The Weight of Shadows (4 page)

FOUR

Kim was right—Rick didn’t call. He showed up at the salon instead.

She was righting a vase of flowers she’d nearly knocked off the receptionist’s desk and trying not to feel put out that another meaningless Valentine’s Day was getting x-ed off the calendar when a voice behind her said, “Any of those come for you yet?”

Two hours of conversation had made his voice familiar, and a giddy smile slipped across her face. She was embarrassed at the warmth that spread through her body. Certainly he didn’t feel this way when he thought about her.

“Not yet, no.” She turned. He held out a bouquet twice as big as the one in the vase, a mix of yellow, red, and orange blooms accented with baby’s breath. She gasped.

“Well good, because I’d hate to think I had any competition.”

She scrambled for something clever to say and failed. “I can’t believe you brought those for me. I can’t believe you came here!”

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, but…” Her eyes went to her next client who had already started walking back to Kim’s station. “I can’t really talk now.”

“Oh, I understand. What time are you done tonight?”

“Six.”

“Are you free for dinner?”

She hoped her joy wasn’t too plain on her face. “Yes, I am.”

“Excellent. I’ll pick you up then.”

“Okay.”

He handed her the flowers, then gave her a little wave as she turned to go to her station.

“Oh, how beautiful!” her client said when Kim set the flowers on the ledge of her station.

“Aren’t they?”

“Are they from a guy?”

She laughed. “Yeah.”

Her client’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Well, I’m not.” She smiled. “Yet.”

J
OSHUA CLENCHED THE PHONE TIGHTER
against his ear as it rang.
Be there, be there, be there.
When Adam said hello he relaxed just a fraction. “Hi. It’s Joshua.”

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“I officially hate February 14th.”

Adam blew out a breath. “Rough day?”

“Very, for obvious reasons.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, Josh. Anything I can do?”

“Just pray for me today, will you? It’s been a lousy couple weeks on top of the inherent crappiness of today. Lara’s parents are threatening to sue for grandparent rights.”

“What?” Adam made a noise of disbelief that brought a small smile to Joshua’s face. He’d known Adam since college and had seen the face that accompanied that sound a hundred times. It never failed to make him grin at least a little. “On what grounds?”

“They think I’m moving to take Maddie away from them. And they don’t think I can adequately care for her since I’ve lost my job. They have an idea of what they think her life should be like, and it’s not the life I’m giving her—that’s what it comes down to.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’ve got that right. They blame me, too, for Lara’s death. So part of me wonders how much of this grandparents’ rights excuse is just their way of trying to get back at me.”

“Twisted.”

“Even more so when you realize they’re using Maddie as their pawn.”

“What are you gonna do? You and Mads are free to crash here if you need to get away for a while.”

Joshua chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind; we may need a vacation eventually. But at this point I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing and pray God doesn’t let them get to me too much. I don’t want to poison Maddie against them, but it’s to the point where I need to send her out of the room every time they come over, just in case I flip my lid. I’m certainly not about to leave her alone with them; God knows what they’d try to tell her about me.”

“Seriously. So, any news on the job front?”

“No—I actually signed up with a temp agency Monday.”

“Oh, wow, flashbacks to college.”

Joshua chuckled. “I know. At least I have some marketable skills this time around. I’ve already got one job lined up to start Monday. I need something long term—or permanent—quick, if for no other reason than to keep me from stressing myself to death.”

“Something’s bound to happen. Keep the faith. How’s the house thing going?”

“I’m almost done with all the little things I needed to do to get it ready to show. Scott is listing it next Friday. Pray for Maddie—she says she’s okay with the move, but I don’t know how she’ll feel when we actually start packing, you know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. We’ll be praying for both of you; don’t be surprised if it’s harder for you than you thought it would be.”

The thought made Joshua squirm in his desk chair. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“I don’t blame you. Can I ask you a really personal question?”

“Um, okay?”

“When do you think you’ll start dating again?”

