Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

  It felt so blessedly good.

  The thought of Ida cutting loose in front of our pastor struck me as being extremely funny, although I supposed part of my reaction was due to nerves.

  The girls, freed by my laughter, joined me. I sat down beside them on the bed and the three of us had a good laugh. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes, I said, “Look, girls. We’ve lost Daddy, but it’s still all right to laugh.”

  Kris nodded. “Daddy liked to laugh.”

  “Yes, Daddy did.” Neil had had a laugh that rang out like church bells. I could be standing on the other side of the yard and hear him and know immediately Neil was enjoying life. That’s the way he was—he enjoyed life, and he’d told me a hundred times, Be happy for the day, Kate. Tomorrow has its own agenda.

  I drew my girls close, breathing in their unique, little-girl scent. “We’re going to have sad times,” I promised, thinking how ridiculously understated that sounded. “But we will always have laughter. Daddy would want that. That’s a promise.”

  The children hugged me back, then rolled over and crawled beneath the blankets.

  I turned out the light and stretched out in the middle of the bed with my clothes still on, holding a precious daughter on each side. “Say the prayer,” Kelli said.

  I caught my breath. How could I pray tonight? From the depths of my misery, what could I thank God for?

  “Go on, Mommy. God’s waiting.”

  All right. I would say the prayer, but other than in front of my children, I would never speak to God again. Never. He had taken the one thing from me He knew I held the dearest. What kind of loving God did that? My praise came haltingly and was brief.

  “Thank You for my daughters. Thank You for the years we had their father. Be with us as we go into tomorrow, for we need Your care.”

  “Amen,” the girls said in unison.

  I lay in the dark, with the girls sleeping beside me, and let my thoughts drift. I was still too numb and keyed up to sleep. Sudden tears scalded my cheeks. Dear God. Neil was gone.

  The day of Neil’s service dawned clear and sunny. It had rained two days in succession. I had a feeling that the sky had cried itself out.

  My mother and dad had arrived from Kansas. I put them in the master bedroom, and fixed a pallet for myself on the floor in Kelli’s room. My parents and Neil’s had never been what you might call “close.” Armed truce was more like it. They were so polite to each other it set my teeth on edge.

  Sally Fowler, my next-door neighbor, kept running in and out, keeping peace and striking a note of normalcy. I had a large black-and-blue bruise on my arm, which puzzled me. When I wondered about it out loud, Sally said the day Neil died I had kept pinching my arm, trying to convince myself I was dreaming. I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t remember much of that awful day. The mental fog had cut deeper than I realized.

  My mother was standing at the stove when I entered the kitchen, making her special sour cream flapjacks. Madge Madison was arranging her famous breakfast casserole on the kitchen table.

  Mom poured juice. Madge poured hot chocolate.

  The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife and called it fudge. I sighed. Well, at least nobody was crying.

  Kelli padded into the room and cast a jaundiced eye at the set table. “I want Fruitee Pops,” she announced.

  My mother matched her look for look. “Kelli. I got up early to fix pancakes for you.” Her tone said, Therefore you will eat them.

  Kelli stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t want pancakes. I want Fruitee Pops.” She sat down at her usual place and propped her elbows on the table. Mom slapped a plate of pancakes down in front of her. Kelli pushed it aside.

  Mom burst into tears.

  So did Kelli.

  Followed by Madge.

  I excused myself and went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom.

  Somehow we made it to the funeral home on time. Flowers were banked on both sides of the casket. Neil had a lot of friends, and the auditorium was crowded. I’d let Neil’s mother pick out the songs, and now I regretted it.

  “‘If we never meet again, this side of heaven,’” the soprano trilled, and I sobbed into my handkerchief.

  Neil would have liked his service, if that were possible. The church held over six hundred firemen today, all dressed for a solemn occasion. When the funeral cortege left the church for the cemetery, the fire signal system started tapping at regular thirty-second intervals. The procession passed Neil’s station, Station 16. His fellow workers and friends—some with tears openly streaming down their cheeks—stood at attention with their caps over their hearts. Behind the hearse was a body of twenty men who were his closest friends. Behind them, one hundred uniformed firemen accompanied my husband on his last run.

