Loving Care

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Chapter Four

  Christie parked on the street and headed up the walk to her parents’ home. She’d promised to drop by, but since seeing Patrick a couple days earlier, she’d been miserable and hadn’t felt like talking to anyone.

  Patrick’s words rang in her ears. If you’re happy, Christie, why aren’t you smiling? She’d wanted to scream in his face that she was happy, the happiest she’d ever been, and not only happy but fulfilled. But standing in the middle of a hardware store and screaming how happy she was seemed an act of denial. Instead, she’d ignored his comment.

  But had she? The sting ached like a nettle in her skin, swelling and throbbing. How could he be so arrogant? He didn’t look happy either, except when he was with his son. When he looked at Sean, Patrick’s face glowed with a kind of love she had never known…and never would. The reality pained her.

  Christie climbed the steps and turned the doorknob. “Hi,” she called, stepping inside.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” her mother answered. “I’ll be through in a minute.”

  Christie dropped her shoulder bag on a living-room chair and continued toward her mother’s voice. When she came to the doorway, she stopped. “What are you doing?”

  “Scrubbing the floor. What does it look like?” Emma Goodson brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked up from a kneeling position, a scrub brush clutched in her hand.

  “Don’t you use a mop?”

  “A mop? No. They only slide the dirt around.” Emma pulled a rag from the bucket, squeezed it and rinsed the floor.

  Christie shook her head. “Mom, you shouldn’t be on your knees like that.”

  “It’s a great time to pray. You should try it.”

  Christie sizzled with her mother’s words. Back to the old needling about not going to church. She held back a sarcastic response and rested her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He’s at the garage getting a tune-up on the car.” Her mother dropped the brush into a pail and pushed herself up from the floor. She rubbed her hands together as if to dry them and grabbed the bucket. “Have a seat in the living room, while I get rid of this.”

  Christie watched her mother tiptoe to the laundry room before turning and doing as she had directed. Taking a moment to gaze through the front picture window, Christie sank into a chair, frustration settling heavily on her emotions.

  The battle was unending. In her parents’ eyes, she’d never quite grown up. When she and Patrick divorced, she felt as if she’d broken their hearts forever. Still, when she’d returned to Loving and decided to open her own child-care business, they’d been supportive to the point of loaning her money to get started. Despite her irritation, she’d be eternally grateful.

  They’d stopped grumbling about the divorce, but they hadn’t backed off about church. Not that she didn’t believe. She did, but she’d soured after her divorce. Maybe embarrassment kept her away. Perhaps being in church made her feel sinful and displeasing to God. She didn’t know which, but attending worship had become a struggle since her marriage ended.

  “So,” Emma said, coming through the doorway, “did you hear who’s back in town?”

  Christie gnawed the corner of her lip. “Yes, I ran into him…a couple of times.”

  “Really?” Emma’s eyebrows shot upward as she settled on the sofa.

  Christie saw the warning signals in her mother’s eyes. “It’s a small town, Mom.”

  “So you know about—”

  “His son? Yes. I met him.” She gathered her courage and stuck out her chin. “He’s the spitting image of Patrick. A good-looking boy.”

  “Really?”

  Concern riddled her mother’s face, and Christie knew what was in store—not meanness, just protection.

  “I hope you’ll use your head about this,” Emma said. “Now that he’s alone again and with a child, he’s probably looking for someone to step in and—”

  “I’m not stepping into anything, Mother, so let’s drop it.”

  Her mother’s face sagged with Christie’s sharp comment, and she wished she could rewrite her last words or at least take the anger out of her voice. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that—”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I know I shouldn’t meddle in your life.”

  “It’s a parent’s prerogative,” Christie said, hoping to smooth over her mother’s hurt feelings. “I know you’re only trying to protect me from being hurt again.”

  Emma nodded, fiddling with the hem of her print blouse. “Patrick came from a bad situation. He didn’t have a good home life as a boy, and I wonder if he understands the responsibilities of being a husband and father.”

