Read Online The Scarlet Thread by Francine Rivers - Free Book Online
Authors: Francine Rivers
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said, clearly proud
of the game he had created. “Steve said they’ll be sending out
trial copies to game reviewers around the country by the middle
of next week.”
“What if they don’t like it?”
“They will. Look, honey, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a call coming
in, and I’m right in the middle of something important. We’ll talk
tonight.”
He hung up before she could utter a word. She held the silent
receiver and felt more bereft than when she’d called. Why had
she bothered? He was always busy and it was always important.
More important than she was, anyway.
Celebrating. He hadn’t even bothered to share the news with
her. La Serre. Classy. Expensive.
Angry, she took a package of frozen hamburger from the
refrigerator freezer and tossed it on the counter. She’d fix
spaghetti again. It was easy, and the children loved it.
Turning on the television, she set the basket of clean laundry
in front of her. She had made a habit of doing the wash right after
she dropped the children off for school, and then saving the folding for now. At least then she could overcome her feelings of
guilt for watching a soap opera. She plunked down on the sofa
and began folding T-shirts, towels, and underwear while watching the episode unfolding before her. She used to scorn soap
5 8
T H E
W I L D E R N E S S
operas. Now she found solace in them. For an hour, she could
forget how miserable she was and lose herself in the convoluted
lives of television characters. Their problems were more tragic
and complex than hers, their passions a lot more exciting. How
many times had Erica Kane been married anyway?
The laundry was folded and set aside well before the third
commercial promoting some new feminine hygiene product. She
put the towels and clothing away. Sitting down again, she kicked
her bare feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa.
She should be doing something. But what?
They’d been living in this apartment house for three months,
and she didn’t even know the family next door. She knew they
had children. The little boy ran along the corridor right outside
the living room window a dozen times every day, even when it
was raining. And there was that woman down on the first floor
who peered out her curtains all the time and then ducked back in
when someone chanced to notice her. What was her problem
anyway?
Sierra didn’t want to find out. There were twenty apartments
in this complex, and she didn’t know a single soul living in one
of them. Everyone protected their privacy. They probably had
guns in their side tables. She remembered having a phone conversation with her mother, in which her mother said, “Reach
out, Sierra. You can never tell who God has just waiting for you
to say hello.” So she’d said hello to one woman who came into
the laundry room, and the woman had barely acknowledged
her attempt at friendliness. She just dumped diapers into one of
the washing machines, poured in soap, twirled the controls, and
left.
Rebuffed, Sierra didn’t make the attempt again. If God had
someone waiting for her, he’d have to tell them to make the first
move.
She didn’t leave the sofa until the credits were rolling, and
5 9
T H E
S C A R L E T
T H R E A D
then clicked off the television. Collecting her things, she went
out the door. She had it all perfectly timed. If she left immediately after the soap opera, she’d pull into Carolyn and Clanton’s
school just as the other children were boarding school buses.
The kids pleaded for McDonald’s on the way home, and Sierra gave in. She didn’t feel like making spaghetti anyway, and
Alex had already said he wouldn’t be hungry. Something light.
Fine. She’d stop by the grocery store and pick up packaged salad
fixings and dressing.
She straightened up the kitchen while the children settled at
the table to do their homework and talk about their day at
school. At least they were making new
of the game he had created. “Steve said they’ll be sending out
trial copies to game reviewers around the country by the middle
of next week.”
“What if they don’t like it?”
“They will. Look, honey, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a call coming
in, and I’m right in the middle of something important. We’ll talk
tonight.”
He hung up before she could utter a word. She held the silent
receiver and felt more bereft than when she’d called. Why had
she bothered? He was always busy and it was always important.
More important than she was, anyway.
Celebrating. He hadn’t even bothered to share the news with
her. La Serre. Classy. Expensive.
Angry, she took a package of frozen hamburger from the
refrigerator freezer and tossed it on the counter. She’d fix
spaghetti again. It was easy, and the children loved it.
Turning on the television, she set the basket of clean laundry
in front of her. She had made a habit of doing the wash right after
she dropped the children off for school, and then saving the folding for now. At least then she could overcome her feelings of
guilt for watching a soap opera. She plunked down on the sofa
and began folding T-shirts, towels, and underwear while watching the episode unfolding before her. She used to scorn soap
5 8
T H E
W I L D E R N E S S
operas. Now she found solace in them. For an hour, she could
forget how miserable she was and lose herself in the convoluted
lives of television characters. Their problems were more tragic
and complex than hers, their passions a lot more exciting. How
many times had Erica Kane been married anyway?
The laundry was folded and set aside well before the third
commercial promoting some new feminine hygiene product. She
put the towels and clothing away. Sitting down again, she kicked
her bare feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa.
She should be doing something. But what?
They’d been living in this apartment house for three months,
and she didn’t even know the family next door. She knew they
had children. The little boy ran along the corridor right outside
the living room window a dozen times every day, even when it
was raining. And there was that woman down on the first floor
who peered out her curtains all the time and then ducked back in
when someone chanced to notice her. What was her problem
anyway?
Sierra didn’t want to find out. There were twenty apartments
in this complex, and she didn’t know a single soul living in one
of them. Everyone protected their privacy. They probably had
guns in their side tables. She remembered having a phone conversation with her mother, in which her mother said, “Reach
out, Sierra. You can never tell who God has just waiting for you
to say hello.” So she’d said hello to one woman who came into
the laundry room, and the woman had barely acknowledged
her attempt at friendliness. She just dumped diapers into one of
the washing machines, poured in soap, twirled the controls, and
left.
Rebuffed, Sierra didn’t make the attempt again. If God had
someone waiting for her, he’d have to tell them to make the first
move.
She didn’t leave the sofa until the credits were rolling, and
5 9
T H E
S C A R L E T
T H R E A D
then clicked off the television. Collecting her things, she went
out the door. She had it all perfectly timed. If she left immediately after the soap opera, she’d pull into Carolyn and Clanton’s
school just as the other children were boarding school buses.
The kids pleaded for McDonald’s on the way home, and Sierra gave in. She didn’t feel like making spaghetti anyway, and
Alex had already said he wouldn’t be hungry. Something light.
Fine. She’d stop by the grocery store and pick up packaged salad
fixings and dressing.
She straightened up the kitchen while the children settled at
the table to do their homework and talk about their day at
school. At least they were making new
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