I didn’t even notice the Rolls. It was Linda who spotted it parked outside the Starbucks in pouring down rain. “Stop,” she said. “I want a picture of THAT.”
So I stopped.
I’d wanted to go inside but the rain was coming down so hard Linda hadn’t wanted to get out of the car.
“It’ll ruin my hair for sure.”
A girl has her priorities.
So I’d been the one to hop out of my car and mash on the window on the driver’s side, the one that’s been falling down since I left Fairhope in August. I wedge it with a Starbucks cup holder and every now & then have to mash it back into place.
Then I’d backed up and that’s when Linda saw the brand new Rolls sitting in the rain.
The bad thing about having a broken window on the driver’s side is that you have to open the door to order anything, so I was going to get wet either way, which is why I would have been glad to just go inside and order.
Now Linda was worried she might miss some opportunity to meet what might have been the encounter of a lifetime — the owner of the Rolls.
Obviously this was somebody we needed to meet.
So Linda began to pray as I drove up to order our Starbucks.
She prayed something about missed opportunities.
I wasn’t really listening too closely. I was more worried that the gal on the other end hear my order: “Venti Green Tea Lemonade. Sweetened.”
Sometimes we treat God like that.
Like we are ordering Starbucks at the drive up.
“Grande?” the voice came back.
“No,” I said. “Venti.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Who owns the Rolls?”
“Oh, that’s Mark,” she said.”Why you looking for a Sugar Daddy?”
“No,” I said, laughing.
“Good. ‘Cause I think he’s already got someone.”
“So do I,” I replied. “Happily married 31 years. I just wanted to know who owned it.”
“He’s a writer,” she said.
By this time Linda is digging through the piles of stuff in the backseat, searching for one of my books. Obviously this was an encounter for swapping books.
I pulled up to the window.
“What kind of books?” I asked.
“I dunno. Hey Mark,” she called out, “What do you write?”
He answered from where he sat. Real Estate books. He’s a self-made millionaire. Started when he was 18. He’s 30ish now, the gal related.
“Great,” I said. “He’s writing about land and I’m writing about Jesus.”
He’s driving the Rolls. I’m driving the BMW with the window wedged with a Starbucks holder. I’m still richer than most — 92 percent of the world’s population don’t own cars at all.
“Here give this to him,” I said, passing a copy of WYJN through the rain.
“Where you headed?” the lady asked.
“To a book signing, actually.”
“Drive safe,” she said.
He watched me as I pulled away, smiled and waved and gave a nod of thanks.
“Do you think he’ll actually read the book?” I asked Linda six hours later as we hit another drive up window in another town.
“That is so weird. I was just thinking the very same thing,” she said.
“Creepy,” I said.
Guess you don’t have to be identical twins to think the same thoughts. Just sisters.
More scenes from the Day. True friends brave enough to weather storms together
Jane Wilson, Beth Kissel.
Larry & Rhonda Kees.
Allison Kennedy, religion reporter at the Ledger and her father Hugh. Allison and I worked together umpteen years ago.
Linda’s reward for the day — a plate of catfish and a gallon of sweet tea.