The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (10 page)

Kay sighed. “Is this a serious question, or do you just want to argue?”

“Money changers in the temple, Mom?”

“Okay. How would you feel if I destroyed all your video games, then to make up for it I offered you a steak?”

“Just a steak? That’s not enough.”

“I’ll take it,” Kevin said. “All of his games suck. I’ll destroy them for a steak.”

“Okay. Let’s say your brother destroys all your games then calls it even with a steak; no, let’s say two steaks.”

“Well…my fist would have to connect with the side of Kevin’s head once; no, let’s say two times.”

Kay nodded. “Then to make up for that wrong,
you’d
have to offer
him
several steaks.”

“Why don’t I just beat the crap out of him and give him a whole cow?” Marcus smacked his fist into his palm a couple of times.

“And that’s what made Jesus flip tables, that do-what-you-want-attitude and buy a bigger, overpriced sin-offering.”

“So the sacrifice system didn’t work.” Marcus continued punching his palm.

“No, it worked. Jesus became the sacrifice.” Kay placed her hand over his fist. “He died for the times you screw up.”

The boys were silent.

“Was it enough?” she asked quietly.

The words of the
Nunc Dimmitus
filtered through the doors, “Lord, now let your servant depart in peace…”

“Come on, Marcus.” Kay pushed a sock puppet with green button-eyes toward him and slid a brown-eyed puppet onto her hand. “Service is ending. Time to do skits. I’ll do Socks-for-Missions. You’ve got Sandwiches-for-the-Super-Bowl.”

“No, Mom. I’m not standing in front of everybody with a sock puppet.”

“Kevin?” she shook “green-eyes” at him.

“No.”

“Fine. Then I’ll beg for socks by myself.” She worked “green-eyes” onto her other hand, punching a cavity for his mouth. “You announce the sandwich sale for the youth.”

“No.”

“Why are you being such a pill?”

“I don’t want to go on this mission trip.”

“Then just make the announcement.”

“No. It’s not my trip! I’m spending the summer with Dad. He’s gonna open a store at the lake. He’ll be training a new manager and I’ll be working there.”

Kay’s face didn’t change, but her eyes dimmed. Her shoulders dropped slightly.

“I want to buy a car.”

Kay turned away. Her sock-wrapped hands struggled briefly with the sanctuary door before she hurried inside.

Marcus slapped Kevin in the back of the head. “Moron. You didn’t have to tell her that Dad and his newest girlfriend are spending the summer at the lake cabin.”

“I didn’t.” Kevin paid back the slap with a punch.

“You’re such a loser.”

“I don’t want to go on a mission trip.”

“Then tell her that, Snot-Brain. Not the lake stuff.”

“I did tell her. You don’t wanna go either.”

In a few minutes the sanctuary door opened and Kay slipped out. She threw the socks on their table without looking at the boys and walked to the parking lot.

Marcus slapped his brother on the back of the head once more.

*

Kay sat in the car composing herself.
Sure
, it was a store manager. They’d all been store managers. That’s why it had taken her so long to figure it out. That and because she’d trusted him. And why did it still bother her?

Change was stomping through her life again. It had taken long enough to shoulder a divorce and throw off the fear she’d be living under a bridge with two kids, digging for food in dumpsters—then her job had downsized.

Along with the stress of a new position, middle school had set off a collection of crises. Now, just when life’s bumps had smoothed into a mildly teeth-jarring but expected ride, the boys would rather be with their dad and his “newest hire” at the lake. Unbelievable.

From her usual back-row parking spot, she watched people filter out of church. In the first months of divorce, she’d learned her emotions would betray her anywhere: during a service, in the check-out line at Bob’s BoxMart, or alongside the road, when a flat tire made her blubber until passers-by thought she was hurt. Her body seemed to think a good cry was necessary in order to go on.

She’d learned never to weep in the church restroom. Someone would hear her in a stall and ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Sniffles. Nose-blowing. “I’m all right.”

But the do-gooder wouldn’t go away. There’d be silence. She’d ask again, “You don’t sound okay. Can I help somehow?” Sometimes the would-be-rescuer recruited help.

The new arrival always posed the same question, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Mental admonitions:
Get it Together! Get It Together
.

Whispers carried through the door as rescuers decided what to do. “We’re not leaving you alone and crying.”

Great
.

