“Corey would have been proud.”
That quickly stole her smile.
He raised his hands in the air. “I’m sorry.”
“And I’m too sensitive when it comes to him.”
“You have reason to be.”
“Maybe, but you’d think I’d move on by now. Isn’t forgiveness what this weekend is about?”
“You’re working on it.”
“And failing miserably.”
“Are you?” He nodded toward the hallway. “I see someone who’s doing an amazing job of providing a loving home for an orphan.”
“Not like I had much of a choice.”
“Don’t you? Did you have to turn your office into a nursery? Your living room into a playroom? Your garage into an art studio?”
She shrugged. “It keeps her happy.”
“Sounds like love to me.”
“Sounds like someone being a decent human being.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. Fine.”
He stood and came over to the couch. “May I?”
She gulped. “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”
“Do you want me to?” He squatted beside the couch, his cologne drifting her way, and his line of sight even with hers.
She sat up, breaking that line. “You have food coloring around your mouth.”
Jon quickly took the open space on the couch. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not.” She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest. “We spent Thursday together, and Friday, now today, and you’re coming over tomorrow. That’s not what I call avoiding. That’s what I call you overstaying your welcome.”
Something in his eyes shifted. If only she could read what that meant. He backed away, resting his chin on hands, and his elbows on his knees. “Is that what I’m doing?”
Now that she could read. She’d hurt him. Touch would help. It always did with Corey anyway, so she set a hand on his shoulder, and he looked her way. “I don’t know. I just know that something’s changed between us, and I don’t know what I feel about it, and that scares me.”
“That’s okay.” He sat up and created a bit more distance between them.
She almost breathed a relieved sigh, but held it in.
“Just do me one favor.”
“Okay?” She hugged the pillow tighter.
“Please don’t shut me out.”
Blank space filled her mind, leaving her with no clue how to respond. In this little bit of time, she’d already gotten used to having him around, like when they were teenagers.
But not like as teenagers. And that was what frightened her.
He sighed as he slapped his knees then stood. “Guess that’s my cue.” He aimed for the door.
Get on your feet. Go to him. Her legs reluctantly obeyed, stopping within a foot of him. Close, but not too close. “I want to see you tomorrow.” And that was the truth.
A smile edged up his lips, and he nodded. “Only because I’m bringing the dessert.”
“Well.” She grinned. “As long as you know the truth.”
“I do, Pearl.” He touched her cheek.
She flinched, then chided herself. She forced her hand forward and touched his arm. That was safe. “I want to see you, even if you forget the dessert.”
Chapter Eighteen
Erin
Easter, 2019
Jesus, I love Easter, really I do. I love that we’re celebrating your resurrection and are reminded that you buried all our sins when you died. For someone who’s lived as messed-up a life as I have, I cling to that.
So, I was really looking forward to today. The early church service, time spent with family, watching Mik, and even Clara, hunt for their Easter baskets. I should have realized today wasn’t going to turn out as planned from the very beginning. Mik woke up complaining. Clara spent half the night crying for her mommy and daddy. I probably looked like a zombie in church.
Which leads me to the next disaster. Jon wanted to accompany me and the girls to church, and I agreed, even though I wasn’t comfortable with the shift in our relationship, whatever that shift is. I figured I could introduce him to Wendy, a friend who’s never been married. She’s an attorney, too, so they’d have that in common. And I hoped that Russ, that good-looking single guy I’ve had my eye on, who just moved into town from Colorado, would take me up on an Easter lunch invitation. Maybe that would help solve my Jon problem.
Well, as always happens whenever I make plans, they went completely awry. I was able to introduce Wendy to Jon, then I slipped away to the bathroom so they could talk. When I came out, they were still talking. Russ was there, too. Holding Wendy’s hand. Even worse (or better, depending upon your perspective) is that Russ and Wendy make a completely adorable couple. Yay for them. Boo for me.
BUT the church service was amazing. You know I usually like the contemporary service, but on Easter and Christmas, I need the traditional. I love the brass and the choir and hearing the congregation sing out to familiar Easter hymns. It’s one of the rare times I feel something. When singing those hymns, the Holy Spirit digs my feelings out from wherever they’re hiding, and I sense his presence. Overwhelmed is a better word, to the point of tears, which you know, I don’t let fall. I’m unable to sing or speak. But I am able to shut out Clara’s squirming, Mik’s slumping, Jon’s too-closeness, my self-pity. Sensing feelings happens so rarely, I cherish the moments.
Too soon we had to leave for home and ham and family. The first time in four Easters I haven’t spent the day alone. Sure, the Beldens had invited me along with Mik, but with Corey and his new family there too? No. Way. Yeah, I know, spending the day at home, alone and sulking wasn’t really wise either.
But today, I actually enjoyed the first part of the afternoon with this untraditional family: me, Mik, and Clara. Henry and Joyce, Belinda and Charles. And Jon. Thank you for them. And thank you for the really good food! The ham turned out eye-roll-back-in-your-head delicious, if I do say so myself. Thank you for the laughter and even the tears the others shed.
