The Weight of Shadows

by Alison Strobel

  “They think I’m moving to take Maddie away from them. And they don’t think I can adequately care for her since I’ve lost my job. They have an idea of what they think her life should be like, and it’s not the life I’m giving her—that’s what it comes down to.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’ve got that right. They blame me, too, for Lara’s death. So part of me wonders how much of this grandparents’ rights excuse is just their way of trying to get back at me.”

  “Twisted.”

  “Even more so when you realize they’re using Maddie as their pawn.”

  “What are you gonna do? You and Mads are free to crash here if you need to get away for a while.”

  Joshua chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind; we may need a vacation eventually. But at this point I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing and pray God doesn’t let them get to me too much. I don’t want to poison Maddie against them, but it’s to the point where I need to send her out of the room every time they come over, just in case I flip my lid. I’m certainly not about to leave her alone with them; God knows what they’d try to tell her about me.”

  “Seriously. So, any news on the job front?”

  “No—I actually signed up with a temp agency Monday.”

  “Oh, wow, flashbacks to college.”

  Joshua chuckled. “I know. At least I have some marketable skills this time around. I’ve already got one job lined up to start Monday. I need something long term—or permanent—quick, if for no other reason than to keep me from stressing myself to death.”

  “Something’s bound to happen. Keep the faith. How’s the house thing going?”

  “I’m almost done with all the little things I needed to do to get it ready to show. Scott is listing it next Friday. Pray for Maddie—she says she’s okay with the move, but I don’t know how she’ll feel when we actually start packing, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. We’ll be praying for both of you; don’t be surprised if it’s harder for you than you thought it would be.”

  The thought made Joshua squirm in his desk chair. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

  “I don’t blame you. Can I ask you a really personal question?”

  “Um, okay?”

  “When do you think you’ll start dating again?”

  The thought turned his lunch in his stomach. “Oh man, I have no idea. I mean, I hardly even notice women, you know? I can’t imagine actually liking someone else again. I suppose I will, but I can’t fathom it right now. Why are you asking?”

  “Well, I met one of Rebecca’s book club friends the other day and thought you two might connect. But if you’re not ready yet, that’s fine.”

  The suggestion brought to mind Maddie’s recent obsession with mothers. They’d be reading a book or watching television, and she’d point to a character and say, “Where’s her mother? Does she have one? Is her mother dead too? Is she going to get another one?” It was this last question that made Joshua’s heart hurt the most.

  He thought he was doing pretty well, for a guy. Lara had always said he was a good “girl dad.” He didn’t mind playing tea party or brushing Maddie’s hair and fixing it in braids and ponytails. It wasn’t his idea of the best time in the world—but he did love spending time with the little girl whose face so mirrored her mother’s, even more so now that her face was the closest he could get to Lara’s.

  But there were things he looked ahead to with dread. Needing her first bra. Getting her first period. Starry-eyed conversations about her latest crush. Planning her wedding. These were not events fathers should be responsible for, as far as he was concerned. They lay fully in the territory of the mother-daughter relationship. It wasn’t so much his discomfort with those topics that made him fear them. It was knowing that Maddie would be wishing her mother was there and that he could never be all she needed.

  Joshua pressed his finger and thumb against his squeezed-shut eyes. “Thanks for thinking of me, I guess. I’ll let you go now. I just had to talk to someone for a minute.”

  “No problem, Josh. Rebecca and I are praying for you guys.”

  “I appreciate it. Tell her I said hi.”

  After they hung up, Joshua forced himself to get up and finish working on the caulking he was doing in the bathroom. The sooner he got the house fixed up, the sooner Scott could list it, and the sooner he could move out and move on.

  At least, that’s what he hoped.