She remembered the time a wad of tissues, pinched in a well-manicured hand, appeared under the stall door. She could imagine Lorena’s plump figure—bent over, waving tissues, not saying a word. The seams of Lorena’s matched ensemble must’ve been straining like a hammock holding an elephant. The thought made Kay laugh, filling in her pity hole.

People walked through the parking lot. Kay checked the cars on either side of her. Two vehicles away, Allie sat, dabbing her eyes. Must be Crying Day at church. Should she rap on the window? Wave tissues?

Kay searched the glove box, finding only a used napkin from the Dari-Drive. She hadn’t bawled in a long time—so why now? It wasn’t really her ex’s fault.

Change was kicking the slats out from under her again. Why wouldn’t it stop? Like that was ever going to happen. Maybe that’s why she was so irritable. Maybe that’s why she’d enjoyed pushing Vera’s buttons on Christmas Eve.

She watched the lady-who-always-wears-hats get into her Buick. The hats rarely matched her outfits. How did that woman have the confidence—or ignorance—to show off her bad fashion sense?

Kay looked at her own red shirt and cranberry vest, remembering this morning she’d informed her mirror she looked fine. It was church, not the Country Music Awards. Her conscience stung as it usually did when trying to flog her with wisdom. The tatty traits she disliked in others were holstered in her own soul.

“Crap.” Her eyes widened. She’d become Vera. She, too, only allowed pre-approved change, fighting anything that unhinged her comfort. She tried to squelch her inner-goody-two-shoe’s voice. Still…the accusation that she was like Vera—simply fighting change in a different way—crawled through her mind.

The longer she argued with the revelation, the more clearly discernment sank into reality.

She flipped down the visor to check if she had any visible Vera-features. Thankfully, no, but she could understand how Vera felt. Both of them refused to let go of what they were losing. It was an eye-opener, but it didn’t mean she needed to be Vera’s buddy or encourage the woman to spill her guts like Hettie was suggesting. Kay slapped the tiny mirror upward into place and let out a long breath. Wiping her eyes and combing her fingers through her hair, she opened the door, looking for Allie’s car. The spot was vacant.

*

At the final “Thanks be to God,” Pastor Poe had opened the doors to see Kevin and Marcus punching each other. They immediately stopped. Before he could say anything, a parishioner grabbed the pastor’s hand and began pumping it. The pastor gave the boys a questioning look, and then turned his focus to the gaggle of people exiting the sanctuary.

A skinny man wandered over to the sandwich table, “When’s the Super Bowl?”

“Uh…sometime in January, I think.”

“Okay, well, how many people will your three-foot sandwich feed?”

“I don’t know. I could probably eat one all by myself,” Kevin said.

“Yeah, we call him Elephant-Gut,” Marcus said.

“Shut up, Crow-Beak.” Kevin tried to flick Marcus’s nose, but his brother dodged.

“What kinds of meat can I have on my sandwich?”

“Huh?”

“Do I get a choice of meat and cheeses?”

“There’s a flyer.” Marcus pushed a vampire-doodled paper at the parishioner.

The man studied it. “There’re no prices. How much are they?” Kevin shrugged.

Vera leveled a glare at the boys as she stepped next to the gentleman. “Could you be any more unhelpful?” Kevin gave her the sullen stare perfected by high-schoolers.

“I’ve got this.” Hettie patted Vera’s shoulder. She elbowed Kevin with a “Stop-it” nudge and answered questions, providing on-the-job training. Vera gave the boys a dark frown and left, glancing over her shoulder. The boys were busy giving half-answers to another member. Satisfied no one was making faces at her, she walked on.

Back at the table, five-year-old Johnny had grabbed the sock puppets. His dad had paused, with a whining daughter on his hip, and asked, “Can I take a flyer home? We’ll call in our order.” Johnny stuffed his hands in socks and made them eat his sister’s leg. She squealed and kicked.

“Johnny, put them back.” Fred grabbed. “They don’t belong to you.”

“He can have them. I never want to see ’em again,” Marcus said. Johnny grinned, holding the puppets over his head, their sock mouths chomping at the boys.

Kevin leaned forward with bared teeth and claw-like hands. He hissed, “How’d you like to sit with Saint Scary?”

Johnny became quiet, his hands clamped to his sides as he stepped behind his father.

