Intended for Harm

by C. S. Lakin

  “Okay. Whatever.” Jake downed the rest of his wine, reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. Rachel closed her mouth; Jake looked down but felt her eyes resting on his face. He looked back up. “What do you want from me, Rachel? Do you want me to go to church with you, pretend I believe all this? Nod and say I agree—will that make you happy?”

  “Of course not. That’s not what God wants either.”

  “Well, since you seem to know exactly what God wants for me, then why don’t you just tell me?” He knew his voice sounded harsh; he sighed. “I’m sorry, Rach. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s not, hon. I wanted this to be a special night—”

  “It is.”

  “—Where we could just talk and enjoy each other, without bringing up the kids or God or anything . . . negative.”

  “Jake,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek. “I love you with all my heart. I just want you to be happy. I know you love me, and you’re trying to be a good father to your children—and you are. But I also sense a deep unhappiness within you. I know you think it’s because of the choices you made in your life up to now. Marrying Leah, giving up college, needing to find an outlet for your creativity but not being able to find enough time. Regret over the broken ties with your family and the resentment you feel toward them. I understand all that. But even if all those disappointments went away, even if you’d had the perfect childhood, accomplished all your dreams of college and career, had the perfect children, you’d still feel this restlessness, the sense that something is missing, not right with your life. That’s because God created us to need him, so that we would search for him until we found him.”

  “Rachel, enough!” Jake noted her startled expression but he couldn’t contain himself. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to hear how I’m so unhappy because I need God, that God has a special plan for me and if I would just invite him in, he’d sit down and lay it all out for me. I’m sorry, but that’s just a cop-out. I’ve created this path, this course of life. I made these decisions that I have to live with, for good or bad. And I’ll find a way to get through and raise our family, and if I have to struggle and give up my personal dreams in order to fulfill my responsibilities, then that’s what I’ll do. It would be foolish for me to think I’m something special, that I have some great destiny. It would only frustrate me even more to believe something like that, don’t you see? I’m trying to learn to be content with what I have, to be grateful for the wonderful things in my life—you, Joey and the other kids, my job, our house. Isn’t that enough—to be grateful?”

  “But grateful to whom? To what? To the universe, to karma, or some nebulous energy ‘out there’? Come on, Jake, just realizing you feel gratitude toward something should give you a clue.”

  Jake shut his mouth as the waiter came back to the table with their dinner. He held Rachel’s gaze as the food was placed before them, as the waiter emptied the bottle of wine into their glasses.

  “Another bottle, sir?”

  Jake shook his head.

  “Will there be anything else?”

  “No thanks, I think we have all we need here.”

  Jake watched the waiter leave. Instead of the aroma from his juicy steak making his mouth water in anticipation, his gut turned sour and he felt his appetite slipping away. Rachel must have noticed the look on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just get carried away. I want so much for you to know God, to believe in him.”

  “Rachel, honey, I know. I know. But if I’m going to believe in him, I have to do it on my own, right? You can’t make me believe.”

  “No, I can’t. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s just eat dinner. Try to enjoy our one night out, without kids yelling and having to wash dishes and straighten the house.”

  Rachel smiled, picked up her fork, and broke up her salmon fillet into small pieces. Jake watched the way she put her food in her mouth, chewed politely. As he ate his steak, he wished she wasn’t so obsessed with religion. Everything else about her was perfect, just perfect. She was everything he’d wanted in a woman—smart, kind, patient, funny, attractive. He never tried to tear down her faith, belittle what she believed. He tried to respect her faith. So why couldn’t she just let him be, stop prodding him and pushing him to embrace her religion? If she really believed God was in control of everything and had his future all planned out, then shouldn’t she trust her God to take care of all that? Why did she think God needed her help to convince Jake he existed—or cared?

