by Salsbury, JB
“You better hope you don’t get fired,” she says.
“How can a person get fired from volunteering?” That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
“If anyone can, it’s you.” She shimmies out of the pew. “Come on, Ben looks occupied, so come with me to get Elliot.”
He really does look occupied. I can’t see the faces of the man and woman he’s talking to, but I can see his and he looks tense. Maybe even a little irritated. If he were mine, I’d walk over and glue myself to his side, make sure he didn’t have to face whatever criticism he’s facing alone.
But he’s not mine, so I follow Bethany out of the church and catch a nasty stink-eye from Kathy, who is ungreeting people at the door. I want to flip her off with my unchained arms, but I also don’t want to get fired after my first official day of volunteering. I do have some pride.
“When did you get into town?” I ask Bethany as we make our way to the children’s building.
“Friday. I spent a couple days with my parents. I drove to Surprise last night and checked into the condo Jesiah rented.” She weaves around people standing and talking. Although she seems not to notice, Bethany is catching a fair amount of attention. Everyone here knows she’s married to Jesse Lee. I’m surprised she hasn’t been hounded for a photo or an autograph yet. “I would’ve been fine at the Holiday Inn, but you know Jes.”
We walk into the children’s building and search for Elliot’s soft brown curls in a sea of about twenty kids anxiously waiting for their parents to pick them up.
Back in the corner of the room, I see Elliot on the floor, sitting cross-legged with a book in her lap. “Over there.”
We head over, and as we get closer, I can see that the kid isn’t reading the book. She wants people to think she’s reading it, but her eyes are closed and her nose and cheeks are red. Bethany gets caught up by the teacher in the group, so I head to Elliot and squat beside her, making sure to tuck my skirt so I don’t flash the kids my thong under my fishnets.
“Hey, midget. You taking a power nap over here?”
She doesn’t answer, but she sniffles, and the sound sets off alarms in my head.
“Elliot?” I tilt to see her face better.
Her eyelashes are clumped with tears. Those alarms in my head turn into rabid, barking pit bulls ready to tear someone’s ass in two. I drop to my butt and gently remove the book from Elliot’s lap. She lets it go and slumps to the side, leaning against me. It’s an awkward position with my arm squished between us, so I do the natural thing and slip it around her shoulders. Okay, I was wrong—holding the kid like this does not feel natural. But I forget that when she starts talking.
“We made bracelets today and everyone was making bracelets for their moms and—”
“Shit.” I can already see where this is going.
She blinks at me with teary brown eyes. “You’re not supposed to curse. You have to put a dollar in the jar.”
“Okay, I apologize. Go on.”
She goes back to staring at her lap. “I said I was making mine for my dad and they said boys don’t wear bracelets and I said why not?”
“That is bullsh—um, not true. I know a lot of men who wear bracelets.”
“Are they gay?” she says, her voice cracking on a fresh wave of tears. “Because the kids say if my daddy wears it, then it’s ‘cause he’s gay.”
What the fuck? I look over at Bethany, whose jaw is tight and her cheeks flushed. Looks like the teacher is telling her the same story I’m getting.
“Your dad is not gay.”
She sniffles and swipes at her nose then looks at me. “What does gay mean?”
I look to Bethany for some help, but she’s clear across the room, and as she talks with her hands, I can see she’s not finished with the teacher yet. Guess this one is on me.
I clear my throat. “Gay is when a man loves another man or a woman loves another woman. Does that make sense?”
Her sweet eyebrows drop low in concentration. “Like you love Bethany?”
“Not exactly. You know how Bethany and Jesse love each other? It’s a different kind of love.”
She nods. “Like Dad loves my mom.”
Heaviness expands in my chest, but I smile and ignore the discomfort. “Yes. Exactly like that. But it’s called gay when it’s two boys who love each other like that or two girls, not a boy and a girl.”
“Jimmy Parker says my dad is gay because he’s never with a woman.”
