Nobody's Baby but Mine

by Marianne Evans

  Welcome to the new normal, he thought, spotting Dylan beyond the closed door and glassed-in walls of Charlotte’s office. Noah’s young charge sat slumped in a chair in front of the desk where Charlotte claimed a seat, glasses on, fingertips moving as she worked the keyboard of her computer. Glowering, Dylan fidgeted with his hands.

  The instant Noah opened the door to the office, Dylan’s head jerked upwards, and a combination of shame and fear danced to life in his eyes. Noah met Dylan’s reaction straight on in a gaze he hoped conveyed steadiness of spirit…and no small measure of disappointment.

  Dylan’s throat worked against a hard swallow, and Noah nearly crumbled. How much longer could he battle on a playfield he didn’t understand? Was he doing this precious child more harm than good? Did he even have a chance to—

  In an instant, Dylan’s bravado faded to vapors. He charged for Noah, wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing tight.

  “Don’t be mad, Uncle Noah. Please—please don’t be mad.”

  “Too late for that, buddy.” He knelt, holding Dylan gently by the shoulders. “We need to talk this over.”

  “But…do you hate me?”

  Noah sagged beneath a crushing weight; he heard Charlotte release a soft exclamation; he heard her chair squeak softly when she stood. “Of course not, Dylan. No way. Not ever. Hear me? Be that as it may, you need to think about what you did today. We need to figure out a way for you to apologize and start over again.”

  Dylan nodded, leaning back just far enough to meet Noah’s eyes. “I gotta go home. Principal said so.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.” Dylan lowered his head, shuffled his feet. His guilt rolled through the atmosphere. “I saw your backpack next to the desk in the office outside. Go get it then we’ll head out.”

  Once Dylan left, Charlotte stepped forward. She removed her glasses and fiddled with the stems, twirling them between her fingertips. “I think, all in all, he’s scared of being left behind. He’s afraid of being completely lost and abandoned. You’re his lifeline to finding normal.”

  Finding normal. Charlotte’s words were an echo of his thoughts and most heartfelt wish. Noah ground out a groan. “I’m trying. With all that I am, Charlotte, I’m trying. I want to make this work.”

  “I know you are, Noah, and I know you do. You’ll win the fight as long as you stand strong and keep providing for him. Don’t lose faith.”

  “Thanks.” He meant so much more than that simple word would ever convey, but he didn’t know how else to express himself. He wanted to sink into her eyes; he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold on tight, but Dylan returned and Noah’s cell phone vibrated against his hip, forcing a return to the day ahead.

  Still, he found hope in the softness of her touch when she reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He slid his thumb against the back of her hand, but he couldn’t linger. On the way out, with Dylan in tow, he checked his cell phone. He had received a call and voicemail from Kevin Mitchell.

  6

  “Congratulations, Noah. It’s a done deal. I’m happy to officially welcome you to the Heart’s Haven payroll. Vivian authorized a start date of next Monday if that works for you.”

  “It does. Thanks, Kevin.” Good news—thank you God. During a stop at Noah’s apartment that evening, Kevin relayed salary terms and benefit details. On one level Noah absorbed the conversation, but his head throbbed, still consumed by troubling thoughts centered on Dylan. After the craft show in Huntington, Noah had followed through on his idea to pick up a couple of easy and fun wood-working projects. Maybe he could turn Dylan toward something positive—pronto—with some help from his new boss.

  Once job discussions drew to a close, Noah decided to go for broke and ask for a favor. “Would you mind if I use part of the storage shed as a workshop? There seems to be enough room for a few of my smaller tools, and there’s a work bench I could make good use of too.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I got some bad news at school today. Dylan had a rough time of it, and I want to do some woodworking with him. Handiwork therapy, you might call it. If there are no objections, I’ll haul a few things out of storage.”

  “What a cool idea. Sure. Go for it. I’m for anything that’ll beef up our capabilities for restoration and repair.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be sure to take care of the space and clean up when we’re done. I really appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. Help yourself.”