  Jake glanced at Rachel; her eyes closed as she chewed and Jake just knew she was praying again for him. “I pray for you all the time, Jake. Pray that God will open your eyes, so you will see him and know how much he loves you.” He suddenly thought of that conversation they’d had a few months back—where Rachel had tried to convince him that Joey had performed some miracle. Brought a butterfly back to life just by touching it. Like God had given Joey a magical gift of healing, his toddler, Rachel so brainwashed with her faith she was reading into simple things and seeing miracles. That Joey had been chosen, singled out—and for what purpose? Well, according to his wife, it was so that Jake would see the power of God, that God was using their son to provide proof of God’s existence.

  Jake remembered the awe in Rachel’s expression, her conviction so strong that there was nothing Jake could say to knock sense into her. Like she had blinders on and could only see the world one way, the way she had been raised to look at the world. Jake snorted in silence. It would take just as much faith for Jake to believe he could disprove her faith as it would for her to prove God existed to him. Stalemate.

  Jake ate his food, barely tasting any of it, trying to summon up the passion and expectation his heart had felt earlier toward his wife, who seemed to shimmer in beauty in the candle glow. He truly did love her, and he was utterly grateful. Having her in his life had turned his world around. Having Joey had filled his heart with unspeakable joy and fulfillment as a father. Yes, he was thankful, truly thankful, and he would thank God with all his heart for all these many blessings—if only he could really believe they came from God. But he couldn’t make himself believe. And he surely wasn’t going to start praying, hedge his bets, hoping somebody out there was listening. If God wanted Jake to know he was there, then someone as all-powerful as God was supposed to be could make himself known beyond a doubt. End of the matter.

  Jake put down his fork and took Rachel’s hand. “I love you, hon. I’m sorry for getting upset.”

  Rachel smiled, but it seemed laced with melancholy. “I love you too, Jake. Thank you for this wonderful date. I hope we’ll have many more anniversaries to celebrate.”

  “Me too, hon. We need to do this more often.” Yeah, have a quiet dinner—but without the sermon.

  Dinah turned away from watching the storm out the window at the sound of her mom’s voice.

  “I said, it’s time to go. Do you have your dance bag?”

  She watched her mom pick up her purse and keys. “One sec,” Dinah answered, thinking where she left it, hurrying off to her room.

  “Looking for this?” Simon stood in the hallway, dangled her pink ballet case just out of reach.

  “Give it!” Dinah swiped at Simon’s hand; he laughed, took a step back.

  Their mom’s voice boomed Simon’s name. He smirked, tossed Dinah the bag. “You left it in the bathroom, dummy.” Simon made a face at her and she pivoted and walked away, but her brother followed after.

  “I’m coming,” Simon threw at their mother.

  “What? You want to watch your sister’s ballet class?”

  Sure, Dinah thought, so you can throw spitballs at me at the barre?

  “I need a lift to the music store. You can pick me up when you’re done.”

  Their mom opened the front door and cold rain spattered on the wood floor. “Then you’ll have to make a stop with us
first. We have to pick up her new ballet slippers. You sure you want to go out in this weather?”

  Simon scowled but headed to the car parked in the driveway, zipped up his windbreaker, Dinah following. Through the rain-streaked window, Dinah saw Joey already strapped into his car seat. She opened the back door and scooted in next to him, tickled his fingers, made him laugh. Simon slipped in on Joey’s other side.

  “You can sit up front, Simon.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Change your tone, young man, or you can just stay here, all right?”

  Simon sighed. “Fine.”

  Dinah echoed her brother’s sigh. She was glad it was a short drive to the studio, and that Simon decided to ignore her, looking out the window at the flooded streets. Joey dozed alongside her, his little mouth partway open. She touched a finger to his lips, smiled.

  “When is this rain going to end?” Rachel asked. “I’ve never seen it pour so hard, so many days in a row.”

