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Grace for the Char-Baked

By Lisa Buffaloe

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Charlotte Wilson jogged along the campus sidewalk. Mid-September in Missouri brought the promise of fall in the early morning air. Amber and golden leaves dotted the ground as she concentrated on her breathing, or rather concentrated on trying to breathe. Gasp, wheeze, gasp, wheeze. After last night’s cooking fiasco, her twenty-two year old lungs behaved like an eighty-year old asthmatic. She could still smell the smoke embedded in her sinuses.

Every cooking instrument known to man was out to get her. Why couldn’t she even a broil a steak without flames shooting out of the stove? Obviously, the oven and the smoke alarm were conspiring against her. The alarm practically went off anytime she stepped in the kitchen.

Charlotte trotted around a guy with an arm-load of books sleep-walking his way toward the student union building. She gasped in a breath and kicked in high gear. Kathy needed her. At least by participating in the Cancer Cure marathon, Charlotte could do something to help. Her best friend was far too young to have breast cancer. People their age shouldn’t face something like this, then again no one should. Thankfully Kathy’s lumpectomy had gone well, but seven weeks of radiation were going to be rough.

Radiation sounded so nasty, so negative. Why couldn’t they come up with some treatment that was actually positive—like eating chocolate or ice-cream with a dose of cancer killer?

If she hurried, she could get back home in time and make Kathy breakfast—perhaps an omelet with bacon, cheese, mushrooms, and green peppers. Charlotte sighed. Maybe she could create something like that in her dreams. When God passed out the cooking genes, she was given a charcoal thumb – everything she touched burned to a crisp.

The sun’s rays finally peeked over the horizon. Charlotte jogged up to the old craftsman style home where she’d lived the last two years. With the two story dormer windows and the wide porch, the house seemed to wear a perpetual smile—just like the original owner had worn up to her death. Mimi Miller, Kathy’s grandmother, and best friend to Charlotte’s grandparents, had bequeathed the property to Kathy. Mimi would always be missed. So many happy memories had been made here; the house still almost seemed huggable.

After unlocking the door, Charlotte slid off her sneakers and padded down the hall.

Kathy, already dressed and ready for work, sat at the kitchen table. “How was the run?” Even with her attempt to remain upbeat, her friend’s right shoulder hunched forward.

“Good, but it would be a lot more fun if I could use a golf cart.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’d get the same results.” Kathy stared at her coffee mug as she swirled a spoon in slow easy circles. Even her usually perky blonde ponytail seemed a tad droopy. “You know you don’t have to run a marathon for me.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. They’d both been skirting the diagnosis—as though saying the “C” word in the open air might make it all too real, all too scary.
“Yes, I do. I’ll be able to raise money and help you and others.” She stood tall, making sure her voice took on a fun but dramatic tone. “I can’t change the world if I don’t get out and help. It’s my duty, my job, my calling. We will win. We. Will. Be. Victorious.”

Kathy responded with a smile and shake of the head. “You keep that up, and I’ll be chasing you out the door.”

Charlotte beamed her best upbeat smile. With a dramatic turn, she opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?” Yep, everything she needed to create a nice breakfast for her friend. Comfort wrapped in a hopefully not burnt offering.

Kathy held up her hand—a stop sign in flesh. “Please, don’t do me any favors.”

“I can make you something. I was thinking a nice omelet.”

Kathy’s face scrunched in a frown. “I was thinking toast, and I’ll make it.”

“I can do toast.”

“You burn toast.”

Charlotte considered pouting, but she was the only person in the history of her school discharged from cooking class. It wasn’t her fault the wall had caught on fire. Why didn’t anyone tell her that boiling hot dogs could be so hazardous?

“Do you need me to take you to your appointment?”

Kathy popped two slices of bread into the toaster and leaned against the tile counter. “Roger’s taking me.”

“He’d like to take you to the altar, and then whisk you off to the Caribbean.”
Obviously the perfect guy for Kathy, poor Roger was still waiting for an answer to his proposal.

“First we’ll beat this cancer thing, then I’ll consider walking down the aisle. And then I’ll beat you in the next marathon.”

“You got a deal.” Charlotte high-fived her friend, but sent up a silent prayer that Kathy would be okay.

###

Luke Hammond checked the ambulance for medical supplies and equipment. Along with one more look to make sure everything was clean and in working order. He still couldn’t believe he was back in Missouri. When his parents “retired” to the mission field and asked him to take care of their house--free of charge--how could he say no? Next year, with his saved money, his lifelong dream to serve as a missionary would be possible.

He finished his morning duties and walked to the break room. His buddy, Tony sat reading the paper. The man dwarfed the table. His days as a semi-pro football player may have been over, but he remained in shape.

“Grab a cup.” Tony nodded toward the pot. “Made it myself this morning.”

Luke hesitated. “Strong enough to chew?”

“You bet. Coffee isn’t good unless you can pick grounds from between your teeth.”

After pouring a cup of semi-liquid java, Luke sat at the table and picked up the sports section. Television would finally be worth watching again now that football had re-started. “Who do you think is going to win?”

“Not sure. Anything can happen after last year’s playoffs. Plus some of the teams picked up great rookies in the draft. You hoping to make any of the college games?”

“No. Not planning on it.” Especially not since Charlotte still went to that college. Luke adjusted his shoulders to relieve the tension. He had successfully avoided the school, and her, since he’d returned. He still didn’t understand why God brought him back to his hometown, and why old feelings remained. Probably a last cosmic test before leaving for the mission field.

A connection would always remain with family and friends who lived in the area. He still owed his cousin, Kathy, a call since he’d gotten settled.

Seeing Kathy again would be great, but her roommate was another matter.

###

Charlotte parked in the blacktop lot at the Agape food pantry. Her grandparent’s old farmhouse had been turned into offices and storage to help feed the hurting. Working for her grandfather’s non-profit didn’t pay much, but gave her an opportunity to do something worthwhile while she finished her last college semester.

Using her key, Charlotte unlocked the back door and made her way to her closet turned office. She stepped inside, wedged herself between the one wall lined with filing cabinets and the other wall with her desk, then turned back to close the door.

Oops, forgot to put her purse in the cabinet. Opening the door, she stepped into the hall, turned to open the bottom drawer and deposited her possessions.

Charlotte squeezed back in and shimmied into her chair. The remodel tomorrow to turn the basement into office space would finally give her room to breathe. Some of the guys from the college design department volunteered to help and would arrive first thing in the morning. She couldn’t wait. Literally, couldn’t wait.

The other office staff and volunteers wouldn’t be in for another hour, and if she timed things right, she could knock out a few walls herself. No one would be here to chide her for impatience, and her granddad didn’t need to be doing any heavy work since his heart attack last year. Besides when she was in middle school, her dad had let her help remove a few walls when her parents had bought an old farmhouse. How hard could it be to knock out some old sheetrock and plaster in the basement? The guys could handle the heavy stuff.

Charlotte trotted down the stairs and surveyed the basement. The wall to her right was scheduled to be completely removed. If all went well, by next month, she’d have an office with room to actually stretch her arms.

Luckily some of the volunteers had brought in equipment to prepare for the demolition. In the corner, a sledgehammer called to her. Ah, the power. She would pick up that baby and smash away. She plugged in her headphones and cranked up some good music. With a heave, she hefted the gargantuan hammer and aimed for the wall.

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