Healing Waters by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue Page B

could tell her she was delusional, Marnie took off again, this time at a dead run. I yearned to escape with her. Just being in the same room with those people again was more than I could stomach. I would probably vomit if I had to actually talk to them.
    I might have bypassed the meeting altogether if I hadn’t heard Sonia’s voice wending its way out of its usual creaminess and into a precipitously high place. I sucked in my gut and followed it.
    Only because I had the worst luck possible did Sonia have her back to the door, while the board faced her—and me. I couldn’t remember anyone’s name except Egan’s, but the other two members were there, as well as a redheaded woman I hadn’t met before. Every face was ashen as Sonia sat before them in her silk robe and her now less-than-commanding posture. They had obviously realized that no miracle had yet occurred. I might have felt sorry for them if I hadn’t warned them weeks ago.
    â€œCome on in, Lucia,” Sonia said. She must have smelled my presence.
    As I edged inside, I saw Egan breathing so hard I could have driven a Buick into his nostrils.
    â€œTell my friends and supporters what kind of progress I’m making,” Sonia said.
    I didn’t move. Didn’t bring my dumpy self before this audience of slimness and righteousness. Bad enough they were all staring at me as I stood behind Sonia. I wouldn’t give them a full frontal to judge.
    Sonia waved her arm irritably. “Come on, Lucia. Tell them.”
    â€œYou’re making progress,” I said to the floor.
    â€œNo, tell them. ”
    The redhead nodded like a dashboard ornament. The rest still looked as if they’d just had electric shock therapy administered.
    â€œLucia.” Sonia snagged at my sleeve.
    If I didn’t move forward, I would look even more conspicuous. I had on a black sweater Chip had brought me, and I crossed it over my chest as I stepped up to stand beside her.
    â€œShe’s right on schedule,” I said to the wall above their heads. “Everything is going the way it’s supposed to.”
    â€œWe get that.” Egan leaned over the lid of his computer and looked at Sonia, yet not quite at her. “And Sonia, we’re willing to hang in there with you until you’re back . . . in shape.”
    â€œThat’s right.” A woman in large hoop earrings poured out her words like molasses. “Honey, we aren’t saying we’re not behind you, but the idea of going out now and speaking—this way—that’s not fair to you.”
    â€œWho ever promised fair? The only fair is where pigs win ribbons.” Sonia poured molasses back at her, giving fair more than its share of syllables. “This is not about me—this is about what people need, and they need to participate in this miracle of healing with me.”
    â€œAmen,” the redhead said.
    No one else joined her. Nor did anyone else appear to have the intestinal fortitude, as Chip always called it, to say what they were all thinking.
    Sonia drew herself up further. “So what you’re saying is that you won’t support me if I go out and speak like this.” She pointed to her face.
    â€œWe’re saying you should wait,” Egan said.
    â€œAnd I’m saying God doesn’t want me to wait. I’m not afraid.”
    â€œWell, I’m afraid for you,” a queenly middle-aged woman said. Her hands shook as she pulled a large jeweled ring on and off her finger. “People don’t want to see you suffering, Sonia. They love you too much.”
    â€œAnd I’m here to tell you,” Egan said, “the ones who do come will be curiosity seekers just wanting to rubberneck.”
    Sonia stood up abruptly and rocked on her feet. I reached out a hand to steady her, but she knocked me away. I swayed off kilter, and my hip collided with the table. For an instant the attention shifted, en masse,