Intended for Harm

by C. S. Lakin

  Rachel caught herself midthought; it was wrong for her to assume Leah would never return, but she couldn’t help feeling her own brand of anger toward Jake’s wife. How in the world could a mother walk out on her family—on four small children? Jake hadn’t told her much, but Reuben had let slip a small comment about his mother’s indulgences in drugs and alcohol. She hated to think it, but maybe it was a blessing Leah was gone—before she could wreak too much damage on her children. God, please forgive me for thinking such thoughts . . .

  As she untangled Dinah’s wavy brown tresses with her fingers, she watched Jake out of the corner of her eye as he squatted next to Levi and spoke quietly, too far away for her to hear what he was saying. She worried about Levi. Not so much about his stutter and his small frame, but his sensitivity. He hadn’t said much today when he got off the kindergarten bus at noon, but kids heckled him through the window, mimicking his speech patterns and calling him names. Levi’s forlorn expression had made her stomach hurt. Rachel wanted to give those boys a piece of her mind, but it wasn’t really her place, and, besides, the bus driver promptly strode to the back and scolded them before resuming her seat and heading to the next stop.

  Just holding Dinah so close, nestled in her lap, made her yearning for marriage and children unbearable. She could love this little girl as her own—there was no denying Dinah tugged at her heartstrings. And she often wanted to take Simon into her arms and tell him how special he was, although she knew he would never allow such tenderness. But maybe in time . . .

  She caught herself again and closed her eyes to pray. She could not allow herself to get attached to these children. They were not hers, although God had clearly brought them into her life so she could minister to them. And to their father. How could God think she could remain distant immersing herself like this? Was this a test—or a temptation? She asked God to help her keep perspective. Surely one day he would bring a devout man into her life. She was still young, only twenty-three. She needed to trust God, wait on him, not act on her own desires—desires she dared not examine too closely.

  Rachel looked over at Jake and caught him staring at her. A rush of heat warmed her face. She reminded herself yet again that he was not a believer. She had to maintain a professional face. She was his employee, nothing else. Although she tried to offer a listening ear and support. Yet, how could she to do so without crossing a dangerous line? She could tell Jake was a passionate, needy man. It took great self-control not to let her eyes linger over his features, travel over his body, get lost in those deep brooding eyes. From what she could tell, Jake did not believe in God, and that meant he didn’t necessarily uphold the same concepts of virtue as she—although he treated her with respect and consideration at all times. But I know where the danger lies—in my own heart. I would be dishonest if I said I wasn’t attracted to him—such a handsome, gentle, intense man.

  Maybe God had sent her to him to lead him to salvation; maybe her love would open the door to God’s love. Hadn’t she seen that happen—where a godly woman married outside of the faith, only to bring her husband to Christ? She knew the Scriptures warned not to be unevenly yoked with unbelievers, yet, there had to exceptions to the rule—especially if it was clear God was opening a door like this.

  Rachel stood and brushed dirt from her jeans. “Well, I should be going.” She took Dinah’s hand. “Come, sweetie. Let’s go wash up.” She caught Levi’s attention. “You too, sport. Let me see them.” She held up her hands and he showed her his. “Yuck. Follow me.” She laughed as the two children trailed her into the house, with Jake taking up the rear. After scrubbing hands and wiping two small faces, she shooed her charges out of the kitchen to go watch TV. She walked toward the front door to get her sweater and purse, then stopped.

  Jake had picked up the pile of mail she’d brought in and placed on the small table by the front door. He held an opened manila envelope, and as he pulled out the folded sheets of paper she noticed his hand tremble. When he lifted his face suddenly, aware she was by his side, the blood had drained from his cheeks.

  “What is it—what’s wrong?” she asked, then realized it was none of her business. She backed away. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry—” She started toward the door to leave, but Jake stood blocking her egress, and by the look on his face she thought perhaps it best if she stayed a while longer, checked on the children, gave Jake some space to deal with whatever had given him such a shock.

