Child of Mine

by Beverly Lewis

  After a moment of confusion on his part, Jack kissed her cheek.

  “I had a delightful time,” Karen said again, reaching up to wrap a silky rainbow scarf around her neck. Jack offered to walk her to her car, but she objected. “No, no. You stay and keep Nattie company. But thanks.”

  Nattie wandered over and joined Jack at the door. They watched as Karen Jones walked down their steps to the driveway, got into her car, and without further admonishments, lectures, or stink-eyes, drove off into the night.

  Jack put his hand on Nattie’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m proud of you, sweet pea.”

  Nattie looked up at him. “I did okay?”

  “Better than that.”

  Nattie breathed out a long sigh as the two of them, like refugees from a hurricane, huddled in the doorway.

  “We survived,” Jack said, moving away from the door at last.

  “Now will you ask Laura out?” Nattie just had to say.

  “Please don’t start.”

  “Just askin’.”

  Together they cleaned up the kitchen, and when they’d finished, Jack sat on one of the counter stools and patted the one next to him. They stared at each other for a moment, faces blank, lulled by the whooshing of the dishwasher.

  “I’m exhausted.” Nattie yawned. “She wore me out.”

  Later, when Jack tucked her in, he mentioned how much Karen had enjoyed looking at Nattie’s scrapbook.

  “She was just trying to impress you.”

  Jack considered that. “Surely there was something good about the evening.”

  Nattie creased her eyebrows and pressed her finger on her forehead. “Let me think about that.”

  Jack tickled her and she squealed. “The strawberry pie was the best part. That’s what it was.”

  “Not the green beans?”

  Nattie giggled again as Jack pulled Laura’s Amish “quiltie” up to her chin. After their prayers, Jack leaned in to kiss her good-night, and Nattie widened her eyes dramatically, puffing out her right cheek.

  “You caught that, too, I see.”

  Nattie nodded and Jack kissed her waiting cheek, which deflated suddenly. Nattie chortled. “Wait, Dad, I feel crooked.” She puffed up her left cheek just then, and when he kissed it, Nattie’s cheek popped like a balloon, complete with sound effects.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Better.”

  Better indeed, Jack thought.

  Nattie handed him Flounder, and Jack accepted it graciously. “Flounder doesn’t talk any more than Whiskers, but I thought you could use a break tonight.”

  Jack turned off the light and retired to his room, placing Flounder beside his pillow, wondering what his sister, San, might have up her sleeve for him. He didn’t relish the thought of her guffaws once he admitted she was quite right about Miss Karen Jones, bless her heart.

  He wandered out to the balcony and gazed downstairs, marveling at this very small step forward, his first date since college. I actually entertained a woman in my own home. Small potatoes for other men, perhaps. And despite tonight’s disappointment, the whole dating plan somehow didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

  But he couldn’t help reflecting on how Laura might feel about the whole thing, if she felt excluded, or pushed out . . . or worse, betrayed.

  Sunday morning dawned brightly. Jack had just emerged from the shower when he heard the key rattling in the front door and a “Yoo-hoo!” from his sister. He wrapped himself in a robe and shook his damp hair, then stuck his head over the railing. “’Morning, San. Isn’t it kind of early, even for you?”

  “Hey, you offered to drive,” San retorted, kicking off her high heels and heading for the coffee machine. “Besides, church starts in less than two hours, and I’ve got important things to discuss with you.”

  Only San would squeeze in an intervention on the Lord’s Day. Jack chuckled.

  Looking in the mirror, he saw how very long his hair had gotten and attempted to create some order to it. He was overdue for a visit to the barber, who was on vacation. Jack lathered up and scraped his face free of offending whiskers, then washed his face with warm water. That done, he slipped on his black dress slacks, twisted on his purple-checked tie with light black stripes—fashion police approved—and headed downstairs to face the firing squad.

  She brought him a piping hot mug of java and settled on the couch, wasting no time. “How about I tell you how it went with the school counselor last evening?”

