Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [9]
Maureen groggily woke to the sound of the shower running. She lifted her head up, glanced at the clock, and groaned. Doesn’t it just figure? she fumed to herself as she scurried out of tangled covers. I toss and turn half the night, only to finally fall asleep about an hour before it’s time to wake up. She’d been sleeping so soundly that she hadn’t heard the alarm, and Bill—what was he thinking?—hadn’t awakened her.
She quickly made the bed, replacing the numerous scattered pillows in their proper places. After a trip to the bathroom and a hastily mumbled “good morning” to Bill, Maureen hurried toward the kitchen where she was soothed by the aroma coming from the pre-timed coffee pot. She poured herself a cup and walked over to the same window she looked out every morning—to view the bluebird house. Running late or not, she would still indulge in her daily ritual: a few sips of coffee and a check on the box. Still, nothing.
Bobo rose from his bed in the family room and scampered to her feet, cocking his head up at her. She slid open the door and once again pushed out the reluctant dog. Isn’t it appropriate that we have a dog who doesn’t even know what it wants to do? she thought to herself, shaking her head.
The combination of oversleeping and the need for an earlier departure felt like a guarantee that this morning would be especially hectic. Soon enough, Colleen woke with her attitude still firmly pronounced, and even Aubrey, normally a morning-loving child, was whiny and petulant. After Maureen offered her several outfits, which Aubrey summarily dismissed, mom and daughter finally agreed on a totally inappropriate shorts set. White top, white shorts. It was a disaster waiting to happen, but Maureen was not up to form for battles this morning.
Then Aubrey decided her booster seat was too sticky. Yesterday Maureen had made blueberry pancakes. Naturally, the syrup had flowed—pretty much everywhere. “Since when do you mind being sticky? It certainly wasn’t an issue yesterday,” Maureen reasoned with her. Then she discovered yet another disaster: The milk had turned sour.
Maureen’s one consolation was that the “Gang of Four,” as they called themselves, was going out to lunch. And yes, as Sherry would be sure to point out, they were quite aware of the origins of their namesake: the infamous Madam Mao and the three other senior leaders during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Sherry had majored in Chinese history (she had earned a master’s and a doctorate, the only one of the group to do so; Sherry was also the only one unmarried, having divorced several years ago), and it was she who had given them the moniker while in college. For whatever reason, it stuck.
Fast friends ever since those college years, they all still lived within an hour’s drive of each other. Though two members of the group were on the opposite side of town from Community Fellowship Church, they hadn’t ever considered attending elsewhere. They craved being together, laughing, chatting, sharing, commiserating when needed, and giggling like school girls. When Maureen first thought about working part-time at the Beadazzled jewelry shop, it was these three friends who prodded and encouraged her to apply. And then they had successfully plied her with numerous arguments why she should give the job a try when the position was offered to her—knowing Bill would oppose the idea. Turned out the two-mornings-a-week job was a mixed blessing—she enjoyed the creative outlet but was growing weary with the hours—but she still credited her friends for pushing her to try something new. For believing in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself. Now, as Maureen focused on the events of the day, she sighed audibly