Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

  “Out of room? Mr. Withers, the dosage says to apply a new patch every morning.” The white-coated clerk held the carton at arm’s length, rereading the instructions out loud. “Says here, one new patch a day.”

  “I do that!”

  “Is the medication too strong?”

  “How should I know? I just do what I’m told, but I’m telling you I’m running out of room.”

  I smiled at the pharmacist, who seemed totally perplexed.

  “Look here.” The old man suddenly peeled out of his jacket, threw it on the counter, then unbuttoned his shirt and stripped out of it.

  A chuckle escaped me, and I covered my hand with my mouth when I saw the problem. The man had at least fifty patches stuck on him in various spots and positions.

  Indeed, he was running out of room.

  The pharmacist stared at the interstate of patches, and then calmly explained that the man was to remove the old patch and apply a new one.

  “Well, why didn’t they say so?” The man slipped the shirt back on and buttoned it. “Doctors won’t tell you a thing.”

  A few minutes later I’d paid for the medication and was on my way out of the store when I glanced at the overhead TV. A young store clerk was glued to the set.

  “That’s downtown, isn’t it?” I asked.

  The young man nodded. “A high-rise office complex is on fire.”

  I breathed easier. Station 16 was too far away to respond—unless the situation needed more men. I left the store, my mind back on cookies.

  I picked Kelli up at Mrs. Murphy’s, the woman we called Saint Helen. Retired, husband deceased fifteen years earlier, Helen was a godsend to us. She kept Kelli after kindergarten, and stayed with both girls the days I traveled. I never worried a minute when I was gone; my girls loved Mrs. Murphy as much as Paws and Maws, and Papa and Grandma, and looked forward to the brief visits.

  I picked up Kelli, then swung by the school. When Kris got in, her face was somber. “Mommy, my teacher says there’s a really bad fire downtown.”

  “I heard, sweetie. But Daddy’s station wouldn’t be involved.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I twisted in my seat and gave her leg a reassuring pat. She worried as much as I did about Neil’s safety. “Positive. He’ll call us at the usual time tonight.”

  When I pulled into the drive I punched the garage door button. Minutes later I carried the chocolate chips and Kelli’s medicine into the kitchen and deposited the bag on the small desk. No light blinked on the message machine.

  Stripping out of my coat, I called for the girls to straighten their room before we ate, and then returned to the car for the cleaning. Fish sticks. Fish sticks, macaroni and cheese—that’s what I’d fix for dinner. Since I’d forgotten to stop by for the chicken nuggets, I’d fix Kelli’s second-favorite meal. I grinned, thinking about Neil and how he was frying hamburger and onions right about now. Tonight was his night to cook, and he’d be making Spaghetti Red, a concoction of onion, hamburger, chili powder and hot pepper.

  How the guys’ stomachs survived the monthly gastric work-out amazed me, but they seemed to thrive on the challenge. Pete Wilson held the station record for most consumed—four bowls and two spoonfuls. Neil had said they’d had a trophy made, which Pete proudly displayed on top of his locker.

  I sprayed a cookie sheet with Pam and lined a half dozen fish sticks on the cookware. Then came the challenge. I bent over the old oven and tried to light the gas flame, scared to death. As usual, it wouldn’t catch until I’d lit three matches. Then, in a loud whossssh! flame exploded. Usually it knocked me backward several feet and tonight was no different. I jumped back and slammed the door, allowing time for the old relic to heat.

  Six o’clock. I grinned, taking a box of macaroni and cheese out of the cabinet.

  Neil would be calling any minute.

  Chapter 2

  I glanced at the clock on my way through the kitchen to the utility room. Laundry. Boy, did I have laundry. How could four people get this many clothes dirty?

  Seven-thirty. Neil still hadn’t called. He seldom went past his self-imposed seven-o’clock deadline, but for once in my life I was too busy to worry. The washer swished away, working on a load of clothes, and I headed for the bedroom to hang up perma press, shake out wrinkles and choose what to take with me. Black pants go with everything. A black, tan and white top and my brand-new cobalt-blue blouse with a vest of flowered tapestry material. Yeah, looking good, Katie, girl.