  Jack opened the curtains and stared out toward the side yard. Craig was on his front porch, leafing through the Sunday paper, his own steaming mug in hand.

  “She’s intense, right?” San began. “In fact, she’s possibly the most like me of anyone you could have picked.” She gave a little cackle.

  “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

  Her chortle deepened. “You had to learn the hard way, Jack. Now, are you ready to get real? I mean really real?”

  “I have a few new names,” Jack said, having had plenty of time last night to consider the possibilities.

  “So we still haven’t learned our lesson,” San muttered. “Go ahead. Let’s get it over with—tell me who you’re thinking of asking next.”

  Jack eased himself into an upholstered chair and recited his own list of eligible and interesting females: Cynthia, red-haired and bubbly; Jennifer, somewhat shy but with a dizzying sense of humor; and Maggie, short hair, five foot two, and a big heart. All from San’s church, which he and Nattie had visited quite a few times. He waited for San to be impressed.

  “You done?” she asked, clearly hiding a smirk.

  “And those are just for starters.”

  “First off, Cynthia’s engaged—”

  “Fine. She’s off the list,” he said.

  “Jennifer has a boyfriend in Alabama, and besides she doesn’t even want kids of her own, so why would she raise yours?”

  “Good point. Check.”

  “And Maggie?” San snorted. “Divorced twice. And she’s not even twenty-five yet. How would you like to be number three?”

  “Uh . . . check.”

  “By the way, very few people know this about her, so keep it under your rapidly thinning hair.”

  Jack touched his scalp.

  “Gotcha.” San chortled again. “So let’s think out of the box,” she said mysteriously, crossing her legs and fluffing her long red skirt. “I’m thinking of . . . ah yes. Angela Walberg.”

  Jack took another sip. He hadn’t even considered Angela. Long blond hair, very attractive, even model material. She, too, attended San’s church. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

  San laughed. “Uh-huh. That’s what I’m talking about. Do I know, or do I know?”

  Before he could manage a retort, he heard the bathroom drawer slam shut, and soon Nattie came bounding downstairs, hair brushed and held back by a white headband, sundress twirling around her with each step. She gave her auntie San a quick hug and presented Jack a piece of paper containing her memory verses for Sunday school. She took a quick breath, clutched her hands behind her back, and began reciting from memory. “Create in me a clean heart . . .” she began, remembering the Psalm perfectly. He and San clapped exuberantly. Proud of her accomplishment, Nattie grabbed the paper from Jack, all smiles, and bounded into the kitchen for breakfast.

  Jack hunched in his chair glumly.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” San whispered.

  “You remember?”

  San cleared her throat. “I try not to. It was just a bad day, Jack.”

  No, it wasn’t, Jack thought. It was a typical day.

  His mind flashed back in time, twenty years. They were driving to church for the Christmas Eve service in their Oldsmobile, an oversized rust bucket, his father and mother in the front seat, his father wearing his favorite speckled maroon tie, the one that cleverly disguised food stains, and his mother wearing those gaudy white beads, layers upon layers of fake pearls, like a noose around
her neck.

  His mother turned in her seat and handed Danny a piece of paper containing a series of Scripture passages relating to the birth of Christ and told him she’d forgotten, but he needed to recite them tonight, by memory, in front of the church congregation.

  “You’re my smartest child,” his mother told Danny. “You can do it.”

  Jack and Sandra must have shuddered, but Danny did his best, whispering the verses over and over again, and by the time they got to church, a mere twenty minutes later, eager-to-please Danny thought he was ready.

  Standing in front of the pastor’s podium, Danny got through the Isaiah passage without so much as a pause. The Luke section was next, but after reciting “When Cyrenius was governor of Syria,” Danny drew a complete blank. He looked out at the audience, hoping for a whispered clue, but only an awkward silence filled the candle-lit sanctuary. Embarrassed and red-faced, he slid the paper out of his pocket and finished the recitation.

