"That's at least eight dollars." Jack arches his brow, pokes at a lump in my hand.
There, like a freshly hatched egg, a tangle of coins and bills, a snarl, curled, rumpled, pressed and softened, the money, he had hunted it out of the four corners of his drawer.
"That's at least eight dollars," he says again, voice resplendent. I unfurl my fingers, count it with my eyes: a five, two ones, change. Lucy peeks around Jack's shoulder. "For Lucy's pants," he adds, "that she wrecked." She gazes at my face. He holds his eyebrows in that perfect arc.
I trace the crumpled bills, the linen-y green crushed around dimes and nickels, a penny, a quarter. I pull my eyes from the small heap in my palm, and there, Jack, face radiant, eyes splendorous blue.
In that split second of lucent blue, I see it. And then again in the shrug of his weightless shoulders when I say, "But don't you want to buy something with this?" Hope, hope unbending, the confidence of a man, all his boyish features hung on blink-less sacrifice. Love.
And so I look into his azure eyes and nod before he scampers off, Lucy in tow, adventure wild around their ankles. What could I do? I took the money. I tucked it away and memorized the resplendent resolve of his sacrifice.
3846. "It might be illegal for Myra to be a pirate," Jane oversees, "because you never hear about pirates in America. I mean it might have been ok a long time ago when Indians lived here, but not now."
"Wouldn't it be funny if the antichrist came to our house, " Lucy wrests the back door open, trots in from the henhouse, "and couldn't find anybody 'cause Jesus had snatched us up?" She grins, see-saws a buff egg in each hand.
She clomps a navy rain boot from each foot, lobs it onto a black tray masquerading as shoe mat. An egg cradled in each palm, her center of gravity recaptured, she presses one egg to her cheek. "Warm. Mom, it's still warm."
Myra bucks through the door. Lucy bobbles over the lip of the sunroom, "Myra, noooo. Watch out."
Lucy sidles past the lawyer desk, then stops, snuffles the egg, sniffs it again, whiffs and snuffs. "If you smell eggs they smell like chickens," she chirps. Trifle-sniff-snuff. "This one smells like poopy," she adds. Then gentle between fingertips, she delivers it to Craig.
All pluck and good cheer she trit-trots after Myra.
Trit-trot, trit-trot. Expectant, sanguine, the afternoon trails behind her in a wake.
3817. "Do you need one and a half cloves of butter for that?" Jack oversees the apple crisp recipe.
3818. I explain that women wear brassieres. "You wear unders on your ---," Lucy trails off, speechless.
3819. The Tuesday-girls decide to all take personality tests and compare.
3820. "She cried a little bit, not very loud, so I sang Jesus Loves Me. And she said, MY LEG HURT. so I rubbed her leg." Jane says when I ask if Myra woke up in the night.
3821. "How-yoo-ya. How-yoo-ya. How-yoo-ya," Myra belts out in Christmas bliss.
3822. I get to go running with Cerissa and my Dad on vacation, always a pleasure.
3823. A dear friend calls and we spur each other on in the promise-land of motherhood.
3824. "I'm really trying to think of it as a high and holy calling, not just a mundane task," she says, and I tuck it away like a banner to pull out later.
3825. The girls and I paint our fingernails and toes, 80 in all.
3826. We celebrate Thanksgiving with Craig's side of the family. Buoyant cheer, merrymaking, and joy, peace, kindness, sweet potatoes and blackberry pie. Unmerited grace.
3827. Running shoes. I find my favorite running shoes on a special sale. Love!
3828. I skip-de-doo past the arms of more sale racks and head straight home.
3829. "Even when I give you bad news I'm still building trust," Lucy concludes on telling the truth.
3830. PENPAL letters.
3831. Crockpot chickpeas.
3832. Crockpot black beans.
3833. As the tides of morality ebb and flow in this country, our Savior ever remains the same. Constant. Sure. Purity himself.
Us plus seven now. Family of nine.
Momma always said, "Make your own fun." I guess this is what she meant.
Join in the banter! Please leave a thought if you've stopped by. You all add richness to this journey.
Cheers! ~Bethany ~