  I dug through my closet hunting for my black flats. They were well broken in and comfortable and I had to stand on my feet all day. A couple of paperbacks to read on the plane. Now, what else?

  Kris stuck her head through the doorway. “Mom, are you busy?”

  “Oh, well, no. What would give you that idea?”

  She glanced at the half-packed bag. “I have to have cookies for the party tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t your class celebrating fall early? October is still a few days away.”

  “We’re having lots of autumn celebrations this year.”

  “Well, then, lucky I remembered. I bought chocolate chips today. I’ll bake them after supper. Maybe you can help.”

  Sunshine reigned in her smile. “No kidding! Awesome.”

  She was only seven and would probably make a terrible mess, but it was too late to back out now. I watched her skip from the room and wondered why I worried about her. I liked my job. I enjoyed the out-of-state classes I taught, but I worried. Should I go off and leave my children and husband, to fly to South Carolina for this meeting?

  Was I neglecting my duties as a wife and mother, putting my job first? Our lesson in Sunday school this week had dealt with the woman’s role in the home. Boy, had I felt singled out.

  Was I the only woman in New Freedom Worship Center who had trouble being everything to everybody? A superhero I wasn’t. I’ve always envied that Proverbs 31 woman whose husband and children rose up and called her blessed. When mine rose up and called me, it was usually because I was behind on the laundry.

  I left the bedroom and hurried to the utility room to take the clean clothes out of the washer and throw them in the dryer.

  I wished I could spend time with the kids tonight, talking and listening, but I was too busy to talk, too busy to listen. It seemed as if I was always rushed, making promises I had difficulty fulfilling. My “want to” kept running ahead of my “can do,” and I had enough guilt to fill Kelli’s little red wagon.

  Neil was good to support me when I had to make these trips. It wasn’t the same as me being here, and I knew that. My husband’s retirement dream was sounding better all the time.

  I went back to the bedroom to throw things into my suitcase. Thank goodness I had made a list. As I crossed off each item and dropped it in my case I felt a sense of relief. I was going to make it after all. I grinned at my lack of faith. I’d never missed a plane yet. But I always worried. Neil claimed if I didn’t have anything to worry about I’d invent something. Some days I thought he might have a point.

  I closed the suitcase and went back to the laundry room. Kelli was down on her hands and knees trying to pick up a bug off the kitchen floor. One of those water roaches, I think they’re called, big, black and very, very ugly. I stared at the roach, and everything I had ever heard or suspected about bugs flashed through my mind. Dirty, creepy, crawly and disease-bearing. And Kelli was going to pick the bug up in her bare hands! The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

  I shrieked, “Don’t touch that nasty thing!”

  Kelli whirled to face me, lost her balance and plopped down on the floor next to the bug. At least the roach had enough sense to run for cover before I could dance the La Cucaracha on its helpless body. Kelli burst into tears.

  Why had I screamed like that? I caught myself before I said anything more. We didn’t need a crisis tonight, and I recognized the signs of an impending one. Her eyes were as big and as round as gumballs. She was my sensitive child, an
d when I shrieked, which I did all too often, she panicked. I could see it welling in her eyes. Abject horror.

  I reached out and pulled her close, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Oh, Kelli, Mommy’s sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She sobbed, and the sound tore me apart inside. When would I learn to control my emotions? All my life I’d been frightened by anything that crawled, squirmed or got around without legs, which pretty well included everything in the insect and reptile families. Just the sight of something creepy and crawly was enough to cause me to hit the panic button. I hadn’t intended to scare Kelli; I just didn’t want her picking up the bug.

  “Don’t cry, honey,” I soothed. “It’s all right. Bugs are dirty and they can make you sick.”

  I marched her over to the sink, ignoring her protests. I wasn’t going to have my daughter getting germs or some unknown disease from playing with bugs. She squirmed, but I washed her hands twice with a strong disinfectant. Drat this old house—drat Neil for not calling the exterminator earlier. With any luck we’d have enough money saved next year to purchase a new home.