  “He looks like a good father to me.” Christie’s defensiveness surprised her. Patrick might not have been the husband he should have been to her, but from all evidence he was a loving father. She had to give him credit.

  “Funny,” Emma said, “now that Patrick’s father has gotten older, we do see him in church once in a while. He must have learned something in his old age. But you still can’t forget that grounding comes as a child, and Patrick grew up without Christianity, Christie. He had no guidelines to follow God’s bidding. A person without the Lord is shortchanged on the side of righteousness.”

  Though she understood her mother’s meaning, Christie felt edgy about the statement. She’d been as negligent as Patrick, drifting from church and her faith even though she’d been raised in it. “Does that mean I don’t have morals or integrity because I don’t go to church regularly?”

  Emma drew back, her eyes widened. “You? Heavens no. You were brought up to know the Lord. You’ve slacked off on church, but not on believing.”

  Her mother had that right, but Christie wondered sometimes if she’d ever feel the same as she did as a child. Jesus walked with her in those days. Today, her footsteps felt mighty lonely.

  “I figured you haven’t remarried because you know what God expects,” her mother continued. “Unless Patrick committed adultery, and you said he didn’t have another woman when he left you. At least, one you knew about.”

  “I believe him, Mom. Patrick left for other reasons. Not another woman. Now, can we change the subject?” Christie had never understood the reason he left. Not fully anyway, but she’d accept Patrick’s denial of another woman. Maybe she’d done that for her own pride, but in her heart, she believed him.

  Emma leaned forward. “I just wanted you to—”

  “Hello,” Wes Goodson said, peeking around the corner from the hallway.

  “You didn’t walk on my clean floor, did you?” Emma asked.

  “No, I floated in,” Wes said, striding into the room, a wide grin on his face.

  Christie rose and kissed her father’s cheek. “How are you, Daddy?”

  “Good. And you?” He gazed at her with knowing eyes. “I suppose you know—” He looked from Emma back to Christie.

  Christie squeezed his arm and settled back into her chair. “I knew before I came here. No problem. I’ll live with it.”

  “I know you will,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “And anyway, you have Milton now.”

  “But I’m not sure, Dad. Milton’s looking toward marriage, and I’m not.”

  Wes scratched his head as if he didn’t understand. “You have to be honest with him, Christie.”

  “I am honest, Dad. I—”

  Her father leaned closer. “If he’s pushing you toward marriage, and you feel it’s wrong—”

  “The Bible says it’s wrong,” Emma said, frowning at her husband.

  “Well, not anymore.” Wes pulled back and gave them both a decisive look.

  “What do you mean?” Christie asked, puzzled by the statement.

  “The way I look at it, Patrick has a son and that means he—h-he must have had relations to do it.”

  His discomfort made Christie uneasy. “But we were divorced then, Daddy. That doesn’t count. It wasn’t adultery.”
r />   “By jingo, Wes, you’re right,” Emma said. “I’d never thought of it like that.” She swiveled toward Christie, her eyes filled with hope. “You see, Christie, in God’s eyes it was. Now if you have feelings for Milton, then maybe—”

  “That’s not all of it, Mom.” Frustration heated her face. “You’re not listening to me. It’s just—”

  “Let the girl be, Emma,” Wes said. “You and I need to butt out and let Christie make decisions for herself. She’s old enough.” He gave her a good-natured wink and headed out of the room. “Want a soda, Christie? Emma?” he asked from the hallway outside the kitchen.

  “No thanks, Dad. I need to get going soon.”

  Emma shook her head.

  “Then I’ll just float in and get one for myself.” He gave Emma a bigger grin and vanished through the doorway.

  Christie heard him in the kitchen, banging around as loudly as her riled mood. She’d known it was coming so why let it bother her? It’s natural for parents to want to shield their children from hurt. She’d do the same if she had a child.

  Christie rose and pulled her bag from the chair near the entry. “I need to go, Mom.”

