Joshua gripped the phone tighter, fighting the urge to jump on the table and shout. “Name the time and place for the interview and I’ll be there.”
“Well, not to sound too desperate, but how about the Java Stop on Fifth and Park in half an hour?”
His mind raced. What would he do with Maddie? “I can do that,” he said, still thinking. “I may have to bring my daughter, but I think I can keep her occupied long enough for us to talk.”
“That’s fine, I completely understand. I’ll see you in half an hour then.”
“Sounds great. Thanks, Debbie.”
After they hung up, he indulged himself in a celebratory whoop that brought Maddie running. He knelt down and hugged her. “Daddy’s very happy,” he said, “but we’ve got a change of plans for the evening, kiddo. We’re going to pack up some fun things for you, like your connect-the-dots book and your paint-with-water set and your doodle pad, and we’re going to go to a coffee shop so that I can meet with someone, okay?”
Maddie hopped in front of him, picking up on his excitement. “Okay! Can I bring my crayons?”
“Yes. Let’s go pack it all up in your backpack, okay?”
Once Maddie was situated, Joshua changed his clothes and took a few minutes alone to pray for the interview. Let this be it, God. Please, please let this be it. I’m so tired of worrying about money and feeling like I’m failing my daughter. Let this be it.
They got to Java Stop ten minutes late. He felt like an idiot for underestimating their travel time, but he hadn’t taken the rush hour into consideration. He ushered Maddie into the shop and scanned the tables for a familiar face. When he spotted a woman staring at them he took a chance and approached her table. “Debbie?”
She stood and shook his hand. “Thought that might be you. Nice to see you again, Joshua.”
“And you too. This is my daughter, Maddie.”
Debbie smiled. Maddie did as well, something Joshua was pleased to see. “It’s nice to meet you, Maddie. What did you bring in your backpack?”
Maddie pulled on the zipper and yanked out the paint book. “You just use water, so it’s not so messy.”
Debbie laughed. “I remember those! I used to do them all the time. The water always turned green.”
Joshua chuckled as he set Maddie up at the table. “It still does. You good to go, Maddie?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Debbie smiled at Joshua. “She’s adorable.”
“Thanks, I think so too.”
“Do you want to get yourself something to drink or eat before we start?”
Joshua glanced at the bar. “You know, if you don’t mind, I think I will. I’ll be right back—okay kiddo?”
“Okay.”
Joshua bought a bottle of water and tried not to stare at Debbie while waiting for his change. Maddie was chatting to her about something, a rarity for her when it came to adults, and Debbie seemed to be interested—or else was faking interest very well. Either way, he was grateful.
He sat back down with his water. “Alright. I’m ready when you are. Maddie, Ms., um—”
“Oh, it’s Truman, but she can call me Debbie, I don’t mind.”
“Debbie and I are going to talk for awhile, and I need you to concentrate on your art, alright?”
“Okay.”
He smiled at Debbie. “Fire away.”
She chuckled and pulled a clipboard from her bag. “I’m sorry again for the snafu—though I guess it’s the USPS that should be apologizing. Since I didn’t get your resume, would you mind giving me a rundown of your qualifications and past accounting experience?”
Joshua pulled a resume from the folder he’d carried in. “Thought this would be helpful. But I’ll elaborate on it a bit for you.” He cataloged his responsibilities at the three accounting jobs he’d held since college. “…and I was there until February of this year. They were downsizing, I was the least senior of the accountants, so…” He shrugged. “Since then I’ve just done temp jobs wherever I can get them.”
“Like Zelman’s Deli.”
He chuckled. “Yes, which wasn’t all bad, despite being completely out of my range of experience. We ate pretty good for a while there, didn’t we kiddo?”
Maddie grinned. “Daddy makes really good sandwiches.”
Debbie chuckled. “He does, Maddie, I agree. I enjoyed mine quite a lot.”
“So if you need anyone working in your kitchen, I could do that, too,” he said, grinning. “Being a single dad has taught me the art of multitasking. I’ll make lunch for the staff for no extra pay.”
Debbie chuckled. “Well, that would put you at the top of my list, if I had one—unfortunately, this job seems to drive applicants away.” She put down her pen, her face losing its cheery countenance. “I have a feeling it’s the benefits—or rather, the lack of them—that sends people running. The pay is not that great, though it could get better if we got some more funding. Our insurance package is bare bones, and with a child, I don’t know how you’ll feel about that. If we could get more grants—”
“You need a grant-writer?”
She gave him a wary smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve done that too.”
“Well, honestly, no. But a good friend of mine at my first job was, and I helped him out now and then, so I saw the ins and outs of the process. I would be willing to go through a class or training program or whatever you do to learn how to do it.”
“It would mean an awful lot on your plate.”
“I could do the grant-writing at home. It would allow me to be home with Maddie more. Evenings and weekends, I could work on that, and then do the accounting at the shelter during the week.” He spread his hands, a magician showing off the rabbit he’d just pulled from his hat. “Problem solved. See, your team absolutely needs me.”