  Sitting beside Jack, his mother’s own cheeks splashed fire engine red, her expression hardening into a fake but socially accommodating smile, her eyes turning to ice.

  Afterward, and all the way home, she berated Danny for humiliating her in front of the entire church, while Jack and Sandra sat in stunned silence.

  “She wasn’t well, you know,” San now added softly. “And she was drinking a lot to deal with her pain. She wasn’t always like that.”

  Jack bit his tongue. Maybe not, but that’s the only mother he remembered, and he still marveled at how Danny could have emerged from the Livingston family relatively unscathed, eager to forgive, eager to place the best interpretation on others’ failings, even their mother’s.

  Sitting across from San, Jack listened to Nattie rattling about in the kitchen—the clinking of silverware and bowls, and the springy click of the toaster. He sighed and shook off the melancholy. “Okay, back to this dating thing. Surely Angela’s seeing someone.”

  “Nope. She’s single,” San corrected. “And ready to mingle!”

  “Uh . . . sis? She’s a bit out of my league, right?”

  San grinned. “She’s a woman, Jack. She was born out of your league. Thing is, she hasn’t been on a date in ages because she intimidates mere mortals such as yourself.”

  “Um, yikes.”

  “So I’m thinking she might be just a little lonely about now. Maybe even enough to take your phone call, brother dear.”

  “Lonely is good.” Jack sighed, dying to end the topic and get on the road to church. “Give me her number.”

  Later that night, one whimper was all it took and he was wide awake. After years of only half sleeping at night, Jack was aware of the smallest sound emanating from his daughter’s room.

  Hearing the sad moan again, he sat up in bed. Then hearing it louder, he made his way to her door, turned on the hall light, and looked in. Her room smelled of lavender and musty spice. Burrowed into a tight ball, Nattie was murmuring in her sleep.

  He moved to sit on the edge of her bed and softly touched her shoulder. Slowly she awakened, obviously confused by her surroundings, peering up at Jack in a daze.

  “Bad dream, honey?”

  She leaned up to hug him.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, started to say something, then let loose with a full-fledged sob. He soothed her gently, until whatever was troubling Nattie seemed to pass. He grabbed a tissue, and she blew her nose.

  So many nightmares for one so small, he thought, asking her if she needed to use the restroom. Sighing, Nattie threw the covers back and stumbled out of the room. A small shadow of light flickered around the corner, followed by the hum of the fan. Minutes later, she was back, squirming beneath the covers. “Don’t go yet,” she said as he pulled the quilt to her neckline.

  “I won’t,” he replied. “Do you still remember your dream, honey?”

  “I can’t tell you—it was terrible.”

  Jack pointed to the chair in the corner of her room. “That’s where I’ll be until you fall asleep. I won’t leave you, Nattie.”

  “Promise?”

  He patted her face, waiting for her to settle some before he turned off the light.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Dad?” she whispered.

  Jack made a zipping gesture, pulling his finger across his lips, just as Nattie often did. But she continued to stare at him, as if worried he wouldn’t take her seriously.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Sometimes I play make-believe,” she began softly. “And sometimes I pretend that Laura’s my birth mom, and that when she saw me, she didn’t want to give me up, after all. But the men in white clothes made her, because they had a deal, but she searched the whole country and found me anyway.” She stopped to catch her breath. “And then she decided to secretly work for my adoptive parents, so she could be with me forever.”

  He nodded respectfully.

  “Do you think it could be true?”

  “No, honey, I don’t.” Jack felt his eyes water. “I wish I could say it was.”

  “I can still pretend, though, can’t I?”

  “Sure,” he said. Sometimes that’s all we have.

  He asked her if she wanted to pray, and she did. Afterward, he kissed her again and turned off the hall light. Then he cozied up in the rather uncomfortable chair in the corner of her itty-bitty living space. The bright stars lit her room, casting shadows across her bed coverings as his eyes became adjusted to the darkness.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you more,” he said.

