You Believers by Jane Bradley Page B

look in the mirror. Yes, she did look good, and if she didn’t look good, she wouldn’t have Lawrence, and she wouldn’t have this house on top of Lookout Mountain instead of some prefab place in Suck Creek. But she was fading; she knew it. In the longrun life wasn’t about beauty at all but learning to make do when it was gone. She was glad she had taught Katy that. She had told her, “Yes, you are beautiful, but beauty passes, so be kind, Katy. That will sustain you. The world will love you long past your prime if you remember to be thoughtful and kind.”
    Livy turned toward her bedroom, looked in and saw Lawrence propped up on pillows, dozing with his paper scattered across the bed. Livy looked at the man she planned to spend the rest of her life with. You used to take me dancing , she thought. He used to smile and stand when she entered a room, as if he couldn’t bear another second away from her. He used to bend a little toward her whenever she spoke, as if to catch the very breath of her words. Did all passion fade like this? She stood there, watching him, wondering if he’d wake and want her or just keep sinking deeper into the sheets. Either way it didn’t matter.
    Livy stood in the doorway, just feeling the room, listening to the soft whir of the central air, the soughing sigh of Lawrence’s soft snores. She studied her life, the furniture solid on blue carpet in a white room with a wall of windows, drapes open to the night. A long way from Suck Creek. She thought this every night and gave thanks. She had her doubts sometimes about God and his ways in the world. But she believed in giving thanks for every day.
    She crossed the room, went to the window that looked out onto a lot of nothing but trees. She’d convinced Lawrence to buy that lot so she’d always be able to stand at the window and watch the birds flitting in the branches, the squirrels digging, chattering, always a little nervous and hungry, it seemed. Other people’s children played there now. She liked to watch them, hear the high, happy sounds of children playing, digging, inventing who knew what in fantasy worlds hidden in those trees. Livy loved their innocence, so rowdyand loud, pure as pups until something in the world taught them to be afraid.
    She would have to warn Katy about marriage. Maybe in the end kindness is overrated. Don’t give yourself away . She felt a surge of sorrow. Tears rushed into her eyes, a queasy feeling that made her sit. It was too late to teach Katy to be selfish. Livy had seen enough bankers, lawyers, contractors to know that even though Jesus said the meek inherit the earth, the world belonged to bankers, lawyers, and investors like Lawrence. She knew that in the world of living, it is not the meek who win.
    “Livy,” Lawrence called from the bed, his voice soft, curious. Livy looked up.
    He squinted, leaned for a closer look at her face. “Are you all right?”
    She smiled, shook her head. He was worried. This was a man who after ten years of marriage would still sometimes show up with flowers for no reason. She would have to remember that.
    Livy wondered why she was feeling so selfish, so pitiful and mean. Self-pity was a sin. She’d learned that in church.
    He sat up, pulled the sheets up around his waist. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
    She went to him, rubbed his chest, thick and hairy. She just wanted to touch him a minute. She felt the warmth of his skin, stepped back, and said, “I think I’ll get some water. Want anything?”
    He studied her. “Did something happen?” he asked. “I can see it in your face.” Lawrence was a gambler—that was what stock traders really were. It was his business to know how to read every line and shadow, expression, even on a stranger.
    “It’s nothing,” she said. “I just had this bad feeling. You’d think I’d be happy Katy’s finally getting married. But it’s just that she’s so far away.”
    Lawrence leaned back, gave a quick glance at a headline