by Jody Day
Gwen had started a pot of coffee, and it smelled wonderful.
“I believe Brenna likes your cookies, Bailey. She’s a beauty, just like her sister.”
Brenna gasped. “I knew it! You are my sister.” She hopped out of her chair and into Bailey’s lap.
Bailey’s eyes filled with tears.
The silence exploded in the room like a sonic boom.
We all just looked at each other.
Toppy went white. “I thought she knew,” he whispered.
24
“Where’s the apron Gwen made me? Uncle Toppy was teaching me to make burgers today at the diner,” Brenna said. She sorted through a pile of laundry on the living room couch. The perpetual smile she’d donned the first night she came home to us never waned.
Brenna folded into our lives like the chocolate in my cookie recipe. Sweet and indispensable. An outsider would never guess she hadn’t been born on Exit 477. Her health improved, but I hovered over her.
“It’s in there somewhere. Scott will be home in a bit, and he can drive you down.” I nursed Paul while Helen slept in her bouncy seat at my feet.
“I can walk, but first I’ll fold all this up and put it away.” She found the apron, fashioned after one of the outfits Anne wore in the Green Gables movie. My mom took over decorating the room in that theme, and had begun making costumes for Brenna to play in.
“You don’t have to fold the laundry, Sweetie. It’s crazy that not even the laundry service Scott gifted me can’t keep up with it, but you don’t have to do it. And I’d rather you didn’t walk up to the diner.” Dr. Lewis seemed surprised at how she’d rallied, but he warned she could relapse at any moment.
“I’m fine, really. I’m so excited to be a cook with Uncle Toppy. I’m gonna see if he’ll let me bring what I cook home for our dinner.” Sparkles flashed from her eyes. She worked her little white hands over the pile of baby clothes until several neat stacks lined up on the coffee table.
I watched my mini-me. So far, I’d not seen any sign of the low self-esteem that I’d grown up with as a result of my father’s behavior. She’d been abandoned by both parents at such a young age. Maybe with time I could discern her heart, and try to help.
Brenna gathered the stacks of onesies, tiny socks, blankets and washcloths and disappeared into the Sweetheart room. The sound of drawers opening and closing, and her sweet humming of Jingle Bells thrilled my heart.
Lord, please let her always be this happy, and let her health continue to improve. I’d asked the Pearson brothers to bring me a Christmas tree when they got the chance. She deserved a nice Christmas.
She bounced back into the living room and plopped down on the couch. Helen’s eyes fluttered open, so Brenna bounced the chair with her foot. The baby went back to sleep. She put on her apron, and glanced at me.
How could I refuse her? She’d had such a hard time. “I guess you can walk down there if you want. Just call me when you get there.”
“Thank you!” She jumped up off the couch, and then sat back down. “I’ll wait until Scott gets here.”
“It’s OK, run along. I’ll be fine. He’ll be home in a just a few minutes.”
Paul began to wiggle.
“Can I hold him?” She stood and held out her hands.
“Sure.” I’d hesitated the first few days when she’d asked to hold them, but she was careful and gentle. I handed him to her.
“He’s so soft.” She kissed his forehead and swept her lips across his cheek.
Helen woke up and so I picked her up and let her nurse.
“Bailey, do you know what happened to my dad?” She put Paul on her shoulder, and then her gaze met mine.
Poor thing. So many questions. She’d seemed to understand that we had the same father, there was a divorce, and remarriage. The night we told her that her father had died, she went to her room, and was quiet the next day. She hadn’t asked for any details, and I was very glad not to have to give it. Michelle had counseled to let her process it, but be near if she needed to vent. I wondered that she never mentioned her mother.
“Sweetie, he was very sad. He didn’t want to live anymore.”
“You mean he made himself die?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, so very sorry Brenna.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish I could have been a better little girl. Maybe Mommy wouldn’t have gone away from Daddy, and he’d have been happy. I wish I wouldn’t have gotten sick. It was too hard for Daddy, and for Grandma Lana.”
There it was. The hidden part of an iceberg that I’d been looking for. I pulled Helen off and took her to her crib, went back and took Paul from Brenna and settled him in his crib, as well. Please let them be quiet for just a few minutes.
I joined her on the couch. “Sweetie, what would make you think any of that is your fault?” As if I didn’t know. I could probably guess all but the specifics.
“Mama left. I must not have been very good. I can barely remember, but she left,” she said. Her bottom lip quivered, and the color we all prayed into her cheeks every day evaporated.
“I’m sure you weren’t bad. What makes you think so?”
“Mama and Daddy argued a lot. They went into their bedroom and closed the door. I kept hearing my name.”
“Maybe they weren’t arguing because you were bad, but because they were concerned about you. Did you ever think of that?” What a lie. This little girl needed the truth, but was she old enough to hear it? God help me.
She looked down and squinted her eyes a little. “Maybe, but Mama didn’t smile much, and Daddy never really talked to me, even less after Mama left. If they loved me, they wouldn’t have left.” She cried for a few minutes, snuggled in my embrace.
I put the box of tissues from the coffee table on my lap.
She turned her pale little face to mine. “I’m sorry, Bailey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“It’s just that I know exactly how you feel.”
Brenna sat up, her eyes wide. “Really?”
“You know, our Daddy left me too. I used to think it was my fault.” I let that sink in a bit.
“Weren’t you a good little girl?” She turned sideways on the couch, pulled her legs up, and crossed them.
“I don’t know about that, Brenna, but parents don’t leave because their kids act up. It’s not right, but parents hurt their kids when they leave because they fall out of love, or have some other kind of problem. It’s not ever the kid’s fault. Ever. Never.”
