“Where will she go?”
“She said she can stay in her house for the next couple of weeks. It’ll take her that long to pack everything. Then she is going to move in with her mother.”
“My heart is breaking. Those poor kids. Losing your dad is bad enough, but leaving your friends and moving schools on top of it is awful.”
“I know. Do you think there is something we can do?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going by to see her this afternoon. I’ll ask.”
“Do you want to pray?”
She stayed and listened to their prayer. They left not long after, but she stayed frozen in her spot.
That morning she passed a neighbor who casually waved. A well-meaning co-worker smiled and patted her on the back. Her boss reminded her to check the schedule, and she saw he cut her hours. Everyone knew, but no one cared. She had slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. She leaned against the wall and sighed. Her resolve broke, and she slid. She eyeballed the floor through tears not yet shed realizing she was about to be seated on it. She could almost hear her mother’s better-than attitude, “Don’t touch anything in a public restroom.” Partly in defiance and partly because she just didn’t care, she slid down that wall until she sat on the floor. For a second she paused waiting to see if she combusted or if any other horrible thing happened instantaneously from the monstrous germs with which she shared the floor. Nothing. Her eyes closed. And she cried. And cried.
In desperation, she tossed, “God, does anybody care about anybody but themselves? If so, I’d like to see one!” And then she went to lunch.
She had been drawn to them when she walked in. The lunch crowd hadn’t landed so open tables were everywhere. But she chose the one closest to these women. Something about them. They never even looked up. They were engrossed in conversation as she sat, her back to them in the very next booth.
To be continued on Monday….