Heartwood

by L. G. Pace III

  Next comes all the unsolicited parenting advice: everything from old wives tales for thrush, to cloth versus disposable diapers, to how important it is to breast feed over the bottle. I’d been surfing an endless wave of stress since before I’d officially joined the parent club.

  Most people seemed good intentioned, but Penny seemed to be tallying my shortcomings as if she were building a court case against me. Every time she stopped by with brownies (every other day while I was dieting); I ended up feeling bad about how I looked, dressed, and talked. Then I felt bad for thinking evil thoughts about her for trying to help me. On top of all of that, I felt guilty about being a bad mother.

  Some of the highlights of our last visit had been how I needed to make my own baby food and how I should start applying for preschools immediately. Penny declared it was never too early to make sure they get onto the waiting list for the best ones. Eva and Logan were only seven months old, for the love of Christ.

  Her opinions went on and on and on. It got to the point where I drew the curtains and hid inside with the babies like a vampire seeking sanctuary from the dazzling Texas sun. Joe seemed completely immune to her grating voice as well as all of the pressure. It just seemed to roll off of him like the tide off of the sand. Me, I felt like I was drowning in all the ‘helpfulness’.

  “Hey there, little darlins’!” Penny smiled down at my children. Both twins beamed back at her, and I felt betrayed. It was as if I was about to witness the abduction of Hansel and Gretel by the witch from the gingerbread house, but was powerless to intervene. “Where are y’all off to this mornin’?”

  “Walking over to SoCo to check on one of the food trucks.” I murmured, hoping she’d take a hint and take a hike.

  “Without hats on their little heads?” She cried, the gigantic smile never leaving her taught face. “They’ll get earaches, Molly! Let me run back inside and grab them for you.”

  I had no intention of putting hats on the twins since it was 83 degrees outside. Their pediatrician had schooled me that when it came to the weather, I should dress them like I dressed myself. Since I was wearing cargo capris and a tank top, hats seemed a bit absurd. They had on sunscreen and were covered by an awning attached to the stroller. But I said nothing, and felt like a total coward about it. I usually spoke my mind, but I had to live next to this woman for God knows how many years, so I dug deep for the extra grace to keep my big mouth shut. Penny had raised two children to near adulthood. She wasn’t as clueless about this as I was and she probably deserved my respect in the parenting department.

  Before I could object, she trotted up the stairs and pulled the spare key out from under our welcome mat. Stunned by her audacity and the fact that she knew about the key at all, I tried to mask the alarm I felt. I’d locked myself out once when I went out with the twins. I’d had to call Joe in the middle of the day to come and let us in. I’d never told anyone-not even Joe-that I’d stashed a spare under the mat. This just confirmed how closely my neighbor was watching us. I debated about texting Joe, but quickly realized he’d tease me about being paranoid like he had when I felt like someone was looking in our window a few nights ago. The last thing I needed was to add fuel to that fire.

  Joe wasn’t entirely off base about me being paranoid, but as Granny always says, “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you”. I had been struggling a bit since the babies were born. I loved them to pieces, but my insomnia was worse than ever and my doctor was convinced I had some postpartum depression. Joe agreed, but he always took the doctor’s opinion as gospel. I knew better. I didn’t feel sad. I felt directionless, like a plastic bag floating on the wind. My daily routine was mind numbing, and I found myself pacing the floor from lunch time until Joe got home. I wasn’t morose and crying every day, but my moods swung from euphoric baby bliss to feeling like my time was over and my sole purpose in life was the babies and their well-being.

  Still, I was open to the possibility that my judgment was clouded. I hadn’t been nearly so anxious before the twins, and the last thing I needed was to be in denial. I was concerned enough that I’d gone to visit Dr. Greene a couple of days ago to get a second opinion.

  “Molly...” He replied, dropping his pen onto his notebook after thirty minutes of listening to me explain why Dr. Myers was completely off base, “You might not have postpartum, but you do sound...off. Lack of sleep alone can do that to you. One baby is an upheaval to a household. Two? It’s got to be like getting hit by a freight train.”

