by Donna Poole
“You’ve still got it, girl!” Devin shouted to herself.
Dad couldn’t hear her over the sounds of motor, wind, and waves. He looked back, questioning her with a wiggle of his white eyebrows. She laughed, gave him the thumbs up sign, and signaled to go faster.
The wind whipped her hair as she zipped in and out of the wake. She glanced at the dock to see if Calvin was watching and snorted. First, he’d flatly refused to try skiing. Then he wouldn’t even get into the boat and ride along with her dad. Now he lounged on the dock, a large straw hat shadowing his face, reading one of his books. Calvin was seldom without a book. His idea of a great vacation was staying home, sitting on the patio, and you guessed it, reading. Devin had insisted they accept her dad’s invitation to visit him at the cottage where she’d spent many happy childhood days. She’d learned to ski almost as soon as she’d learned to ride a tricycle; she’d mastered a ski board at three years old and solo skied at five.
At breakfast that morning Devin had begged Calvin to let her dad give him swimming lessons. “You’re missing a world of fun. You wouldn’t hate watersports so much if you’d learn to swim. There’s no reason to be terrified of the water. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not terrified of the bathtub.”
Calvin had looked hurt but hadn’t said anything.
“People have different likes, Devin,” her dad had said. “Good thing for you Calvin enjoys cooking.” He’d flashed Calvin his irresistible grin and Calvin looked a bit less uncomfortable.
“And honey,” Dad had added, “you need to eat more of his good cooking. You’re getting too skinny.”
“Don’t go there again, Dad,” Devin snapped at him. “You know I’ve always been thin.” But then she’d hugged him. She couldn’t stay upset with Dad, especially not now that he was all alone. Mom had been gone less than a year.
But flying around the lake now, Devin was still miffed at her young husband. How does he know he can’t swim or ski? He won’t even try anything new. It’s a miracle he’s not scared to sit on the dock.
She signaled to her dad she was heading in. He shook his head and motioned back, “Too fast.”
But Devin knew she could do it; she’d done it before. The boat wasn’t going too fast for her. Dropping the tow rope and “skiing it in” was an exhilarating experience, one she’d done hundreds of times. Her dock finishes were flawless—but not this time. One second, she was skimming over water. The next she woke up in the hospital. She learned Calvin had jumped into the waist deep water after she’d crashed into the dock and had supported her until help had arrived.
Devin had spent three days in the hospital. They’d stayed several more days at the cottage with her dad until she was able to travel back to their apartment. The pain in Devin’s broken left shinbone and right forearm felt excruciating. Casts protected the plates, screws, and healing bones. It was killing the athletic Devin, who usually ran ten miles a day, to barely be able to get to the bathroom without help. And the doctor said it would take six to twelve weeks before she could put full weight on her leg. And it might be six to twelve months before she could ski again? Devin was furious with herself, so nothing Calvin could do was right. She yelled at him when he tried to help her and when he didn’t try. She even snapped at her beloved dad.
“Here, honey,” Dad said when he kissed Devin goodbye. “I want you to take your mom’s cookbook. She handwrote all the recipes and referred to them often.”
“Mom’s cookbook?” She laughed for the first time in days. “Dad, in all my growing up years, you were the only one I ever saw in the kitchen. Mom was wonderful at many things, but like me, cooking wasn’t one of them.”
He smiled. “She wrote and loved this cookbook. Take my word for it.”
Several weeks into recovery Devin felt like she was losing it. X-rays showed slower than normal recovery, “delayed union,” the orthopedic doctor called it. He’d given her other bad news too. She’d been irritated when he’d started asking what seemed like irrelevant questions.
“Yes, I’m always cold. Yes, I struggle with fatigue. Irritable? Ask Calvin.”
Calvin cleared his throat.
“Yes, I’ve been an athlete since junior high. Okay, I guess you could say I’m a little obsessive about my running and clean eating. I like to stay thin.”
More questions and blood work had followed before the doctor diagnosed her with RED-S—relative energy deficiency in sport. “You’ve been using more energy than you’ve been putting back into your body for far too long,” he said. Your low estrogen is one sign. And because of RED-S your bones will heal more slowly than normal from this injury. You need to eat better, and that includes more calories. I’m referring you to a sports medicine doctor who is also a dietician.”
Devin spiraled after that. Stuck in the small apartment except for physical therapy, unable to run or visit the gym with her friends, she took every ounce of frustration out on Calvin. She sat in bed or the recliner and didn’t do even the little she was able. Occupational therapy had taught her how to care for herself, so Calvin was able to go back to work, but there was so much to do at home when he got back, he was exhausted.
Devin berated him when he couldn’t stay awake to watch their favorite Brit detective program. “You know, Calvin, if you ever did anything physical to stay in shape, you wouldn’t be so exhausted. Your body would have strength and energy for things like this. You might even have enough muscles to carry a bigger stack of books home from the library!”
Her spiteful tone shocked even herself. Calvin rolled over and turned off the lamp on his night table.
