Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  “Thank you. Jude mentioned you enjoy The Bistro. I’ll make reservations for then.”

  “Sure. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  She switched off the phone. Jude deserved a smack across the face for giving out her number. Stephen lived in Kenora, though. He had a great career working with the Catholic School Board. It was one harmless date and one harmless night.

  After almost four years, she deserved to go out and enjoy a no-strings evening.

  A casual dinner might free her mind from Adam and what he’d professed. Maybe this was what the Lord had ordered for her.

  * * * *

  Adam stared at the phone. Red heat infiltrated his chest. Bridget didn’t believe he’d changed. What the hell else was he supposed to do to prove he wasn’t going to drink again? He’d better calm down. The old-timers would tell him one day at a time.

  Logan slouched in the entryway. “‘Sup?”

  “Nothing.” Adam stood. “Having my cig before supper.”

  “Are we going to The Gator before Friday?”

  “Nope. Cool your heels, kid.” Adam lumbered to the door.

  Logan trotted beside him along the walkway. “What’re we gonna do? Friday’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late. We might even have extra help. Bridget’s committee or whatever they call themselves are meeting this week.”

  “Meeting? Who’s meeting? About what?”

  Adam leaned on the lamppost and lit his cigarette. “Some women’s group Bridget belongs to. Said they’re gonna do something about your girlfriend.”

  Logan’s eyes brightened. “Really? When? Who? Where?”

  “The Indigenous Women’s Alliance. They meet about native issues. You must’ve heard of them. They started all that stuff about the missing and murdered native women. They’re also raising shit about kids being lost in foster care.”

  “Sheena went to a couple of their workshops.”

  “Did they help?” Dumb question since Sheena was dead.

  “I dunno.” Logan shrugged. “Maybe we should go to the meeting?”

  After what Bridget had done, ten miles near her was too close for Adam. “I guess we can. She said they’re meeting on Thursday night.”

  “Cool. Maybe it’ll help us decide what we’ll do Friday night.”

  “Guess so.” All Adam had left was Kyle. There wouldn’t be a full family reunion, but he and his son didn’t need anyone else.

  Too bad Logan was here, because the lamppost sure could use a beating.

  * * * *

  Bridget stood in front of the mirror at the dressing table. For a woman who’d made a firm decision to an ex-fiancé and was about to embark on a harmless date with a great Christian man, a switched off lamp illuminated a deeper glow than her skin, and an overcast night dazzled brighter than her eyes. She enjoyed dressing up, but selecting an outfit to wear for tomorrow evening at The Bistro sounded about as exciting as doing a load of laundry.

  Instead of her feet padding to the walk-in closet, they dragged against the carpet, dragged so much Bridget should have gotten rug burn. She sorted through her enormous shoe collection and many blouses.

  Mom was right about Bridget and Adam’s relationship moving too fast last time. Within a year they’d become engaged, ready to start a life together.

  She sank to the carpet and opened the bottom drawer to retrieve a shawl to drape over her shoulders for later in the night during the date. The various colors and fabrics failed to make Bridget’s chest glimmer. She dug all the way to the back. Maybe she’d get rid of some of these, since she didn’t wear them too often.

  Bridget’s fingers skimmed flannel. The dull thud beneath her ribcage balled into a tight knot. She yanked, and the red-and-black shirt popped out. Her pulse points accelerated to the vroom of the truck’s engine when she stomped on the gas.

  She gathered the long-sleeved shirt against her breast and rubbed her face along the soft fabric. Adam’s masculine scent no longer invaded the material. He’d worn the shirt when they’d spent their last night together—before she’d unearthed the truth about his lies.

  “You lie so much, you don’t know what’s real and what’s fiction,” she’d screamed in his face. “You wiggle your toes when you’re nervous. I saw you do it when you told me... told me... was that a lie, too?”

  She’d snatched Kyle from the makeshift bed at the bachelor apartment Adam had been renting, while the bastard had stood beside the kitchenette counter, too drunk to say anything else.

