Building a Family

by Lyn Cote

  When this final thought broke through to her conscious will, she pulled back.

  Pete looked dazed and she felt dazed. Why did she and Pete always end up kissing?

  She and Pete moved apart, not touching till the fireworks ended; the Ferris wheel ride drew to a close at the same time. When Pete helped her out of the swinging carriage, her father was looking at them with a strange expression on his face. Did that mean that he’d seen them kiss?

  Eleanor groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to hide her face. My life used to be so predictable. Why is this summer so different?

  On Monday morning, Eleanor sat at her desk, piled high with briefs and other clutter. The draw of work didn’t prevent her from thinking about kissing Pete on the Ferris wheel on Saturday night. She shook her head and tried to focus on the screen of her computer.

  The intercom on the desk burped to life. “Eleanor, a Ms. Green is here to see you.”

  “Send her in.” Eleanor’s stomach began agitating like a washing machine on High. She rose and pasted a welcoming smile on her face.

  Ms. Green walked in and glanced around at the wall with Eleanor’s framed degrees and bar association commendations. “Nice office.”

  “Won’t you sit?” Eleanor offered with a gesture toward the chair.

  Ms. Green sat and so did Eleanor. They looked at each other for a few moments.

  Then Ms. Green cleared her throat. “I’m here unofficially. But I saw you at the carnival this weekend.”

  I saw you, too. Eleanor nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “You were with Pete Beck, the building-trades teacher.”

  “Yes?” Eleanor answered, her voice higher than usual. “Is there a problem?”

  “You’re in the midst of an adoption. Is Pete aware of that?”

  Eleanor wanted to say that she and Pete weren’t dating, but how could she explain kissing a man she wasn’t dating? She had no answer to that. She and Pete had agreed just to be friends, but friends didn’t kiss on the Ferris wheel on the Fourth of July. “Yes, Pete’s aware of that.”

  “Are you certain you want to continue with the adoption process?” Ms. Green asked, gazing down at her hands.

  “I don’t understand—”

  “You started adoption proceedings, saying that you were ready to be a mother, and that you didn’t foresee marriage anytime soon—if ever. Now I see that this might have changed. I just want to make sure you haven’t changed your mind. Situations change. That’s life.”

  Eleanor wanted to challenge this assumption, but again she couldn’t without looking less than intelligent.

  “I’d like you to think this over carefully. If you proceed with your adoption, and if you two are dating seriously, then it changes the mix. You wouldn’t be a single mom of one, but a mom of three in a blended family. All of you would be part of the new family that would be created. You see that, right?”

  “I see that.” But I hadn’t looked at it that way till now.

  “As I said, I’ve come unofficially. Your dating would have no effect on the adoption. And from past association, I like Pete’s family. I just don’t want to proceed with the adoption if you might be having second thoughts. Circumstances do change.”

  Eleanor didn’t know what to say, so she only murmured, “I see.”

  Ms. Green rose. “Well, that’s that. You discuss this with Pete. And let me know if there has been any change in your desire to adopt. That’s all I came to say.”

  After Ms. Green left, Eleanor stared at the door. She sank into her chair, her head in her hand. How had she gotten herself into this situation?

  I’ll have to talk to Pete. We need to find out why we keep kissing. Is it mere attraction? Or something more?

  Chapter Ten

  Ready to discuss why they always ended up kissing, Eleanor had called Pete and asked if he had time to talk. He’d replied he’d be right over. And before she could do more than agree to that, he’d added that she should dress for berry picking. He hung up, not giving her a chance to decline.

  However, berry picking sounded fun. And she thought it would be easier to discuss this touchy topic while they were doing something, rather than just sitting face-to-face. The big question still hung over her. How am I going to say aloud, “If we said we just wanted to be friends, why do we keep kissing?”

  She was still pondering this when she heard Pete’s truck drive up to her back door. Wearing a perky straw hat and faded jeans, she stepped outside carrying a plastic pail. A can of bug spray in the pail rattled with each step she took.

