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F2K Story

by Stella Whitlock

A Pastoral Call

The phone on the kitchen wall rang, and Susan stopped trying to spoon strained peaches into Alan’s mouth. “Hello,” she said, eager for adult contact.

“Susan. How are you?”

Susan’s heart pounded. She recognized the deep mellow voice and remembered what she had done in church yesterday.

“Fine,” she said automatically. “And you?”

“A little surprised, actually. The treasurer brought me the request card that you dropped in the offering plate. What’s up?”

There was a long pause.

“Susan? You still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.

“Well, since you checked the box requesting a visit from your minister, I was wondering if this afternoon would be a good time to come?”

“This afternoon?” Susan hesitated. That card was a silly impulse, but she’d heard from other church members what a good counselor he was.

“Maybe not today,” she said. “I’ve still got to put Alan and Jill down for their naps, and they’re not even finished lunch yet. And Heather’ll be home from school at three. I don’t think there’ll be time…”

“How about two o’clock?” he suggested. “Would that work?”

She thought fast. After all, she had filled out that card. If he was willing to take time to come, how could she refuse? Anyway, maybe talking with him could somehow help her.

“All right,” she agreed. “Two o’clock.”

Susan hung up the phone. What have I done, she wondered, returning absent-mindedly to Alan and the peaches. Could he possible understand?

She pushed a straying lock of hair from her damp forehead.

“Come on, Alan, open up,” she said. “Um, um, good!” She held the spoonful of strained peaches up to Alan’s mouth, which remained stubbornly closed. When she touched his lips with the spoon, he twisted his head sideways.

“Me eat it,” offered two-year-old Jill, reaching her chubby fingers up to Alan’s bowl. Pureed peaches splashed everywhere—on Alan, on Jill, on Susan, on the floor.

Susan got a dishcloth from the sink, where egg-encrusted breakfast dishes were still stacked, and mopped at the mess. She scrubbed the children, the highchair, and the floor.

“Come on, Jill—nap time. You, too, Alan,” she said, lifting the tray of the highchair and gathering Alan in her arms. Jill followed her upstairs, clutching Tweetsie tightly. Tweetsie was almost bald from years of vigorous loving, but Jill couldn’t sleep without him.

After changing Alan’s diaper and reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar to Jill, Susan raced down the stairs to give the house a surface cleaning, but then the doorbell rang, and she rushed to answer it before it woke the children.

“Hello,” Susan said, out of breath. She stood in the doorway looking at him.

“Hello,” he said. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he smiled and asked, “May I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, opening the screen door. How stupid of me, she thought, feeling blood rise in her cheeks. This whole idea is stupid. In fact, it’s not going to do any good, and it may make matters worse. I should probably keep my mouth shut. Playing games isn’t the answer.

They walked into the living room. He sat by the picture window, where the glare made it difficult for Susan to see his face. She looked at him and started to speak but stopped and looked away.

There was a long silence. He put his right foot across his left knee and shifted restlessly. He’s as uncomfortable as I am, she realized.

Finally he spoke. “Susan, you checked the box marked ‘I would appreciate a visit from the pastor.’ So here I am. Is there something special you want to talk about?”

He waited.

Still she didn’t speak. Oh, God, what can I say? How can I tell him my feelings?

He tried again. “Well, I’m here. I’m ready to listen. Is there something you want to discuss?”

“Yes,” she managed to say. She paused. “But this is very hard for me. I’m not used to talking about my private problems.”

“Everyone has problems, and sometimes it helps to get them out in the open.”

The kindness in his voice reassured her, and she decided to take the plunge. “It’s my marriage,” she blurted out.

“Your marriage?” His eyes widened. “But what…? I mean…. I thought everything….”

Silence again.

“Things just aren’t going very well right now,” she said.

He looked bewildered. “Not going well?”

She tried again. “I don’t think either of us is happy with the way things are between us.”

In the shadows, his face was still. He spoke slowly. “What do you mean by ‘the way things are’?”

“Mainly that we don’t talk much. And we don’t have any time together.”

