Bless Her Heart

by Sally Kilpatrick

  What if you have a daughter and she runs into a man like Chad at church?

  My blood ran cold. Of course, church was far from the only place a woman could find a bad man, but, when it happened, the betrayal ran much deeper. I’d tell my daughter to be patient. I’d tell her to never pin her hopes on what a partner could do for her. I’d tell her that anyone who didn’t respect her wishes wasn’t worth her time.

  If Chad was a product of the church, then so was John. People were people no matter where you went.

  Face it, Posey, there’s no right or wrong answer.

  I would go to church and see what I thought, see if the Spirit moved me. Nothing required me to ever go back, but I would see my crazy, sarcastic Lenten promise through.

  As I walked through the front door, I heard the distinctive sounds of hangover coming from the bathroom. I went straight to the kitchen to put on the kettle. I kinda wanted coffee, but that wasn’t happening. I chose decaf tea instead and went ahead and took out the box of ginger tea, too. By the time Mom staggered into the kitchen, her ginger tea had been steeping for at least five minutes, and I was working on my tea and staring at a bowl of Cheerios since they contained half my RDA of iron.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked.

  “I’m trying to talk myself into eating these Cheerios.”

  “They are round like those SpaghettiOs you like so much,” she said as she drew an icepack from the freezer and put it over her eye.

  “Yes, but, thanks to morning sickness, they taste like cardboard. Ginger tea’s almost done steeping.”

  “Today you’re my favorite child,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

  “Well. There’s a first time for everything!”

  “No, I rotate all three of you—it’s a very complicated process.”

  When the timer dinged, I got up and fixed her tea for her.

  “Bless you,” she said. “I remember so clearly now why I haven’t had anything to drink in years. My aura is . . . not good.”

  Down the hall Granny yelled, but I couldn’t understand what she said.

  “Could you please help your grandmother?” Mom asked.

  So I did. I helped Granny change her underwear since I hadn’t been quick enough in getting her to the bathroom. Still panting, I led her to the recliner. By this time I knew where the Price is Right DVDs lived and what to fix her for breakfast. I spooned the oatmeal to her mouth which she opened just as a baby would keeping her eyes glued on the television all the while.

  Ever since her recent escape, Granny had been even more withdrawn. Now her body seemed to be in a race to deteriorate as quickly as her mind already had.

  Finally, I took the oatmeal bowl to the sink. Mom had progressed to coffee, and was no longer holding an arm over her eyes.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, favorite child?”

  “It’s time.”

  She craned her neck to check on Granny in the recliner. “I know. But not today.”

  * * *

  Old habits died hard.

  I parked my Toyota in the spot that I used to prefer, the one under the elm tree at the corner of the lot. As a teenager, I’d been in the habit of parking in that spot, and I took it as a sign now that “my spot” was still available this late in the morning. From behind the wheel I watched people walk into the church in their Sunday best. I wanted to wait until the last minute, maybe sneak in while no one was looking. Already the number of people had slowed to a trickle since most had arrived earlier for Sunday School.

  I’d decided that Sunday School would be too much. Where did I even go? Would I go to the Young Married Class? To the Singles Class? Did they have a class for future divorcées who were pregnant with another man’s baby? No, Sunday School posed too many questions about my place in this world and promised more stares and awkward conversations than answers.

  Or I was stalling.

  I hadn’t been to First Baptist in forever and had left in the midst of a contentious dispute. Everyone there would have the right to dislike me for some of the things Chad said. Heck, for some of things I said. Why was it so hard to walk into the building that had been a second home to me in my teen years?

  Because it reminds you of Chad now.

  True, Chad had joined First Baptist only three months after we started dating. It was hard to sift through the memories I had from before we were together, but I had to try. My baptism would forever be etched in my memory. Most of the ones from my childhood were of cookies and Kool-Aid passed out during Vacation Bible School. Then I was old enough to help with VBS. Then I was married. I couldn’t remember those years. It was as though my brain no longer wanted to acknowledge anything that had happened when I was with Chad.

  Enough.

  Time to leave the sanctity of my car for the more uncertain sanctuary.

  As I entered the door, the music began, and I congratulated myself on timing; people couldn’t stop me to ask questions if the service had already started. The sun blazed through the plain windows, and I studied the sanctuary, panicking for just a moment because I’d headed to the right but someone was sitting in the spot where I used to sit. Seeing an empty seat on the end of a row to the back left, I quickly changed course and made it there just in time for the opening hymn.

  I reached for a hymnal but came away empty. Large screens hung from the ceiling on both the left and the right of the altar at the front of the church. Panic hit me once again, but then they announced “Christ Arose,” and I relaxed into the familiar. The congregation and I dug deep into the chorus—“Up from the grave he arose with a mighty triumph o’er his foes!” The swell of music and the strength of many voices soothed my soul even if my voice cracked from disuse.

  I’d come home.

  First Baptist had a new preacher, at least three times removed from the one who’d dunked me so many years before. At first I took Brother Mark for quiet and well-mannered, but, no, he’d started his sermon softly so he’d have room for a grand crescendo. As he reached the end, he reminded his lambs that Jesus Christ had died for each and every one of us and that he was indeed risen. Anyone who believed would be born new, their sins washed away.

