Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  He pulled a pen from the holder on his desk and a slip of paper from a nearby cabinet and shoved them her way. “Read and sign.”

  Her mouth went dry, all her upcoming bills swirling through her brain. Her vision narrowed on the blocked letters in front of her.

  TERMINATION OF EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT

  She skimmed the terms and conditions laid out before her.

  . . . the employment relationship is to be terminated. Any severance payment provided for in this Agreement will be made after the Agreement has been signed by all parties.

  REASON FOR TERMINATION.

  . . . consistent failure to meet job requirements . . .

  . . . effective immediately . . .

  Silence dominated the office. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Should she fight for her job? Convince Mr. Holloway she’d do better? Or take her severance pay and run? If only she had another job to run to.

  Lord, please tell me You’ve got this one covered.

  Her hand trembled as she scrawled her signature on the bottom line, thus sealing her fate. She set the pen down and pressed sweaty palms against her thighs.

  This also meant no more late-night study sessions cramming to keep up with the latest research. No more nerve-wracking doctors’ meetings. No more hostile phone calls from Mr. Holloway. No more Mr. Holloway period. If not for her money concerns, she might consider this an early Christmas gift.

  She stood and looked her boss in the eye.

  “It’s been . . . interesting.” She extended her hand.

  Face stoic, Mr. Holloway returned the sentiment. “Well, then. Thank you for coming in. Have a great day.”

  “I will.”

  According to the cliché, closed doors meant new ones opened. She hoped that was true.

  Chris paced his kitchen, looking from the clock to his phone, then back to the clock. The oft-recited phrase, “What would Jesus do?,” echoed in his mind. If only his conscience had an off switch. Besides, inviting his sister to join him at Shady Lane for Thanksgiving went against every ounce of reason he possessed. Her snippy comments, pursed lips, and deep-set scowl would only aggravate their mother.

  But they were family, whether he liked it or not. With a clenched jaw, he grabbed the handheld receiver and punched in Matilda’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Matilda. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Nothing like a lively conversation to ease the tension. “Are you heading to Shady Lane today?”

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  She took an insanely long time to answer. “Two, why?”

  “I’ll join you. See you there.” He hung up before Matilda could object or lay any “ground rules.”

  For the next hour, he ambled through the house clearing away dirty dishes, unpacking a few boxes, and whittling away at a mountainous pile of laundry. By 1:30, his agitation had subdued to a manageable level.

  Gathering his things, he paused to scratch Rusty behind the ears. “I’ll catch you in a few hours, old boy.”

  Rusty’s tail twitched.

  Chris grabbed his car keys from the counter, his gaze landing on a stack of bills lying beside his recent bank statement. A long list of withdrawals and debits filled the page, depleting his savings. If, by some miraculous intervention, his sister conceded to his wishes and moved their mother to Lily of the Valley, and he didn’t have the funds to pay for it . . . He shook his head. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  Somehow the old saying “God is never late but rarely early” failed to bring comfort, especially with the impeding court date.

  Maybe if he’d spent more time praying before purchasing the coffee shop . . .

  Hand on the doorknob, he swallowed against a surge of uneasiness as a disturbing question surfaced. What would he do if forced to choose between the café and a loving, peaceful environment for his mother? Neither choice settled well and both required sacrifice. One meant sacrificing time with his mother and abandoning his mission. The other meant robbing her of a chance of peace.

  Of course, if Shady Lane terminated Heather, their harsh, uncaring, nursing assistant, they’d terminate his problem as well.

  Taking the back roads through the city, he arrived at the nursing home twenty minutes later. The wind swept cotton-ball clouds across the sky, revealing patches of blue. Near the door, he passed a woman with three young children, gathered beneath the awning.

  The youngest, a boy with rosy cheeks and pale-blue eyes frowned and stomped his foot. “But I don’t want to go.” Chubby fists clenched at his sides.

  Hands on the boy’s arms, the mother knelt in front of him. “I know this is hard for you, but Gramma needs us. And I need you to be a big boy.”

