Chapter 25

Cecelia and Al coordinated things. Anyone who's known me and Cecelia for any time at all knows that she's in charge of parties, lunches, any sort of get-together. It's not that such things are "women's work," but that she's better at it than I am. I handle the things I'm good at, and she handles what she's good at, and that way things run smoother.

It was a hurried thing, but on Saturday evening Cecelia told me it had all come together, and we would meet – our family, and Al's family including Vern – on Sunday after church. I had one question that came immediately to mind. "Will Vern come to church with us, or with them?"

"That is up in the air at present. He says that he has gone to church here in Albuquerque on the three previous Sundays, at three different churches. I know that he is a Christian, but of what variety I have no knowledge. I suppose I could have asked him or Alison, but the question never occurred to me."

"It's nice to know you've got at least one blind spot," I said, smiling at her. We were sitting out on the patio, at the picnic table which we usually keep against the back wall but had pulled out for now, since we had drinks and snacks with us. I had my usual Coke, and Cecelia had a cup of coffee, and we were sharing a bowl of Doritos – the cool ranch flavor. Cecelia doesn't usually eat junk food, but sometimes she'll yield to an urge do some culinary slumming.

"I no doubt have a multitude of blind spots," Cecelia said, holding her cup so she could blow on it. She likes her coffee hot, but not so hot that it burns her tongue. "It's just that I seldom have opportunity to encounter them – which is, of course, why they remain blind spots. If I ran into them on a regular basis, I could correct them."

"You know, you're the least self-conscious about your flaws of anyone I know, not that you've got a whole crashing lot of 'em."

"I have more flaws than you can imagine, Darvin. I know myself – as you put it, I'm the one who lives in my skull. But somewhere in our marriage, I have found myself less and less sensitive about them. Perhaps it is because you are not condemnatory, but rather compassionate when you learn of a flaw I possess. Whatever the cause, I am more willing to face and acknowledge my flaws, and less upset when I come across one or you become aware of one."

"Yeah, whatever." I can't seem to ever tame my hostility toward Cecelia's analytical streak. Maybe I'm more jealous of it than I realize. "Anyway, you didn't think to ask, and that's exactly how you are, so we'll find out. I bet Al invites him, though."

"I'm sure she shall, if she has not done so already." She took a chip, inspected it as though it were a new species of bug, and ate it. "These things taste better than the list of ingredients would lead one to think."

"They taste pretty good, C – why else do you think I eat 'em?" I grabbed a chip and shoved it at her mouth, but she dodged, smiling at me.

"I think you eat them because you are a strange man, Darvin Carpenter. After all the cookery I've fed you, I would think you would prefer my creations to the artificial productions of an assembly line. However, you like your junk food, and I won't waste my breath attempting to correct your preferences."

Just then the shed door opened, and Darlia came out, sweaty. She had on a pair of cutoff jeans, and a stained t-shirt, and her face was wet from her exertions. "Mommy," she called, "I'm done with the dumbbells!"

"Than I shall assist you," Cecelia called back. She turned to me. "All else which Darlia needs to do this evening requires a spotter, and so I must leave you." Darlia uses an old set of free weights that Cecelia had before she got her machines. "Please do not waste these chips – and do not forget me while I'm gone."

"I wouldn't never waste no Doritos," I said, "and as for the rest, if I forget you, O Cecelia, /May my right hand forget its skill."

"Paraphrase the Scripture all you wish, Darvin – I still believe you." And she kissed me on the cheek, and got up, and took her cup of coffee into the weight shed after Darlia.

Vern did, in fact, show up at church. He didn't come in with Al and Alan, but just as the service was starting, as though he'd decided to come at the last minute. It was strange, still, to see Tyrone sitting near the back, just another one of us, rather than where he'd sat for years, in front. I knew what he was doing – he was making the point that he really wasn't one of the elders anymore, and those who needed pastoral help would have to come to one of the rest of us.