  The next day, Dylan rose from bed listless and quiet. Rather than force matters, Noah strove for affirmation, for normal. After school, Noah led Dylan to the workshop he had fashioned during their time apart. Dylan was in no mood, but Noah didn’t let that deter him. He had a plan—a foolproof plan—that would lead to creation rather than destruction. Dylan dragged his feet but followed when Noah led the way.

  “Come over here.” Noah looked over his shoulder, issuing the invitation. “I want to show you what I did today while you were at school.”

  “I’m startin’ to not like school any more. Especially now that I go see Miss Charlotte all the time.”

  “You don’t see Miss Charlotte all the time. Just a couple times a week.”

  “Feels like more.”

  Noah refused to let Dylan’s grousing gain traction. “I have bad days too, Dylan—days when I struggle and fall. Remember, we’re going to make it through. What I’m going to show you is fun. We’re going to make a bird house. A place for bird families to live. It just might help you, and I think you’ll li—”

  “I don’t need help! Why is everyone helping? I thought people were my friends. They’re not! They only want me to change, like those stupid seasons my teacher talked about. I don’t want any more change! Why does Miss Charlotte barge in and take me to her office and talk about stuff I don’t want to talk about?”

  “Dylan, Miss Charlotte is helping take care of you because”—Noah’s words tumbled to an awkward stop. How should he finish that thought exactly? –“well, because we all need help sometimes.” Noah pulled a pair of camp chairs into alignment and guided Dylan to a seat. “Miss Charlotte wants to make sure you have a chance to learn, grow, and be happy. That’s all.”

  “I don’t like talking to her. She came into the classroom, and I knew she was gonna take me away and talk to me about my mom. I don’t wanna talk about my mom!”

  “All she wants to do is help.”

  “Yeah? Well, she’s not my mom!”

  Noah had no idea how to respond to that. “Dylan…buddy…don’t worry about anybody—ever—taking the place of your mom.”

  “I wanna see Mama. I wanna kiss her g’night. I want to talk to her! I miss her!”

  The rampage ended when Dylan launched from his seat and kicked over a pair of freshly opened paint cans. Paint spread into a mix of green and yellow that formed a river against the newspaper Noah had laid out…as well as the concrete floor.

  Noah bolted, wanting to right the cans before more damage was done, but Dylan wasn’t finished. He swiped a hand against the can on the workbench and sent it flying. It was capped, but when it crashed against the ground, the lid came open and chaos intensified.

  “Dylan, no! Stop it!” Noah hauled him into a tight hold by both arms and looked him in the eyes. “Don’t do this!”

  Sobbing, Dylan wrenched free of Noah’s hold and ran out of the shed. Noah followed in pursuit, scooping him up so Dylan’s paint covered feet wouldn’t track into the apartment. Noah didn’t stop moving until he kicked off his own shoes and hit the bathroom. Depositing Dylan in the tub, he knelt so they were eye-to-eye.

  He didn’t say a word. There was nothing left to say. Instead of a speech, Noah pulled his nephew in tight and held on, forcing himself to stay steady and strong even as tears poured down his face.

  ****

  A short time later, Noah returned to the shed. He stood dead center of the bedlam Dylan had created in the workshop. Splattered paint dotted the w
alls, forming a speckled testimony to the level of frustration, sorrow, and anger Dylan faced.

  Paint from the toppled cans created blobby puddles of yellow, green, and red that seeped across the floor and into Noah’s spirit. Bone tired, wracked by sorrows of his own, he picked up the cans, collecting each one by its curved metal handle.

  “Jen, I love you, but you were wrong—in the dream—I’m not the one for this. Everything I do turns into a mistake. I’m trying so hard to reach him. It’s just not working.”

  Weakened and defeated, Noah dropped the cans, registering then ignoring the additional mess. He sank to his knees in the middle of a paint-strewn mess, leaned back on his haunches, and prayed.

  “God, please. I can’t do this. I’m not good for him. I can’t be who and what he wants and needs me to be. He needs Jen. He needs a mom.”

  He needs Charlotte.

  The realization brought him up short, prompted him to lift his head and stare ahead blindly.

  Charlotte.

  None of this is his fault. None of this is your fault, either. The best—the only—route to take right now is what can lead him to healing. That’s all any of us are after.