  Emma rose, her face puckered with disappointment. “Will we see you in church Sunday?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.” She watched greater sadness fill her mother’s eyes. “I’ll see. Maybe.”

  The “maybe” did it. Her mother smiled and patted her arm as if maybe meant for sure.

  Christie walked across the church parking lot. Sometimes she wondered if Jemma and her mother were in cahoots about her church attendance. She trudged up the stairs into the building and stood in the sanctuary doorway, searching for Jemma.

  Spotting her and Philip near the front, Christie moved down the aisle and slid into the pew beside Jemma. Philip gave her a nod.

  “You made it,” Jemma said, pleasure spreading over her face.

  “How could I resist when you said Ellie wanted me here?”

  Jemma chuckled and patted Ellie’s head leaning against her arm. “Claire came, too.” She motioned to her former mother-in-law beside Philip.

  Christie leaned across her friend and nodded to Claire, then acknowledged Ellie squeezed between her mom and dad. “I heard you’re going to sing with the nursery class today.”

  Ellie nodded. “‘Jesus Loves Me.’ Her piping voice sounded above the hum of parishioners.

  “I like that song,” Christie said, giving her cheek a pat and settling back against the bench. “Have you talked with my mother?” she asked Jemma.

  “Your mother? No. Why?”

  “She’s been bugging me about coming to church, then you called and asked me to come, too.” Christie gave Jemma a playful arch of her eyebrow.

  “I’m innocent.” She lifted her hands and made a little cross over her heart with her index finger.

  Thinking of her parents, Christie swivelled and looked over her shoulder to see where they were. They always sat in the same church pew. She spotted them and sent them a smile, but before she turned back, her lungs froze as she looked into Patrick’s eyes. Patrick in church? He never attended worship.

  She yanked her head around and riveted her attention to the altar, but a strong desire rose to look back again. She’d noticed Sean nestled beside Patrick and his father. Years had passed since she’d talked with Mr. Hanuman.

  The child’s presence poked at her awareness. Patrick’s child with another woman. Could she ever forget that? Could she ever forgive that? Still the absurd paradox, the child’s guiltless face tugged at her heart. Children—so innocent and so hopeful. If only those attributes lasted. But life soon marched in to destroy innocence and smother hope.

  What if things had been different?

  The thought shifted to questions. What was Patrick doing in church? He’d been a staunch nonattender. If he believed, he’d never let on, and Christie always assumed it wasn’t as important to him as it was to her.

  Seeing Patrick’s father in church, too, made her wonder. He’d never been a churchgoer either. Perhaps, as her mother had said, old age and fear of dying had brought Joe Hanuman to seek the Lord. He had a heart condition Patrick had said. Christie felt a deep shame and lifted her eyes to the cross. Who was she to question why he was in church or judge anyone’s heart? She didn’t even know her own.

  Music for the first hymn sounded. She rose with the congregation, singing the familiar tune. After the pastor’s greeting and prayer, the nursery-school children paraded forward—some coaxed and some advancing with the confidence of Pavarotti. They lined up like stair steps and sang the familiar song with sweet, angelic voices. Christie’s heart lifted with the music then fell with the knowledge she would never hear her own child sing the simple, faith-filled song.

  When the children returned to their seats amidst the grins of proud parents and friends, the pastor spoke and lessons were read while Christie’s mind drifted, but within the murmur of the scripture reading, words struck her awake. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.

  Christie looked up to see where the words had come from. Foolish. She eyed the lay reader. For a moment, she thought the words she’d heard had come directly from God. The message had jolted her like a lightning bolt. Forgiveness? She wanted to forgive Patrick with every beat of her heart, but want and could were two separate concepts. No question, she wanted the Lord’s forgiveness, but if she had to forgive Patrick first, she might never receive God’s mercy.

  Christie hoped the Lord could see her situation was different. Patrick had walked out on her, not the other way around. He was the one who needed to ask for forgiveness.

