It was black Friday, if ever there was one. Terry came home from his week away while Shannon was supposed to be still in school.
“Hey baby!” He snuck up behind his wife, his lovely Dion and gave her neck a kiss. “Where can I take my ladies for dinner tonight?” He stepped back from Dion to admire her. She was petite and dark. She looked a good deal like her father who was just two generations from Greece. Her skin was a golden, glowing olive and her hair so thick and black, wavy and glossy. Like a miniature goddess from mount Olympia. “Oh man!” He said as he pulled her to him by the hips. Let’s skip dinner and go straight to dessert. You are a sight for a hungry man’s eyes.”
“Stop it Terry. You’ve been gone a week. Can’t we just sit down to dinner once like a normal family? Can’t I just fix a casserole and have dinner like everyone else?” She turned to him, her eyes flashing with rage. He was completely surprised.
“But you’ve been cooking all week! I thought you’d like something nice. I’m sorry. Yes, cook for us or go out or whatever!” He wanted to back peddle but didn’t know what he was going backwards from, so he sort of peddled all around.
“I don’t want to cook dinner for you. I’ve been slaving here for a week with Shannon all by myself. And I just don’t want to look at you right now.” She didn’t know which way she was peddling either. She just knew that one more week like all of the weeks these past ten years was impossible. She could not be a single mother for a minute longer. All the pent up frustration and anger and sorrow and loneliness from ten years of marriage, six years of parenting and yet being alone, flooded over her as she stared at him. Only this week she stayed up three nights by herself while Shannon vomited in the toilet, sicker than she had ever been. The second day of her illness they spent hours in the emergency room. Flu. Real influenza. Shannon lost weight that week; their tiny 6 year old girl lost three pounds from her small frame and even now lay in her bed, week with dark, dark circles under her eyes. Dion hadn’t slept for comforting the child. She hadn’t rested during the day for trying to keep her daughter clean and sustained with broth and Jell-O. She looked at him and hated him. She couldn’t call him and tell him what was happening because he slept in the cabin of his truck. He didn’t call her, and she didn’t know why. There would be housework and homework to catch up on and from this day she would always see her vibrant and strong child as frail and slipping through her fingers. And he had walked in, with his complacent smile pasted on his face, wanting sex, like a man. Like a stranger, a man with his own little sex toy that you wind up once a week with dinner out.
It was unfair, but she didn’t want to admit it. Terry mailed her post cards all week long and called frequently from the road. This was a bad week for him too, with truck troubles and an angry boss. There were rumors of trouble with the union as well, a possible strike on the horizon. When he came home from work he wanted to be a hero to his wife and daughter. And he wanted love, and affection. And as they were apart all week, coming home did seem like a good opportunity for sex. Communication generally befuddled him, but something about the set to her face made him think know would be a good time to try.
“Come in here Dion, sit down. Tell me what is going on. What is going on? I don’t know. I couldn’t call, there has been so much trouble this week. But it seems like you have had some trouble too. Please tell me about it.” He was surprised at how little stammering he was doing. Perhaps this talking thing wouldn’t be so hard.
“I will not sit down! Did you know your daughter could have died this week? Did you even think to ask? Do even care while you are on the road that we are here alone with no one taking care of us? It’s worse than being a widow, I swear it is. A widow doesn’t have to, well, doesn’t have to put out once a week on schedule no matter what else is going on. I just can’t stand you.”
“What? No! I just wanted you to know you are amazing. I mean of course, I always want you, but what do you mean by dying? Where is Shae-shae? How is she doing what can I do?” When the idea of his small child dying sunk in he stood up And started pacing—first towards the kitchen, and then he turned and headed to Shannon’s room.
“Don’t you dare go in her room!” She screamed at him. “She is finally sleeping! Sleeping! And you are practically a stranger. How dare you try to wake her up.” She stood up and moved as though to run at him, but turned around in disgust.
“No, honey, I was just going to look. I wouldn’t wake her up, I swear. What’s the matter? Why is she home? Was it an accident?” The terrible things that came to his mind while he drove, rushed through all at once now. Shannon on her bicycle, getting hit by a truck like his. Or some child at school fighting with her and hurting her. Or just falling down somewhere steep, when he wasn’t there to catch her. The nightmares of a daddy.
“The flu Terry. The flu. She’s got the flu and she’s been sick for four days. Did you know? No. You didn’t know. You didn’t call you didn’t make it so I could call you. I was just completely alone for a really long time while she was really sick. How do you like that?” The tenor of her voice had changed. It was crisp, cool. Threatening him to say the wrong thing. Daring him to admit he was wrong.
He breathed a sigh of relief, deep and cleansing. “Oh Dion I am so glad. The Flu! Just the flu. Thank god, I swear. That is a relief. And then Terry, feeling that the crisis was over sat down started taking off his shoes.
Dion felt like she was on a terrible, terrifying roller coaster. She wanted to scream and scream to make it stop, so she could get off and feel better. But she was so mad she couldn’t see straight or think at all. “Get up!” She was shouting again. “Get up and get up really. She’s got the flue you idiot! Influenza. The thing that kills people when they are little and old. We haven’t slept. She hasn’t eaten. It’s not a relief– it’s horrible. They say she won’t be better for another week. You had better get up and get out. You’re still packed. Go sleep in your rig. We’re done.”
“Done?” He started to mount a defense, of himself, of the way that they were so happy. But he looked at her. Her eyes were really sad. He didn’t want to make her so sad. And she looked so tired, like she could use some really long sleep. So he thought, “Maybe it would be better if I slept in the rig tonight. We could talk tomorrow. Maybe. If she wants to.” He picked up his pack which was slumped against the kitchen wall. He walked passed Dion on the way out and out of habit, kissed her on the head. She shuddered. He thought, “Maybe she won’t talk tomorrow. But soon.”
Shannon woke up around the time her mom began yelling about waking her up. It was so scary, to hear her parents yelling. Or that is, her mother yelling and her dad trying to talk nicely and help or something like that. But she didn’t like it. And her father didn’t sleep at their house that night. In fact, her father never slept at their house after that day.
It was something Shannon preferred not to think about, of course. But. It did come to her. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep she would remember that afternoon. She was lying in bed and wondering why her daddy hadn’t come to her room to give her a hug. She heard her mom tell him she was sick. He was always so nice to everybody. She lay there in her fever and wondered why he didn’t want to give her a hug. And like all children of divorce she was sure that it was her fault. She was sure that he left because she was sick.
Dion was ashamed of herself. Mortified that she couldn’t keep control of her feelings. She had always known Terry for what he was. He was an affable, enjoyable man. He didn’t seek out conflict. He he didn’t have a favorite team in any sport. He watched all the big games but never “had a dog in the fight,” as he liked to say. She had always known that her temper was hot and would have to be controlled with Terry. She had always known that the day she challenged him, told him they were through, it would all be over. But knowing a thing and wishing another, happens all the time. She knew she held all the cards in any conflict and yet, she desperately wanted him to fight for her. To stand up this day and say “I want you enough to have a fight about it.” She knew, the day she married him, she knew he would never fight for what he wanted. But some people need to be fought for. Dion was such a person. And that was why religion won her over in the end.
It started with the simple gospel, the true one, of a God who loved his lost sheep enough to fight for them. To do the unthinkable and sacrifice His own son on the cross that none of the people He created and loved would be lost. As it has over the generations, this simple truth caught her heart. Someone did love her and fight for her. God fought back against sin harder than she could fight and He won.