  While Kyle cried, she’d packed up the boy’s belongings, threatening to call Children and Family Services if Adam dared to stop her, but he hadn’t. She’d run past him, her stomach curling from the stench of whiskey, and fled out the door with Kyle screaming for his daddy.

  Bridget crumbled the shirt she held and leaned her head on the clothing rack stand in the walk-in closet. She’d toss the garment in the trash bin where she’d thrown her love for Adam four years ago.

  Chapter Fourteen: Don’t Let ‘Em Grind You Down

  When Bridget thrust open the door to the visitation room, the scent of sage kneaded away the tension pushing on her shoulders. In the past, Adam had always burned one of the four soothing sacred medicines before praying.

  Mrs. Dale sat in the chair by the pop cooler while Adam sat cross-legged on the floor by the window. A hand drum rested against his bulging bicep. His strong fingers gripped a drumstick. Smoke rose from an abalone bowl.

  “Wow.” Kyle tore across the floor. He screeched to a stop in front of Adam. “Cool. What’re you doing?”

  “Praying.” Adam kept his deep voice to a whisper. “You’re learning in school how to pray to the Christian god. I’m going to teach you how to pray to Creator, like we used to do.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Kyle plopped in front of the bowl. “I think I remember this.” He pointed.

  From a rectangular cedar box, Adam removed an eagle feather, the base wrapped in white and brown leather with decorative aquamarine and white beads. “Do you recall when I’d do this to you?”

  He moved the feather over the bowl, fanning Kyle with the strong-smelling smoke.

  “Um... I think so.” Kyle used his hands to guide the smoke over his head and face.

  Adam placed the eagle feather back in the box. He picked up his hand drum and drumstick. “Our prayer to Creator.”

  Mrs. Dale harrumphed under her breath.

  Bridget stiffened. Adam’s prayer was allowed, so was the sage burning in the bowl. Did the woman disapprove of the ceremony or Adam? Probably both.

  A flicker of guilt bubbled in Bridget’s chest. She’d also been disapproving. Last night she’d rejected Adam’s profession of love. No. She wouldn’t let the guilt go a smidgen further. Her reasoning was correct. In time his uncle’s death would fade from Adam’s memory and he’d be up to his old tricks.

  When Kyle joined Adam in singing, Bridget’s heart leapt. Her foster son didn’t know the words, but trying to pray to Creator while seated cross-legged on the floor with his father took Bridget to the past. She’d witnessed those precious moments before, when the two had stayed the night at her condo.

  He let me baptize Kyle when Adam thought he’d be in prison for a long, long time, because he wanted his son to have some form of a spiritual connection.

  Emery would refer to her stance as unfair.

  At seven o’ clock, she’d leave on her date.

  * * * *

  Adam sat at the table while Kyle colored, having finished their prayer forty-five minutes ago. He and his son needed more time together. According to The Hawk, Adam had two additional months to endure of a measly hour a week. Then the old bat and her supervisor would review his progress.

  With the way the cranky bird studied him from her chair, he’d get a bad report. If Bridget refused to believe he’d changed, Mrs. Dale sure wouldn’t.

  “I wish you could babysit me.” Kyle gazed up from his coloring.

  “Babysit?” Oh yeah, Bridget
had some meetings this week.

  “Uh-huh.” Kyle used his blue crayon to fill in the sky on the picture. “Mom’s going out for dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Suspicion hunkered in Adam’s gut.

  “Her and a friend.”

  “A friend?” Adam glanced up to Bridget texting on her phone.

  “Mr. Baker. The principal. He was at church. He also came to lunch.”

  Hot jealousy invaded Adam’s chest, legs ready to stomp over to Bridget and order her to stay put. She belonged to him, not the Bible thumper.

  Just as fast, deflation swathed Adam. Bridget had made herself more than clear last night how she felt. Big deal. So what? He didn’t need her anyway. Not if she passed up his love for someone she considered a better man. If she couldn’t see how hard he was trying, screw her.

