Angie Mitchell was not feeling very fortunate to have Andy as a husband, not at this particular moment anyway. He’d been in a bad mood ever since he’d come home from the church. He’d rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a Moon Pie and a glass of raw cider, and escaped to the back yard. She wished he would stop drinking that stuff. The danger of bacteria always haunted her. And eating that Moon Pie would kill his appetite for supper. Silas’ death, even though he’d known it was coming, had not prepared him for the actual event. But there seemed to be something else bothering him. Getting him to open up was more than just a challenge. At times it was just a plain impossibility, and she was honestly tired of making the effort. She had tried to come to terms with the hurt that Silas’ relationship with Andy had caused, but now his death had brought the submerged pain again to the surface. Angie had yearned for such a bond with her husband, and had always believed that with Silas’ entrance into their lives, the possibility had died. Silas had always stood between them like a wall. She pulled a casserole from the oven, and turning to the window, saw Andy standing at the back fence, head lowered on his arms. His hair was tinted a rusty gold from the last rays of the evening sun, and the silent scene she was viewing, settled the turbulence of her bitter thoughts.
Always unexpected, but so very precious to her, was the peace that now descended. She breathed deeply, allowing her mind to clear. This was not a time to worry about what might have been. She finished setting the table, and, stepping on to the porch, called to him. He took slow strides toward her.
“Becky called,” she said as he came through the back door.
“How’s she doing?”
“Fine. She wanted to know if she should come home for the funeral.”
“Tuscaloosa’s too far. She doesn’t need to miss classes,” he replied, settling down at the table and saying a quick blessing.
Angie handed him the roast beef. “She wanted to know how you’re doing,” she said quietly.
“What did do you tell her?” he inquired, his eyes suddenly reddening.
She watched him as he leaned forward, his fingers pressing into the table’s edge.
“I told her that her daddy needed her,” she whispered.
Andy abruptly reached across the table and grasped her hand. She looked up from his tightening grip. His look pierced her.
“She’ll be in later this evening,” she said unevenly. “You want to eat now?”
His clutch tightened more.
“Andy?”
Tears were streaming down his face. She stood up quickly, and crossed to him. Kneeling beside him, she wrapped her arms around his heaving shoulders.
“Angie...”
“Shh… Shh…,” she comforted.
“I can’t do this tomorrow.”
“Shh…, Andy, “she whispered, gently swaying back and forth with him, as she had with Becky as a child.
He tried to speak, but only choked on each word. As if each labored breath would be his last, he made the effort again. Her arms tightened around him, and as she soothed him, he finally spoke about Silas. Once begun, the depth of his agony overwhelmed Angie, who quietly wept, her heart also shredded, yet at the same time grateful for the miracle that was taking place in her arms.
No comments:
Post a Comment