by Wade, Becky
Garner’s Journal Entry
A kite on a string? Is that really what I wrote? What a load of stupidity.
Sylvie called today. Willow’s five months old and this is the first I’ve heard from Sylvie since the letter.
She kicked off the conversation as if nothing were wrong. Her voice sounded rested and cheerful and listening to it made me remember every detail of her. Her pale blond hair. Her sundresses. Her smell. Her body.
In the background, I could hear people talking, laughing, glasses clinking.
She asked about Willow and I gave her an update, fighting the whole time to sound reasonable, to keep my temper in check. She asked me to hold the phone to Willow’s ear so she could talk to her. So I did, but Willow pushed the phone away. She was more interested in the toys on her play mat.
I asked Sylvie when she planned to visit. I knew that pressuring her might cause her to disappear. At the same time, after the way she’s treated me, she owes me answers.
“I’m not coming back through Washington,” she said.
In the pause that followed, the last of my faith in her crashed to the ground. “Don’t wait for me,” she told me. “I wouldn’t want you to wait, Garner. Go on! Enjoy.”
Enjoy.
Enjoy, she said.
I couldn’t find words.
She went on to shovel a lot of nonsense about how she’s not the type of woman who can be an everyday mother, that she’d rather be an unusual mother than a conventional one. That she’ll make it up as she goes.
I told her I needed to know where I could reach her.
She laughed and said she didn’t even know where she’d be tomorrow. “Don’t worry,” she said.
“Don’t worry!” I shouted the words.
She assured me that Willow and I would be fine.
I tried again to tell her that I needed to know where I could reach her.
A dial tone answered.
Sylvie would call herself enlightened. I thought that about her once. But she’s nothing but selfish and shallow.
She left her baby behind.
I hope that remorse catches up with her one day. And when it does, I hope Sylvie chokes on it.
Garner’s Journal Entry
Over and over since Sylvie left, I’ve asked God to forgive me. I’ve prayed for forgiveness on my knees at home, at my desk at work, while looking into Willow’s eyes.
I know the Bible says that when you ask for forgiveness, God gives it. Only, I don’t feel forgiven. I’m having a hard time believing that He’s forgiven me. I’m having a hard time forgiving myself.
Every day I understand more fully that for the rest of my life, people will view me as the guy whose sin and gullibility and carelessness resulted in an illegitimate child. That’s my new identity.
Maybe because of that, or despite that, or because of all the praying I’ve been doing, I wanted to go back to church. I hadn’t been in more than a year because I’m already the guy whose sin resulted in an illegitimate child at work and around town. I didn’t want to have to be that guy at church, too.
But in the end, I missed it too much to stay away.
I carried Willow into the building with all my defenses up. I was ready to turn and leave for any reason. But the people at church surprised me. They welcomed me like they’d missed me, too. They showed me incredible grace.
It humbled me. It seemed like far better than I deserved.
Less than ten minutes later, I handed Willow to the ladies in the baby nursery. They made a big fuss over her, smiling and praising her and arguing over who’d get to hold her first.
I realized then that I had a whole new reason to appreciate church.
Free childcare.
Garner’s Journal Entry
Two things happened this week.
The first thing that happened: Willow turned six months old. The fussy, crying newborn who wouldn’t sleep is now a mellow, observant baby who sleeps all night.
Slowly, Willow’s gray eyes turned green, like mine. In every other way than that one, the older she gets, the more she looks like Sylvie. Her hair is coming in blond. Her skin is very fair, like Sylvie’s. Her little face is perfect.
The resemblance between Sylvie and Willow is a blessing and a curse. A blessing for Willow because she inherited her mother’s beauty. A curse for me because Willow’s appearance reminds me constantly of Sylvie.
The second thing that happened: I met someone. At church.
Her name’s Robin Bowman. It turns out that we were in the same class at U-Dub. She works at a bookstore and dreams of owning her own bookstore one day.
Everything about Robin is different from Sylvie. Her personality. Her values. Her appearance. Robin’s several inches shorter than Sylvie and she has light brown hair and brown eyes. Pale pink cheeks. Her smile is shy, but also warm and genuine.
She’s nice. It sounds weak, that word. But after Sylvie, I have a fresh appreciation of what nice is worth. Robin looks at me the way women used to look at me. With respect and interest.
I asked her out. Glenna’s agreed to watch Willow so I can take Robin to dinner and a movie.
Garner’s Journal Entry
I’m surprised to see how long it’s been since my last entry. As Glenna predicted, writing in this journal helped me through my worst moments. I was able to order my thoughts by ordering my words.
Since I last wrote, life has been manageable, thanks to Robin. I haven’t written because I haven’t needed to get my head straight.
Robin is the most thoughtful, helpful, and encouraging girlfriend possible. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s peaceful. Level headed. Normal. She’s got her life together. She’s as strong in her faith as anyone I’ve ever met. I can trust her.
Plus, Robin loves Willow and Willow loves Robin. Every time Willow sees Robin, she grins and reaches for her and Robin cuddles her and kisses her neck. I think that God sent Robin to us, in part, because He knew Willow didn’t have a mother and He knew what a perfect mother Robin would make.
