“I don’t think he wants to start over. He just wants to go home.”
Lysia drew back into the corner of the booth, her forehead against her raised knees.
Rhoda glared at Camella. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about you.”
“Weren’t you?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t. You’re plain as day. You’re always aiming barbs at me.”
“Camella,” Prochorus said softly, but his sister wasn’t listening.
“Every chance you get, you—”
“I do not. It’s your own guilty conscience that makes you take offense at everything I say!”
“My brother and I were having a pleasant conversation before you joined us. Why don’t you leave?”
“That’s enough!” Prochorus said, aggrieved.
Quick tears filled Camella’s eyes. “I’m sick of being criticized and condemned by her!”
“You’re sick of me? Do you hear what she says? Do you see how she treats me?” Rhoda said, standing up. “Now do you believe me about her?” Eyes full of angry tears, she looked at her husband for reinforcement. He sat silent, looking sick. “Are you coming, Prochorus?”
“No.”
Rhoda’s face paled. “No?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’ll be along in a few minutes,” he said, but it was too late.
“I’m your wife, but you always take her side.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side.”
“No? Well, fine. Stay. I don’t care. My feelings don’t matter anyway, do they?” Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked at Camella. “We took you into our home, and you’ve done nothing but try to tear us apart.” Her mouth worked. “Well, you’ve finally won, haven’t you, Camella? I hope you’re satisfied.” Bursting into tears, she turned away.
Prochorus watched his wife run back to their booth. He looked at Camella and then put his head back against the clay brick wall. “Jesus,” he said softly and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Camella said weakly.
“You’re always sorry.” He rose slowly, looking old and worn. “It doesn’t help much, does it?”
“Maybe I should just stay here in Corinth.”
“Talking foolishness doesn’t help matters, Cam.”
“Who’s being foolish? You for thinking this would ever work! I should’ve stayed in Ephesus.”
“And how would you have lived?”
“I don’t know. I would’ve found a way.”
“You’re my responsibility.”
“Is that all I am to you? A responsibility? I’m your sister.”
“And Rhoda is my wife,” he said harshly. “What neither of you can get through your heads is I love you both. I wish to God you could love one another. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
“I’ve tried, Prochorus. I have.”
“How did you try tonight, Cam? You started it.”
Camella looked as though he had struck her. Rizpah bit her lip, embarrassed to be witnessing such an argument, yet unable to escape it.
“You’ve always given in to your emotions. It’s what got you into trouble in the first place, isn’t it?”
“Are you going to start throwing my past in my face, now, too?”
“I don’t have to, do I? You’re the one who can’t forget. You wallow in it.” He noticed Rizpah. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said again and left.
Camella looked up at her. “You think I’m in the wrong, too, don’t you?” she said, mouth jerking. “Go ahead. Blame me. Everyone does.” As Rizpah left the booth, Camella finally noticed her daughter huddled and crying silently in the back corner. “Oh, Lysia,” she said, her face crumpling.
Rizpah grieved for all of them.
What’s happening to us, Lord? We were all so close in Ephesus. Is it the strain of the journey? Or did we hide our sins so well, we only thought we knew one another? If we go on like this, we’ll be useless to you.
She came up behind Atretes. He was so still, she didn’t think he had heard her approach until he spoke.
“So you have your shield in place.”
Pushing out from Rizpah, Caleb turned and put his arms out to Atretes. “He wants to play with you,” she said, smiling.
Atretes rose and took him. Brushing past her, he strode away. Rizpah followed him to a vacant booth near the back corner of the courtyard. It was isolated from the others. The torch burned outside. Rizpah hesitated, wondering what the others might say if she went in with him.