But Lucille and Dion had confused the message they first heard. Lucille found the Coushay Life Ministry Center to be a simple place full of people who loved God and transferred that love into their life actions. She had also first heard the Gospel at the Life Ministry center and had not been a Christian long enough to see that their ministry of serving self first, and then serving their own ministry center second, was not Biblical. It was delightful to be somewhere you were constantly told to think about yourself. It was magical to spend whole weekends getting to the bottom of your problems and focusing on such spiritual sounding concepts as centeredness and balance. It was also a modern church that made use of relaxation, yoga and aromatherapy. It was a place where you constantly felt good about yourself.
Dion and Lucille were just plain misinformed. They did not know that in the Bible God reveals endlessly about His character and His plan for the world. They didn’t know that the blessing of being a Christian is to have relationship with God, to be free from slavery to a relationship with oneself. She had heard the simple Gospel in the context of this ministry center and assumed that their practice of the message, which included no study of the scripture, was the correct way to follow God. And Lucille felt so good in that place that she knew it would also be right for her daughter who struggled so much in life.
The Coushay Life Ministry Center had a quick impact on Dion. She soon had friends and a purpose. She wanted to take Shannon with her, but their was no Sunday School. The center encouraged Dion to bring Shannon to services, but Shannon was still so busy, so young. She chose instead, to stay home Sunday mornings until Shannon was old enough to stay home by herself. But even without Sunday morning service there was plenty for Dion to do.
Around the time Shannon was in high school, the dream of full time ministry came to Dion. Her heart was so big, so open to love at that time that she wanted to share it with everyone. She had been working at the school since her divorce. A kind of single mom’s dream world. She was an assistant in the library. As everyone imagines, it was an ideal situation to keep almost the same hours as her daughter, and have the same vacations. And being an assistant meant she spent no time after work prepping for class. After finding God she never ceased to praise Him for the gift he had given her in this job.
Her income was marginal, but with child support (Terry never failed to pay child support) and the help he had given her to pay off the house, the two girls were making it just fine. Had she not found the life center, she may have stayed in her library forever.
One dull and dreary day during a support personnel meeting all of that changed. It was dreary because it was another pewter colored, drenching rain-mist “will spring ever get here?” day in Seattle. It seemed like it had been one day like this after another since October. And it was dreary because of the material they were covering in the meeting. HIPPA laws. How to cover your backside instructions. How to completely eliminate nurturing from the act of educating. Of course, she wanted to keep kids safe. But it was totally outside her realm of imagination to use affection as a tool to harm someone (barring her ex-husband, of course.) She sat sulking and listening to the guest lawyer, a member of the PTA, explain the appropriate use of the side hug and the numerous reasons you should never touch a child on top of the head.
Her heart went from a great sulk to a sort of numb feeling. Her eyes wandered to the window where she could see a forlorn line of children shivering their way from a temporary building to the gym. Heartless. Every child present in that line ought to get a warm motherly hug as soon as they stepped into the gym. The numb melted with that rainy scene and she felt a call on her heart. That call to love and serve people who needed love.
She was in service on Sunday. Shannon was at home, doing homework, Dion trusted. The sermon amazed Dion. She always learned when she was in that auditorium, but this service they looked to the Bible for the first time in months. And they read about a worker being worth his wages. They passed the collection plate and she emptied her wallet into it. Surely the directors and the shepherds at the center were worth their wages.
It was an unusual choice of sermon to create the scene that then followed. But the pastor had well emphasized the worth and value of the worker. Painted in glorious, vibrant color the import of the worker, the glory they would receive after a life of service. He spoke most emphatically of the value of the worker being his use of the gospel to eliminate the darkness entirely, replacing it with light and balance and love. It was a call for funds and a glorification of the people that the Center considered saints.
And then there was the altar call. They speaker said, “All of you here today hold in your hearts the spark of truth. That spark, if sent into the world will create a wild fire. An inferno. Destructive and powerful. That spark is a spark of love and that love will destroy completely the darkness in the world. The emptiness will be filled with warm affection. The fire will light the way of love. Restoring balance to all. No one will stand alone, in the rain, as it were. Can you be that worker? Could that spark that lives in you change your life? Will you give your life to the service of light, the services of the Life Ministry Center? Who here will give their lives to shine a light and cast away the darkness?”
And then he led his congregation in a simple song, This Little Light of Mine. His voice was deep and slow and resonant. He silenced his band with the wave of his hand. The choir of voices lifted up into the vaulted ceiling, singing “won’t let darkness put it out, this little light of mine.” The intentions of the choir must have been good, though the lyrics were wrong and director’s intent of the call was not light filled. All in the congregation were deeply move. Some wept in their seats, humbled by the service their directors rendered them, light against the darkness. Some, with great tears rolling down their cheeks, made their way to the altar to commit to the service of the ministry center. Others, raising their arms and crying out in triumph, flooded the altar ready to take a stand against the darkness.
Dion was among the weepers that made their way to the front. To offer their life a sacrifice. She didn’t want her light to be snuffed out in the dark atmosphere of her public school job. From that moment her efforts would be trained to that singular goal of spreading the light. She would conquer the darkness with the gospel through the ministry the Coushay family had created and sold in all of the states that bordered Canada, where they kept their home and evaded their taxes.
As the congregation filtered out of the sanctuary, the staff was meeting with the people who knelt at the altar. Four shepherds went back and fourth along the line and prayed with those who were committing their lives to service. A shepherd named Hannah prayed with Dion.
“Dion, are you ready to commit to the way of the light?” She murmured her mouth close to Dion’s ear.
“Oh yes, yes I am. I mean, I am already committed to the light. But I want to join the ministry, to make it my work.” Dion’s chest was heaving.
“Slowly, sister. Slowly. The God of light doesn’t ask us to panic, but to speak from our center.” Her murmuring voice was mesmerizing. Dion calmed down. The word sister was especially calming. She was a sister here. She was a part of this family. “Let us pray, sister. Let me pray over you and see where you fit in the body.”
“Oh thank you.” Dion closed her eyes and bowed her head, hands folded in front of her.
Sister Hannah did the praying. Her voice was so low that all Dion could discern was, “And show us the way that this sister is to serve. Show us the things that this sister is to give. Tell us what you will accept from this sister.”
Dion waited breathlessly, hoping that she would be accepted, that she would be allowed to give her whole life.
Hannah leaned back from Dion and placed her hands on Dion’s shoulders. Dion lifted her head and looked at Hannah, who appeared to be meditating. Then Hannah’s eyes flew open and a smile spread across her face. “You’ve been accepted! You’ve been accepted! Oh give praises!”
“I’ve been accepted?” She was thrilled and yet felt so ignorant. She didn’t know what to say to God in thanks. She didn’t know what to do next. Hannah did.
“Sister, it is time to give a commitment to the Lord to show you are serious. Many times people come forward when they are emotional and are accepted and don’t follow through with their call. This is a dark act. We don’t want you to find that you are too weak to follow through with your new commitment. To show us that you are committed you will make a sacrifice. The workers are worthy of their wages.” Hanna reached out and picked up Dion’s purse.
