Читать книгу Mother Of Prevention - Lori Copeland - Страница 7

I glanced at the clock on my way through the kitchen to the utility room. Laundry. Boy, did I have laundry. How could four people get this many clothes dirty?

Seven-thirty. Neil still hadn’t called. He seldom went past his self-imposed seven-o’clock deadline, but for once in my life I was too busy to worry. The washer swished away, working on a load of clothes, and I headed for the bedroom to hang up perma press, shake out wrinkles and choose what to take with me. Black pants go with everything. A black, tan and white top and my brand-new cobalt-blue blouse with a vest of flowered tapestry material. Yeah, looking good, Katie, girl.

I dug through my closet hunting for my black flats. They were well broken in and comfortable and I had to stand on my feet all day. A couple of paperbacks to read on the plane. Now, what else?

Kris stuck her head through the doorway. “Mom, are you busy?”

“Oh, well, no. What would give you that idea?”

She glanced at the half-packed bag. “I have to have cookies for the party tomorrow.”

“Isn’t your class celebrating fall early? October is still a few days away.”

“We’re having lots of autumn celebrations this year.”

“Well, then, lucky I remembered. I bought chocolate chips today. I’ll bake them after supper. Maybe you can help.”

Sunshine reigned in her smile. “No kidding! Awesome.”

She was only seven and would probably make a terrible mess, but it was too late to back out now. I watched her skip from the room and wondered why I worried about her. I liked my job. I enjoyed the out-of-state classes I taught, but I worried. Should I go off and leave my children and husband, to fly to South Carolina for this meeting?

Was I neglecting my duties as a wife and mother, putting my job first? Our lesson in Sunday school this week had dealt with the woman’s role in the home. Boy, had I felt singled out.

Was I the only woman in New Freedom Worship Center who had trouble being everything to everybody? A superhero I wasn’t. I’ve always envied that Proverbs 31 woman whose husband and children rose up and called her blessed. When mine rose up and called me, it was usually because I was behind on the laundry.

I left the bedroom and hurried to the utility room to take the clean clothes out of the washer and throw them in the dryer.

I wished I could spend time with the kids tonight, talking and listening, but I was too busy to talk, too busy to listen. It seemed as if I was always rushed, making promises I had difficulty fulfilling. My “want to” kept running ahead of my “can do,” and I had enough guilt to fill Kelli’s little red wagon.

Neil was good to support me when I had to make these trips. It wasn’t the same as me being here, and I knew that. My husband’s retirement dream was sounding better all the time.

I went back to the bedroom to throw things into my suitcase. Thank goodness I had made a list. As I crossed off each item and dropped it in my case I felt a sense of relief. I was going to make it after all. I grinned at my lack of faith. I’d never missed a plane yet. But I always worried. Neil claimed if I didn’t have anything to worry about I’d invent something. Some days I thought he might have a point.

I closed the suitcase and went back to the laundry room. Kelli was down on her hands and knees trying to pick up a bug off the kitchen floor. One of those water roaches, I think they’re called, big, black and very, very ugly. I stared at the roach, and everything I had ever heard or suspected about bugs flashed through my mind. Dirty, creepy, crawly and disease-bearing. And Kelli was going to pick the bug up in her bare hands! The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

I shrieked, “Don’t touch that nasty thing!”

Kelli whirled to face me, lost her balance and plopped down on the floor next to the bug. At least the roach had enough sense to run for cover before I could dance the La Cucaracha on its helpless body. Kelli burst into tears.

Why had I screamed like that? I caught myself before I said anything more. We didn’t need a crisis tonight, and I recognized the signs of an impending one. Her eyes were as big and as round as gumballs. She was my sensitive child, and when I shrieked, which I did all too often, she panicked. I could see it welling in her eyes. Abject horror.

I reached out and pulled her close, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Oh, Kelli, Mommy’s sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She sobbed, and the sound tore me apart inside. When would I learn to control my emotions? All my life I’d been frightened by anything that crawled, squirmed or got around without legs, which pretty well included everything in the insect and reptile families. Just the sight of something creepy and crawly was enough to cause me to hit the panic button. I hadn’t intended to scare Kelli; I just didn’t want her picking up the bug.