“I ESCAPED BEFORE the juice cup disasters,” Allie called out as the February wind followed her through the church doors. Flyers on the bulletin board flapped. Newsletters somersaulted through the air and dropped around the ladder in the middle of the narthex. “Sorry,” she groaned, stooping to pick up papers as the doors wheezed shut.

“Miserable day, huh? Thanks for coming out.” Kay balanced on the ladder, a pair of pink-toed footies in her hand. Fifteen pairs of socks already dangled from the ceiling.

“I’m thrilled to get out of the house. Besides,” Allie hung her coat on the rack, “my husband needs more experience with spills and stickiness.”

“You may be sorry. We’re hanging so many socks Vera will have a new benchmark for overdoing it. Will you give me a break and tape for a while? I’ll string them.”

“O…kay.” They traded places, Allie gingerly climbing the rungs. She blinked several times, took a breath, then stuck a fishing line to the ceiling, a pair of baby booties twisting on the end.

“You all right?”

“Bad morning. Let’s leave it behind.” She held out a hand, waiting for another pair. “You like to mess with Vera, don’t you?”

Kay paused, giving the young woman a studied look. She carried the marks of a weary mom. Dark semi-circles lined her eyes. A frazzled ponytail. Food stains on baggy sweat pants. Kay nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“Well…it seems like someone should
say
something to her.”

“And you think no one has.”

“I…don’t know. I thought people in a church would have these problems worked out.”

Kay laughed as she held a pair of athletic socks up. “Think of the church as a hospital for sinners. That’s what it is according to Martin Luther. In other words, we all need some reconstruction. Nobody’s close to perfect—even me—if you can believe that.”

Allie’s eyes widened in feigned shock. Kay smiled as she threaded a sock with fishing line. “We try to work together. We mess up. We forgive it or forget it. Most people hate conflict and confrontation.”

“You don’t.”

Kay stared at her. “Do you work with any annoying people or have any quirky relatives?”

“Who doesn’t? My brother’s so cheap; he still has his first communion money.”

“And when you tell him how that irritates you, he changes and lives the way you think he should?”

“Well…no.” Allie shrugged.

“It takes a bucketload of patience and care doesn’t it? You have to pick your battles.” Kay handed her a pair of hunting socks. “I don’t have the energy to argue with Vera. And I sure don’t have the time.”

“I get that,” Allie said. “So that makes me wonder about that ‘adi-furry’ you mentioned at our meeting. Hettie said it got you out of a lot of projects.”

Kay laughed again and handed her a pair of girl’s anklets. “
Adiophora
. It’s Greek for ‘middle things’. Stuff that’s not essential to salvation.”

“Still clueless.” Allie frowned spacing the socks evenly.

“It’s when KiKi Smith complains there’s not enough wine in her little communion cup, or Maggie thinks we should sing more of those ol’ time-religion hymns, or—and this is my personal favorite—when Edna threatened to leave the church if we started using tambourines. It’s not important. I refuse to get pulled into the discussion.”

“Who’s Edna?” Allie had a puzzled look.

“She doesn’t go here anymore.”

“Because of tambourines?”

“Because some people have a cow if you change anything.
Adiophora
means you ask, ‘Is this essential to where my soul spends eternity?’” Kay shrugged and held up striped knee socks.

“Do you mean we can have jazz or heavy metal at church because music isn’t essential to salvation?”

“Let ’er rip. You’d have to haul several people out from heart attacks, but as long as it points to God and draws you to an attitude of worship—rock on.”

“But…that means most of the things in the sanctuary—aren’t required.”

“Bingo.” Kay pointed at her. “Can’t you see Jesus at the Sea of Galilee saying, ‘Hey! One of you disciples get candles and a choir. And bring the
green
hymnal, not the red one. I can’t deliver words to save your souls without those items.’” Kay smiled, watching Allie absorb the weight of this revelation. “In Martin Luther’s time, they didn’t even have pews. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we have them—it’s hard to sleep standing up—but bulletins, robes, even music aren’t crucial. Although,” Kay patted her heart, “I’d keep our gurgling baptismal font. It’s like having a water feature, reminding me of my baptism.”

“Now that’s essential isn’t it”? Aren’t we supposed to be baptized?”

“Hey! One of you other disciples go get me a baptismal font,” Kay mocked. “I’m not using the river Jordan anymore. Too much pollution and the bathing laws are getting so strict. Salvation needs props.”