Page 38 of Born to be Wilder

Marge chuckled, nudging me. “It’s a boat, Doris, not a confessional.”

They weren’t being unkind. They were having fun. They were genuinely impressed, genuinely engaged—more than I’d honestly expected—but they weren’t having an epiphany. They were treating it like a very large, very impressive museum.

Nobody was weeping. Nobody was looking around with the stunned expression of someone whose soul had just been rearranged. Nobody had pulled me aside to say, Doris, I think I feel something. This wasn’t the fruits of spiritual transformation I had been praying for.

By the time we reached the “Door of the Bible”—a massive glowing exhibit with a cross illuminated on it—my desperation had peaked.

This was it. The big one. The place of reverence believers like me truly felt in awe.

But would they feel it too?

Come on, God, I pleaded silently, clutching my rosary. This is it. This is the big one. Do it. Do it now! Fill them up. Please, God! Open their hearts before we hit the gift shop!

The exhibit was beautiful—the theology of a single door and its connection to the Gospel of John: I am the door. It highlighted how God, after shutting Noah’s family safely inside the Ark, ultimately offered that same door of rescue to everyone. I’d read about it online and known it would be the most moving part. I stood beside my widows and watched them, anticipation fluttering in my chest.

Alice looked at the light. Sylvie admired the craftsmanship. Marge checked her watch.

“Well, this was actually really cool, Doris! Great wish,” Marge said. “Looks like it took us two hours to finish, so if I speed a little on the highway later, we can spend an hour or two before we hit the road. Sylvie, you can get your camel ride, and then we’ll check out the petting zoo. I have an appointment with a kangaroo.”

She grinned as the other widows nodded in agreement.

My heart deflated like a punctured tire. I didn’t say a word, just followed behind them like my legs were filled with lead as we walked out the exit and straight into the bright, bustling gift shop.

As they perused the knickknacks, I struggled to understand why God had showed me the Ark adventure on that Google search. It had popped up as an ad, and I’d thought it had been a sign. How we were so close to it on my leg of the journey when I took over as captain. Like He was pointing Bertha straight toward it so I could lead them to salvation.

Instead, I led them to a gift shop where Sylvie held a small Ark miniature, wondering if it would look good on her Christmas tree.

I stopped dead in my tracks. A sob, jagged and hot, burst out of me.

Tears started to flow so fast that I could have caused another flood and floated away in this new Ark.

The girls were at my side in an instant.

“Doris, honey, what’s wrong?” Sylvie’s hand was on my back. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Did someone push you?” Marge’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the shoppers around us. “Tell me who hurt you. Him?” She pointed at an unassuming man browsing the biblical postcards. “Did he do something? I’ll shove him right down the manure dumper if he so much as touched you.”

I couldn’t answer, instead standing in the middle of the gift shop sobbing with my whole body and soul.

He glanced up, looked over both his shoulders, then pointed at himself.

“Yeah, you!” Marge growled. “Did you make her cry?”

He frantically shook his head and hurried away.

“Who the hell made her cry?” Marge directed to everyone in the vicinity, looking ready to throw down in front of the church group full of little girls in plaid skirts.

“Doris, please. What’s wrong?” Alice rubbed my arm.

“I… It… It didn’t work!” I wailed. “I... I failed!”

I didn’t care that a family of five likely from Ohio was staring at me.

“No one hurt you?” Marge asked, her voice softening.

“No,” I managed, wiping my nose. “No one hurt me.”

Her anger deflated instantly, and she heaved a heavy sigh. “Cripes. I thought some pervert got ahold of you when my back was turned.”