“It’s just some things for Evan, Mama. Nothing.”
“Oh, you should’ve told me. You know I work two blocks away from the drugstore. I could’ve picked it up and it would’ve given me a reason to visit my favorite two people.” She smiled and combed my hair into place with her fingers.
“Thanks, Mama. But it’s okay.”
“Well, what did he need?”
I was sure this trade sounded silly to anyone else, but to my mother, at least when it came to my life, a conversation could be culled from anything. How long I kept meat in the freezer. If I used color-safe or regular bleach. The flowers we were expecting to bloom in the front yard in the spring and when was the best time to have them planted. If Evan and I had tried the new, organic toothpaste she’d bought us... . The nuances of our lives were of utmost priority to her and I knew if I kept trying to snatch the bag away, she’d grow more and more suspicious and only keep tugging. I had to get her mind off the bag quickly.
“Mama,” I said enthusiastically as she ogled the bags—probably tapping into the X-ray vision she’d developed bringing up three children. I slid the bags behind me and tried to think of something she’d be so happy to hear that she’d lose focus. “Let’s go to lunch!”
“Lunch?” she repeated, straightening up. “Now? I’m working. You know I’m at the clinic on Saturdays.”
“Yes. But I want to spend time with you.”
“But I have to pick up the prescriptions for some of the women at the clinic, and then I was supposed to have a business meeting.” She ground her teeth in frustration. I was just happy to see she wasn’t looking at the bag anymore.
“Oh, I understand,” I said. I was off the hook. “Maybe another day.”
“No,” she said suddenly. “I should spend some time with you. I’ll pick up the prescriptions and have Lisa cancel my meeting, so I can have lunch with my baby girl.”
“No, Mama, I didn’t mean for you to—”
“No way I’m missing the chance to spend private time with you,” she said, cutting me off. “It’s done. Let’s meet at Harry’s at 1 p.m.”
“Great,” I said between clenched teeth. “Harry’s at 1 p.m.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I can’t wait.”
Daddy was talking expansion again. Adding a few thousand seats more to the House, building a secondary education tutorial center and buying another twenty acres of land from the family that owned a farm behind the church’s campus. My mother looked exhausted just talking about it. She twirled the tomato soup around in the bowl in front of her and reminded me of how he’d promised the last expansions would be final and that h
e was thinking of retiring in five years.
“There’s no way he’s retiring in five years if we add more seats to the House,” she said. “Then we’ll have to get more members to fill those seats and he’s the only one who can draw them in. We’d have to get people driving in from Birmingham to keep the money right.”
She frowned and her cheeks pinched back. It was the same look I discovered on her face when we moved into our second church, when we built the church bookstore, and then the credit union. I knew this was really bothering her because she never talked to me about things concerning my father. She’d just smile and in her eyes I could see that something was wrong. But if I pushed, she’d deny everything.
“What’s Jr saying about it?”
“You know your brother. He’s all for it. He says with the services being televised nationally after the summer, we’ll attract more people anyway. Says we need to be prepared.” She leaned into the table and breathed out deeply. “You know I’ve always supported your father and I love serving God, but sometimes I wonder how we can know people are getting the Message—really getting the Word—when we can’t see most of them. We have deacons and sisters and greeters touching our members. I remember when I could touch each one myself. I could really be there when they needed me. I could stand outside the church with you in my arms and greet everyone as they walked into our church. Now it’s impossible to make a personal connection. Sometimes that makes me miss that little church.”
“Mama, the Message is still the same,” I said. “The Word doesn’t change. I guess we all just have to adjust.”
Looking forlorn, she leaned back in her chair and nodded slowly in agreement.
“But if you can’t take it, you have to tell Daddy.”
“I’ve been trying to tell your father to cut the hair growing on the tops of his ears for forty years—you think he’s going to listen to me about a church?”
“But this is your life, too. You have rights.”
“I know. But when I signed up for this thing, marrying your father, I knew I’d have to share him ...” —she paused—“with the church. The pastor’s wife is never selfish.” She spooned the soup and then looked up at me, a refreshed smile now on her face, but thin tears in her eyes. “So, tell me, how are things with Evan?”
“We’re fine,” I said. “Just doing what we do.” I knew better than to tell her about the fizzing in my stomach.
“Your father tells me that Evan’s really considering running for mayor next year.”
“He’s still getting some things in order. If we get the right backing, I think he’s going to try.”