  “Preach.” I agreed, sipping from the bottle of water he’d offered me on the way in.

  “Have you gone back to work?” He asked.

  I think I surprised us both when I burst into tears. Once they started, I couldn’t stop them. I thanked the Lord, sweet Jesus, that I hadn’t worn any makeup, since I didn’t need the telltale raccoon eyes when I got home to Joe.

  “I’m not working. I don’t have any plans to return. They just don’t need me.” I blubbered, and he jumped up and grabbed a box of tissues, which he slid across the desk at me. I managed to pull myself together a couple of minutes later, and he waited until that time to delicately respond.

  “What I’m hearing you say is that you miss working.”

  “No shit.” I scoffed, and his mouth twitched in amusement. “I’m a terrible mom! I am dying to go to work, even for a few hours a day... a few days a week. It’s pathetic. I need to get out. I need to cook up some new kick ass recipes. I need to have some damn adult conversation.”

  He pulled off his glasses and sat back in his chair. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “But the babies...” I started.

  “Will be just fine.” He interjected.

  I considered this.

  “Does Joe object?” Dr. Greene asked, picking up his pen.

  “No.” I replied. “He says he doesn’t care as long as we have someone we trust to watch them.”

  “And Joe doesn’t trust easily.” He smirked.

  “Would you?” I shrugged. Thinking about Joe’s late wife and their dead baby made me morose.

  “Well, it’s no wonder you need someone to talk to with Joe as your main social outlet.” He mumbled.

  Greene’s penchant for sarcasm normally amused me, but intense anger surfaced in me so suddenly that it shocked us both.

  “That’s a shitty thing to say, Will. Joe’s my best friend. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. I couldn’t have designed a better father for my children.” I stopped when I saw his stunned expression, and realized I was over reacting. Logan had kept me up late and I needed some damn coffee. I sucked in a deep breath and shifted gears. “You were joking...I’m so sorry. That was over the top. To answer your question, he loves that I’m home with the kids. He claims he has no opinion on when or if I go back to work, but who knows how he’ll act when I do. And you’re right, I do rely on him to be my entire social life. He’s so sweet about it, but I bombard him like a needy shut-in every day when he walks in the door. I can’t help it. I miss people. But when I leave the kids, even for a little while, I feel so anxious that it’s hard to have a good time. And when I do let loose, I feel so guilty.”

  He exhaled audibly. “Molly. I want you to listen to me carefully. You’re going to be fine. I don’t feel that you need antidepressants, but that’s up to you. You might need a little something to help you sleep and I’d be glad to refill your script for situational anxiety, but honestly, how you feel is completely normal. It might be a good idea to get someone to watch the twins for a few hours a couple of days a week so that you can get back out there. You’ll be more fulfilled and the twins will be happier with a happy mother.”

  Another sob escaped me and he thrust the tissue box in my direction.

  Dr. Greene’s tone was emphatic. “It’s not a sign of weakness that you want to get out of the house and work. Everyone’s different. There are no rights or wrongs here.”

  “You sound like Joe.”
I sniffled.

  “No. Joe sounds like me.” He volleyed the snark back into my court, and I smiled in spite of my tender nose and watery eyes.

  Thinking back on my visit with Dr. Greene, I felt an element of calm seep into me. I inhaled and held my breath to focus. Maybe I had told Penny about the key. My memory was shit these days. I had to keep lists for everything from which twin I’d fed last to which truck I needed to sign payroll for. I hadn’t slept a full eight hours (except for that hot night at The Driskill) since I’d been discharged from the hospital. It was entirely possible that I told her in a fit of delirium. Maybe I’d told Joe and he had mentioned it to her. After all, they were extra chummy over the privacy fence which wasn’t quite tall enough for my taste.