  Simon grunted and Dinah caught their mom studying him in the rearview mirror. Dinah gazed at the leaf-littered streets, broken branches like pick-up sticks strewn about soggy lawns. The heater blowing from the front vents warmed her cold toes and ankles, moved musty damp air around her face. She pulled on her tights, fixing them so they didn’t bunch up over her knees. The wipers swishing rhythmically against the windshield made her drowsy, struck up piano notes in a waltz. The Cinderella theme played sweet notes in her head and she hummed along, feeling her body already swaying to the music, her feet tapping out the movements: échappé, relevé, glissade, assemblé. Her fingers twitched as she envisioned her arms lift and curve over her head, as she reached in an arabesque, head held high, chin up—

  “What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes; Simon glared at her. “You look like you’re getting ready to fly out the car or something.”

  She felt her face heat. “Just practicing,” she mumbled.

  “In the car? Right. Don’t step on my toes.”

  “Your sister’s a very talented dancer,” Mom said. “You should come watch her sometime.”

  “I saw her dumb recital, remember?”

  “Simon—apologize!”

  Dinah scowled. “That was almost a year ago. I’ve gotten a lot better.”

  “Yeah, well I hope you don’t trip again when you get on stage the next time.”

  She hadn’t tripped. Her slipper had stuck on a rough spot on the floor. And she never fell. Simon probably hadn’t even been watching, anyway. Just heard about it afterward when she explained to Reuben what’d happened.

  The car stopped. Rachel swung around and looked at them over the seat. “I’ll leave the keys in the car so the heater can keep running. I’ll try to be quick.” She threw a stern look at Simon. “And you stay put.”

  Simon turned to stare out the window.

  “Thanks, Mommy,” Dinah said.

  Rachel hesitated, smoothed out Joey’s flyaway hair, smiled at Dinah.

  After their mom had shut the door, Simon turned to her. “You see that? She pets brat on the head, then smiles at you. Doesn’t even look at me.”

  “That’s ’cause you’d probably stick your tongue out at her. She doesn’t like it when you’re mean or rude—which is, like, all the time.”

  “Oh, put a lid on it.”

  Simon took a long look at Joey, started poking him.

  “Cut it out, Si. He’s sleeping.”

  He stopped, drummed his fingers on the top of the front seat, fidgeted.

  “What are you always so nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Did you sneak coffee again? You know you’re too young and it’s bad for you.”

  “If it’s bad then why does Rachel drink it, huh?”

  Dinah pursed her lips. “You mean Mommy. You should call her Mommy.” She tried to see out the windshield through the parking lot to the store but rain beat on the glass in a raucous noise, like being in a shower.

  Simon suddenly opened the car door, letting in a spray of cold rain.

  “What are you doing?” Dinah’s words blew outside as Simon slammed shut the door. Momentarily, he opened the driver’s door, slipped in behind the wheel.

  “Simon, you shouldn’t be up there.”

  “Can it. I just want to hear some music, that’s all.” He leaned forward, fiddled with the buttons on the radio, sliding through snatches of static and music, listening for a few seconds, then pressing the button to find something else.

  “You better get in the backseat before—”

  The car lurched and Dinah squealed. “Simon!”

  She stuck her head over the front seat. Simon had the drive stick in his hand. She didn’t know what is was called, but their mom moved it around when she drove and parked. He yanked on it, but it seemed stuck.

  Simon sucked in a breath. Dinah froze. The car was starting to roll backward. Simon waved his arms in the air. “I didn’t mean to; I accidently hit it with my arm.

  “Simon, make it stop!”

  Joey fussed, then a high-pitched wail burst from his mouth.

  “Oh great. Shut him up, will you?”

  Dinah’s eyes riveted on Simon’s hand. He yanked harder, then the stick popped and moved a notch. Now the car rolled backward even faster on the slight slope of the parking lot. Dinah’s throat closed up.

  “I know the brake is down here, but there’re two pedals!”

  “Simon, do something!” Dinah spun around in her seat, tried to see out the back window through the fogged-up glass. Dark blurry shapes moved by; a car honked, startling her.

  Simon drew himself tall. “I think this one’s the brake . . .”

