Mourning Becomes Cassandra Read Online Free Page B

It would mean a longer walk, but it would also mean avoiding most people I knew. Our church had torn down its 50s-style A-frame recently and rebuilt as big a building as the city would allow—modern, with huge windows of greenish Northwest glass and a modest cross on top, so as not to frighten people like Daniel, who wanted to vomit when they thought of church. For the entire sixteen months it took to rebuild, we met in the Bellevue High School gym, where the sight of the basketball hoops and the smell of Cafeteria Lunches Past gave former alums like me similar urges to vomit when they thought of church. Already we were bursting at the seams again, causing longtime members to complain that they didn’t recognize anyone, but there’s nothing like a mega-church if your goal is to avoid people. You have only to change services to cut yourself adrift.
    Sure enough, besides throwing one wave across the parking lot to Dave and Sandy Lucker, I escaped unnoticed.
    • • •
    Phyl and Joanie were having a comfortable coze in the kitchen when I got home, Joanie still in sweats. Helping myself to coffee, I plunked down next to Phyl.
    “How was church?” Joanie asked. “I can’t believe you go to the early service! Do they have to remove half the pews to fit all the walkers and wheelchairs?”
    I blew on my coffee and reached for the half-and-half. “It wasn’t so bad. Just about everyone was ambulatory. I knew one of the hymns.”
    “Who preached?” Phyl asked in her gentle voice.
    “Some guy from Idaho. It was about service.”
    “Yuck and yuck!” yelled Joanie. “Maybe I won’t go tonight. Who needs more guilt? I still haven’t recovered from the time Chaff went to hand out sandwiches to the homeless, and I got Mr. Complainer who didn’t like turkey. Who knew homeless people were so picky?”
    “I had a nice conversation that time,” Phyl objected. “I met this lady with such a sad story, and I kept thinking, ‘This could be me.’”
    Joanie rolled her eyes. “Well, next time I’ll hit up the ladies. I’m sure Jesus would have told my guy to just choke down the damned sandwich and be grateful.”
    Phyl frowned. Before they could really get into it, I interjected hastily, “Speaking of Chaff, how was the hike yesterday? Was the cute new guy there?”
    Joanie took the bait. “YES! Only, it turns out James is a mere 27, so a lot of us circling sharks had to quit chomping at his cage—”
    “Joanie, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” Phyl protested. “How can anyone at YAF try to get to know anyone, if you’re always going to make it sound so predatory?”
    “But the good news is,” Joanie went on blithely, “James brought this friend—older friend—his old Sigma Nu big brother, I think—who is just as cute and just as cool, though unemployed.”
    “He already asked Joanie out, of course,” sighed Phyl.
    “He’s unemployed?” I asked skeptically. “Is he going to take you to the soup kitchen?”
    Joanie shrugged. “We may have to scrounge for sandwiches the homeless people reject, but at least he’s cute. And I said Roy was unemployed, not unemployable. Big difference.”
    “So when is this date happening?” I asked.
    “Coffee after church tonight,” Joanie replied. “Which means I guess I have to go so I can talk about it with him.”
    “Who got James, then?” I asked.
    “I think at least three women asked him out,” Phyl answered. “And I’m pretty sure he took Brooke Capshaw up on it.”
    “He had to,” Joanie said ruthlessly. “She’s short. He’s short.”
    “Shorter than you, Joanie,” I said. “Not everyone is almost six feet tall.”
    “Yeah, but I’d put him at max 5’8.””
    “He’s tall enough for you, Phyl,” I broke in again. “And you’re younger than Joanie and me—”
    “Hey, don’t lump us together,” Joanie protested. “You’re 32 and I’m only 29.”
    “Yes,” I agreed, “and Phyl is only, what, 28?”
    Phyl fidgeted and dumped