November 29, 2017

Heart, Lock-it
List after list ran through Lauretha Finley’s mind. Things to do, things to buy, things to
clean – they rushed through, whipping like wind through a shadowed canyon. Her hands, filled
with straps from shopping bags, fumbled with her house-keys. They jingled and clinked like
Christmas bells, accompanied by Lauretha’s muttering about having to always lock the door in
this city.
Once she managed to get the key in the lock, she found it was unlocked. Lauretha froze,
her hand still on the doorknob, paying no attention to the fact that the shopping bags were
making her fingers cramp. No. Not here. Not now. Not ever, but especially not before Christmas.
The door was never unlocked this early in the day. Her svelte frame suddenly felt that much
more fragile. This man in her house – he could do so many things to her, and she would be
helpless to his-.
The door was pulled open from the inside.
Lauretha yelped, jumping back, her bags falling with a rustling clatter. A curse slipped
from her lips before she could catch it – much to the amusement of her husband, who stood there
looking at his trembling wife. Oliver Finley tried vainly to hide his laughter.
“O-Oliver,” she gasped. Her hand went to her chest, pressing there while her lungs
gasped. Heart pounding, Lauretha bemoaned, “I- I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were home.”
“I can see that,” Oliver smirked as he bent down to retrieve the scattered bags, “Hope
there is nothing breakable in these.”
She just shook her head, walking into their home.
“What is all this anyway?”
Lauretha gestured to the island in their kitchen as she replied, “Christmas presents.”
“Oh, so I shouldn’t just start going through these, huh?” Oliver grinned, starting to shift
the bags around as he set them down.
His wife shook her head as she tucked thin blond hair behind her ear, “It doesn’t matter. I
ordered yours online.”
“That means it’s expensive, yeah?” Oliver winked, giving her a kiss as he took her in his
arms, “How was shopping?”
“Good,” she chirped back, light grey eyes looking into his sparkling hazels, “How come
you’re home so early?”
Shrugging, Oliver pulled back, “Eh, I got an early ride. I meant to call, but… you know
me.”
“Menace.” The playful tease sounded strange in her quiet, lilting tone. Her voice had
always reminded him of the tinkling wind-chimes his mother used to keep. Other men acted like
their wives were terrifying when angry; she couldn’t scare someone even if she tried.
The couple settled in their respective places not long after. Oliver went back to sit on the
couch, picking up a discarded controller. The sunlight poured through the windows in that
yellow room, making him visible between the counter and cabinets that separated their kitchen
from the living room. That space hardly ever even needed for the overhead light to be turned on.
Consequently, it was Oliver’s favorite place.
The kitchen couldn’t have been more different. She’d wanted to update it when they first
moved in, but they only had a small amount of money to remodel. Oliver had asked to open up
the living room, repaint it daffodil yellow, and get new couches. Now, their living room had new
leather sofas, bright walls, and big windows. The kitchen, however, only had two dim, cloudy
overhead lights. The previous owners had tried to paint it a slate blue, but it came out as more of
a medium gray. The small window over the sink needed to be cleaned – no, replaced. Then there
was the sink itself. It was too shallow to carry dishes, so there were always plates and bowls
piled all over the counter. Lauretha had to admit that she had never asked Oliver to remodel the
kitchen, but he had never really asked her.
Pushing the blinking, red button on the phone, Lauretha listened to their voicemails as
she began sorting through the contents of the bags. Something about a bill, some telemarketer,
some family member wanting something, a parent from the church asking about the Sunday
lesson. Who was this shirt for again? This bowl went to Oliver’s sister-in-law – why was she so
obsessed with pineapples anyway? I hope Aiden likes this game.
“… just, as the school counselor, I think you should maybe ask your son about it. I am
not saying it is serious, but it might be. Maybe the three of you could come in for a conference
soon?”
Lauretha sent a sharp look at the phone. School counselor? She placed the game-case
back on the island, hurrying to the phone to hit the replay button. Her fingernail clicked on the
plastic.
“Oliver and Lauretha Finley? Hey, this is Walter Ruestman. I know we have talked about
your son, Aiden, before, but I just thought that we might meet again to discuss it further? He has
been, uh, struggling more at school, you know, with the defiance in Mr. Boyd’s class. I want to
do everything in my power to help Aiden succeed, but I really need some cooperation from you
two. I know your schedules are a bit tight. But just, as the school counselor, I think you should
maybe ask your son about it. I am not saying it is serious, but it might be. Maybe the three of you
could come in for a conference soon?”
BEEEEP. You have no new messages.
Defiance? It was hard to believe. Aiden was not defiant – he was hardly anything. She
could barely get him to ask for the milk at home, much less make him oppose her in any way.
Lauretha had even tried to make him mad before. She’d had to repent afterward, knowing that
parents shouldn’t aggravate their kids, but she desperately wanted him to just respond in some
way. In any way! He always just nodded or shrugged and went to his room. It was like nothing
mattered to him.
“He’s twelve,” she murmured, “Too young to be that empty…” Her eyes flicked to her
husband. He’d apparently heard none of the messages, playing some game via his computer now.
