"He himself will deliver you from the hunter's net, from the destructive plague" Psalm 91:3

She stood at the kitchen sink, filled the stainless steel, cobalt blue bulb percolator, and looked out into the foggy, damp street. There she saw the street lamp flicker in those early morning hours. Twenty seven year old Pearl Mackinac woke early in order to prepare for guests. No, she had not invited anyone, but she knew (the same way she instinctively knew so much before it ever happened) that someone would stop in for a visit today. She filled the percolator- as she was always unconventional where coffee was concerned and didn’t like the taste of that brewed in the coffee maker- placed it on the cook-top, and set the table for her guests. She set out muffins, sugar, creamer, butter, cream cheese, and other items to make her guests feel comfortable while they visited.

Seeing the table prepared, Pearl went into her bedroom, slipped into the shower, cleaned and dried, then put on her jeans and a blouse, fixed her hair and make-up, and tidied up the bed. She continued neatening the interior of the house and then turned the pot on the stove down to stay warm until the arrival of her guests. She was not nervous, as she had known for 20 years that this day would come, and all truth would be exposed. She sat on the couch and opened her Woman’s World magazine. She began reading and thumbing through the recipes when the telephone rang. Checking the caller ID, she answered.

“Hi Mom. What’s up?”

“Pearl, I had another dream about you. Are you ok?”

“Yes, mom. I am fine. I’m just sitting here reading.”

“Pearl, I tried to call you last night and couldn’t get a hold of you. Your voice mail said that you were not receiving calls.”

“I’m sorry mom. I just wanted some quiet time. The kids are at their dad’s and it was just nice to be alone.”

“Okay then . . . as long as you are okay. But, well, I know you are not telling me the truth. You never just turn off your phone. Hmm…Anyway, what are your plans today?”

“Mom, I am fine; just a little down. You know how I get when the kids are gone. I am alone with my thoughts and… well you know- I just threw myself a pity party and stayed in for the most part.”

The truth was that her mother didn’t know how Pearl got when she was alone. Pearl thought; sure, but the memories that perplexed her mind were not only of her children but those of her own childhood and how she longed to protect her children from ever knowing the terrible truths that she survived. She longed to keep that part of life a secret and protect her children from ever seeing an existence like that. A life that they were unaware of, and as far as anyone else knew Pearl too was oblivious to pain of that nature.

“Mom, I am in the middle of something right now…balancing my checkbook, and then, well, I am expecting a couple of people to discuss some business. Can I call you back later tonight?”

“Okay, Pearl. You call me when you have time. Are you sure everything is all right? Sure you don’t need to talk? You don’t need any money do you?”

Slightly grinning at the comment she answered, “No, mom. Everything is fine. I will call you tonight after the kids get home.”

“Bye Pearl.”

“Good-bye mom.”

Pearl hung up the telephone and continued thumbing through the pages of her magazine stopping only to stare at a recipe for which she would save that issue, only to throw it away later and never make the featured dish. She had always loved cooking. By the time she was eight years old, her parents had given her free reign in the family kitchen. She thought she was the queen of the “cook-and-serve Jello” chocolate pudding. She was the fourth of five children, and cooking supper with her mother became one of her primary responsibilities and passions.

As Pearl sat in the living room, she listened to the clock on the table next to her tick tick tick tick: Time plodded loudly as she sat in her aloneness. The phone did not ring except for her mother, nor had she heard a knock at the door. She began to play the previous night’s details through her mind. Starting with her ex-husband picking up her kids and telling her that he had forgotten about something they were going to do, so they would be late Saturday night. She quickly replayed moment by moment of the next eight hours and brought herself back to the moment she sat waiting on the couch for her guests. She was brought back to that time by a loud, sharp rap rap rap at the door and simultaneous chirping of the doorbell.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Just a minute,” she said as she glanced through the glass then opened the door slowly to see who might be on the other side. There on her front porch stood her friend, Tom Conner, a man in his mid-forties who worked as a sergeant for the local police force. He stood with a female officer who looked to be all of 17. Both were dressed in uniform.

“Ms. Mackinac, Pearl” Tom asked.

“Yes. May I help you?”

“Mam, uh Pearl, this is Detective Walters, and you know me. We need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

“Why, I suppose. I have kind of been expecting you anyhow.”

The two detectives looked at each other in smug suspicion and quietly stepped in to the entrance of Pearl’s home. She showed them to the living room and asked them if she could get them anything.

“No, we are fine. We just need to ask you a few questions about last night.”

“Mam,” said Detective Walters, “There has been an accident and we have some pretty difficult news to tell you.”

The phone rang again and Pearl excused herself from the room to take the call in the other room. From the other end she only heard crying and sobbing that was tinged with words she could not make out.

“Mom. Is that you?” She looked at the caller ID and said it again. “Mom, is that you?”

“Yes, Pearl…..iiiiit’s awful. Ohhhh, Pearl.”

“Mother, where’s daddy? Tell him to get the phone. You go sit down and get dad.”

Pearl’s father was always better in a crisis than his wife. Countless times in Pearl’s youth, her father proved this, but one time always stood out more than others. When Pearl was twenty, her grandfather was murdered. Her mother was distraught and could not bring herself to attend the arraignment of his assailant, so Pearl and her father went instead. During all of the formalities there was a young, rough looking couple in the courtroom. The two argued and caused commotion for about twenty minutes. The man finally got his fill of his partner, stood up, and hit her in the face. She stood backed away from him – moving toward Pearl in the process. At that point, Pearl’s father literally picked Pearl up and swung her to a seat farther inside of the row of seats and then restrained the man until the officers could remove him from the courtroom. Her father always came to the rescue. That day was embedded forever in her memory.

“Hello,” he said in his quick, matter of fact voice.

“Hey Dad, what’s wrong with mom?” Pearl asked as she poked her head around the doorway to check on her guests. They were still there, sitting and talking about what sounded like their kids and work.

“Pearl, a horrible thing has happened. I am afraid, well Pearl, we need to talk. I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Dad, I can’t come right now. There are two detectives here, and they want to talk to me.”

“Why are they there?”

“Daddy, I am sure they are just checking on some things. I will come over just as soon as they leave. Are you and Mom going to be Okay?

“Pearl, it’s terrible, just terrible. Please come soon.”

“All right dad, I will hurry.” Pearl hung up the phone and returned to her guests. She looked at them and asked if they would join her in the kitchen for coffee and muffins. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen? I have not had breakfast yet. I have plenty; won’t you indulge me? You two appear to have serious conversation in mind and might need to stay for a while. That call was from my parents, and I think they really need me right now, so we should get talking and make this as quick as possible.”

The two detectives looked at each other once again as they stood and followed Pearl into the kitchen, they moved methodically, as though under a strange hypnotic power. They took their seats at the table, while Pearl poured hot coffee from the percolator and into the cups she had placed there earlier that morning. “Looks like you were expecting someone Ms. Mackinac.”

“Well, I was expecting you,” she replied, “Not so much you personally, but I knew someone would be here to ask questions about last night.”

“Last night?” Walters said quietly.

“Yes, you see, I have been expecting this for about twenty years.” Pearl said.

“Twenty years?” asked Conner.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Pearl, are you aware of the reason we are here?” Conner questioned.

“I believe I am more aware of your presence than you realize,” she said calmly, “Please, have a muffin while we talk.”

The two detectives peered into the face of the young woman, and each searched for some kind of response: fear… anxiety… but they found nothing, nothing but a hospitable hostess offering breakfast with a conversation.