  She brought two cups of Kool-Aid into the den, where Dinah and Levi sat glued watching Sesame Street. After a moment she heard the door open; Jake had left.

  Panic struck her heart. Where was he going? Flashes of Jake wandering off and forgetting his children made her rush out the front door—where she nearly tripped over him as he sat hunched on the front step.

  “Jake . . . are you all right?” She resisted the powerful urge to lay her hand on his shoulder.

  He didn’t lift his head and she couldn’t make out what he mumbled. She stood for an awkward moment, not saying anything, not sure whether to stay or go. She looked out on the quiet street and gently closed the door behind her. The two older boys would be home from school soon. She should stay at least until she knew Jake would manage without her.

  “Not a letter, a postcard, not even one lousy phone call in five months. Just this.” He flung the stapled stack of papers in the air and Rachel watched it flutter onto the walkway a few feet away. The white paper with its typed lines of text lay stark in the bright sunlight against the dark bricks. Jake dropped his head back into his arms.

  Rachel stood beside him, unsure what to do or say. Maybe just having someone to listen, any company at all, was what he needed right now. At least she didn’t have anywhere to go. She lowered down to sit beside him and prayed. Prayed God would tend to Jake’s heart, lead him to a place of peace, comfort him. Back when she first met him, that night in the church, he had gushed out his sorrow. But now Rachel could almost see him clutch his pain in a stranglehold, as if wringing the life out of it so it could no longer affect him. She wished she could comfort him somehow, urge him to speak and spill out the stabbing recriminating thoughts he pierced himself with. For it was apparent Jake Abrams was consumed with guilt, blaming himself for his predicament.

  She wanted to say It’s not your fault. You’re a good father. Your children love you. She wanted to dig a deep hole and throw his tormented thoughts in, pack the dirt hard on top, stomp on it, walk away. But she could see the tendrils of his self-chastisement growing like a choking vine, winding around his heart, arresting blood flow. With him feeding and watering such a hungry and invasive intruder, what were his chances of survival? If only she could storm in with a machete, hack away at the wild entangling vegetation, clear a pathway to let in light, a swath of fresh air.

  Jake shivered beside her in the warm afternoon. She asked him, “Do you want to go inside? Would you like me to stay, help . . .”

  He nodded, tried to stand. She took his arm to help him, a feeble old man, disoriented, forgetful. His gaze fixed on her, unblinking, as she walked over and picked up the papers fluttering on the walkway, as she glanced at the legal formatting, the official court stamp in the top right corner, as she smoothed out the papers and tucked them under her arm, showing Jake their impotence. They were only pieces of paper; they didn’t burn or bite or kick or scream.

  She had no doubt what they were, Leah with her high-powered lawyer parents, some easy, do-it-yourself, no-fault divorce, over-the-counter erasure of his sacred bond, his oath before God to love and cherish through sickness and in health, till death. Rachel couldn’t imagine that Leah would demand custody. She couldn’t fathom any court handing children over to such a reckless parent. The thought sickened her—that Jake might have to go to court to fight for his children. She longed to skim through the papers and assess the damage, but instead, with reluctance, laid them down on the kitchen counter as she poured Jake a glass of water, urged him to sit at the table, offered to fi
x him something to eat.

  Still, in the midst of the weighty moment, Rachel felt a lightness, something lifting. The crushing anticipation and worry, the way the boys would glance out the front window almost obsessively, the hopeless hope that tortured the soul in a steady drip-drip of memory of what had been and what could be—these things would now dissipate in time. The Abrams family had buckled under the heavy burden of hope, brought to their knees, enslaved. They needed deliverance, and although this wasn’t the way of God, it perhaps was the way of good.

  She made a decision then, while she spread mayonnaise over bread, layered ham and turkey on a bed of lettuce, that she would be his advocate, help him through this, speak up for the children if he failed to do so. Who else would do this for him? She could untangle this wild garden of family, trim stalks and deadhead to produce new growth. Lop away the rotting, decaying branches. Prune and feed and encourage the weak but promising new shoots. This she could do, what she excelled in. Just as when she took on a new landscaping job, surveying the potential, imagining the finished result, she could see love grow here, in this home. Not just grow but flourish.

