Jaded

by Varina Denman

  “Here comes the tree,” JohnScott called from the mudroom.

  We pulled the kitchen chairs back so JohnScott and Ansel could squeeze by with the enormous box. I heard them bumping the walls of the mudroom as they maneuvered their awkward cargo to shut the back door, but the tight space prevented Velma and me from rendering aid.

  JohnScott stumbled backward through the door, having let Ansel take the forward-walking end. But when the other end of the box came into view, Ansel wasn’t holding it. Dodd was.

  He wore a black hoodie, and when he smiled, I clutched a string of wooden cranberry beads, hanging on for dear life while my anticipation soared to the top of a roller coaster, leaving my insides quivering somewhere near the ground.

  “Dodd Cunningham,” Velma said. “Is Grady here too?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s straddling one of the rafters in your shed, searching for the outdoor lights.”

  The two men thumped the box down on the floor in the middle of the room, and JohnScott said, “He’s right at home up there, swinging around like a monkey.”

  “Sounds like Grady.” I laughed, but my voice came out airy and forced.

  Velma looked at me, then swiveled her head to peer at Dodd. “Well, you boys best get back out there before Ansel climbs up the rafters too.”

  As they made their way outside, Dodd glanced at me, and his eyes crinkled.

  Instantly a warm burst of happiness or nervousness or dread surged through me, undoubtedly coloring my cheeks with embarrassment.

  When we were alone again, Velma’s expression fogged. She folded her hands and held them at her waist, one thumb rubbing thoughtfully across its twin. “Well.” She chuckled. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “What?”

  She tugged on the huge box until all four flaps popped open. “You with the preacher. Makes sense when I think about it.” She removed the tree stand from the top of the box, plunked it down in the middle of our desired location, and grabbed the pole for the trunk. “Not sure how your momma will handle it, but she’ll get used to the idea.” She shoved the pole into the stand and tightened the bolts. “Stop biting your nails, Ruthie.”

  I hadn’t bitten my nails since childhood when Velma painted them with Tabasco sauce, but now I could have readily nibbled each one of them down to the quick. “Is it obvious?”

  “Like a horsefly in a bowl of mashed potatoes.”

  “What should I do?”

  She adjusted the greenery on a wire branch before poking it into the trunk. “It’s not the end of the world, Ruthie.”

  She motioned to the box, and I reached for a branch and began separating pine boughs.

  We worked in silence for several minutes, adding branches to complete the tree. Then we surveyed our work, and I shifted a few wires to cover holes.

  “Darlin’, it’ll never be perfect.”

  “I know, but it’s close.”

  “I’m not talking about the tree.” Velma eased into her rocker by the fireplace, and I sat in Ansel’s recliner and prepared for a minisermon. “I know you, Ruthie.” Her expression calmed my fears. “You’ll try to make everybody happy till the day you die, but some things you just need to let go.”

  “Let go?” She made it sound so simple.

  “Sure. Don’t worry about everybody else.” She stretched her legs out and pointed the toes of her Naturalizers toward the fire. “Two adults have a hankering for each other. So what?”

  A sliver of hope deep inside me tried to latch on to her encouraging words, but reality yanked them away. “But … Momma. She was upset when she found out about JohnScott’s baptism. She called him a fool.”

  “JohnScott’s no fool. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if he can’t teach me a thing or two.” She raised her voice. “But I know what you’re thinking. Your momma won’t be any too keen when the preacher comes to call, might even hole herself up for a while, but you can’t go on living your life to please her.” She fumbled with the bib of her apron. “She’s sure not living that way.”

  I sat in stunned silence. Velma had given me hundreds of sermons, but she rarely spoke ill of Momma. And she never told me to do something that might upset Momma’s apple cart.

  “Oh, that stinking church.” She blew air through her teeth. “Enjoy yourself for once and don’t worry about the rest of it.” She hauled herself out of the rocking chair. “How about some cocoa? I think I’ll take some outside to the monkeys.”