The thought turned his lunch in his stomach. “Oh man, I have no idea. I mean, I hardly even notice women, you know? I can’t imagine actually
liking
someone else again. I suppose I will, but I can’t fathom it right now. Why are you asking?”

“Well, I met one of Rebecca’s book club friends the other day and thought you two might connect. But if you’re not ready yet, that’s fine.”

The suggestion brought to mind Maddie’s recent obsession with mothers. They’d be reading a book or watching television, and she’d point to a character and say, “Where’s her mother? Does she have one? Is her mother dead too? Is she going to get another one?” It was this last question that made Joshua’s heart hurt the most.

He thought he was doing pretty well, for a guy. Lara had always said he was a good “girl dad.” He didn’t mind playing tea party or brushing Maddie’s hair and fixing it in braids and ponytails. It wasn’t his idea of the best time in the world—but he
did
love spending time with the little girl whose face so mirrored her mother’s, even more so now that her face was the closest he could get to Lara’s.

But there were things he looked ahead to with dread. Needing her first bra. Getting her first period. Starry-eyed conversations about her latest crush. Planning her wedding. These were not events fathers should be responsible for, as far as he was concerned. They lay fully in the territory of the mother-daughter relationship. It wasn’t so much his discomfort with those topics that made him fear them. It was knowing that Maddie would be wishing her mother was there and that he could never be all she needed.

Joshua pressed his finger and thumb against his squeezed-shut eyes. “Thanks for thinking of me, I guess. I’ll let you go now. I just had to talk to someone for a minute.”

“No problem, Josh. Rebecca and I are praying for you guys.”

“I appreciate it. Tell her I said hi.”

After they hung up, Joshua forced himself to get up and finish working on the caulking he was doing in the bathroom. The sooner he got the house fixed up, the sooner Scott could list it, and the sooner he could move out and move on.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

V
ALENTINE’S DAY WAS ALWAYS DEPRESSING
at the shelter. Women fresh from abuse often suffered from self-loathing along with the hatred they felt for their abusers, so every year Debbie centered that day’s group therapy session around loving and forgiving themselves. To try to see themselves as lovable and to identify the traits that made them special and unique were exercises that taxed their emotions but were key for the healing they needed. She implored them to see themselves as Christ saw them, to extend to themselves the grace they were always quick to give to the other women at the shelter. It didn’t click for everyone, but for the women who took the discussion to heart Debbie always saw a leap in their recovery.

The irony that she was the one imparting these truths, however, was always plain to Debbie. How long had it been since she’d been able to embrace herself with all her foibles and quirks and extend herself a little grace?

Seven years, actually. Or five, depending on which event she was trying not to think about. Not that she was counting.

Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she was.

When she’d cleaned her desk the other day she’d unearthed a picture of her sister that used to hang on the wall of her office. She’d taken it down when the room was painted last year and never put it back up. It just hurt too much. Gina’s bright, sixteen-year-old smile would drag Debbie’s eyes off whatever paper she was reading or email she was writing, and she’d find herself staring at the picture until her eyes misted. Now she had it taped on the side of the file cabinet drawer, where she only saw it now and then, only had to catch her breath from grief once or twice a day instead of being transfixed a dozen times a day by those deep blue eyes.

How many more years did she have to endure the guilt? How long did she have to carry around the ache of “if only”? Some good had come of it—Safe in His Arms Women’s Shelter was what it was because of the work Debbie had done over the last few years—but despite all the women who credited this place as having saved them, she’d trade it all to have Gina back.

Or to regain just a little trust in herself.

Debbie glanced at the clock and realized she was late for a staff meeting. Cursing herself, she gave the file cabinet door a shove and grabbed her notebook from her desk. Work was good. It kept her mind off unpleasant things.

K
IM RETURNED HER CURLING IRON
to its bay and took one last look at her station to be sure it was cleaned for the evening. Satisfied, she walked to the closet and pulled out her coat and purse, retrieved a lipstick from one of her pockets and applied a fresh coat to her lips.
Done and done. So scoot! What are you waiting for?