Oliver had always enjoyed video games – something he passed down to his son. It had never
really bothered Lauretha, but she couldn’t help the feeling of frustration building in her gut.
Aiden hadn’t acted like this until they moved to this cold, wet city.
She’d never wanted to come.
She still didn’t want to be here.
 Closing her eyes, she saw her mother and father fighting those many years ago. Her mom
had screamed, “You really think you can tell me how to live my life? It’s my life!”It was
Mother’s mantra. It’s my life. It’s my life.
A sigh escaped Lauretha’s lips. That was Ella, always creating trouble and being a
general pain to everyone around her. She was so selfish, stealing from Lauretha’s grandma,
ignoring her children, and walking all over her husband. If she hadn’t wanted to get married,
why did she? Did she feel pressured to by family or culture or – did it matter? There was
pressure everywhere to settle down with a good guy, buy a beautiful house, and have a kid or
two.
Still. Whatever Ella’s excuse, Lauretha knew what it was like to be on the other end of
that kind of selfishness. She didn’t want that, especially not for her husband. Even if it meant
suffering in silence, she wouldn’t be oppositional to Oliver like Ella was to Lauretha’s father.
“Oliver?”
The man grunted in reply, his brown curls catching the light and shining with golds and
reds. Lauretha chewed her lip as she watched him.
Finally, she managed, “You know… your computer is almost dead.”
“I like to flirt with death,” came his reply.
Smiling, Lauretha leaned on the counter standing between them, the shelves over her
head casting shadows on her. Even her pastel-green blouse seemed dull under the looming
cabinet.
“Oliver, um, that was the school counselor. He- he wants us to come in as a family
again.”
That got her husband to pause the game. Oliver pushed the computer off his lap as he
turned to regard her. “What did he say?”
“Well, I guess Aiden is being disobedient to Mr. Boyd again? Walter said defiant, but I
just can’t imagine that. He’s so quiet…”
Oliver was already shaking his head, “Yeah, Aiden wouldn’t talk back to you even if you
slapped him. I mean, do you think it’s probably just stress or puberty or something? He’s at that
age.”
“I don’t think so. He isn’t like that at home. Aren’t kids supposed to behave worse at
home than anywhere else?”
“I think a mouse would make more chaos.”
“I know,” Lauretha stressed, tapping her nose as she thought, “It doesn’t make sense.
And I can’t get him to talk to me.”
Turning to face her completely, Oliver shifted forward. “Well, what do you think it is?”
His eyes bored into her. Lauretha blinked several times before pulling her arms from the
cold granite-top. “I-I don’t know.” Why was he asking her? “He doesn’t talk to me much more
than anyone else. Some, but not about anything like that.”
“You don’t have any ideas?”
“I mean, not really.” If Oliver hadn’t basically missed a year of their son’s life, maybe he
wouldn’t have to ask her.
 Oliver stood, walking to the side of the counter opposite Lauretha, the rooms split into
light and darkness by the divide. “Lauretha, I just thought that, since you’re around him so much,
you might know SOMETHING. Does he hate math? Mr. Boyd is his math teacher, right?”
“That’s not it,” she said. The sun rays made the granite shimmer just a bit, and she found
it hard to look away from it. “No, he loved math back in Lookout. I think it is just the schools
here maybe?”
“Why?” Oliver demanded, verbally going in hard and fast to catch his quickly retreating
wife, “The schools here are great.”
Lauretha just shook her head.
Oliver rose a brow, wanting something more. Anything. “L?”
“I don’t know, Oliver.”
“Hun, come on. Just talk to me. When did we stop talking?”
She loved him. She always loved him. So how could she ever tell him? How could she
ever say, You brought us to this place and destroyed our family. I told you not to, but you did it
anyway. Now we’re here. She could never tell him the truth.
The “why” her husband so doggedly pressed for was standing right in front of her.
“Lauretha??”
Tears wet her eyes, a response Oliver had learned to ignore long ago. It wasn’t like he
didn’t want to comfort her; he wanted to more than anything. But to even acknowledge them was
to ruin his wife’s day. To try to calm her? She would probably just fall apart.
They heard Aiden’s door grind open, click shut; grind open, click shut. At least it broke
the silence.
Lauretha wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and smiled, “This house is a mess. You just
relax, okay?”
“You don’t want any help? I’m home early enough to-”
“No, I’m fine,” she squeezed his hand in her thin one, “You just relax.”

Lauretha had only meant to clean the kitchen. However, going upstairs to their room, she
found it was also a mess. Then she only meant to clean the bedroom. But she went into the
bathroom, later the study, then the guest room. The carpets needed to be vacuumed, and the
floors swept. What kind of wife would leave their house looking like this?
She dusted around figurines of their Nativity, singing quietly to herself. The dryer’s
signal went off, alerting her to put in the next load. Newly wrapped presents were nestled
pristinely under the tree, every box laying atop the others with just enough messiness to not look
like stacks and enough organization to not look like a Christmas catastrophe. Lauretha reminded
herself to check on dinner before getting the laundry.
Across the room from her, Oliver watched his wife as she flitted from this corner of the
house to the other. It was like cleaning was her pastime.