Then there was that discussion about Corey and Lilith’s will. With the prices Corey’s paintings are demanding, Mik and Clara should have no worries about their future. That gives me relief. But what I want to know is, if he had all this money coming in, why didn’t he adjust his support?
Guess wondering about the past won’t get me anywhere, will it?
So, moving forward, this probate process could take a while. Problem is, by the time it’s complete, Clara will have bonded with me, and it’ll be even tougher on her moving to a new home. Can you speed up the process at all? Maybe help me find a better home for her?
I am sorry, mostly, for how the evening ended. Though it really wasn’t my fault . . .
__________
“Your pies were good, for being restaurant-bought.” Erin accepted the wet plate from Jon and dried it with a towel.
“Much better than if I’d tried to bake them myself.” Jon scrubbed what was left of a peanut butter pie from the dessert plate.
“Very true.” Erin tucked plates into the cupboard. “Better to pretend it’s home baked than to have your actual homemade.”
“Yeah.” He said too quietly as he handed the clean plate to Erin.
A change in tone meant a change in thought, right? “Something wrong?”
He shrugged. In other words, yep, something was wrong. “I don’t really want to get into this tonight. It’s been a good day.” He let the soapy water out of the sink and dried his hands.
“It was a good day.” Why did he have to go and ruin it? She leaned her backside against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. “What’s up?”
He copied her stance, by her side so she couldn’t see his face. Not that she’d be able to read it anyway. “Do you trust the Caldwells?”
Ah, that was the issue. “I do. They’ve been nothing but kind. They’re babysitting Clara for free and have nothing but praise for how I’m dealing with her. They cam
e up with the art studio idea which has saved my house. So, yeah, I trust them.”
“Okay.” He pushed away from the counter. “Guess that’s what matters. See you sometime this week?” He aimed for the front door, his walk rigid.
Fine. If he wanted to leave like that, so be it. The guy had become a drama king. She followed him to lock the door behind him.
He reached the door, gripped the handle, and then spun back around, almost bumping into her.
“Whoa.” She stepped back.
He splayed his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, Erin.”
Oh, boy, she’d heard those words before. “You can’t hurt me any more than I’ve already been.” She crossed her arms and glared at Jon. She had no intention of begging him to stay like she had with Corey. If Jon wanted to walk out of her life again, that was his choice. This time she’d be smart enough not to let him back in.
“I’m begging you, don’t trust them, Pearl.”
“Coming from someone who intimately knows what it’s like to be untrustworthy.”
He cursed under his breath. “I’ve apologized for that. A million times.”
“Maybe you need to do more than apologize.” She stepped closer to him, and he stumbled backward a step. “Why did you abandon me when Corey left? I needed you.” She poked him in the chest. “I needed my best friend.”
“I’m here now.”
“Uh-uh. Until you tell me the truth, I have no reason to trust that you won’t do it again. And I certainly won’t listen to you smear people who’ve shown me nothing but grace.”
“I have my reasons to doubt them.”
“Just like I have my reasons to not trust you.”
“Pearl . . . ”
“My name is Erin.’
He brushed his fingers through his hair and down his neck. Frustration. That was a body language she recognized. She’d done it enough herself.
She gestured to the couch. “Let’s sit. Have it all out right now. Easter’s about forgiveness, right? And I think that starts with truth.”
His jaw shifted. Did that mean he was thinking about her proposition?
“It’s complicated,” he finally mumbled.
“Well, I’ll tell you what’s not complicated.” She opened the front door. “You walk out to your car. Drive away. And don’t bother me again.” She swiped her hands up and down, hoping to give the signal that she was washing her hands of him. She wasn’t desperate enough for friends that she’d accept wishy-washy relationships.
“I’m sorry, Erin.” His hand lifted as if he was about to touch her face, but she stepped out of reach and nodded toward the door.
She wouldn’t waste one more word on him.
“I’m not letting you shut me out.” He stepped out onto the concrete steps. “I’ll be back.”
She slammed the door in his face.
He might come back, but he wouldn’t be welcome.
* * *
Jon drove straight from Erin’s house to the cemetery, breaking all the speed limits, thankful he wasn’t stopped. Buried secrets and lies always seemed to claw their way back to the surface and demand to be dealt with. It was way past time.
He knelt in front of the grave marker he’d purchased for his mother two years ago, where he’d finally buried the urn his father had brought from their former home, and brushed off the dirt and debris. This was his biggest lie of all. He sat beside the marker and stretched out his legs in front of himself, while staring at the moon playing hide and seek in the clouds. “I’ve kept your secret—our secret—too long, Mom. It’s hurting me. I’ve hurt Erin. I don’t know if I can undo this one, but I have to try, and that only comes with telling the truth. Whatever happens, happens.”
He laid his hand on the cold marker, and a shiver coursed up his arm and spread through his body. “Love you, Mom. I’ll be back soon. Let you know what’s going on. Hopefully have some good news for once.”