  Charlotte’s words from days ago came back to him. But how could Dylan heal if he couldn’t properly express himself? The world seemed to conspire against the poor kid, no matter how hard Noah strove to expose him to something constructive and fulfilling.

  Wilting further, Noah tried once more to pray. Nothing came to him, least of all a suitable path forward.

  “Uncle Noah?”

  Noah jumped when the sound of Dylan’s voice came from the doorway just behind.

  “Yeah, Dylan.” More tired than he could ever remember, Noah barely mustered the strength to turn and face his nephew. He was that depleted.

  “I’m sorry. OK? I’m real sorry. OK?”

  Dylan’s chin quaked. Fierce emotion fought a sparkling battle through the depths of the child’s eyes.

  In that instant, love erased depletion. Love pushed energy and compassion through his soul, and he opened his arms wide. “Come here, buddy.”

  Dylan didn’t walk. He charged and nearly toppled Noah into slippery paint stains as he clung tight to Noah’s shoulders as his body was wracked by sobs. Noah held him steady and firm, letting him break, and maybe start to heal, not caring as much that a rainbow of oil-based color now slicked a good portion of the cement floor.

  Finally, Dylan leaned back. “I wanna build a bird house. I wanna make a place for the birds to live and eat. I really do.”

  Answered prayer. Hope. A light. Noah ran toward the beacon as emphatically as Dylan had raced for his embrace. “First, you’re going to help me clean this up. After that, we’ll have dinner and we’ll try again tomorrow. I think you’ll be good at wood working—as long as you take your time and care about the things you create. Let’s see what comes of it. Together.”

  “All right.” He fell against Noah’s shoulder again. “I love you, Uncle Noah.”

  Overcome, Noah squeezed him tight, thinking Thank you, God. Thank you.

  “I love you too, Dylan. When we’re finished, maybe we can use your birdhouse to demonstrate the way birds need shelter during the changing seasons your teacher was talking about the other day. We can paint the four sides to represent each season. Sound good?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

  They went to work with cleaners, towels, water, and elbow grease. “There’s a good way of showing your feelings, Dylan—even sad, confused feelings—and there’s a bad way. From now on, try to choose the better path, OK?”

  “I will. I promise.” Dylan refreshed his towel in a nearby tub and wrung it free of excess water, swiping at the walls and a corner of the floor. “Is this OK?”

  “You’re doing great. The stains will come out. Together, we’ll make this place as good as new.” Dylan nodded. They continued restoration in a companionable silence and an idea struck. “How would you feel about playing baseball? I hear there’s a league starting soon. Do you think you might want to give something like that a try?”

  “Sure. That’d be fun. One of my friends is on a baseball team. Ricky Anderson. He likes it.”

  Noah grabbed the lifeline and clawed for dry ground. He gave Dylan’s shoulder a squeeze in passing when he reached for cleaning solution to add to his damp towel, making plans to reach out to Brody Lang. He needed to find out if Brody’s t-ball team might still be open for membership.

  ****

  This month’s edition of ‘girl’s night’ featured a jewelry making session Charlotte had looked forward to all week long. Pia Myers, wife of Falls Tabernacle Church minister David Myers, played hostess tonight. That made the evening’s gathering a double treat. Pia had always struck Charlotte as such a vibrant spirit, with a soul that shone as bright as the multi-colored, gemstone creations for which she was famous. At present, a batch of sparkly crystals was strewn across the wide oval dining table of Pia’s home where half-dozen friends gathered.

  Charlotte laced together a string of beads and spacers of sterling silver, crafting what she hoped would become a stunning bracelet of pale pastel colors perfect for summer. As Pia’s party kicked into full swing with munchies, soft drinks, and chocolate treats, Charlotte continued the conversation at hand. “Y’all knew Jen, and y’all know Dylan. It’s not like that sweet little boy to be pushy and mean. Thing is, grief gets the best of him. I think Noah will find his way, eventually. He’s trying really hard, and I can tell he’s anxious to form an even deeper bond with Dylan, but it’s long, hard work.”

  “It seems to me like they’d be lost without each other.” Maria Lang worked beads across a clear plastic cord, on her way to making a necklace of black and white gems that would be stunning against her fair skin and blonde hair. “Brody got a call from Noah the other day. Seems Dylan’s going to be part of the Lang’s Collision t-ball team.”

