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Paint The Storm: A Christian Contemporary Novel (Golden State Trilogy Book 1)

By Dawn V. Cahill

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Meg swept ruby red acrylic across the canvas, forming a span over gray-blue water. Streaks of raspberry pink infused the Golden Gate Bridge with a romantic glow. More paint splattered onto her smock, which always looked like it had just emerged from Paintball Central. Barry might laugh at her smock, but he’d love the finished product on her easel.
Her phone chimed just as she added a dab of silver-gray to the fog rolling over the Bay.
Linzee’s picture graced the screen.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, Mom.”
Instead of dull brown rock, vibrant kelly green formed the lookout spot at Point Bonita, complete with blinding white lighthouse.
“What time is Uncle Brad’s Fourth of July shindig?” Linzee said.
“Noonish.” More ruby red stretched to the sky. Those famous towers, supporting the weight of the structure on their graceful shoulders. Not everyone could paint and talk on the phone at the same time. But, like most moms, she could multi-task with the best of them.
“Good,” said Linzee. “I’m going to bring Nena.”
Meg paused, her red-tipped brush suspended above the canvas.
“You and the family will finally get to meet my significant other.”
“Why can’t you just call her your friend?” The words blurted out before she could stop them.
She could almost see Linzee bristling on the other end. “Do you call Barry your ‘friend’? I’m not going to hide our relationship just because you’re a homophobe.”
A flood of frustration came over her. She dropped the paintbrush to the easel tray. “Linzee! You know that’s not true.”
“You are, Mom. Remember what you said when I asked your opinion on gay marriage?”
“I was simply being honest. Just because I believe homosexuality is wrong doesn’t make me a homophobe.” She bit her lip and pulled air deep into her lungs, then opened the studio door and paced the hallway. “Look, Linzee, I’m tired of arguing about this. If you don’t like my opinions, don’t ask for them.”
“I’m exposing your hypocrisy. You say you’re a Christian, but you make Nena feel like an outcast. She thinks you hate her.”
“How can I hate her? I don’t even know her.”
“That’s because you keep making excuses not to meet her. How do you think that makes her feel?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to meet her . . .” She let her voice trail away as her pacing feet carried her first to her bedroom, then back to the studio.
Gulping, she floundered for the right words. “When you moved back after college, I was hoping we could spend more time together. Just you and me, without your friend…”
“Girlfriend.”
“We haven’t gotten together and talked in ages.”
“There’s a reason for that. You’re a hypocrite and I don’t like your attitude.” Linzee’s clipped tones came through loud and clear. “Anyway, I’m done. I need to go. Bye.”
The phone went silent.
***
Her daughter’s words rang through Meg’s mind all night. Homophobe. Hypocrite. By the time her alarm rang at six a.m., she wasn’t positive she’d slept at all.
Bleary-eyed, she took a quick shower and downed a cup of coffee. Fighting back tears, she pondered her heart—heavy with helpless regret. Linzee wanted Meg to accept her lifestyle. Yet Linzee wasn’t willing to respect Meg’s convictions.
Standing inside her closet, she scanned an array of work skirts and blazers, wishing she could stay home. But the anticipation of seeing Barry after work lifted her spirits a notch. He’d offer sympathy and a listening ear, maybe some words of wisdom, and finish with a comforting hug and tender kiss.
Finally on her way, she merged onto the 101 and poured her heart out to God. Her broken heart couldn’t handle any more reminders of how far Linzee had strayed from God. And Nena was the biggest reminder of all.
She’d nearly reached the Golden Gate Bridge when she realized that, in her frantic rush, she’d forgotten her cell phone.
Stifling an oath, she got off at Sausalito. She had to have her cell phone. Even if it meant she’d be late for work.
Sighing, she retraced her route back home, then found her phone and saw a text from Barry reminding her he’d see her tonight. The thoughtful, unnecessary gesture brought a smile to her face. How could she forget? She keyed a reply, Yes! Looking forward to it!
After she’d grabbed another cup of coffee to go and sent her boss an apologetic text, she hopped into her car and headed back to the city.
Half an hour later, her high heels clacked on the sidewalk as she rounded the corner onto Post Street, only to be distracted by noise from Union Square, where bodies and signs packed the area and police swarmed.
Meg stopped next to a man in a suit and asked, “What’s going on over there?”
He replied without looking at her, “They’re celebrating the legalization of same-sex marriage.”
“Look.” The spectator next to Mr. Suit pointed. “There are those Haight Street Church picketers.”
The first man cursed. “Hope they get thrown in jail.”
The protesters’ signs read, “God Hates Gays” and “Gays Will Burn.” The local media had dubbed the group “The Hate Church on Haight Street.”
Over the din, the speaker at a podium shouted, “San Francisco, we’re witnessing the dawn of a new era—marriage equality for all!” His words bounced off surrounding buildings.
