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He caught her by the shoulders before she could move past him and gave her a sharp shake. "And how is being less than who I am going to help?"
"I don't know," she shouted. "But I can't figure out how you being dead is going to make things any better. Can you?"
At his tight look, she bolted, hurrying up the path back toward his house. Yeah, she'd go, because she needed to get away from him and think some. It wasn't until she was in his place, packing her overnight bag, that she remembered he'd driven her here. Well, fuck that. She'd call a cab if she had to do so.
Then she heard his truck starting. Moving to the window, she saw the vehicle trundling up the gravel drive. What the hell?
A knock on the door resolved that question. When she opened it, Betty stood there with a pained smile on her lined face. "He said since I ruined your morning, the least I could do is give you a ride back to your place. He figured you weren't interested in riding with him."
"I think the reverse is true. But he's being an asshole. You didn't ruin my morning. Maybe I can get the answers from you he won't give to me." At Betty's hesitant look, Julie shot her a dubious look. "Really? You're going to resort to being tightlipped now? I'm here, I'm interested, and I want to help. "
Betty's green eyes sparked with grim humor. "I think I'm starting to like you."
"Well, don't make any hasty decisions. I'm in a really bitchy mood."
"That's why I know we'll get along."
By the time Betty dropped her o
ff at the theater, Julie had rethought wanting to be told the things she was told. Desmond had fought this battle all his life, struggling against myriad complications that had stacked the odds against him, over and over. He and his body had overcome those challenges each time, often with great personal cost. His erratic health history had interfered not only with relationships, but with college and career choices. It had impacted unexpected things, like getting business loans approved, and less unexpected things, like medical costs and insurance coverage.
It made her understand better the brick wall of dark emotion she'd hit, the frustration that had made so much of what he said initially seem insensible. He was fighting with himself now, and she hadn't know which questions to ask or the things to say to help him untangle it. She'd been too focused on her own personal cost. So first she had to deal with that, right?
She tried working, but she couldn't. She told Harris in a voice she knew was suspiciously choked up that she had to go out for a while, and she wasn't sure when she'd be back. She got in her car and drove without clear purpose, but she wasn't surprised to see where she ended up.
She walked into the empty church, relieved to find it unlocked and her the only person in the nave. She had no idea what denomination it was. The white clapboard structure had beds of petunias and pansies on the outside, so it had felt welcoming.
As she walked down the main aisle, she soaked in the hushed, calming energy, and studied the blocks of color on the stained glass windows. She wondered why so many churches used stained glass, what the history was behind that. She'd have to look it up.
Her gaze went to the plain wooden cross mounted over an altar up front. More fresh flowers were gathered at its base. As she slipped into a pew, the simple beauty of it caused tears to well up in her eyes. That, and Betty's words.
Renal failure... He seems mostly fine, but that's the way kidney failure can be... Several months at most before he has to start dialysis... Prognosis for the effectiveness of dialysis differs from person to person... Attitude is everything... He refuses a kidney...
She was weeping, and she hated being weepy. She much preferred to be angry.
"I finally have someone who loves me the way I always dreamed about being loved, and You want to take him away. What did I ever do to You that You hate me so much?"
Her voice echoed through the chamber. Normally she spoke in a low voice in a church, like everyone else. But she wanted to be heard. She demanded to be heard. She glared at the cross. Everything here was supposed to be soothing and comforting, but it all felt like a mockery. She'd debated religion in countless coffee shops with lofty cynicism and academic boredom, but when it came to facing the foxhole, she was like anyone else. She was a child blindly seeking comfort... Or a lost adult realizing all the wishful thinking for an attentive, loving Divine Force was just that.
No. No. It wasn't wishful thinking. Rainbows and flowers, summer storms that electrified the sky, lizards that could look exactly like the plants on which they were resting. All the complexity of the human anatomy and musicals like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Camelot and Man of La Mancha. Those things didn't come out of a void.
She had a great life, she knew she did. She shouldn't feel this way. But it didn't matter. She was going to have it out with Him, Her, It, and she'd do it on Their home turf.
"What kind of sadistic asshole are You?" she demanded. "Sure, Julie, you can have the prince, but just not for long? What is your fucking problem? And why would You do this to Des? This great guy who's just...he's so wonderful..."
"Miss?"
She turned to see a middle-aged black man with a kind face. He wore jeans and an Oxford shirt in a pale lavender color, but he had that air that told her he was one of the pastors here, lack of robes or collar notwithstanding.
"This is between Him and me," she snapped. "It's a private conversation. Did anyone ask you to butt in?"
The minister eyed her. "A conversation conducted at the top of your admirably strong lungs?"
She blinked, realizing the echoes of her last syllables were still vibrating off the walls. She had been yelling. "Oh. Sorry." She wasn't. Her fists were clenched and her throat was tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I just need to sit here for a while. Um, can I still sit here?"
"Would you like someone to sit with you?" he asked.
It was such a compassionate offer, the tears spilled out, but she shook her head. "I think I just have to think it through. I promise I won't scream anymore."
