A Beautiful Mess

by Brenda S Anderson

  “Exactly.” She mussed the child’s already-unruly hair. “But, what would you say to doing some painting in your art studio?”

  “Wike Daddy?”

  Erin forced a smile. “Just like Daddy.”

  “You paint, too?” Clara tugged the bib over her head, threw it onto the table, then climbed down the stool. “Go now!” She toddled toward the side door.

  “Hold on, little one. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Clara’s eyes and mouth pinched together as she turned around, then they brightened. “Oopsie!” She hurried back to the table, grabbed her plate, and put it in the dishwasher Erin had opened for her. Good thing the plate was empty, or a mess would have covered the floor, too. Would have been worth it for the teaching moment.

  “Good girl.” Erin clapped her hands. “Now find your umbrella, and we’ll go paint some pictures.

  “Okay!” Everything Clara said ended with an exclamation point, it seemed. The child ran to the closet by the front door and took her little umbrella from a vase on the floor. She popped it open by herself. “I ready.”

  Erin chose an adult-sized umbrella. “Then let’s go.”

  Moments later they were skipping across the crumbling, puddle-covered sidewalk toward the garage, though Clara’s umbrella became more of a rain catcher than a tool that kept out the rain. Well, she did say she liked the rain.

  After opening up the car entrance so they could hear and see the rain, Erin set up a child-sized easel for Clara, a gift from the Caldwells. She uncurled an old poster of Corey’s on a table for herself. She flipped it over to paint the all-white side and set stones on the edges to keep it flat. She wasn’t an artist by any means, but maybe Clara would focus longer if Erin also painted. After putting on an apron, she sat and dipped a brush into blue paint.

  “I help you?”

  Okay, that focus lasted a short minute.

  “Sure, why not?” Erin pushed back her chair and Clara climbed onto her lap.

  And knocked over the jar of blue paint that puddled over the poster.

  “Uh-oh!” Clara pressed both hands to her cheeks, and then those hands were playing in the spill. Her fingers drew squiggles across the paper.

  Erin laughed. She couldn’t help herself. This child could find joy in anything.

  “Red, too?” Clara pointed at the red tube of paint.

  “Of course, we need red.” Erin poured a red streak across the poster.

  Clara blew on the streak, creating a rather fun effect, so Erin joined in the blowing.

  “Lellow now.”

  Erin squeezed dots of yellow on random parts of the poster, eager to see what Clara would come up with.

  But the child climbed off Erin’s lap.

  “Done already?” Couldn’t be. They still had far too many hours in the day for Erin to keep her occupied.

  Clara hurried back to her easel.

  Oh, she wants to work on her own. No problem. Erin turned back to the poster and chose a wide brush to whoosh the yellow across the paper.

  “Auntie Erin, up please.”

  A paint-covered hand grabbed Erin’s arm. The other hand held a sponge. Interesting.

  Erin lifted Clara onto her lap again.

  The child pressed the sponge into the yellow paint then transferred it across the paper. Even though there was no pattern or obvious picture created, Clara’s artwork really was beautiful. It made Erin feel . . . She closed her eyes and examined that feeling.

  Joy.

  Yes, it made her feel joyful and made her want to sing. So, she did. No surprise, Clara sang along, and when she didn’t know the words, she made up her own.

  The two continued painting, both the poster and the sheet on the easel until Erin’s stomach growled. What time was it, anyway? Sitting once again with Clara on her lap, she glanced over her shoulder at the old plastic clock on the wall. They’d been out there for three hours already? Clara would certainly take a good nap after they cleaned up.

  “Hey Lolli.” She kissed Clara’s cheek. “I think our paintings are done. We should sign them, don’t you think?”

  “Wike Daddy?”

  “Yep. Like your daddy.”

  Instead of reaching for a paintbrush, Clara splayed her chubby fingers over a glob of paint that had landed on the table, then pressed that hand to the painting.

