by Gail Sattler
Everything looked and felt different—as if he were standing in a hole.
Keeping his knees bent, he shuffled around the kitchen, gaining a new perspective.
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
Brendan straightened as fast as if he’d jumped, then spun around to see Matthew in the entrance to the hall, staring at him as if he’d lost his marbles.
Feeling his ears grow hot, Brendan cleared his throat. “I thought I’d see what things looked like from your mother’s height.”
“Huh?”
Brendan looked down at Matthew. He didn’t know enough about children in general to be able to judge if Matthew was short or tall for his age. Shanna wasn’t really short, but she wasn’t tall, either. Judging from the heights of the women at church, he figured she was just a little shorter than average, but not much. Brendan, on the other hand, had been tall all his life, from elementary school to high school, always the tallest in every class. He’d always sat in the back row and had always been first pick for sports teams.
Brendan lowered himself so that one knee rested on the floor. He still hovered above Matthew, but there was nothing he could do. “When you grow up, you’re going to have to help your mom reach stuff. It’s a good thing to be able to help. Just remember how special your mom is and how good it is that God gave you such a special mom.”
Matthew’s eyes widened. “Tyler in my class doesn’t have a mom. Or a dad, either. He lives with his grandma.”
Brendan didn’t know, and he didn’t want to ask the reasons for that, because there were many possibilities. “How would you like to pray for Tyler tonight?”
Matthew yawned and nodded. Brendan patted his shoulder, then stood.
“As soon as I get that glass of water for your sister, we can say your prayers. Go to your room and put your pajamas on while I give this to Ashley, and I’ll be right there.”
Matthew wasted no time returning to his room. By the time Brendan walked into Ashley’s room, he could tell she was changed, because her clothes were scattered on the floor, including a sock on each side of the dresser, and she was sitting in the middle of the bed waiting for him. She noisily gulped down the water, then flopped down onto her back.
Brendan hoped the burst of energy wasn’t going to hinder Ashley from going back to sleep. He leaned forward to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Would you like to say your prayers? When I was your age, my mom always prayed with me before bed.”
Ashley squeezed her eyes shut and folded her hands beneath her chin. “Dear God, thank You for my mommy and my brother and for Boffo and for all my toys, especially my bear, and for Mr. Brendan who is making our yard look really good. And thank You for our new slide and fort in the backyard, which is almost finished, amen.”
“Amen,” Brendan said in agreement and stood.
“Isn’t you gonna kiss me good night?”
“Uh. . .I guess so.”
He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss onto Ashley’s forehead. Just as he was about to straighten, she flung her arms around him as best she could reach, and squeezed with all her childlike strength, which wasn’t much, but it came from the depths of her little heart. “Good night, Mr. Brendan. I like you really lots. Is you gonna come back tomorrow?”
“Probably. I have another job to do someplace else, but it won’t take me long. Then I’ll be back to work on the fence for your mother. So yes. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good. I misses you.”
He smiled. “I’ve missed you, too.” Strangely, he found he wasn’t saying the words as a reassuring platitude—he really meant them. “Now, if you’ll let me go, I’m going to go pray with your brother.”
She released him and rolled over onto her side. “Good night, Mr. Brendan,” she muttered, and settled in for the night.
“Good night, Ashley.”
On his way out, he pulled the door until it was only open a crack and made his way to Matthew’s room.
The second he knelt beside Matthew’s bed, Matthew closed his eyes and folded his hands beneath his chin, just as Ashley had, which made Brendan smile.
“Dear God, thank You for my mommy and thank You for Tyler’s grandma who takes care of him. Also thank You for Missus Kathy. . .” Matthew’s voice trailed off. His eyes sprang open, and he looked at Brendan. “Missus Kathy is your mommy, not your grandma, right?”
Brendan bit his tongue, wondering what his mother would think of Matthew’s innocent question. “Yes, Missus Kathy is my mommy.”
“Okay.” Matthew resumed his position and reclosed his eyes. “And thank You for Mr. Brendan’s mommy, Missus Kathy. She’s a nice lady, and she’s having fun painting our new fort. Thank You for the sweater she’s helping Mommy knit that they don’t think I know about, and thank You for the cookies Missus Kathy brought today. They were really yummy, amen.”
“My mother brought cookies?”
Matthew nodded. “Yes. She said they were your favorite cookies when you was my age.”
Brendan stared at the boy. “She brought you my favorite chocolate chip cookies? The ones with peanut butter in them?” When he was a child, he’d often made those cookies with his mother. After he moved out, she still made them for him; only she usually ended up eating too many before his next visit, then blamed Brendan that she’d gained five pounds. “Are there any left?”
“No. My mommy ate the last one. Missus Kathy said that when your daddy died, you were very sad, and cookies made you feel better.”
He didn’t know if it was exactly the cookies or the time spent with his mother making them. “Yes, I was sad for a long time.” He didn’t know what to say to Matthew, but he had been devastated when his father died. “You must miss your dad a lot” was the best he could come up with.
“I guess. He didn’t like to play with us, and lots of times he made Mommy cry. I didn’t like it when he made Mommy cry.”