“Which one is he?”
She points at a kid in a green collared shirt. I’m no child specialist, but something tells me little Jimmy Parker is hearing his parents talk. God, people can be such insensitive dicks.
“Stay away from Jimmy Parker. He sounds like an asshole,” I say.
She frowns. “That’s another dollar.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
Bethany comes over and squats next to us. “Hey, Ms. Madison just told me what happened. Those kids know nothing about your dad, honey. You know that, right?”
Elliot nods.
I bite my tongue to keep my jar tally manageable.
“You ready to go home and have some lunch?” Bethany asks in her calming nanny voice.
“Instead, can we get chicken strips?”
“Sure.”
Elliot and I heft our asses off the ground, and as we walk through the classroom, I make sure to give Jimmy Parker a look that will haunt him. Bethany and Elliot are holding hands, and I’m trying to calm my murderous thoughts when I feel a squeeze on my hand. Shocked, I blink down to see Elliot’s little hand folded in mine. Bethany looks at me with a satisfied I-told-you-so expression. Whatever the fuck that means.
Still. Holding Elliot’s hand releases the tension I felt building in my chest, and rather than wanting to give Jimmy Parker a power-wedgie, I can see him for what he is. The poor kid who got the shit end of the stick in the parent department. Something I can totally relate to.
To further help me calm down, I see Ben making his way to us, a big smile on his face as he sees his daughter. But as we approach, his expression falls.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his gaze darting between the three of us, noting our holding hands and his daughter’s splotchy face.
“Jimmy Parker is an asshole,” Elliot says.
Both Bethany and Ben’s gazes dart to me.
“Oh, I’m so sure. Blame me.”
They both keep staring and the pressure is too much.
“Well, he is!” I say.
Ben doesn’t seem too upset that I taught his little girl a new word, but he doesn’t seem overly happy about it either. He scoops her up with one arm and she tells him the story as we all walk to the parking lot. We remain silent as Elliot relays the details of her traumatic morning. Ben nods and “mm-hms” in all the appropriate places. He pops her into the back of his car, puts her seat belt on, and stands in the doorway as she ties up the story.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says, but the words are clipped, and his voice is tight. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
He closes the door then turns to Bethany and me. We’re waiting like idiots for—seriously, why are we here?
Ben’s dark eyes come to mine, and when his lips tilt, my thighs clamp together. “Jimmy Parker really is an asshole.”
I’m already smiling and imagining Ben in a thousand different fantasies, all of them naked. I smirk. “I told you.”
His expression grows serious. “Thank you for being there for her.”
I feel a flicker of annoyance at his thanking me for something any human with a beating heart would do. Well, maybe not Jimmy Parker. Okay, I guess I see his point. “Of course. I love that kid.”
Oh my God, did I say that out loud?
Ben’s grin widens, showing a bit of his teeth.
“I mean, ya know, she’s the least annoying kid I’ve ever known.” I look at Bethany, hoping she’ll help bail me out, but she’s no use, standing there with that stupi
d fucking smile and satisfaction shining in her eyes. “All right, I’m out of here. I need a nap.”
“You sure you won’t join us for lunch?” Oh, now Bethany speaks up. She looks at Ben. “I promised Elliot chicken strips. I know I don’t officially start until tomorrow, but how about as your sister-in-law, I bring over some chicken and hang with Elliot for a bit?”
“Can’t say no to that,” Ben says, then eyes me. “Ash? Do you want to join us?”
I love it when he calls me Ash. I blink, try to control my breathing, and try not to answer too quickly. “Cool.”
“Great. I’ll see you ladies at home.” He circles the hood of his car with very un-pastor-like swagger and waves before driving away.
“I feel like I need a ladle to get you off the asphalt and into your car,” Bethany says. “You visually melted!”
“I could use a dry pair of panties, no lie.”
She throws her head back, laughing. “I swear, you are the female version of my husband.”