  Erin looked for an adult-sized glob to do the same. Finding none, she poured a puddle onto the table and then pressed the side of her hand into it and then onto the painting.

  Nice.

  “I wike it!” Clara clapped.

  “I do too, Lolli. It’s beautiful. They’re both beautiful. I think we need to get some frames and hang them in my living room. What do you think?”

  “Uh-huh. Then I be just like Daddy!”

  Erin kissed the cherub’s cheek. The repeated references to Corey weren’t as shocking as they had been earlier in the day. Actually, they were even giving Erin a newfound appreciation for her ex. Yes, he’d screwed up badly with her and Mik, but it was obvious he’d loved his daughter. She certainly adored him. If they could keep his spirit alive through painting, then Erin was all for it.

  “Time to clean up.” She set Clara on the ground and together they gathered up the brushes and capped the paints. They’d leave the artwork out here for now until it dried. With the rain still coming down, drying might take a while.

  Erin removed her apron and took Clara’s to hang them up, and heard a squeal. She spun around and laughed. The child was doing circles on the driveway, in the rain, her mouth open to the skies, catching raindrops.

  Erin opened her umbrella and started to raise it over her head, but stopped.

  Loosen up, Erin. Go have fun.

  She stared at the umbrella and at the torrents of rain and at Clara dancing as if she hadn’t recently lost both parents. If she could dance in the rain, so could Erin. She tossed aside the umbrella and ran outside. She took both of Clara’s hands and they danced in a circle.

  Clara giggled, and Erin laughed so hard she was certain tears came from her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Mik’s yell came from the house, sounding way too motherly. She stood beneath the entryway, the door wide open.

  “Dancing.” Clara did a jig in a puddle, splashing mud up to her waist.

  “I’ve got to catch this.” Mik whipped out her phone and aimed it toward Erin and Clara.

  Erin just stuck out her tongue and laughed some more.

  “You’re crazy!”

  Probably. “Join us.” Erin yelled back and motioned with one arm as the other wiped away the hair that had plastered itself to her face.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Completely.” Erin stomped her foot into a puddle while observing her daughter.

  Mik stood there, unmoving.

  Erin knew that look. Her daughter was processing.

  Then Mik shook her head and hopped onto the steps with bare feet. She ran across the small patch of yard to the driveway, her smile growing as she neared. And then the three of them clasped hands and made a circle in the rain.

  Laughing. Dancing. Splashing.

  This was joy.

  A car stopped at the end of the driveaway, and the three halted their dance.

  Jon.

  Oh boy, now he was going to agree with the Caldwells that she was unbalanced. But if laughing and dancing in the rain meant she was unstable, then she’d gladly own the label.

  His passenger window rolled down, and he yelled through it. “What are you doing?”

  “Having fun.” Mik called back.

  He shook his head. “You’re all nuts.”

  “Yes, we are.” Erin bowed. “Join us?”

  “No. Way.” He rolled the window back up.

  Party pooper. She stuck out her tongue at him, and her stomach growled again. Well, maybe it was time to end the party. They’d all have a bite to eat and then take a nap. She grabbed Clara’s hands and swung her around, eventually landing
on Erin’s sopping wet hip.

  She hugged the child and a whispered, “I love you, Clara,” flew from her lips.

  Clara circled her arms around Erin’s neck. “I wuv you, too, Auntie.”

  Erin blinked. Wait. What? She shook her head, recalling the words that had somehow escaped her mouth. I love you, Clara.

  She examined her thoughts—her feelings—and realized it was true. Somehow, someway this cherub of a child had broken through Erin’s heart blockade. Yes, she did love Clara.

  But then she focused on Jon and his grim face as he sat in the car. Had he already begun the process of changing over custody?

  That couldn’t happen.

  Keeping Clara in her arms, she ran around to the driver’s side of Jon’s car. He rolled down the window and winced as rain sliced toward him.