  She met Chris’s gaze when he passed. He dipped his head and offered a slight smile. Once inside, he paused a few feet from the nurse’s station and glanced about the small formal sitting area. Wilber, a baldheaded man with a crooked nose, snored in a nearby wheelchair. Darla, a scowling woman with short, silvery hair, manned a bench on the far wall, arms crossed.

  As he continued down the hall toward his mother’s room, the tension alleviated during the drive bubbled to the surface.

  With each step, he repeated his stay-out-of-the-ring mantra. Matilda could only get under his skin if he let her. Besides, now wasn’t the time to discuss legal matters. Certainly she realized that.

  He reached his mother’s room. Soft music drifted from beneath the door, mixed with his sister’s almost maternal voice. Leaning closer, he strained to catch her words. He couldn’t make them out. Breathing deep, he eased the door open and stood, frozen.

  Before him sat his mother, nestled in her recliner, feet propped, while matilda Massaged lotion into her hands and forearms. She hummed softly. His mother’s head sagged to one side, propped by a pillow, her eyes closed.

  Matilda glanced up and held Chris’s gaze. He blinked, swallowing hard. He crossed the threshold and eased the door closed behind him. Tiptoeing across the charcoal carpet, he sat in a folding chair and watched his sister.

  A soft melody poured from Matilda. The same song his mother used to sing to them when they were young. He closed his eyes and drifted back to a time when the four of them snuggled beneath thick blankets on the couch.

  Chapter 22

  insley pulled behind a teal Volvo and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Her stomach did a 360, her adrenal glands on full alert in anticipation of the hidden battle she soon might face. Barbs hurled beneath plastic smiles as her parents fought for answers to the winning question: Which parent did she love most? And manning the outer ring came Aunt Shelby and Great-Aunt Fiona with their forced reconciliation and “can’t we all just get along” mentality. News flash: No, they couldn’t, and her parents had court papers to prove it. At least Thanksgiving only came once a year . . . followed by Christmas, Easter, and the Fourth of July. Ugh! Almost made Ainsley want to join a commune.

  A tap on her window made her jump. She turned, her forced smile already cemented in place. Brooks, a lanky sixth-grader, and Chaz, his seventh-grade mirror image in nearly every way, huddled near her door. Their eyes shone bright beneath matching skater haircuts.

  They moved aside to let her out then stiffened beneath her embrace. “My two favorite second cousins.” She ruffled their hair and stepped back to scan their fluorescent skinny jeans topped with graphic tees. “Aren’t you guys freezing? Where are your jackets?”

  “Uh-uh. It’s like forty-some degrees, you know.”

  “Yeah, regular beach weather.” She rounded her car and pulled bags of chips and sodas from her trunk. The boys scurried to her side. “So, you gonna hop in the lake after dinner?” She handed them each a bag then retrieved the remaining two.

  Chaz and Brooks exchanged looks, an ear-to-ear grin widening their faces.

  “That’d be sick!” Brooks raised his hand, and Chaz slammed him with a high five. “Wanna? Polar diving, bro.”r />
  “Polar diving.” Chaz wrinkled his brow and nodded his head slowly in a John Travolta meets Justin Bieber simulation.

  A door slammed and they peered down the car-lined street. Ainsley’s father escorted a bleached-blonde woman in a crisp, knee-length skirt.

  Ainsley spun back around and offered the boys a shaky smile. “Mind if I join you?”

  Their mouths slackened. Chaz shifted. “I . . .” He looked at Brooks whose face wrinkled.

  Ainsley giggled and gave them a sideways squeeze. “Just kidding.” A woman can only handle so much torture in one day, although which scenario—diving into icy water or sitting in an equally iced living room—proved most torturous remained to be seen. “But how about you wait until after I leave to turn hypothermic? I’d hate to have your parents ban me from these fun family get-togethers.” On second thought . . . Ainsley smiled.

  The boys’ faces relaxed into smiles once again and Brooks flung his chin-length bangs out of his eyes. “OK. See ya.’” And off they went, bouncing and bobbing like a pair of hyperalert squirrels scampering through a golf course.