  The service at the cemetery was mercifully brief. We didn’t linger at the grave site. By this time I knew it wasn’t Neil in that box—that wasn’t my vibrantly alive husband.

  As soon as we got back to my house everyone started loading cars, looking for lost items and saying final goodbyes.

  Dad hugged me. “Listen, kitten. You need us, you call. Oklahoma isn’t that far from Kansas. We’ll come in a heartbeat.”

  I leaned against him, feeling like a little girl again. “I know. Thanks.”

  Mom wrapped her arms around me. The tip of her nose was red from crying. “Oh, Katie, I’m so sorry. We loved Neil.”

  I kissed her cheek. “He loved you, too.”

  “Call me and let me know how you’re getting along.”

  “I will.”

  “Anything you need, call,” Dad reiterated.

  I nodded, knowing they couldn’t provide what I needed—my life restored, my husband resurrected from the dead.

  They both hugged the girls, then they got in their car and drove away, and we went through the whole routine again with Neil’s parents.

  As suddenly as they had appeared, everyone was gone. Sally and Ron Fowler had offered to take Neil’s parents to the airport. I’d agreed, thankful for the reprieve.

  That night I sat in the empty living room, holding a cup of tea I didn’t want. The kids were in bed, the doors were locked. For the first time in days the house was silent. I had never realized how devastating silence could be.

  I was a widow with two small children and I knew I couldn’t make it alone. Never mind how I knew, I just knew. Neil’s worn Bible lay on the coffee table where he’d left it. We had been strong believers, faithful in our church, but nothing in our Christian walk had prepared me for this. A man didn’t die at thirty-two; that wasn’t possible. The past week had been a nightmare and I wanted to wake up.

  But I wasn’t asleep, and I knew it.

  Was my faith strong enough to face the future? Neil had left a reasonable insurance policy, so with proper investment I wouldn’t have to worry about money. If I kept my job…but I had to do a lot of flying. What if the plane went down? The thought winged through my subconscious and formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach. What would my children do with both parents gone?

  Kelli and Kris would be orphans. Neil and I had never gotten around to making a will. Mom and Dad would take the kids…but Neil’s parents would want them, too. I gripped my hands in my lap, imagining the war. There’d be a big fight. Split right down the middle along family lines.

  My children would live in turmoil; they’d end up in therapy, warped for life because I was a thoughtless parent who was so self-absorbed I’d forgotten to consider my children’s future.

  I’d never fly again.

  What was I saying? If I wanted to keep my job I had to fly. It was all too complicated for me in my mixed-up state.

  Somehow I’d hold my family together. Life went on, and people went on.

  As I recall, that was my last rational thought for a while. I sank into a blue funk. I knew that being a responsible parent meant being there for my children no matter how badly I was hurting, but my mind rebelled. So I sli
pped away to a private place where I could mourn Neil’s passing without the world’s interference. If it hadn’t been for kind neighbors and my church family, I don’t know what would have happened to Kelli and Kris. I loved them—loved them with all my heart—but anguish had rendered me nonfunctional. I faintly recalled someone being in the house at all times, but mentally I was absent. I couldn’t explain it; only those who had lived the experience could put the feeling in plain words.

  And I stayed that way for maybe two or three weeks. I’m not sure. I’m only sure of how and when my body slowly came back to life. Well, not slowly. Swiftly was more accurate.

  It was when Kelli suddenly burst into my bedroom, startling me from my black abyss.

  “There’s a snake in the attic!”

  I blinked, focusing on my daughter. “A what? Where?”

  “A snake,” she repeated. “In our attic. Come and get it Mom.”

  Chapter 3

  A what? My heart jolted, and started beating for the first time in weeks. I was still sleeping on the pallet, unable to return to the bed Neil and I had shared. I jumped up, wide-eyed, hair standing on end. Kris, evidently the calmest Madison, wet a paper towel in the adjoining bath and slapped it across my forehead. I sank back on the pillow, feeling cold water running down my neck.

  Snake.

  In my attic.