  Yeah. My sins. I carried an eternal reminder of one of my sins, but I couldn’t be sorry. I’d wanted a child. God had given me a child. I put my hand on my stomach. If my child hadn’t been born in love, at least he or she had been born of a mutual admiration and affection far deeper than that I’d shared with my husband. The Lord truly worked in mysterious ways. He could make a positive out of a negative. I chuckled a little to myself. I’d covered five of the Seven Deadly Sins in spite of myself. All except wrath and pride.

  Except for how you lost your temper with John and caused him to fall off the wagon.

  My eyes widened in the sad and shameful realization I’d fallen prey to wrath, too, when I told John he’d been nothing more than a good lay and then when I told him he could help pay for our child.

  Wrath was the worst.

  I had to face it. I’d committed all of the sins but pride.

  “Just remember that pride goeth before a fall,” the preacher said, that one snippet of his sermon reverberating through my mind as though God was speaking specifically to me. Now my blood ran cold, but my cheeks grew warm.

  Pride had been my first sin, my last sin, and a part of every one in between.

  All those years, I’d heard God’s word, but I hadn’t listened. If I were honest with myself, a million little things had happened to let me know that my marriage wasn’t working. By then, though, I’d become obsessed with preserving the front of a picture-perfect marriage and achieving motherhood. I tried weird diets, acupuncture, and countless books; I allowed my husband to talk me into acts I wasn’t proud of. I had thought I could create a baby out of sheer force of will.

  My husband’s free will thwarted my efforts.

  Foolishly I had thought I could outsmart God, that if I did all of the right things he would be forced to reward my effor
ts with what I wanted.

  But that’s not how God worked. His ways were not my ways.

  Yet my stubborn refusal to worship him had still led me to the one thing I’d always wanted.

  You were so arrogant to think you could last one week without God, much less the entirety of Lent.

  Stomping around like a petulant toddler, I’d given God the silent treatment. Even now, I couldn’t pick up where I once left off and pretend that all was well. I’d have to study and pray and forgive—mainly myself.

  Pride was the absolute worst.

  “But, beloved, hear the good news: Repent and you will be forgiven.”

  I lost my breath, mentally clawing for purchase just as I had done so many years before in the water when that fire and brimstone preacher had dunked me.

  I could do this.

  I would do this.

  I would hold my head up high and own my mistakes in order to move forward.

  Newly resolved, I looked up to see John with his guitar at the front of the church. Somehow I’d missed the fact that he would be leading the benediction. I couldn’t look away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice me. The light shone through the window in one of those perfect beams that made one think of God punching a hole in the clouds so he could highlight those he loved most.

  Subtle, God.

  He sang “Just as I am” with such earnestness that I felt ashamed all over again for causing him to falter. He’d been right when he’d mentioned how it took two to tango, and I’d been his partner only to be mean to him when he’d been trying to do right in the only way he knew how. My heart ached for him, and I couldn’t sing for the lump in my throat. He deserved happiness. He deserved someone who wouldn’t cause him to relapse, who wouldn’t make him give up the jobs he loved just to find ones that made more money.

  The minute church ended, the desire to run away had me asking pardon as I tried to go backward while the rest of the congregation moved forward to take pictures among the lilies. If I’d thought I’d be able to slip out of the church as quietly as I’d slipped in, I was mistaken.

  “Posey Love! Where do you think you’re going!”

  Liza.

  I turned around into her reassuring hug. Owen stood behind her, cradling a sleeping Nathaniel.

  “Nice going. I was trying to make a slick getaway,” I whispered into her ear.

  She held me at arm’s length. “No way are you coming back into this church and not getting a hug from me. Happy Easter, you!”

  The hugs kept coming. My old fourth-grade teacher welcomed me back. John’s mother hugged me—obviously she didn’t know about the baby yet. Amanda Kildare hugged me so tightly I lost my breath for a moment.

  Other ladies who’d once attended Chad’s morning Bible study embraced me tightly. Older gentlemen who knew my granny either shook my hand or drew me into a hug. Then everyone parted the aisle for Brother Lewis. He leaned heavily on his cane, but he came forward slowly, saying nothing, but wrapping his arms around me. All of these people had welcomed me back and wished me a Happy Easter. No one asked about Chad. No one asked why I was there. It was simply a given that I had come home.

  I smelled Miss Georgette before I saw her, but she still surprised me when she tackled me from behind. “Oh, I am so glad to see you here this morning. So proud that you’re going to church again. I just knew you’d find your way. You are such a shining star, and it’s so good to know that that man hasn’t held you down after all. You’ll have to join us in the Ladies’ Ministry. We’re getting ready for GAs, you know. Then there’ll be Vacation Bible School to plan and—”

  “Miss Georgette, there’s something—”

  “I was talking to Ms. Varner the other day, and she told me you’d adjusted so well to your class that she was considering you for an opening next year.” She paused to pinch one cheek lightly. “I am just so proud of you for getting your life together so quickly. Not everyone can do that, you know? So many people wallow in their sorrows and—”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I hadn’t meant to utter the words, but I couldn’t take her adulation any longer. As I’d feared, her face fell. Under other circumstances I might’ve enjoyed rendering Miss Georgette speechless. Finally she found her words, shrieking, “You’re what?”

