Claire Knows Best

by Tracey Bateman

  I smile at this. What a great kid.

  What I have learned is this: The world is divided into two kinds of people. Those who have and those who don’t. The Haves never worry where their next meal will come from or how to buy clothes for their new babies, while the Have Nots must often depend upon the Haves for their next meal or clothes for their babies.

  My job at the Hope House is sorting the donations. Anger is a mild word for what I feel day after day as I sort through stained and ripped clothes. Clothes I wouldn’t put on a dog, let alone a sweet, beautiful baby.

  Why do people think that just because someone is poor that she’ll take anything?

  My dad is an obstetrician, and he volunteers twice a week so these girls can have good prenatal care. My mom is an author, and she donates her books for the girls to read while they’re waiting for their babies to be born. But just because the girls don’t have the money to pay doesn’t mean my dad only gives them half the care he would provide for someone with insurance. My mom doesn’t give ripped up or discarded books just because there’s no royalty in it for her. Beyond that, my mother saved a man’s life last week. He had a heart attack right out in the open. She gave him CPR and kept him alive until the paramedics arrived. What if she had stopped to think about his breath? Or didn’t push hard enough on his chest because she just had her nails done?

  Come on, people. Don’t send us clothes you wouldn’t wear. If they’re ripped or stained, we’re throwing them in the garbage anyway. So why bother?

  Volunteering at Hope House has changed me. Every baby should have an equal chance starting out. Life is hard enough as we grow. Let’s give the babies clean clothes and soft blankets. You can make a difference.

  Thank you,

  Arianna Everett Frank

  Tears well up as I hand it back to her. “This is fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” She folds up the newspaper and sets it on the coffee table. “The best part is that donations started coming today. That’s why I stayed late. It was incredible.”

  She hugs me fiercely. “Now I know how you feel when you get a letter from a reader who says your books have touched her life. I love making a difference.”

  “Don’t forget to watch that cornbread, Claire!” Mom’s voice carries down the stairs.

  “I’m watching it.” I shoot Ari a grin. “Congratulations. Do you want to come into the kitchen with me?”

  “I can’t. I want to go call Paddy and tell him.”

  “Paddy? Are you two…”

  Ari shakes her head; her eyes reflect such sadness after being so filled with joy a second ago that I wish I hadn’t asked. “He says we can only be friends. I don’t blame him. His friendship is better than nothing. So, I’ll take it.”

  I watch my daughter walk toward the steps and I realize that her dad was actually right about making her volunteer. Come to think of it, he’s the one who gave Tommy permission to be sponsored, too. And look how that’s turning out.

  I mull this new twist around in my mind. As much as I hate to give him credit in the kid department, I have to say, God must have given him some wisdom.

  I’m just finished taking the cornbread out of the oven when I hear the front door open. “Mom!” Jake calls out.

  “Shh, Jakey,” I hear Greg say in low tones. “Your mom might be sleeping still.”

  “No I’m not,” I say, as I enter the living room.

  My heart does a loop-de-loop at the sight of him. And as I stare into his eyes, I’m speechless. Love bursts through every valve of my heart, and I want to tell him so. I step forward, but he turns and reaches for the door at the same time. I know it’s not intentional, that he didn’t know I was moving toward him. But it’s enough to bring me to my senses. Stopping dead in my tracks, I push aside these thoughts of romance.

  “So, how long are you here for?”

  “We’re going back on Sunday after church.”

  “Okay, then I guess I’ll see you in church.”

  He nods. “Hey, I read Ari’s article.”

  My chest swells with motherly pride. “Isn’t it great?”

  “You’re pretty great, too. A real hero.” A smile tips his lips and for a second, he looks like the old Greg.

  “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “Sounds like God to me.”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  He gives me a lingering look, and I know he wants to talk. I hold my breath.

  The click-clack of Mother’s black one-inch-heel pumps signals her descent on the stairs.