This time around, with Robin, I’m doing everything right. Robin and I started dating four months ago. We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of in all that time. And tonight, we got engaged.
My parents approve.
Robin’s parents aren’t as sure. A man who comes with a baby isn’t what they’d have chosen for Robin, who has never once made a bad decision. I think her parents see me as her first bad decision. There’s not much I can do about that except hope that I’ll be able to win them over in time.
Glenna’s skeptical. When I told her I was going to propose, she told me she’s concerned that my relationship with Robin is too much, too soon after Sylvie. She thinks I’m on the rebound. I tried to explain to her that Robin was what I needed at exactly the right time.
It’s easy to be with Robin. I’m not torn apart by guilt or out of my head with lust or sick to my stomach with fear that she’ll leave. She makes me and my life better. She’s improved everything. She doesn’t come with downsides.
The three of us, Willow and Robin and me, have a bright future.
Garner’s Journal Entry
As it turns out, the four of us have a future. I brought out my journal today because Robin told me this morning that she’s pregnant. Soon, we’ll become a family of four. Willow, the baby, Robin, and me.
Robin and I married a few months ago at our church, the church where we met. Even before the wedding, Robin told me that she hoped we’d have kids right away. She wanted Willow to have a sister or brother near to her in age. Robin was also eager for her own sake. She wants to be a young mom. She can hardly wait to have this baby.
I’m going to be a father again.
I’m still trying to get my head around it.
It’s a big responsibility. Even so, this day feels totally different than the day Sylvie told me she was pregnant. That time, pregnancy seemed like a disaster. This time, it’s something to celebrate. This baby is Robin’s dream come tru
e.
When Sylvie left and it was my job to keep Willow alive, I couldn’t imagine how a newborn could be anyone’s dream come true. But when I look at Willow these days, I get it. Willow’s fifteen months old. She has big blond curls. She’s walking everywhere. She’s full of energy and spends all of her time exploring stuff and climbing on stuff and talking. Her first word was, “Dada.”
Willow didn’t come at the stage of my life I would have chosen. Raising her without her mother wasn’t what I’d have chosen, either. But Willow herself? Willow is the light of my life. I love her with fierce, devoted love. Whenever I think about how easily I would have agreed if Sylvie had decided to get an abortion, a chill plunges through me.
Thank God it didn’t go that way. Thank God for Willow and thank God for Robin.
I’m still getting to know my wife.
Robin loves old movies, hot tea, and anything British. She’s organized and health conscious. We moved into our first home right after the wedding. It’s a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house built in the ’50s and Robin keeps it incredibly neat. When I come home from work, the table’s set, she’s cooked some sort of low-fat dinner for us, and she has at least one vanilla-scented candle burning.
Robin likes structure. During the week, she and Valentina work together to make sure Willow stays on a schedule. On the weekends, Robin and I often rush back from visits to her parents or my parents or the park to make sure Willow’s in bed at the right time.
Robin’s soft-hearted. She gets teary-eyed over commercials that involve dogs or reunions.
Robin’s patient. Sylvie would get mad sometimes. Sylvie and I would fight and slam doors and then make up with tears and kisses. That’s not how Robin operates. She’s very much in control of her temper. We haven’t had a single fight. I’m sure we will fight, eventually. All couples fight. Yet it’s hard for me even to picture Robin being furious with me or me being furious with Robin.
I’ve just glanced back over this journal entry and realized that I’ve made Robin sound like a saint. She does have a few weaknesses.
I tried to talk her into a honeymoon in England, because she loves Great Britain so much. But I couldn’t convince her to go. Travel makes her nervous. So do parties that involve more than ten people. So do big dogs.
She second-guesses herself a lot and often asks me whether I think she did the right thing regarding her friendships, her job, her parenting. Here’s the thing. Robin always does the right thing. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. Her intuition is excellent. It’s her confidence that’s shaky.
Between her job at the bookstore and Willow and me, she’s on her feet most of the day. She’s such a high achiever that she’ll keep going until she’s at the point of exhaustion. She doesn’t know when or how to slow down and rest. I’ve started insisting that she do some things for herself. While we were dating, she loved taking walks for exercise. After we married, she let that go. I’ve talked her into starting the walks back up again.
That’s it. That’s everything that’s happened.
I’m going to be a father again.
At times, the last two years of my life were like a stormy sea. But from where I’m standing, the sea ahead looks calm and quiet.
CHAPTER
Four
Phone Conversation between Kathleen and Her Friend Rose
KATHLEEN: By the way, I finally, just today, saw Garner Bradford for the first time. Do you remember who he is? The one my mother warns me about all the time?
ROSE: The son of the guy who owns Bradford Shipping?
KATHLEEN: Exactly.
ROSE: I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve seen him. You’ve been working for Bradford Shipping for how long now?
KATHLEEN: Two years. Remember, though, the first year, I was stuck wearing a headset and taking orders and murmuring consolingly. I never saw anyone that year. If the President of the United States had dropped in to speak to the employees of the company, I wouldn’t have been invited. I was a grunt.
ROSE: Thank goodness you got promoted.