Through a megaphone, a second voice rose. “You’re going to Hell!”
The speaker responded, “Doesn’t God hate haters, friends?”
The crowd chanted, “God hates haters, God hates haters…”
“God hates fags!” megaphone man yelled.
Meg cringed, wanting to wrest his megaphone away and smash him upside the head with it. How dare he claim God hated her daughter?
“Haters!” shouted the speaker. “Love wins!”
“Love wins!” the crowd joined in. “Love wins!”
Meg could only imagine Linzee yelling in triumph.
Glancing at the time, she elbowed her way to Noelle Marquette’s glass doors and rode a mirrored elevator to the sixth floor Merchandising Department, where she nearly collided with Craig from Receiving.
“Megan St. John.” He sang her name as he accompanied her to her desk. “You’ve got mail.” He dropped a parcel on top of her mile-high inbox and pranced away.
Meg plopped into her chair, turning to Julie, her cubicle mate. “The day has barely begun, but I can already tell it’s going to be a stressful one.”
Julie leaned toward Meg. “Are you seeing Barry tonight?”
“I am. It’s been three long days since our last date.”
“The downside of a long-distance relationship.”
“We live sixty miles apart. More like semi-long-distance.”
“Meeting in Redwood City?”
“Of course, he likes me to meet him halfway.” If only she could close her eyes and wake up at five o’clock. The prospect of a relaxing evening with Barry, still hours away, left her jumpy with impatience. “At least we don’t get tired of each other.”
“The upside of a semi-long-distance relationship.”
As she clutched the computer mouse, a photo flashed across her screen, reminding her of happier times. She and Linzee leaned their heads together, flashing smiles white as daisies. Playful glints shone from identical green eyes, and freckles dotted both faces. Linzee’s hair, partly covered by a tasseled cap, hinted at sunshine and yellow roses. Meg’s own coloring suggested wheat fields and Golden Retrievers.
Julie cleared her throat. “What’s bugging you?”
“Why do you think something’s bugging me?”
“Whenever you thump your mouse on the desk, something has you riled.”
She stared at the cheerful photo. “It’s Linzee. Ever since she moved back last month . . . we haven’t been getting along.”
“Why did she move back?”
“She graduated from UCLA and starts a new job in September. In the meantime, she’s working two part-time jobs. She and her partner are renting this tiny apartment that’s costing them an arm and a leg.”
“Her partner?”
She swiveled slowly to face Julie. “Linzee’s gay.”
“She is?” Julie’s eyes widened. “I had no idea.”
“Please don’t repeat this to anyone.” She hoped she wouldn’t regret confiding in Julie. “She came out in high school. I kept hoping she’d grow out of it. Just a phase, you know. Then she met Nena at UCLA, and now she claims she’s in love.” She flinched at the pain slicing across her insides. “I’m just having a hard time wrapping my brain around it.” And my heart.
Julie’s mouth twitched. Dismay filled her face. “I hear you.”
Meg jostled the mouse, and the bittersweet photo disappeared. “You know that Proverb, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it’?” Lifting the mouse, she let it drop with a thwunk. “Well, she departed.”
***
Linzee pulled little Jack onto her lap and opened the storybook. Jack chortled and bounced on her knee. “Hip Hip Hippo!” Eight tiny children made a circle on the floor. Across the room, the director of Little Tykes Preschool, sweaty hair frizzing around her face, gave Linzee a smile and the okay sign.
Nuzzling Jack’s hair, Linzee read, “‘No, son,’ said Hip Hip’s momma. ‘You can’t play with Rine Rine Rhino anymore.’ ‘Why not, Momma?’”
Uttering the words on autopilot, she saw her own mother’s stricken face superimposed over the childish pictures. “‘Rine Rine makes you do bad things, like run through Mrs. Bun Bun’s garden and knock over her hutch.’”
She could still hear Mom’s judgmental retort last night when she told her she was bringing Nena to meet the family. Why can’t you just call her your friend?
“‘Hip Hip went to find Rob Rob Robin. He looked in the pig sty, but Rob Rob wasn’t there.’” She forced a smile, her gaze circling the tots. “Kids, where do you think Rob Rob is?”
“In his nest?” a little girl ventured.
Jack squirmed off her knee and plopped onto the floor. “In a twee!”
“No fair, Jack, you already know the story. ‘Hip Hip looked in the doghouse, but Rob Rob wasn’t there either. Finally, he found his friend in a tree by the river.’ And you know what? I bet Hip Hip was so happy to see him, he jumped up and down for joy.”
The kids giggled, and she couldn’t help smiling at the mental picture of a barrel-bodied hippo hopping around on stubby little legs.
But another memory intruded and chased away the smile—the bitter words she’d flung at Mom. I don’t like your attitude. The mother she both loved and resented couldn’t even look at her anymore without silent rebuke in her eyes.
She exhaled. “‘Good morning, Hip Hip,’ said Rob Rob. ‘Will you let me ride on your back when you swim across the river?’ ‘Yes, I will,’ said Hip Hip. ‘Will you carry me on your back when you fly to the sun?’”
A bird carrying a hippo on its back sounded about as likely as Mom endorsing same-sex relationships.
Stuffing the memory deep inside where she wouldn’t have to see it anymore, she turned the last page. “‘Hop on,’ said Rob Rob. ‘You’ve got my back.’”

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