Masquerade (18 page)

Careful to avoid icy patches on the driveway, the three eased into the Datsun, Amelia in the back and Celeste in the front with Barbara.

“What was that God stuff in there, Barbara?” Celeste smoothed a hand over her slacks as the older woman  turned  the  key in the ignition  and backed out of

the driveway. “You wanna get me fired?”

Barbara pulled onto Union Road headed west toward town. “Sonya brought up God; I didn’t.”

“But you humored her.”

“What? Now we can’t talk about God in someone’s home? Even when that person initiates the conversation?” Barbara adjusted her visor against the setting sun. “Come on, Celeste, this isn’t about bringing God into a conversation. You’re upset because I have certain concerns about your desire to adopt Lily.”

Hmm, so this woman
could
get provoked. Celeste had never heard Barbara so defensive. “How did you know I was interested?”

Snoring drifted from the backseat. How much longer would Amelia be fit to care for handicapped children? That was definitely a concern.

“I’m getting to know you pretty well. I’ve seen you interact with Lily. And now the questions to Sonya about a single woman adopting. Doesn’t take much to put two-and-two together.”

“Why should I be denied the right to happiness just because I no longer have a husband?”

“Are you seeking happiness or absolution?” Barbara kept her gaze on the road.

“I don’t understand.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“What’s so wrong about loving and caring for a little girl no one else wants?” She longed to run through the cornfields which zoomed past the car window. Escape into  some  far  away  world  and  never  come  back.  If it

weren’t for Lily, she’d consider . . .

“The Millers want Lily. Maybe God will make a way for them.”

“God. Always God. That’s all you ever talk about. If God’s into making a way, maybe He can arrange things so I can adopt Lily.” She bit back tears.

“Or He can cleanse your guilt and set you free.”

“Well, you don’t mince words, do you?”

“I think I’ve earned the right.” Barbara glanced at Celeste. “You did show up on my doorstep, remember? I fed you, put you up—”

“Oh, so now I’m under obligation.”

“I’m merely saying that friends respect each other, value the other’s thoughts, opinions. We are friends, aren’t we?” Barbara winked at Celeste.

She thought for a few moments. Colleagues, yes. A mother figure, perhaps. But friends? When did that happen? She hadn’t enjoyed any real friends since college. Joe had been her friend. She lowered her head.
Oh, Joe.

There was Lorna, but as far as someone genuine, someone she could trust . . . well, slim pickings in her circle of acquaintances.

She raised her head and eyed Barbara. “Lily makes me laugh. I never thought I’d laugh again.”

“Yes, she’s a delightful little gal. God gave Lily laughter, a joy that bubbles up from deep inside.”

Celeste turned her face toward the beige ceiling and counted to five. “Was He laughing when He took my baby and Joe away?” She crossed her arms.

“Oh, dear  girl, no.  Not at all.  The God who laughs

also cries. He’s a real Person with real emotions. He weeps with you, because He knows exactly how you feel.”

A God with feelings? She hadn’t considered that possibility.

Barbara rested her hand on Celeste’s knee. “He lost a Child, too. And He did it for you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hands rubbing her arms, Sonya stood on the porch and gazed after the blue Datsun until the car grew tiny and melted into the horizon. Worrisome thoughts erupted in her mind as barbs of anxiety jabbed at her heart. Perhaps she’d said too much. She was still sorting through her conflicting emotions about Lily. Maybe it would be better to get a firmer handle on her feelings before releasing them to the world.

True, Mrs. Tatem and her aides weren’t exactly the world, but they were a significant part of her hemisphere, the place where family and longings and unfulfilled dreams collide like shifting plates of land and form one huge mass. Or mess, in this case. All that talk about a single woman adopting. What exactly was Mrs. Tatem getting at? Sonya certainly didn’t want her affection for Lily to interfere with her teacher’s.

“I only want the best for Lily, Lord. Don’t I?” Sonya spoke into the breeze that rattled the chains on the swing.

              A hand touched her shoulder, and she spun around.

              Sam tugged on the door until it was firmly shut. “You  okay? It’s  not   like   you  to  leave  the  door  open,

especially when the woodstove’s going.”

              Her gaze fastened on the boxwood wreath she’d crafted and hung on the door during the Christmas season. With spring coming on, she’d design some sort of fresh décor, maybe a spray with sprigs of dried flowers, herbs, and leaves. She’d pull the kids in to help—Matthew and Anthony foraging for flora around the property and Mia and Hannah offering suggestions for the arrangement. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Make it into a homeschool project of sorts.

“Sonya?” He took her in his arms.

His hug pulled her out of her random musing. “I must’ve lost track of the time. I’ll step inside and get supper ready.” She shrugged out of his embrace.

              “Whoa, wait a minute.” He twirled the key ring around his finger. “You’re as tense as a Guernsey giving birth. What’s up? Bad day with the kids?”

              “Nothing like that.” She avoided his eyes, but his stubby fingers nudged her face in his direction.

              “What then?”

              Fighting back tears, she studied his face. How could she begin to express her worries? Concern over their diminished income, about her shaky ability as a mother, about the impending threat she felt, not only from Social Services, but from Lily’s teacher.

              His eyes questioned her, but he remained quiet. Half a head taller than her husband, she reached down and stroked the stubble on his cheek. Three unruly hairs stuck up on his balding head. His fat lower lip locked his expression in a perpetual pout, except when he smiled or

let loose one of his Santa Claus laughs.