  Her heart pounded hard in joy, in this undertaking of hers, this challenge laid out before her. Never before had she felt such certain direction, a divine hand guiding her, an abiding conviction, deep and true. Her calling.

  After she watched Jake eat, each bite painstakingly slow, clearly chewing without taste or awareness, Reuben and Simon blew into the house. Without a word, Simon threw his backpack on the floor and strode to his room, slamming the door behind him. Reuben came into the kitchen, where Jake pushed his lips into the semblance of a smile, Reuben’s sensitivity so keen he swung a questioning look Rachel’s way.

  “I’m heading home now, Rube,” she said. “Maybe help your father with dinner in a little while? There’s a pot of spaghetti in the fridge and some cooked carrots. So, everything’s all set to go.”

  Her eyes spoke other words while her mouth went on with instructions and soothing assurances. She could sense his distress ripple across the kitchen, his fear palpable. She let him know everything would be okay, and she could tell he wanted desperately to believe her.

  She gave Reuben a hug, wanting so much to pull him close and let him break in two. But she could feel his resistance, his pulling back against her affection, a rock wall being erected, as if he might be swept away in a flashflood of need and never find his way back. In time, she told herself as she picked up her purse and left the house. She would win them all over—even Simon—in time.

  Resolve brought a smile to her face as she walked to her car. She was on a God-directed mission; she would not be thwarted.

  “Did you see that—the way she took his hand?”

  Reuben didn’t realize Simon had come up behind him. He thought his brother was still back at the hippo enclosure, where he’d been secretly shooting spitballs in an attempt to make the huge lumbering animals run. Simon’s sneer was full of venom. Reuben didn’t understand why Simon hated Rachel so much. She was nice to him—to all of them. In fact, Reuben was surprised Rachel had stuck around so long, taking care of them while their dad worked, considering the way Simon constantly put her down, complained, caused trouble.

  “She’s just trying to weasel her way into our family.” Simon spit on the asphalt walkway as they trailed after the rest of their group. “I wish she’d get lost.”

  Reuben clamped down on the roil of confused emotions churning in his gut. He picked up his pace, hoping to lose Simon. Maybe his brother would get bored and wander off, find some other helpless animals to harass. Having Simon hover that close made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  “She’s just being friendly,” Reuben said, eyeing his father’s back and the willing hand in Rachel’s grasp. “She holds my hand too.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “Right. You’re so stupid. You don’t see this game she’s playing. You’re just as gullible as Dad—taken in by her act.”

  Reuben knew he shouldn’t say it, but the words blurted out. “And you’re living in a fantasy world—thinking Mom will change her mind and just show up at the house. Say, ‘hey kids, I’m back. Had a great time. Let’s make dinner.’ Who’s really the stupid one around here?”

  Reuben didn’t wait to hear Simon’s response but fell into a jog to catch up to his father. He knew Simon would probably smack him hard for that comment and the safest place for him would be by his father’s side. The divorce had been final for months now but Simon refused to believe it.

  Almost a year. That’s how long his mom had been gone. Her face haunted his dreams and he’d often wake drenched in sweat, thinking that somehow it was his fault. It had to be. A familiar stab of pain poked his ribs while thinking about her. How she’d never showed him the affection he so ached for. Always a polite pat on the head, a nice compliment, measured words, a random smile. How she could have doted on Simon mystified him. Simon was rude, disrespectful, talked back. And his mom had just laughed, messed up Simon’s hair, buried her face in his neck and stroked him as if he were some favorite pet. Reuben just didn’t get it. He had tried, tried hard. Tried to be the best son ever. Did everything she asked—and more. Helped out with his younger brothers and sister. Took his role as big brother seriously. Shouldn’t that have made her love him? Or was there something just plain wrong with him, something that made him unlovable? It was like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Like if he could find the missing piece, he would know how to change, what to do differently.