  “Hey there.”

  Ainsley tensed at her father’s used car salesman’s voice. Ready or not, it’s diplomat time. Maybe she’d find a use for all that pharmaceutical rep training after all.

  “Ainsley, dear, you look beautiful as ever.” He wrapped her in a hug, smooshing her face into his heavily cologned chest. “You remember Iona?”

  Ainsley stifled a frown as Barbie extended a ring-filled hand, dime-sized costume jewels glittering in the sun. Did Save-Mart have a sale? “No, Dad, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Not surprising, considering she and her father rarely spoke. “Good to meet you, Iona.”

  “So you’re the brilliant pharmaceutical rep your father always talks about?”

  “Not anymore. I was fired.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Her dad’s eyebrows shot up for about half a second before smoothing back to his easy smile. “So, where’s Richard?”

  “Don’t know. We broke up.” She regripped her grocery bag, her sweaty palms working against her. “Guess we better get in before Aunt Shelby sends a search party.”

  She turned around. With long strides, she crossed the street and hurried up the walk, leaving a minimum of three feet between her and the glitter and glam duo. Unfortunately, they caught up with her at the front door.

  She suppressed a groan when Iona cooed over everything from the rocks lining the walkway to the type of grass in the yard. Yes, they were lovely. Gray, red, and, yeah, black river rocks. Just wait until she saw the tan carpet and linoleum flooring inside.

  Lord, I really need some Spirit saturation here, before I pop a vein. Love, joy, peace. Love, joy, peace. Although she’d settle for peace.

  The door creaked open and Ainsley’s mother met them with a much-too-wide smile and slightly pinkish hair. Apparently, she went the do-it-yourself route again.

  “Chuck, how nice to see you.” She examined Iona, face bunched in what almost resembled a smile, her right cheek twitching. She turned to Ainsley. “You didn’t tell me you brought a friend. Is this one of the young ladies you mentor, dear?”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes and pushed past her. “I’ll leave you all to get acquainted.” She maneuvered down the hall, past the crowded living room, and into a tiny kitchen crammed elbow to elbow with women.

  Pamela, her second cousin twice removed, met her at the island dressed in a cream sweater embossed with a squash-filled cornucopia. “What have we here?”

  Ainsley set her bag on the counter and the two of them began unloading and lining the contents across the counter. “Snacky-type stuff. To help with that weight loss goal of yours.” Ainsley shot her a wink and held up a bag of deep-fried veggie sticks.

  “That’ll go great with my high-calorie, saturated, chemical-infused dip.”

  “Perfect.”

  Perhaps if Ainsley stayed in the kitchen with Pamela and the veggie sticks, she could avoid the high school drama circulating at the other end of the house.

  Unfortunately, her mom and Iona appeared a moment later, faces donned with identical beauty pageant smiles, shattering Ainsley’s hopes of temporary reprieve. Her dad and her mom’s slug, Stephen, followed a moment later, beer bottles in hand and chests puffed out so far you’d think they inhaled helium.

  Love, joy, peace. Love, joy, peace.

  Why did she allow her parents to get her so worked up? Did it really matter how they acted, what they thought, or how many mannequins they draped on their arms?

  “So, Stephen, where do you work?” Ainsley’s dad dipped a celery stalk into a container of ranch then popped it in his mouth.

  “I fix trains.” He raised his arms slightly in a Popeye stance and lifted his chin, his ear-to-ear comb-over shifting like a flap of fabric.

  Ainsley’s dad countered with a few hidden barbs, but Ainsley ignored them and dashed out of the room before her parents found a way to drag her into the conversation.

  In the living room, Aunt Shelby fluttered around the room, food tray in hand, while the men huddled around the television set. Ainsley found an empty seat next to her cousin Shannon and her pudgy-faced, blue-eyed baby girl. Shannon’s toddler, Davey, lay on the carpet a few feet away, his wispy blond hair charged with static electricity. Skye, his father, a long-haired man with soft blue eyes, lay across from him, propped on his elbows.