“Oh Sister Hannah, I am ready to commit. But my purse is empty, I am so sorry. I gave everything earlier, during the service. But I am committed. I won’t fail” Tears started to fill Dion’s eyes. If she had only known, she would have saved something for the altar call. To be here with nothing to give was unbearable.
Hannah didn’t seem to be listening. She selected Dion’s wallet form the purse and opened it. “Remember the loaves and the fishes.” Hannah was murmuring again. “God has provided.” She slipped a Visa card from Dion’s wallet. Dion watched, and all she could think was how good it was for God to provide a sacrifice for her.
CHAPTER BREAK
Shannon met Mario in the town square on the fourth of July.
“Hola querida amiga. I’m glad you’re early. Hold this.” He put a large box of tamales in her hands.
“How many did you make?” Shannon shifted the large box onto her hip.
“I have 250 here. I think that I would rather take some home with me than run out.”
Mario was setting up a portable shade tent over his table. There was going to be a Pride of America Parade at ten. The high school kids from two towns would march, both the upcoming varsity football teams in full uniform and the bands. The Veterans would ride in vintage cars. The Clovis Cowboy Parade Posse would also ride as always.
This year there were two new features that Mario was very excited about. His mother had sewed all month to create costumes for the ten children getting confirmed this year at All Saints Catholic Church. They would march in the parade with Father Peretti and two of the sisters. Six of the ten children were in Timotea’s Spanish confirmation class. It was the first time that Hispanic children had an opportunity to march. There had never been a Hispanic student on the varsity team or in the marching band.
The other new feature in this year’s parade was Mario’s idea so he was taking especial pride today. Three tractors from the Grady’s farm would drive in the parade. The three managers of the largest farms in the area would ride behind in the hay wagon with some of their key employees. The managers scoffed at the idea. They thought it was ridiculous. Mario promised them free meals at the Restaurante and a tamale stand on parade day if they would do it.
Mario didn’t care that the Grady’s, all of the managers and all of the workers on the hay wagons would be mocked mercilessly throughout the harvest season. He just wanted more children to get to look up at their daddies in awe. He wanted more families to have reasons to be proud on the fourth of July. Call it unabashed patriotism or just call it corny. But Mario was practically dancing around his tamale booth as he set it up.
Shannon willingly played along. She showed up in her work uniform, polished black shoes and apron included. She enjoyed the fresh morning air—not too hot yet—as they set up. She lit the sterno cans and unloaded her box of tamales. She placed the trays on their racks to keep them warm. She put all the soft drinks in the barrel cooler they had borrowed from Tony’s bar. Then she sat on a bar stool drug from the Restaurante across the street.
With the two new features in the parade, it would still only take about twenty minutes to pass by. That is, twenty if the bands each stopped in front of the square to play a special number. Shannon thought it would have been nice to get the cheerleaders together to do something too. Maybe next year.
“Mario, where’s the coffee?” Shannon yawned.
“It’s very late, haven’t you already had your coffee for the day? You would have been finished with it hours ago, yesterday.” Mario scanned the streets looking for signs of activities. The parade itself started at the high school, a mile or so back and around the corner so he couldn’t see anyone setting up.
“This is a day off, isn’t it? I’m allowed to drink coffee after eight in the morning.” Shannon slipped off the stool and strolled over to the restaurant to make a pot. She was excited, but nervous. It seemed like a big thing for one man to take on, parade integration. Shannon’s mommy friends and the customers at the restaurante didn’t care what your last name was, particularly. But the parade was run buy the city council. And the city council members hadn’t changed in the decade that Mario’s had been around.
There was a pot on already, so she poured herself a cup and picked the newspaper off of the counter to bring outside.
Mario had chuckled over her concerns. “It would be very funny indeed to see our elderly councilmen picketing our little parade.”
Shannon didn’t like the quick dismissal of her fears, but kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. Life on this side of the Cascade Mountains was very different from her old life in Seattle.
She crossed the street. She didn’t bother to look both ways or listen for cars. There was no one out yet. She took her place on the bar stool back and sipped her coffee. She was still nervous this morning. She thought she ought to be able to hear people prepping. They weren’t that far away. She was afraid that the veterans wouldn’t show up to march with Catholic kids and Mexican’s from the farm. She knit her brow while she thought of it.
“No worries today, Mi Shannon. This is a happy day. An innocent day. The parade is so small, so short. People will stand in there doorways and wave as it passes. Then they will come here for a tamale and a coke. The Children will play their musica for us and my querida we will dance and be merry. It will be like a new years in July.” He winked at her and danced a turn. A few people had begun to filter down to the square with their lawn chairs and coffee mugs.
Shannon thought “they’d better unfold those chairs quickly or they’ll miss the whole parade.”
The small gathering in the square began to chatter and gossip, to pass out donuts and thermoses of coffee. It was going to be a warm one today. Might as well spend the morning outside as not.
“If those Catholic kids from Chandler get to march in our parade our choir should get in it next year” Yvonne said, her competitive spirit in full swing.
“You Presbyterians can’t sing!” A Baptist shouted at her and laughed. Yvonne joined their group and settled in for the morning. They had a little over an hour before the parade to settle their differences on the matter of choir skill.
Mario was suddenly next to Shannon, whispering in her ear, “You see? Everyone will be happy to see beautiful children celebrating their achievement. And next year when you have your cheerleaders ready you will understand how I feel today. You see the family sitting near Yvonne, on the left? The mother does not speak any English but today her girl will march in a parade. She cried when she thanked mi madre for the dress. It will be a beautiful thing, this parade.” He tucked his arm around her waist affectionately and gave her a squeeze. Anyone watching saw a happy couple in the prime of their love. Both of their eyes were shining now. Their closeness would warm a hard heart.
Things weren’t going smoothly at the staging ground. The noise was tremendous and soon began to reach the people waiting in the square or on their front porches.
The children from the two schools and the church mingled and gossiped and flirted and made quite a commotion. Everyone was washed to within and inch of their life, sunburned skin scrubbed raw. Girls with hair sprayed as high as it could go, or as smooth as possible under a tall marching band hat. The boys and girl from the church gleaming in their matching white suits and dresses. Varsity football players, tall and broad, strutting like roosters around the parking lot, hoping to be seen by everyone. It was a spectacle that the kids were thrilling to.
The city council had prepared a float for themselves. They were riding on a platform with the American, Oregon and Clovis city flags. They had a small statue of the ten commandments and a replica of the constitution mounted on a display as well. The display had been a quilt rack at the county fair the year before but was known to ride well on the platform so it was conscripted to service. The five men of the council, all over seventy, felt an acute need to be seen at the parade day. The thunder of the children was an affront to them.
Morton Smart was the Chairman of the council this year and took it on himself to quiet the crowd.
“You children pipe down!” he hollered hollowly in their general direction. “You, get over here” He shouted this to the football coach. “Get your boys in order. This is no way to represent the school.”
The coach saluted and called his boys to a huddle.
“Get the band directors over here.” Morton ordered the secretary of the council. “Better yet, go tell them to get their kids in order or take them home. This is not a zoo.” He sat on his float chair, arms folded, a black cloud hanging over him.
The band directors began the process of separating and organizing their bands and warming them up. By then the football teams had left their huddle and found the girls who were glowing and golden in their confirmation dresses. The noise of the bands seemed loader this year. “Where’s that Mexican in charge of those kids?” She needs to get those children in order. We don’t need any fast Mexican girls getting at our football teams.” He spat the word Mexican out like a bad taste. No one listened to him this time. The parade organizer had taken charge and was being obeyed.