  The car jerked again, this time in a lurch backward. Dinah’s scream erupted at the same time she flew forward against the front seat, as a loud crash of metal rang in her ears, as she heard Simon’s head smack against glass. Joey’s wails escalated to where Dinah couldn’t hear Simon’s reply when she asked him if he was okay.

  She flicked her head to the left. Someone was pounding hard on the driver’s window. Simon just sat back, pressed himself into the seat, rubbed his head.

  “What . . . hey, what are you doing in there?” A strange man poked his head in through the door he’d opened. “Hey, kid, are you hurt?”

  Simon dropped his head, shook it. Dinah had never seen her brother this shaken. She watched the man lean in further, look at the dash. “You’ve got this in Reverse,” he said, shifting the stick until it clicked. He turned the key and shut the engine off, then set the keys on the dash. “There. It’s in Park now. What are you kids doing in this car—and with a baby?”

  His soft, kind tone released the catch in Dinah’s throat. “My-my mommy’s in the store, getting my new ballet shoes.”

  He nodded and looked at Joey, then Simon. “Son, let me see your face.”

  To Dinah’s surprise, Simon turned his face toward the stranger. The man whistled.

  “That’s a pretty nasty bump you’ve got on your forehead. You dizzy? No? How ’bout you tell me which store your mom went into and what her name is and I’ll go find her.”

  Simon told him.

  “Okay, you kids just sit right here. Don’t move a muscle.”

  Dinah nodded while Simon mumbled “okay.” He seemed strangely quiet. She pressed her face up to the side window, saw flashing lights, heard voices, noticed people as dark shapes moving around the car, gathering behind it. Then the door flew open again and it was their mom flinging rain into the car.

  “Oh Lord Jesus! Are you okay?” Rachel shook Simon, positioned him better to see under the small roof light. She leaned over the seat. “Dinah? Is Joey okay?”

  “He’s fine, Mommy. I’m fine. What’s going on outside?”

  The look of relief melted off Rachel’s face and was replaced with an angry scowl. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you in the car unattended. I just knew you’d find some way to get into trouble. What were you thinking?”

 
Dinah watched her mom rain down bitter accusations on her brother’s head, pounding harder than the deluge outside, while Simon ducked from her verbal assault. She almost never saw her mom this mad.

  Rachel spun around and faced someone standing outside. Dinah heard someone say, “The police are here.”

  “Oh great,” Rachel answered. “Dinah, reach into the diaper bag and get out Joey’s pacifier; this may take a while.”

  “But what about my ballet class?”

  Rachel glowered at Simon. “Well, thanks to your brother, you’ll have to miss it.”

  Dinah’s spirit sank; she’d waited anxiously all week for her class, dreamed about it as she fell asleep every night to The Nutcracker playing on her tape player. She’d almost memorized the pas de deux! And now she’d have to wait another whole week before she could practice it with her partner. Rrr, Simon!

  Rachel started to pull herself out of the car, then stopped. Her hand shook as she pointed at Simon. “And you are certainly not going to that music store. Not today, not for at least a month. When you get home, you are grounded, you understand? My car is completely smashed in the back and who knows how much it will cost to fix. And believe me, you’re going to work hard to help pay for these damages. Wait until your father hears what you did.”

  As upset as she was with her brother, Dinah couldn’t bear to see the way their mom was treating him. “Mom, it was an accident. Simon didn’t mean it—”

  Rachel raised her hand, then brushed her sodden hair out of her face. “Dinah, your brother got behind the wheel and smashed my car. Don’t try to protect him. Did he threaten you to say that?”

  Simon, who had scooted over in the front seat as far as possible, snapped back. “You don’t know anything, so why don’t you shut up?”

  Simon had barely gotten the last word out of his mouth when Rachel’s hand whacked his cheek hard. Simon thumped his back against the door. Dinah gasped in shock and Joey howled, spitting the pacifier to the floorboard. Rachel’s eyes grew wide under the lamplight, then she dropped her head into her hand. Dinah saw another hand reach in and tap her on the shoulder, saw the black uniform and cap, a glimpse of a stern face.