It took less than ten minutes to walk to Tracey’s apartment. Although the temperature was in the upper twenties, Millie and Molly decided some exercise would do them good.
They arrived early, like they had at the Woolworth Building last Monday when visiting Bird & Foley, Millie’s new employer. The Stratford Apartments, per Molly’s earlier research, was luxurious, unlike their own place.
As mother and daughter walked the circular drive, they marveled at the bubbling fountains, plentiful trees, and carefully sculpted gardens. Molly imagined, come spring, the landscaped areas would be home to colorful flowers and shrubs, and provide irresistible temptation to prospective tenants eager for high-style living, dining, and entertaining. Needed, of course, would be a flush bank account.
The building’s lobby was equally stunning: marble floors, high ceiling, and wood-paneled walls displaying what had to be expensive paintings. The middle-aged man sitting behind the centrally located, half-circular metallic counter greeted them with a “good evening, welcome to The Stratford.”
After a brief chat about the cooler weather, and signing the register, Millie and Molly rode a gold-plated elevator to the twelfth floor.
Tracey must have been close since she opened the door after Molly’s first knock.
“Hello and welcome, so glad you guys came.” Tracey, tall and slender, was even more beautiful than mother and daughter recalled from their first meeting on the Greyhound bus.
“Thanks for inviting us.” Molly said. Tracey noted that Millie, although smiling, seemed subdued.
“You have a beautiful place.” Millie finally said, peering across a large living room, past two couples sitting on couches, and through an outer wall of windows to a semi-lite balcony. She guessed the room was at least thirty feet long and half that wide. It, alone, seemed as large as her and Molly’s entire apartment.
Molly couldn’t help but stare at Tracey as she took their coats and hung them in the foyer closet. And, Molly couldn’t help but envy her host’s penetrating green eyes and silky Auburn hair, now pulled to the back of her head and secured by an expensive looking silk scarf scrunchie.
The living room design was opposite that of the buildings lobby. It’s floor was covered in what appeared to be solid oak planks. The walls were marble with only two large framed paintings, resting at the same height opposite each other on the two longer walls.
The furnishings were simple, eclectic, minimal. In addition to two couches of different design facing each other, there were two arm chairs—also quite different–at opposite ends of the couches completing the oval space. Missing were any type of side tables. The extra spaces toward the foyer and the balcony were bare and each as large as the center section containing the furnishings.
“Come in. Let me introduce you to my other guests.” Tracey said, motioning for Millie and Molly to follow her into the living room.
As they approached, both couples stood and smiled. One man gave an awkward wave.
Tracey stood between Millie and Molly and reached her arms around their lower backs. “These are my newest friends, Millie Anderson and her daughter Molly.
They’ve just moved to New York City from Chicago.” Tracey pressed their backs moving mother and daughter two steps forward, then withdrew her arms.
“Millie, Molly, that ugly, clumsy man there,” pointing to a guy Molly concluded looked nerdish with his black-rimmed glasses and semi-crumbled shirt, “is my brother, Terrance. Next to him, is his wife, my sister-in law, Lana. He’s the pastor of Faith Haven Baptist Church a few blocks from here. Lana is a social worker for New York City’s public school system. God help her.”
Terrance and Molly exchanged fist-bumps, initiated by him, while Lana and Millie shook hands. He pointed Millie to an arm chair beside him. Lana sat and patted the couch beside her, continuing to look at Molly.
Before sitting, Millie and Molly said hello to the other couple, per Tracey, a Debbie and Vincent Jenkins. Neither offered to shake hands. Tracey added, “Vincent is my business partner. His wife Debbie is our secretary.
Tracey motioned everyone to sit. Molly, at Lana’s insistence, sat with her on the couch. Millie sat in the arm chair beside Terrance with her back toward the balcony doors. Tracey returned to the arm chair closest to the front door.
For the next fifteen minutes, as Tracey went back and forth to the kitchen to check on something that smelled terrific and as the other guests exchanged a few words, Terrance softly quizzed Millie about her and Molly’s recent move. He asked, where are you moving from? What did you do there? Why did you become a paralegal? And finally, why did you move to New York City?
As Millie, seriously disinterested in any sort of conversation, responded with short, innocuous answers, she watched the pastor’s face and body language: penetrating eyes, head cocked upwards, near-perfect diction and posture, frequent hand-movements, and attention focused wholly on her. Clearly, Pastor Terrance Dawson was refined and most likely controlled by a Type A personality. Millie chose three words to represent her newest acquaintance: confident, controlling, and arrogant.
Still disinterested but not to be outdone (or viewed as milk-toast), Millie launched her own volley of questions, including, why did you become a pastor? Terrance’s response came quickly and resolutely, “personal tragedies, sadness, helplessness, and hopelessness with no future except one consumed by depression.”