“Don’t cry, honey,” I soothed. “It’s all right. Bugs are dirty and they can make you sick.”

I marched her over to the sink, ignoring her protests. I wasn’t going to have my daughter getting germs or some unknown disease from playing with bugs. She squirmed, but I washed her hands twice with a strong disinfectant. Drat this old house—drat Neil for not calling the exterminator earlier. With any luck we’d have enough money saved next year to purchase a new home.

Kelli sobbed the entire time I scrubbed. “Bugs are nice, Mommy. They’re God’s helpless creatures.”

God’s helpless creatures? Where did she come up with this stuff? “They’re not as helpless as they look. I’m calling the exterminator the moment I get back.”

A look of pure horror filled her eyes. “The Terminator? For a little bug?”

Terminator? Arnold? As in Schwarzenegger? I stifled a laugh, wondering how I could explain the difference between an exterminator and a terminator to a five-year-old. Not that there was all that much difference between the two. My daughter was too tenderhearted to approve of either.

The phone rang and I lifted the receiver and snapped, “Hello,” thinking I’d hear Neil’s voice. Instead I heard the dial tone. I held the receiver out and stared at it. Someone hung up on me? What?

Kris called from the living room. “Doorbell.”

The kids weren’t allowed to answer the door. You heard such awful things about children disappearing that I was scared to death to let them open the door to a stranger. I hung up the receiver and hurried toward the living room. Telephone. Doorbell. Whatever.

I yelled at Kris to turn the television down from sonic to just plain loud. Why did it always sound like kickoff time at a bowl game around here? A little quiet wouldn’t hurt anything. I picked an armload of books and toys on my way to the door, dumping them in a corner of the couch before reaching for the doorknob.

I opened the door to find two men dressed in dark uniforms standing there. One was Neil’s fire chief, John Miller, and the other was one of Neil’s closest station buddies, Ben Burgess. I smiled and started to speak when I saw the grief in both men’s expressions.

My smile faded.

John spoke first. “Kate…I’m sorry.”

Sorry? I cocked my head. For what? I gripped the edge of the door. My heart must have stopped beating for a second, because my body suddenly felt wooden, heavy. His mouth moved, but I heard only scattered words.

“Accident…fire…stairway collapsed…lost two men…Neil didn’t make it out. So sorry.”

Ben had his arm around me helping me to the sofa. My legs felt rubbery, like those foam tubes children use in swimming pools. Kelli and Kris were hanging on to me, begging me not to cry. I tried to reassure them, but my voice failed me. Someone was weeping in great gasping sobs that seemed to come from some deep well of grief. That wasn’t me, was it?

“The high rise wasn’t in his district,” I cried.

“Sorry, Kate, we were called in.”

I saw my daughters’ fearful faces through a veil of tears. They clung to me and I held them close. Neil… Oh, God…Neil. The words ran through my mind like a prayer, but if God answered I didn’t hear Him.

John sat across from me, rolling the brim of his hat in his hands. “Who’s your pastor, Kate?”

I stared at him, blank. I couldn’t remember the man’s name. I had heard him preach every Sunday for four years and I couldn’t remember his name.

“Joe Crockett,” Kris said.

I shook my head in amazement, thinking how smart she was. I had raised this kid—Neil was so proud of her…. Neil.

Then Pastor Crockett and his wife, Eva, arrived. Time had no meaning for me. Pastor Joe took my hand and I saw the compassion in his eyes and I started crying harder. Eva had her arms around Kelli and Kris, leading them from the room. I knew I had to get control of myself. My daughters needed me, but I couldn’t think. People talked to me and I answered or nodded, but it was as if I was watching some other woman sitting on the sofa shredding a tissue and trying to cope.

My pastor’s words came to me out of a fog. “Neil’s in heaven now with his Lord and Savior.”