  She drifted into the kitchen, but I leaned back in the recliner, my mind whirling. Did I really try to please people? Everyone in my life seemed to hold an opinion about what I should do and who I should be, but I had never thought much about it. Amid the jumble of confusion, I recognized one feeling deep inside. Relief. Velma had more or less given me permission to date Dodd when I hadn’t even asked for it. Or knew I wanted it. But Velma’s prompt acceptance of the relationship made me feel light as a tumbleweed bouncing down the highway. She had cleared some of the brambles away from my decisions. Don’t worry about it, she had said.

  Well, maybe I wouldn’t.

  “Ruthie, come carry these mugs. I’ll get the pot and open the door.”

  I stepped into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her neck.

  “Aw, now. You’re going to make me spill.”

  Slipping into my coat, I followed her into the deceptive sunshine. It looked like seventy degrees but felt like thirty. JohnScott and Grady sat in the brown grass at the side of the house, leaning against the butane tank as they untangled strings of lights.

  “Ruthie, help us,” Grady whined.

  JohnScott pulled the cord out of Grady’s grasp. “We’ve got to find the end and work from there.”

  I gave each of them a mug and sat on the grass between them.

  Across the yard, Ansel and Dodd strolled out of the shed, and Velma took them the rest of the cocoa. Soon the three of them rested in iron lawn chairs, making small talk. I could only hear an occasional muffled word on the breeze, but I knew Velma wouldn’t embarrass me.

  Dodd fluttered a smile before tilting his head to respond to something Velma had said. He had removed his hoodie to reveal a long-sleeved pullover with sweat marks on his chest and underarms. I pulled my coat around me as a shiver went up my spine.

  “She’s staring at him, Coach,” Grady whispered.

  “I see that.”

  I set my mug in the brittle grass and popped Grady on the back of the head.

  He pretended to spill his cocoa. “I think you burned me.”

  “Liar.”

  “Coach, she’s not being nice to me.”

  I looked to JohnScott in defense. “I brought the cocoa.”

  “Mom brought the cocoa.”

  “Ruthie brought the mugs, though,” Grady said.

  As we sipped our drinks, they struck up a conversation about off-season practice. Didn’t they ever get tired of talking football? I looked across at Dodd, who gave a slight shrug and rolled his eyes.

  “She’s doing it again,” Grady sing-songed.

  “I am not.”

  Grady covered his head with his arms. “I see you with my eyes. It’s as clear as day.”

  “And cute,” JohnScott added.

  “Say it, Ruthie,” Grady commanded.

  “Say what?”

  “Say you like my big brother.”

  Plucking a few blades of grass, I mumbled, “Yes, I like your brother.” I snapped the grass into smaller and smaller bits before peeking at Grady.

  After all that work, he only stared at me. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  JohnScott picked up a string of lights, so I pulled some into my lap while Grady peppered me with questions. “Will you go out with him?”

  “I’m not sure how that would work.”


  “You mean your mother?”

  “And others.”

  “So, Ruthie …” Grady reached for his mug, swirled the last of his cocoa in the bottom, then slung the cold liquid into the grass. “Do you think it’s worth it?” His eyes held compassion, and I knew, in spite of his teasing, that he respected the domino effect our relationship might cause.

  I looked across the yard at Dodd. “I think so.”

  Dodd nodded, but he had a funny expression on his face. Anticipation, impatience, and apprehension, all mixed together.

  My exact feelings.

  Grady yanked several blades of grass and held them in his fingertips like a miniature bouquet. “So, does this mean you’re ready to date him?”

  I looked directly at Dodd. “I don’t know, Grady, but I think so.”

  “Little cousin?” JohnScott peered at me. “Will you talk to Dodd about it?”

  “He already knows,” Grady said.