He hollered louder. “Where is that Mexican woman who is supposed to keep those Catholic kids in line?” One sister looked up, shocked by the venom in his voice. The young ladies marching today had already been gathered together and were chirping quietly about the young Adonises on the football team. She shepherded her charges farther away from the man with the terrible hatred on his face.
The council man sitting next to Morton spoke, “Why did you let those Catholic kids in the parade this year? It just makes the whole thing take longer and now we have to sit on this float with you.” This councilman usually rode with the veterans. This year they had a completely refurbished WWII Jeep to ride. He had eaten salads all spring so he would fit in his uniform for the parade. This business really ate at him. He thought of all the hamburgers he had missed and was peeved. He wanted a picture on the Jeep.
“I didn’t know it was a bunch of Mexicans. I did my best to fix it alright?” Morton spit a wad of chew, in the general direction of the church group.
“Don’t be an ass Morton. I don’t care if they are Mexicans or Poles. I want to ride in that Jeep. Your nonsense with this float is worse than anything else here.”
Morton got off the float without saying a word. He marched up to father Peretti.
“Can you keep track of these children or do you need to get out of the parade line?” Morton ignored the clump of innocent marchers standing next to him. “This is an American Pride parade, do you hear me? Every one of those marchers had better be legal.” Despite his age and general tiredness he stepped up to the priest with remarkably threatening body language.
“I assure you that my young Catholics will march very well, sir.” The Priest prayed sincerely for patience. “I recommend that you join your float as we are about to begin.”
“I ain’t catholic!” Morton’ face went red. “I will not be ordered by papists at my own parade.” He stomped his decorative cane down as he spoke. “Get these people out of my parade!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “They are through they aren’t marching. Get them out of my parade!” Morton was shaking now as he screamed to the parade coordinator.
This poor woman, also the wedding coordinator at the Baptist church, couldn’t hear his tantrum through the general din caused by the bands. But the little girls did. They didn’t all speak Spanish and they all could hear that he was terribly mad at them. One girl, a sweet blonde from Clovis burst into tears. The rest quickly followed her lead.
Father Peretti prayed again, “dear God, keep me from knocking this old man flat.” He took a deep breath and said a Hail Mary.
“Sir, you are frightening our marchers. If you would like we could go to another area to talk.” There is a reason seminary is so many years long. He felt calm, and in control of this man.
Morton felt it as well. How dare this Priest not recognize the authority of the Chairman of the Clovis city council? “I will not leave the parade grounds until you have taken these rowdy children off of the property.”
One of the sisters had rushed to get the coordinator while the other was hushing the girls. They were making their way back to the scene when machismo got the best of the boys from the church. One of them pushed Morton.
“Brendan! That is not acceptable.” The redheaded Irish kid didn’t step down. “He made my sister cry. He can’t do that.”
Morton’s grandson, a lineman on the football team, saw the scrawny catholic kid push his grandpa. He was at the scene and knocked down two other boys before poor Betty and the sister showed up. But everyone in the parade was a grandson or a brother or a cousin and the fight that developed was more than Betty could handle on her own.
She used her well practiced wedding coordinator skills (the ones she used to get recalcitrant brides to the aisle) to maneuver Morton back to his float. The Clovis band director started up his fight song (the one the kids new the best) to disrupt the momentum of the brawl. The coaches began to drag their teams off of each other.
At the town square Yvonne was complaining to the Baptist about the din coming from the school. “Who do we have in charge over there? It was never that loud when Joe from the hardware store ran it.”
The Baptist lady, who had been maneuvered to the aisle by Betty herself nodded in agreement. “She’s a tough lady, Betty. I really thought she could handle it better than this.”
The fight song burst out suddenly and the crowd settled back into their chairs, ready to enjoy the show.
The parade began, children marching slowly, wiping tears from their eyes. Tall young men glowering and whispering epithets at each other. It was slow going.
James Smith walked down Main Street from his home with a stranger. He went straight to the tamale stand.
“Let me introduce you to someone, Mario.” James shook hands with the son of his friend. “This is Craig. Craig, this is Mario Gomez, someone I think you really should know.”
Craig offered his hand to Mario. “Very good to meet you.” Craig was a tall man with silver hair and a bushy, scrubby grey mustache. He was wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots and a polo shirt. He was the Governor of Oregon.
Mario recognized him. He was receiving very good press in the eastern half of Oregon. For a liberal governor he was making very moderate policy decisions which seemed a relief to the larger half of the state. “An honor to meet you Gov. McKenzie.”
“Call me Craig, please. I hear you’ve had a hand in making today’s celebration an inclusive event for the community.” Gov. McKenzie accepted the coffee Shannon handed him with a nod and a smile.
Mario’s grin spread wider, if it was possible. “I didn’t’ do much. I offered a few ideas, ways to make the parade more fun for more people. The folks here in town picked what they liked and made it happen. It is a very good town to work in.” Mario didn’t hold back but gestured broadly to the people sitting in the square and up and down Main Street. He was wearing his pride on his sleeve today.
The governor surveyed with appreciation the tidy, though small main street. The store fronts were all kept well and the people in the square hadn’t been littering or raucous yet this morning. “You have a lot to be proud of in Clovis.” He turned his head directly across to Mario’s. “James tells me that is your restaurant across the way.”
“It is my pride and joy. It would be my honor to serve you there at your convenience while you are staying here in Clovis. It would be the pleasure of Mario’s to offer you our hospitality and complimentary meal to you and your guests.” He made a small humble bow to the governor.
Craig laughed at the formality with which his dinner was offered. “We’ll be there tonight then. We save the state money wherever we can.”
Their conversation was cut short for a moment as the parade arrived at their location. The mommies and daddies and grandparents let up a loud cheer as their football team passed. The band stopped and played stars and stripes forever. Some of the less sentimental agreed that it took forever. The band moved on and the Confirmation kids passed waving and smiling bravely through their flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears. No one in the square new about the insults lifted to those poor kids but all were moved by the apparent emotion of the moment.
The rival school marched past. A cluster of parents sitting on the sidewalk across from the square cheered brightly. Their band stopped and played “Oregon my Oregon.” As their last notes dwindled the parents on the sidewalk began to pack up their coffee mugs and folding chairs. They were all cleaned up and marching away as the last of the Parade posse past. The children in the crowed were delighted by the horses in their parade regalia. The City Council float brought up the rear. Most of the members of the council were glad that the farmers and the Veteran’s jeep separated themselves from the horse posse and smells.
The parade rounded another corner and went down Juniper Street to make their way back to the high school. Folks sat on their front porches with their coffee to enjoy the show, or popped their heads out their front doors to cheer on the kids and laugh at all the grown men. The crowd agreed a longer parade was more fun. As they descended on the tamale stand everyone had an idea of something to add next year.
Governor McKenzie waited patiently with James near the tamale stand. Mario appreciated the attention. He had James take a picture of He, Shannon and the Governor. It would be a great addition to the décor of the Restaurante. The governor was their first famous guest. But as much as he liked it, he wondered why Craig was singling him out for this attention.
Shannon and Mario had their hands full distributing the free tamales and sodas. Sadie put a donations jar on the counter when he wasn’t looking and it quickly filled. No one wondered what it was for, it just seemed like a good idea to give to something that Mario and the Governor supported.
