Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [30]
Maureen stood on the boardwalk for a few moments and watched the men hosing down equipment, curiosity enticing her toward the railing. Those who went about their tasks were a class unto themselves: skin tanned and wrinkled from the sun, nonfussy clothes for ease of movement, hair tied back or tucked into stained hats faded to indistinguishable colors. They were all pleasant looking in their weathering, blending in with their boats, their livelihoods. The camouflage attire of the people of the sea.
Maureen turned toward the restaurant, but she just stood there, staring intently but not reaching for the door handle. She smoothed her hair, checked that her blouse was neatly tucked in, opened her purse to make sure she’d put the keys in the side pocket. Finally she took a deep breath and opened the door, the cool air hitting her face and bare arms like the icy blast from an opened freezer. She blinked her eyes, attempting to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and retreated a step, taken aback by the noise from within. Glasses and dishes clinking, voices attempting to be heard above the background din, elevator music all competed and joined together to create a raucous cacophony.
In response to a questioning look from the hostess, Maureen replied, “I’m looking for a party of three women?”
“Oh, yes. Follow me, please.”
The place was packed, and Maureen could barely keep up with the agile guide. She squeezed in between chairs at filled tables, dodged other customers, and cautiously passed servers with huge round trays mounded with salads, all types of steaming seafood, hush puppies—and all the pleasing smells associated with those dishes.
Just as Maureen warily passed a server with a particularly full-to-overflowing tray, she looked up to see a large window overlooking St. John’s Bay—the churning, white-capped waves, the blue sky beyond, the ocean itself. No matter how many times she’d gazed out over the gulf, Maureen still caught her breath at the initial glimpse of the panorama. She gave homage to that tableau before shifting her gaze to the three women who sat at the table beneath it.
Before she could say anything, Emilie jumped up and came around the table to her. Immediately hugged Maureen and then pulled back so they were face-to-face, giving her friend a reassuring look while whispering, “It’s okay.” And then Emilie announced to the other two, “Now. We’re all here so I can tell you what I told Maureen yesterday. You’ve probably guessed already … but here it is: Ed’s home. He’s moved back. Isn’t that the most wonderful news ever?”
Sherry’s jaw dropped in a round silent O, but Vanessa was gushing. “Oh, Em. I’ve prayed for this very thing to happen, and now I’m surprised that it has. That’s a lack of faith, isn’t it? I wasn’t really praying that he’d come straight home like this, but that’s simply wonderful and …” Vanessa’s voice dropped off when she noticed Emilie staring expectantly at Sherry.
“And you, Sherry?” Emilie asked, leaving the question open. Like bait in a trap.
“Well, I’m pleased for you, of course. Elated for the kids. But did I understand correctly? That he moved back in with you already?”
“Oh, yes. And I’ve forgiven him. Completely, just like Scripture tells us to do.”
Sherry’s eyes narrowed. Maureen felt sick to her stomach, the once-tempting smells around her now overbearingly strong.
“I think the Bible teaches forgiveness, absolutely,” Sherry calmly replied. “But it also talks about consequences—consequences for sin. Do you think Ed sinned, Emilie?”
Emilie and Sherry were directly across from one another, and their words had the effect of swordplay—attack, parry, jab, attack again. When Vanessa caught Maureen’s eye, they both had the look of frightened, unwilling bystanders.
“Yes, he did, Sherry. But just like the prodigal son was welcomed home, I’ve totally forgiven Ed.”
What Sherry did next took them all by surprise. She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs as though she were getting comfortable for a long session. It appeared