  Only a handful of people remained in the sanctuary, but each and every one of them looked our way, including John, who’d been putting his guitar back in its case. Knowing Miss Georgette, she would spread the word to everyone else later in the day. Or maybe, since she treated gossip like her job, she took the Sabbath off. Who knew?

  “I’m pregnant. With child.”

  “Are you and Chad getting back together?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Relief gave way to curiosity. “But surely you don’t want that sweet baby to be born illegitimate.”

  I could think of nothing more legitimate than to keep my baby and my person away from Chadwick Love. I’d briefly considered letting her think that Chad was the father to avoid this conversation or the one that would come next, but not admitting the truth would mean living a lie, and I was done with those.

  “Chad is not the father,” I said.

  “Not the father!” Her wail echoed off the glass windows. “What has gotten into you?”

  John skirted an arrangement of lilies and started making his way down the aisle.

  “Nothing has gotten into me.” Except sperm. That happened. “I won’t treat this baby like a mistake. I’m only telling you so, if you see my child as a mistake, you can stop being proud of me.”

  “Stop being proud of you?”

  For a second I feared her shriek might shatter windows. Heads swiveled in our direction again. John had almost reached us.

  “I messed up. I admit it. I am not perfect,” I said at a whisper, trying to not make our conversation anymore public than it already was.

  She paused, her mouth opening and closing like a catfish pulled from a pond. “Well, who is the father?”

  “I am.”

  Miss Georgette’s eyes bulged from her head. I leaned back into John, and he wrapped a protective arm around me. I had to admit it felt nice for someone to have my back. I felt 100 percent better knowing that he stood with me against Miss Georgette’s shock and admonition.

  She shook her head, the giant cross earrings she wore swinging in condemnation. Then she turned to me. “So. You’re the reason this sweet boy fell off the wagon. Well. Bless his heart.”

  Bless his heart?

  All my life I had gone to great lengths to keep my heart from being blessed. Even so, I would grit my teeth and bear it. No way, however, was anyone going to pity John O’Brien. Sure, he’d had the misfortune to hook up with me, but he deserved better than a passive-aggressive insult to his intelligence for doing so.

  “Know what? Bless your heart. Bless it for being in the middle of everyone else’s business.”

  I slapped away John’s arm, turned on my heel, and walked out of the church with my head held high.

  chapter 28

  I slammed the door on my way back into the house, which wasn’t very Eastery of me, but the drive from First Baptist to the house hadn’t been long enough to cool me down. In the process, two pictures fell off the wall and a decorative mirror to boot.

  Great. As if I needed seven years of bad luck after the previous ten.

  “Posey Lucille, what do you think you are doing?” my mother said from the doorway where she stood with an apron around her waist and a spatula in one hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, as I picked up the two pictures first—glass cracked but not shattered—and then went to work on picking up the mirror pieces.

  “Seriously, I think you were sixteen the last time you slammed a door.”

  I paused. “I just wanted to go back to church, to see if I could still fit in there. The service was lovely. The Lord spoke to me. People kept hugging me and welcoming me back. Then Miss Georgette walked up.”


  “Uh-oh,” Rain said. She now stood behind Mom wearing an oven mitt in the shape of a T-Rex head.

  “She started carrying on about how proud she was of me, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her.”

  “Told her what?” Rain asked suspiciously.

  And I’d somehow not told my little sister my news in the craziness of the past few days.

  “You, girl. Metamucil,” Granny said from the chair where she sat watching Bob Barker once again.

  “I’ll get it,” Mom said. “Hand me the mitt so I can check on the rolls, too.”

  Rain relinquished her T-Rex and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Baby sister, you’re going to be an aunt,” I said.

  “Really?” she shrieked and crossed the living room to give me a hug. I had to wave her off because I still held the mirror shards. Then she followed me to the kitchen and tried to squeeze the life out of me once I’d gotten rid of the sharp pieces. Just as quickly she stepped back. “Wait a second, why am I the last to know?”

  “You were at Santiago’s house. I didn’t mean to tell Miss Georgette before you.”

  “Did Mom know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Henny?”

  I sighed. “Yes. You were at work the day Granny went walkabout. It’s been a busy, stressful two days. I’ve barely kept my head above water.”

  “Oh, fine. You’re forgiven. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? It isn’t Chad’s, is it? Oh, John. Is he treating you right? If he isn’t then I will kick his ass, and you can tell him I said that—”

  “Language, Rain,” my mother said. She’d probably tried peyote and knew which mushrooms were which, but she wasn’t keen on curse words. A mystery wrapped inside an enigma, my mother.

  “John is treating me just fine.” He’d even come to my rescue only to have me throw off his arm. I shouldn’t have done that.

  “Then what happened at church?”

  I told them what happened ending with how I’d been the blesser of hearts for once.

  “Bad. Ass!” Rain said, her hand over her mouth in shocked delight.