Masquerade (16 page)

              The kettle whistled, and minutes later, Barbara walked into the room holding two steaming mugs. She searched for two coasters in the coffee table drawer and set Celeste’s tea on top of one. “Now, what’s this about not being able to stay at your house? Did your heat give out, too?” She sat and sipped her tea.

              Celeste scratched her cheek, rested her finger beneath her nose. “The heat’s fine. It’s my parents.”

              Barbara placed her mug on the coaster. “What’s wrong?”

              “They’re at my house.”

              “Yes . . .” Barbara rolled her hand in the air, fishing for more.

              ‘They’re okay, I mean, they aren’t sick or anything.” She clutched her forehead and sighed. “Oh, it’s all such a mess. We had an argument, and I left.”

              “All families have arguments.”

              “You don’t know my family . . . or my situation.”

              “You want to tell me about it? Might help to get it off your chest.” Barbara’s voice softened. “But first, you need to call your parents and let them know you’re safe. At least give them that courtesy.”

              “They don’t deserve courtesy.”

              “Now you don’t mean that. Go on and call.” Barbara stood and moved toward the swinging door. “The phone’s just inside the kitchen on the wall beside the refrigerator.

              Padding in her socks toward Barbara, Celeste felt like an unruly child submitting to parental punishment. Barbara meant well, but she simply didn’t understand.

Celeste crept to the phone, braced her hand on the wall, and inhaled. Something in the oven smelled good.

Mother answered on the first ring. “Hello, Celeste, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Thank God. Father and I were worried sick. Where are you?”

“I’m at a friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

Celeste studied the ceiling. “One of my aides from work.”

“You’d take the company of a coworker over your own family?”

“Right now, yes I would.” She felt so small, like one of the tiny flecks in the kitchen linoleum. “Look, Mother, I don’t want to get into it with you again.”

“Stay put, Celeste. Come home when the storm clears. We’ll talk more.”

“I’m not coming home until you’re gone, and that’s all there is to it.” She was assuming a lot. Would Barbara take her in for a while? Her mother could be stubborn, but surely Father would take her back home soon, albeit kicking and screaming.

“Celeste, be reasonable—”

“Good-bye, Mother.” She slammed the receiver on the hook, turned on her heel, and trudged back to the living room.

Kneeling on the couch cushion, Barbara leaned over the back of the sofa and checked the candles which adorned   an   accent   table.   “Can’t   be  too  careful,” she

chuckled, “I burnt a hole in the dining room table once when I let a candle burn too long.”

Celeste nodded. Seemed an odd thing to laugh about, but then Barbara was an enigma. Always seemed to take something bad and turn it around for good. 

“Every time I lift the crocheted doily covering that spot, I’m reminded to take great care with things I hold dear, and even greater care with people I love,” Barbara continued, sitting once more. “That table belonged to my mother. It was passed down to me when she died.”

Celeste sank into the couch. Was there no escaping the guilt trips?

“Did the phone call go okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” She lowered her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry to put you out—”

“Glad for the company. It would have been me and my quiche.” Barbara’s cheeks puffed out with a grin.

“Which smells great, by the way.”

“Should be ready in a little while.”

The grandfather clock on the opposite wall chimed the hour. Snow continued to pelt the window.

“You know, Celeste, when my husband died six years ago, I thought my life was over. Anna had just graduated college and married, when out of the blue, Robert surprised us with a heart attack. Not something one expects at forty-two. I’d been a housewife all my married life, and loved it, to be honest. But after Bob died, I needed something more. Someone to care for, and that’s when the Lord led me to you.” She rubbed the back of her hand.  “I  wondered how I would make it without my hus-

band. But the Lord gave me a verse, Isaiah 54:5, that’s been my comfort ever since Bob went on to be with Jesus.
For your Maker is your husband—the Lord Almighty is his name.”

“I’m sorry, I’d forgotten about your husband.
”
Heat crept into her face. A mix of shame and anger clamored within her.

“I just want you to know, you’re not alone.”

“Why did Joe leave me?” She stared past Barbara, trying to rein in her confusing emotions.

“I can’t answer that question. But this I do know, the Lord desires to comfort the wife deserted and distressed in spirit. I know firsthand that He can and He will, if we allow Him to.”

“My parents deserted me, too.”

“How’s that? Seems they want to be with you, help you—”

“You know nothing about it.” She bit back tears. “They promised to care for me, protect me, steer me in the right direction, but . . .”

“But what, honey?” Barbara leaned in.

“They made me get an abortion.” There, it was out—that horrible word. Relief quickly followed by regret cramped her stomach.

Barbara sat like a stone, unflinching, expression placid.

“Joe’s baby. He never knew.” She pressed her face, then dropped her hands into her lap. “We met at Purdue, fell in love almost from day one. Things really heated up our sophomore year.   We knew we were meant to be to-

gether, but Joe got antsy, like guys sometimes do when they know marriage is the next logical step. We had a beautiful weekend together at his apartment, and then he lowered the boom. Said college wasn’t for him, that maybe he was wasting his time pursuing a physical education degree. What he really enjoyed was working with his hands.” She fiddled with her wedding band. “But besides all that, he wanted to explore the world for a while before he settled down. So he went off to Africa with the Peace Corps to help plant vegetable gardens.”

“I see. What happened next?”

“Two months later I discovered I was pregnant. I was shocked at first, you know? And angry. Here I was carrying Joe’s child, and he was across the ocean for a year trying
to find himself. Still, I loved him. Mad, yes, but loved him enough to give him his freedom.”