I knew he meant well, but I wanted to lash out that I didn’t want him to be in heaven. I wanted him here, with me.

Oh, God…why? Had I told him I loved him and kissed him goodbye before he left this morning? I wished I could go back and relive that hurried departure. Hold him a moment longer, say everything I should have said.

Someone had called a doctor, and a man showed up, carrying a black bag. I remember answering his questions to the best of my knowledge, though I was operating in a fog. He shook out a couple of pills, and I swallowed them. He gave the bottle to Eva and reminded me to call him in the morning; I had only enough medication to last through the night. At the moment I couldn’t recall if I had a physician. Doctors scared me.

Eventually I stopped crying. The well had run dry. I sat on the sofa in a soggy, wilted lump, blissfully calm. The sedative had started to work.

Sunshine filtered through the bedroom lace curtains. The house had filled up with people, bearing meat loaves and casseroles. A woman I had met—and should have known—went on and on at great lengths in a stage whisper, apologizing for burning a roast.

A bubble of hysteria rose up in my throat, choking me. Burning a roast? When my husband, the love of my life, the father of my two precious children, had burned to death in a high-rise fire?

Neil’s parents arrived, and the situation intensified. Madge Madison threw her arms around me and leaned into me for support. Her tears soaked through my sweatshirt. I held her, rocking back and forth the way I did with my daughters when they were hurt.

His father, Harry, short and broad shouldered with a handsome head of white hair, seemed to have shrunk. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I released my mother-in-law and went into his arms. He awkwardly patted my back, and for the first time I felt a small measure of comfort. Maybe because he reminded me of Neil. With Neil’s parents on either side of me, I walked into the kitchen where neighbors were serving coffee.

I stared at my kitchen counters, buried under a deluge of dishes. Salads and desserts and casseroles. How could three people—actually two if you counted Kris and Kelli as one—be expected to eat all of this? My ancient refrigerator was working in overdrive anyway.

Sue Carol, from my Sunday-school class, handed me a cup of coffee I didn’t want. What I wanted was to crawl off and lick my wounds and try to deal with the devastating blow, but I guess manners, once learned, go deeper than surface polish. I forced myself to speak to everyone who had taken the time to come and offer comforting words. It occurred to me that friends are one of the greatest unrecognized blessings, and you never fully appreciate them until your world crashes around you.

Eva made up the bed in the guest room for Neil’s parents. She was also the one who insisted everyone go home so I could rest. I stared helplessly around the kitchen at the surplus of food, not sure what to do with it all and too tired to care, but to my relief Sue and Eva managed to put away all of the perishables, then filled freezer containers and stashed them in the deep freeze for later.

I locked the door a little after eight o’clock, and turned out the front porch light. Neil’s parents had already gone to their room, worn out by the day’s emotions. Neil was their only son and the pride of their life. I didn’t see how any of us could go on without him.

Losing him had left a crater in my heart.

The girls followed me into my bedroom. Mine. Not ours any longer. Their eyes were red and swollen from crying. Kelli’s lower lip trembled. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Me, too,” Kris begged.

I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. I’d like that.” And I would. The thought of that empty bed had been hanging over my head like that sword of Damocles. Now I would have company.

I helped them into their nightgowns. We could skip baths tonight. I brushed Kris’s long, straight blond hair, a feature we shared, along with blue eyes, straight noses and peach complexions.

Kelli, on the other hand, was a miniature replica of Neil with her short cap of dark curls and warm brown eyes. I forced myself to concentrate on drawing the brush through Kris’s hair, willing my mind away from the way Neil and I had looked as a couple. My Nordic fairness offset by his dark hair and golden tan. His picture smiled at me from the dresser, held close by the silver frame. But Neil was gone.

I laid down the brush and kissed Kris lightly on the cheek. “Hop into bed, okay.”

The girls were docile tonight, none of the usual begging to be allowed to stay up late or demanding a story before they went to sleep. I averted my face so they couldn’t see my tears, thinking that their lives had changed irrevocably. Whatever happened now, I was determined that the three of us would stay together, and I’d make the best possible life for my daughters.