  “Mom’s got a date,” I whisper to Greg.

  He smiles just as she enters. “Greg! Nice to see you.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to see you, as well.”

  “Staying for supper?”

  “No. Mom’s cooking lasagna.”

  One thing I get to take away from my relationship with Greg: I learned how to make lasagna because I knew he loved it so much.

  Silence becomes awkward in this moment when I want to beg him to stay—but won’t—Mom wants to put in her two cents’ worth—but doesn’t—and Greg just wants to escape.

  Which is what he does.

  19

  Two evenings later, the house is in an uproar because of Shawn’s nerves. Tonight is the opening for Peter Pan. He’s exercising his voice in all manner of funky-sounding exercises. “Hee hee hee hee, hoo hoo hoo hoo, ha ha ha ha.”

  Which has the expected effect on his siblings. The house is filled with echoing choruses of “Hee hee hee, hoo hoo hoo, ha ha ha ha.”

  On one hand, who can blame the other kids for cracking up? On the other hand, Shawn has to do what he has to do so that he can be heard across the auditorium without harming his vocal cords.

  “Can the mockery, you guys.”

  “Just exercising my voice so I can project when I cheer on my brother,” Tommy says. He grins that heart-melting, no-way-I-can-resist grin.

  I smile. “Nice try.”

  “Mom! Mom!” Shawn takes a break from all the hee, hoo-hoo’s and sounds nearly panicked as he glances at the clock. “I have to go right now. I’m going to be late. Mr. Wells doesn’t permit tardiness.”

  Good grief, the kid’s a basket case.

  “Calm down. Everyone out to the van.”

  Yesterday I cashed the check Tom Travis gave me, pulled the rest out of the bank, and bought the three-year-old Dodge Caravan. It’s nice to have my own wheels again. The way I drive, I was petrified I’d wreck Darcy’s SUV. Now the fifty-thousand-dollar truck-slash-minivan is safely tucked in the Frank garage next to Rick’s Mercedes.

  I drop Shawn at the stage-door entrance and find parking two full blocks away from the entrance. When you live in a small Missouri town, anything new like a children’s theater is going to draw a crowd. Only who knew they’d all get here an hour before curtain?

  Thankfully, the performers were allowed to reserve seats for family and friends. The number of seats directly correlate with the actor or actress’s importance in the show. Shawn, being the title character, has the entire third row roped off. I frown a little because even with Rick, Darcy, Mom, my kids, and me, there are a few more empty seats reserved. I just don’t want to be accused of hogging.

  The dilemma is solved as the curtain goes up. Helen, Sadie, and Greg slide into the row and take the last three seats. Greg sits next to me. “Shawn invited me. Do you mind?”

  Is he kidding? My heart is lodged firmly in my throat. I smile. I can’t stop staring into his eyes. He looks different somehow. At peace. I hate to admit it, but Bible school possibly might be a good thing for him.

  He seems as mesmerized as I do. His hand slides over mine. I automatically turn my palm to his and our fingers clasp.

  I gather the first full breath since our breakup and settle in to enjoy my son’s debut.

  And enjoy I do. He’s brilliant, flawless. There is no doubt that he is Peter Pan. Jenny Devine snagged the role of Wendy and plays the part to perfection alon
gside my boy. During the thimble scene where Wendy wants a kiss, I glance back at Pastor and Tina Devine. Tina catches my gaze and grins.

  For some reason, I start to think about her role in the church. She sings, takes care of some behind-the-scenes stuff, but I’ve never once seen her lead a Bible study. I’ve never known her to organize a bake sale. Polite, yes. Godly, definitely. Committed to the ministry and doing her part, but not so overrun with responsibility that she isn’t enjoying every second of her children’s lives.

  I take a second to look at Greg. He looks back and squeezes my hand. I don’t know. Could I be a pastor’s wife?

