Eden's Way by Beverly Money Luke, Colorado Christian Author

Check out the Sunpiper Press Book Review of Eden's Way by Alisha Gee

The house across the street explodes and so does Misty's life as she watches the hearse, with her neighbor inside, drive one-way and the police the other, with her neighbor's husband in tow.

How can one event in life change everything?

How can she keep her perfect life perfect?

Chapter 1 - MISTY---

Everything changed for me the day the house across the street blew up. My life was perfect until then. I had it all: a wonderful husband, a beautiful home, a job I loved. Everything except a child. And I liked my ordered life. Some people called it being a perfectionist; I called it "the way things should be."

Then Mr. Merryweather blew up his house, with his wife in it, and I really saw my life for the first time.

It happened when I was outside tending to my newly planted flowerbeds. The blast across the street caused shock waves that threw me into the railing of the porch and a roar that deafened me. When my mind cleared I crawled onto the porch and watched, eyes huge with disbelief, as lumber, brick, appliances, and debris rained back into the hole and on the neighbors' well-manicured lawns. Windows blew out in the houses on either side of the Merryweathers'. Some houses sustained damage to their roofs from falling rubble. The house next to the blast looked like it had been blown off its foundation.

Fire blazed upward from the hole in the ground as sirens wailed and fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances converged on our neighborhood. The firefighters took over immediately, training spouts of water on the blaze while keeping back gawkers. The kids in the neighborhood gathered almost immediately. I stood rooted to the porch, immobile.

Everything sounded muted. I yawned several times to equalize the pressure in my eardrums. Gradually my hearing returned to normal. Then I heard the unmistakable ring of my cell phone. I pulled it out of my pocket and answered.

"Hello?" I raised my voice above all the cacophony.

"Misty, it's me." Rosie, the woman who lived in the house behind mine, had been my best friend for years. "What just happened? I heard this horrendous noise and the house shook. The kids all came running in scared to death."

"Oh, Rosie, the Merryweathers' house just blew straight up into the air. I don't know what to do, but I feel like I need to do something."

"I heard all the sirens. There must be a lot going on over there. Probably if you tried to help you'd just be in the way. Do you know what happened?"

"I don't have a clue. I was planting flowers and heard this terrible whoomp and that house just disappeared. The blast knocked me into the porch railing. I hope no one was home."

A man in a blue uniform with spit-and-polished shoes and a shiny badge affixed to his chest marched up and stood in front of me. "Rosie, I gotta go. Looks like I have to talk to the police." I hung up without waiting for a response.

"Ma'am." His serious expression looked very official, as if he would countenance no nonsense.

"Yes?

" "We're talking to the neighbors. It's just routine. We're trying to find out if anyone saw or heard anything unusual before the explosion. Were you outside when it happened?"

"I was." I nodded at my little garden. "I was right here putting flowers in the ground. I teach school, so I always plant my flowers during the summer. They should be put in during the spring, but since I teach, I don't really have the time-"

"Ma'am."

" "I'm babbling, aren't I? I do that when I get nervous. Day is always telling me to stop babbling. Day's my husband: Dayton Joseph Barnes, he's a journalism professor at Boise State, maybe-"

The officer tilted his head.

I stopped, forced myself to slow down, think logically and speak succinctly. "I didn't hear anything out of the ordinary."

"How well do you know the owners of the house?" he asked, his mouth a thin line.

"Truth is, I barely know the Merryweathers. They're not home much. They're retired. Moved here to Idaho from California-can you imagine that? But they go on trips a lot, so I really don't know them very well. I've maybe talked to him once or twice, and I don't think I've ever talked to her. They really keep to themselves. They're quiet people-never caused any ruckus." At his raised eyebrow, I added, "Well, until now."

"Any of your neighbors know them better than you do?" he asked.

"Audrey knows them probably better than anyone in Payette Acres. She lives to the right of the Merryweathers. She waters their plants when they go on their trips."

