Connie stopped by to check on me on her way up to bed.
“You doing okay, Jules? No—I’m sorry—that’s a dumb question. Of course you’re not okay. I’M not okay. Um, what I meant was, do you need anything before I go upstairs?”
I shrugged. “Nah, I’m okay.”
The look in her eyes told me she didn’t quite believe me, but she didn’t pry. “Alright. Well, goodnight, Jules. Just holler if you need anything.”
She closed the door softly, and I could hear her slipper-shod feet padding away down the carpeted hallway.
“Wait. Connie?”
She immediately reappeared in the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay with me? Maybe you could just talk to me for a while, you know, until I fall asleep or something? I think I’m too wound up to fall asleep, and I don’t want to be alone with the voices in my head right now. They’ve got some pretty scary things to say, and I…”
She didn’t even let me finish. “Oh Jules, of course I will!”
She curled up in the chair next to my bed and began to chatter softly. Then, before I knew what was happening, I found myself telling her my story. About how my mother, a washed-up actress herself, was so consumed with making me a star that she’d almost starved me to death. About how she’d dragged me from audition to audition, hoping I’d somehow make it big. But I didn’t.
She was constantly kissing up to casting directors and producers, literally and figuratively. I cringed inside, remembering the many nights I’d spent hiding out in the basement when she’d bring them home with her, in varying degrees of sobriety. I hated the way they looked at me, the way they talked about me, the way they touched me—like I was a piece of merchandise.
I was safe at Dad’s for the most part, though. If only for the sole reason that he couldn’t care less about me. I wasn’t part of his business plan, and therefore, he wasn’t interested. He didn’t care what I did, as long as it kept me out of his hair. And he returned the favor by steering way clear of me when he’d stagger home every Friday night after drinking too much at the company cocktail hour.
“I spent my time running back and forth between the two of them,” I explained. “I’d stay with one till I couldn’t stand it anymore, and then I’d take off for the other. It was kind of exhausting. You know, this might actually be a record for the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place.”
I paused to collect my thoughts. I couldn’t believe how candid I was being. I had never opened up to anyone like this before. Not even Buck.
Connie shifted her weight in the chair and gazed at me with concern in her eyes. “Wow, Jules, I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to go through all that. But I’m so glad you’re here now.”
I laughed lightly. “Yeah, me too, I guess. You know, I never planned on staying here. After the whole Perilous Pen fiasco, I swore I’d never set foot in this town again. But when I got back to LA, all my friends—er—well, they weren’t really my friends—more like political allies, actually. Anyway, they all totally ghosted me. There wasn’t anything left for me there anymore. No one cared if I stayed or if I left. So I left. I figured I’d hang out here until I was sick of it and then move on again, just like I always had. But—I don’t know—there’s something about this place. I think—just maybe—I might finally want to stay this time.”
“I know what you mean. I felt just the same when I first came here.”
It dawned on me that she hadn’t always lived here.
“Oh yeah? When did you first come to Odyssey?”
Then she told me all about moving here with her mom in the aftermath of her parents’ divorce. About how lost she’d felt in the strange new place that was so different from anything she’d ever known. How angry she’d been at Dad for hurting her mom the way he had, and how helpless she’d felt to do anything about any of it. But then one afternoon she wandered into Whit’s End, and nothing was ever the same after that.
“I had no idea then how my life would change, all because of that place. Because of Whit. But, no, it was God, really.”
“God, huh?”
“Look—Jules—“
What I said next really surprised her. To be honest, it surprised me, too—even though it was exactly what had been going on in my head for weeks now.
“Connie, I think I’m ready to believe.”
“WHAT?!”
She threw her arms around me, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. Then we were both laughing and crying at the same time.
“I thought you didn’t… I mean, you never…”
I pulled Connie’s Bible off the shelf and held it up to her.
“I’ve been reading this every night. I wanted to…to see for myself what the Jesus thing was all about. I saw Him in you, Connie, and I hoped that I could maybe have that for myself.”
“You can, Jules!” she exclaimed, laugh-crying some more.
I nodded, a feeling of lightness stealing over me. Everything I’d been trying to understand—about life, about God—everything—finally it all made sense to me. He was the one who had brought me here. He was the one who’d allowed me to meet the sister I never knew I had, who had modeled so sincerely what love and forgiveness are all about. Nothing that had happened to me over the past several years had been an accident.
With my sister’s hand in mine, through tears of joy and trembling lips, I muddled my way through what’s known in Christianity as “the sinner’s prayer.” I couldn’t tell you what it was I said, or if it made any sense at all. All I know is that He heard me. And that was all that mattered.
My face hurt from smiling, and I was gasping for breath. I was a big sloppy mess, but I didn’t care.
I fell asleep that night with my heart singing.
