Through a Glass, Darkly: A Novel

By Judy Andersen

Through a Glass, Darkly
by Judy Andersen

Newly divorced, seeking a new life, Macy Madden moves from the Midwest to Baltimore. We learn what prompts her to make changes in her life and follow her adventures once in Baltimore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543952261

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Judy Andersen

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54395-225-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54395-226-1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

1 Corinthians 13:12

King James version of the Bible - For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

New International Version - For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The Courthouse

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part 2

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

PART 3

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Christmas Eve

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Part 4

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Acknowledgements

Prologue

The cherry blossoms were past their prime, but there were other signs of spring in the park: trees with faint green baby leaves, blooming crabapple trees and birds in the trees singing their hearts out. Nancy walked slowly, observing all the beauty around her. She didn’t get much opportunity for walks in the park. Work was all-consuming for her. If she wasn’t in the House chamber, she was in committee, or working on speeches, or giving them somewhere. And what little spare time she had was given to fundraising, phone calls, keeping up with all the reading she needed to do to know what was going on in the world. But these were sacrifices she was willing to make for the job she loved.

She saw Dora walking along the path and stop to take a drink from the fountain, then proceed a little faster than the pace of the Congresswoman. The potential First Lady seemed always to be moving with purpose. There didn’t appear to be anyone with her or following her.

Maybe meeting her in the park would give away their subterfuge, their pretended casual meeting. It was a public place after all, but there were few people around in the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Nancy had counted on that.

Very shortly they were eye to eye.

Well, hello, Mrs. Loomis. Fancy meeting you here. It must be difficult for you to get away on your own like this, said Nancy.

Yes, it is difficult, but not impossible. Ultimately, it’s my husband everyone’s interested in. He’s giving a speech right now at a university. Why are we here, Congresswoman? And, please, call me Dora.

Thank you. Please call me Nancy. What excuse would we have for meeting in my office or a restaurant where it would be obvious we’d planned it? I needed this to look like an accident, our meeting. We have to form an alliance.

Aren’t we one already? We’re both Democrats.

A little more personal one. We may have a common enemy and if we put our heads together we can find ways to diffuse her power. Let me explain.

That would be helpful, she said, laughing a little. I’m not too sure what this is all about. I guess we’re skipping the small talk.

There’s a new girl in town. She’s attracted quite a bit of attention, although she either doesn’t know it or doesn’t know what to do with it. Her name is Macy Madden and she’s gone from job to job and picked up quite a following wherever she goes. She worked in the court system and then in a public clinic for the doctor who treats low income families.

How does this make her an enemy of either of us?

I want to stay in Congress. This is my life’s work. I don’t need the competition.

Do you have any reason to believe she’s going to run for your seat?

I have reason to believe she’s going to be asked to run for my seat.

By the Republicans?

Nancy laughed. Hardly. She comes across as being pretty liberal, at least on social issues.

Have you ever met her?

No.

"This is all seeming like quite a stretch. And what exactly makes her my enemy? Not that

I wouldn’t gladly do what I could to boost the campaign of a fellow Democrat … "

No, it’s more personal than that. Nancy paused and looked around, partly to survey the area and see if they were being observed and partly to weigh her words. She felt she had to choose them carefully to make them count, to make an impression.

Your husband, I understand, perceives Randy Harrigan to be a serious threat, more so than the other Democratic candidates.

"They have won an equal number of primaries so far. If they go into the convention with that tally, Henry’s not a shoo-in. He would prefer to have it all locked up so that there’s no fight.

Go on."

I’ve been in the House long enough to have a pretty good number of contacts in this town. The trouble is, you can’t always tell who’s on whose side, who really are trusted friends or who are just friends until they get what they want from you, then off they go to some other camp. Loyalty is in short supply around here. What I know, I hear from various sources, some of whom can be trusted, some who can’t. But here’s the word on the street, or more likely in the bars, I suppose. She smirked and paused again, then with a sigh, went on.

It seems that a lot of the people working on the Harrigan campaign think he might be a more attractive candidate as a married man than he is as a divorced one. They’ve been out to find him a wife. Macy’s name has come up. She’s single and works for a law firm where several of the lawyers are involved with the Harrigan campaign. They’ve even done some behind-the-scenes vetting. She seems to be pretty clean – grew up in the Midwest, goes to church, etc. They’re trying to get the two of them together. Imagine what would happen if suddenly there were to be a romance added to a candidate’s profile? Are you starting to get my drift?

