Chapter 7
Emryn
Today was my last final for the summer semester, and it finally feels like I can breathe. I have four weeks until the fall semester but haven’t decided if I’m returning.
Maybe it means I quit when things get hard, but I also don’t want my family to come last—and right now, it feels like they are.
Avery has been quiet and withdrawn for weeks, and when she isn’t, she’s grumpy. I’m trying to be patient because I know she’s going through a lot, but I’m at my wit’s end.
The post office looms ahead. There’s a check sitting in the seat beside me that needs to be sent out to a vendor, and even though I would love to go home, it has to be sent out today. So, I flick on my signal light and then groan when I see the amount of cars in the parking lot.
So much for a quick trip.
The parking lot is packed with cars that I recognize, mostly from older women in town who I know will talk my ear off if given the chance.
On a normal day, I wouldn’t mind. I like listening to these women tell their stories, even if they do offer unsolicited advice most of the time. But today was rough. I felt wholly unprepared for that final I just took, and Avery was crying when I left this morning. It’s all I could think about while I was testing.
Sniffing and trying to hold back the tears the memory of her face brings to my eyes, I pull into a parking space and shut off the engine.
I clear my throat and square my shoulders before I grab the envelope off my seat and shove open my door.
Walking across the parking lot feels like walking across a desert. The door is so close and yet so far away. And when I finally make it, the metal handle is chilled against my skin. With a fortifying breath, I yank it open and step in.
The bell jingles above the door, and six sets of eyes find mine, including Mrs. Evert—the pastor’s wife who is as eccentric and brilliant as Einstein.
“Oh, Emryn. It’s so nice to see you. It’s been a month of Sundays.”
I can’t help but giggle. The woman is dramatic. She saw me last Sunday at church.
“Mrs. Evert,” I greet, offering her a polite smile.
The other women around her watch our interaction, eyes bouncing between us, dying for some gossip, but I just smile politely back at them.
“How’s the planning going for that vow renewal of yours?” One of the women behind Mrs. Evert asks.
I wince.
Mrs. Della Ray Humes.
She’s the nosiest woman in the whole town—biggest gossip, too. Tell her a secret, and it’s all over town within a minute.
“Oh, we’re making progress,” I say, not wanting to tell her everything that has gone wrong with the planning just this week.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Besides my dress not fitting, I’ve also had to put off making the centerpieces for finals. The caterer had a mix-up with the food we ordered, and there are a hundred other things that I haven’t even gotten to yet.
“I heard you’re doing your own flower arrangements,” Another of the women pipes up, snarling her nose in disgust. “Poor Mabel down at the flower shop was distraught about that one.”
I press my lips into a polite smile, breathing through my nose. “Yes, we are using the wildflowers that surround our house. They are sentimental for us, and Avery is excited about helping with the arrangements.”
“Is it true you’re having BBQ for the reception?”
“Will Brooks’s father be in attendance?”
“What venue are you using? Something local, I hope.”
The questions come at me faster than I can process, and my whole body freezes in place, a heavy weight sitting on my chest.
I know they have good intentions, but right now, those questions feel more pointed than anything.
Tears swell in my eyes, and I berate myself for getting upset over something trivial. My eyelashes flutter against my cheek, trying to prevent tears from falling. The clock behind the women chimes, and I zero in on it, giving me a focus point.
A warm hand lands on my arm and squeezes. Dropping my gaze, I find Mrs. Evert offering me a gentle smile.
Her hair is green today, reminding me of warm summer days. There’s a knowing look in her eye as she looks at me, and when she smiles, my chest doesn’t feel like an elephant is weighing down on it.
I love this woman. She’s become an important part of my life.
“Ladies,” Mrs. Evert says sternly, turning to look at them. Her brows are narrowed as she clucks her tongue. “I think we’ve asked enough questions for today. Go about your business.”
To my surprise, the group disperses, with only a few ladies grumbling about Mrs. Evert being bossy.
