Sidewalk Flower (52 page)

* * * *

Outside Gramma Grace’s trailer, in her swept
and flower pot-lined driveway, Lucky pulled up in his baby blue pick-up truck
and parked just behind Trista’s Jeep.
  

He opened his door and caught sight of
Grace standing on the front porch with the back of her hand resting on her
forehead.
 
She looked like she was
swooning but he hadn’t known her to be that type.
   

Slowly, he walked up the front porch
steps, not sure of the welcome he’d receive, and stood there with his thumbs
tucked into his jean pockets.
 
He knew he
was fidgeting in ways he hadn’t in the past but couldn’t control it until Grace
let him know he was indeed welcome.

“Lucky.
 
This is a surprise.”

“Yes, ma’am.
 
I’m sorry I didn’t call first.
 
I wasn’t sure…”

“You weren’t sure of what, son?” she
asked innocently enough but with a charge.

He realized he had no idea of what Grace
knew and he clammed up.
 
“Um, ma’am, is
Trista here?”

“No.
 
She isn’t.
 
But if you’d like to
come in, I’d like to talk to you.”

Wow.
 
He didn’t know about bullets, but he was sure he was sweating
something.
 
But he’d come this far.
 
He doubted Grace really had a shotgun like
Trista had dreamed that one time.
 
Still,
she might be downright angry with him, under her cool demeanor.
 
She might see him as yet another man who had
failed her sweet pea.
 
He swallowed then
coughed.

“Come on in, son.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled out a chair for him at the
dining table and offered him a cup of coffee.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Grace or Gramma.
 
Either one is fine.”

This settled him a bit.
 

“Okay.
 
Is Trista okay?”

“I’m glad you asked.
 
The truth is that, I really don’t know.”
 
Grace started to explain how lackluster
Trista had seemed since she’d arrived.
 
“I haven’t been able to get a solid answer out of her and it’s been
frustrating.
  
I keep trying to find a
way to help her past whatever’s upsetting her but she just won’t open up about
it.
 
I suggested maybe she should attend
church.
 
If you know her at all, you’ll
know the suggestion started a very loud argument between us, something that had
never happened before.
 
In the past, she
had always been respectful of me, even as a teenager.
 
That’s why I know whatever Trista’s carrying
inside, whatever has her by the darkness of her soul, it must be terribly
bad.
 
But having said
that, she has started going to the local church.
 
She says she doesn’t like to go on the main
service days but on the off days she can sit and think.
 
It’s taken a few weeks, but she seems a
little less burdened now when she comes home.
 
Lucky, please don’t take this the wrong way, but can I ask why you are
here, now?”

“Oh, um.
 
Well…the way I left things with Trista, it
hasn’t settled with me and I really just wanted to come see her and see if
maybe we could talk.”
 
He bumbled through
the nervous explanation, shocked at everything he’d just heard.
 
Grace was
right,
he
had a hard time envisioning Trista at church.

“So you’ve come to make peace with her in
some way?”
 
Grace tilted her head a
fraction and sipped at her coffee.

Hidden under the table, he rubbed his
sweaty palms over his jeans.
 
“Yes, that’s
part of it.”

“And the other part?”

“Well, I really would like it if we could
be friends again.
 
I miss her.
 
Deeply.”
 
He didn’t feel right telling Trista’s gramma
exactly the way he missed her.
 
The very profound way in which he wanted to have her back.
  
And also, the part of him that still wanted
to take her back to his home.

“Well, I wish you luck then.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.
 
What do you mean?”

“I just mean that she’s not the same as
before.
 
She’s not that carefree fiery
spirit from even a few months ago.
 
I
think everything finally caught up to her and she can’t shake free of it.
 
But I hope that maybe you can help.
 
I have prayed that something would happen to
bring her out of it, and now here you are.
 
I’d like to tell you a story, quickly if you don’t mind.
 
It may help you to understand what I
mean.”
 
Grace began a tale about a flower
that had grown up in the cracks of a sidewalk.
 
“Do you understand, Lucky?” she asked at the end.

What had they done to her?
 
Himself
included.
 
For Trista to be in church, it
just made no sense to the woman he knew her to be.
 
And if that woman was lost, then a part of
him was lost.
 
And that made him
determined to find her and bring her back.

“Yes, I think so.
 
Do you know where I might find Trista?” he
asked.

“Well, about this time every night she
takes to walking through the park, down to the fountain.
 
There’s a church near there with beautiful
stained glass windows.
 
She’s been gone about
an hour now.
 
I imagine she’ll be out
until the sun sets, like most nights.
 
Lucky, please help her, if you can, son.”

“Yes, ma’am.
 
I will.”

Lucky went over the route that Grace laid
out for him on a sliver of paper napkin at her dining room table.
 
He followed along, turning at trees and
street signs, until he saw the rose garden with the beautiful statue of an
angel.
 