Now, how was he going to convince Erin to listen to him? Even more importantly though, was coming up with evidence that would either acquit or accuse the Caldwells. All their questions today about the will and Corey’s art had raised his suspicion antenna skyscraper high. Maybe the couple was as innocent as Erin believed, but if they weren’t, he needed to be prepared.
He looked up beyond the stars, beyond the moon. “You’ll give me a hand, right?”
All Jon heard back was, “Listen and wait.”
Definitely not the answer he wanted. He’d wait, all right, to talk with Erin, but in the meantime, he intended to sniff out what the Caldwells were up to.
__________
Erin
Easter, 2019
I don’t understand why he doesn’t want me to trust the Caldwells. They’ve given me no reason to doubt their sincerity. What’s wrong with the men I choose to have in my life? What’s wrong with me that I select them?
Good thing Wendy and Russ got together. I’m done with men and the idea of romance. Thank you, God, for making that clear to me.
Chapter Nineteen
Erin set aside her book and her gaze landed on Corey’s journal. She hadn’t picked it up for a while, knowing it only fed the one emotion she easily identified. She was already angry, though, so what would it hurt to read more from him now?
She pulled out his journal, arranged the pillows behind her back, and turned to where she’d left off, right after their romantic weekend.
And her miscarriage.
__________
July 17, 2014
I was a little bit dramatic last Sunday. Okay, a lot. Something happened with Erin, and I don’t know what I did. We’d had such an awesome weekend, and then she disappeared inside herself and hasn’t been the same all week. Even Mik asked what was wrong with Mommy. If this keeps up, I won’t be the only one who needs to see a counselor. It’s been a while since Erin went. Maybe she should start again.
Speaking of which, I haven’t gone for several weeks. The journal and art therapy have worked just fine. Why pad a doctor’s wallet when I discovered a much cheaper cure?
So yeah. I’m still going to the gallery. Really needed it after this past week with Erin. I saw Lilith there, too, but avoided her. I didn’t want to talk about my failed attempt to begin painting again.
Everything I do seems to disappoint or fail, but when I study the paintings and sculptures in this museum, take in the raw emotions the artists put into their work, I feel understood.
__________
September 11, 2014
Mik is back in school now—third grade already! And Erin’s going back to school too to finish her business management major. She’d be a great manager. Maybe that’ll get her out of the funk she was in all summer. Honestly, the two of us should trade places. She thrives on working with numbers.
I talked with Lilith again and mentioned that Erin has classes on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. She made an intriguing suggestion. The museum holds art classes for elementary aged kids on Tuesdays. I could enroll Mik and have use of another classroom for myself. Erin wouldn’t have a problem with that—I mean, she’s all about learning.
And I can finally paint again!
__________
September 12, 2014
Erin said yes to enrolling Mik and didn’t balk when I said I’d have access to a classroom to paint. I haven’t felt this excited about something in years! Starting next Tuesday, I get to paint again!
Even better, it feels like Erin and I are getting back on track. Going to school has helped her, and maybe she’s seeing how my art can help me.
__________
September 16, 2014
Mik hated, HATED! the art class. Said she was bored the entire time then complained about wanting to play softball with friends instead.
I’d pictured the two of us working in a studio together, sharing that special bond, but she wants to be an athlete.
And I hate sports. Was lousy at everything, while Zax could do no wrong. Growing up with a super athlete for an old
er brother is the pits. He even gets away with being a prodigal. Mom and Pop know he sleeps around. Yeah, Erin and I messed up, but we got married, didn’t we? And my folks just complained that we were too young.
Would it be better if I catted around like Zax?
No. I’m not bitter. Not at all.
I won’t treat Mik like that. I’ll be a good parent and take her to softball. If she wants to be a softball player, then I’ll be in the stands every game cheering her on. I want Mik to grow up strong and confident. She can be or do whatever she wants and not let anyone stop her or discourage her.
__________
September 18, 2014
Lilith made another intriguing offer, but I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. Her house is a block away from the softball fields where Mik will be playing a couple days a week. She offered use of her personal art studio.
But I should be in the stands, even though this isn’t an official league. It’s just something some parents threw together to keep their kids occupied. It’s a perfect way for Mik to dip her toes into sports, and I need to be there for her.
And the other thing . . .
Going to a woman’s home, even if it is just to use her studio, doesn’t seem right to me. I know nothing would ever happen, but the offer’s tempting. I’ve started replenishing my supplies, and my fingers are itching to grip a paintbrush again.
Soon!
If only we didn’t live in this tiny home and actually had a basement I could mess up. If only Erin would let me use the garage. Supporting the family isn’t cheap. Neither are houses.
Enough grumbling, and time to take action. I’ll ask Mom for a raise. Tell her I’ve earned it. She can convince Pop to do anything. Then I’ll give Erin a bigger home. With a basement.
Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.
__________
September 22, 2014
I got a raise. A lousy fifty cents an hour. Whoopee. Do they think I’m just some high schooler working at McDonalds? Maybe it’s time to look elsewhere, somewhere I’m appreciated and get paid accordingly. A place where I actually enjoy my work.
A Beautiful Mess Page 16
