certain realities.
Then Bella really kicked it up a notch.
“So where are you getting your regular fits of MGM?”
“Fits? MGM?” Cissy asked.
“Hey, I’m hip. That’s what kids call druggies’ daily helpings of their poison.”
Maybe I’d just slip under the table. How could Bella flat out call Cissy, a woman who could quite possibly be as innocent and nice as she again seemed, a junkie?
With great dignity, Cissy said, “You must mean fix , Bella. And I’ll have you know I’m no drug addict. I’m a retired nurse, a student of health sciences. I support research and development. And just you wait. One of these days everyone will line up for their routine HGH shot just like me.”
Bella pushed her lips out. “Ooh, baby. Not me. No way, no how. You won’t ever catch me shooting up with some voodoo juice cooked up who knows where by who knows who.”
Again Cissy took offense. “It’s produced at a research lab in Mexico, Bella, and Dr. Díaz is very well respected in the medical community. He knows what he’s doing.”
My head began to throb; the mental ping-pong game had everything to do with it.
Bella went in for the kill. “I bet he does. Do you?”
I cringed. Bella’s antics had to stop. “What kind of question is that?”
She pounded the table. “The kind that gets real answers, Haley girl. If we want to get to the bottom of this, then someone’s gotta do that kind of asking. I’m doing it ’cause you’re just sitting on your butt watching lettuce wilt.”
She was right. I had sat like a lump from the moment she’d taken up the reins of the conversation. Unfortunately, we hadn’t learned a thing. Well, some. But not much. Not enough that I could take it to Lila and get anywhere with her.
“I think what Bella means,” I ventured, “is that we don’t understand why you’re willing to risk your health on an unproven remedy.”
“I want to do my part. I want to help those who are working to prove the value of HGH. I want to give people hope. I want . . . I want to help eliminate the threat of death.”
The fear Larry had mentioned cast a shadow across her face. I reached out and covered her hand. “Why would you want to do that?”
Her fingers trembled. “Because it hurts so much to lose those you love.”
“I’ll buy that. I still miss my mother, and she’s been gone a couple of years now. Also a friend who died after her. But I’m okay. I’ve moved into a new place in my life. Everyone does that after the loss doesn’t sting so bad.”
Her hand spasmed into a fist, and she looked away. “But don’t you worry what she went through? How scared she must have been? Where she is now? How hopelessly lonely she must be?”
“Oh dear . . .” Bella’s bulldog feistiness was gone.
I met her gaze. Cissy had no faith. What a sad way to live. I knew it too well.
“I don’t worry about my mother,” I said in a gentle voice. “I never have. I know where she is and who is at her side.”
Cissy yanked her hand away. “How? How can you possibly know?”
“Because I know the one who holds our lives in his hand. And my mother knew him too. Today she’s face-to-face with him, and all her pain and fears are gone. The God of heaven takes care of his own.”
“Everyone’s got a God story,” Cissy said with a shrug. “I’ve never come across one that sounds right. There’s the New Age guys who say you’re your own god; there’s the pagans who worship Egyptian deities and trees and rocks; and then there’s the Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and everything else in between. Everyone’s got a story to tell.”
“There is a difference,” Bella said.
“What’s that?” Cissy asked.
“Only one story tells about when God became a man and died on a cross for us—you too. None of the other stories hold water; they’re missing the love, the sacrifice, that real, live, here-today-to-stay truth.”
“You’re talking about Jesus, and I know he taught good things.
Then Bella really kicked it up a notch.
“So where are you getting your regular fits of MGM?”
“Fits? MGM?” Cissy asked.
“Hey, I’m hip. That’s what kids call druggies’ daily helpings of their poison.”
Maybe I’d just slip under the table. How could Bella flat out call Cissy, a woman who could quite possibly be as innocent and nice as she again seemed, a junkie?
With great dignity, Cissy said, “You must mean fix , Bella. And I’ll have you know I’m no drug addict. I’m a retired nurse, a student of health sciences. I support research and development. And just you wait. One of these days everyone will line up for their routine HGH shot just like me.”
Bella pushed her lips out. “Ooh, baby. Not me. No way, no how. You won’t ever catch me shooting up with some voodoo juice cooked up who knows where by who knows who.”
Again Cissy took offense. “It’s produced at a research lab in Mexico, Bella, and Dr. Díaz is very well respected in the medical community. He knows what he’s doing.”
My head began to throb; the mental ping-pong game had everything to do with it.
Bella went in for the kill. “I bet he does. Do you?”
I cringed. Bella’s antics had to stop. “What kind of question is that?”
She pounded the table. “The kind that gets real answers, Haley girl. If we want to get to the bottom of this, then someone’s gotta do that kind of asking. I’m doing it ’cause you’re just sitting on your butt watching lettuce wilt.”
She was right. I had sat like a lump from the moment she’d taken up the reins of the conversation. Unfortunately, we hadn’t learned a thing. Well, some. But not much. Not enough that I could take it to Lila and get anywhere with her.
“I think what Bella means,” I ventured, “is that we don’t understand why you’re willing to risk your health on an unproven remedy.”
“I want to do my part. I want to help those who are working to prove the value of HGH. I want to give people hope. I want . . . I want to help eliminate the threat of death.”
The fear Larry had mentioned cast a shadow across her face. I reached out and covered her hand. “Why would you want to do that?”
Her fingers trembled. “Because it hurts so much to lose those you love.”
“I’ll buy that. I still miss my mother, and she’s been gone a couple of years now. Also a friend who died after her. But I’m okay. I’ve moved into a new place in my life. Everyone does that after the loss doesn’t sting so bad.”
Her hand spasmed into a fist, and she looked away. “But don’t you worry what she went through? How scared she must have been? Where she is now? How hopelessly lonely she must be?”
“Oh dear . . .” Bella’s bulldog feistiness was gone.
I met her gaze. Cissy had no faith. What a sad way to live. I knew it too well.
“I don’t worry about my mother,” I said in a gentle voice. “I never have. I know where she is and who is at her side.”
Cissy yanked her hand away. “How? How can you possibly know?”
“Because I know the one who holds our lives in his hand. And my mother knew him too. Today she’s face-to-face with him, and all her pain and fears are gone. The God of heaven takes care of his own.”
“Everyone’s got a God story,” Cissy said with a shrug. “I’ve never come across one that sounds right. There’s the New Age guys who say you’re your own god; there’s the pagans who worship Egyptian deities and trees and rocks; and then there’s the Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and everything else in between. Everyone’s got a story to tell.”
“There is a difference,” Bella said.
“What’s that?” Cissy asked.
“Only one story tells about when God became a man and died on a cross for us—you too. None of the other stories hold water; they’re missing the love, the sacrifice, that real, live, here-today-to-stay truth.”
“You’re talking about Jesus, and I know he taught good things.
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