Sweet Caroline(62)

“If you’d asked me a few days ago, I would’ve said ‘Getting there.’ But, today—”

Leaning over the desk, I tip the door closed. “Mitch, this really bizarre thing happened to me last night.”

I recap the whole God encounter, because, I have to confess, in the sensible light of day my head is starting to question the experience. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening to anyone before, not even a preacher’s son.

“That’s amazing, Caroline,” Mitch says when my story is done. “Jesus visited you. Not the first time in history He’s done that, but I don’t know of many who’ve experienced what you did.”

“W-what do you think it means?”

“Lots of things. Mostly to let you know in no uncertain terms He loves you. Don’t look now, Caroline—I think you got saved.”

I jump up in my seat as an image of a TV preacher I once saw crosses my mind. He must have said say-ved a thousand times. “No, no, I don’t want to be a Holy Roller.”

“Then don’t. Be a lover of Jesus. Pray, read your Bible, go to church, love others.”

“Lover of Jesus? I don’t know, Mitch, that sounds weird. Who would understand what I’m saying?”

“Plenty of people. But if you aren’t comfortable with that, say you’re a disciple of Jesus, or a follower of Jesus. Take your pick.”

I can feel my face scrunching up. Who knew church came with so much terminology. “What do you call yourself?”

“A prodigal.” He laughs. “Caroline, either way, you’ve met Him. Read the red words in your Bible and do what He says.”

A chill runs over me. “Okay.” Then, “What are the red words?”

“Jesus’ words and parables. His instructions to us.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Caroline—” Mitch’s voice warbles. “This news is better than any award I’ve ever won.”

Elle rushes me after church the following Sunday. “We’re going shopping. New clothes will cheer you up.”

“All my wealth is tied up in bathroom plumbing.” I shake my hair over my shoulders. “And, I don’t need cheering up. Really, I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay, I confess, I need cheering up.” We head straight toward her car. “I’ve been thinking: must find the planet where it’s raining men.”

“Again,” I say as she aims her key fob and bleep-bleeps her car, “I have no extra dinero.”

”My treat.” She flashes her palm. “No protesting.”

Forty-five minutes later we walk into the Savannah Mall and beeline it to The Limited. The store is bright and fragrant with the new-clothes smell. A very slender blonde with Jennifer Aniston hair approaches.

“Everything on this side of the store”—she gestures right—“is half off. Can I help you find anything?”

Elle-the-shopping-guru appears slightly insulted. The salesgirl should’ve recognized her designer clothes. “No, thank you.”

John Mayer sings to us via the store Muzak while Elle and I riffle through the half-off rack.

“Elle, look, why don’t you buy me lunch and call it a good day, hmm?”

She sighs, peering over her shoulder at me. “One top. Or a skirt. Both, maybe. Please. You love skirts.” Spinning around, she slaps a sage-green top against my chest. “Matches your eyes. And the scoop neck is sexy, but not too . . .” She arches her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean? Mom always said to leave them wondering.”

The soft material under my fingertips deactivates my ability to protest. “Well, maybe one top.”

“And one skirt.” Elle’s melodic laugh floats around us. “Remember when we went shopping for bathing suits and found that old blue light outside the old Kmart—”

“We convinced Larry Olsen to hook it up to work in the Mustang,” I say while surfing the sales racks.

“You got cocky one night and flashed an unmarked police car.”

For the next few minutes, we’re lost in giggles. Since the night Jesus visited, it seems easier to laugh. Even to cry.

Elle shoves several tops and skirts at me. “Don’t look at the price tag. Just try them on.”

Of course, I look at the price tag. Even at half off, the cheapest top was thirty dollars.

In the dressing-room mirror, I wince at my ET-like complexion in the harsh dressing-room lights. Despite the fright of my reflection, I slip on a top and sporty skirt. The fabric feels cool and soft against my skin. When I glance in the mirror, the creature from outer space is gone. Instead, a pretty girl with rosy cheeks, pink lips, and bright green eyes stares back at me.

The top and skirt are perfect. But letting Elle buy for me seems . . . somewhat pitiful.

“Caroline, let me see.” Elle knocks on the dressing-room door once, then barges in.

“Ta-da.”

“Lovely,” she says. “We’re getting it. All of it.”

“Elle . . . Thank you,” I whisper to my friend. “You’re too kind.”

Elle doesn’t leave herself out of the fun. Her new tops, slacks, and undies slide into The Limited bag right along with my things.

Since shopping and hunger go hand in hand, we head for the food court.