Sadie snuck up behind Shannon and explained in a whisper. “Did you see those poor kids? I heard there was a terrible fight at the staging grounds.”
Shannon dropped a tamale in the paper boat. “A fight? Did the football players get into it?” she grabbed a coke and passed the food to the next person in line.
“Yeah, but they didn’t’ start it. That no good son of a-” A child was next in line. “Well anyway, that absolutely rotten Morton Smart started it. He hollered all sorts of terrible things about Mexicans and Catholics.” Sadie’s voice was really low.
Shannon turned away from her line “You have got to kidding me! What a low life.” Her voice was never quiet when she was excited. The governor raised his eyebrow in her direction.
“Shannon, they are waiting.” Mario gave her a sharp nudge with his elbow.
“I thought it was an absolutely rotten thing to do. All the kids were so upset by it. I thought maybe they needed something to perk them up. They were all so excited this week. You wouldn’t believe how thrilled they were that so many of them got to be in the parade.” Sadie ran the library in the high school. It was almost a volunteer job, but she supplemented her income with an eBay business. “You may not realize it, but with the confirmation group in the parade, there were only about twenty kids in the whole school that didn’t get to march. Anyway. He was such a rotten cuss to ruin their fun I thought we should perk them up. I put a jar on the table. Donations for the tamales, you know? Now Mario can write it off on his taxes and we can buy the band some new instruments.” Sadie smiled big. With new instruments the twenty kids left out this year might be able to march next year.
“That’s a great idea. Thanks. I can’t wait until November’s election. Can I write you in for the Council Sadie.?” Shannon had had it with the ancient bigotry of the men in charge.
Sadie opened her mouth to say ‘good gracious no’ but then closed it. Maybe it was time to do something in town. She gave Shannon a quick side hug and got out of the way.
Mario didn’t have to wait long to learn why he was receiving such special attention from the Governor. When the tamale stand was all cleaned up the governor and James took a walk around the town with Mario.
“You know that I am a Doctor by profession. I worked for thirty years in the ER in Bend. One great concern of mine as Governor of this state is the health care of our most vulnerable citizens.” Craig didn’t beat around the bush or mince words. It was one reason he was well liked by the populace and a great irritant to the state legislature.
“I was very impressed by your recent work for infants and pregnant women” Mario stated, also matter of factly. “Knowing that there is a safe place to take their infants in a crisis, despite their insurance status is a great consolation.” Mario referred to the new state policy the governor passed that required all hospitals, doctors offices and clinics to accept any infant under one as a patient without question. There was a great outcry among most conservatives on this point. Especially in the medical field. Not one parent had been found whose infant had been turned away. Not one medical service provider had been found known to turn away a new baby. The conservatives feared making what had been a common practice into a law would merely pave the way for further free services and sap the resources of a medical industry already fraught with troubles.
Mario felt a strong tug on his business sense that this slippery slope was quite possible. And yet his heart ached for one woman he had met a few years ago. Her legal status was questionable, of course. Her language was a barrier, as Spanish was her second language already. She and her husband could not believe that the hospital would be a safe place for them. They brought their infant daughter to Dr. Gomez. But there was nothing he could do. She needed antibiotics. When the parents left his porch they were devastated and never returned. It was heard through the grapevine that they lost their baby.
Mario spoke again. “With policy such as this, the most important feature will be making it known. What kind of budget has been put in place for this?”
The Governor didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t hide his discouragement either. “There is no budget for advertising. Some of the promoters of the policy change in the private sector have begun seeking grant money for it. They have hopes that heir appeal to the Gates foundation will be a success. Personally I don’t think it will. There is not a lot of money available to fund programs run by the state.”
“Has a push been made inside of the hospital systems for them to advertise? Perhaps the lobbyists could design the materials to be consistent and make a push for the hospitals, doctors, and clinics to do the advertising.”
“I have made that suggestion myself, but they have been stalled out in the process. Two of the largest hospital systems—the ones most likely to do good with the new legislation—are interstate operations and hesitate to fund an Oregon specific program. I hope to make this action truly viable for our underserved infants, but I also need to move forward with the next steps in my agenda.”
Mario interjected, “May I make on more point in regards to the need of advertising these policies?”
Governor McKenzie didn’t stop him.
“When advertising to the underserved community I recognize that you have incredible challenges to meet language needs. However, I have one recommendation. The needs of the people who immigrate from Latin America are generally met in Spanish. This is not enough. The languages that could be used are too numerous to count. However, some indigenous languages should be included in the printed materials. It is very necessary that we begin to understand the limitations of Spanish to meet the needs of such a diverse community.”
“Your first point is very true. It is almost impossible to meet the language needs of all of the people we try to address. Every continent that moves here brings people of numerous languages. We do our best. But, I will consider the point you have made and make recommendations accordingly.” It was a brush off, Mario was sure. But the Governor didn’t move on to other attractions. He seemed to have a specific agenda in mind for Mario.
“Mario, I would like to see medical services available in every town, for all people who live in the area. It is not a very moderate agenda, I realize. And I don’t necessarily want all of the services to be free. There was a day when a parish church had a nurse to help the congregation. There was a time when a school nurse could actually do some good for the students. I plan to recreate this in our state. Like the library system which makes literacy available to all, we should have care that makes health available to all.” The governor slipped with ease into soap box rhetoric, but Mario was interested in where he was going with this.
“It has been brought to my attention that if I want to learn how to meet the needs of rural Eastern Oregon I need to talk with Dr. Gomez first.”
This was interesting indeed. Mario said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
That evening brought the fireworks display. It wasn’t as big as the one in Pendleton, North of Clovis. But it was quite nice for a town of 1200.
The display could be seen best from the hill in Grady’s farm. He opened his gates to that uncultivated part of his property each year. It was first come first serve, people gathering there as their barbeques ended at home. Tired kids with their sparklers, and pop its. Babies ready to sleep throwing tantrums and creating a ruckus. Mr. Grady tried to keep the sparklers out of his property, since he didn’t want a fire to destroy his livelihood. But every year someone brought them. A few good (and scared) neighbors brought their fire extinguishers every year as well.
The story of the parade fight had made it around town already. It had morphed of course, with Morton Smart almost having an actual heart attack and the football players knocking down the flag. The insult to the confirmation kids had become a complaint against all kids, altogether. But the principals remembered what had happened. Morton Smart, Father Peretti, Sra Gomez, and Betty the coordinator, in particular stayed home from the fireworks to nurse their wounds. Sadie was on the hill, already campaigning for her spot on the Council.
Mario spread his blanket away from where most of the crowd would gather. He put his under the willow tree. The shade was nice in the evening heat but the branches would obscure the lights some. The branches would also obscure him some as he as he watched the great display of American might with Shannon.
She joined him on his blanket, a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hand. The Grady’s also banned alcohol from their hillside. They were sincere Baptists and they didn’t want anyone crashing on the way home from the farm.
“Don’t let anyone see this.” Mario cautioned with a wink while he reached for the glasses.
They settled in together on the blanket. Only as comfortable as two tired adults can be on the hard ground after a long day.
“The governor is meeting with mi Padre tomorrow in the morning. Part of me would like to be there to protect him. And yet, he told me specifically not to come. I believe he wants to protect me still.” Mario took a sip of the dry pinot gris. “He is thinking perhaps or those days when the new governor came to La Clinica.”
