Tuesday Night Miracles (46 page)

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The Last Tuesday Night Miracle

T
he doorbell rings at such an inappropriate moment that Olivia is tempted to ignore it. Then she thinks about what’s going on in her life and decides to grab her inexcusable, absolutely tattered navy bathrobe off the floor and run to the door.

The jog to the door is fraught with roadblocks. There are boxes stacked from floor to ceiling all of the way through the bedroom, and into the kitchen. Who knew that thirty-plus years of stuff, even with the purging, would amount to this much junk?

The UPS man doesn’t bat an eye when Olivia pulls open the door. The stories he could tell about how people answer a door would knock over a dozen intelligent and well-traveled adults. An attractive woman in a ratty bathrobe is nothing.

The past four weeks have been such a blur that Olivia isn’t sure if she’s coming or going, but she’s determined to make it to Florida by Christmas, if not before.

Phyllis is so absolutely confused that she hasn’t even bothered to get off the floor. The only thing left in the living room, besides the boxes, is her dog bed. Phyllis is afraid that if she gets up someone will take the bed, like everything else.

The beige chair is gone, the kitchen is empty, this morning Olivia’s bed disappeared, and Phyllis has given up wondering who’s going to come through the door next.

Olivia closes the door, shuffles back into the living room, and sits on the floor with a brown package in her hand. Phyllis would love to laugh at her. That will teach you to get rid of the chair!

Who could be sending her a package? Olivia fishes in the pocket of the trusty bathrobe and happily discovers one of her many broken reading glasses, sets them crookedly on her nose, and reminds herself for the thousandth time to someday get a new pair. Then she rips off the brown wrapping, and this at least makes Phyllis raise her head. Maybe there’s food in the box.

There’s a familiar-looking white envelope taped under the wrapping, and Olivia begins to chuckle as she opens it. It’s from her Tuesday-night class:

Dear Our Beloved Dr. B.
,

We thought it was time for us to give you an assignment! We are all doing well. Leah has settled in nicely at Kit’s house. Grace is busy with Evan, and if she gets any thinner she’ll disappear. You were right about it not always being easy, but once you step out of The Long Journey Room there is no going back. Enjoy your own journey, Dr. Bayer. We hope this helps!

With Much Gratitude
,

Leah, Kit, and Grace

“What could this possibly be?”

They’ve made her a Driving to Florida Long Journey Room Survival Kit. The women have included books on tape for the drive south, dog treats, a book about relaxation techniques for people who have recently retired, a blank journal, car snacks, a huge bottle of suntan lotion, and something that takes Olivia a good five minutes to figure out.

“Look, Phyllis,” she says, holding up two tiny pieces of cloth. “It’s a doggy bathing suit for the beach.”

Olivia tries to hold the bathing suit so that Phyllis will jump into it. It’s ridiculous. Phyllis looks at Olivia as if she has gone mad. First the furniture disappears and now this!

When Olivia doubles over with laughter, so that her face is almost touching the floor, Phyllis decides that something wonderful must be going on. She loves it when Olivia laughs, and she’s done it quite a lot lately.

Phyllis slowly creeps off her bed, one paw at a time, until she’s lying right next to Olivia.

“I won’t make you wear the bathing suit, girl, don’t worry,” Olivia says, snuggling into Phyllis’s soft fur.

Then something else happens. Olivia rises suddenly, with no complaining about her knees, claps her hands together, and all but dances in place.

“Phyllis, let’s leave today!” she shouts. “The house is packed, the car is ready, and we can put in a few good hours. It’s time. My work here is done. We need to hit the road, right old girl?”

Phyllis doesn’t know why, but she barks, and jumps up and down just like Olivia.

It doesn’t take long for Olivia to dress, throw the dog bed into the car, and take one last spin around the house.

Before they turn off the lights and tuck the key under the doormat, Olivia rolls her old bathrobe into a ball and throws it into the last standing garbage can. Then, while Phyllis parades through the yard, selecting the perfect tree for the last time, Olivia digs into her purse, finds a black ink pen, reaches as high as she can near the front door, and writes the initials LJR in tiny letters.