  Pete had gotten out of his pickup to come to her door. “Hi! Glad you were free!”

  Guiltily, she thought about her pending cases. But her assistant and paralegal were taking care of things at the office. And she’d work longer the rest of the week to make up for taking this time off.

  “I didn’t have any appointments today. And picking berries sounded like more fun than sitting in the office.” She wished she felt as carefree and cheerful as she sounded. But unsure of asking him about their kissing, she felt her stomach rock and roll. Wasn’t he wondering about this, too?

  Hands at her waist, he helped boost her up onto the high bench seat of his truck and then hurried around to climb in himself. Soon they were driving away from town.

  “I’m taking you north to a place where I always find berries,” he said.

  She felt the need to keep the conversation going—and not about kissing. “I’m so glad that we were able to take down the tent at the Habitat site this weekend.”

  He nodded. “Now with a roof, windows and doors, we have everything enclosed, so the work will go really fast. Kevan is so happy that the weather won’t affect the schedule any longer.”

  They chatted about the Habitat project. But instead of lightening her tension, her tension leaped higher with each word, each mile, each of Pete’s smiles. She fought the urge to slide to sit right beside him, grateful for the restraint from her seat belt.

  Before long, Pete turned onto a county road, then a back road and finally onto a bumpy, rutted forest trail. At last, surrounded by pines that pierced the blue, blue sky like arrows on end, he parked and shut off the motor. Insects hummed and clicked in the silence, far from any house or road.

  Just the two of them.

  Maybe this had been a bad idea.

  A stray, unruly thought teased her. What if they skipped the discussion of kissing and went straight to the kissing? This thought shocked her into moving.

  “When you said an out-of-the-way place, you weren’t kidding.” Eleanor got down from the high seat and began spraying her hands, the back of her neck and her bare ankles with the moist, airy bug spray. Her traitorous hands trembled.

  She offered the spray can to Pete and he doused himself. After all the rain they’d gotten this year, the forest would be flush with the Wisconsin state “bird,” the mosquito. When they were both protected, she stowed the can in the truck and looked to him expectantly, hiding her twisting anxiety. Or trying to.

  “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand.

  This surprised her, but she didn’t, couldn’t, demur. She let him lead her through the pine forest over downed logs, stepping on stones across a shallow, musical creek. Pete began whistling a tune. The sound surprised some blackbirds and they flew up, squawking high above them. The trees towered over them, taller than houses. About the time she was going to ask him how far they had to walk, he halted and motioned around.

  “Here we are, a meadow in the middle of nowhere. Let’s see if the berries are ripe.” He let go of her hand and began moving through the lush growth of wild-flowers, petite, feathery baby pines and underbrush. He walked bent over, looking down. He paused. “Got one.” He held up a small, red berry.

  She caught up with him.

  He offered it to her, holding it in front of her lips, tempting her closer. She couldn’t take a deep breath, neither could she resist. She opened her mouth like a baby bird, and he dropped it o
n her tongue, just flicking her lower lip with his thumb. The berry burst on her taste buds—a tart, wild raspberry.

  “Yum.” She relished the berry and the intimate gesture of Pete feeding her. Shivers coursed down her neck, still reacting to his casual touch. She bent over to cover her all-encompassing response to him.

  “We should talk and make some noise,” he said. “That’s why I started whistling a way back.”

  She stopped in the act of brushing aside the green leaves to seek berries. “Oh?”

  “My dad surprised a bear here once. That’s dangerous. Fortunately the bear ran the other way. But I always talk or whistle. Black bears don’t like people and aren’t aggressive like Western Grizzlies. If they know we’re here, they’ll stay away.”

  Was he kidding her? “Bear? I’d heard their numbers were coming back—”

  “Yeah, that’s why there’s an annual bear-hunting season again. Now, as you pick, talk to me.”

