Chapter 16

Sunday morning.

The air was cool and remarkably clear. Without ten million cars and trucks on the roads, Florida's air quality was becoming clean again. If only Al Gore could see this morning sky, he would have been crushed. Without doom and gloom to preach, his church would be empty.

The earth is a tough old bird. Once the cars and factories stop spitting out dirty air, she set about cleaning herself up then continued on as if nothing ever happened.

I felt honored to be present to see Earth returning to purity. All the others missed it.

Jacksonville was as quiet as the night before. There were no barges making their way towards the port, no Sunday cruises taking folks out to see the dolphins. There were no cars except mine driving to church.

The quiet bothered me more than any other Sunday. I ached to smile at someone and share a hug. Church was the place where we all gathered to remind ourselves that we were still the people we always hoped we were; the ritual of greeting friends and loved ones with a hug and kiss was precious to me.

Today I drove slowly, savoring the morning, hoping for a miracle.

Arthea and I always attended church with a sense of expectation. She loved to go to church; as much as I loved pastoring, she loved going to church even more.

We were a perfect clergy couple. Her natural enthusiasm and remarkable ability to plan a meaningful service coupled with my passion to preach made us matching bookends. If it needed doing in the church, we got it done.

The church was a lot bigger than I suspected. Dwarfed beside the adjoining hospital, I didn't comprehend the sheer magnitude of the main building. Its brick, glass, steel and carefully finished wood beams welcomed worshipers.

As I walked toward the piano, a memory flashed across my mind of the last Sunday before everyone vanished. Our dearest friends all arrived about the same time, and I spent a solid half hour hugging, laughing, catching up on family news and basking in the warmth of the day before taking my place up front to lead worship.

If I had known it was the last one, I would have ... what? Cried? Tried to hold everyone together to make it through the coming event?

I didn't have an answer. To be sure, I would have carefully filed each instant into my memory bank. Beyond that I'm not sure what I would have done differently. It had been a special morning and a wonderful memory. I guess I would have to learn to live with that and be grateful.

As I approached the front pew, I spotted her sleeping on the front pew. This is a mirage brought on by the loneliness, I thought.

But as I stared at her, I knew she was real.

I guessed she was about five foot three and a hundred and ten pounds. In her late twenties. She was sleeping on the padded bench, with her right arm thrown across her eyes and the other resting across her waist. Her brown hair was cut in a sort of shoulder length and softly curved around her face.

Her sneakers were dirty; water stains marred the leather. Her slacks were dirty and a little too ragged to have been intentionally worn. This woman had been having a hard time. She seemed to be struggling to survive, by her appearance.

I felt guilty for having had such an easy time getting organized and finding the things I needed to get along.

Stunned, I just stood and stared. I drank in every little detail, afraid to disturb the dream and risk her disappearance like everyone else.

I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to awaken her and afraid not to, lest she be nothing but a figment, a wisp of my lonely mind and broken heart.

Rather than risk scaring her too much, I mounted the stairs and sat down at the grand piano. I lifted the keyboard cover and softly played Amazing Grace. I made sure each note was held out and relinquished only when the next one sounded. It gave the notes a bluesy sort of sound, which I kept down with the soft pedal.