Brendan’s stomach clenched. “Do you know why he made her cry?”
“He yelled at us a lot. He yelled at Mommy, too, and called her bad names. That made her cry lots of times.”
Matthew’s answer wasn’t specific, but it did give Brendan a little insight. It also made him wonder if such behavior ran in the family, after witnessing Matthew’s uncle Ray in action.
“I think it’s past the time that your mom said you should be in bed.”
“I’m in bed.”
“But you’re not sleeping. Close your eyes.”
Brendan gave Matthew a quick hug and returned to the living room.
Boffo was still lying on the carpet in front of the couch in the identical position he had been in when Brendan had left him nearly half an hour ago.
“Why can’t you be more like this during the day?” he muttered as he lowered the volume on the television.
Brendan flopped down on the couch and watched reruns until Boffo sprang to his feet and ran to the window. The sudden movement caused Brendan to wonder what was wrong, so he joined the dog at the window.
Nothing seemed amiss. The only movement was that his mother’s car had returned and both doors opened.
He stood at the top of the stairs. When the door opened, Shanna and his mother walked in, both carrying cake boxes.
“How come I didn’t get any cookies?” he called down the stairs. The amount of money he’d given his mother for the cake flashed through his mind, reminding him that he now had to go to the ATM on the way home. “I hope one of those boxes is for me.”
His mother had the nerve to laugh. “I hope you don’t mind, but I gave half the cake to Shanna and then took a bit for myself.” She set the box on the bottom step. “But don’t worry. There’s a nice piece left for you. I’m going home now. Will you be back here tomorrow so you can work on Shanna’s fence?”
“Yes.”
“Then good night. Here’s your cake, but you have to make your own cookies. I gave you the recipe years ago.”
Before he could think of an appropriate response,
she was gone, leaving him alone with Shanna. She toed off her shoes and walked up the stairs, carrying the box containing half of what was supposed to be his cake.
“Were the kids okay? I can’t remember the last time I left them. They’ve never had anyone else put them to bed. I hope there wasn’t a lot of crying.”
Crying? The thought hadn’t occurred to him. It made him glad he hadn’t known that before she left.
She walked past him, then padded down the hall, still holding the box. She peeked into the bedrooms as if she needed confirmation that they really were sleeping soundly.
“There were no problems. Maybe they were thinking it was like when their dad put them to bed.”
“Their father never put them to bed,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp. “Most of the time he wasn’t home when it was their bedtime.”
“Oh. Did he work late shifts?”
“No. He just chose not to come home.”
It sounded like a line he wasn’t meant to cross, so Brendan changed the subject. “I think it’s time for me to leave. I’ll be back to work on your fence tomorrow, so I’ll probably see you sometime after lunch. I’ll just pick up the world’s most expensive piece of cake and see myself out.”
Six
Shanna could tell the exact second Brendan arrived.
First, Boffo began to run in circles behind her, whining. Next, he ran outside through the special doggy door that Brendan had made in the screen. His behavior alerted the children, and recognizing the signs, they both dropped whatever they were doing and ran to the gate to wait for their hero.
Shanna set down her pencil, but she didn’t run to greet him.
Part of her was happy that her children finally had a good male role model, at least when Brendan was at his best, working by daylight in their backyard. So far they hadn’t seen him when he was tired after a long day and his patience was tested. Nor had she, and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn’t ever want to be on the wrong side of Brendan’s anger, especially after experiencing what it was like to be on the wrong side of Roger’s anger. After a few trips to the hospital, Shanna had promised herself, and God, that she would never permit herself or her children to be in that predicament again.
The night that Kathy had called Brendan to come watch the children while they rushed off to the forgotten charity fundraiser, she’d thanked God from the bottom of her heart that it hadn’t been a bad day for him. He’d been so sweet and a willing helper, and she didn’t want to do anything to change that. When she and Brendan went their separate ways, she wanted Ashley and Matthew to have good memories of him, because they certainly didn’t have good memories of their father. It was no wonder they didn’t appear to miss him. As awful as it sounded, she didn’t miss him, either.
From beside the house, the gate creaked. Boffo sat, with every muscle wiggling, but controlling himself to stay as he’d been taught. Ashley held the gate open for Brendan, who walked into the yard with his arms loaded with wood and his tools slotted into a pocketed belt slung loosely around his waist. Once inside the yard, Brendan deposited everything on the ground. Matthew hustled to transport the boards, one piece at a time, to the growing pile that would be their new fence, while Brendan went back to his truck for more. Ashley dutifully opened the gate for Brendan as he went in and out.
As she’d done so many times, Shanna stopped her work to simply watch. The children were eager to help, and Brendan was always obliging to give them something to do, even though most of the time she was sure that he could have done it faster without them.
The gate banged shut for the last time, so Brendan called Boffo to come. He praised the dog well for his good behavior, giving him hugs and pats and a large dog biscuit—the largest Shanna had ever seen. It was so big that both Ashley and Matthew stared at it with their mouths open. Brendan simply grinned, obviously very pleased with himself.
Before Boffo left with his new treat, Brendan again commanded Boffo to sit. He clipped the dog chain to Boffo’s collar, then secured the other end to the nearest leg of the playscape.