Except he knew her well enough to know that she didn’t really enjoy cleaning much.
Yet, the house was always so immaculate. Especially his living room area. There was
hardly ever a speck of dust on the TV. The tables were polished. Even the sofas were regularly
vacuumed between the cushions. It was slowly occurring to Oliver that Lauretha would much
rather clean and cook for him than actually talk to him about anything. The only problem was he
didn’t care a whit about the house being this clean or how good the food was. Sure, all that was
nice, but he wanted her.
“You know, I remember this one time when I was playing out in the ocean,” Oliver
began, catching his wife’s attention. “It was really early in the morning, so I was the only one
awake. As a kid, I always had this seashell collection: boxes and boxes full of seashells.
Anyway, morning is the best time to get them. I remember going out there, collecting seashell
after seashell when I finally found this one that was just, ugh, you had to have seen it. It was one
of those awesome, swirly, peachy colored ones. Like, the kind you can put your ear to?”
Lauretha nodded.
“I always wanted one – it was, like, my dream. I kept it on the path for like thirty minutes
or something before I decided I wanted to play with it. So, there I go, off into the water, just me
and my awesome shell.”
“Oh no…”
“Yeah… the current came in a pulled it out of my hand. I remember I dove into the water
to get it – babe, I even saw the silly thing. But… it was just out of my reach. My fingers even
touched it.”
“You lost it?”
Oliver watched his distant wife, the love of his life. “Yeah, yeah I lost it.”
Gliding to him, Lauretha sat on the couch beside Oliver. Her shoulder leaned against his,
her hand on his knee. He heard her chuckle.
“Well, I am glad you’re not a shell,” she paused before elaborating, “I’d probably lose
you.”
“L,” Oliver chided, sitting up enough to look her in the eye, “What are you talking about?
You won’t lose me. Besides, I’ve been home way more now than I have ever been, especially
since last year was so rough.”
“I am glad you’re home. Especially for Aiden. It will be nice to have you around to help
pick up all the messes around here from last year when you were gone.” Lauretha was
surprisingly calm. There was no hatred or anger or disgust in her voice. If Oliver hadn’t known
any better, he would have thought she was talking about the weather, not suggesting that his
job’s pulling him away from the family for so long last year was the cause of their current issues.
Oliver just kept looking at her, though she wouldn’t look back. “Do you really feel that
way?” he asked her.
“What way?”
“Like, like all of this is my fault? Like Aiden is my-“
Lauretha sat up, holding his hand tightly, “Oliver, no. Don’t say that. You’re a good dad,
and you try to do your best for us. I understand that; Aiden understands that.”
“But didn’t you just say-”
“Forget what I said,” Lauretha pressed quietly, “Remember? This is your day to relax.”
Oliver went silent, watching helplessly as Lauretha got up to set the table for dinner even
though it was still about an hour away.
 “Laura, all I am saying is just think about it,” Lauretha’s sister said on the phone that
night.
“I did.”
“Oh yeah, when?”
Lauretha bit her lip, “Just now.”
“Laura.”
“I know, I know,” Lauretha stopped pacing, her face a bit sweaty against the warmth of
the phone, “I know.” She sat on the made bed. “I just don’t want to… to be like mom. Oliver
would hate that a lot more than this. He has a clean house, good food, clean clothes. I do
everything I am supposed to.”
There was a groan on the other side of the phone, “Why do you all that?”
Lauretha fell quiet. What kind of question was that? She did it because that’s what good
wives do, and she wanted to be a good wife. No matter how she felt about it. Oliver was not a
bad man. He deserved a good wife that took care of his house.
“Laura, I am just saying, think about it. Like, what would it matter if I bought you a
present, but I only did it because I had to. That totally undermines that whole, ‘It’s the heart that
counts,’ thing. You are just doing all that because you feel like you have to, not because you
want to. You let him lead you because you don’t want to be like mom, but not because you trust
him to lead you. You feel cornered, I know. But, just, consider it.”
Tears dripped down Lauretha’s cheeks.
“Hey, sis,” her sister suddenly said, “I need to go; my kid is really quiet back there. But
just think about it. If you need to talk, I’m right here.”
“O-okay.”
Soon it was just Lauretha sitting in the dark bedroom, her phone in her lap. It wasn’t
enough to just give her will, body, or wants. Now Jesus was asking for even more. Was there
more to give?
Surely.
Lauretha pushed herself off the bed, walking to her jewelry box. Opening it, she found a
heart locket that Oliver had given her when they were dating. Her fingers grazed the engraving
of her name on the cover. Maybe she was more like this locket than she would have liked to
admit. Sure, her name was on the outside, but her real self was on the inside, locked away from
everyone. She didn’t want to be so distant.
True submission wasn’t just obedience. True submission was aligning your entire life
with the life of someone else. In this case, Oliver. Closing her fist around the locket, Lauretha
prayed. She prayed for strength to relate with Oliver openly, to be honest, and to be straight-
forward with him. She prayed for sincerity. She prayed that she would be able to rededicate her
heart to Oliver, no matter what else happened.