  I watched her disappear into our house as if she owned the place. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and my mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. Though my conscious mind screamed at me that I was being a dumb ass, something deep and primal told me to look alive. I glanced over my shoulder and half expected someone to be standing behind me wielding a machete. Running a shaky hand through my long bangs, I looked up and down our street and saw nothing but empty sidewalks and rows of parked cars. I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to relax them; there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Get it together, Molly.

  Penny resurface from my house with two black beanies which had “Mom” embroidered on them in a tattoo-style heart. She brushed passed me as if I were a yard fixture and tugged them onto each of my babies’ heads.

  “There!” She pronounced, as if she’d just planted the American flag on the Moon’s surface. “Y’all are ready to hit the town.”

  “Great.” I gripped the handle of the stroller and forced a grin. “Well, gotta split.”

  “Y’all should come over the weekend after next. My hubby will be in town. We could grill.” Penny’s husband worked in the oil business and was gone so much that I couldn’t remember his name.

  I pretended to look disappointed. “You know, we’d love to...but it’s my niece’s birthday. Robin and Mason have this whole thing planned.”

  She nodded, appearing unfazed. “Maybe next time.”

  “Maybe.” I chirped.

  “Tell Joe I said ‘hi’.” The twinkle in her eyes was unmistakable. I had the overwhelming urge to pull her hair and push her onto the ground like I was in the second grade. Surprised by my intense jealousy, I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. I let my feet carry me away as I stuffed my earbuds in one handed.

  Women of all ages enjoyed looking at Joe. This had been true since the day I first laid eyes on him. Hell, I hadn’t even been in high school then, and I’d been one of those fawning idiots following him around.

  After we became reacquainted as adults, I’d learned he had quite the rep for getting around. I’d never let his popularity with the female gender bother me much. Thanks to my ex-husband, I’d learned long ago that I had no control of what my guy chose to do with his penis when I wasn’t around.

  Wanting to make the most of my cardio time, I picked up my pace as I strode purposefully in the direction of South Congress. My sudden territorial streak made me nervous. It was unlike me, and I wondered if it came from some residual insecurity from Drae’s affair. Joe would always have admirers, and I needed to deal with it like a woman, not some silly child. I was not going to become that girl.

  I decided to chalk it up to lack of sleep. Stretching my arms above my head, I leaned slightly to both sides in an attempt to warm up. I paused at an intersection, waiting for a passing car. The sedan’s windows were darkly tinted, and it slowed so much that for a moment, I thought it was going to park. I was about to start forward when it sped up and zipped by, narrowly missing the stroller.

  “Hey!” I shouted, scowling down the road at the retreating car.

  Texas. This entire fucking state could use a remedial driving course.

  Reaching into the baby bag, I pulled out a Xanax and swallowed it down with a large swig from my water bottle.

  Shaking off both the Penny experience and the shitty driver, I turned up my IPod in an effort to distract myself with the upbeat playlist my friend, Jay, had made for me. Enough screwing around. I was going to use the jogging stroller for its intended purpose.

  After all, no pain, no gain.

  “I BOOKED OUR honeymoon.” I turned to Molly, and smiled at her cute pig tails. She fidgeted with her seatbelt and fumbled with the zipper on her sweatshirt. Her anxiety was contagious as she nervously ran her hands over the knees of her pants. They were black, and covered in tiny pink skulls. They fit her like a glove and I couldn’t help but lick my lips. Most women nearing age thirty couldn’t pull off pig tails or skulls. My girl not only owned the look, she bent it over and made it her bitch. Trying to ignore her obvious agitation, my thoughts wandered in a filthy direction, and I realized Molly was pointing at the wind shield.

  “Green light, big boy.” She teased and as if to concur, the driver behind me laid on their horn. Molly glared in the side mirror and rolled her eyes. “So where are you taking me?”

  “I thought you wanted it to be a surprise.” I replied, easily maneuvering the truck through the homicidal downtown traffic. I glanced in the rearview mirror at the twins. They were sleeping peacefully. I had the most precious cargo on board, but having lived here my entire life, I was used to being in defensive driver mode.