“He can’t really think that, can he? There’s no way that Governor McKenzie has that kind of power.” Her mind filled with romantic pictures of the clinic in the jungle with the brave men defending her to the last. Of course, no one had defended the clinic. They had saved their lives instead.
“I suppose if Papa is involved in truly illegal activity,” Raul came to mind. Though Mario chose to protect his father and Shannon by keeping that part of Dr. Gomez’s actions from her, “then he could be arrested. And if he is arrested the clinicita on the porch would be closed down.” Mario shut the image of his aging father in prison from his mind. “I do not think this is the intention of the Governor. I think first he would like to ensure the votes of this population in the east, to make up some territory here that he looses to the conservatives. But he may be very sincere in his health care reform. If so, he is correct that the first person to talk to is my father. There is no better resource than him.”
They drank their wine and rested, watching the children laugh and collapse in exhausted piles of tears. Mario’s hear ached a little. As a new husband he had dreamed of a family. He was fourty-two now. His children should have marched with the confirmation kids or in the band. Or on the football team. Linda had taken so much from him when she left.
Shannon saw the grief on his face. It had been a stressful day. He feared for his father. And she knew. She knew that the children brought to mind things he had missed out on.
He put down his empty glass and lay back on the grass, head resting on his arms. The fireworks burst in the sky, their lights sparking between the leaves of the willow tree. It was not the best view, but it was private. He indulged in his self pity.
Shannon stretched out next to him. Her own heart ached sometimes, with the children around. Her friends had waved, dropped by Mario’s blanket with smiling and drooping babies. Shannon would have liked to settle down with kids. To be a part of the family scenes rollicking on the grass. Her pity party was a comfort as well. She snuggled in a little closer, resting her head against Mario.
To Mario this was more and less than perfect. It was ecstasy and torture. He turned his head, thinking he would watch the sparklers. But truly he buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply. “Mmm, delicioso. Channon you are like a good tonic today.” He wasn’t listening to himself or speaking particularly loudly.
Shannon did what nature would have her do in such a circumstance. First she leaned her head in his direction, nuzzling a little more closely against him. Then she slightly tilted her head away, revealing a bit of her neck. It was an innocent response to his tenderness. She wasn’t paying attention.
He was. He leaned up on his elbow and watched her. Wishing he could kiss her on her neck.
Her heart beat very loudly in her chest. It was all she could hear. She thought briefly about letting him kiss her. She could let him be her lover and be so happy. She took a deep breath, thinking she would turn and kiss him. She opened her eyes and saw the medal of St. Christopher that hung around his neck. As though reacting on instinct her hand popped up and brushed him away like a pest.
He ran his hand over his chin and leaned away from her callused motion. “Perhaps someday Shannon? Someday you will see that what we have is good?” His eyes looked hurt, but he chose not to hide from her how he felt. Over some six years now he had grown to love her very deeply.
She relaxed back onto the blanket, alone again and said lightly, “I suppose I have resisted you for this long I can probably hold out indefinitely.”
Mario wanted to maintain his patience. To wait for her forever. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never ceases. He knew these words. But to wait this many years would sap a greater man’s patience. He thought maybe he was coming to the end of his. ‘Perhaps I am ready for love again and mi Shannon is not. Perhaps it is time that I look to find this love with someone else’ He thought this and sighed heavily.
Shannon was running her fingers through her hair. He watched her do it, with her delicate fingers, familiar as his own by now and yet so out of reach. ‘But then,’ he thought, ‘Being in love is a great deal of work. Maybe I do not really want to reinvest all of this effort all over again.’
CHAPTER BREAK
The results of the gubernatorial interview were a closely held secret. Only Dr. Gomez and the Governor himself new what was discussed. Dr. Gomez though, acted displeased for many days. Sra Gomez approached him.
“Estefan. You need to tell me what is weighing on your heart so heavily. Your grief is a burden to me, but you do not share it with me so I can help.”
It was a quiet evening. Not many nights after the fourth of July. The Doctor had been sitting alone on the back porch, looking pensively of into the night.
“What the governor wants to do is a very dangerous thing. He does not realize that this country is in a delicate balance.” Dr Gomez turned to his wife. He wanted to share his fears with her. She was right. They were a burden on his soul and she was suffering from it as well as he was. “But does talking about things change? We can’t make our selves an inch taller by talking. There is nothing we can do.”
She looked at him sternly. “You must talk about it. I can’t bear this in ignorance any longer. I want to pray about this, to take it to the Almighty. Don’t make me keep praying for things I do not know.”
“What will praying change, mi vida? Our lives are at His disposal. At His will he can wipe away this whole experiment, these Americas.” Estefan spoke without passion.
“What will praying do? What has it not done for the world, for us? Querida Esposo, you are a fool to talk like this. What is it that the Governor spoke with you about that has you sick with worry?” Timotea rested her hands gently on the knees of her husband. He must talk to her or he would surely never rest again.
“They would like to make changes in immigration, these politicians. This is good, surely. But this governor wants to do it a bit at a time, piece by piece. Handing out liberties like pieces of a puzzles to anyone who happens to live here.” Raul came into the mind of Dr. Gomez. “regardless of how they came to be here or what they are doing with their time here. He wishes to hand out rights without the balance of responsibilities or guidelines. What would this do to all of us? To be regarded by everyone and yet responsible to none. This is not what I have been trying to do. He thought—he was told–that Dr. Gomez was a man impartial who wanted to see everyone as equal.” He picked his wife’s hands up in his. “Have I been this? I have been a man without reason all of these years?”
This was not a time to respond quickly. She took a deep breath. So many parts of what her husband said deserved addressing. But she knew she must start at the heart of it, before he chose to turn away again.
“You have always been first a man of compassion. A man with a brilliant mind. You have never refused to succor the needy. To help the hurting. But impartial? No. To each man or woman you give the advise and direction that meets their situation. You never advise them to lawlessness.’ She spoke with a gentle voice. Her words carried more weight when spoken softly.
“A man of compassion. I see pain and I try to help.” He reflected on this summation of his character and life.
“Estefan, it is only the Lord God in heaven who is truly impartial. We are each of us completely lost sinners to him. And He alone accepts each of us on his own terms. But you must wrestle now with how He would have us apply His love in our time on earth. Is what the Governor wants to do something that would reflect God’s love? Or something that is a distortion of it?”
“I am afraid, mi Timotea, that what the Governor wants to do is a great distortion. Both of God’s love and of what is good for the country. And I am afraid that what he knows of our work here would beholden me to him. That I must support him or be punished for things I couldn’t help to do. As a man of compassion.” It was a great deal for Estefan to share. He raised her hands to his face and buried himself in them. She prayed silently for him. Prayed that the Lord would protect him, that the saints would beseech the Lord on her behalf.
CHAPTER BREAK
“Hello?” Shannon answered the phone feeling relieved by the diversion.
“Shannon, this is Sra Gomez. How are you doing?” It wasn’t unheard of to get a call from Mario’s mother. Usually it was quite nice.
“I’m doing well. Actually I guess I’m just okay. I’ve been sitting here worried about my mom.” She was worried about her mom and everything else, actually. But why bother Sra. Gomez with all her petty troubles. La Senora was someone you told things to. She was a mother first and a great comfort on all accounts. But surely she didn’t want to hear Shannon complain about Mario.
