Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [17]
The server brought their meals at that point, placing cheery, bright-colored crocks of steaming soups before them and adding a large basket of assorted warm rolls and muffins. As enticing as the array of food looked and smelled, the scene was out of sync with reality.
Once their server was gone, a palpable awkwardness descended over them. Maureen looked around the table, seeking an answer to the unspoken question, Who would volunteer to pray? Emilie certainly wouldn’t be expected to—she was the one they needed to pray for. Maureen took in Vanessa’s fussing with her napkin, signaling that she had no intention of venturing into that abyss. And Sherry nonchalantly picked up her spoon and ladled the hot soup, indicating her desire to skip the ritual.
“I suppose we ought to pray,” Maureen offered. Emilie and Sherry avoided her eyes, but Vanessa shot her a look of relieved gratefulness. Maureen closed her eyes and bowed her head, acquiescing. “Lord, I pray now for our friend, Emilie. We love her so much and we … we hurt with our dear friend. Please comfort her, God. And please bring Ed back to you. Back to Emilie and the children. In your name, amen.”
By evading questions or giving barely perceptible, one-word answers, Emilie communicated that she was ready to change the subject. So the three labored to talk about the everyday events of their lives. What was safe. What mattered not at all.
Most uncharacteristically, they soon ran out of things to say. Everything else seems so trivial in comparison, thought Maureen—and so they picked at their food, tearing small bites of bread, sipping a little soup. The food grew cold in their lack of hunger and interest, the soup turning bland, the bread growing stale. And then a sense of unspoken agreement guided their friendship as they nearly simultaneously pushed plates aside; it was the signal that they—all but one—needed to be on their separate ways. To the routines that made up their lives. After all the times they had sought distance and escape from the duties they faced, by eating in a quaint little café such as this one, it suddenly struck Vanessa, Sherry, and Maureen that it was the routine itself that made up the very essence of life. Ironically, it was that sameness they all unknowingly craved and clung to for one reason: security. And Emilie, they knew, had been brutally stripped of every bit.
The three of them looked at her, seeking her permission, it appeared, to be dismissed. But Emilie remained lost in her own thoughts, looking stricken as she suddenly took in the reality that never again would look the same for her.
They hugged one another in the parking lot. Emilie responded as if by rote, her senses dulled and her face blank. More than anything else, Emilie’s joyless spirit broke her friends’ hearts. Rarely did they share a time with each other when Emilie’s laugh didn’t ring out through a restaurant or park or the other places they’d gathered. In the past, the loud honking might have embarrassed them, but today they realized how precious it was. An essential thread that wove through their lives, binding them together—one of Emilie’s unique contributions to the Gang of Four. Each felt set adrift without that symbol of joy.
They continued to cling to each other, desperately wanting to do something, anything to help Emilie. They peppered her with suggestions. Can we bring in meals? Babysit the kids? Contact our pastor—or a lawyer?
But despite their insistence, Emilie said at this point there was nothing she needed or wanted them to do. Besides pray. “And don’t you see?” she pointed out, simply. “It’s cooking, laundry, and even having the kids right there, underfoot, that I need right now. Anything to help keep me busy. Busy enough that I don’t think too much. Or feel too much.”
They reassured her repeatedly of their love and prayers, their desire that Emilie call them tomorrow, emphasizing to call whenever she needed them. Each took a turn pulling her into a firm hug—all but Maureen making a point to look into Emilie’s eyes before parting—and then they sent