I'd first met Mr. Merryweather when I was helping Audrey look for her missing cat. We crawled under and around shrubbery in her yard and then widened our search to include his lawn. He came out wondering what we were doing crawling around his shrubs. As I recall he was wearing all gray: gray slacks, a gray shirt tucked neatly in, but open-collared, and gray shoes and socks. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, gray of course and gray hair surrounding a balding pate. I always thought of him as the little, gray man as he was short and slim though not too talkative. After Audrey explained to him what we were up to, we exchanged pleasantries. He turned out to be a polite and friendly man, if a bit shy.

I learned that he and his wife had discovered our quiet little town of Eden's Way, Idaho, on one of their jaunts around the country. Even though the subdivision of Payette Acres wasn't a retirement community, they fell in love with the area. Our quiet little suburb of Boise was far enough away from town to feel peaceful but close enough to avail themselves of big city life. At least Idaho's version of big city life.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the officer as he scribbled a few lines in his little notebook. "I appreciate your time." He looked up at me. "Someone from my department may come by later to talk to you as the investigation progresses." He turned to leave.

"Officer, what happened? Houses don't just blow up-certainly not here in Payette Acres."

"We won't know until we conduct a thorough investigation. Good day."

I watched wide-eyed as paramedics loaded a sheet-covered body into the first ambulance. I saw them pick it up from the lawn and assumed it was someone living in the house. I felt heartsick that this could happen in our quiet neighborhood and right across the street from me. I wondered who it was. I didn't even know them but mourned the loss.

At the sound of a loud shout, firemen looked up at the black walnut tree in Audrey's yard. I hadn't noticed anything before what with all the excitement and trauma, then I saw a hand dangling down from the foliage. Who could that be? The men in their heavy gear placed a ladder against the tree, climbed up and I can only assume checked the vital signs. I heard a shout, "He's alive, bring the backboard!" They carefully secured the body to a backboard, lowered it from the tree, then placed it on a gurney and loaded it into the second ambulance. The face was uncovered; though I couldn't tell who it was, at least the person was alive.

I ran into the house and closed the blinds; I couldn't stand watching anymore. I considered calling Day at work, but looking at my watch I knew he'd be in class. I didn't want to leave a message as he seldom returned my calls these days. I so wanted to tell him about the tragedy but feared he'd only be annoyed. He always said I blew things all out of proportion. I turned on the television and flipped to the local news channel, then sat on the couch, watching and thinking.

I thought about the Merryweathers. They had always seemed like the perfect couple. I waved a friendly greeting whenever one of them was standing outside, watering their garden as I drove off. He kept their yard and garden in impeccable shape, and his landscaping talents were the envy of the neighborhood. According to Audrey, his wife kept the house spotless. Well, it certainly wasn't spotless anymore. It was all over the place!

I thought, too, about Day and what kind of mood he would be in when he came home from work. I never knew any more. Will he care about how this affected me and wrap his long arms around me and comfort me? Or will he say, "Get a grip, Misty. We didn't even know them and life goes on." Then rush off to some meeting or other?

I picked up the phone; put it back down. Picked it up again, started to dial, then replaced it afraid I'd worry him. Just then it rang. Startled, I jumped. Who could that be?

"Hello."

"Misty, I heard there was an explosion in our neighborhood. Are you all right?"

"Oh, Day, I'm so glad you called. It was the house across the street, you know, the Merryweathers. It was so scary. I was out front working-"

"Sweetie, I just had a minute to call you so I've got to go now. I'm so glad you're all right. I'll see you about six tonight. Bye." And he was gone.

The blast was the lead-in story on the news that night. Day paused to watch with me for a moment on his way out the door for a meeting. According to the reporter, Mr. Merryweather had gone into the basement of their lovely home on that sunny Friday afternoon, opened all the gas valves, and waited for death. I couldn't believe that nice man had been suicidal! Who knew? While he waited, a spark, from what no one knew but they speculated was from some movement he made, touched off the built-up gas, causing the huge explosion.

As it turned out, Mrs. Merryweather was napping upstairs in their bedroom. She died in the explosion. Mr. Merryweather, however, had been flung into the sturdy branches of the old black walnut tree. He was badly burned, but he survived. Mr. Merryweather, the newscaster said, was in the hospital under twenty-four-hour police watch.

When the reporter went on to national news, I turned off the TV and went to the window. Lifting the blinds revealed that someone had fenced off the area from sightseers-of which there were still plenty clogging our quiet street. But the gaping hole remained, a reminder of the "perfect couple" who weren't so perfect after all.