  VALENTINE’S DAY WAS ALWAYS DEPRESSING at the shelter. Women fresh from abuse often suffered from self-loathing along with the hatred they felt for their abusers, so every year Debbie centered that day’s group therapy session around loving and forgiving themselves. To try to see themselves as lovable and to identify the traits that made them special and unique were exercises that taxed their emotions but were key for the healing they needed. She implored them to see themselves as Christ saw them, to extend to themselves the grace they were always quick to give to the other women at the shelter. It didn’t click for everyone, but for the women who took the discussion to heart Debbie always saw a leap in their recovery.

  The irony that she was the one imparting these truths, however, was always plain to Debbie. How long had it been since she’d been able to embrace herself with all her foibles and quirks and extend herself a little grace?

  Seven years, actually. Or five, depending on which event she was trying not to think about. Not that she was counting.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she was.

  When she’d cleaned her desk the other day she’d unearthed a picture of her sister that used to hang on the wall of her office. She’d taken it down when the room was painted last year and never put it back up. It just hurt too much. Gina’s bright, sixteen-year-old smile would drag Debbie’s eyes off whatever paper she was reading or email she was writing, and she’d find herself staring at the picture until her eyes misted. Now she had it taped on the side of the file cabinet drawer, where she only saw it now and then, only had to catch her breath from grief once or twice a day instead of being transfixed a dozen times a day by those deep blue eyes.

  How many more years did she have to endure the guilt? How long did she have to carry around the ache of “if only”? Some good had come of it—Safe in His Arms Women’s Shelter was what it was because of the work Debbie had done over the last few years—but despite all the women who credited this place as having saved them, she’d trade it all to have Gina back.

  Or to regain just a little trust in herself.

  Debbie glanced at the clock and realized she was late for a staff meeting. Cursing herself, she gave the file cabinet door a shove and grabbed her notebook from her desk. Work was good. It kept her mind off unpleasant things.

  KIM RETURNED HER CURLING IRON to its bay and took one last look at her station to be sure it was cleaned for the evening. Satisfied, she walked to the closet and pulled out her coat and purse, retrieved a lipstick from one of her pockets and applied a fresh coat to her lips. Done and done. So scoot! What are you waiting for?

  It was 6:03. She’d been done for ten minutes, but she couldn’t seem to get herself out the door. The self-hate and despair that were always hovering in the shadows of her mind were threatening to ruin the night before it had begun. You don’t deserve to be happy, remember?

  But she was so lonely, so desperate to be known, to be intimately connected with somebody. She’d longed for a day like this her entire life. Couldn’t she turn off the guilt for once?

  The remainder of her day after Rick’s visit had been surreal. Valentine’s Day had never felt any different from any other day of the year. Obligatory cards in elementary school were the only ones she’d ever gotten, with candy hearts and mini packs of M&M’s attached. Being given a whole bouquet of roses was like eating a king-size Snickers on an empty stomach—almost too much to handle, especially after a lifetime-long drought of affection.

  She’d spent her breaks compiling
a list of conversation topics in case there was a lull. They’d discussed so much at the party it had taken her a while to come up with some good questions, but she needed to have some ready just in case. She hated it when conversation stopped. She was much more comfortable when someone was talking, preferably not her.

  She looked at her watch again. 6:04. She huddled deeper into her coat and stepped out to the sidewalk. The strip mall parking lot was bustling—no doubt the bistro two doors down and the Maggiano’s on the other side of the lot were booked for the night. She scanned the cars for a moment before realizing she didn’t know what she was looking for, but no one seemed to be waiting for her. She tamped down the disappointment that was piling like snow on top of the fire she’d had in her heart all day. You really thought this was going to happen, didn’t you?

  The sky was dark with clouds, and the puddles on the sidewalk outside the salon were frozen solid. She leaned against the building, hands deep in her coat pockets, looking at the driver of each car that entered the parking lot. Her stomach twisted with hunger and anxiety, and she hated herself for being so nervous. She tried to imagine how Corrie would be in this situation. Calm and unaffected by her date being five minutes late, I’m sure. Her stomach probably doesn’t even know how to knot.