And once they are gone, Mrs. Evert turns back to me, concern wrinkling the corner of her eyes. “There’s sweet tea and strawberry shortcake at my house. I’ll see you there in ten minutes.”
Then she walks away, not giving me a chance to say no.
______________________
It takes me nine minutes instead of ten to get to Mrs. Evert’s house. Even though I debated not coming, I’m not stupid enough to turn down a piece of her strawberry shortcake.
She’s sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, waiting for me, when I pull into her drive, just like she was a year ago when she gave me the first piece of advice that started to change my marriage for the better.
We’d sat here that day, and she’d demanded that I go on a date with my husband. I was afraid of losing Brooks more than I already had, but I took her advice. And there hasn’t been a day that’s passed that I regretted it.
The rocking chair creaks against the wooden porch, rocking back and forth as I walk up the stairs.
“Am I getting a friendly lecture with this piece of cake, too?” I ask good-naturedly.
Her lips part into a smile, one that is born of years of scheming. “You know me too well, darling girl.”
I sigh, sinking into the rocking chair beside her. “I thought so.”
“Let’s start with what’s got you down in the dumps, and then I can offer my sage advice.”
My rocking chair creaks with hers, and I run my hand over the wood of the armrest, praying I don’t get a splinter. “We might be here all day.”
She laughs, a sound almost as crazy as her hair. “Good thing I’ve got the time, then.”
For a moment, my lips lift in a smile, the lightness of her laugh seeping into me, but then I remember Avery’s face as she cried this morning and my smile falls.
“I just can’t help but wonder if I’m making the wrong decisions.”
“Decisions for the vow renewal?”
I shake my head. “No. Yes. A little.”
“That’s a lot of uncertainty in that statement.”
The snort I let out is anything but lady-like. “That’s because that’s all I am—uncertain. I wanted this vow renewal because I wanted to celebrate this new phase in mine and Brooks’s life, but now I can’t help but wonder if it’s just causing extra stress—taking away from where my focus really needs to be.”
“And where do you think it should be?” Mrs. Evert asks, reaching over and handing me a slice of her cake.
I take it from her, picking up the fork and shoveling some of it into my mouth. The sweetness of the strawberries fills my mouth with a burst of flavor, and if I wasn’t so worried about my daughter, this might have solved all my problems.
“At home with my daughter. She’s struggling right now, and I can’t help her if I’m not around.”
“What is she struggling with?”
“Brooks’s Dad is sick—we just don’t know how bad yet, and she’s—she’s angry in a way I’ve never seen her before. It scares me.”
Mrs. Evert hums, pushing her toes up and down on the ground. The sound is comforting in a way I didn’t know I needed it to be. “You know—I know a lot of people who make anger out to be a bad thing, but they just aren’t right.”
The older woman doesn’t notice me staring at her or the confusion pulling my brows together. She just goes right on rocking and sipping on her sweet tea.
“I’m afraid you lost me, Ma’am.”
She waves a hand at me as if shooing off a fly. “What have I told you about that ma’am nonsense?”
“To not call you that?” I ask like it’s actually a question.
Setting her tea down, she turns her head to me, giving me a stern, motherly stare before continuing. “Anger isn’t a bad thing. I would say it’s rather healthy and natural. It’s when we bottle that anger up and let it eat at us that it becomes bad. Don’t let her bottle it up. Talk to her about it, and let her talk to you. But don’t ask her not to feel it. We all have a right to be angry sometimes. We just don’t have a right to stew in it.”
A million different ways I’ve been angry in my lifetime flit through my head. Mrs. Evert is right. There were moments when I needed my anger, but each time I sat in that anger, things began to fall apart.
“I think you’re right,” I say, taking another bite of the cake on my plate.
Mrs. Evert grins. “I usually am, dear, but could you maybe tell my husband that.”
My laugh is like a breath of fresh air. “Yeah. I’ll make sure to tell Pastor Evert next weekend at church.”
She pats my hand. “That’s all I ask.”