  Charlotte paused from stringing crystals. “Dylan’s joining the Speedsters? Noah hadn’t told me that yet. How awesome!”

  Pia giggled, flipping a wave of hair over her shoulder. “Is it just me, Emmy, or does Charlotte seem a bit dazzled and rosy-cheeked?” With a lowered and focused gaze, Pia used a delicate pair of tongs to lay a stone within the steel prongs of a dainty ring band.

  “She sure does, Pia.”

  Charlotte scowled at Emmy. Meanwhile, Jaci Meadows, who savored a rare evening away from Baby the malamute, didn’t bother to stifle a chuckle, so Charlotte aimed a second, searing look at her friend. Unperturbed, Jaci simply fluttered her lashes.

  “OK, I admit it. He’s incredible.” Charlotte resigned herself to not making much progress on her bracelet. “Noah’s got a quiet, compelling degree of tenderness and charisma that just…pulls at me…know what I mean?”

  “I sure do.” Emmy’s gaze went soft and dreamy. Charlotte didn’t need GPS to realize Emmy’s thoughts led straight to Cade Magnusen.

  “I love being with him.” Charlotte squared her shoulders and forced herself to get real about her feelings. “We hike along the river. We have dinner. We hang out with Dylan and play Wii bowling and boxing. Being with him…with them…is filling and fun.” Charlotte’s gaze circled the table, taking in the faces of her friends. “Even though he’s handling so much, Noah remains calm and patient. Resolute. That’s amazing to me and speaks volumes about his character.” She retrieved a pair of sparkly crystal stones in deep blue and green and added them to the mix of colors. “Thing is, he’s not at all the type of man I’ve been looking for—”

  “Yet isn’t it amazing the way God brings two people together who seem to be such opposites?” Pia addressed Charlotte, her features warmed by insight. “God creates a wonderful balance and wholeness out of opposites, as long as we’re brave enough to get out of His way. David and I could write a book about it.”

  Whoa there, Charlotte thought, genuinely panicked. Balance? Bringing two people together? Sure, she and Noah enjoyed spending time together. Sur
e, there was meaning and happiness. And sure, there was the way he made her feel. Charlotte froze, the bracelet dangling from her fingertips and nearly forgotten. Pia’s observations were spot on.

  Emmy stopped working on her diamond shaped, mosaic-style pendant and gave Charlotte her full attention. “Know what, Char? Everything you’ve just said leaves me to wonder.”

  “About what?” Charlotte blew out a breath and stretched her back. Grabbing her glass she took a cooling sip of soda.

  “About how the poor guy will ever be able to resist you.”

  Giggles, groans, and cat calls caused Charlotte to blush furiously and roll her eyes. “Next topic, ladies. I say we put Emmy on the hot seat and talk about Cade Magnusen for a bit, hmm?”

  Emmy chortled, but by majority action Charlotte and her romantic turmoil was left behind in favor of a fresh victim.

  Didn’t matter much, though. This interlude of girl-talk left her with much to think about.

  7

  Footfalls sang against metal while Noah followed a group of attendees up the stairs of a set of bleachers. The stands edged a baseball diamond positioned toward the center of Falls Park that currently played host to a t-ball game between the Angel Falls Speedsters and Terrenton Armadillos. Clinging to a one-run lead, the Speedsters took the field following a break between innings. Noah carried a bag of popcorn and a pair of sodas, returning to his seat next to Charlotte.

  Wearing oversized sunglasses and a sunny smile, she accepted her drink and the popcorn, which she propped on the bench between them so they could share. She pointed toward the field. “There’s Dylan. He’s headed back to right center. The slide into third at the end of the last inning doesn’t seem to have bothered him at all.”

  What a relief. Noah had watched in helpless terror while Dylan crushed one off the tee to deep center and took off like a mini-rocket around the bases. Coach Brody Lang had held up both hands at third, alerting Dylan to stop. When Brody yelled for him to slide, Dylan did just that…right into the third baseman and a securely mounted base pad. He had shaken off the rough contact, but seemed to limp slightly when he left the field with his team after the next batter struck out.