Homefires (40 page)

Home never looked more beautiful nor smelled more heavenly of nourishment.

“The church ladies prepared lunch today,” Kirk announced as we entered the foyer.

“Mmm.” I inhaled appreciatively. “I’m as hungry as – ”

In a flash, Heather snatched the baby from my grasp and bounded down the hall. Her door slammed, followed by a solid
click.
Toby’s eyes narrowed in comprehension and he flew into delayed reaction.

For the next hour, while Kirk and I enjoyed a delicious lunch, Toby banged on Heather’s door, shrieking that she relinquish her ‘hostage.’

Heather, being Heather, took her own sweet time getting acquainted with her little sis.

Coastal springtime, when azaleas in raging colors invade the lowland, provided a high for me that year. At five months, plump little Dawn’s dark thatch was irresistible to my fingers and nose. Her arrival reinstated our former sibling quota, but with Krissie’s vibrant, loving personality missing, the whole
complexion of our family had shifted. Not augmented or diminished. Just different. It took some getting used to.

“Now I know why God makes women mothers in their younger years, Kaye,” I told my friend during our weekly drive-in feast of grilled chicken livers. We sat in her car, windows lowered. “Energy level, between ages eighteen and thirty-two years, sinks like a concrete-weighted Mafia hit.”

“You’re by no means
older.”
Kaye
tch-tchded
and fed Dawn – ensconced in infant seat between us – a bite of French fry, then chortled at the wrinkled little pug nose and reemergence of mushed potato.

“True,” I conceded, catching Dawn’s drooly reject in a napkin. “But some experiences propel folks past their actual years.”

I was, emotionally, infinitely older than in early 1974.

“Kaye,” I looked at her through sudden tears, “Krissie’s vacancy in my heart will always be.”

“I know.” Her steady gaze moistened.

“But now – the baby’s crooked grins and belly laughs make me smile. There are hurts to soothe and a little one’s needs that keep me too busy to think.”

My little one’s loud burp intruded upon the moment’s solemnity.

“See?” I spread my hands and we burst into laughter.

“By the way,” Kaye’s face sobered. “I’m worried about Tillie.”

Kaye confirmed what I’d noticed in recent months. “I know. There’s something not quite – right lately.”

“Exactly.”

Tillie’s exuberance had fizzled. During choir activities, she seemed somewhere else. And though she didn’t exactly avoid me, she no longer reached out. So out of character.

“I’ll give her a call,” I promised. “Right away.”

“Rick wants me to get a job.” Tillie’s voice, an octave below her usual squeaky pitch, sounded as though coming from a damaged tape. “And, Neecy – I don’t want to leave Raquel.”

“Then don’t.” My fingers gripped the receiver tighter as I sought the right words. “There are ways to get around moms working.”

“That’s what I tell Rick.”

A long silence ensued. I cautioned myself that a thin line exists between friendly concern and unsolicited advice
. I must not allow passion to loosen my tongue too much
. Were the Dawsons having money problems? Rick’s position with a local Southern Bell Company seemed to meet their financial needs.

“Tillie – are you okay? I mean, is your health all ri – ”

“Oh, yeah. You know me – Mighty Mouse. I bounce off the walls.” A sigh. “I don’t know – Rick says I have too much time on my hands. To
think.”
Her little chortle lacked its usual lilt. “Imagine –
me
thinking. Oh, well – I do call him at work more often than I should. But it’s usually about Raquel doing something cute or a wasp outside stings her or – ” Her voice trailed off.

The words were forced – not from the spontaneous Tillie I knew. She seemed somehow vulnerable and I knew I must not coerce Tillie to say things she did not want to say. I also knew that the most sticky situation on God’s earth is a marital conflict and the greatest fallout occurs after an outsider interferes.

“Tell you what, Tillie. Every day, I’ll pray that your and Rick’s discord be resolved.”

Tillie exhaled a palpable sigh of relief. “Thanks, Neecy.”

Months passed “
Like those strobe lights
,” Kirk liked to say. Events swooshed past with blinding swiftness...Dawn’s first birthday, whose party was
the
event of the year... Heather’s piano recital – I was always
there
to hold her icy hands before the performance – that left me breathless and weeping tears of pride. I fed her aspiration for a college music degree...Toby’s fascination with football and his concern that his plumpness might deter his quarterback aspirations...Moose’s ‘retirement’ from the Air Force for ‘health reasons’...Tillie was gone behind those sunken eyes, simply not there. I opened my mouth to ask questions—then closed it. Somehow, I knew she needed space. Maybe it was the way she embraced normalcy, the way her giggles masked a fragility I now glimpsed…Ed Pleasant, Callie’s
Dad, passed away...Kirk’s mom’s death from a major stroke. Poor Betty...my brother Chuck’s disappointment that insulin shots remained paramount to his health and his joy that his estranged wife Teresa moved back in order to take care of him, though I suspected she was more interested in Chuck’s Social Security checks than his health.