Millie listened intently to his story, one she’d partially heard from Tracey during their bus ride. The siblings had lost their mother and sister, Tracey’s twin, when Terrance was fifteen. Two separate auto accidents had taken both lives on the very same day. Then, six years later, after a move to New York City, their father had been murdered at a convenience store. It was the night of Tracey’s high school graduation.
After his father’s death, Terrance had dropped out of college and almost died of hopelessness and alcohol. However, he attributed his recovery to an encounter with God, one so vivid and personal he’d never forget. It had changed his life, and had done so without medical intervention from doctors or medicines. Soon afterwards, the ‘miracle’ had revealed his life purpose and led him to The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, and thereafter to his first pastorate.
Before Millie could request further details about Terrance’s encounter with God, Tracey returned from the kitchen and announced dinner would be served in the dining room. This had prompted him to suggest to Millie they get together over coffee in a few days and let him describe how God healed him of his alcoholism and mental collapse, and set him onto a path of promise and purpose.
Molly reached for Millie’s hand as they stood and followed Tracey into the dining room. The pair had previously decided to sit next to each other so they’d have someone to talk to.
“If you don’t mind, I’ve assigned seats. It’ll be a good way to get to know your next door neighbor.” Tracey said using air quotes when she spoke the last three words. She guided Molly to the end of the rectangular table closest to the kitchen. Millie was placed opposite her daughter, at the other end. “You two are my special guests of honor.” Tracey said alternating her gaze between Millie and Molly. The other four guests found their place cards and sat while Tracey stood in front of her chair to Molly’s left.
The food on the table & tracey & terrance’s exchange about praying
Before them were Pesto Bolognese Lasagna, a shredded brussels sprout bacon salad with warm cider vinaigrette, and two loaves of Focaccia Bread. “My sis is an excellent cook.” Terrance announced from Millie’s right, looking directly at Tracey.
She laughed and said, “and that’s my brother’s way of saying he’s ready to pray.” Molly noticed everyone either snickered or rolled their eyes, except for Lana. “But, just a short one.” Tracey added.
Terrance reached out his hands for Vincent to his right and Millie to his left. “Let’s pray.” As requested, it was short, only thanking God for a beautiful day, excellent food, and new friends. His second sentence implored ‘the Almighty’ to guide and bless them ‘along life’s way.’ Terrance ended with, “we ask these things in Jesus holy name.”
While her brother prayed, Tracey’s mind was mixed, torn between the years-long rift between the two of them, and their recent agreement to try their best, for their family’s sake, to restore their relationship. No doubt each would remain unchanged in their deeply-held beliefs, but to honor their dead mother, sister, and father, it was time to spend some quality time together. Tonight’s dinner was the first step.
After everyone passed their dinner plates to Tracey, she served everyone a generous portion of lasagna while Debbie made salads. Victor grabbed two slices of bread from the tray in front of him and handed it to Terrance.
“What’s in the lasagna?” Lana asked, thinking this might impress her husband who was always criticizing her for being too bland in the kitchen, not to mention the bedroom.
“Slow cooked Bolognese sauce with a mix of beef, peppers, sweet tomatoes, and herbs. I layered that combination with basil pesto ricotta, provolone cheese, and lasagna noodles. By the way, I didn’t boil the noodles.”
“Smells and looks great,” Terrance said, accepting his dinner plate from Tracey.
Molly’s nausea from smell of lasagna
Molly had felt her nausea coming on the minute she stepped inside the dining room. Now, with a plate of lasagna in front of her, and the smell attacking her nose, she asked, “I’m sorry, but where’s your bathroom?”
Her eyes met Tracey’s who quickly noticed her young guest’s ashen face. “Follow me. Terrance, please take over the serving.”
Millie excused herself and traipsed behind Molly and Tracey as they headed to the bathroom just off the foyer. “It’s not a stomach bug, not contagious.”
Millie’s statement confused Tracey but she chose not to respond.
Inside the bathroom, alone, Molly dampened several layers of tissue and wiped her face. Surprisingly, her nausea relented after only a few minutes. “I’m much better,” she announced to Millie and Tracey standing, waiting, in the foyer. “I’ll be along in a few minutes. You guys go enjoy a wonderful meal.”
Molly was further surprised when she returned to her seat and ate a few bites of the lasagna. It was the best she’d ever had, flavorful, especially after adding extra Parmesan cheese.
She also enjoyed the bread, focaccia bread per Debbie who’d also told her it originated in Italy and means ‘hearth bread.’ Debbie said she made it all the time, mainly because it could be sliced and used for sandwiches, plus, it didn’t get stale like traditional bread does. It was something to do with the high quantity of olive oil and other herbs.
The Pencil Driven Life 