  Of course he already knew. Dodd had been reading my lips the entire time, and our silent interaction felt surprisingly personal. Collecting the mugs, I said, “I’m going inside to work on the tree. You guys want to come?”

  JohnScott grunted. “I’m banished to the backyard for the day. Grady, let’s climb on the roof with these lights.”

  As they untangled the last cord, I called my intentions to Velma.

  “I’ll be along directly.” She waved from the shed.

  I opened the back door and gave one last glance in Dodd’s direction, but his lawn chair sat empty. He was following me into the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Dodd entered Ansel and Velma’s living room, I was about to start stringing lights on the tree and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. Admitting my feelings to JohnScott and Grady—and indirectly to Dodd—didn’t begin to solve the problem of what to do about them. I sighed. “Want to help?”

  “Sure.” He reached for a cord, then wove lights through the branches without hesitation. We had them installed within minutes.

  “I noticed you were eavesdropping again.”

  He stretched and placed the angel on the top branches. “I’m sorry about that. You’re proving to be a challenge.”

  I laughed as I retrieved the box of ornaments from the kitchen table, placing them on the floor between us. “Don’t blame me.”

  “I’ve never had this much trouble fighting the temptation to read someone’s lips.”

  Good gracious, Momma would have a fit if she could hear this conversation. When I thought about her, my stomach cramped as if I’d swallowed a chunk of cactus, but there was no going back now. Was there? “So I guess you heard what I said to Grady out there.”

  Dodd peered at me from between the branches of the tree, the twinkle lights transforming him into a Hallmark greeting card. He raised one eyebrow and smiled. “You like me.”

  This man affected me more than I wanted him to know, but I shrugged as though I hadn’t put much thought into it. “Oh, I don’t know. I had fun with your mother the other day.”

  He nodded knowingly. “So it’s Mom you like.”

  “And Grady.”

  He crossed his arms. “You like Mom and Grady.”

  “I’d like to get to know them better.” I reached for another ornament. “Gradually.”

  “They can work with gradual.”

  I secured a Coca-Cola polar bear to a branch, then dropped my hands to my sides. “Dodd, I’m afraid this is a huge mistake.” I had an overwhelming urge to bolt out the door and sprint home.

  He shook his head. “I don’t see it that way.”

  Of course he didn’t see it that way. He stood on the other side of the problem, where everything was rosy. I moved away from him, escaping across the room where I plopped into a chair at the kitchen table, right in front of the ping-pong-ball choir. “Momma won’t understand.”

  He followed and sat down across from me, straightening the two lines of ornaments. “Has your mother always been unhappy?”

  “Before Daddy left, she laughed a lot. And wore makeup and nice clothes. I remember them swinging a jump rope for me in the driveway. Like real parents.”

  He flinched. “But now she’s bitter toward the church, isn’t she?”

  “Bitter? She despises the church.” I searched for words to convey the magnitude of what I was considering doing—what he was asking me to do—to my mother. But I was at a loss for words. I shook my head hopelessly.

  “I know more or less what happened—I talked to Charlie Mendoza about it—but it doesn’t make sense. I feel like there’s something I’m missing.” Dodd frowned. “They should’ve told me about it from the start, and I wanted some answers.”

  “I bet you didn’t get any.”

  “Well, no. Not really.”

  Footsteps traveled across the roof above our heads, and I peered at the ceiling. “After Daddy left, the church branded Momma an adulteress. She always blamed Neil for the church’s actions, but I don’t know why.”

  “Neil Blaylock? But he wasn’t even an elder then.”

  “His daddy was. Same difference. The Blaylocks have had it out for us ever since we left the church. They go out of their way to be rude.” I picked a chunk of glue off a ping-pong ball. “Usually they just ignore us, but sometimes Neil talks to Momma.”

  “Well, that’s something, right?”

  “No.” I’d seen Neil appear out of nowhere and stand too close to her, saying things I could never quite hear. “Whatever he says makes her pretty angry.”