  He caught up to his dad and the others; they stood in front of the fenced enclosure that housed a half-dozen giraffes. His dad smiled at him and then turned his attention to something Rachel was saying. Levi chattered excitedly, pointing at the giraffes, but Dinah was quiet, gripping Rachel’s other hand and sucking her thumb. He thought about his little sister, still sucking her thumb at age four. How she clung all the time to Rachel, climbed into her lap at every chance, and Rachel doting on her, brushing her hair, making braids and tying them with ribbons. And Levi. He never stuttered when talking to Rachel.

  Simon was wrong. Rachel was good, good for his family. It wasn’t like his dad was going to marry her or something. Dad paid her; it was a job. But she helped him out, and life had rolled along a lot more smoothly since she arrived.

  “Simon, get down off that fence.”

  His dad’s face filled with anger but Simon didn’t listen. Reuben watched his brother keep climbing, obviously trying to get even with the giraffe munching leaves off the lowest branches of a tree that leaned into the metal fence.

  “Reuben,” his dad said, pointing, “go get your brother down.”

  “Me?” His mouth dropped open. Was his dad nuts? If he tried to climb up to Simon—and just the thought of trying to balance with his feet stuck into those little squares sent his heart racing—his brother would probably push him and make him fall to the concrete.

  “Rube!” his dad yelled. “Go.”

  Time seemed to stop in that moment and a rush of noise blew through his head. He looked at his father and saw stern disappointment. All the frustrated and hurt feelings he had been bottling up for so long came rising into his throat in a sour gagging taste. His face heated as if someone held a flame to it. He let his gaze move to Rachel, and she displayed the same expectant blank expression as she waited for him to obey.

  The obedient son. Always eager to help. Always quick to do what was expected of him. Set the table, clean the playroom, fold the laundry. But no one really saw him. He realized that now. It wasn’t just his mother who had looked through him as if he wasn’t there. The more he tried to be seen, the more invisible he grew. He felt his invisibility course through his veins like a disease, something incurable, unidentifiable by modern science.

  “No,” he answered without emotion, and walked away, down the path toward the lions, which he could hear roaring in a low, frightening sound not far away. The ground rumbled under his feet in response, nearly matching the rumble in
his gut. He stopped when he got to the high yellow-painted wall where he was just tall enough to see over the top to the pair of lions pacing through some vegetation on the other side of a huge moat filled with water. No doubt to keep the lions from getting out and eating the people gawking at them. That’s how he’d felt with his dad gawking at him. If he were a lion, he’d want to leap across the moat and rip a few happy, stupid people apart.

  He stood there and waited. Watched the lions with their heads lolling take measured steps, back and forth, antsy to get out. In some strange way he understood their restlessness, their feeling trapped even in such a spacious, thoughtfully arranged habitat. How they saw through the ruse—that their pen was really a cage. No way out, no possibility of escape. And so they paced in frustration and pent-up fury.

  Reuben wasn’t at all surprised when no one came to get him.

  After a while he made his way back, moving slowly, pretending to look down while he surreptitiously glanced up and caught sight of his family, to see whether they even noticed he had returned. Simon was back on the ground and looking glum. Rachel had Levi and Dinah in tow, heading to the next display. His dad spotted him and sighed, but Reuben couldn’t tell what that meant.

  In that moment he wished his dad would run up to him and throw his arms around him, tell him how much he loved him, but it was never going to happen. He now saw that, as well. Like his eyes had been glued shut all this time and now he’d pried them apart and had to face the truth.

  Maybe his dad thought he was too old to be shown such affection. Hugs and kisses weren’t manly. But Reuben didn’t feel like a man. He felt like a little boy, and when his dad turned his back to him and walked on to join Rachel and his siblings, that little boy in him took over and dropped to the ground in the midst of an ignoring crowd and cried.