  “Ainsley, how are you?” Shannon shifted her daughter to her other knee, her leg bouncing.

  “I’m good. And you look excellent. Don’t tell me this precious bundle of joy is letting you sleep already.” She reached out a finger and the baby latched onto it, sparking a sudden longing deep within her heart. She blinked, turning her thoughts off pattering of feet that would never fill her home and onto her cousin.

  “Thanks to Skye.” Shannon glanced at her husband, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “He takes the kids from seven on, and I hit the pillows. About ten, he wakes me up for Ayana’s nightly feeding. I put her to bed shortly after, and sleep for another three to four hours.”

  “Wow, what a saint.”

  “Absolutely. I keep telling him God’s got a whole slew of rewards waiting for him when he gets to heaven.”

  “I knew dirty-diaper patrol earned me something.” Skye winked then poked Davey in the ribs, evoking a squeal.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Shannon held the baby out to Ainsley.

  She wrapped her arms around the infant’s soft back and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of baby oil. The baby reached up and brushed her chin with chubby, featherlight fingers.

  “So what about you and Richard? You two started talking family yet?”

  “We broke up.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  Ainsley shrugged and cradled the baby to her chest. “It was for the best. Richard’s a great guy, just not for me.”

  Shannon nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. Before I met Skye, I thought for sure I’d never get married—had the whole all-guys-are-jerks mentality going on. Then we met, and I knew God brought us together, like Skye dropped straight from heaven, a perfect gift designed just for me.”

  “Thanks to all that love potion I fed you during our first date.” Skye chuckled then turned his attention back to his son.

  Ainsley laid the infant in the crook of her arm. The song she and Shannon used to sing as they sat on her parents’ fence railing on hot summer nights mocked her. First comes love, second comes marriage, then comes a baby . . .

  For some, the rare fairy-tale few like Shannon and Skye. Apparently Ainsley had failed the Cinderella Meets Prince Charming training session.

  Chapter 23

  ichard sat in the Crestline Country Club parking lot and scanned the adjacent cars. Mr. and Mrs. Doriani’s green Mercedes parked near a row of golf carts, two cars down from the Berlows’ gold Cadillac Seville. Across the lot sat the Robinsons’ nav
y Jaguar, tucked beneath the shade of the driving range shack.

  Richard studied his reflection in the mirror and smoothed his hair. And so the performance began. Lifting his chin, he stepped out of the car and crossed the asphalt in long, deliberate steps. A party of five exited the clubhouse, talking among themselves. He nodded and moved aside. Through the window, he watched his mother sip a glass of champagne, her torso angled toward the putting green. She wore a red blazer, her silver hair swept up. His father sat beside her wearing his usual scowl.

  Richard opened the door, and a blast of heat rushed over him, stinging his eyes. Blinking and peeling off his jacket, he approached the hostess stand.

  The hostess smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hollis. Your mother and father are already here. Follow me.”

  They wove around linen-covered tables, the aromatic scent of sautéed mushrooms and roasted garlic drifting through the air. When they reached his parent’s table, his mother stood to meet him.

  “Richard, so glad you could make it.” She kissed his cheek then glanced around. “Where’s Ainsley?”

  He pressed the soles of his feet into the maroon carpet to prevent fidgeting. “I’m afraid she couldn’t make it.” He turned to the others seated around the table, shaking each hand in turn before settling into one of two open seats. Grabbing the menu in front of him, his mind worked for a plausible excuse to explain Ainsley’s absence. Luckily, the waitress appeared, alleviating the problem.

  “What can I get you to drink, Mr. Hollis?”

  “I’ll take a bourbon sour.” He turned to Mr. Burlow before anyone could ask further questions. “I’m pleased to have a chance to talk with you. I’ve heard excellent things about your company. Is it true you plan to merge with Toliech Inc.?”

  The man nodded and launched into an extensive dissertation on textiles while Richard feigned interest. Unfortunately, the reprieve was short-lived. By the time the waitress brought Richard’s drink, the topic returned to him and Ainsley.