  Dodd’s brows bunched. “That seems out of character.”

  The naivety of Dodd’s attitude annoyed me. “People aren’t always what they seem, or have you not noticed that?”

  He smiled. “I know you’re not what you seem.”

  My nerves relaxed, and I rubbed a hand across my face. “I admit you’re not either.”

  “You weren’t expecting to trust me.”

  “I’m still not sure I do.”

  But I knew the day would come when I did. Already it seemed I could talk to him about things. For crying out loud, I couldn’t remember ever having discussed that horrible Sunday with anyone except JohnScott. And here I was telling the preacher about it.

  Dodd leaned forward. “So … Neil’s father suggested you and your mom go to another congregation?”

  “Um … no.”

  “Charlie thought that’s what happened.”

  “Charlie Mendoza isn’t a liar, but it’s odd he remembers it that way. Shows how little he’s thought about it since then.”

  Dodd massaged the back of his neck. “How old were you?”

  “Seven.” I twirled one of the handmade choir members. “At the time I didn’t understand it, but I remember it like it was last week. It was a few months after Daddy left. Momma kept taking me to church. Her friends were there, you know? She and Pamela Sanders did everything together. And Fawn and me.” Thinking about that day made me sad and angry, but Dodd’s eyes urged me on. “We entered the building on Sunday morning, and Momma took a program. Everything seemed normal. We sat behind the Blaylocks, and Fawn turned around and made faces at me while Momma opened the handout to read over the announcements. But all of a sudden, she crumpled it, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out the door. Fawn’s parents never even turned around.”

  Dodd waited. Swallowed. Whispered. “What did she read in the program?”

  “That morning’s sermon topic.” I snickered. “Adultery. I still have it at the house. I figured I’d keep the silly paper, since it made such an impact on our lives.”

  He ran his index finger along the edge of the table. “And your mother? She assumed the sermon was directed at her?”

  I huffed. “The congregation is small, Dodd. It was no secret what everyone was saying.”

  “Sorry.” He rai
sed his palms. “Remember, I’m not from around here.”

  I inhaled deeply, regretting my tone. I hadn’t yet told him everything. “Besides, there was a notice about a business meeting to be held after services.” I made quote marks in the air with my fingers. “To discuss the need to withdraw congregational fellowship from a member of the flock. It was right there before the blurb about Pyrex dishes left behind from the last fellowship meal.”

  He stared at me, disbelief etched on his face.

  “Gerald Blaylock came by the house a few days later.”

  “Oh. Ruthie, I’m so sorry.”

  His compassion made me uncomfortable as I felt the intimacy of all I’d shared, and I rose, taking two ornaments to the tree.

  He followed with more, and after three trips back and forth, we had them distributed over the branches.

  Dodd adjusted a string of lights, then returned them to their original position. “I know the church’s actions seem extreme, but I’m sure they thought they were doing the right thing.” He added quickly, “I don’t agree with them. But there’s actually a verse in the Bible about disciplining a sinner in the church.” He ducked his head.

  “Give me a break. I doubt Momma ever did anything wrong. Besides, even if there’s a handy little verse about discipline, there’s also a verse that says sinners don’t have the right to cast stones at other sinners.” My face warmed as my voice rose. “Either the Christians down at your stupid church think they’re actually sinless, or they’ve scribbled that verse out of their Bibles with a Sharpie. Which is it?”

  When I finished my backlash, he didn’t answer, only stared with his mouth hanging open.

  “What?” I demanded.

  He blinked twice, then looked at the tree and back to me. “I never expected you to quote Scripture.”

  My anger dissolved in a silent poof. “Why … why not?”

  “I didn’t assume you were one to read the Bible.”

  Clearly I had misrepresented myself. “Only the New Testament and Psalms. And not very often. That one verse sort of stuck in my mind, you know?”

  He looked at me as if he was seeing a completely different person. “Does your mom study the Bible?”