Page 36 of The Light Year

“I’m an outsider,” she says. “I don’t come to your church on Sundays, and I don’t know anyone here but Carrie.”

“Youdidn’t,” he says, scooting an inch or two closer to her on the wooden pew. “But you do know us now.”

“That’s true,” Barbie says. From the kitchen, they hear Eartha’s big, loud, joyous laughter erupt and echo throughout the church.

Sam tips his head toward the laughter. “Miss Eartha has welcomed you with open arms, and if Eartha says you’re one of us,” he says, lowering his chin, “then you’re one of us.”

Barbie smiles at him warmly. “I appreciate that, Sam.” Without thinking, she puts her hand on top of his as they sit there in the pew, the only people in the nave, with just candlelight and the smell of pine and greenery all around them.

For a moment, Sam holds her gaze and leaves his hand beneath hers. In his eyes, Barbie sees desire and passion—though she knows it’s not for her. Sam’s entire being radiates with the desire to help others, and every time she’s in his presence, she can feel him burning with a passion for service and communion. In the same way her own brother has been following in her father’s footsteps, she can easily see Sam following in the big footsteps that Father Watkins has made here amongst their friends and neighbors.

“I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had, but I’m still working on it,” Barbie says as she slides her hand off of his and holds both hands in her lap again. “Do you think I could come back and meet with you after the holidays if it all comes together?”

“You can come back anytime, Barbara,” Sam says with a kind smile. “And I hope you will. You and your family are always invited to join us here, and I’d love to hear what ideas you have.”

Barbie is about to say more, but Carrie comes through the swinging doors at the end of the aisle then, wearing a wreath around her neck and holding a long string of tinsel over both shoulders as it streams down her arms and drags on the floor behind her.

“Barbie?” she calls out. “Oh, sorry.”

Barbie stands up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. “No, please don’t be. Sam and I were just talking about some ideas I have. What do you need?”

Carrie looks mildly frazzled. “I wanted to decorate the front door of the church,” she says. “But I need a ladder and a few more hands.”

Sam jumps up and claps his hands together. “I’ll get the ladder, and I’ll bring more hands. Let’s get this party started.”

Barbie stands in the nave for another long minute after Carrie and Sam have exited through the swinging doors, and she looks up at the wooden cross and at the stained-glass windows that depict the Virgin Mary with her hands pressed together in prayer. It’s as peaceful as she’s felt in weeks, and Barbie closes her eyes one more time, breathing it all in.

When she opens her eyes, she is indeed ready to get this party started, and so she makes her way to the kitchen, ready to roll up her sleeves yet again and do whatever Miss Eartha asks her to do.

bill

. . .

The holiday musiccomes to him as if through a long tunnel. Bill is sitting at a round table in the hangar at NASA, watching the children run around excitedly as their parents mingle and drink in their semi-formal evening wear.

Normally, NASA does a big Christmas or New Year’s party for adults only, but this year it’s more like an amusement park, with kids of all ages there to see Santa Claus, eat the hamburgers being delivered to tables by waitstaff in black pants and white shirts, and dance to the band on the small raised stage as they play jazzy renditions of “Let It Snow” and “Jingle Bell Rock.”

“Could you look any more glum?” Todd Roman stops next to Bill’s chair, smoking a cigarette as he watches his three boys race around the dance floor.

“What are we doing?” Bill looks up at Todd, waving a hand to blow the cigarette smoke in another direction. “This is mayhem.”

Todd shrugs. “We’re doing a family event to show that we enjoy our wives and children.” He watches with a smile as a girl of about ten or eleven picks up her younger brother and carries him piggyback-style to meet Santa.

“It looks like we’re raising a generation of heathens,” Bill says. “Do none of them have party manners?”

At this, Todd guffaws and pulls out a chair. He sits and reaches for the ashtray at the center of the table, tapping his ash into it. “Okay, Booker. What’s eating you?”

Bill puts his elbows on the table. “Nothing. I’m just in a terrible mood.”

Todd makes a faux shocked face and then shakes his head. “You don’t say.”

It occurs to Bill—briefly—that Todd might have concerns or problems of his own, but nothing in the way he acts at work ever lets on that the man has a dark side. For all Bill knows, Todd rests his head on his pillow at night with a smile on his face, drifting off to sleep with a perfectly contented wife at his side, and children, who he feels like he never lets down, slumbering peacefully down the hall.

Bill sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring down the mood.” He forces himself to sit up straighter. He reaches for the vodka tonic on the table and takes a swig. “I’ve had a rough year.”

Todd bursts out laughing at this. “You know,” he says. “I try to watch my language, especially when children are present, but no shit, Bill,” he says. The volume of his voice drops as he grows serious. “I know you’ve had a bad year. You know why? Because I have, too. You weren’t alone up there. I was there with you, spinning and feeling like our numbers had been called,” Todd says, holding the hand with the cigarette between his fingers up to the sky as he keeps his eyes on Bill’s face. “You’re not the only one who stared death in the face and then came back to Earth to smile and act like nothing happened. You do know that, right?”

Bill blinks at him a few times. “Sure. I know that,” he says, mildly chagrined.

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