Echoes Read Free Page B

needed to ask questions. To collect all the facts.
    Lauren changed into her most comfortable cotton pajamas and curled up on her flowery sofa. With a pad of paper and pen in hand, she began to list all her options. One of the columns bore the title, “New York.” She had been there three times: Once during her childhood to visit her great-aunt Clarita, who lived in a ritzy apartment; and twice during her teen years—one trip to visit her ailing great-aunt and another trip three months later for Aunt Clarita’s funeral. None of her New York excursions had been enjoyable.
    Except maybe the second trip, when she and her only sibling, her younger brother Bradley, had been taken to the theater to see
The Phantom of the Opera
. That was a wonderful, memorable night. She was sixteen, almost seventeen, and as innocent as the musical’s character Christine. Brad bought the cassette tape, and together they listened to it over and over during the following year.
    Then Lauren had gone off to college in California. It was a small, private Christian college, and not a single person she met there had seen
The Phantom
. She enjoyed her pinch of sophistication, as if she and Brad (or as she had nicknamed him, “Rad”) shared something the rest of her world was not privy to.
    In the “New York” column on her pad of paper, Lauren wrote, “Culture—theater, museums.”
    For two hours she worked on her list, skipping dinner and letting her answering machine pick up the two calls that came in. Finally, when she couldn’t think of anything else to add in the “pro” or “con” columns, she sat back and took a look. The “cons” outnumbered the “pros” about four to one.
    “The fact of the matter is,” she said aloud, practicing how she would present her conclusions to Jeff tomorrow night, “I don’t think I’m a New York type of person. Not just in regard to living in the city but even life as a commuting family. That’s not what I want. I don’t like New York or the idea of New York and I …” Her steam sputtered out.
    Lauren padded in her slippers to the kitchen and searched for something to eat in the fridge. She was hungry for Chinese food but settled for a half-full carton of non-fat cottage cheese. “That’s another thing, Jeff,” she continued her imaginary conversation. “Why do we always have to go to Giovanni’s? I like Chinese food, and you don’t; so we never get Chinese. We always end up where you want to go. What if I don’t like Italiananymore? Would we still eat there because you like it?
    “What do I like?” Lauren asked herself, finishing off the cottage cheese and tossing the container in the trash. “I don’t know what I like anymore.” She thought for a long, silent minute and said aloud, “I think I need a cat.”
    She had never owned a cat while she was growing up because her step-father said he was allergic to them. The real reason, she was sure, was that he hated cats. The allergy excuse served as a cover-up. Having been deprived of a kitten in childhood, this seemed a good time to obtain one. Lauren didn’t know if Jeff liked cats. She would ask him tomorrow night. Maybe if they had to live in an apartment in New York, it would be okay if she had a kitten. One of those fluffy ones.
    What am I saying? “If” I lived in New York? Two minutes ago it wasn’t even an option!
    All the mental debating exhausted Lauren. She headed for bed and in the dark silence of her room whispered her evening prayers. A cheerful chorus of crickets serenaded outside her open window, and a summer breeze, fragrant from the blooming honeysuckle along the back fence of the apartment complex, soothed her to sleep.
    In the morning she still didn’t have an answer for Jeff. She had prayed her heart out while she dressed, and on the way to work. All her words bounced off the heavens. What Lauren longed for was an echo of reassurance from God that everything was going to turn out okay, that Jeff was