  During intermission, I make a little stop at the ladies’ room. Tina Devine had the same idea. We both wash our hands at the same time using antiseptic-smelling soap. We smile at each other’s reflection in the wall-length mirror above the sinks. “Jenny’s knocking them dead,” I say.

  Her eyes brighten. “So is Shawn.”

  “She wasn’t too disappointed about not getting to be the next Sandy Duncan?”

  Laughter bubbles from Tina’s lips. “Not too bad. She told me later that as soon as she saw Shawn’s audition she knew he was going to get that role. She was afraid she wouldn’t get to be in the play at all since she hadn’t tried out for Wendy.”

  “John has a sharp eye. He picked the perfect lead actors.”

  “I agree,” she says, punching the button to start the air dryer. “I notice Greg’s sitting with you. You guys back together?”

  Heat crawls across my face. I shake my head. “Shawn invited him.”

  She hesitates. I can tell she’d like to help but doesn’t want to pry.

  I open it up by stating the obvious. “Greg’s going to be a pastor.”

  “I know. I think that’s awesome.”

  You just can’t help but warm up to a woman like this who says “awesome.” Only, I don’t know what to say. Because I don’t happen to think this situation is awesome. She picks up on my negative vibe.

  “You’re against it, I take it?”

  My shoulders lift in a shrug. “It’s really not my place to be for it or against it. That’s Greg’s decision.”

  “But you don’t like the idea?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  “I’m too cranky to be a pastor’s wife. I couldn’t be nice to someone who wasn’t being nice to my husband.”

  She laughs again. “You just have to let him deal with those people.”

  “Really?”

  “Greg has the temperament for it. He’s got a lot of experience dealing with critical people. He’s a schoolteacher, after all.”

  She’s got a point there.

  “Look.” Her bony hip is leaned against the counter and she’s facing me. “You and Greg love each other. Your ministries complement each other—”

  This is where I stop her.

  “I don’t have a church ministry. And,” I confess, “I don’t even like doing nursery.”

  “You don’t have to. I don’t.”

  Well, that’s true.

  “Being the wife of a pastor is like being anyone else’s wife. If he’s a good man, he puts you before his church responsibilities. And you don’t demand his attention when you know he’s needed at the church. Otherwise you end up competing. And that’s not good.”

  “But what about me? What about the things I want to do? I have a career. I answer to a lot of people. I have book tours and conferences to attend. I miss church sometimes when I’m on a rigid deadline. How can I be what he needs me to be?”

  “You support each other. And you let God deal with the details. I have a ministry inside the church and dreams outside the church. My husband supports both. And so will Greg.”

  I guess I know that.

  My stomach is in knots as I walk back to the auditorium. Greg stands to let me through and I’m so close to him I can feel his breath on my face. I can’t help but picture us the way we used to be. As I sit, he takes my hand again. Just before the curtain rises for the second half of the play he leans close and whispers against my ear. “We’re talking later. This separation is crazy.”

  Welcome back, Alpha Greg.

  My son receives a standing ovation when he walks onto the stage at the end of the show. He stands there in green tights and a Robin Hood hat (and I know he’s going to catch a lot of flack from Tommy about that later on). After he sweeps off the hat and takes a gracious bow he, very gentlemanlike, extends his arm toward backstage and Jenny Devine glides toward him. They join hands and bow together. I glance back at Tina again and we share a laugh. So maybe Ari blew it with Paddy, but there’s always Shawn and Jenny.

  All family and friends of the actors are invited to an after-party in the enormous foyer of the theater building.

  I’m shocked to see Brandi grabbing a glass of punch.

  “This is a huge surprise.” Never thought I’d see the day. At least not so soon. Maybe God is in the process of working a miracle for these two after all. I have a feeling John’s atheistic days are going to be coming to an end soon.

  “Hey,” she says. “Go figure, huh?”

  “I’m so happy you came. I bet it means a lot to your dad.”