  Even though his old temper itched to kick over the table, stomp from the room, and head for The Gator, a place where losers like himself belonged, and tip back some hard whiskey, he stayed put. He wouldn’t blow his sobriety for anything. He wasn’t going back to prison, because if he drank, a cell waited for him.

  Trembling, he placed his hand over Kyle’s. His child glanced up, a big-eyed stare and his mouth open.

  Adam squeezed Kyle’s fingers. Little fingers. Warm fingers. Helpless fingers that needed him, like Adam had needed his parents but hadn’t received a shred of love from them. His love for Kyle was bigger than a whiskey bottle. Bigger than what he felt for Bridget. Bigger than anything he’d ever experienced.

  They only had each other.

  “Dad?” Kyle’s dark eyes glittered.

  His boy shifted off the chair. While still holding hands, his son nested between Adam’s legs. Kyle set his head on Adam’s shoulder. “Can you ask Mrs. Dale if we can see more of each other?”

  After almost four years, Adam wrapped his arm around Kyle’s waist and gathered the boy against his chest. The fresh scent of soap and cheery smell of cookies smothered Adam. His son’s tiny body, his soft skin, and prickly hair melted Adam’s limbs. He kissed the top of Kyle’s head. Warm. Fuzzy.

  “Please, Dad?” Kyle buried his face in Adam’s chest.

  “I can ask, but I don’t make the rules.” Adam couldn’t say he wished for them to spend every waking moment together. His words had power, the kind of power to give false hope to his son. He wouldn’t disappoint Kyle. Adam had disappointed the boy enough.

  “Then ask. Please?” Still snuggled against Adam’s chest, Kyle turned his face. He pointed. “Mrs. Dale, please. Please can I see my dad more?”

  Adam followed Kyle’s pleading stare. Not a hint of compassion lurked in the old bat’s frozen eyes. He peeked at a red-faced and open-mouthed Bridget.

  “I don’t make the rules, Kyle,” Mrs. Dale said in her squawking, hawk-like voice.

  “But-but you can talk to this important person. Your... um, your supervisor?”

  “Yes, I can, but I have a process to follow. It means I have to wait until a certain date to speak about more time for you and your father.” No sympathy reflected in Mrs. Dale’s dissecting look.

  Leave it to the old biddy to not have an ounce of sympathy for a kid. Adam stifled his snort.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Remember, we prayed to Creator together. Creator will help us.” He must have faith Creator heard his begging and pleading in the song.

  Kyle nodded. “He’s God, right?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Then why is there church and drums?”

  “I’ll tell you another time. We only got five more minutes.”

  “I know.” Disappointed flickered in Kyle’s little words.

  “Hey.” Using his finger, Adam coaxed Kyle’s fallen chin upward. “I want you to remember something. I’m always thinking about you. Always. When we ain’t together, keep telling yourself, Dad’s thinking of me.”

  Kyle’s solemn gaze brightened. “I will. I’m gonna think about you all the time. Then we’ll always be thinking of each other.”

  “That’s as close as being together.” Adam ran his finger along Kyle’s plump cheek.

  They might not have won the war, but they’d won a small battle. The Hawk might have succeeded in keeping them apart, but she couldn’t take away their love or thoughts of each other.

  Neither could Bridget. If she believed Adam was going to roll over and let her take his son so she could ride off into her dumb sunset on Prince Bible Boy’s arm, she was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  * * * *

  Bridget ran her hands along the front of her sleeveless blouse.

  Kyle played on the queen-size bed, making his two Z Men action figures fight. “When will you be home?”

  “No later than nine. You’ll be sleeping by then.”

  “I don’t like Mrs. Dale.”

  Neither did Bridget, but she couldn’t allow Kyle to speak rudely of another. “Because she won’t let you see your dad more often?”

  “Yep.”

  “Honey, she’s only doing her job.” Bridget set aside the brush and turned from the full-length mirror. “Mrs. Dale doesn’t make the rules. She follows them, just as we follow rules, like at school, at work, while I drive. I don’t think that’s a good reason to dislike someone.”

  “I know,” Kyle said, using his pouting voice.