It was the fountain where Grace
believed he might find Trista.
 
He walked
closer and stepped through an opening in a lush wall of hedges that worked to
conceal two stone benches.
 
Beyond the
small, serene garden were the large mosaic panes of stained glass.
 
It was an awesome sight.
 
The only thing that would have made it better
would have been to have seen Trista sitting at the fountain.
 
But she wasn’t there.

He found his way to the church’s front
doors, the right side propped open in an inviting way.
 
He was starting to see what it was about this
place that had called to Trista.
 
It felt
so different from the one he’d seen from her childhood.
 
As he looked around inside the large and open
hall, full of wooden rows of benches, he still didn’t find her.
 

A kind, older gentleman tapped him on the
shoulder and asked if he needed help.
 

“I was looking for a friend.
  
Her gramma told me I might find her here.”

With a rosy-cheeked smile, he asked,
“What’s her name, son?”

“Trista.
 
Trista Jeane Hart.”

“Oh yes, Trista.
 
Here, why don’t you have a seat with me for a
moment?”

It felt strange that this person he’d
never met would ask him to sit and converse about someone so dear to his
heart.
 
But he had to.
 
He couldn’t make himself leave.
 
And the white-haired man had kind eyes.
 
What would he have to say about Trista?

“Yes sir.
 
Excuse me, but, do you know her?”

“Well, yes and no.
 
She’s been coming in and…visiting, for a
couple of months now.
 
She doesn’t say
very much, but it’s that silence that usually speaks the loudest about us.”

“Hmm.”

“You say she is a friend of yours?
 
I’m sorry, forgive me.
 
My name is Francis.
 
I am a pastor here.”
 
The old gentleman extended a gracious hand to
him.

“That’s okay.
 
I’m Lucky.
 
I’m a friend of Trista and her gramma Grace.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Lucky.
 
What a wonderful name.”
 
The old man’s blue eyes crinkled.
 
It was such a simple thing but obviously
brought him a wash of amusement.
 
“Well
Lucky, I’m glad that you are a friend of Trista’s.
 
She rarely ever comes here with anyone.
 
Mostly it’s just to sit and listen or think I
suppose.
 
Many people here do the same thing.
 
But she seems like she should be so much
happier.
 
It just feels like her spirit
is broken and for such a young woman to be that downtrodden, well, it makes an
old guy like me wonder why.
 
I get the
feeling that she wants to be left alone.
 
And it’s against my nature to leave someone in such obvious pain to
themselves.”

“Well sir, that is one of the reasons why
I’m here looking for her.
 
I want to
help.
 
But I have to find her first.”

The old man seemed to size him up in a
very derisive glance up and then down.
 
“Come with me, son.”

 
He
had no idea where they were headed but he followed.
 
Again, this mysterious man, so likeable and
seemingly trustworthy, surely would not lead him or anyone else for that matter
astray.

Francis beckoned him to follow along as
they walked through the center aisle of the wooden benches, up toward the area
where the sermons were given, where Francis probably spoke lovely words of
enlightenment each Sunday morning, and then to the right, to a hallway that led
to a series of rooms.
 
The doors were all
closed and had no markings on the outside of any nature.
 
Francis stopped them at the second one on the
right.
 
He turned and said, “Son, I think
you will find what you are looking for here.
 
Please give her my best.
 
God
bless you.”

With that, Francis turned around, clasped
his hands behind his back and walked back toward the main assembly area of the
old wooden church.

Whew, those sweaty bullets were back as
he stood outside the door.
 
His hands
were nearly soaked.
 
Was he really about
to find Trista on the other side?
 
He
studied the wood, knowing so much about it and what type of tree it had once
been.
 
He was stalling.
 
He didn’t want Francis to come back and find
him stuttering around.
 
So finally, he
grasped the brass door handle and pulled it open.
 
Inside the room, which was made to look like
a smaller version of the larger church, was one golden, tangle-haired
woman.
 

She sat alone on a bench with her back to
him.
 
He could see that she had her head
bowed and seemed to be in deep thought.
 
He hesitated, unsure about approaching her.
 
Hovering in the background of her solitude,
he’d never felt like such an intruder as he did right then.

He took in a breath of air and let it
back out again.
 
The noise had not
startled or alerted her yet.
 
He
approached her on the left side of the open wooden pew and sat down at the end
of her row.
 
She didn’t make any
immediate movement to acknowledge that someone had just joined her, only a few
feet away.
 
And it was then that he could
sense the difference Grace had spoken about.
 

* * * *

It wasn’t very often that people came to
this room at this time.
 
It was a Sunday
school room that was mostly only used on Sunday mornings to teach children
while the adults remained in the main worship area.
 
This room in particular was reserved for a
very special class.
 
One that gave
children in the community suspected of being victims of child abuse a safe
place to come to and share, if they wanted.