Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [101]
“I know we don’t have to. I just think it's best.”
Dad still held the bread basket like he’d float off somewhere if he let go. “Don’t you want to wait for Carl?”
“I’m sure his parents wouldn’t mind driving him home,” I said, as I took the keys from my husband. “Dad, let's go.” For a minute, I thought the bread basket might be going home with us. I was so hungry, I almost hoped it would. Dad set it on the table, then stood and shook hands with Landon and Carl and gave Gloria a brush-by kiss on her cheek.
“Well, good to see you, um, thanks. Maybe we’ll get together before I leave,” Dad said.
I slid my chair out. “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, thank you for everything.”
We waited quietly until the valet brought the car. Dad buckled in, reached over, and patted my back, “So, you and Carl are going to have a baby. That's great. That's great.”
I ordered pizza after we got home, then Dad and I watched a golf tournament Carl had TiVoed a few weeks ago.
At nine o’clock, I kissed Dad good night.
“I didn’t know Carl hadn’t told them yet, honey.”
“It's not your fault, Dad,” I told him and went to bed. I fell asleep before Carl arrived home.
41
On Saturday morning I had two legitimate reasons to leave Carl and my father alone. First, after the previous night, they deserved one another, and second, I was on my way to meet Molly for our Saturday walk.
With Molly and Devin focused on in vitro again, I’d hoped to postpone our baby news. But with Carl's job, AA, and his parents knowing, I wanted Molly to hear it from me before the gossip grapevine strangled her with the news.
“My thighs wiggled with anticipation all the way from the house,” I told Molly and hugged her, willing every ounce of gratitude I felt to seep through my skin and into hers. After a lifetime of struggling to define emotions, I hoped God created a way to give them physical forms in heaven. We could have guided tours: gratitude and joy on your right, peace and thanksgiving on your left. I’ve spent more time contemplating heaven now that I’ve included God in my contact list. Even before AA, I knew it was important to know where I was going; otherwise, how would I know if I’d arrived? In my meditation last week, I read a passage from Corinthians where Paul said that when Jesus returns, we’ll all have new bodies for heaven. What a spectacular going-away gift.
“I’m glad we’re doing this again,” she said. “I feel like we haven’t spent time together in years instead of weeks.”
“Crazy, huh? Summer's almost over. At least I’m not manic trying to get ready for school again. A one-year sabbatical was a brilliant idea.” I’d bent over to grab my ankles to stretch out when the baby reminded my digestive system s/he didn’t care for that position. I straightened my body and settled for side stretches instead.
“And whose idea was that?” Molly teased. She’d thought to mention it to Carl and me the first week of rehab.
Of course, being the consummate overachiever, I bristled. “I can handle sobriety and students,” I’d told her.
“Not the point. You have the time coming to you, take it. Why set yourself up for failure?” She bristled herself on that one.
I relented when I’d thought about using the time to take classes … not at the university, but yoga and cooking and spin. On this side of rehab, I couldn’t imagine preparing for school. Not to mention my extra cargo. And Carl's new job. I didn’t know it then, but now I realized God had spoken to me through Molly. I could just hear Him telling Mom, “She wouldn’t listen to me. No, of course not. What do I know? But Molly, she’d listen to. What's a God to do?”
I was glad we had the tree-shaded trail to escape the sweltering outdoor oven. No one joked about frying eggs on streets and sidewalks in the heat of a Texas August. We’d bring along bacon too. During the brain-boring summers when we were still too young to be double digits, Peter and I would dare one another to walk down the driveway. Barefooted. The prize for the one who reached the