  Talk to me. It sounded like such an easy request. But what she wanted to say demanded guts. Still putting off what she came here to discuss, she asked, “Do you ever bring your kids here to pick berries?”

  “I took them strawberry picking at the strawberry farm in June. Kids aren’t patient enough to search for the wild berries. At the farm, the strawberry vines were full of fruit and that kept their interest.”

  “And domesticated strawberries are sweeter and bigger,” she agreed.

  Pete chuckled, and she savored the sound, glancing up.

  “And juicier.” Pete smiled as if he’d swallowed sunshine. “Cassie and Nicky’s faces, hands and T-shirts were stained with red berry juice. And they ate four berries to every one that went in the basket. I don’t think the farmer made much money on us.” He chuckled easily again. As if nothing serious was on his mind.

  The sound triggered her gumption. “Pete,” she said, avoiding his gaze, bending low and finding a cluster of little red raspberries. “We need to talk—”

  “Not just to keep the bears away?” he asked, his tone sounding a bit odd to her.

  She gripped tight to her resolve. I have to ask him this. “Pete, we’ve…” Her courage failed her. She couldn’t go on.

  “Eleanor, what is it?”

  “Pete, why did you kiss me?” She didn’t glance over, afraid to look into his eyes. Then she peeked from the corner of her eye. Well, Pete?

  After a pause, he cleared his throat. “I’ve given that a lot of thought myself.” He stood and gazed at her. “I don’t go around kissing women indiscriminately—or at all, really.”

  Eleanor didn’t feel capable of replying to this statement. She waited for him to go on.

  Picking up his pail, he bent and began brushing the leaves and picking berries. “I’ve spent time thinking over what I overheard you and your dad discussing the day your mom got out of the hospital. I was on the roof and you two were below me.”

  Unable to think what else to do, Eleanor grabbed her pail, too, and joined him. Where was this headed? “How could you hear us in all that racket?”

  “I don’t know, except maybe God improved my hearing so I didn’t miss something important he wanted me to know, to finally get. I’ve thought it over for a long time now. And now I need to tell you what I’ve realized.”

  Eleanor recalled that day, her anger and hurt over her mother’s cold, demanding nature. She pushed it aside before it blighted this special exchange.

  “‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’” Pete recited.

  The words sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place them. And what did that have to do with kissing? “What?”

  “Matthew 6:34. ‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ My mom had just repeated that to me that very morning. It’s her life verse. I’d mentioned something I’d been worrying about, something that might happen, and Mom quoted the verse to me—one more time. Reminding me not to spoil today with worry about tomorrow or yesterday.”

  Eleanor murmured, “And?” She began picking berries again.

  “And later, while high up on a ladder, I heard you two talking. I admitted to myself that I was interested in you. Then you said something like, ‘So she’s letting a past relationship ruin our present.’”

  She paused. “Yes, my dad said my mom treats me the way she does because of her bad relationship with her own mother.” Eleanor refused to look up, afraid of what else she might say. This discussion was drawing them deeper into all she feared. She picked the soft red berries, clinging to their reality.

  “I can see that. And then I realized that both of us are doing the same thing as your mom. We’re letting our bad past relationships ruin our chance to be together, or at least explore being together. You’re not my ex-wife, and I’m not Rick.”

  Once again, Pete’s words brought her upright. “You’re right,” she murmured.

  “But I know I’m not ready to dive into a relationship. I just can’t. I guess I want to tell you that I’m changing. But that’s all I can do now.”

  “I understand. I talked to my social worker recently,” she said, bringing up one motivation for her agenda today. “She asked me if I was dating you and if we had discussed adopting Jenna.”

  “Jenna? The little girl that plays on Nicky’s Little League team?”

  “Yes, she’s the one I want to adopt.” Her breath caught in her throat, silencing her. And in this moment, she knew that she had already bonded with Jenna. What would he say?

  He pushed the brim of her straw hat back farther and cupped her cheek with his large hand. “That’s another factor we need to consider. I don’t see your adoption as a problem, but the timing just isn’t right for either of us.”

