“I’ve lived the past eighteen years just fine this way.” Thank you very much.
“Of course you have, dear. But remember, no matter what has happened in your life, God still wants to have a relationship with you. He’s knocking at your door. All you have to do is open it.”
God wanted to get to know me better? Fat chance. In a rash move, I said, “If God exists, he doesn’t want me.” There, the other half of the puzzle lay on the table.
She looked perplexed.
“I haven’t been a very good person,” I said. A woman like Emily couldn’t begin to understand.
Her face glowed with sympathy. “We’re all sinners.”
I hated that word. “Not my mother. She’s not a sinner.”
“Dear, we’re all cut from the same bolt of cloth. That’s just the way we’re made. The good news is, the Lord has promised that if we confess our sins and repent of them, he will forgive us and will wash us clean, the way I often whiten my wool before I spin it.”
As we wandered into the next room to view an exhibit of Chinese ceramics, Emily started talking about a poetry class she’d taken, as if the previous topic had been the most natural in the world. “We should sign up for another art class together,” she said. “Would you be interested?”
In spite of all her preachy talk about God, I longed to know her better. “Yes, I’d go if you were there.” As long as there was a new teacher.
“Great, I’ll look forward to it. When you’re my age, you start losing your friends. It’s hard to let go, but you have no choice. That’s why it’s good to have younger friends—like you.”
“And I need a friend like you, too.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” She clasped me in her arms, then stood back and said, “I’m afraid I need to be on my way. I’m babysitting the grandkids today.”
“Sounds like fun, and I should get to work.”
“We must do this again soon.”
“Sure,” I said. “We could try the Frye Museum, and have lunch afterward.”
Strolling toward the exit, we passed a Ming Dynasty scroll and several earthenware statues we discovered were tomb attendants. We stepped outside the building and headed down the walkway. I’d intended to spend the afternoon at the office, but as Emily got into her car and drove away, I decided to take a closer look at the Black Sun. From the museum side of the street, I could see the far-off Space Needle rising behind the polished granite sculpture and through the nine-foot hole in its center.
A sporty roadster slowed to let me cross. In the middle of the street, my cell phone warbled. I quickened my pace while reaching into my purse, then pressed the phone against my ear and said hello.
“It’s Lois.” Her voice sounded fragile—no trace of its usual brassy self-confidence. She was the last person I expected to hear from.
“Marguerite, I need to tell you something you may already know.”
A couple sat chatting at the base of the sculpture; I stepped out of their earshot. “You don’t need to say anything.”
“Yes, I do. No more secrets. I’m an alcoholic, an out-of-control drunk. The burden of keeping that fact hidden has been almost as bad as the booze. You know what I mean?”
“Yes.” I knew what it was like to shoulder a secret weighing more than this massive sculpture. “How can I help?”
“If Stephanie gave you those files, you’re already helping me.”
As I walked around to the back of the Black Sun to view the reservoir below, I filled Lois in on what I’d accomplished so far. With my persuasion and some rather clever recommendations for carpet and paint colors, the Henricks had made an offer on the home they had viewed months earlier. Their offer accepted, the couple was acting like a pair of chickadees ready to build a new nest. Also, the Basettis had found themselves in first place for the house they wanted, and the man who needed to verify his income finally showed up with tax returns for the last three years, proving he was financially solvent.
“The only person I haven’t spoken to is Darla Bennett.” Speaking her name was like biting into rock salt, sucking the moisture right out of my mouth.
“I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here,” she said. “Life’s too short to fawn over people who don’t treat you with respect. If Darla bugs you, let someone else in the office handle her.” She laughed, almost sounding like herself again. “I can’t believe I said that.” Her voice turned serious again. “By the way, if anything closes while I’m gone, I want you to keep the commission, one hundred percent.”
“No, we’ll split the money, just like we planned.”
“You’d still want me for a partner?”
“As long as you stay sober.” My vision traveled to the far-off horizon; I saw a slice of Elliot Bay, and behind it, craggy mountain peaks.
“When are you coming back to work?” I asked.
“I’m in here for twenty-eight days, so it’ll be three more weeks, maybe longer. In the meantime please pray for me. Part of this process is admitting I’m powerless over my alcoholism and turning to God to restore my sanity.”
“Good luck,” I said, knowing it was unlikely I would be doing any praying. “Let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”
The sky was darkening, and the air tasted thick. I started back toward my car by way of a lily pond. The small body of water seemed the picture of tranquility. I envisioned Emily’s peaceful face. Was it really God who gave her the courage to go on after her husband’s death? If so, then why hadn’t he shown up for me? I’d begged him to make Phil sober and to save our marriage. Where was he when my father cheated on Mom? Where was he the night