Lord, forgive me
.

Dreams of searching, at times, invaded my peace and grief would linger into the morning hours, only to dissolve when the round little angelic face smiled up at me and chubby fingers tugged at my arm. “C’mo, Mommy. Go bye-bye.”

Leaving sorrow behind, we walked together into the beautiful outdoors and marveled together at her discoveries; a tiny purple blossom peeking through fading autumn grass or a huge pine cone.

I thought back to Sarah Beauregard’s prophecy that I must
not
expect a Krissie lookalike. And so, I had promised the Maker that – regardless of gender or genetic pool – I would be thankful. Kirk agreed, knowing as I did that chances of a like gender/genetic blend was nil.

We did not count on God’s mysterious ways.

Dawn had appeared on the scene a tiny pink cherub. Dark thick hair did its own thing.

And then it happened.

Before our eyes, a wonder unfolded...dark hair slowly turned blonde...then curled...smokey-gray eyes turned the blue of a clear sky...pink complexion turned olive...the budding personality displayed gentleness and sensitivity...
Mommy got a booboo? I kiss it, Mommy...
tiny voice rising in song with perfect pitch.

Coincidence?

The Maker did exactly what folks said He wouldn’t do. Go figure. One thing emerged from all that transpired: folks cannot program the Almighty.

In fact, I’ve grown to distrust
anybody
who feels they have it all figured out.

“Where are you, Krissie?” I searched the school playground as children scattered. The bell was ringing...Krissie
disappeared into the forest, black and white saddle oxfords flashing as she ran, blonde hair trailing...the bell clanged louder and louder....

“Neecy,” Kirk stirred beside me. “The doorbell’s ringing.”

I squinted at the bedside clock. “It’s four o’clock. Who could it be?”

Kirk sprang to his feet and grabbed his robe on his way to answer the persistent summons. Presently, I heard the door open and low voices that rose and fell with emotion. I crept from bed and moved to the door to hear better. A man’s voice... familiar...weeping.

A man weeping. What’s wrong? Yet – I dared not intrude. Confidentiality was paramount to trust in the pastor-flock relationship. Frequently, the troubled party sought nurturing from both pastor and wife. Other times, pastor’s wife was succinctly excluded. It was not my decision.

I quietly closed the door and crawled back into my warm bed.

Next time my lids cracked, sunlight lay over the soft green bedspread and wrapped my hand. I looked at the pillow beside me, whose head-indention declared Kirk’s absence. Then I remembered the early a.m. mystery visitor. I yawned, stretched and remembered, too, that this was Saturday.

I smelled coffee as I spanned the hallway, glimpsing Heather’s belly-down form sprawled on her bed, then Toby’s rapt focus as, in the den, he watched Scooby-Doo. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked, gaze never veering from the screen.

“I don’t know.” I moved Toby’s cereal bowl from coffee table to sink and washed it, then poured myself a cup of coffee. As I searched in the fridge for milk, the back door opened.

It was Kirk, as haggard and exhausted as I’d ever seen him.

“Bad, huh?” I poured him a cup of coffee as he sank into the chair opposite mine. I purposefully didn’t probe, knowing he’d talk if it was appropriate.

Kirk took a long drink. Kirk drinks, I sip. I waited. “Want some breakfast?”

“No. Thanks.” He stared at his cup, still nestled between big hands. Suddenly, he looked at me, a look that pierced straight to my heart. “Rick Dawson came by this morning.”

“It was him?” Dread swamped me.

“He – ” Kirk shifted tiredly and set his cup down. “Tillie caught him with another woman.”

“Oh, my – God help us!” Tears gathered. Poor Tillie. No wonder she’d –

“Let’s go in the living room,” Kirk suggested, casting a glance at Toby, who remained transfixed, chuckling suddenly at Scooby-Doo’s cowardly capers.

We settled on the couch. My hand went to my bosom, where my heart thruumped a heavy syncopated cadence. “Oh, Kirk. Say it isn’t so.”

His face was grave. “I’m afraid it is, honey. Rick told Tillie he was going out of town on business. She went along with his story, apparently aware of something. Anyway – he met this woman at the Star Motel in Charleston. They were in bed together and Tillie walked in on them.”

“Dear Lord.” I wiped tears from my cheeks and snuffled. “How did she get in? I mean – ”