  “Oh, well. It would have meant a lot if he’d showed up at one of my school plays, too.” She gives a shrug and I can tell she’s trying to rein in her emotions. “But I guess two wrongs don’t make a right. Right?”

  I smile. “Right.”

  “Besides, it’s not like I had to pay to get in. He sent us tickets.”

  “Your grandmother came?”

  “Fat chance.”

  Now that would have been a miracle.

  “Well, you showed up. And that’s what matters most.”

  She gives a nod and looks at me with what I can only describe as reflective admiration. “Thanks for caring about John. I know he thinks of you as a daughter. I don’t know, seeing the two of you together that day at the restaurant made me see him as more than just a jerk who ran out on my mother. I’m not ready to be a daughter to him. But at least there’s a place to start.”

  I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you. Your dad’s basically a good man. I think he’s sorry for abandoning you. He could have chosen anywhere in the world to settle down after retirement. But look where he came.”

  I happen to glance past her and I see Greg staring at me across the room. She turns and follows my gaze. “Oh, the hero who came to your rescue the day your van broke down.”

  “Yeah.” I can’t help the stupid grin spreading across my face.

  “Go to him.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  We walk toward each other like two lovers running along a shoreline, arms outstretched, waiting for that embrace. Only, newsflash, Rick steps between us.

  Doggone it. What does he want?

  I force myself to focus on his stark-white face as Greg joins us.

  “Darcy’s in labor.”

  Why does Darcy go into labor every time one of my kids has an event?

  “Think it’s for real this time?” I ask, not facetiously.

  He nods. “Her water broke.”

  For an OB, Rick’s not being very calm. I swear he’s about to lose it. “Want me to drive you?”

  Predictably, he scowls. “I think I can manage. But you know Darcy doesn’t think she can have this baby if you’re not there.”

  Somehow, although I know he’s glad we get along these days, I think Rick has to be a little bugged at how much his wife loves me. And I know it bugs him that I act superior. But my own issues notwithstanding, Darcy has grown on me—like a lone freckle on your arm. A comfortable familiar freckle that you wouldn’t know your arm without.

  I blow out a frustrated sigh that my plans for a long talk followed by a few minutes of making out with Greg have just been thwarted for the night. “What about the kids?”

  “She wants them, too. Says they have to see their new baby brother or sister
before non-family members.”

  “All right. Get her to the hospital. I’ll go rally the troops.”

  In typical new-dad-to-be fashion, Rick dashes off to boil water or something while I turn to the current man in my life.

  With a long, regretful look, I let Greg know I’d rather be with him. “They’re making me do this against my will, you know.”

  Leaning forward, he presses a warm kiss to my cheek. I want to lean into him and get lost in the strength of his arms. But that option is not on the table just yet.

  “I’m sorry, Greg.”

  “It’s okay.” He’s such a great guy. “You go do what you need to do. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  So, after dropping Mom at home, the kids and I change into comfortable clothes and head for the hospital.

  We are allowed to go into her room as soon as we get there.

  Rick practically yanks me in. “Thank God you’re here. She’s threatening to leave me.”

  “What?”

  “She says I knew she’d be in all this pain and didn’t stop her from getting pregnant.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Rick. Go get something to drink. I’ll talk to her. And make sure you don’t get anything caffeinated.”

  Darcy bursts into tears the second she sees me. “Claire, what should I do? It hurts so much.”

  “Well, what did you expect, Darce? You’ve watched every delivery show on Discovery Health and Lifetime TV at least ten times.”

  “I know. But I think mine hurts worse than theirs.”

  Oh, good grief. “Look, there’s no shame in having an epidural. And trust me, you won’t regret it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And after you get it, make sure you tell Rick you still love him and don’t think he’s a monster.”

  So we call the nurse, who calls the doctor, who calls the anesthesiologist. Rick is so grateful that I’ve convinced little Miss Pollyanna-turned-Godzilla to have the epidural that I have to back up and frown really hard to keep him from kissing me. I do, however, allow a very quick side hug.