“Thank you.” I curtsy.
“I’ll meet you at Ben’s with food.” She walks toward her car.
I head to mine with butterflies in my stomach for no good fucking reason.
Ben
“If you’re not gay, then why don’t you have a real wife?”
I meet Elliot’s eyes through my rearview mirror, wondering when in the hell she went from six to twenty-six. “I do have a real wife. Your mom is my real wife.”
“I mean a wife who lives in our house with us, like the other kids.”
After the morning I’ve had, first with Mr. Gunthry and Mrs. Jones ambushing me after service and then the news that Elliot was harassed in her Bible study class, well, I’m walking a fine line of my available grace. “I pledged my life to your mom, in sickness and in health, and I take that vow very seriously.”
She seems to chew on that for a few minutes. Just when I think she’s letting it go, she pipes up again. “You didn’t say death.”
“What?”
“Sickness and health, but not death. Mommy is dead.”
“I know that.” I’m well fucking aware. I grip the steering wheel and pray for patience.
“Then why can’t you have a new wife?”
“Because I don’t want one,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I do,” she says wistfully. “I want a mommy.”
The ice in my veins thaws, and guilt replaces my anger. “You have a mommy. She lives in your heart, remember?”
With her head turned toward the window, she says, “I want a real mommy, the kind I can touch.”
I have not a single thing to say to that. Of course she wants a mom she can talk to and who can hold her when she cries and who can teach her about periods and dating and all the stuff that a little girl needs from a mom. I’ve held on so tightly to Maggie, trying to keep her presence in Elliot’s life so that she’d know how much her mom loved her. As Elliot gets older, I’m afraid holding on so tightly to Maggie has done more harm than good, because it’s kept Elliot from experiencing the tangible love of a woman.
A little voice tells me she’s not the only who’s been missing out on that kind of love. But I never needed it. Never had a taste for it. Maggie was enough for me and her memory was too.
Was.
Is it still?
We get home and change into more comfortable clothes. For Elliot, it’s donut-themed pajama shorts and a Jesse Lee concert shirt. For me, it’s worn-out jeans and a threadbare T-shirt with bleach stains that I’ve had since college.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!”
I’m at the dining table, arranging the mess of sermon notes and open commentary books from my last-minute scramble this morning. When the door opens behind me, I’m not hit with the scent of chicken strips and French fries; instead I’m surrounded by the light scent of gardenia. As if a breeze from outside grabbed hold of Ashleigh’s scent to bring it directly to my nose, it swirls around me and makes my skin hum and take notice. I turn to see Ashleigh walking in the door, her bright smile aimed at Elliot—which is great, because it gives me the opportunity to take her in for a few seconds.
What is it that’s so alluring about this woman?
Sure, she’s attractive, even behind the makeup and sexy outfits. If she stripped away the eye-catching short skirts and low-cut tops, washed away the color on her face, she’d still be gorgeous. But I’m a spiritually mature man who would never be attracted to a woman simply because she looks good.
Ashleigh has a mouth like a truck driver. By her own admission, her sexual morals are practically non-existent, and her attitude on life in general is as casual as it gets. She’s nothing like Maggie. Couldn’t be more opposite than the woman I vowed to spend my life loving.
And yet…
She has a strength that confounds me. She makes no apologies for who she is, feels comfortable in her own skin, and owns every word that comes from her lips. Even I can’t say I’m that confident in my convictions. And she loves my kid, sticks up for her against bullies and incompetent babysitters without filter.
Just then, she bends over to look at something Elliot shows her and her skirt lifts ever so slightly. I lick my lower lip, not allowing the fantasy to manifest but still feeling like I can taste her flowery scent on my tongue and—that’s when I feel it.
Her eyes on me.
I’ve been caught. I look up apologetically, and I’m struck by the flicker of heat in her gaze. I give her my back and pointlessly move things around the table, cursing my lack of self-control. What the hell is wrong with me?