  Nattie giggled and her world tilted back to normal. Or so he hoped.

  In his own make-believe world, if Jack were to admit it, Nattie was always a happy girl, and she never cried or dreamed upsetting dreams, because he was able to give her everything she needed.

  Just about everything.

  Chapter 15

  At the airfield the following Tuesday afternoon, Jack put Angela’s phone number on his desk next to his bottled water and took a deep breath. He was puzzled at his nerves, considering that he, as a seasoned pilot with over ten thousand hours under his belt, could take a spinning plane careening toward earth at blinding speed and swing it to safety without a second thought. Yet the thought of calling a woman like Angela Walberg for a date made his palms sweaty.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Jack pressed onward and dialed her number, praying for a red flag if God had other plans for them. When she answered, her voice was tinged with an endearing lyrical inflection, as though expecting his call. Had San tipped her off?

  “Hi,” he said, waxing nonpoetic. “I’m San Livingston’s brother.”

  Angela laughed heartily, reminding him of something San had declared. The way to a man’s heart was not through the stomach, but by making him feel like he was the funniest man on planet Earth.

  “I’ve known San for five years,” Angela informed him after he asked. Then she admitted, “I wouldn’t have known you two were related, much less siblings.”

  “Believe me, we’ve heard that before.”

  “Are you sure you’re brother and sister?”

  “Careful, you might get San’s hopes up.”

  Angela seemed pleased with his self-deprecating humor, and at the appropriate lull he ventured in. “I’d like to get to know you better, Angela.”

  “Well, thanks, Jack. I’d like that, too.”

  So they agreed to meet for lunch at a restaurant a few blocks from Angela’s job as a fashion advisor for an upscale boutique on Main Street.

  Jack arrived fifteen minutes early for their date the next day. Unsure of the proper greeting, Jack was relieved when Angela, wearing a navy blue sleeveless dress, swang in for a quick hug, smelling of apples and flowers.

  The hostess led them toward the back of the restaurant, surrounded by exotic paintings and dark wood paneling. The popular place was filled with patrons, assisted by an impressive waitstaff.

  It surprised Jack how easily his conversation with
Angela picked up where they’d left off on the phone. Talking about her family, work, and faith, Angela described her childhood years in Duluth, Minnesota, and her Norwegian heritage in particular. “I’ve inherited plenty of stubbornness,” she said.

  For his part, Jack shared a few flight stories and several Nattie stories. The more they talked, the more it seemed they were uncovering something special. Maybe even divinely ordained? Jack thought, uncommonly relaxed.

  Angela ordered something light and then leaned back, seemingly comfortable as she looked about the room. When it appeared that she’d spotted someone, she broke into a broad smile and leaned forward to whisper to Jack. “Without looking obvious, notice the couple three tables to our right.”

  Jack adjusted his napkin and turned slightly, seeing the object of Angela’s fascination—a well-dressed brown-haired man, midthirties, sitting across from a younger woman in a pale yellow dress.

  “Jeff and Mindy,” Angela said. “He’s her boss. I’ve known Mindy for years. But tell me what you see.”

  Angela had certainly piqued his curiosity, but their waitress was walking toward them, carrying their order on a large round tray. Their conversation took different turns, and over the course of a few minutes Jack casually observed the couple—Jeff and Mindy—but saw nothing of a mysterious nature. Angela, however, gave the impression of glee at his bewilderment.

  Obviously eager for the revelation, Angela said simply, “It’s all in the eyes, Jack.”

  He took another subtle look but saw nothing.

  Angela smiled knowingly. “Mindy’s in love with her boss and has been for months. She told me so, but I can tell by how she looks at him.” She lowered her voice. “But Jeff’s clueless, because . . .”

  Just then the waitress interrupted things by coming to refill their water glasses. All the while, Angela’s blue eyes twinkled with impatience.

  When they were alone again, Angela nodded. “Jeff’s totally unaware of Mindy’s affection because he’s enamored with our waitress, the one who just filled our glasses.”