  “Shall we just table our attraction?” She cringed at her very “lawyerly” phrasing.

  Pete stared at her a long time, and then nodded. She bent to pick berries and to break their eye contact. She heard him do the same. His words repeated in her mind. They all made perfect sense, yet…

  “Uh-oh,” Pete murmured in her ear. “I think I see a bear.”

  She froze. “Where?” she whispered.

  “Behind you, at the edge of the meadow.”

  “What do we do?” Her lips stiff, she had trouble forming words.

  “Nothing. Can’t outrun a bear or climb higher in a tree.”

  Something in his tone alerted her. She swung around.

  No bear.

  She swung back and punched him in the chest.

  “Oh!” He yelled, laughing.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded, blushing.

  “It’s just the Beck sense of silliness. Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all.

  She realized he’d done it to break the tension of this serious conversation. And he’d been right to do so. I’m not ready. We’re not ready. But no more kissing, Pete Beck, and I mean it.

  “I think we better start picking berries,” she announced repressively.

  Pete shouted with laughter. Any bear within ten miles must have heard him.

  Still, Eleanor remained a little afraid to believe in the possibility of being in love again. Resentment of her own cold mother stirred and Eleanor closed that door. My life is my life and I won’t keep the door shut to love just to feed my mother’s insecurities.

  That Pete and Eleanor had gathered two buckets of the little velvety wild raspberries astounded Eleanor. The afternoon spent laughing at Pete’s silly puns and teasing had passed in a twinkling of sunlight. Pete had used the day to set the tone for now. They would be friends, with perhaps more in the future. For now, that felt right.

  And on the practical level, he’d insisted she keep her bucketful, and Kerry Ann had called to tell her how to freeze them.

  So Eleanor stood at her sink, picking out the stems and other debris like torn leaves and dried blossoms she’d picked along with the berries. She could hardly recall a day when she’d felt mor
e blessed by a friendship.

  An unexpected knock sounded at her back door. She walked to the door and opened it.

  Her mother stood there.

  Eleanor was so shocked, she gawked. Her mother never came alone for a visit. “M-mother,” she stammered.

  “Good afternoon, Eleanor. I hope you have a moment.”

  Eleanor wasn’t a coward, but her mother’s abrasive tone nearly caused her to run and hide in her bedroom. But what could she say? I’m not going to let you get to me, Mother. She stepped back and waved her mother inside.

  Delia walked in and went straight to the kitchen. She sat down at the tiny table. “We need to talk.”

  Eleanor’s buoyant mood dropped to her knees. Now what had she done wrong? Trying to bolster her resistance, she sank into the chair opposite her mother.

  “I have been thinking over your words. What you said to me the day I came home from the hospital. You had never spoken to me like that before.”

  Yes, because I could never trust that you really loved me. The old, deep crevice opened inside Eleanor’s heart. Could she bear her mother’s outright rejection of her? She braced herself.

  “I can’t think how you could possibly think I didn’t love you.”

  Her mother’s aggressive tone didn’t encourage Eleanor to open up. More than once in the past, her mother had started lectures like this. Or perhaps they were more like pronouncements about what Eleanor should or shouldn’t be feeling. Mother never shared; she lectured.

  Eleanor sat up straighter. Just announcing you love me doesn’t cut it, Mother.

  A sudden insight came and Eleanor grabbed it. “How have you shown me you loved me?”

  Her mother’s mouth drew up, into a “lemon” expression. “I don’t think I need to spell that out to you. My goal for you, Eleanor, was, and is, strength. Not some syrupy affection that would make you weak.”

  “Everyone has weak moments.” Eleanor didn’t know where these words were coming from. “You fainted at the Becks’ house. Everyone has weaknesses.”

  Her mother visibly bristled.

  Eleanor forestalled her by continuing, “I am not a weak woman. And I do not see loving as weakness but as strength.”