“You had a step-sister?” I asked.

            She nodded and told me she’d said enough. Her people were dead, and she didn’t want to talk about them.  

            I never met anyone from your grandmother’s side of the family; all I knew about her family was hidden in that armoire. Here’s another odd thing: she’d come over and go through every drawer in our house, but she left the armoire alone. I’m not saying she was afraid of it—I once caught her rubbing at something on the inside of the door—but mostly, she left it alone. I was the one who stacked our winter sweaters in the drawers, and I knew the forms hidden under them would be safe.

            Now that I wasn’t crazy anymore, I was filling the space inside me with plans, changes, goals. I was going to move us to Clovington, enroll in Burnell, enroll the three of you in a good school in a nice neighborhood, and after getting a degree in music education, I’d get a job. Maybe, someday, not so close that I dwelt on it, another man might come into my life, but he’d have to drop from the sky because I wasn’t looking.

            My plans were altered by time. A simple word, but a dangerous ally. What we do in a minute can change lives. And what I did on impulse altered mine.

            I had a lot of time on my hands before fall, almost an entire summer. I’d looked in the phone book for realtors, and on the very day I’d decided to go with Pilgrim Realty, Harold Brickman died. You probably don’t remember him. He was a quiet man, a bachelor, who’d been a member of Glorious Life Pentecostal all his life. He ran an insurance business and lived in town without being a part of it; outwardly friendly but silent about his life. The contents of his will moved the earth under Harshbarger Mills. He was worth a fortune in cash and bonds, and all had been made over to the church for the Glory of God. 

            The Board of Deacons decided to renovate the church. They also decided to buy an organ, and when Andrea Veach heard that, she said she was going back to the Presbyterians. I was called and asked to fill my former position, starting with a revival, and I agreed. Tick tock, clock stopped. I honestly didn’t think I was doing myself any damage because I no longer believed. My hollowness was nearly full. Then, I found a bottle of whiskey Samy had kept for colds, dissolving rock candy into it. Samy had been a pretty healthy guy, so the bottle was nearly full. I put ice and Dr. Pepper in a glass and added the whiskey. I nearly choked, but after the coughing, I took small sips. When that glass was gone, I filled another, then another, and settled in front of the television. As the whiskey warmed my belly, the last of my hollowness left. I sat smiling, watching a game show, and knowing my lonely days were gone.

            Amen. 

©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved by the author.