10

Myrtie Johnson could teach us all a thing or two about hospitality. When riffraff preying on storm victims broke into her house over the weekend, she offered them a cup of coffee and invited them to church. "I knew they were hurting like the rest of us," she said. She reports she was not very happy, however, when they took her new flat-screen TV.

—The Green News Item

My one-week wedding anniversary had arrived. It felt like a decade had passed.

"I have a gift for you," Chris said as we sat on the patio at the Lakeside Motel drinking coffee, the morning air cool, the sun barely up. These chats were precious, rare times alone with Chris when we weren't completely worn out.

"How in the world could you have gotten me a gift?" I reached over and grabbed his left hand, rubbing his wedding band. "You've been volunteering around the clock, and there are hardly any stores open." I paused and smiled. "You got me something at the Dollar Hut, didn't you? That pair of scissors I wanted."

Since the house had blown away, I had scrounged for the most basic items. Every time I turned around I needed something I didn't have, an annoying feeling that often led to melancholy.

"Give a guy a little more credit than that," he said. "How about a kiss?"

"Now that's a gift I can get into," I said, kissing him.

"I'll be right back," he said.

He opened the door to his pickup, which creaked like the hinge was about to break, and pulled out a wadded up towel.

"Is that one of my towels?" I asked. "From the house?"

"Found it two hundred yards away from the house site," he said. "There's something in it for you."

I unwrapped the towel to find a piece of my green pottery collection, a gift from Chris when he thought I was leaving town. A pitcher, it had belonged to his grandmother and had been made on Route Two. This was by far the most prized of all the pieces I had collected through the years.

"It's in perfect condition." My voice trembled. "How is that possible?"

"It reminds me of my wife," he said. "Strong and beautiful."

"You're trying to make me cry, aren't you?"

"I hoped it would bring a smile to your face," he said.

"I guess I should go out there and look around again," I said. "But it makes me sad to think about it."

"That pottery's about the only thing worth saving out there.Most everything was either broken or got ruined by the rain."

"This is a treasure." I held up the piece of pottery. "Some things do last forever."

"Like us," he said.

"Like us."

At the paper an hour later, I ushered the staff to my office.

"It's been a week today," I said. "You all need a break."

"Your marriage has been a real whirlwind," Tammy said, one of a near constant string of jokes.

"She's blown away by your remarks," Katy said.

Wedding plus tornado seemed to equal humor material in most people's minds. I also knew that the jokes took our minds off the pain.

"The insane hours you're working are getting to you," I said."You need time off."

"We want to do what we've been doing," Alex said. "Beating the pants off the competition and making a name for The Green News-Item."

"Don't you mean making a name for yourself?" Katy asked."I've seen you talking to those people from Baton Rouge and New Orleans."

"Like you've been talking to all those television people?" Alex shot back. "Maybe you're thinking newspapers aren't good enough for you any more."

"Alex, Katy. Stop. Now."

"Whatever we do, we've got to keep the bank balance in mind," Iris said. "The tornado has cost us a lot of money."

"I hoped we could do a special keepsake edition in a month or so," Tammy said. "Combine reader contributions with the best of our material."

"I might be able to sell advertising for that," Linda said."Businesses have to spread the word that they're alive and well. Plus we have all the roofing contractors and insurance companies and contractors hitting town."

"At some point . . ." I said and had to clear my throat, the words hung there. "At some point, we have to talk about longterm plans."

I looked around the room and fidgeted with my wedding ring.

"Katy and Molly are going off to college," I said. "That's only four months or so. Tammy's getting married. We haven't said a word about Tom."

A look of sadness crossed the faces of the group as I moved my eyes around the table.

"We never even got to say good-bye to him," Katy said."Life's been such a zoo that it doesn't seem real."

"I keep thinking he'll come back and need a word for a puzzle or be making a sculpture out of toothpicks or another of his weird projects," Linda said.

"Or fussing at me for using 'affect' instead of 'effect,' " Alex said.

"Maybe we could have a service for him," Iris Jo said.

"Tom would hate a funeral," Molly said. "He'd roll over in his—" She stopped when she realized what she was saying.

"Lois, you want us to take a break from the newsroom today, right?" Katy asked.

"No question."

"What if we had a party for Tom? He liked our get-togethers out at your house."

"I don't have a house. I guess we could do it at the Lakeside."At times I forgot that the house was gone. A couple of evenings I had started driving that way after work before remembering that I lived at a motel. At other times the loss was right at the surface.

"Why not out where your house was?" Katy asked.