  “We should respect someone who follows the rules. Too many people break them.”

  “Did Dad break the rules why he went away?”

  “Yes. He broke some rules.” Bridget sat on the edge of the bed they shared when Kyle crawled in during storms that blew in off Lake Superior.

  “Is he going to break more rules?”

  “That’s for your dad to answer. Remember, you can ask as many questions as you want while you’re visiting him.”

  “I will.”

  “Ginny’s waiting. Let’s go see her.”

  Kyle dragged himself off the bed. Bridget followed him out to the living room, where the babysitter sat on the sofa.

  The intercom buzzed.

  Bridget froze. She could do this. She deserved a night out with adult company.

  “He’s here. He’s here.” Kyle darted to the intercom beside the door. He pressed the button. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Kyle. It’s Stephen. May I come up?”

  “Sure. Mom’s waiting. My babysitter’s here. You can meet her. Her name’s Ginny. She’s really nice.”

  During the two minutes it took Stephen to reach their floor, Bridget retrieved her purse, gave additional numbers and orders to Ginny, and scooted beside Kyle who held the door knob.

  Stephen knocked.

  Bridget nodded.

  Kyle opened the door. “You’re lucky Mom’s here. I can only answer the intercom if she’s standing here.”

  “I’d say your mom’s right.” Stephen held out a small bag from Bucky’s Burgers. “I hope this is okay. I stopped and picked up Kyle some fries on my way here. I thought he’d like the snack.”

  “My favorite. Bucky’s fries. Thank you.” Kyle beamed and took the bag.

  “He can have a snack.” Bridget turned to Ginny. “No popcorn,” she mouthed, since Kyle had something to eat while watching Z Men.

  “Shall we...” Stephen motioned at the open door. “We don’t want to be late.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” Bridget bent down and kissed the top of Kyle’s head.

  A tear slid from her heart. In the past, Kyle had always accompanied her and Adam everywhere. “You have to listen to everything Ginny tells you to do. Remember those rules we talked about?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in to kiss you goodnight when I get home, but you have to stay asleep.”

  “You promised to be home by nine.” Kyle hugged Bridget, his face settling against her stomach.

  “I always keep my promises. You know this.” She again kissed the top of his head and returned his snuggling hug. “Be good. Ginny’ll text if she needs me.”

  Stephen held
open the door. “Goodnight, Kyle. Enjoy your fries.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mr. Baker.”

  “You’re welcome, Kyle.”

  Bridget followed Stephen out the door. A chill seeped across her skin.

  “Everything okay?” Stephen guided them to the elevator.

  “I’m fine. It’s weird, that’s all. I’ve left him with Ginny many times when I have meetings in the evenings, but this is the first time I’ve left him for a... dinner.”

  * * * *

  Adam got off the bus. Another evening, another recovery meeting, one he really needed after breaking his son’s heart this afternoon. He trudged down the sidewalk. Warm air gathered around his skin.

  Logan lit a cigarette. “You’re always quiet, but man, you’re totally quiet tonight.”

  My ex-fiancée left my child with a babysitter so she could go on a date. How am I supposed to feel?

  “Tired,” Adam muttered.

  “Huh? You didn’t work, dude. Why’re you tired?”

  The itching continued, an itch to say fuck it and head for the liquor store. Adam kept walking to the church where the meeting was held. He was supposed to accept the things he could not change and change the things that he could. Accepting Bridget’s cold response after he’d handed her his balls, which she’d crushed, sucked shit.

  He could well imagine how her date was going. Ol’ Bible Boy probably had some smooth lines. Or did this Mr. Baker wear a halo? No kissing on the first date? No hand holding? Treat a lady like a lady?

  The bastard had better show Bridget the ultimate respect, even if she didn’t deserve it with the way Adam felt right now.

  He sure had, although on their first date he’d almost had to sit on his lips to stop his mouth from stealing a kiss. Hell, taking Bridget out had been his first ever official date. Every other broad he’d met at the bar or a party, half-drunk off his ass and his woman of the night also in the same shape as him.