by Jeff Vrolyks
* * *
That Friday was the dinner-date at the Stanwick’s. I had mixed feelings about going. I didn’t want to be asked questions about the other day because I disliked lying to them. I figured they’d see through my lies, as I was poor at it. Fortunately they were just as eager to avoid the topic as was I.
Tinkerbelle didn’t look her usual happy self. She didn’t have much to say. I guess my presence forced her to remember our secret, that damned lie. As I sat at the table eating the standing rib-roast that really was as good as Sven had promised, I stole glances at the girl. Her big blue eyes were low and avoided mine. Before my plate would be empty I’d conclude that things would never be the same between us again. It was a hard pill to swallow, but I wanted to do what was best for her, and resolved to make that happen.
After dinner we had boysenberry pie and coffee. Brooke was dismissed. I heard her watching some Disney movie in the next room. Sven was talking about his job as a foreman at a textiles factory uptown when I noticed a tear rolling down Juliann’s cheek. I asked if something was the matter. Sven stopped talking and looked over at his wife.
She nodded and said, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and trust me, Aaron, neither do we, but I have to tell you how lucky we are to have you in our lives. What you did the other—”
I held up a hand, cutting her off. “It was nothing. And you’re right, I’d rather not talk about it; would rather not remember it.”
She wiped her wet cheek with the back of a hand.
“Would you two mind if I had a word alone with Brooke?” I asked.
I left my slice of pie half-eaten and entered the living room, where 101 Dalmatians was being watched by a kiddo on the couch. She was lying on her side, head propped up in hand. She only glanced briefly at me. There was no excitement from my company, no smile, just a vacuous expression that worried me.
I asked if I could have a seat beside her. She sat up. I took a seat and looked over my shoulder: the Stanwick’s remained at the table, a safe distance from overhearing what I had to say. Sven had his wife’s hand in his, consoling her.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I asked her. I paused the movie.
“Kay.”
“How are things, sweetheart?”
“Fine.” She finally met eyes with me, and this time they remained on mine.
“You’ve been great. Thank you. You’re mature for your years.” I hesitated before saying, “What would you think about getting a new Sunday school teacher?”
She shrugged, and that pained my heart. Last week I believe she would have been upset by that question, begged me not to go, and cried.
“You probably think this is my fault,” I said. “And maybe it is, I don’t know.”
“I know it isn’t,” she said thinly.
“Thank you for saying that. You have no idea how good it is to hear it. We both know that things are different now. I only want to do what’s best for you. That’s all that matters to me. Even if you think what’s best is for me to stay at our church, that doesn’t necessarily make it so.” I took a deep breath and looked away. “What I’m trying to say is you’ll be better off without me. I thought I was stronger than I am, but Paul proved that I’m not strong at all. I can’t handle situations like that, I’m too weak.” I gazed at her once again, eyes misty. “I’m going to leave the church, teach at another Calvary across town. I’m going to tell your parents that in a few minutes. If for some reason they say they’d like to follow me over to that church, I’m going to advise against it. I think it would be best for all of us. Maybe we’ll meet again in the future. I’d like that very much.”
From her expression I thought she was going to say she’d like that very much too, but she didn’t say anything. She leaned into me and wrapped her little arms around me, face pressed against my shoulder. I hugged her back, and now I was crying.
“I tried, Tinkerbelle,” I murmured. “There’s no reaching him. He’s headstrong.”
She released me. We fixed on one another.
“I don’t like lying, Mr. Mendelssohn.”
“I’m sorry for making you lie about the other night.”
“Not that,” she said. “Well, that too. Pie was the one who told me to tell you not to lose hope on Paul. Remember when I was outside—”
“Yeah I remember. Who’s Pie?”
“My friend.”
She unpaused the movie and grinned shortly at me, which was her putting an end to our conversation.