  She held Clara tightly and leaned down. “I need you to stop the guardian proceedings. Clara needs to stay with us.”

  The grim look on Jon’s face told her that wasn’t going to be an easy task.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jon still couldn’t believe the words he’d heard come from Erin’s mouth. After all this time of trying to convince her Clara belonged with her, a painting party and a rainstorm had done the best persuading. He still marveled at the sight he’d driven up to, with Erin and the girls dancing in the rain like they didn’t have a care.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  But now he had to deliver bad news. Even worse now that Erin had changed her mind. “Have you got a few minutes?” he asked through the downpour.

  She must have sensed the gravity of his arrival, as the joy slid from her face and she nodded, making him feel like a heel for adding a storm cloud to her declaration.

  “I’ll put on some hot cocoa.” Clinging to Clara, she strode up to the house.

  He followed her to the house, removed his wet shoes and jacket, and joined her in the kitchen.

  “More news from the Caldwells?” Emotion was absent from her voice as she took a couple of coffee cups out of the cupboard.

  “Can we talk somewhere private?” He didn’t want either Mik or Clara to hear this.

  “Sure, how about we got outside? A little rain never hurt anyone.”

  He just shook his head. Responding to her sarcasm would only fuel her on.

  “Or, we can go to my private office.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right, it’s now a nursery.”

  Okay, his request was impractical. “Your bedroom?”

  She said nothing as he filled a cup with milk and placed it in the microwave. She turned and reclined against the cupboard, her arms crossed in front as she looked him in the eye. Direct eye contact didn’t happen much with her, so he knew she had wisdom to impart, and not sarcasm.

  “I don’t bring men into my bedroom and close the door. No exceptions. I don’t want Mik to see me do something I tell her she’s not allowed to do. She’s already witnessed enough ambiguity from her parents, I will not add to it.”

  Of course, she made perfect sense, and he wouldn’t ask her to bend the rules. He squeezed the tightening muscles in his neck. “Yeah, I get that.” He splayed his hands. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  She looked at the linoleum floor Corey had promised to replace for her long ago. “I’m sorry I’m being a brat. I appreciate you thinking about the girls.” She peeked around the corner into the living room where Clara and Mik sat on the floor coloring on blank pages. “How about this: I treat everyone to pizza, give Clara a bath, put her to bed, and then we talk? Mik’ll spend the evening in her room.”

  “Good plan, as long as I get the pizza.”

  “Deal.” She actually stuck out her hand to shake on it, like they used to in their teens. It seemed to impersonal, too businesslike for what he wanted from their relationship, but he still took her hand. And held it a little longer than she probably wanted, but he didn’t care. He needed her to realize that working with her was far more than a business deal.

  Her hand pulled from his too quickly.

  And not so quickly, they had their pizza. Clara took her bath and went to bed without fussing. She already seemed acclimated to her new home. Mik hid in her bedroom, likely with earbuds blocking any outside noise. That was as private as they were going to get.

  Erin aimed for the recliner, her way of telling him she needed space.

  But he gestured toward the couch. “Please?”

  She breathed in and her shoulders heaved with her breath. “Fine.” She sat against one end and held a pillow close to her chest.

  Okay, he could take the hint, so he sat against the other end. For now.

  “What’s the bad news?”

  No pussyfooting around, of course.

  He dug his phone from his pocket and brought up an informal document. The Caldwells hadn’t officially filed for custody yet, which suggested they were bluffing, but that wasn’t a certainty. It also could be that they wanted to avoid a battle as much as Erin did. Custody battles never turned out well for anyone, especially for the child who is yanked between two or more parties.

  “Here’s what the Caldwells are basing their suit on: your meltdown the other night.”

  “No surprise.”

  True.

  “Your panic attack when they turned the garage into an art studio.”

  She blew out a puff of breath. “I’d forgotten about that. It compounds things, doesn’t it.”

  “It doesn’t help. And then there’s your mom’s mental illness.”

