Letters from War (20 page)

“I make the best meatball in the world.”

Beth makes a
tsk
sound with her tongue. “Don't make fun of me.”

“I'm not,” Marion says.

“Just because you're Italian means you're supposed to make good meatballs, right? So I'm to believe.”

“It's true. Ask any of my boys. Or look at my husband. He's the body to prove it.”

“What's your secret?”

“Oh, no. I can't tell. Not even you.”

“I promise I won't reveal your recipe.”

“Oh, no. Family secret. Blood was lost over those instructions.”

“Seriously?”

“No.” Marion chuckles.

It's been half an hour and not once have the boys
been mentioned. Beth finds it refreshing that the broken record hasn't been played, at least not so far.

Perhaps Marion doesn't share this sentiment.

“It's going to be two years in two days. Have you thought of that?”

“Of course.”

“I wish I could come fly down and see you. But that's going to be a busy time for me at work. Maybe the following week?”

“I should be coming up there to see you.”

“We have to visit New York if you do. That Francisco—oh how he loves the city.”

“James always wanted to buy a big ranch with lots of property.”

“I can just hear them now, talking about stuff like that. It's amazing to think of, boys like that from different walks of life, from such different families, becoming closer than brothers.”

Or women like that from different parts of the country and different lives becoming closer than sisters.

“Thank you,” Beth says.

“For what?”

“For these calls.”

“Please. It's my therapy. You're the only sane person I know. If you met my family, you'd realize why I call.”

“Still, it means a lot. You've always been the proactive one.”

“My husband would say ‘overbearing.'”

“Sometimes we need a little ‘overbearing' in our lives.”

“That's right,” Marion says. “I'm going to quote you next time the family is over for Sunday lunch.”

“I want to come.”

“Anytime. You just walk in any time you want to.”

Anything can happen.

Those words go through her mind as her night suddenly changes in dramatic fashion.

It starts with the ringing of the phone. It's Professor Diephouse, Emily's English professor whom they met on their first visit to the university. He's wondering if there's a reason why she's missed a week of classes without a call or an e-mail alerting him as to why.

“I have no idea,” Beth tells the professor. Her heart is pounding.

As an English major, Emily had talked about her favorite professor often. He looked like a modern-day version of William Faulkner.

“Usually I wouldn't call a student's home. But these days—with a girl like Emily… she's never struck me as someone who would casually blow off a week of classes.”

“She's not.”

The panic is bubbling over.

“I don't mean to make you worry, Mrs. Thompson.”

She thinks about the last time she spoke with Emily. It's been a week.

“I just thought—”

“No, thank you,” she says. “I will find out what's going on.”

It takes only a few seconds to dial her daughter. She tries three times and gets her voice mail three times.

The panic is no longer bubbling. It's bleeding into her.

But these days—with a girl like Emily…

Beth knows what he's talking about. Pretty young girls like Emily make the news for all the wrong reasons. For all the reasons that make the world a scary place, that make mothers have to truly live by faith alone, that test their ability to let them go.

Lord, please, let Emily be okay.

She's prayed like that twice, only to have the floodgates break twice. The day Richard told her he had cancer. And the day the men came to her door to tell her that James had gone missing.

Now this.

In these days of instant everything, she can't find a way to get hold of Emily. There's no phone to her dorm room, and Beth can't find her roommate's number.

Calm down, Beth. Everything's going to be okay.

She recalls the professor's words.

But these days.

She tries to call Emily again, only to leave another voice mail. Then she calls Josie to get someone else's opinion.

Beth can barely get the words out.

“We don't know anything for sure, so let's just wait,” Josie says.

“It's almost ten at night and she should be answering her phone. She's skipped classes all week. Do you know what that means?”

Josie tells her that she's coming over.

Beth tries calling Emily again. Once again, there's nothing.

So let's just wait.

Let's… just… wait.

Beth gets her keys and storms into the garage.

She's tired of waiting.

Her whole life has been waiting. Waiting for word. Waiting for the knock on the door. Waiting to get a phone call. Waiting for an e-mail. Waiting for a letter. Waiting to read, words to hear, to know, to understand, to find out.

She curses and starts the car and almost forgets to press open the garage door.

Enough waiting.

Enough not knowing.

She can't breathe she's hurting so much.

Not Emily, Lord, not my little girl, not the only one left.

As she pulls out onto the street and drives toward the freeway, Beth turns on the radio, hoping it will calm her nerves.

The university is not very far away and if Emily doesn't answer her phone, then she'll find Emily. It doesn't matter where she is or what state she's in; Beth is going to find her baby.

Where are You? Do You hear me? Do You, God?

She wants to scream out loud. The highway is dark like her heart, the road empty and endless. She speeds and dares a cop to stop her. She dares God to answer.

I've been patient and I've been waiting and I've been asking over and over and over again but nothing. Nothing but silence.

Her hands are strangling the steering wheel, the rest of her body rigid.

What have I done to You? Why, Lord?

The fury swells with the storm, the raging winds and the bellowing waves bubbling over. Beth knows she should probably slow down or better yet, pull over and get out of the car. Maybe walk off her steam. Last thing she should be doing is driving in a state of mindless rage.

Every time she thinks of something happening to Emily, her thoughts turn to James and then Richard and then poor, woeful, pitiful Beth.
Woe is me driving the car. Woe is me driving without knowing the full story, without waiting.

And, of course, without bringing her cell phone.

She knows that Emily might have already been calling and she might be fine.

Yet Beth is trying to outrace God and time and destiny and fate and everything.

You can't, Beth.

Eventually her arms and legs relax, she slows the car, and she cools down.

She's starting now to breathe in and breathe out, taking measured breaths the way she did when she had both of her children.

Beth switches the radio channel. One of her favorite artists is singing an appropriate song.

The piano and the chords and the verses and the voice all soothe her.

They wash over her like aloe over a sunburn.

The words are being sung for her, for an audience of one.

The words and the story move her.
Joy. Love. Hallelujah. Thank you.

She sighs and lets her body and her soul relax as the highway continues to stretch out.

God is love.

She knows this but needs this triumphant reminder.

He is love.

She can't do it on her own and she isn't expected to.

Beth turns down the radio and asks God to watch over her and her family and her daughter. She asks God for forgiveness, then thanks Him. Her heart stops racing. She acknowledges that He is in control, despite those fears and needs and those deep roots of pain.

The worry is still there. It doesn't magically disappear. But she can breathe steadily and know that whatever she's going to find out on campus, she will find with Someone by her side.

Some say life is random and meaningless. That prayers are worthless and drift off into silence.

Some say and believe that.

But when Beth manages to finally get to Emily's dorm room after getting lost several times on campus and then asking a couple of girls to let her in the dorm, she thinks otherwise.

Emily is there with her roommates. Beth breaks up the casual conversation and rushes in to hug her daughter. She embraces her in a way she hasn't done for years. It's a hug of relief, of desperation, of fear.

“Uh, Mom?”

When Beth finally lets her go, Emily is totally perplexed.

“When was the last time you checked your phone?”

When she says that, the other girls in the room laugh.

“Yeah. Well—that's a little problem,” Emily says.

“What?”

“I sorta think I lost it.”

“You lost your phone? Where?”

“
That's
the question. I was trying to figure out a way to tell you I'd lost it. Especially after hounding you all that time to let me buy it.”

“Em—your professor called me and said you hadn't been to class for a week?”

“Come on. Why don't we head outside, okay?”

Beth has gone from furious with worry to furious with frustration in just a matter of minutes.

Such is the life of any mother.