Kelli hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged. “You should have been in the kitchen when Mrs. Hutchinson dropped the bowl of fruit salad.”

“She did what?” I turned to stare at her, sure I hadn’t heard right. Ida Hutchinson never did anything wrong, to hear her tell it.

Kris’s face wrinkled in a smile she tried to suppress. “She almost said a bad word, too. And Reverend Joe was standing right there.”

I laughed.

It felt so blessedly good.

The thought of Ida cutting loose in front of our pastor struck me as being extremely funny, although I supposed part of my reaction was due to nerves.

The girls, freed by my laughter, joined me. I sat down beside them on the bed and the three of us had a good laugh. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes, I said, “Look, girls. We’ve lost Daddy, but it’s still all right to laugh.”

Kris nodded. “Daddy liked to laugh.”

“Yes, Daddy did.” Neil had had a laugh that rang out like church bells. I could be standing on the other side of the yard and hear him and know immediately Neil was enjoying life. That’s the way he was—he enjoyed life, and he’d told me a hundred times, Be happy for the day, Kate. Tomorrow has its own agenda.

I drew my girls close, breathing in their unique, little-girl scent. “We’re going to have sad times,” I promised, thinking how ridiculously understated that sounded. “But we will always have laughter. Daddy would want that. That’s a promise.”

The children hugged me back, then rolled over and crawled beneath the blankets.

I turned out the light and stretched out in the middle of the bed with my clothes still on, holding a precious daughter on each side. “Say the prayer,” Kelli said.

I caught my breath. How could I pray tonight? From the depths of my misery, what could I thank God for?

“Go on, Mommy. God’s waiting.”

All right. I would say the prayer, but other than in front of my children, I would never speak to God again. Never. He had taken the one thing from me He knew I held the dearest. What kind of loving God did that? My praise came haltingly and was brief.

“Thank You for my daughters. Thank You for the years we had their father. Be with us as we go into tomorrow, for we need Your care.”

“Amen,” the girls said in unison.

I lay in the dark, with the girls sleeping beside me, and let my thoughts drift. I was still too numb and keyed up to sleep. Sudden tears scalded my cheeks. Dear God. Neil was gone.

The day of Neil’s service dawned clear and sunny. It had rained two days in succession. I had a feeling that the sky had cried itself out.

My mother and dad had arrived from Kansas. I put them in the master bedroom, and fixed a pallet for myself on the floor in Kelli’s room. My parents and Neil’s had never been what you might call “close.” Armed truce was more like it. They were so polite to each other it set my teeth on edge.

Sally Fowler, my next-door neighbor, kept running in and out, keeping peace and striking a note of normalcy. I had a large black-and-blue bruise on my arm, which puzzled me. When I wondered about it out loud, Sally said the day Neil died I had kept pinching my arm, trying to convince myself I was dreaming. I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t remember much of that awful day. The mental fog had cut deeper than I realized.

My mother was standing at the stove when I entered the kitchen, making her special sour cream flapjacks. Madge Madison was arranging her famous breakfast casserole on the kitchen table.

Mom poured juice. Madge poured hot chocolate.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife and called it fudge. I sighed. Well, at least nobody was crying.

Kelli padded into the room and cast a jaundiced eye at the set table. “I want Fruitee Pops,” she announced.

My mother matched her look for look. “Kelli. I got up early to fix pancakes for you.” Her tone said, Therefore you will eat them.

Kelli stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t want pancakes. I want Fruitee Pops.” She sat down at her usual place and propped her elbows on the table. Mom slapped a plate of pancakes down in front of her. Kelli pushed it aside.

Mom burst into tears.

So did Kelli.

Followed by Madge.

I excused myself and went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom.

Somehow we made it to the funeral home on time. Flowers were banked on both sides of the casket. Neil had a lot of friends, and the auditorium was crowded. I’d let Neil’s mother pick out the songs, and now I regretted it.

“‘If we never meet again, this side of heaven,’” the soprano trilled, and I sobbed into my handkerchief.