  Kelli sobbed the entire time I scrubbed. “Bugs are nice, Mommy. They’re God’s helpless creatures.”

  God’s helpless creatures? Where did she come up with this stuff? “They’re not as helpless as they look. I’m calling the exterminator the moment I get back.”

  A look of pure horror filled her eyes. “The Terminator? For a little bug?”

  Terminator? Arnold? As in Schwarzenegger? I stifled a laugh, wondering how I could explain the difference between an exterminator and a terminator to a five-year-old. Not that there was all that much difference between the two. My daughter was too tenderhearted to approve of either.

  The phone rang and I lifted the receiver and snapped, “Hello,” thinking I’d hear Neil’s voice. Instead I heard the dial tone. I held the receiver out and stared at it. Someone hung up on me? What?

  Kris called from the living room. “Doorbell.”

  The kids weren’t allowed to answer the door. You heard such awful things about children disappearing that I was scared to death to let them open the door to a stranger. I hung up the receiver and hurried toward the living room. Telephone. Doorbell. Whatever.

  I yelled at Kris to turn the television down from sonic to just plain loud. Why did it always sound like kickoff time at a bowl game around here? A little quiet wouldn’t hurt anything. I picked an armload of books and toys on my way to the door, dumping them in a corner of the couch before reaching for the doorknob.

  I opened the door to find two men dressed in dark uniforms standing there. One was Neil’s fire chief, John Miller, and the other was one of Neil’s closest station buddies, Ben Burgess. I smiled and started to speak when I saw the grief in both men’s expressions.

  My smile faded.

  John spoke first. “Kate…I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? I cocked my head. For what? I gripped the edge of the door. My heart must have stopped beating for a second, because my body suddenly felt wooden, heavy. His mouth moved, but I heard only scattered words.

  “Accident…fire…stairway collapsed…lost two men…Neil didn’t make it out. So sorry.”

  Ben had his arm around me helping me to the sofa. My legs felt rubbery, like those foam tubes children use in swimming pools. Kelli and Kris were hanging on to me, begging me not to cry. I tried to reassure them, but my voice failed me. Someone was weeping in great gasping sobs that seemed to come from some deep well of grief. That wasn’t me, was it?

  “The high rise wasn’t in his district,” I cried.

  “Sorry, Kate, we were called in.”

  I saw my daughters’ fearful faces through a veil of tears. They clung to me and I held them close. Neil… Oh, God…Neil. The words ran through my mind like a prayer, but if God answered I didn’t hear Him.

  John sat across from me, rolling the brim of his hat in his hands. “Who’s your pastor, Kate?”

  I stared at him, blank. I couldn’t remember the man’s name. I had heard him preach every Sunday for four years and I couldn’t remember his name.

  “Joe Crockett,” Kris said.

  I shook my head in amazement, thinking how smart she was. I had raised this kid—Neil was so proud of her…. Neil.

  Then Pastor Crockett and his wife, Eva, arrived. Time had no meaning for me. Pastor Joe took my hand and I saw the compassion in his eyes and I started crying harder. Eva had her arms around Kelli and Kris, leading them from the room. I knew I had to get control of myself. My daughters needed me, but I couldn’t think. People talked to me and I answered or nodded, but it was as if I was watching some other woman sitting on the sofa shredding a tissue and trying to cope.

  My pastor’s words came to me out of a fog. “Neil’s in heaven now with his Lord and Savior.”

  I knew he meant well, but I wanted to lash out that I didn’t want him to be in heaven. I wanted him here, with me.

  Oh, God…why? Had I told him I loved him and kissed him goodbye before he left this morning? I wished I could go back and relive that hurried departure. Hold him a moment longer, say everything I should have said.

  Someone had called a doctor, and a man showed up, carrying a black bag. I remember answering his questions to the best of my knowledge, though I was operating in a fog. He shook out a couple of pills, and I swallowed them. He gave the bottle to Eva and reminded me to call him in the morning; I had only enough medication to last through the night. At the moment I couldn’t recall if I had a physician. Doctors scared me.