I turned to Iris. "Is this too weird? Is it too soon?"

"Tom liked weird," she said with her gentle smile.

"It can be a modified memorial service," Linda said. "It's a beautiful time of year to be outdoors."

"Should we invite—" My voice trailed off, and I pointed in the direction of the newsroom where two or three visiting journalists were working.

"Why not?" Tammy said. "Let's ask Kevin and Walt and anyone who wants to come. The more the merrier."

"Let me clear it with Chris, and you all come up with plans.I need to do paperwork and I'll handle the online updates."

As they left, I moaned softly before I called Chris. Everything seemed like too much. I never finished one thing until I had something else to do.

"It's hard to let Tom go, isn't it?" Iris said from the door.

"Harder than I would have believed," I said. "He was part of my daily life."

"We're blessed in so many ways by the different people in our lives," she said. "Tom was the conscience of this paper for more than four decades."

"We've lost so much," I said. "Besides the tornado, there was my friend Ed, Aunt Helen and your Matt, and Chris lost Fran and—"

"Don't go there, Lois," Iris said quietly. "Think instead of the good, of how many people were spared, of your life in Green, your wonderful new husband."

"I'm thankful, but I think of Tom trying to save us, driving out to the church with that wind blowing him all over the place. If it weren't for me, maybe he would be alive."

"Lois, if it weren't for your wedding, how many other people might have died? I might have been in my house when that tree crashed through the roof or the Craigs might have been home when their house split in two. We can't know. We don't have to know."

Choked up, I picked up the office phone which rang endlessly since it had been repaired.

"I didn't know, Lois, oh, I just heard," a crying voice said on the other end. "Are you OK? Is Chris OK?"

It was Marti.

"We're making it," I said, "but it's been a very rough week."

"I can't believe I didn't know," she wailed. "We landed in New York a few minutes ago on our way back to Ohio. I saw the story on Mannix on a news show in the airport."

"Calm down, and I'll tell you all about it," I said. "It started at the wedding."

I met Chris at the house site before the other guests arrived, and he had another surprise for me—a porch swing on a stand, sitting in what used to be the front yard.

"Stan picked it up in Shreveport when he went up for supplies," he said with a smile. "You told me one time you never wanted to live anywhere again without a porch swing."

"We had some of our best moments in my old porch swing."I sat in the new swing. "I never knew it could be like this."

"Like what, sweetheart?"

"When I sit and visit with you, the cares of the world shrink."

"I feel the same way," Chris said.

We talked in the swing while the dogs played in the grass, as though they were happy to be home. Mannix was healing but clumsy and came to rest by us within a few minutes. Holly Beth, who had become his shadow, stayed close.

"Have you noticed anything different about Mannix?" Chris asked.

"You mean other than his big head because of all the attention he gets?"

"He doesn't bark anymore. He hasn't barked one time since he found Mr. Sepulvado. It's almost like after all that effort, he doesn't have anything to say."

I leaned over to pet Mannix. "You have the right to remain silent, sweet boy," I said.

"I sure am glad I married you," Chris said, draping his arm across the back of the swing.

"That was a great trip we had to Montana, wasn't it?" I asked.

"Hardly feels like we left at all. Have you thought anymore about where you want to live, Lois?"

"I'm not sure. When the dust settles, I guess we'll know.Right now we'd better get ready for our first party as a married couple—a funeral at our nonexistent house."

We set up two folding tables Chris had scrounged from his brothers and watched our guests pile out of pickups, SUVs, and cars, hauling covered dishes and lawn chairs. They looked more like they were going to a softball game than a memorial service. Gina, with a group of out-of-town journalists, arrived and mingled as though they had been part of the group forever, occasionally frowning as they swatted at mosquitoes. The smell of insect repellent hung in the air.

On a small plastic table borrowed from Pastor Jean, I made a display of a few of Tom's favorite things from his desk—a dog-eared dictionary, the copy of the newspaper with Katy's first byline, his green eyeshade, and an old picture-sizer that hadn't been used in years.

Iris Jo and Stan arrived together and stood hand in hand by the table, placing a Bible nearby, open to the Twenty-third Psalm. Katy read the passage aloud, her voice breaking when she came to the part about walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

Looking at the group assembled under the trees, she held up the Bible and swallowed hard. "I learned from Pastor Jean that life's easier when it's shared. She taught me that a rope is stronger when woven with multiple strands. I'm happy Tom was woven into my life, all of our lives, and that we can support one another."