KATHLEEN: To a job assisting the assistant to the head of the Customer Service Department. Our building’s on a different part of the campus than the executive offices where Dominic and Garner Bradford work.
ROSE: Ah.
KATHLEEN: I wish we all shared one big building, because then I’d have a chance of handing my reports to Dominic Bradford himself. As it is, I have no way of knowing whether he’s received the reports I’ve sent him.
ROSE: Why wouldn’t he be receiving them?
KATHLEEN: One of his secretaries could be intercepting them and passing off my recommendations for improving the company’s business model as her own?
ROSE: Nope. That’s too far-fetched.
KATHLEEN: One of his secretaries could be intercepting them because she doesn’t think he’ll be interested or have the time to read them?
ROSE: That, I’ll buy. It’s also possible that the reports have reached him and that he’s read part or all of them but failed to communicate that to you.
KATHLEEN: True.
ROSE: Don’t sound so discouraged.
KATHLEEN: Years have passed and I’m no closer to a job at Estée Lauder. My office is so small that I’m unable to fit an office plant into it—
ROSE: At least you have an office!
KATHLEEN: —and there’s a 50-percent chance that I’ll receive a call from my mother at some point today reissuing Grandpa Burke’s invitation to work at Atlas Aeronautics. Which, by the way, I’m tempted to accept.
ROSE: No, ma’am.
KATHLEEN: Yes! The pay would be so good, Rose. I want better shoes.
ROSE: You are not going to mooch off Grandpa Burke like your mother and brother. You’re going to make your own way in the world—you are making your own way in the world—just like you always said you would.
KATHLEEN: Fine. Be right all the time.
ROSE: I want to hear more about Garner Bradford. Where were you when you spotted him?
KATHLEEN: Once every quarter on a Friday afternoon, Bradford Shipping holds a barbecue picnic for employees and their families. Garner didn’t go to the picnics I attended in the past. But this time, he did.
ROSE: What does he look like?
KATHLEEN: He has light eyes and tanned skin and brown hair. I love that combination, don’t you? That olive skin and light eyes thing?
ROSE: I totally love it.
KATHLEEN: Me too. It’s rare enough that whenever I see it, I catch myself staring. Garner’s well-built and there’s an . . . I don’t know . . . an easy strength about the way he carries himself.
ROSE: It’s been a while since your last boyfriend. . . .
KATHLEEN: Garner’s married. He was at the picnic with his wife and his two little girls, Willow and Nora. It was so cute, the way he was carrying his two-month-old baby and holding hands with his adorable little blond daughter. While I was on my way over to introduce myself, he went off in another direction. So I ended up talking to his wife, Robin.
ROSE: What’s she like?
KATHLEEN: She’s soft-spoken and she was so genuinely sweet that she made me feel comfortable right away. I got the sense that she’s one of those women who was put on this earth to be a mother.
ROSE: Is she pretty?
KATHLEEN: In an understated, girl-next-door kind of way. Speaking of pretty, have you decided on bridesmaids’ dresses for us yet?
ROSE: Well, Henry told me to pick the one that I like best so I think I’m going to go with the pink bridesmaid’s dress you tried on at Heidi’s.
KATHLEEN: Great!
ROSE: I love pink.
KATHLEEN: You always have, my dear. You’re the queen of your wedding day. I agree with Henry, as usual. You should pick the one that you like best.
Phone Message from Margaret to Her Daughter, Kathleen
Darling, this is Mother. Make sure that Rose understands that she can choose any color of bridesmaid’s dress except pi
nk. With your hair color, you’ll look dreadful in pink.
Also, I hope that she’s invited the minister to preach to the congregation during the ceremony. So many Christian women have devalued that part of the service. It’s becoming hard to tell a secular wedding from a Christian wedding these days! Rose will have guests in attendance who are non-believers, and a sermon could be very critical to their salvation.
By the way, the furrier called. My mink is ready to be picked up, thank goodness. So I’ll be able to wear it to brunch Saturday.
Well. I’m off to attend the knitting circle at church. I can’t stand going. I don’t knit, for one thing. But the knitters keep putting me on the invitation list and someone has to make sure that blankets are knit for babies who might not otherwise have them. “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters . . .” That’s Colossians 3:23, Kathleen. Words to live by.
By the way, you really ought to think about going to work for your Grandfather Burke. It’s time.
Postcard from Kathleen to Her Father, Dillon
Greetings from NYC!
I’m sitting in a deli eating a phenomenal pastrami on rye and thinking of you. You and I have always liked pastrami on rye.
Mom and Shane think I’m crazy for traveling to New York alone. Just between you and me, it’s a little lonelier to travel by myself than I realized it would be. But I’ve always wanted to see New York in the fall. It’s everything I imagined and more. Louder. Bigger. Smellier. Grander. More electric.
The meeting I set up with my contact in the HR Department at Estée Lauder went well, though I have a sneaking suspicion she may just have been humoring me.
Rose and Henry are in Hawaii on their honeymoon. At this moment, they’re probably wearing leis, attending a luau, and saying, “Aloha” to everyone. Now that Rose’s dream of marriage and family is coming true, I’m trying not to be impatient with God about MY dream.