  The rest of the service was lost in her rumination until the organ’s diapason roused her to stand and join in the final hymn.

  As the congregation filed down the aisle, Christie lifted Ellie in her arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You were wonderful,” she said to the child who nodded her head in full agreement.

  Claire swooped in to give Christie a hug. Her bracelets jangled and the ruffled crinkle-crepe top—right out of the seventies—seemed too youthful for her years, but that was Claire. Her heart was as spirited as her wardrobe.

  When Claire released her, Jemma touched Christie’s arm. “Before I lose you, how about going with me to the Chamber of Commerce Fourth of July family picnic? I realize you don’t usually go, but I assume Loving Care will be closed that day.”

  Without a family, Christie didn’t often attend. “We’re closed, but what about Philip? And don’t you usually have an employee party that day?”

  “Usually, but Philip will be out of town this year. I want to go to the Chamber event, but I’d rather have company.”

  Christie regarded Jemma’s pleading look and figured she would enjoy getting out with her good friend alone for a change. “Sure. Next Friday?”

  “Right. You’ll go?”

  “Sounds fine,” she said, feeling another hand nudge her shoulder. She turned to see her mother and father behind her. Her mother’s face glowed with delight.

  “Mark this date on your calendar,” Christie said, pecking each parent’s cheek. “I’m here like you asked.

  “We noticed,” Emma said.

  “I promised Jemma I’d come to hear Ellie sing.”

  Emma’s smile faded. “Doesn’t matter what reason.”

  Christie kicked herself. “And my mom asked me to come, too.” She sent her mother a reassuring smile, wishing she’d be more thoughtful with her comments.

  “We’re glad you’re here,” her father said.

  “Thanks, Daddy. Me, too.”

  As they headed off, Patrick gave her an amiable wave and she stood still, not wanting to deal with any more issues today. She hadn’t spoken to his father since she and Patrick had separated so long ago, but today she felt a pang for the man. His illness had taken a deep toll on his appearance. His pale, drawn face barely resembled the rudd
y man from her past. Avoiding him made no sense. It was like her not attending worship: it made her feel sorrowful and guilty.

  Guilty? Why would she feel guilty? The divorce had been Patrick’s desire, not hers.

  As she left her thoughts, Patrick appeared beside her. Christie looked across the room and saw Sean with his grandfather.

  “Hello, Patrick.”

  “I wondered if I’d see you here,” he said.

  His statement unsettled her. “I don’t attend as much as I used to. Haven’t for a while.” Eight years, she added to her thoughts.

  “You never missed church. I remember that,” he said.

  “Like everything else, that was long ago.”

  “Dad’s here.” He tilted his head in his father’s direction.

  “I noticed.”

  Silence surrounded them, and Christie knew she had to say more.

  “He doesn’t look like himself. I’m sorry.”

  Patrick shrugged. “Time and age. It comes to us all.”

  The comment hit her like a hammer. One day a wrinkled body and old age would be hers.

  “Unless we die before our time,” he added.

  His unsettling comment threw her off-kilter. His wife had died before her time. It could happen to anyone. Any time. A knot caught in her throat, and she could only nod.

  He stood beside her a moment, a look of apprehension on his face as if he had something more to say and was afraid to say it.

  Christie didn’t make things easier. If she acted on her heart, she would touch his face and smooth away the stress, but she acted with her head. She did nothing.

  He shifted his feet and dug his hands into his pockets. “Dad’s waiting for me.” He tilted his head toward his father.

  She nodded and turned away before he saw the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  Patrick rose from the picnic bench. “How about a drink, Dad. A soda or some coffee?”

  “Decaf if they have it,” Joe said, turning back to speak with an old Chamber of Commerce crony.

  “Keep an eye on Sean.”

  His father nodded, and Patrick turned away and headed for the refreshments. As he neared the area, he faltered. Christie stood across an expanse of grass beside Jemma Somerville. He hadn’t expected Christie at the Chamber of Commerce picnic, but why not? She owned a local business.