They all walked to the pile of tools, where he handed Matthew and Ashley each a small hammer. Together, they started with the first section of fence and began to take it apart. Brendan had promised Shanna that, because of the dog, he would replace one section at a time. That way, by the time he left at the end of the day, there would be no openings for Boffo to escape through before he returned the next morning.
When the first section was half down, the doorbell rang. Shanna checked the time, thinking it was a good thing that the UPS driver was early today. She hurried to the door, but when she opened it, it wasn’t the UPS driver.
Ray and his wife, Evelyn, stood side by side. Ray wore his usual jeans and stained white T-shirt with his leather vest, looking like an extra in a gang movie, except that this image was very real.
Evelyn looked every bit as rough around the edges as Ray. Instead of her typical skintight jeans, today she wore a skirt so short that Shanna didn’t know how she could walk without exposing herself. Evelyn’s makeup was about three layers too thick, and her hair was a different color than the last time Shanna saw her—it was bleached blond instead of Goth black. Shanna wondered how much more Evelyn’s hair could take before it started to fall out.
Ray glared at Shanna and held out a large envelope. “I brought the papers. Sign them.”
Shanna’s gut tightened. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Ray, I’m not giving you the car. You may have helped Roger keep it running, but I’m the one who made the payments.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know how many hours I spent working on that car. I’m the one who made it what it’s worth. You know you owe me more than you could get for it if you sold it.”
Evelyn stiffened and jutted her chin forward. “Yeah. Mechanics is worth like $95 an hour to fix a car and make it run like that.”
Shanna gritted her teeth. “No.” It was an old car and not worth half of what Ray claimed. But it ran well, and even if she sold it for what it was worth, at that price she could never buy another car in the same good condition.
With Evelyn beside him, Ray puffed out his chest and set his shoulders back, making them appear wider and him bigger, in general. His expression tightened, and he stepped forward.
Shanna’s breath caught. This was exactly the same thing Roger had done when she made him angry. Next, he would use what he called “just a bit” of force to change her mind.
Time seemed to stand still as Ray flexed his shoulder.
Outside, in full view of the neighborhood, she was safe. But inside, where there were no witnesses, she would never win.
Ray was standing so close that she wouldn’t have enough time to turn around, dash inside, and close, then lock the door.
Before Ray could think about what she was doing, Shanna shuffled one step backward, reached behind her, flicked the lock, and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t the dead bolt, which could be activated only from the inside; but it was enough so that the door couldn’t be opened without considerable force and, most important, noise.
“What are you doing?” he ground out between his teeth.
“I want to talk here—outside.” Shanna tried to gather her courage, but she was already shaking inside. “You didn’t fix the car with Roger to make money by selling it. You did it because he supplied the beer.”
“Some of the money Roger used to buy the car he traded in was mine, so I have a personal interest in this one. Now I want my investment back.”
“He had that old, junky car before we were married. He never told me he owed you any money for it.”
He stepped forward again, backing Shanna against the locked door. She cringed, wondering whether Brendan would be able to hear her over the banging and hammering if she screamed, since none of her neighbors appeared to be outside.
Ray raised the envelope. With nowhere for Shanna to go, he pressed the corner of it to her chest. “That isn’t my fault. I just want what�
��s mine. So between what Roger owed me and all my work, I want Roger’s car.”
She wanted to sound forceful, but her voice came out in a squeak. “I made all the payments on it, not Roger. It’s my car. Roger never told me he owed you money, and that old car wasn’t worth anything, anyway. They hardly gave him anything for it.”
He grabbed her arm, squeezing tight enough to make her wince. He gave her a shake. “This is the arm you broke on your little fall down the stairs. Wouldn’t it be too bad if you fell and broke it again?”
Her eyes began to burn, but she fought to keep herself under control. “You can’t threaten me. No one can threaten me anymore.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m talking some sense into you. I want what’s owed to me.”
Shanna’s heart pounded, and she hoped she didn’t faint. She’d thought these times were behind her. “I’m not giving you Roger’s car. And if you threaten me again, I’ll—I’ll call the police,” she choked out.
“You won’t do that.” His lips curled into an evil sneer, and he squeezed her arm tighter until the pain made her breath catch. She wondered how much force it would take to rebreak the same place in her arm. His voice lowered in pitch so even Evelyn wouldn’t have been able to hear him. “Kids have accidents all the time. You fell down the stairs last year. Your kids might, too, and no one would question it.”
Shanna’s head began to spin. Like so many other women trapped in an abusive marriage, she’d foolishly told the staff at the hospital that she’d fallen. They’d known Roger had pushed her, because she’d had a black eye that night, too, as well as other bruises that happened before her alleged fall. But on the way to the hospital, he’d said he was sorry and promised it would never happen again—that he’d treat her right and he’d change.
The only things that changed were that he started drinking more and had an affair.
Shanna didn’t know if Ray was cheating on Evelyn, but she had seen bruises that Evelyn had tried to conceal with too much makeup. She knew he was equally capable of doing the same to her. She could protect herself when his anger flared like this by staying where there was at least one adult witness, not including Evelyn.