  When I found my voice, I asked if Kris was certain.

  “Real sure, Mommy.”

  The snake had slid behind the cubbyhole where we kept Christmas decorations. My natural instinct was to call Neil; my second was to break into frustrated tears.

  Kris patted my hand. “Don’t cry, Mommy. I’ll get the snake.”

  Although I was tempted, I couldn’t let a seven-year-old engage in an attic snake hunt. I had no idea what kind of snake resided in my home other than Kris’s description: big.

  And black.

  Maybe.

  “We’ll call Ron Fowler,” I said. “And what were you doing in the attic so late?”

  “Playing.” Kris glanced at the clock. “Mr. Fowler will be asleep by now.”

  Worry kicked into overdrive. If Neil was here he’d dispose of the snake and that would be that, but Neil wasn’t here, and this was just the first of a series of problems I would face without him. I couldn’t call on my neighbors, the Fowlers, in every crisis. Kris pressed a tissue into my hand, and I tried to get a grip on my fear.

  I hated snakes about as much as I hated toads. Both repulsed me, especially toads. One had gotten in my bed when I was a kid. We’d lived in a rural area, and near a pond, so snakes and toads were plentiful, but the critters kept me paranoid. I tried to shake off fear. I had been in a state of shock for, what—weeks? I glanced at the wall calendar—the one Neil had given me last Christmas. Twelve months of sexy, bare-chested firemen. Hot tears filled my eyes.

  “What day is this?” I asked.

  Kris rolled her eyes pensively. “October, uh, maybe the middle.”

  Dear Lord. I had sleepwalked through half of October!

  I was appalled. I had to pull out of this. I threw back the sheets and told Kelli I was going to shower and wash my hair before we tackled the snake.

  I stood under the hot water until the heater ran dry, but I felt more human now. Toweling off, I spotted the bottle of sedatives I had been downing like chocolate-covered almonds. I’d lived on doctor-prescribed medication for the past few weeks. I uncapped the bottle and stared at the blue pills and knew the next few weeks were going to be unbearable, but I had to keep it together for Kelli and Kris. As soon as I was dressed in sweats and clean socks I carried the pills downstairs and crammed them into a jar of sardines, then threw the sardines in the trash. I detested sardines. I knew I wouldn’t touch the pills again.

  Armed with baseball bats and a butterfly net, my daughters and I climbed the creaking attic stairs. A single overhead bulb lit our way; a bare oak branch scraped the roof. The creepy scenario reminded me of a scene out of a low-budget horror flick. I rarely came up here, but Kris and Kelli played among luggage pieces, old trunks, dress forms and seasonal clothing on occasional rainy afternoons. And of course decorations—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July. Madisons were into decorating for every occasion; our house was old and rambling, but always festively lit.

  The three of us wore sober expressions; my five-year-old clung tightly to the fabric of my sweats. We made the steep climb, and then stood at the head of the stairs while I flipped on the lone hanging lightbulb that lit the attic itself.

  I flashed the light beam across the open rafters. I’d heard snakes like to hang by joists. I swallowed and asked exactly where Kris had spotted the snake. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A seven-year-old’s imagination was fertile ground. I felt relieved. That was it—Kris thought she’d seen a snake. It could have been anything or nothing. I mean, how would a snake get in the attic this late in the year? Weren’t reptiles dormant now? I wasn’t sure. Kris pointed toward the stored Christmas decorations. Warning the children to stand back, I crept closer to the danger area. Boxes of bulbs, tinsel and outdoor lights blocked my view. I’d have to move a few to see behind the shelving, but first I took the bat and whacked each box, notifying the snake of my presence. Something darted out. I shrieked and scrabbled for cover, lunging for the nearest refuge. I climbed aboard an army trunk and shouted, “Kelli! Kris—go back downstairs!”

  Kelli broke into tears, and Kris, the color of putty, grabbed her sister’s hand. I yelled again. “Get away! Run!”

  Kris raced toward the stairs, pulling her sobbing sister after her. I could hear their leather soles clattering down the wooden stairway.