She laid the Bible back on the table and hurried over to Molly. Her words soothed my ragged edges. "Katy may join you in the pulpit one of these days," I said to Jean. "She may turn out not to be a journalist after all."

As the night progressed, friends joked and told affectionate stories about Tom, such as the time he drove off from a gas pump with the hose still in his car, his editorial crusade against people who didn't use their blinkers, and how he planned his social outings around the due dates of library books.

"Remember when he got that black eye playing putt-putt? He blamed it on the windmill hole," Alex said. "Claimed the ball hit the blade and flew back at him."

"He pretended like he hated TV," Katy said, "but he watched Frasier reruns every night."

"And King of the Hill," Molly said. "He loved that show, even though he didn't seem like a cartoon kind of guy."

"Remember when I told him I was planning an 'apple and pewter' wedding?" Tammy asked. "I believe his exact words were, 'Would those be the colors formerly known as red and gray?' "

Individuals gathered, visiting, laughing and crying, feeling the copy editor's presence all around us. Kevin walked up behind me as I stood looking at the items from Tom's desk. She had arrived a few minutes earlier with Asa, who was playing a gleeful game of chase with Molly and Katy.

"He was special to you, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, and leaned against her shoulder. "Have you noticed how people come in and out of our lives, and we're never quite the same again?"

"Every life counts," Kevin said. "People live in many different ways and they touch us along the way."

"Speaking of special people, where's Terrence tonight?"

She pulled back slightly. "Terrence?"

"You know. Tall, handsome, attorney from Alexandria.Drives a fancy car. Brought you to my wedding a week ago."

"I doubt we'll see much more of him," she said.

I twisted my head and knew my face had a weird quizzical look. "Did he get a big case?"

"I'm not going to date him after all," Kevin said.

"I thought you were crazy about him."

"He's a fantastic man," she said, "but I can't put Asa through that."

"Through what?"

"Little A.C. lost his mother and sisters in that fire and then Papa Levi in the tornado. I can't risk letting him get close and then Terrence going away or us breaking up. It would break his heart."

"Are you thinking of Asa's heart or your own?"

"It's been a brutal week, Lois," Kevin said. "I can't talk about this right now."

"I know you've seen things this week that I can't even imagine, but don't give up on men because of it."

"I won't."

"He might not break your heart."

"He could."

"Sometimes hearts don't get broken. I'm living proof that there's someone for everyone."

"You can say that again," she said. "I'd better rescue those girls from my son and head back to the hospital."

I moseyed to the rear of the yard and kicked around in the late evening light, looking for a trace of anything left by the tornado. Spring night noises, eerie sounds of loud frogs and insects, alternated between making me happy and scaring me.I found nothing, except for the occasional shard of unrecognizable glass or twisted piece of metal.

Gina wandered up with a Diet Dr. Pepper and a homemade brownie Chris's mom had sent. "This is the best food I've ever tasted," she said. "Do people down here eat like this all the time?"

"All the time," I said. "Even better much of the time."

"If Zach doesn't send me home soon, I'll have to order new clothes."

"You could borrow some of mine," I said, "but I seem to be missing a few items."

"This is a beautiful spot," she said, with the look everyone got when they stared at the spot where the house had been."You lived out here?"

"For two years," I said. "It was a charming old cottage. The screened porch was there," I pointed. "The kitchen window was over here. It's hard to think that I stood at that window only a week ago."

"Will you and Chris build another house here?"

"I'm not sure. We haven't been up to discussing it in any detail. I suppose we'll either build here or buy a house on Bayou Lake."

"I've driven around the lake," she said. "It's posh. But this place is so secluded, special somehow. Your yard must have been spectacular."

"Old plants are the best," I said, "and I hope they survive.Most of those were planted by Helen McCuller, the woman who gave me this house."

"Someone gave you a house?"

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it? It started as a loaner, complete with rats, but when I decided to keep the newspaper, the house was a gift."

"I admire you, Lois," Gina said. "You did what most people only talk about. You broke away from the corporate world and made a whole new life."

"This was the right move for me, but it wouldn't be for everyone," I said. "Green has convinced me, though, that there is a right place for every single person."

We strolled as we talked, daylight nearly past. I kicked a sweet-gum ball, and Gina looked down and reached under a bush, pulling out a small book. It was my journal, the ink smeared and pages swollen. I flipped it open and found the delicate pink dogwood bloom.

"I put this in here the morning of my wedding," I said. "What in the world kept it from flying away with the tornado?"

"Maybe it was right where it was supposed to be," Gina said.