.
“God doesn’t answer my prayers.”
“Have you tried?”
“Not lately.”
“You ought to.”
“God doesn’t care about me. I’ve known that since I was a kid,” Martha said and rose. There was a wild anger in her eyes.
She grabbed her parka off the pew, and then sat back down to put on her shoes. Getting up again, she said, “I’m in trouble, again, Cal. So you tell me. How has God ever cared even two cents for me?”
4
Friday, November 1
8:30 P.M.
JULIET Favor came back into the foyer squeezing her temples, and slowly climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom, she found a little glass bottle with a ground-glass stopper and carried it into the master bedroom, inverting the bottle to moisten the stopper. When she switched on the light, she found Sally Favor sprawled on the bed with her girlfriend in her arms. They both held champagne glasses, and they smiled at Favor and drank.
Although her ears flushed crimson, Juliet Favor showed no other immediate reaction. She tilted her head back to let her hair fall away from her face and dabbed the wet glass stopper at each temple.
“That’s just great, Sally,” Favor said bitterly. “Rub my face in it.”
“You remember Juliet, don’t you, Jenny?” Sally taunted. “She’s that trust-busting homophobe we call Mom.”
“Brat!” Favor hissed.
“Takes one to know one, Mommy Dearest,” Sally Favor replied spitefully, her speech slurred. She drained her champagne and threw the empty glass onto the carpet, where the stem broke with a muted “tink.”
Juliet Favor dabbed at her temples again and rubbed the clear liquid in with her thumbs. “Your trust is suspended, Sally. But I guess you already know that.”
“I can hire a lawyer, too,” Sally said. She took the second glass from Jenny, drank it down defiantly, and tossed it onto the carpet beside the first one. Then she pulled Jenny off the bed to stand face to face with her mother. “Why don’t you just go ahead and castrate him, Mother? I’m sure you know you’re raising a eunuch as it is.”
Favor pushed her daughter away and headed for the staircase.
Drunk, Sally listed like a ship whose cargo had broken loose in the hold. She steadied herself against a dresser, recovered, and led her lover by the hand down the staircase too rapidly, following her mother carelessly. They stumbled on the steps and grabbed for the banister near the bottom of the staircase. Once down in the