  In an effort to distract herself, she thought back to the previous afternoon at the Boys & Girls Club. Only one of the girls she worked with had a boyfriend, the others were grousing about Valentine’s Day and bemoaning their singleness.

  “Girls, believe me, not having a boyfriend when you’re sixteen is not the end of the world. You don’t see me panicking and I’m eight years older than you.”

  “Nobody said it’s the end of the world,” Kea had said. “It just sucks.”

  “Yeah it does,” said Tandi, her fingers twirling a couple of her long, tiny braids. “‘Specially when other folks is rubbing it in your face.”

  “I ain’t rubbing it in your face.” Egypt had looked wounded. “I don’t get to talk about my guy when the holiday comes, is that it?”

  “Ladies, please,” Kim had said with a laugh. “Let’s shelve all Valentine’s Day talk for now, alright? I wanted to talk about magazines, anyway.”

  “Which ones?”

  “All the ones at the grocery store check stands that scream about fashion and diets and that kind of crap.”

  “I hate those,” La-Neesa had said, shoving her glasses up her nose. “All you poor white women having to get skinny, must drive you crazy.”

  Kim had frowned. “Poor white women? You girls don’t feel that pressure?”

  Joelle had given Kim a sympathetic smile. “Naw, not the same way. I think black men appreciate curves.”

  Tandi had nodded. “Brothas love a booty.”

  La-Neesa had laughed and given her a high five. “True that!” Kim couldn’t help cracking up.

  “I know what you’re getting at, though, Kim,” said Mercedes, the quietest girl of the group. She didn’t speak often, but when she did, the other girls always listened. “Even if the message isn’t fitting for our specific situation, it’s disheartening nonetheless to see women of any culture being told that they need to be a certain way. We should strive to be healthy, sure, but even healthy looks different on different people.”

  “Well said, Sadie.”

  “Okay, but Kim, what if being a certain way got you what you wanted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Egypt had leaned back in her chair, balancing on the rear legs. “Like, if being ten pounds lighter got you a man. It’s a small price to pay, all the dieting and working out it would take, if you got a man at the end of it.”

  Kim had frowned. “Like the end justifying the means?”

  Egypt had thought for a second. “If you say so, sure.” The other girls laughed.

  Kim had shaken her head. “No, I don’t think so. You have to stay true to yourself. If you don’t respect yourself, then no man is going to respect you, either. Love isn’t an important enough ‘end’ to justify compromising who you are.”

  They had been easy words to say at the time. But now, huddled against the salon’s façade, panicked that she was being stood up, and having a glimmer of hope that there might actually be a day when someone did love her made her realize she couldn’t be so sure that she wouldn’t do absolutely anything to get someone—Rick specifically—to love her.

  She waited three more minutes before letting herself consider going home. She was going to get frostbite sitting out here—

  “Kim!”

  She jumped. “Oh—hi!”

  Rick jogged up, cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I feel terrible.”

  “It’s alright, I’m just glad you came.”

  “I said I would, didn’t I?” He grinned. “C’mon, it’s freezing out here. This place is a zoo, I’m parked around the corner.” He took her arm. “Do you like Italian?”

  “I do. I love it in fact.”

  “I pegged you as an Italian food girl. Have you ever been to Alfredo’s?”

  Kim couldn’t stop the smile that stretched her frozen cheeks. “I’ve heard about that place! Never been, though, a little out of my price range.”

  He grinned. “I got reservations at 6:30, so we should get there just in time.” Rick steered her around cars until they reached his blue hatchback. He opened the door for her and she settled into the cracked leather seat, relieved to get out of the wind even though the car’s interior was no warmer. He slid into the driver’s side and started the car, cranking up the heat as soon as the engine turned over. “So how was your day?”