As they strolled along the path, Nancy looked up to see a news truck pull over to the curb not far from where they walked and follow beside them slowly.

Uh oh. I suppose there’s a camera trained on us inside that truck, said Nancy.

"Count on it. That’s hardly unusual these days. If you don’t want them to know what we’re talking about, look down and turn away as you speak, then they can’t read lips.

Man. What a life. As I was saying, we need to see that she doesn’t get in the way of either of our plans.

I trust what you have in mind isn’t illegal.

No need. She’s easy. She’s broke. We just have to make sure she has trouble paying her bills. There are lots of ways to make that happen, all of them legit. In the process, we can throw a little mud on her. She’s looking a bit too shiny. Here’s the deal…

Part 1

Chapter 1

"C heers, said Cheryl, as she raised her glass and Macy clinked it with her own. This may be the last chance we’ll have to get together before I sail for home."

Literally? asked Macy. You could, I guess: Lake Michigan, through the St. Lawrence Seaway and down a few more Great Lakes to Cleveland. Wouldn’t it be faster to rent a car?

Yeah, but not as scenic. If I decide to take a cruise before I look for a job, I think I’ll try for something a little more exotic. Why don’t we do that? The two of us.

Macy sighed. I wish. It would mean time off from work, and approval from What’s-His-Name, you know, that guy who thinks because I married him, I’m responsible for his care and feeding. I’m his wife, not his mother. Maybe he doesn’t know the difference. Or maybe he just wishes it were different.

They were sitting at a table back against the wall of one of the bars they frequented on week nights, a late happy hour, where they found a reasonable group, size-wise. Weekends tended to be a little too crowded. The cousins had had an opportunity to rekindle their friendship since Macy had moved to Chicago for her husband’s job and Cheryl had been going to school there. During their growing-up years, Macy’s family had lived mostly in Indianapolis and Cheryl’s in Cleveland, where she planned to return, for the short term at least, soon.

I wonder what my social life will be like back in my old home town. It’s become cozy here in that respect. I’ve met a good group of people, so I’ve always got somebody to hang with, you know? said Cheryl.

It’ll take some effort, but you can do the same when you get back home. Maybe you can look up some of your old high school besties. And once you find a job, that’s a whole new set of possible friends, offered Macy.

You do make it sound like an adventure and a pleasant one at that. But I still worry that it may be a long time before I have an interesting date. I’m not exactly Jennifer Lawrence, you know. Here in the dim light after a few drinks I’ve been hit on a few times. I guess I don’t expect that I’ll run into age-appropriate men who are appropriate in any other category when I get back home. Not everyone turns heads the way you do, Macy.

What about the Internet? Social media? I thought that’s what everybody did. She chose to ignore the final remark.

Yeah, well, everybody I know who went that route said she had to kiss a lot of toads before she met the handsome prince, if she met him at all, Cheryl went on.

Macy smiled. That’s how I met Brad.

And it’s all worked out fine for you two? Cheryl asked.

I don’t know, said Macy. We have a lot in common.

Like ….

Oh, I don’t know … said Macy again.

That’s twice you’ve said that. What do you know, Macy?

Okay, I know I was impressed at how sure he is of himself and what he is doing. I attribute that to being in the computer business. It’s a good field to be in right now and he has that kind of organized mind I think it takes. And the fact that he was older than the college guys I’d been hanging out with was part of the attraction.

Well, if you’ll forgive my saying so, whatever it was that lit that spark back then seems to have evolved into a flickering flame. I never get a sense of a bond between you two when I see you together.

It’s that obvious, is it? asked Macy.

Yes, was all that Cheryl said, and then she waited to hear her cousin’s response. She had thought long and hard about whether or not to broach the subject of Macy’s marriage before she had to go back home to Ohio and wouldn’t see her face to face for who knew how long. Macy and Brad had been together for about six years, five years married, no children, no real markers or milestones or notable experiences that Cheryl knew of and she detected a general ennui from both. They didn’t even seem to take vacations together and always seemed to have an excuse why they couldn’t go off together once in a while. Frankly, Cheryl wondered if Brad had a girlfriend, or a mistress more like, but she was not about to say that out loud. The frown on Macy’s face told Cheryl that she was giving serious thought to her response, that she wasn’t going to just change the subject. She sensed that a serious discussion was about to ensue.