Neil would have liked his service, if that were possible. The church held over six hundred firemen today, all dressed for a solemn occasion. When the funeral cortege left the church for the cemetery, the fire signal system started tapping at regular thirty-second intervals. The procession passed Neil’s station, Station 16. His fellow workers and friends—some with tears openly streaming down their cheeks—stood at attention with their caps over their hearts. Behind the hearse was a body of twenty men who were his closest friends. Behind them, one hundred uniformed firemen accompanied my husband on his last run.

The service at the cemetery was mercifully brief. We didn’t linger at the grave site. By this time I knew it wasn’t Neil in that box—that wasn’t my vibrantly alive husband.

As soon as we got back to my house everyone started loading cars, looking for lost items and saying final goodbyes.

Dad hugged me. “Listen, kitten. You need us, you call. Oklahoma isn’t that far from Kansas. We’ll come in a heartbeat.”

I leaned against him, feeling like a little girl again. “I know. Thanks.”

Mom wrapped her arms around me. The tip of her nose was red from crying. “Oh, Katie, I’m so sorry. We loved Neil.”

I kissed her cheek. “He loved you, too.”

“Call me and let me know how you’re getting along.”

“I will.”

“Anything you need, call,” Dad reiterated.

I nodded, knowing they couldn’t provide what I needed—my life restored, my husband resurrected from the dead.

They both hugged the girls, then they got in their car and drove away, and we went through the whole routine again with Neil’s parents.

As suddenly as they had appeared, everyone was gone. Sally and Ron Fowler had offered to take Neil’s parents to the airport. I’d agreed, thankful for the reprieve.

That night I sat in the empty living room, holding a cup of tea I didn’t want. The kids were in bed, the doors were locked. For the first time in days the house was silent. I had never realized how devastating silence could be.

I was a widow with two small children and I knew I couldn’t make it alone. Never mind how I knew, I just knew. Neil’s worn Bible lay on the coffee table where he’d left it. We had been strong believers, faithful in our church, but nothing in our Christian walk had prepared me for this. A man didn’t die at thirty-two; that wasn’t possible. The past week had been a nightmare and I wanted to wake up.

But I wasn’t asleep, and I knew it.

Was my faith strong enough to face the future? Neil had left a reasonable insurance policy, so with proper investment I wouldn’t have to worry about money. If I kept my job…but I had to do a lot of flying. What if the plane went down? The thought winged through my subconscious and formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach. What would my children do with both parents gone?

Kelli and Kris would be orphans. Neil and I had never gotten around to making a will. Mom and Dad would take the kids…but Neil’s parents would want them, too. I gripped my hands in my lap, imagining the war. There’d be a big fight. Split right down the middle along family lines.

My children would live in turmoil; they’d end up in therapy, warped for life because I was a thoughtless parent who was so self-absorbed I’d forgotten to consider my children’s future.

I’d never fly again.

What was I saying? If I wanted to keep my job I had to fly. It was all too complicated for me in my mixed-up state.

Somehow I’d hold my family together. Life went on, and people went on.

As I recall, that was my last rational thought for a while. I sank into a blue funk. I knew that being a responsible parent meant being there for my children no matter how badly I was hurting, but my mind rebelled. So I slipped away to a private place where I could mourn Neil’s passing without the world’s interference. If it hadn’t been for kind neighbors and my church family, I don’t know what would have happened to Kelli and Kris. I loved them—loved them with all my heart—but anguish had rendered me nonfunctional. I faintly recalled someone being in the house at all times, but mentally I was absent. I couldn’t explain it; only those who had lived the experience could put the feeling in plain words.

And I stayed that way for maybe two or three weeks. I’m not sure. I’m only sure of how and when my body slowly came back to life. Well, not slowly. Swiftly was more accurate.

It was when Kelli suddenly burst into my bedroom, startling me from my black abyss.

“There’s a snake in the attic!”

I blinked, focusing on my daughter. “A what? Where?”

“A snake,” she repeated. “In our attic. Come and get it Mom.”