  “I do.” She exhaled, and the sound reeked of wistful regret. “Is it a direct flight?”

  “Yep.” I replied. “Just like you ordered.”

  Her smile was like a crackling fire on a chilly night. “Just tell me how I need to pack. Sweaters...flip flops...dressy...casual?”

  “I plan to keep you naked as much as possible.” I deadpanned, but when her bawdy laugh echoed through the cab, I erupted in a grin.

  “In that case, I suppose I’ll just bring a carry-on.” She joked. Seconds later, we came to a stop in front of her father’s old restaurant, and her playful expression wilted. I watched as sorrow settled over her perfect features. A fading realty sign reading “price reduced” had been tagged with bold graffiti reading “Tear this bitch down”. The former site of Hildebrandt’s Barbecue served as a harsh reminder of the light that had been extinguished when her father passed.

  Molly’s dad, Chet, had been a true force of nature. He was one of those people that was always the center of attention. He lit up a room when he entered it. That man smiled all the time and had never met a stranger in his life. He’d charmed the pants off everybody who walked through the doors of his place. Along with his talent in the kitchen, Chet had passed his likability to Molly. Her gift with people was so automatic that she seemed completely unaware of it.

  “No need to dress for cold weather.” I held my poker face. “You might want to dress up a few times, and don’t forget your bikini.”

  “I’ll never wear a bikini again in my life.” Molly pulled her eyes away from the neglected building, her hand automatically settling just below her naval. I knew all too well that her C-section scar lurked there, just beneath the fabric’s surface. It was a constant reminder of her seizures and the frantic delivery of our twins. I knew the thin pink line made her insecure, but every time I saw it, I remembered just how lucky I was to have the three of them. Oddly, the scar that bothered her so much gave me comfort.

  “Then you’d better get shoppin’ for a couple new suits, Little Girl.”

  “Joe, you’re gonna have to give me a little more than that to go off of.” Her red lips formed a pretty pout. “Seriously.”

  I turned carefully into the half full parking lot across the street from the shelter. “I’ll send you the dress code on email.”

  Molly huffed out a laugh. “You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

  I put the truck in park and fixed my eyes on hers. “No. I don’t.”

  We both turned to take in the scene at the homeless shelter. Molly’s newest Wrapgasmic truck blocked about half t
he parking lot from our view. Her manager, Stacy, scurried around, scribbling the menu on the sandwich board. Stacy’s hulking Mexican husband, Sanchez, was in the process of raising the awning. Seeing them together always made me think of a Barbie doll next to an action figure of The Hulk. Nearby, a gigantic, impossible-to-miss banner announced our event to random passersby.

  “Joe.” Molly soft voice immediately grabbed my attention.

  “Yeah, baby?” I murmured.

  “This was a really great idea.” She undid her seatbelt and leaned over the center console to kiss me.

  “Well, congratulate Francis. He’s the ideas man behind it all. I just organized some shit.” I replied, though I was more than willing to accept the reward of her sweet lips. My sales manager, Francis, had become quite the activist since he’d turned his life around. Formerly homeless, Francis now thrived in his position at Good Wood, making my work life infinitely easier to balance with home. Now that Francis no longer struggled with the basic needs of survival, he kept busy, splitting his free time between volunteer work and repairing his relationship with his daughter, Kelly. He’d even managed to talk Molly into donating all of her trucks’ leftovers to the shelter every day.

  “Francis, huh?” Molly cocked an eyebrow. The disbelief on her face was as obvious as the silver hoop in her right nostril.

  “Yep. Why?” I replied, trailing my thumb over her plump lower lip ready to taste it again.

  “It’s just that Mac seems to remember things differently,” she replied. I pulled back and looked away. I’d asked the guys to keep my involvement in the fundraiser on the down low. A build off was a great way to showcase local talent and expose our new apprentices to what they could achieve if they kept working hard. Auctioning the creations off afterward for Francis’s favorite charity just made sense.