“Why do you even stay with me?” she asked in a small voice.
His voice was tired. “I promised you, remember? And I promised God.”
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you still like me?”
Long silence. “I still love you.”
That wasn’t a fair question. I don’t even like me.
The next morning Calvin fixed Devin an omelet, her favorite kind, cooked to perfection. She ate in silence. He poured steaming coffee into his Stanley and left for work. It was the first time in their eleven months of marriage he hadn’t said “I love you” before he walked out the door.
Devin finished her physical therapies exercises and wasn’t as tired as usual. She knew she was getting stronger every day.
Fatter too. I hope that doctor is happy with my pudgy self the next time I see him.
Her body fat wasn’t yet nearly fifteen percent, far from pudgy, but that’s how she felt.
Restless, Devin wandered over to the bookcases lining the wall. Calvin kept his books dusted, so she’d never really looked at them before. Magazines and Facebook were the extent of her reading. She’d read on Facebook recently you could learn a lot about a person by their books.
What do these books say about you, Calvin?
She studied the titles. Westerns? Calvin liked Westerns? He had shelves of books by Louis L’Amour and Zane Gray. She tried to picture her studious, quiet Calvin on horseback and chuckled.
His glasses would probably fall off. If he likes reading these so much, why haven’t we watched any on television? Probably because I chose all the shows.
She sighed and continued perusing the books, shocked by the variety. “Biography, philosophy…why so many theology books? Oh, that’s right. Calvin told me he almost went into the ministry.”
Then Devin spotted her mom’s cookbook, neatly tucked in with Calvin’s collection of them. Bemused, she pulled it out and hobbled to the couch.
“This I gotta see. Mom’s recipes?” Devin chuckled. She didn’t think her mother even knew how to turn on a stove.
She ran her fingers over the homemade blue and white cover, and a sudden tear ran down her face.
“Mom, I miss you. I wish I could talk to you. Calvin and I aren’t getting along very well, and you and Dad had such a beautiful marriage. I wish you could tell me your secrets.”
Devin opened the cookbook. Inside the front cover her mom had printed, “Recipes for a Happy Marriage.”
Underneath she’d added a verse from the Bible, Proverbs 14:1: “Every wise woman buildeth her house: but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.”
Devin had to read the prayer that followed twice before she realized that her sweet, kind, loving, funny mother had written it. It sounded like it had been written by a stranger, someone she’d never met. She noticed the prayer was dated—five years before she’d been born.
Dear Lord, I’m a mess. I need help. Travis gave me this verse written on a card this morning and asked me to think about it. We had another one of our ugly arguments last night. Well, I was ugly. Travis didn’t say much. But you already know that. Not only am I the image of my mom, I have her temper too. Sarcasm is my native tongue, Lord, and I’m sorry. I’ve cut Travis into pieces so many times he could be a jig saw puzzle. I don’t build. I tear down. Building is hard work, and I don’t like hard work. Mom always said I was selfish and didn’t know how to love. I guess I can’t build this marriage without real love, and Mom was right. I don’t have real love for Travis, not the kind that wants his happiness more than I want my own. Will you help me learn to love?” Amen
Devin skimmed through the rest of the book; it was way too much to digest in one sitting. The recipe titles were catchy. Some of the ideas for how to build were her mom’s; others were quotes and verses.
One recipe caught her attention: How to Make Delicious Love Soup When You Have Nothing.
“Love through me, Love of God;
Make me like Thy clear air
Through which, unhindered, colors pass
As though it were not there.” –Amy Carmichael
Door Dash was right on his heels when Calvin arrived home from work. “What smells so delicious?” he asked.
“Cowboy Burgers and thick cut fries. Hurry and wash up. I’ve got a movie cued up on the living room TV.”
“Okay.” He grinned, delighted by the smile on his wife’s face. “You find a new Brit mystery?”
“Not exactly. You ever hear of the Sacketts? It’s a miniseries based on some books Louis L’Amour wrote.” Devin laughed at the look on Calvin’s face that said who are you and what have you done with my wife.
When Calvin fell asleep halfway through the movie, Devin began to understand how exhausted he really was. She watched the rest of the show alone as he snored softly on the sofa next to her.
It was very late when she woke him. “We should get to bed, honey. Tomorrow night do you want to watch ‘Crossfire Trail?’ And when I get better, do you think we could take riding lessons?”
“Riding lessons? Like…get on a real horse?”
“Unless you’d feel safer on the kids’ one you put a nickel in at the grocery store.” She bit her lip, remembering a verse she’d read in her mom’s cookbook, “In her tongue is the law of kindness.”
Devin sighed. “Sorry, honey. I’m going to work on my sarcasm.”
He kissed her cheek. “Maybe keep a little of it. And I’m going to work on something too. When you get better we’ll take riding lessons. But I’ll probably break a leg.”
“Probably. But I’ll take care of you, and we can watch lots of Brit mysteries. Sound good?”
“Sounds delightful.”
And they went to bed laughing for the first time in a long time.
The end.
***
These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:
Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