“I am so sorry that she gives you cause to worry. This is not what a mother should do. Have you had news from her that worries you?” It was also the way of Sra Gomez to put aside her own concern so that she could listen to you and offer you love and help.
“I haven’t had any news recently. It’s about time I send her a letter so I was indulging in a pity party. I wish she would just come to her senses.” Shannon was in the mood to unload. Being without Mario that night made her feel very alone.
“I will pray for her. You tell me that she really loved Jesus when she began at this place. He can still work on her heart and rescue her. You would take comfort, I think, in praying to God for your mother.” It was Timotea’s sincerest wish that this nice young girl would find her God. It was the one sure way to fill the emptiness inside of her. A returned mother or time with Mario would never do this.
“You can pray for me, okay? I tend to think that is what started all this trouble in the first place.” There was a bitter edge to her voice that she instantly regretted.
“I will do that. You can trust me, Shannon, to pray for your mother. I think that she will be saved from this place. But I will stop bothering you about God tonight. I am looking for Mario. Is he there?”
“No. he’s not here. Sorry.” Shannon had moved on to the laundry room and was trying not to think about Mario, only half attending to the call from his mom.
“Did he say where he might go this evening? Dr. Gomez would like to speak with him about a patient. There is a pressing need.” Sra Gomez sounded weary.
Shannon loved the romantic notion of the Dr. Gomez as a Robin Hood of medical men. She frequently thought, though, that he ought to get his own car. These pressing needs could be quite frequent.
“I’m sorry. And now I’m curious. I have no idea where he is.” She did not really wonder what had become of him. Like everything else in Clovis, Mario was very predictable, even when acting out of character.
In fact, Shannon was pretty sure she knew exactly where Mario was. But she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. Anyway, it was Mario’s business and none of hers.
“Well thank you anyway, Shannon. I assumed he was out, as he did not answer at home. But he is not with you, so perhaps I was mistaken. Buenas noches.” Sra Gomez was pleasant enough as she said that. But Shannon felt like punching someone, mostly Mario as she said goodbye to his mother.
Because yes, Mario was surely out. No, Sra was probably not mistaken. And as much as she didn’t want to think about it, she did.
It was just another hot summer day at the restaurant. A puff of cold air met everyone who came into Mario’s. At least this day the air was working. And since the air was working everyone was popping by for a meal or a snack or a drink. Shannon was feeling pretty ragged by the time the late drinks crowd came in.
Whether it was the hot night or just the vacation season, Shannon didn’t know. But a huge drinks crowed showed up. When they came crowding through the door Shannon and Mario exchanged a very pleased glance. At least at the end of the day they could gloat over her tips and his bar tally. It hadn’t seemed a bit important that the drinks crowd was a bunch of very young pretty women looking for a good time. And it certainly hadn’t occurred to her that Mario might be interested in that kind of good time.
“Aging men are the worst, aren’t they Shannon?” Yvonne was watching Mario flirt with the crowd of girls. She looked thoroughly disgusted. “I swear he could be the father of any of those girls.”
Shannon hadn’t been paying attention really. The girls had kept their drinks full. Shannon kept up with their orders, but just barely.
“Oh, they’re all over 21” she said absently, having been the one to verify all of the id’s.
“Just over, I’d say.” Yvonne scrubbed the pots harder than they deserved. Something of the “over 21” who had run off with her husband was on her mind.
Shannon still hadn’t taken note of all that was going on in the dining room. She slid a tray of empty glasses over the wash counter and laughed as she spoke. “Oh, you know him, Yvonne, he’s just earning his tips.”
She stopped at the bar to mix a few more drinks as they were ordered. She paused and watched Mario work the room. No, it actually wasn’t pathetic. He was incredibly handsome and remarkably fit for a man who worked his whole life with food. He was really mesmerizing. She thought, ‘Any of those girls would be lucky to get the time of day from a man like him.’ And she smiled, satisfied with herself.
At the end of the day, like tonight, his five o’ clock shadow was incredibly sexy. Dark and bristly cheeks. His hair could use a trim, but she (and it seemed the girls having their drinks in the dining room) thought the untidy, bristly shock of hair worked very well. At fourty-three he had the benefits that come from getting older, like his amazing smile lines, crinkly eyes and gift for talking to women. He would never loose his dimples of course, and had not started to go gray. Shannon couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
“Excuse me, Miss?” A large nose girl whined in her direction. “Could I please have my fuzzy navel?” She giggled as she said the name of her drink, already a little drunk from the first round served.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry for the delay.” Shannon smiled brightly at the girl and handed over her drink. She was interested in good service. There were at least twice as many people in the party than was usual for a Saturday night at Mario’s.
“No problem, I can’t take my eyes off him either. How do you work here without going nuts?” The big nosed girl stared at Mario in approval as she spoke.
Shannon laughed in response. She was being pathetically obvious if this drunk girl could see her staring. “Oh, he’s too old for me.” She said, her standard response.
Big Nose looked at Shannon in disbelief. “Too old? He looks just about right to me, however old he is.” She finished off her drink with just a couple of swallows.
“It’s too bad for us though, he clearly prefers Olivia. I bet she goes home with him tonight.”
Shannon almost dropped the glass she was filling. As the dunk girl went on and on she had noticed the one who must be Olivia. Mario was paying her specific attention. Leaning closer to her, talking lower. Clearly enjoying whatever she was saying to him.
“Good for him.” She huffed. She shoved the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind her.
Yvonne was mopping the kitchen. Shannon stormed in, her face bright red.
“Its just sickening, isn’t it? I swear they all get this way after fourty. I guess it is just as well you never married him.” The floor was taking the same abuse the pots had.
Shannon had the drivers’ licenses in her apron pocket. It was the Restaurante’s little way of ensuring a sober driver or a taxi cab. She flipped through them, finding the one for Olivia.
“For the love, she’s only 23 year old.” Shannon said with apparent disgust.
Of course Mario was behind her as she said it.
“Impressivo, no? I may be found wanting by more mature women but there are still ladies who find me worth their time.” He stood with his shoulder squared, like a toreador about to conquer a bull. Shannon would have laughed if she hadn’t hate him at that moment.
She couldn’t’ believe he was gloating. She felt sick. But she forebear to say anything else. She filled her bucket with bleach and water and grabbed a rag. She slipped all of the licenses into his hand as she shoved passed him. Let him deal with the drunks.
The ladies of the party paid Mario personally while Shannon began to clear the dining room. As they were leaving the tall, pouty lipped, and ever so slightly drunk Olivia made a personal goodbye to Mario. She didn’t bother to whisper.
“You call me at that number Mario. We’re all staying over at the Casino on the res. I’ll go straight to my room and be a good girl while I wait for you to call.” Then she had the nerve to kiss him—on the lips—before she left. There wasn’t anything about that kiss that said she was saying goodbye.
Yvonne quit for the night when she saw the kiss. She just stopped where she was, grabbed her purse and left. Bernie was beside himself with enjoyment of the show. He had been wondering who would crack first, the old bitter one or the young one. He really thought Shannon would be the one to throw the first fit. But that Yvonne was a dark horse, always surprising a man.
Shannon slammed and stomped and stormed her way through the night’s work. Mario whistled and looked like a rooster with his choice of the hen house. What had been a cozy domestic scene for years on end now was less than just a night’s work. Shannon wanted to get out of there.