  “Does not mean it’s genetic. And besides, if I did have mental illness, that does not mean I couldn’t raise a child.”

  “Yes, I know that. It’s just one more thing they’re using to pile on.”

  She nodded, her jaw tightening. “What else?”

  “Your attempted suicide.”

  “Which Debbie, my counselor at the time, will verify that it wasn’t an attempted suicide.”

  That was one point for them. Maybe. He added the one item he’d mentioned the other night. “Being a single parent doesn’t help either.”

  “Marrying you isn’t a solution. I won’t do that to us.”

  He sighed, wanting to reach across the sofa and take her hand, but he sensed she’d flinch at the touch and would only create more distance between the two of them.

  She tightened her grip on the pillow, communicating more to him that what she realized. “Besides marriage, what solutions do you have?”

  “We’re researching that.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Yeah. Hmm.”

  “Do they have a chance? Do you think they’ll win?”

  “I’m good, Erin. We’ll give them a tough fight.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  He knew that all too well. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

  After a few additional minutes of small talk, Jon excused himself. It was time to go home and do some more reading. Corey had to leave some clues as to what his in-laws would be up to. Without that, Jon feared the Caldwells’ money would overpower him. He was good, but even in the legal system, money spoke volumes.

  * * *

  Erin slowly opened the door to Clara’s nursery and peeked in. The child slept soundly, comfortably, and already seemed adjusted to her new life. Still, Erin knew to be watchful for those times when Clara’s losses hit her. Erin hoped she was up for the challenge. Even if she wasn’t, God was.

  She closed the door, went to her room, and stared at the queen-sized bed in which she’d become accustomed to sleeping by herself, and loneliness swept over her. Just because she was an introvert who didn’t intuitively understand social cues didn’t mean that she wanted to spend life as a single parent. Jon had promised to fill in the gap she didn’t know was there.

  Should she let him?

  Grrr. She plopped down on her bed, clenching her jaw, holding in a scream. One minute she was eager to relinquish rights to Clara, the next she was needing to fight to
keep her. One minute she thought Jon was nuts for proposing, the next she wished she’d said yes.

  She took out her prayer journal and wrote only a handful of lines:

  __________

  Thank you, Lord, for helping me see that I do love Clara. Please guide Jon to information that will allow me to keep her.

  And please grant me wisdom for what I should do about Jon, and give me clarity regarding my feelings for him.

  __________

  Jon hung up the phone after speaking with the private investigator. So far Chuck Blue had learned nothing, but he’d just begun his research. He promised to keep at it. Jon had to face the reality that maybe the Caldwells didn’t have an evil plan. Maybe they did have Clara’s best interests in mind.

  His gut told him that wasn’t true, but his gut wasn’t always right. A little research would hopefully make the truth clear, and right now his best hope was in Corey’s journal. He settled on his deck again, journal in hand. Tonight, he wouldn’t go to sleep without finishing it. Erin and Clara deserved answers. Now.

  He skimmed through the passages, mentally highlighting key moments.

  Corey spent most of his time painting while Lilith remained at the art gallery. With her influence, the gallery even promised to showcase a few completed projects.

  The luster was fading, though, on his new relationship. Lilith had become naggy and constantly complained about being pregnant. Corey couldn’t wait to become a dad again.

  Clara arrived in January and he immediately fell in love with the towheaded cherub. Lilith couldn’t wait to return to work, which was fine with Corey. The air was too tense with her around.

  After Clara was born, Lilith couldn’t wait to get back to work, but Corey was okay with that. He loved to paint with her in her carrier. Jon had watched them in action—it was adorable. Corey would do anything for her. In caring for Clara, he finally started to see how selfish he’d been, and focused on “I.” With Clara, he was learning to put others first.

  Ironically, Erin volunteered to babysit Clara, said she wanted Mik to get to know her sister better. No surprise, Erin put aside her own comfort for Mik and Clara’s sake. Quite the contrast from her ex-husband.