It was 6:03. She’d been done for ten minutes, but she couldn’t seem to get herself out the door. The self-hate and despair that were always hovering in the shadows of her mind were threatening to ruin the night before it had begun.
You don’t deserve to be happy, remember?

But she was so lonely, so desperate to be known, to be intimately connected with somebody. She’d longed for a day like this her entire life. Couldn’t she turn off the guilt for once?

The remainder of her day after Rick’s visit had been surreal. Valentine’s Day had never felt any different from any other day of the year. Obligatory cards in elementary school were the only ones she’d ever gotten, with candy hearts and mini packs of M&M’s attached. Being given a whole bouquet of roses was like eating a king-size Snickers on an empty stomach—almost too much to handle, especially after a lifetime-long drought of affection.

She’d spent her breaks compiling a list of conversation topics in case there was a lull. They’d discussed so much at the party it had taken her a while to come up with some good questions, but she needed to have some ready just in case. She hated it when conversation stopped. She was much more comfortable when someone was talking, preferably not her.

She looked at her watch again. 6:04. She huddled deeper into her coat and stepped out to the sidewalk. The strip mall parking lot was bustling—no doubt the bistro two doors down and the Maggiano’s on the other side of the lot were booked for the night. She scanned the cars for a moment before realizing she didn’t know what she was looking for, but no one seemed to be waiting for her. She tamped down the disappointment that was piling like snow on top of the fire she’d had in her heart all day.
You really thought this was going to happen, didn’t you?

The sky was dark with clouds, and the puddles on the sidewalk outside the salon were frozen solid. She leaned against the building, hands deep in her coat pockets, looking at the driver of each car that entered the parking lot. Her stomach twisted with hunger and anxiety, and she hated herself for being so nervous. She tried to imagine how Corrie would be in this situation.
Calm and unaffected by her date being five minutes late, I’m sure. Her stomach probably doesn’t even know how to knot.

In an effort to distract herself, she thought back to the previous afternoon at the Boys & Girls Club. Only one of the girls she worked with had a boyfriend, the others were grousing about Valentine’s Day and bemoaning their singleness.

“Girls, believe me, not having a boyfriend when you’re sixteen is not the end of the world. You don’t see me panicking and I’m eight years older than you.”

“Nobody said it’s the end of the world,” Kea had said. “It just sucks.”

“Yeah it does,” said Tandi, her fingers twirling a couple of her long, tiny braids. “‘Specially when
other folks
is rubbing it in your face.”

“I ain’t rubbing it in your face.” Egypt had looked wounded. “I don’t get to talk about my guy when the holiday comes, is that it?”

“Ladies, please,” Kim had said with a laugh. “Let’s shelve all Valentine’s Day talk for now, alright? I wanted to talk about magazines, anyway.”

“Which ones?”

“All the ones at the grocery store check stands that scream about fashion and diets and that kind of crap.”

“I hate those,” La-Neesa had said, shoving her glasses up her nose. “All you poor white women having to get skinny, must drive you crazy.”

Kim had frowned. “Poor white women? You girls don’t feel that pressure?”

Joelle had given Kim a sympathetic smile. “Naw, not the same way. I think black men appreciate curves.”

Tandi had nodded. “Brothas love a booty.”

La-Neesa had laughed and given her a high five. “True that!” Kim couldn’t help cracking up.

“I know what you’re getting at, though, Kim,” said Mercedes, the quietest girl of the group. She didn’t speak often, but when she did, the other girls always listened. “Even if the message isn’t fitting for our specific situation, it’s disheartening nonetheless to see women of any culture being told that they
need
to be a certain way. We should strive to be healthy, sure, but even healthy looks different on different people.”

“Well said, Sadie.”

“Okay, but Kim, what if being a certain way got you what you wanted?”

“What do you mean?”

Egypt had leaned back in her chair, balancing on the rear legs. “Like, if being ten pounds lighter got you a man. It’s a small price to pay, all the dieting and working out it would take, if you got a man at the end of it.”