  “Significantly better once I knew my dinner was taken care of.” She grinned and nearly burst when he laughed. I’m being witty! “Usually it’s hard working Valentine’s Day because people are getting dolled up for special dinners and it just rubs my nose in the fact that I’m not doing anything, you know?” She unzipped her jacket as the heat from her own nerves parched her.

  “I totally understand. Valentine’s Day is pure torture, I agree. Well, usually, anyway—this one isn’t so bad.” He flashed her a smile. She thawed even more.

  They arrived at Alfredo’s just in time for their reservation. Rick opened the car door for her and took her arm like he had in the parking lot. He even beat the seating host to her chair to pull it out for her. She felt like underdressed royalty.

  The waitress came and set a basket of breadsticks between them. “Welcome to Alfredo’s and Happy Valentine’s Day. Are you celebrating tonight?”

  Embarrassed, Kim ducked her head. “Oh, we’re just, um—”

  “—on our first date,” Rick finished, flashing Kim a smile.

  “How romantic!” The waitress clasped her hands. “I’ll get you an appetizer on the house to celebrate. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Do you drink wine?” Rick asked Kim.

  “I don’t usually, but just because I’ve never learned how to pick the right one.”

  Rick picked up the wine list and scanned it. “I’ll have a glass of the Barbera d’Alba, and the lady will have the Chianti.”

  The lady. Kim sat up straighter, intent on earning the title. “Thank you, Rick.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you like it. I don’t know a lot about wine, but I know what I like, and usually other people like it too.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, and Kim began to panic. Her carefully compiled list of topics fled her memory, and she grew self-conscious under his unwavering stare. She definitely didn’t feel like a lady. More like an awkward adolescent.

  “You’re blushing.”

  Kim’s hands patted her cheeks. “Am I?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry—am I embarrassing you?”

  “No, no—I mean, I’m just…feeling a little under the microscope. I’ll be honest, I don’t go on a lot of dates. And I’m not very good at small talk. I thought of all sorts of things while I was at work that I was going to ask you, but now I can’t remember any of them.”
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br />   He flashed a disarming smile that chased away her anxiety. “I don’t go on a lot of dates, either. In fact, the girl I just broke up with—Karen—was the first girl I’d ever dated long-term. Not that we were that long-term, but longer than just a couple dates.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  He made a face. “At a bar. Isn’t that lame? It sounds lame to admit it, anyway.” He shrugged. “She seemed sweet in the beginning, but she changed after a while. Then she started getting all…I don’t know, distant and accusing. Not attractive. And then she left me—she left me!” He shook his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He took a long drink on his water and resumed. “Anyway, having been in a relationship makes it that much worse to not be in one, you know? Then you know what you’re missing.” He stared at the space between them for a moment, then sat up straighter and gave his head a small shake. “Sorry, kinda went off for a minute there.”

  “I understand. It must have really hurt for her to treat you like that.”

  “It did.” He rewarded her understanding with another ice-melting smile. “Thank you for letting me get that off my chest.”

  “I’m glad you felt comfortable telling me.” She really did. For him to be willing to open up to her must mean he really did like her. She hoped she’d have the chance to show him she wouldn’t be like Karen.

  The waitress came back with their appetizer and wine and asked for their order.

  “I haven’t even looked at the menu,” Kim said with a laugh.

  “I don’t need to look,” Rick said as Kim scrambled to scan the entrees. “I’ll have the pollo parmesan, and the lady will have the…pollo marsala. How does that sound, Kim?”

  “Oh—um…” she glanced at the description and shrugged. “I’ve never had it before, but it sounds good. Thanks.”

  The waitress took the menus and Rick frowned. “I hope that was alright.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ve never had someone order for me before.”

  “I’ve had that dish here a couple times. It’s very good. I really think you’ll love it.”

  She spread her napkin on her lap and picked up her wine. “I’m sure I will.” She took a sip and tried not to make a face at its strong flavor. It wasn’t the kind of drink she could imagine ever being in the mood for, but she didn’t mind enduring it tonight.