Read The Footstool: A Christian Short Story Collection Page 2

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  Janine’s parents moved away from Louisiana a few months later. Derrick worried she was committed to a mental institution after he stopped receiving letters. He asked one of her old friends what had happened to her. Her friend said Janine started going to church. One day, a bunch of people prayed for her. After that, she felt like everything was new and joyful.

  Derrick decided to try church out and started to see changes in himself too. The two never saw each other again, but Derrick reflected on how oddly things had turned out. He was never able to save her, and she was even better off after she moved away from him. Ultimately, Derrick felt Janine had helped him more than he had helped her.

  The Fine Line

  Helaine snarled as she tossed her crocheted purse on the marble countertop. Jim silently wondered how he had disappointed her this time. He mentally checked off his usual list: trash had been emptied, litter box was clean, and he had switched the television to her favorite channel.

  “Rough day, honey?” Jim cocked his head in her direction and stopped thumbing through the mail.

  “It’s the neighbor.” She sighed hoping to evoke her husband’s pity. “I can accept it when the neighbor does not wave to me from across the lawn—that’s fine. But he parked right next to me at the farmer’s market, and you know what he said? Nothing. I find it odd and disturbing.” She looked to Jim as if he held all the answers. To her, it seemed he did. He was twenty years her senior and mingled in intellectual circles. Some even thought him to be a genius.

  “Well, did you say something to him?” Jim studied a five-dollar off restaurant coupon.

  “No.” She scrunched her face and smoothed back wisps of her wild hair.

  Jim analyzed the situation and determined his wife and the neighbor were suppressing their attraction to one another. If given the opportunity, he predicted Helaine and his neighbor would ride off together into the sunset. All that stood between them was his presence. He abruptly vowed never to leave her home again.

  His mind tossed and turned over the decision. Not only was it unrealistic to always be with her, he valued trust and considered it an integral aspect of love. He decided his situation warranted a trust test.“I bought a gym membership.” Jim fiddled with a string on his trousers to hide his lying eyes. She lifted her eyebrows. “Good for you!”

  “I think I will go right now.” He scooped up his keys and pecked her cheek. He mentally told her this is a test and she should try to pass. He closed the door behind him and drove to a nearby hill, where he parked the Toyota Avalon. He stared out the open window at his and his neighbor’s homes below.

  After eight minutes, nothing had happened. She did not leave her house to knock on his door and ask for an egg or other kitchen staple as a ploy to weasel herself inside and spend time with him.

  After twenty-two minutes, nothing had happened. He did not peep in her window. He stared directly at the houses, only watching the sky darken out of the corner of his eye. By that time, he had noticed the two televisions flickered simultaneously as if they were synchronized. They were watching the same television show. He raised his eyebrows.

  After twenty-three minutes, Jim’s stomach growled. He felt around the floorboard for an old fry. That is when he noticed his loafers. He envisioned his one pair of gym shoes on the floor on his side of the closet. If she decided to poke around in there—which he felt sure she did, she would automatically know he had lied. He planned to instantly forgive her because he does the same thing while she is gone. He reasoned she had probably figured out he had lied and was wondering where he was at that very moment. He deduced this was the reason she did not knock on the neighbor’s door.

  Jim concluded he should call it a day and resume the spy session another time. He noted he must bring gym shoes for the next spy session—as well as rice cakes and binoculars.

  He put the car in gear and drove the short trip back home. When he walked inside, she barely looked away from the flat screen television hanging on the wall to greet him. Still, he doubted she could focus on the show with all those lustful thoughts about their neighbor playing over and over in her head.

  Life’s Equation

  Harper sat in my swivel stool and requested the same haircut every six months for the last five years, but he wanted something different this time. However, his small patch of white hair lent little inspiration.

  “No sense livin’ in the past,” Harper said trying to force a smile. Since he became a widower in May, I noticed he dressed a little edgier.

  I could empathize with Harper’s sense of loss since my ex-girlfriend had recently broken up with me. I had given her the cutest little teddy bear for her birthday. It even sang the birthday song. As it turned out, she had been expecting an engagement ring. Harper and I were both struggling to persevere in life when the women we loved were no longer by our side.

  “Lucas,” Harper continued thoughtfully, “how would you like my old sofa? It’s in great condition. Mable took such good care of things. I thought I might change the furnishings now that she’s gone.”

  I contemplated the lawn chairs I used as living room furniture since I moved out of my parents’ home and readily accepted. Harper snatched my business card from its caddy and scribbled his address on the back. Little did I know, that sofa was about to change my life.

  As I swept hair and tidied my station, I considered how to transport my new acquisition since I had no car. Then through the painted “Beauty Shop” sign on the glass-front window, I spotted Scottie attempting to parallel park his catering van. He managed my apartment building as well as the bistro above my apartment.

  Turning to my coworker with cropped black hair and chartreuse highlights, I announced, “Look, Shasta, I am gonna wrap it up for the day. Under no circumstances should there be any combs missing from my station tomorrow morning.”

  Before I even cleared the striped awning’s shadow, I was unloading pallets of white paper packages that smelled of pastry from Scottie’s arms and making small talk.

  I had waited like a crouching tiger ready to pounce for the perfect opportunity to ask. “Do you think I can borrow the van? One of my client’s offered me a used couch.” It seemed I had strategized unnecessarily.

  Scottie promptly handed over the keys and said, “Sure, take it. Just don’t wreck it.