She stroked his large ears.

A Humpty Dumpty of a man, he wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense. But it was never about his looks. From the first time he winked at her across the aisle during a church service, he had her heart. There was a certain strength of character about Sam Waite that trumped his appearance. It showed up in a hundred little ways that grew her love and respect for the man.

Like right now. His patience to stand and wait while she struggled to vocalize her thoughts.

She shook her head, ran her hands down the sides of her jumper. “I don’t know. Worried about the kids, I guess, and Lily.” She loved Lily. She wanted Lily. But would it be best if another family adopted the child, given their circumstances? And yet she felt guilty for even thinking such a thing after caring for Lily almost five years. To give up the little girl would be like giving up one of her own daughters.

He rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. “You’re wearing a permanent worry line, my girl. You always get this way toward the end of a school year.”

She pressed the small of her back. “Hardly the end, yet. We’ve got three more solid months of study before summer break.” Thankfully, the homeschool co-op some of the women had started a few months ago relieved some of the teaching burden.

“What can I do to help? You promised Pastor and me that you’d ask for help when you needed it.”

Her shoulders relaxed.  This dear man. Sure, she’d

given him grief in the past about working so hard, about not being there to tuck the kids in bed, but in truth, he probably helped out more than the average husband and father. It simply wasn’t right for her to keep caving in when Sam needed her to be strong.

“For now, come inside and let me fix you some supper. That’s how you can help.”
            His eyes narrowed while his lower lip took on a decidedly bass-like slant.

She squeezed his arm. “Just asking what you can do made me feel better.”

Besides, she wasn’t about to put more on his plate. His job search was contribution enough. Employment would solve everything. At least they’d have enough money to support their family, and that included Lily. Determined to manage the load God had entrusted to her, she breathed a silent prayer for God’s grace.

###

“Look, Mommy.” The little girl pointed toward the waiting room inside New Image Counseling. “What’s wrong with that man?”

“Shh.” The slender mother who stood at the receptionist’s window frowned and shook the child’s hand.

If he could melt into the chair and ooze into the floorboards, he would. He couldn’t blame the girl for staring. He’d looked in the mirror. A man with bald head, pitted scars covering his nose, and deeper grooves that snaked across his forehead and cheeks like random rivers

repulsed him, too. Like a turtle, he tried to shrink inside his collar while tugging on his sleeves to cover equally-scarred hands.

Slouched in his seat, the teenager across from him jiggled his leg and eyeballed him from beneath a worn baseball cap. Whenever he looked at the kid, the boy shifted his gaze elsewhere. The woman beside the teen flipped through a
People
magazine. Probably the kid’s mother. Who knew what weird behavior brought this mom and her son to
counseling on a chilly March afternoon.

But if that kid didn’t stop gawking at him, he’d go over there and smack him one.

A door opened, and Mr. Stanley Hutchins, with folder in hand, stepped into the waiting room. “Mr. Laverty, you can come on back now.”

Sitting beside him, Ginny smiled and nodded. He slipped out of his seat, conscious of the stares aimed at his deformed face. Multiple skin grafts hadn’t done much to fix his looks. Even though Schreiber Metal provided insurance and wages through medical leave, continued treatment was hardly worth the cost. It could be years of multiple surgeries with limited results. Why go through the pain and disappointment? Time to accept his fate. That line of thinking had led him to New Image back in December. That and Nurse Crachet.

She hadn’t fallen one iota for his little trip-to-the-store routine. “I’m on to you, Randall Laverty, and you are not going to die on my watch,” she’d said, hands on hips, nostrils flaring like a wild stallion. 

What tipped her off? Could it have been the day she discovered him in his apartment, knife posed over his wrist, locked in deep thought?

A raspy snicker escaped his throat as he followed the counselor down the hall and into his office. That a suicide-attempt could provoke laughter showed what kind of man he’d become. And he hated himself for it.

“Take a seat, Randall.” Hutchins sat across from him in a leather chair. “How’s the week been going?”

He gawked at the therapist from the matching leather couch. “Not good. Tired of living in this wretched skin.”

Hutchins tapped his lips, maintained eye contact. “You’ve been through a lot of trauma. Give yourself time to heal, externally and internally.”

“The doctors want to do more cutting, sanding, stretching, grafting . . . on it goes, ad nauseum. It’s never over. The pain. The surgeries. This nightmare will go on for years while my life passes me by . . . whatever kind of life I can live after all this.”

Hutchins inhaled. “It’s true. Your physical condition is going to take time to improve. But you can do something right now about your emotional condition. Your attitude will greatly determine how you proceed from here. It’s up to you.”

“We’ve been over this. The grieving stages. The letting go. Don’t you think I want to be happy?”

“Do you?”

Hutchins’ steady gaze unnerved him. How could he expect  this  guy to  understand?  Hutchins still had a face,

and a decent one at that. Taut skin with no wrinkles or blemishes, let alone a scar.  

“Look, I’m not who you think I am.”
Oh brother, now the guy’s gonna think I’m a schizo talking out of my head.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a wife. A job, at least I hope I still have a job after this. I wasn’t always a bum and a freak, good only for some kind of side show.”

“Is that how you see yourself?”