She was shrugging her coat on when Mario approached her. In addition to his being very flattered by the attention of the very attractive girl he was pleased to see obvious signs of jealousy in Shannon.
“I mean this sincerely Shannon. If someone is who is worthy will not have me, should I not seek love where I can find it?” He looked deep into her eyes. He thought maybe this was a good time for him to truly move on. But as always, he was leaving that up to her.
“Go seek whatever you want. Since when have I made it my business?” Her voice was cold but her eyes were bright with tears that she held in check. Her will power, bent to deny her pleasure, astounded him.
“The day eventually comes, querida, when the thing you have been counting on is gone, If you come for it too late.” She gave him no response so he turned away and began to shut down the till.
She walked out the front door and locked it behind her. It wasn’t far to her house but she was more than half way there before she let the tears slide down her cheeks. She was too old for this nonsense. Let Mario fall in love with that drunk girl. Let him marry her, if that’s what he wants. She wanted to prefer not to marry.
And that was all in her mind when Sra Gomez called. Overwhelmed by the stress her mother caused her and abandoned by Mario. She didn’t know where he was tonight. But if he wasn’t at home she had a pretty good guess.
After he got the place shut down he poured himself a drink. Scotch, the same his father had developed a taste for in England. How did he justify all these years of devotion to a woman who constantly rejected him? It was an easy way to live, he supposed. But hard to explain. Scars of divorce don’t disappear overnight. He supposed it was just easier to believe he could only love Shannon than to risk his heart on a relationship that could go somewhere and then end. He had a second drink. God that kiss had felt good. In fact, it felt like something he could use some more of.
He didn’t call Olivia. He drove to the casino and found her. True to her word, she was waiting for his call.
Olivia was a particularly smart young woman. She knew Mario would be worth waiting for.
They met in the lobby by the massive stone fireplace. She approved when he said they had already had enough to drink.
Back in her room, Olivia was mystified at what had gone wrong. An amazing man. A great conversation. A romantic fireplace. But here she was alone again.
It was hours after midnight. Shannon was still up. There was no rest for her mind that night. She didn’t’ bother trying to sleep. The doorbell rang. It was Mario.
He had deep shadows under his eyes. He was the picture of heart break.
Shannon sighed deeply.
Before she could speak he wrapped her in his arms and took great comfort from the hug. A deep and satisfying embrace.
He pulled away and slumped down in an armchair. “Please don’t send me away. I have enough to be ashamed of already. I am a great fool, amiga.”
Shannon slipped into the kitchen to pour him a cup of tea. She could hear him but was so hopeful and so afraid that she didn’t want to look at him.
“She was her high school track coach. Mi Linda. Mi Linda was that girl’s high school track coach. Long after Linda divorced me that girl was her student. I am so ashamed—such a fool of an old man.”
Shannon’s heart sank. He hadn’t come running to her to beg one more time for her love. She brought him his cup of tea.
“That’s some coincidence.” She didn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. She sat back down in the chair where she had been drowning her own self pity and picked up her mug of tea.
“But maybe it was no coincidence. God would use this to humble me in my pride. To show an old man that he had stepped out of line. It has been fifteen years since Linda left me. It is hard to live without love for that long, once you have had it.” He was using her as a sounding board to sort out his own mixed up feelings. She felt like telling him to find himself a priest if he wanted a confession. Except, she didn’t’ want him to leave.
“By love, you mean sex.” She blushed a little when she said it, but she was tired of his euphemisms. “You mean to say you didn’t have honest intentions when you went out there. That’s not unheard of in a grown man.” She offered him no sympathy. She was really jealous in fact, that he had indecent intentions for that chit but had never had them for her. “What am I supposed to know about any of that, Mario? I’ve never been married.”
He turned his eyes towards her and searched her face. Yes, he did mean sex. But he also meant having permission to love someone. There was a reproach in her voice. He expected that, of course. But there was more. She was so truly miserable.
“But what man has not made a fool of himself in and effort to marry you? Has not every soul in this town tried to win your heart?” He couldn’t imagine the man that wasn’t in love with Shannon.
Shannon chuckled bitterly. In fact, she had become Mario’s property to that whole town so early that no one else had even asked her out.
“I’m on the shelf Mario. Past my sell by date.”
“You have got to tell me, just this one time, what on earth you have got against me?” It wasn’t a question Mario would have asked sober. But it was exactly what he wanted to know. With every fiber of his being, it was what he wanted to know.
Shannon did not have the benefit of alcohol to cloud her reason. She had only sought comfort form her Tetley that night. So she thought very carefully before she answered him.
“I don’t want to go to church and I don’t want to be second choice.” She choked a little on her words. That was the honest answer after all this time. After knowing Mario through and through and honestly loving him she wouldn’t accept his love in return because she would be his second choice.
His face registered deep hurt. Anguish. Once again he was being punished for having loved Linda.
Before he could speak she said more. “Jenny is not my Father’s true love. My mom is. Jenny was his second choice. If he could have had my mom back, he would. How must it feel to be Jenny? I don’t want to be in her place. To be the next best thing.”
Mario also took a moment to think. But he did speak. “This sounds still like the little girl who dreams her parents would reunite.”
“Yes” . She knew she was going to cry. She was thirty-four years old and she still wanted her parents to reunite so badly.
“Have you spoken to your father about Jenny? I believe he loves her very deeply. Finding love with Jenny was a great solace to your father, a comfort, a new love. This is what it is for a man to love again. It is a healing. It is a miracle.”
“I don’t believe in miracles.” The Coushay Center people didn’t believe in miracles either. At least they had something right.
“Oh, mi Channon. What will it take for you to surrender to love? Not to my love. You have made that clear enough. But the love of God. Have you never heard this true and heartbreaking story before? Surely you have not heard it and gone away unmoved.” Mario put aside his night’s embarrassment. The eternity of his dear friend was invaluable. More important by far than a girl and a kiss and an ex-wife.
“Let me tell you about the love of God.”
She turned her big eyes to him. She knew that he would not lie to her. Perhaps he was deluded. Perhaps it was a delusion she needed as well.
He told her the simple story. The God who created mankind for love. The love that we all reject when we get the first chance. He told her about the father who sacrificed his son to give us a new chance for this love of God. He stayed in his chair as he spoke. But he wasn’t slumped any longer. He leaned forward intensely towards her and told her the one thing, the only thing that sustained the Gomez family through their tremendous loss. The ever present love of their God.
She listened intently. Perhaps she had heard it before. But Mario, he really believed it. And Sra Gomez. But the Dr? A more broken and hard man would be hard to find.
“Oh Mario. Could it really be true? But if it is true…how could your father be so miserable still?” She scarcely dared ask it, in case the answer ruined the moment.
“It is truth itself, querida Channon. And my father has this truth as the only strength to sustain him day by day. He faces insurmountable problems daily. He carries them all as his burden, because so many people have no where else to turn. He has only his Lord to keep him from utter despair.”
It was the honest answer and it was enough. “I believe it Mario. I believe it.”
He got up from his chair and knelt beside hers. He prayed for her.
“Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day out daily bread. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. For thine be the glory and power forever. Amen.” In his overwhelming joy he may have gotten some of the words wrong. But it was well with his soul and well for Shannon now.
She whispered, “amen.”