Debbie shook her head, grinning. “Sure you weren’t a salesman at your last job?” She sat back, studying him. “You’re getting my hopes up, Mr. Miller. Let me tell you a little bit about us, and you can think about whether or not we’re the kind of place you’d like to work.
“We’re a nonprofit shelter for abused women. We house up to sixteen women at the facility and serve another ten to twenty through a day program. We are a Christian organization—though our clients need not be—and we do incorporate those beliefs into the counseling plan. We currently have a staff of eight, though we’re down by three. The accountant position is forty hours a week, but you can spread those hours out however you’d like, though I would prefer you to be at the office from at least ten until two during the week—that seems to be when I’m most likely to have time to meet with you if necessary. The grant-writing is technically a part-time position, but if you really want to take it on until I’m able to find someone to fill it, I’d be fine with you putting into it whatever hours you’re willing to.
“Given the nature of what we do, we would need to complete a background check on you and obtain fingerprints before granting you the job.” She stopped, tapped her pen to her chin briefly, then nodded. “I think that’s it. Provided you pass the background check, the job is yours if you want it.”
Joshua nearly dropped his water bottle. “Are you kidding? I absolutely want the job.”
She looked like she was going to cry. “Thank you, God, I am so relieved!” She clasped the clipboard to her chest, a smile splitting her face, and it looked to him like she’d gotten five years younger in the space of three seconds. “You have no idea what a weight that position has been on me. I still use a calculator to do basic math; I should not be in charge of a budget or a ledger. I’ll get your background check run tomorrow, and as soon as that’s done and your fingerprints clear, you’re free to start.”
He nearly kissed her. “Thank you, Debbie. Thank you very, very much.” He looked back to the pastry case. “This calls for a celebration for both of us, by the sounds of it—my treat, please.”
“Normally I’d decline but you’re right, this is worthy of celebrating. If I co
uld get those other three positions filled I’d be dancing on the tables.”
He bought carrot cake for Debbie and himself and a fruit cup for Maddie, who awarded her painting to Debbie. When they finally left, Joshua found himself looking for a reason to stay longer, and when he got home he realized he’d spent the whole drive thinking not about the job, but about his new boss.
He shook his head as he walked Maddie up to the building and into their home. It’s the job you’re happy about, you idiot, not her. You’re just grateful.
Even still, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.
FOURTEEN
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Kim awoke in a stripe of sunlight that fell across the bed. She stretched and smiled and loitered under the covers until her stomach began to rumble. “Hungry in there?” she asked her belly as she stood. “Pancakes this morning, definitely. What do you think?”
Rubbing her hands over the mound beneath her shirt, Kim hummed as she cooked and planned her day aloud. She loved talking to the baby, loved the thought of her learning Kim’s voice and recognizing it when she was born. Kim tried to get Rick to talk to her tummy, but he’d rolled his eyes at the suggestion and walked away without a word. She’d been a little disappointed, but not that surprised. She’d seen his annoyance when they’d learned it was a girl and not a boy. At least he couldn’t pin that on her.
She ate her pancakes with her feet up on the coffee table, eyes glued to the television. Her morning schedule was tied to the television programming—breakfast during the morning news, shower and dress and back in time to watch Cosby Show reruns, take a walk around the block and be home in time to watch Family Feud, then make lunch and eat in front of Jeopardy! After that she usually took a nap or ran errands, depending on how she felt, and then made dinner to be ready when Rick got home at five-thirty.
She hadn’t been to the salon in a couple months. She no longer felt like one of them. She missed too much gossip, too much news, too much life to connect with them the way she once had. She’d gotten more and more fearful of them discovering the quirks of her relationship with Rick, knowing they wouldn’t understand, and so she avoided their calls. It made her sad, but she tried not to think about it too much. It was just better that way.
She still met with her Club girls, and that saved her from feeling like a complete hermit. She had waited until her belly was obviously bigger to tell them about the baby—and that she was living with Rick—and while most of the girls had been nothing but excited for her, Mercedes and Kea had been critical of her decisions.
“You’re always telling us not to give up our independence, not to hang all our hopes on a man or rush into relationships, but then you go and do all those things and say it’s okay.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes at Kea as she slouched lower in her seat, glowering at Kim. “It’s called being hypocritical.”
“Yeah, hypocritical. I don’t get what the difference is between you and us. It’s like you think you’re smarter than us.” Kea’s head was bent, and she wouldn’t look Kim in the eyes as she spoke. It broke Kim’s heart to know she’d disappointed her and Mercedes so much.
“Kea, I have more life experience, so in that way I am smarter. But I don’t think I’m any more intelligent. And maybe I shouldn’t have been so adamant about those things when I said them. I just see so much potential in you—and in you, too, Mercedes—in all of you. I just don’t want to see you follow in the footsteps of your moms and aunts and sisters who threw away their futures.”
“But why would we be throwing our futures away if we did what you’re doing, and you’re…just living your life?”
She had tried to answer, but found she couldn’t. “I’m sorry, girls. Maybe you’re right. But I swear I wasn’t trying to imply that I’m in some way better or smarter or anything like that.” Kea had come around eventually, but Mercedes had left the meeting early and not come back for two weeks. When she did, she joined up with a different mentor. Kim tried not to feel guilty for creating the double-standard, but she’d ended up cutting herself once to deal with the anger she felt.