He spends so much time working, staying late at night, weekends, I feel as if he doesn’t want to come home. Then when he does, he’s always so tired. Is he just avoiding spending time with me or is there someone else? He never was a very emotional or expressive person. I keep going back to when we first met and fell in love. At least one of us was in love. If he wasn’t, why did he keep calling and coming around and why did he propose in the first place? That was five years ago, and I can’t even remember his words. Was it, Hey, I don’t have any plans for the next month or so, do you wanna get married? Or did he honestly express some great love and longing to spend the rest of his natural born days with me?

Cheryl remembered their wedding as a lovely affair with lots of flowers and music and dancing, family and friends in attendance. She didn’t remember having any specific impression of Brad back then, but she was a high school student at the time and was mostly focused on her cousin in her big beautiful white dress. Their age difference was more pronounced at that point in their lives. It was narrowing as they got older.

I don’t know, Cheryl, what I can do to jump-start this relationship again. He never wants to talk about it and finds reasons to just change the subject or leave the room. I’ve even tried to bring up the matter of having kids, but his answer is always, Not yet. Then, when? We never get that far. She let out a big sigh before going on. If I can’t think of a way to change the status quo, I need to do something… something … I just don’t know what, or maybe I don’t want to think about the alternatives.

Journal entry

I’ve talked Brad into taking me with him to the conference he’s attending in DC. It’s a long drive from Chicago to Washington, but it seems like a good chance to spend some time together. He didn’t hesitate much before saying okay, but he didn’t jump for joy either. It will be a nice break from this monotony. Waking up every morning to see what the new word of the day is can only occupy so much of my time.

Journal entry

Redivivus: living again. That’s the Word for the Day when I logged on this morning. It’s what I’d like to be doing -- living again. I know that not all days can be anecdotally fascinating, that some are boring and tedious, but I would like the big picture to produce signs of a life that includes a variety of people and events, things worth journaling about and remembering. Somehow, what I’m doing now doesn’t seem to contain that richness. I have very little people contact and sometimes connecting with the people I do encounter on anything other than a very superficial level is an effort. I really believe this is part of what contributes to my tiredness all the time. Life is a struggle in spite of its lack of stress, or maybe because of it. There are no challenges that require serious mental faculties any more, just little annoyances to overcome or put up with, leaving me with a feeling of smallness and pettiness and, ultimately, uselessness, worthlessness. No wonder I feel so sad all the time. But what to do about it. I’m going to try, dear journal, to find some answers.

Journal entry

Today the word was piebald, meaning mottled. I don’t think there is anything (or anyone) in my life qualified to be called mottled. Maybe my old van. Yesterday it was gastronome. Nope, can’t think of a use for that either. Before that, trice: to hoist, disturb, shake up. Well, if I’m thinking about moving, I will do plenty of hoisting, although I think that definition is supposed to be nautical and no sails will be hoisted in this move. Before trice came outre: unconventional, bizarre. That should fit somewhere. My favorite from last week was pleonasm, using more words than necessary to express an idea. Oh, I’ve been accused of that many a time. I’m a good pleonasmist (the computer auto check wouldn’t let me write pleonasm-er without the dash. I guess there’s no such term).

Journal entry

We’re back from our trip, which was most interesting. No, it was more than that. I hope it’s going to turn out to be life-changing. We drove through Baltimore on our way to Washington, DC. As a casual observer, or at least trying to give the appearance of one, I was more intrigued with Baltimore, which seems to be a city of a size I could manage. We stopped there for lunch at the Inner Harbor and looked out over the water as we ate. It was warm and summery, and everyone was dressed in play clothes. Everything within my range of sight seemed alive and colorful and noisy in a fascinating way. I suppose it was the fact that everyone around me spoke with an accent different from my own Midwestern one that made the sounds seem so magical. It was all in some sense other-worldly, a world other than the one I’ve lived in all my life. It would make some people chuckle, I think, that I could be so intrigued just by being a few hundred miles away from home in my own country.

I was sitting at the table after lunch, watching the people next to me while Brad went to the restroom. There were two young men who I surmised to be brothers because they looked a little alike. I fantasized about what their conversation could be. They were wearing what I thought were nautical-looking summer clothes - tee shirts, shorts, flip-flops in red, white and blue - and so in my reverie they had just tied up their boat at the pier. One appeared to have a dreamy faraway expression on his face, while the other seemed very serious, frowning, and looking as if he were trying to get some point across to his starry-eyed brother. This tiny little scene heightened my desire to take my thoughts of moving myself to a new place, a new life, a whole set of new scenery, out of the realm of fantasy and into the reality of actually making plans.

I guess this germ of an idea, the one about moving, leaving my current life behind, has come about because I can’t seem to motivate myself to apply to graduate