I'd always thought Day and I had the perfect marriage and a perfect life. We'd both grown up in Eden's Way, Idaho. We were married in the little community church I'd attended all my life. Our friends all said it was a fairy-tale wedding. So, of course, we planned to live happily ever after. And we pretty much did . . . for the first few years. Then slowly, gradually, bickering and criticism became more common than hugs and kisses. Arguments happened more often than sunset walks in the park.

As I stood at the window, gazing across the street at what was left of our neighbors' blown-up house, I wondered if something like that could happen to us.

On a gloomy, rainy day a week or so after the explosion, I perched on a stool at the island in my kitchen, measuring ingredients for chocolate-chip cookies, Day's favorite.

Rosie stuck her head in the door. "Knock, knock."

"Oh, hi. Come on in." I waved the spoon in her direction.

Plopping her bulk on a stool across from me, she said, "How are you doing? You look kinda down."

"I still haven't gotten over the blast. What do you think will happen to poor Mr. Merryweather?"

"I heard they charged him with negligent homicide. Derek says they could put him away for twelve years or so, but he'll probably get probation since he's so ill."

"I didn't hear anything about him being sick."

"Oh, yeah. He has Lou Gehrig's disease. That's why he wanted to kill himself."

For some reason, part of me felt relieved. "So maybe they did have a perfect marriage."

"Why are you so hung up on that?"

I placed frosty glasses of iced tea on the counter along with packets of sweetener. We always drank iced tea in summer and hot tea in winter.

"I guess I've always thought that if you were married to your soul mate, you'd have a perfect marriage. When Day and I said our vows, my heart was so full of love for him I could barely breathe. But now . . ." I finished putting the last lump of dough on the cookie sheet and put it in the oven, then resumed my perch. "You and Derek seem to have it all together. What's your secret?"

"We do have a great relationship. But it's taken a lot of hard work to keep it that way. And I don't have any illusions that either of us has it down perfectly." She poured two packets of sweetener in her tea and ice clinked as she stirred. "None of us knows what goes on behind closed doors. Things aren't always what they seem."

"I know. That's the way it is with Day and me. We're just pretending to be the perfect couple. We're actually living separate lives. But I've got to quit living in this fantasy of mine and see our marriage for what it is."

"It's okay, Misty." She patted my shoulder. "You're feeling frustrated now. I understand. But I'm sure you'll figure out something."

I looked around the kitchen that Rosie and I had painted together three years ago. I'd picked a cheery apple theme, using red and white with touches of green. We had apple-themed knickknacks everywhere, even a cookie jar shaped like an apple. This room cheered me up-most of the time.

"Remember when we decorated this room?" At her nod, I said, "I still love it, even after all this time. But it still bothers me that Day didn't help me fix it up. Don't get me wrong, I loved working on it with you. But that's just one example of our separateness. He devotes himself totally to his job at the university."

"Speaking of Day, where is he? He doesn't have classes on Saturday, does he?"

"No. He's between semesters right now. He's off mountain biking with a friend. I think." The timer dinged. I grabbed my oven mitt and pulled the cookie sheet from the oven, the aroma filling the room.

"You don't know for sure?" Rosie's eyebrows rose questioning as she helped me place the cookies on the rack to cool.

"Well, we don't talk much. But I kind of remember him mentioning biking."

We sat in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence born from a genuine love for each other and a long-time friendship.

"Hey, I gotta go. Derek took the kids to the park and I want to be there when they get home. My advice is to keep your eyes on Jesus and put your troubles in His hands."

"Here, take a bag of cookies with you." I placed a dozen in a bag for her.

Her hand on the doorknob, she took the cookies, saying, "Hey, thanks. I was wondering when you were going to offer some to me."

"You knew I would and thanks for coming over and listening. You've been a big help, really."

After she left, I went to my bedroom and sat in my favorite rocking recliner, where I liked to put up my feet and talk to God sometimes or just contemplate life. Maybe Rosie was right. I'd sorely neglected my prayer life lately. Perhaps it was time I did something about that.

Little did I know that such a seemingly small decision could lead to a big change.

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