“So, you never told him about the baby.”

“No. I now realize that was a mistake.” She studied the shiny surface of the coffee table. “I had two years left before graduation, and here I was pregnant. But somehow, I knew I could do it. I could keep my baby and finish school. Somehow, I’d make it work. And besides, Joe would be back and we’d be married. We’d be a family.”

“But your parents didn’t share your dream?”

She snorted. “Not at all. They had a reputation to maintain.”

“I’m sure they loved you in their own way. It’s difficult rearing a child and going to school at the same time, especially as a single mom.”

“Mother never liked Joe to begin with. Said he wasn’t good enough for her little girl.”

Barbara smiled. “I’d say most parents feel that way. It’s disconcerting to think you may have to compete for your child’s affection.”

“Mother never had my affection.”

Barbara raised her eyebrows.

“I know that sounds cruel, but the reality is, Mother’s always been an oppressive woman. Any love she may have hoped to receive from me she’s squelched over the years. She simply can’t let go.”

“Ah, letting go.” Barbara picked at a piece of lint on her pants.  “A tough one, indeed.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The side of families coming together. Life passes too quickly to be at odds with one another. Anger holds us prisoner. Forgiveness sets us free.” She closed her eyes.

Had she lapsed into sleep?

“What are you doing?”

“I’m praying. Wanna join me?”

Her shoulders slumped. She was too beat to argue.  

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Celeste sat at a classroom table beside Lily and sucked in a breath, glad she’d made it through the Christmas season and into the New Year without losing her mind from grief. As much as Mother, Father, and Lorna tried to impose their presence during the holidays, Celeste didn’t regret giving it to them straight. She needed time alone to reflect, think about Barbara’s words, sleep, eat when she wanted, cry, and pour over mementoes. Sorry if they couldn’t understand that. Only Barbara seemed to respect her need for solitude. She checked on her a couple times over the break, but otherwise left her alone.

“Teacher Tater?” Lily yanked on Celeste’s sweater, bumping her out of her thoughts. “I’m wearing my Sunday underwear.”

              “Is that right?” Celeste chuckled, folded a piece of pink construction paper and cut around the outline of a half heart. She glanced at Amelia and Barbara. Sitting at two other tables, they helped their students make Valentine cards for the upcoming party on Friday. An assortment of red, white, and pink paper, glue bottles, glitter, scissors, and crayons littered the tables.

“See?” Using her good arm, Lily pushed the front of her pants down, revealing the word
Sunday
stamped across the front of her underwear. “Sonny says we got mixed up. I wore Monday yesterday.” Her words crawled out all choppy. She scratched her head, wrinkled her face. “But isn’t today Monday, Mrs. Tater?”

“Yes, today is Monday. Very good, Lily.” Celeste tousled the little girl’s hair.

“Look.” Lily moved her hand back and forth. On her other arm, her sweater sleeve hid her deformed stump.

At the head of the table, Teddy rocked forward and focused on Lily. Amazing that something as simple as a sparkly hand would capture his attention. On the other side, Lewis hunched over his paper, a tight grip on his crayon, coloring with abrupt strokes. With care, Jocelyn glued several miniature hearts on a larger one.

“Very pretty, Lily, but I think you got more glitter on yourself than you did your Valentine card.”

Lily continued to wave, this time higher in the air. “Colors. Pretty colors.”

Celeste studied the child’s hand. Sure enough, the clear sparkles picked up the colors created from the overhead lighting. Such wonder Golden Girl exuded over simple things. What an uplift she’d been to Celeste over the last few months. She grew more attached to the child by the day. 

Lily peered up at Celeste with those penetrating blue eyes. “You gonna make a card, Teacher Tater?”

Always  Teacher  Tater  or Mrs. Tater.  Yet, Celeste

didn’t have the heart to correct Lily. Besides, the little girl’s name for her made Celeste feel close to Joe. He was the only one who had ever called her Tater until she met Lily.

Celeste tapped her cheek. “Hmm . . . I wonder who I should make a card for.”

Lily’s hand flew to her chest. “Me, Teacher Tater. Me!”

“All right, then. Let’s see, what color paper shall I use?”

“White,” Lily reached for a sheet, “with rainbows.” Her grin accented her adorable button nose.

“A heart with rainbows?”

Lily prodded several crayons over to Celeste. “Yep.” The child picked up a purple crayon in her fist and scrubbed it over her own paper heart taped to the surface. She cocked her head, and with a wry slant to her mouth, added, “This Valentine for you, Teacher Tater. Can you help me write letters?”

Celeste ran a hand over the child’s curls. “Thank you. And yes, I can help. What do you want to write on your card?”

“I love you. Will you be my mommy?”

An electric current shot through her, then warmth settled around her heart. That message was a bit more intense than
Will you be my Valentine?
While students had often expressed their affection for Celeste, never had any of them spoken such a sentiment. But then she’d never had a foster child in her class that she could remember.

Teddy groaned, and she placed some heart-shaped

blocks in front of him. He began to haphazardly stack one on top of the other, never quite agile enough to get past two.

“Oh, Lily. You
have
a mommy.”

“Sonny says, ‘somewhere.’ She says Jesus will help us find my forever mommy.”

A prickle ran down Celeste’s back. Nice thought, but why build up the child’s hope? Few adoptive parents wanted a handicapped, mentally-challenged child. So unfair. Especially in Lily’s case. Anyone who took the time to get to know the child would fall head over heels in love with her. But in reality, most couples wanted a baby, a healthy one.