“Every house should have its own Long Journey Room,” she explains to Phyllis, who is still very busy at the tree.

By sunset, Olivia and Phyllis have crossed into Indiana and Olivia is amazed that her hip has not bothered her once since she began driving. Twirling the gold ring on her left hand, she exits the interstate and begins looking for a room for the night. The parking lots of every hotel are surprisingly full.

“It looks bleak in this town,” Olivia reports to Phyllis, who has been in ecstasy for hours, with her nose poking out of the tiny crack in the window. “We’d better keep going.”

Then, trying not to worry, as she steers the car back onto the interstate and darkness floods the highway behind her, Olivia suddenly realizes that it’s Tuesday night and a miracle could be just around the corner.

Author’s Note

There isn’t a person alive who hasn’t wrestled with the sometimes-overwhelming emotion of anger. And like it or not, society has drawn an invisible line around the world that defines what is and isn’t acceptable. If we cross that line we must pay the price. We have all had our toes right there, wiggling close to the edge of an emotional chasm. One small movement over that line can change everything.

What happens when four seemingly normal women ignore the line? Women who struggle with their lives and loves. Women who sometimes feel lost and alone. Women who ride their anger an inch too far and must now face society and themselves in ways they never imagined possible.

Women who are just like me and you.

There are moments pressed into my own memory when I hovered on that line and almost stepped into the same world as my Tuesday-night women: my own sassy teenagers, the lies from a lover, the cesspool of months and months of angry moments during my own divorce, the unspeakable explosion of rage from others that came close to infecting me too, the witnessed injustice from a helpless position, and always the anger surrounding my own failings as a human being.

In this world of righteous and not-so-righteous demands, it’s easy to make excuses for an outburst, a moment of dismantled poise, an action that, in a moment, will become absolutely senseless.

Anger still slips inside of me, and yet I know it is an important emotion that often takes me to places that I never dreamed possible. To deal with it, sometimes I get up and leave wherever I am. Sometimes I ride my bike and throw my anger to the wind. Sometimes I simply sit and cry. And I have learned to laugh at myself.

Tuesday Night Miracles
offers a real-life lesson about anger and the management of this emotional necessity. It’s a story that is as important as any that I have ever written, and it’s a gift to women everywhere who think that their own angry mistakes mean they can never move forward.

We can all change and learn, and we are in this wonderful mess of life—together.

And yes—there’s a Long Journey Room waiting for you.

Acknowledgments

Dr. Michael Finegan, a longtime friend and an accomplished clinical psychologist, was of great help when I dissected treatment and clinical aspects of anger management.

Dr. Susan Welsh, a true goddess, tamed my angry spine so I could sit up and write without sobbing.

My editor Caitlin Alexander helped trim the fat off of Phyllis’s bone and made the story roll over and speak more clearly.

Ellen Counsell shared an amazing real story about The Long Journey Room with me and I turned it into my own.

The pack of pals who let me inside their own angry moments, and who begged me not to thank them here, are exceptional and terribly brave.

Madonna Metcalf kept me breathing through some of the most difficult writing and living moments. She is amazing.

I am grateful to you all, and especially to Benee Knauer, whose amazing talents, encouragement, and kindness have earned her a reserved seat in my Long Journey Room.

Also by Kris Radish

——

The Elegant Gathering of White Snows

Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn

Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral

Searching for Paradise in Parker, PA

The Sunday List of Dreams

The Shortest Distance Between Two Women

Hearts on a String

About the Author

KRIS RADISH is the author of
Hearts on a String, Searching for Paradise in Parker, PA, The Shortest Distance Between Two Women, The Sunday List of Dreams, Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral, Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn
, and
The Elegant Gathering of White Snows
. She lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, where she is working on her next novel and is hosting book clubs from across the country at her recently opened wine lounge, The Wine Madonna.