My gaze snags on a photo of Maggie placed proudly on the kitchen counter. I’ve never seen judgment in her eyes before. However, judgment is all I see now. I’m so sorry, Maggie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Need some help?”
I jump at the sound of Ashleigh’s voice, but I’m grateful when she rounds to the opposite side of the table. “I got it.”
“I see that, but I can help anyway.”
Such a meaningless exchange of words, yet the message is so clear.
She’s not going to let me push her away.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
Part of me is grateful, the other absolutely terrified.
* * *
What was supposed to be lunch stretched into the later afternoon when Bethany insisted on taking Elliot out for shopping and “girl stuff.” I tried to convince my stubborn sister-in-law that she didn’t need to do that, but she wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Ashleigh and Bethany took Elliot while I got a head start on next week’s sermon. As much as I missed my daughter, I was grateful she could spend time with other females and hopefully get all those questions that make me squirmy answered.
When the girls showed up at home, it was six o’clock and they had bags of Greek food, along with more bags Elliot ran back to her room with. We ate dinner while Bethany told stories about my brother that had us all laughing, and just when I thought the night would come to an end, Elliot turned on her best begging and got them to stay for a movie.
Which brings me to now. My eyes are fixed on my daughter as she rests her head in Bethany’s lap and her feet in Ashleigh’s, one running her fingers through my daughter’s hair while the other traces patterns on her legs. Elliot’s eyelids have been drooping for at least thirty minutes, but every time I suggest she go to bed, she insists she’s wide awake. The credits for The Princess and the Frog roll, and as much as I could sit here all night watching my daughter get loved on, it’s time to get her to bed.
Ever the party pooper, I hit the remote and shut off the TV. Elliot makes a sleepy sound of protest, but after the day she’s had, I think she’s too tired to press for a later bedtime.
“I’m sorry, Elliot, but you have school tomorrow. You have to go to bed.”
She groans and rolls off the couch.
“Come on, I’ll read you a story.” I hold my hand out to my daughter. “Up you g
o.”
“Can Ashleigh do it?” she says.
At first I wonder if I heard her correctly, but by the shocked look on Ashleigh’s face, I know we both heard the same thing.
Bethany smiles proudly and stands. “Of course she can.”
Ashleigh pulled back her long hair into a ponytail sometime during the day, and she ditched her shoes at the door. Her pretty feet displayed under her fishnet stockings while she watched the movie, periodically wiggling her toes and rubbing her feet together, is a sight I won’t soon forget.
Ashleigh stands, mumbles something to Bethany, then smiles a little too big at Elliot. “Right. Okay, here we go. Bedtime. Great.”
I chuckle at seeing Ashleigh so vulnerable. Leave it to a kid to totally throw her off center.
“Good night, sweetheart.” I squat and kiss her cheek. “I’ll be in to pray with you after story time.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” She leans into Ashleigh’s side. “Ashleigh can do it.”
I look into Ashleigh’s terrified eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I got this.” She squeezes my shoulder as she walks by, and the heat of her touch lingers long after she leaves the room.
I turn to Bethany, who is covering what I assume to be a huge smile. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she says while cleaning up the bowls of popcorn and cups from the table. “They get along really well, that’s all.”
I snag the throw blankets the girls had on the couch and fold them. “Elliot really seems to like her.”
From the kitchen, she flashes me a knowing smile. “Just Elliot?”
I chuckle and focus on my square folds. “I see your husband has gotten to you.”
“Nope. I just call it like I see it.”
After tucking the blankets away in the cabinet, I head to the kitchen as she’s closing the dishwasher. I lean a hip on the counter and cross my arms. “Bethany, listen, I don’t want you and Jesiah getting your hopes up about…”
I can’t even say it out loud—at least not with Maggie staring at me from just above the sink. The fact that I’m even having this conversation makes me a horrible husband.
