"Go to Josh, spend time with Josh," I aired loudly, knowing it was the best option, even if Josh currently didn't.
Coral's hand twisted her hair; the other pressed her forehead.
The unromantic sod loafed hoops at her egg hunt, yet Coral found him indispensable.
I knew Josh's company was capable of soothing her.
Her face glowed in appreciation, and she darted off to find him. Later, I peeked, and Josh and Coral contentedly threw baskets.
Coral's friends thrived on a magical afternoon as cane baskets brimmed, egg-chocked. My bestie showcased her genial self, saying her goodbyes. When Ruby reappeared, Coral's mood meter scaled upbeat as the brunette tossed the green foiled, super-sized egg.
Two hours later, we collected my bestie in our family car and drove to my church. Coral and I occupied the outside of a long pew next to my family. We enjoyed the early part of the service because it represented the prim and proper, which was so Coral.
She wore a light green dress covering her knees. Cute shoulder puffs and full sleeves buttoned at her wrists. We sang a rejoicing Amazing Grace, a hymn of universal appeal.
As Dean started his sermon, Coral tried to mask her declining interest in the church. She crossed her legs and crossed them back. She studied her nails, picking at the sides until they peeled.
Her waning interest was subtle; I only noticed her actions as I sneaked a side glance. She discerned the condescending nature of Dean's sermon. His teachings belittled reasonable individuals. He never presented any middle ground. You belonged to the saved or slipped away to the damned.
Coral, like me, tried to analyse his technique as his voice rose and his hands raised. Her posture perked, and her eyes narrowed in concentration, I suppose, trying to find a redeeming quality of the pastor. On his soapbox, Dean spieled fire and brimstone vis-a-vis at Thomas's doubt about the resurrection.
He cajoled sinners in his crescendo, "Everyone doubts unless they completely surrender to faith."
When the collection plate circulated seeking donations, Coral had drawn a deep breath like me. Opening her small clutch and digging in my pockets gave us something to do. As we dropped coins into the collection bowl, the service closed. It ended with the faithful belting out Onward Christian Soldiers. I nudged Coral, and she joined me in lip-syncing. At the service conclusion, we slipped to the chapel's side in the baptism alcove.
"Mmm," she admitted, beyond my mum's and others' hearing, "Regular Sunday reminders of human selfishness might drive a person to drink and smoke."
I couldn't picture Coral doing either.
"God, I hope I never doubt myself," she confided.
She adjusted the shoulders of her puffy-sleeved dress.
She finished, "Your Dean, he hones in, making it personal. He makes you judge yourself as self-centred."
"But you aren't selfish, Coral," I told her.
I added, "Thanks for coming so I could join the egg hunt."
"Well…" she divulged, in a way, indicating she hadn't given Dean her full attention.
I hadn't either.
"I feel this was the last egg hunt. Josh doesn't like them. I suppose it's time to play adult, even if we are not ready."
"Oh," I pitched high, stepping back, looking nowhere, 'til I found her green shoes.
Despite Coral's sadness over the deceased fledging and her tiff with Josh, I let the day's positives shine in my mind.
She added, "It's time to leave some things behind."
My head dropped.
Coral saw the dip.
"Oh, never the personal," she assured, loud enough to turn heads in our direction, "it grafts another to our soul."
She covered her mouth, realising her voice had carried inside the church.
I counselled, "Let's scram outside."
She whispered in my ear, "This is not an inviting place. I fancied church like The Beatitudes. I'd rather be outside."
And as we moved, we shared a chuckle between ourselves.
Getting Coral outside meant negotiating the parson.
Dean held court on the broad step outside the chapel's wide doors. He waylaid Coral; he lifted and viced her unprovided hand between his own.
The vigour of his handshake forced Coral's tossed locks to join in!
I heard Dean invite her back next Sunday.
The golden girl squeezed a tight smile at him under the downlights.
A while later, we stood together in the chapel car park.
"Dear Lord, what a bone-crusher of a handshake. He won the physical power struggle!"
Coral crossed her arms.
It crossed my mind to say, Don't come back!
Instead, I said, " Coral, I like your dress."
"Too long," her voice exposed her complaint, "The rest of my wardrobe minis are a tad short for church!"
She twittered and stopped fast.
"Oh, Tuesday," she bubbled, "You must help me design Josh's birthday cake!"
This sounded fun.
"Rubes invited me to bake it at Il Piacere."
My fun level plunged, not the brunette dictating where to go!
"We'll have a phone convo tomorrow night," she started as my family arrived.
Mary squeezed between Coral and me in our car's back seat, nursing James.
Bummer!
It created a silent drive, taking my bestie home.
Once we pulled up in Coral's driveway, she thanked my mother for bringing her home.
My mother told her through the driver's window, "You're welcome next Sunday and every Sunday. Everyone concurred you are a charming sweetie."
Coral used the night shadows to fake a closed-lip smile.
She replied, leaning into the open window. "I would like to, Mrs Moore, but unfortunately, it is also my training day for the state netball squad. I made the team. Sunday is the training camp day for the next few months."
She paused, allowing my mother to digest new information.
Coral qualified, "Sorry — when the training finishes, we'll see."
I loved my bestie's planning.
Coral and I shared a vigorous goodnight wave.
As we drove off, I watched her dress flit happily away.
My mum never asked Coral to church, even when she hung loosely at my place after school or on Saturday afternoons.
Dean, in contrast, made a swamp leech appear friendly. He sourced Coral's address and posted her invites, pamphlets and tracts in the mail over the following three months.
I lacked the confidence to ask my mother if she provided Dean with Coral's address.
One afternoon, my bestie disclosed her regular weekly mail.
Entering her bedroom, I noticed the letterheaded church pamphlets on her desk.
"Sweet Lord," I burst, "Not Dean!"
"Yes," conceded Coral, "Yet one jewel in the guff!"
She showed me a small tract: a self-contained book of the Bible, Ruth.
As soon as I saw it, I exclaimed, "Dandy title."
Coral continued, "The pretty cover picture raised my interest."
I questioned, "Have you read it?"
Its slim size suited a fast read.
A girl [Ruth] looked at a dude's back across a field on the glossy cover.
"No, I opened it. I was drawn to some italic verses. They stood out."
She opened the tract and showed me.
Coral read in a poetic voice, "Wither you go, I will go. Where you lodge, I will lodge."
"Sweet," she concluded.
Coral gushed.
"It made me visualise Josh. I know my road is the same as his."
Some days, she let the words roll.
"Whatever his faults, I will follow him."
"Ruth!" I managed.
"Yes, Ruth," she trilled back.
She quizzed, "There is no Cora… in the Bible, is there?"
"No," I cut in, "No book. The Bible mentions a lot of gemstones and precious stones, and yes, coral is there."
"Is Ruby there?" her hands raised as she joked in a giggle fit.
Cracking up, I managed, "Oh yes, ruby is there. A precious gem!"
Coral added light and breezy, "Rubes, genuine buried treasure!"
I stood and rummaged the pile of the parish, chapel, and community events neatly piled to the side of my bestie's study desk. A mountain of photocopied pages; invites to youth camps, bible study nights and the Sunday service.
Curious, I prodded, "What do you do with these?"
She sauntered to her swivel chair — next to me — sat and relaxed, snatched the top page, and crumpled — a ball.
Her nose scrunched. In a high looping throw, she lobbed the paper pill.
It flew and touched down in her bedroom waste paper basket.
"Netball practice," she said and grinned.
Coral bounced swiftly from the chair and invited, "Let's have lemonade and cake."