  Eventually I stopped crying. The well had run dry. I sat on the sofa in a soggy, wilted lump, blissfully calm. The sedative had started to work.

  Sunshine filtered through the bedroom lace curtains. The house had filled up with people, bearing meat loaves and casseroles. A woman I had met—and should have known—went on and on at great lengths in a stage whisper, apologizing for burning a roast.

  A bubble of hysteria rose up in my throat, choking me. Burning a roast? When my husband, the love of my life, the father of my two precious children, had burned to death in a high-rise fire?

  Neil’s parents arrived, and the situation intensified. Madge Madison threw her arms around me and leaned into me for support. Her tears soaked through my sweatshirt. I held her, rocking back and forth the way I did with my daughters when they were hurt.

  His father, Harry, short and broad shouldered with a handsome head of white hair, seemed to have shrunk. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I released my mother-in-law and went into his arms. He awkwardly patted my back, and for the first time I felt a small measure of comfort. Maybe because he reminded me of Neil. With Neil’s parents on either side of me, I walked into the kitchen where neighbors were serving coffee.

  I stared at my kitchen counters, buried under a deluge of dishes. Salads and desserts and casseroles. How could three people—actually two if you counted Kris and Kelli as one—be expected to eat all of this? My ancient refrigerator was working in overdrive anyway.

  Sue Carol, from my Sunday-school class, handed me a cup of coffee I didn’t want. What I wanted was to crawl off and lick my wounds and try to deal with the devastating blow, but I guess manners, once learned, go deeper than surface polish. I forced myself to speak to everyone who had taken the time to come and offer comforting words. It occurred to me that friends are one of the greatest unrecognized blessings, and you never fully appreciate them until your world crashes around you.

  Eva made up the bed in the guest room for Neil’s parents. She was also the one who insisted everyone go home so I could rest. I stared helplessly around the kitchen at the surplus of food, not sure what to do with it all and too tired to care, but to my relief Sue and Eva managed to put away all of the perishables, then filled freezer containers and stashed them in the deep freeze for later.

  I locked the door a little after eight o’clock, and turned out the front porch light. Neil’s parents had already gone to their r
oom, worn out by the day’s emotions. Neil was their only son and the pride of their life. I didn’t see how any of us could go on without him.

  Losing him had left a crater in my heart.

  The girls followed me into my bedroom. Mine. Not ours any longer. Their eyes were red and swollen from crying. Kelli’s lower lip trembled. “Can I sleep with you?”

  “Me, too,” Kris begged.

  I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. I’d like that.” And I would. The thought of that empty bed had been hanging over my head like that sword of Damocles. Now I would have company.

  I helped them into their nightgowns. We could skip baths tonight. I brushed Kris’s long, straight blond hair, a feature we shared, along with blue eyes, straight noses and peach complexions.

  Kelli, on the other hand, was a miniature replica of Neil with her short cap of dark curls and warm brown eyes. I forced myself to concentrate on drawing the brush through Kris’s hair, willing my mind away from the way Neil and I had looked as a couple. My Nordic fairness offset by his dark hair and golden tan. His picture smiled at me from the dresser, held close by the silver frame. But Neil was gone.

  I laid down the brush and kissed Kris lightly on the cheek. “Hop into bed, okay.”

  The girls were docile tonight, none of the usual begging to be allowed to stay up late or demanding a story before they went to sleep. I averted my face so they couldn’t see my tears, thinking that their lives had changed irrevocably. Whatever happened now, I was determined that the three of us would stay together, and I’d make the best possible life for my daughters.

  Kelli hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged. “You should have been in the kitchen when Mrs. Hutchinson dropped the bowl of fruit salad.”

  “She did what?” I turned to stare at her, sure I hadn’t heard right. Ida Hutchinson never did anything wrong, to hear her tell it.

  Kris’s face wrinkled in a smile she tried to suppress. “She almost said a bad word, too. And Reverend Joe was standing right there.”

  I laughed.