Read Online At the Scent of Water by Linda Nichols - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Nichols
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and would stop arguing about her.
They were ready for her when she came into the kitchen. Dov, a huge man, looked silly looming over the tiny dinette table, and Annie might have smiled another day. His name meant bear in Hebrew, and he reminded her of one with his huge bulk, his shaggy hair and beard, his ripe, round voice. It was deep and seemed to reverberate through his chest before it filled the room. “Good morning, Annie,” he said, the words vibrating toward her in musical waves.
“Good morning,” she answered, not meeting his eyes. She didn’t have the energy. Besides, she already knew she would leave today. She had never planned to stay here. Well, maybe she had hoped to stay for a while, but it didn’t really matter, did it? She felt no ill will toward either of them. She could not have any more emotion. No disappointment or pain at their reactions.
Her sister was unnaturally busy at the sink. She flashed Annie a too compassionate smile. “Here,” she said, handing her a cup of coffee doctored with sugar and cream the way she liked it.
“Sit down,” Dov said. “Have some breakfast.”
Annie sat down beside the high chair. Her sister’s baby smeared a banana across the tray. She could hear the sound of cartoons from the living room where her nephew watched television. She took a bite of eggs from the plate Theresa put down in front of her. She felt queasy and took a sip of coffee instead.
It was Sunday morning, and in the life she had left, they would have been going to church. She and Sam would have dressed up and gone there and sat among those good people and put on their church faces and listened intently and sung the praises of Him who does all things well. “Wonderful message,” they would have murmured at the door, pressing hands. And everything would have been a lie. She wondered if Theresa and Dov’s church was like that, too, full of liars in its own Messianic, foreign way. They went to church on Saturday, and Dov began the service by blowing on a ram’s horn. Her brother-in-law, the rabbi.
“Annie,” Dov spoke again. “Would you like to talk?”
Annie looked at him. His eyes were kind and soft, and she knew he meant her only good. In an ordinary situation he would have welcomed her for any length of time into their small apartment and busy lives. But this was no ordinary time.
“What has happened between you and Samuel?” he pressed. He pronounced Sam’s name the Hebrew way, Schmuel, and she almost smiled, thinking how hard it would be for southern ears to make sense of what he’d said, to relate it with the multiple syllables they made of Sam. And how like Dov to launch right in, but she supposed it made sense. He was a missionary with Jews for Jesus, and anyone who routinely broadsided strangers in the airport would have no trouble addressing the domestic troubles of his in-laws. She tried to imagine how it would feel now to walk up to a stranger standing in line to check their bags and ask them if they knew the Messiah. She had done things like that at one time with a wholehearted abandon that she doubted she would ever feel again. For anything. For anyone.
“Nothing happened,” she said, and it was the absolute truth. Nothing had happened. The counselor had said they should go away and “talk about their pain.” So they had dutifully gone, Sam even arranging unprecedented time off work in an effort to show her he was trying. She had rented a room at the Cape Hatteras Inn, and they had spent a grim two days there in silence, Sam staring at the floor and Annie looking at his stoic face, wondering when the volcano would erupt. When they arrived home, he had been paged to the hospital immediately. A child had needed him, and he had been almost giddy with relief. She had watched him drive away, seen the plume of dust remain after his departure and finally settle, and that’s when she had known she could not stay there any longer. She had made the brief foray into work,
They were ready for her when she came into the kitchen. Dov, a huge man, looked silly looming over the tiny dinette table, and Annie might have smiled another day. His name meant bear in Hebrew, and he reminded her of one with his huge bulk, his shaggy hair and beard, his ripe, round voice. It was deep and seemed to reverberate through his chest before it filled the room. “Good morning, Annie,” he said, the words vibrating toward her in musical waves.
“Good morning,” she answered, not meeting his eyes. She didn’t have the energy. Besides, she already knew she would leave today. She had never planned to stay here. Well, maybe she had hoped to stay for a while, but it didn’t really matter, did it? She felt no ill will toward either of them. She could not have any more emotion. No disappointment or pain at their reactions.
Her sister was unnaturally busy at the sink. She flashed Annie a too compassionate smile. “Here,” she said, handing her a cup of coffee doctored with sugar and cream the way she liked it.
“Sit down,” Dov said. “Have some breakfast.”
Annie sat down beside the high chair. Her sister’s baby smeared a banana across the tray. She could hear the sound of cartoons from the living room where her nephew watched television. She took a bite of eggs from the plate Theresa put down in front of her. She felt queasy and took a sip of coffee instead.
It was Sunday morning, and in the life she had left, they would have been going to church. She and Sam would have dressed up and gone there and sat among those good people and put on their church faces and listened intently and sung the praises of Him who does all things well. “Wonderful message,” they would have murmured at the door, pressing hands. And everything would have been a lie. She wondered if Theresa and Dov’s church was like that, too, full of liars in its own Messianic, foreign way. They went to church on Saturday, and Dov began the service by blowing on a ram’s horn. Her brother-in-law, the rabbi.
“Annie,” Dov spoke again. “Would you like to talk?”
Annie looked at him. His eyes were kind and soft, and she knew he meant her only good. In an ordinary situation he would have welcomed her for any length of time into their small apartment and busy lives. But this was no ordinary time.
“What has happened between you and Samuel?” he pressed. He pronounced Sam’s name the Hebrew way, Schmuel, and she almost smiled, thinking how hard it would be for southern ears to make sense of what he’d said, to relate it with the multiple syllables they made of Sam. And how like Dov to launch right in, but she supposed it made sense. He was a missionary with Jews for Jesus, and anyone who routinely broadsided strangers in the airport would have no trouble addressing the domestic troubles of his in-laws. She tried to imagine how it would feel now to walk up to a stranger standing in line to check their bags and ask them if they knew the Messiah. She had done things like that at one time with a wholehearted abandon that she doubted she would ever feel again. For anything. For anyone.
“Nothing happened,” she said, and it was the absolute truth. Nothing had happened. The counselor had said they should go away and “talk about their pain.” So they had dutifully gone, Sam even arranging unprecedented time off work in an effort to show her he was trying. She had rented a room at the Cape Hatteras Inn, and they had spent a grim two days there in silence, Sam staring at the floor and Annie looking at his stoic face, wondering when the volcano would erupt. When they arrived home, he had been paged to the hospital immediately. A child had needed him, and he had been almost giddy with relief. She had watched him drive away, seen the plume of dust remain after his departure and finally settle, and that’s when she had known she could not stay there any longer. She had made the brief foray into work,
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