It had been the first time she’d cut since Rick had started pun ishing her, but since her belly had grown noticeably he’d stopped hitting her at all. On the one hand she was glad, for obvious reasons. But the part of her that needed a release, a way to ease the guilt and fend off the face that haunted her dreams, would sometimes push her to get mouthy with him, to test his resolve, to try to trigger his anger so she could bear the suffering she deserved. It was a testament to his self-control and compassion that he kept himself from lashing out at her, and she was always grateful for it after the urge passed. But then she’d realize the danger she was inviting on her innocent baby, and her self-loathing would eat at her until she simply had to find an outlet. So she would push at Rick and the cycle would begin again.
Kim put her breakfast dishes away and took a shower, then sat to watch The Cosby Show. She was filing her nails and not paying much attention to the commercials until one caught her eye and made her cry.
A young woman sat amongst a gaggle of sisters and friends, opening presents to reveal tiny baby clothes. Everyone oohed and ahhed as she held up each precious outfit. The sentiment of each greeting card—the product featured in the ad—brought smiles or tears both to the women on the television, as well as to Kim. When the spot ended and the show began, Kim found she couldn’t concentrate because her heart was so sad.
This baby would have no celebration. Kim would have no honoring as a new mother. There would be no silly party games, no finger sandwiches and stork-adorned cake, no pastel gift bags holding miniature hats and socks and pajama sets. There were no women to share their experience and advice, no birth stories told in a one-upping fashion. There was no one in her life right now with whom she could share this experience and look to for advice as the day grew near, and when the baby came home there would be no stream of visitors bearing casseroles and begging for a turn to hold the new bundle of joy.
Kim wiped tears from her cheeks and mopped her nose with a tissue. This was hardly the first milestone of her life that would pass unnoticed and unrecognized, and she’d stopped shedding tears over them a long time ago. But she thought she’d reached a new phase in her life where her experience matched up more closely with those of “normal” people—people who had grown up in a regular home with a family and a caring community surrounding them. She thought she’d finally be able to leave behind the foster kid identity. But once again her isolation slapped her in the face, and this time she was not the only one affected. Not that the baby would know the difference—but to Kim it was just like bringing the child into the same stark existence in which she herself had grown up: solitary and unknown.
Kim snapped off the television and stood. She had to do something to show her baby how much she was loved—and something to raise her own spirits. She couldn’t bear to mope all day and expose the baby to all that pessimism. She grabbed her purse and keys and left, heading for the bus stop. She knew exactly where to go.
The strip mall housed one giant box store after another—home goods, electronics, discount clothing, and her destination: the baby store. Kim was instantly cheered when she entered it. The sight of all the gentle colors and practical gadgets brought a smile to her face. She pulled a shopping cart from the corral and launched straight into the clothing.
Now don’t go crazy. She had no idea how much money they had in the bank. They didn’t even have a place to put baby clothes once she bought them. But she told herself she didn’t need to get much today, just a few things to perk herself up and honor the little life she was growing.
Kim wound the cart through the displays, unable to control the urge to reach out and stroke every hanging outfit, every blanket, every bib. She selected a package of rainbow-hued bodysuits, a three-piece sleeper set, a flowered blanket so soft it made her want to cry again. A pack of socks, a couple of hats, and three pairs of knit pants to match the bodysuit
s went into the cart as well, and then, though she’d always hated the look on other people’s baby girls, two elasticized hair ribbons with a giant silk flower attached.
Humming along with the music playing over the store-wide stereo, she meandered into the aisle of bath things. She pulled a ladybug-themed towel and washcloth set from the shelf, then baby shampoo and lotion. The next aisle held baby-proofing products; the one after that, diaper bags. Despite her attempts at frugality, every aisle held something she knew she needed, and she didn’t see the point of waiting until the last minute to buy any of it when she was already here. This wasn’t the kind of activity Rick would enjoy, so she’d end up doing it alone anyway.
By the time she reached the back of the store, she knew she had to call it quits. The cart was almost full, and she had to somehow wrangle it all home on the bus. She wheeled her purchases up to the registers and relished placing each item on the belt.
“It looks like you had fun,” said the cashier as she scanned her items.
“I did! This is our first, so we need a lot.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
When the cashier handed her the receipt, Kim made a point of stuffing it into her purse without looking at it. It didn’t matter if she’d spent a little more than she’d planned. Like she’d told the cashier, they needed a lot of things. It was unavoidable. And besides, she’d had fun, and it had been awhile since she’d had fun.
Standing at the bus stop, Kim realized she did not want to go home. Her days were all running together—she never did anything, never went out. This was the first time in months she’d ventured away from her usual destinations. And she wasn’t even tired—it seemed a pity to waste all this energy. When her bus came she let it pass and boarded instead the bus that would take her to the mall.
When she arrived, she realized she hadn’t taken into account the three loaded bags of baby things. By the time she got into the mall, she was exhausted from lugging them along. She made a slow but steady beeline for the customer service desk. “I don’t suppose I could leave these here while I shop, could I?”
The Weight of Shadows Page 18