  I forced myself to think. What had run out at me? The snake? A roach? I hadn’t gotten a good enough look to identify the source, but the way I reacted must have made Kris and Kelli think a tyrannosaurus rex was loose in the attic.

  Instantly I regretted my emotional outburst. My poor children were going to be paranoid wrecks by the time they were grown. Neil had often accused me of passing my fears onto the kids, but I didn’t mean to—after all, how did I know what was slithering around on my attic floor? In my hasty flight, I’d dropped the flashlight. I spotted the beam shining on the floor. I saw nothing but dust bunnies in the intense light.

  I eased off the trunk and cautiously approached the enemy zone. When I didn’t see anything of the snake, I banged on a box of tinsel and scrambled back onto the trunk. Nothing happened. I could hear Kris and Kelli at the bottom of the stairway, crying.

  “It’s okay, sweeties!” I called. “Don’t let anybody in the house!”

  Quivering, high-pitched voices replied in unison, “We won’t, Mommy.”

  I doubted perverts kept these late hours, and I’d drummed into the children repeatedly not to accept rides from strangers, and to never, ever let anyone in the house without permission, including friends and neighbors. Of course, not taking candy from strangers was a given.

  Minutes passed, and the snake failed to show its—whatever. I debated my options, worrying my lower lip with my upper teeth. I could lock the attic door, seal it tight with duct tape and call the exterminator in the morning, but I knew neither I nor the girls would sleep a wink knowing what lay in the attic.

  Buck up, Kate. You’re a big girl now.

  I took a swipe at unanticipated tears and could almost hear Neil saying, You’re head honcho now, babe. Take care of the ranch.

  Head honcho. Head coward was more like it. I didn’t want to be head anything. I stepped off the trunk and carefully approached the largest box. I tugged and slid the carton away from the wall, then grabbed my bat and waited.

  Nothing.

  I tackled the next box.

  Nothing.

  I systematically moved boxes, poised for swift justice. Would I actually beat the thing to death? I’d never gotten close enough to a wild animal to be lethal. My insides churned with hot tar. Soon all the Christmas decorations were sitting in the middle of the attic floor, and
still no sign of the snake.

  I sank back down on the trunk to think. The kids’ crying had fizzled to an occasional hiccup. I pictured my sweet, innocent children huddled below, confused. Worried. Lord, why am I such a poor role model?

  Why such a wimp and worrywart? Maybe being an only child had created the condition. Mom and Dad had been protective—overly so. Maybe I came by the trait naturally. I thought of all the imagined horrors of my youth, and I cringed. I didn’t want Kelli and Kris to grow up afraid of their shadows. Without Neil as a stabilizing force, I would be responsible for how my daughters reacted to fear the rest of their lives. The thought scared me to death.

  I had to overcome my uncertainties. I’d prayed about them, but then I would almost immediately revert to my old state. Now that I was alone, I had to change. I had to get a grip. Starting with the snake. Okay. I would shut the attic door, seal the crack and tell the kids not to worry: the snake couldn’t harm us. I didn’t know beans about snakes, but this one sounded as if it might be a common breed. A cobweb grazed the top of my head, and I reached up to brush it aside, praying a black widow wasn’t lurking somewhere in the web. Or brown recluse—that would be more likely.

  Stop it, Kate. You didn’t ask to be a widow at thirty-two, but you are. It could be Neil left alone, with two children, and I knew, deep in my heart, between Neil and me, God had chosen the right one to take home. Why? Because he couldn’t have taken care of kids, the house, baby-sitting and his job. Oh, he could, but it would have been so foreign to him.

  I stood up and reached for the butterfly net and flashlight. And then I felt it—something heavy dropped from a rafter, right at my feet.

  Peering down, I tried to locate it. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. The snake lay directly in front of me.

  Faint now. I was too scared to scream. Hysteria rose, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. Instead, I jumped back, batting at the reptile with the butterfly net.

  Stumbling across the attic floor, I engaged in a silent one-on-one war. My heavy shoe trapped the head and I stood frozen. Yewoooooo. I knew I was going to be sick. The snake squirmed and wiggled, thrashing its long body.