He sat quietly, waiting.

“He’s hardly ever home anymore,” she went on. “He’s at his office all day and has meetings scheduled on most nights. I hardly ever see him. Even on the rare nights that he plans to spend with the family, if someone calls and needs him for something, he just gets up and leaves us.”

“You sound hurt by this,” he said slowly. “Have you told him how you feel?”

“I am hurt. And the children are, too.” The words were beginning to flow more freely now. “It was especially bad on Christmas Eve. We’d finished dinner and were just sitting around the tree to open gifts. The children were excited and happy.”

Susan paused, and continued in a strained voice. “Then the phone rang and he left. By the time he got back, over two hours later, the children were tired and everything was spoiled.”

“Susan, I know he wanted very much to be with you and the children on Christmas Eve. It had to have been a serious emergency for him to leave at such a time.”

“Well, he said it was serious. But he wouldn’t talk about it. Like everything else, it was ‘confidential.’”

The words were pouring out now. “And that’s just one example. He even missed Heather’s graduation from kindergarten for some ‘emergency.’ The children and I always take second place to his work. And that hurts.”

“Susan, you and the children are more important than anything else in the world,” he said. “Surely you must know that.”

“Well, I can’t tell it. And he and I can’t seem to tell each other in words how we really feel. I get so lonely sometimes I could die.” Her voice began to shake.

“When I quit working full time to take care of the children, I never imagined how isolated my life would be. I love all three of them, but I get so hungry for someone to talk to, to share things with. It’s just too much for me to handle alone.” She stopped to draw a breath.

“I had no idea you were so unhappy, Susan. You always seem so strong and efficient. Everyone in the church knows they can count on you.”

“Sure. ‘Good ole Susan.’ But I’m not strong and efficient. I can’t get everything done, I’m never caught up, and I can’t meet his standards. Much as I love them, I’m tired of spending all my time alone with children. They need their father, and I need my husband.”

Susan stopped for breath, and he sat in stunned silence. She went on more slowly. “I feel guilty about resenting the time he spends at work. I know how important it is, and I want to be more supportive.”

He reached out and took her hand in his. “Susan, I’m sorry you’re in such pain, but I’m glad you put that request card in the offering plate.”

“I’m glad, too, now,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “But I sure was worried at first. I didn’t know how you…”

Beep, beep! The school bus signaled its arrival. Susan jumped and looked at her watch. “They’re early today!” she exclaimed.

He rose quickly. “Susan, there’s more we need to talk about. From now on, though, it’ll be easier. We won’t have to play games.”

Just then, the door burst open and Heather catapulted into the room. “Mommy, Mommy! Guess what! I’m gonna be a witch in the Halloween play and I need my costume tomorrow and it’s at two o’clock and you can bring Jill and Alan and…”

Her breathless monologue stopped when she spotted the minister standing there. She stared in astonishment. Then she blurted out, “Daddy! What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?”

“But is today Saturday?” she asked, puzzled, snuggling against his chest.

“No, honey, it’s Monday

“Then what are you doing home?” Heather persisted.

“I came to talk with your mother,” he said. He smiled at Susan, and the promise in his eyes warmed her heart. “I’m going to be home a lot more often now. Would you like that?”

“Sure, Daddy!” Heather said, planting a kiss on her father’s cheek.

F2K: an Introduction to Creative Writing teaches the basics of fiction writing. Since 1995, R.J. Hembree's free six-week course has helped thousands of writers from around the world. Writer’s Digest has selected F2K as one of the best sites for writers. F2K has three objectives: To help beginning writers learn the basic terminology of fiction writing (a good refresher for experienced writers too). Writers will also find the elements of fiction useful in non-fiction or poetry. To encourage writers to habitually write without fear. To give writers a chance to meet and develop friendships with writers from around the world. At the end of each session, F2K sponsors a short story contest. Students who post all six assignments are eligible to enter. Each mentor chooses a finalist from his/her room. The finalists' poll is open to the general public for voting. Read the past finalist stories at: http://fiction.4-writers.com/past-f2k-contest-stories.shtml