She smirked, as though she didn’t believe me. “Why did you think it was your fault?” She crossed her arms and leaned toward me.
“Same as you. They were arguing and Daddy said ugly things about me. Things that hurt my feelings. I never forgot it, even as a grown up.”
“Wasn’t Gwen nice to you?”
“Mom was the best, plus I had my Gran Helen. Your Grandma Lana was nice to you, wasn’t she? She told me how much she loved you. She visited me in the hospital before she died.”
Another wave of tears. “I didn’t even get to go to the funeral because I was so sick.”
“I know, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Guilt constricted my throat. I’d never even offered to take her to the graveside.
“Grandma Lana was so sweet to me, but I still felt bad about Mama and Daddy. You said you used to think it was your fault. How’d you get over it?” Her gaze focused like a laser, as though the answer would save her life.
“I grew up, Brenna, and that helped a bit. I knew in my head it wasn’t my fault, but in my heart it still felt really bad. Really all my life until recently.”
Our shared experience pulled us into the same bubble. But how could I help her?
“I guess I’ll have to wait ‘til I’m grown up then. But what happened?”
“You don’t have to wait until you’ve grown up. You just have to know who you really are. I didn’t know until I met Scott and all the wonderful people here.”
“So, getting a husband
made it all better?”
I tried not to laugh. Low self esteem didn’t help a marriage at all, but that might be a little beyond her right now.
“Before that. Scott helped me see that I’m not what people say or think I am. I am what Jesus says I am.”
She blinked several times, and then turned her head sideways. Her mouth opened and she just blinked at me. “Well, I’m saved and going to heaven, but,” she began, then stopped. Her childlike mind didn’t know what to ask.
“You are beloved,” I said. Why didn’t I have all those scriptures memorized? I’d mark them in her Bible and make sure she read them often. “That means very, very much loved.”
“Is that why Scott calls you ‘Beloved’ all the time?” She smiled.
“Yes, he promised to do that to remind me of God’s love for me, as well as his.”
She squinted up her nose as though that was a little mushy for her. “What else are you?”
“We are beloved. Jesus gave His life on the cross because He loves us so much. We are blameless, blessed, chosen,” I began. So many things, but I silently prayed to call to mind what she needed most, and could understand.
“Blameless,” she repeated. She’d picked up on the most important word for her.
“Yes, you haven’t done anything wrong. Especially since Jesus took all our sin on Himself. He looks at you and sees a blameless child, His child. Our daddy and your mama may not have known how to love you, but Jesus does.”
She smiled.
Whew. I’d counted on the Holy Spirit to help her understand. Another thought came to mind. “Brenna, Scott and I will do all we can to make you feel loved. We both love you and are so glad you’re here. But we may disappoint you sometimes. Jesus never will. His love is all the time, even when we don’t feel it.”
Helen decided to wake up and cry.
Brenna went to her. She brought the baby back and handed her to me.
“You know my friend Michele that I go and talk to sometimes? She is a helper for people who are sad. Would you like to go with me next time?” I put Helen on my shoulder and searched Brenna’s eyes.
“OK.” I wondered what she thought in the silence that followed. “Are you still wanting to go to the diner? I can manage these two.”
“Really? I’d really like to walk over there. It’s so nice and crispy,” she said.
Crispy. I’d infected her with my love for all things Fall. “Go ahead.”
She headed for the door, then stopped and rushed to me for a hug. “Thank you, Bailey.”
“I love you, Brenna.”
Her eyes watered over. “Love you, too.”
I prayed as she went for the door again. Please let her understand Your love for her. I’d make sure she didn’t grow up thinking less of herself.
She stepped out the door then turned back. “Can you tell me what ugly thing Daddy said about you?” Her curiosity was only natural.
“He called me fat.”
She grimaced. “How mean. Well, you’re not now.”
I laughed. “Now I really love you!”
We both giggled as she closed the door and left.
25
“I think I’ll take Brenna up to the diner this morning. Will you be all right here?” I called from the bathroom as I shaved. “We can walk. It’s one of those crisp, cozy mornings you love so much.”
Bailey let Brenna walk up there often over the last few days. She seemed to be getting stronger.
“I already stuck my head out the front door. It’s heavenly. Toppy must be burning leaves over at their place. I wish I could have my coffee on the front porch,” Bailey said.
“And why can’t you?” I walked into the bedroom for a shirt and got whooshed in the face with air. Bailey had popped the bedspread into place just as I left the bathroom. “Whoa, there, pardner, you’re lethal with that thing.”
“Getting pretty good at getting things done before the babies wake up, wouldn’t you say?” She tossed the throw pillows into place.
“Yes, and a mite overdoing it. I’ll have to admit, though, you seem stronger, and less,” I began.
“Less stressed. I know. I won’t tell you that it’s totally gone away, the flashbacks and the gunshot, but it’s more manageable. Thanks for being so great about my therapy sessions with Michele.” She started folding laundry that piled high in the rocking chair next to the bed.
The baby detergent fragrance reached my senses. I watched her fold tiny baby things. She wore a long, lacy, what she called ‘nursing’ gown, her light brown hair shining softly in the light of the overhead fixture. Every item or so, she’d glance at Paul and Helen, sleeping soundly in their respective cribs. There it was. The thing I lived for. She smiled.
Bailey looked up at me and then tossed me a few baby clothes. “This isn’t rocket science, Scott. Fold, stack, done.”
I let the laundry fall to the floor and wrapped my arms around her. How did I get so blessed? I could protect her in our little domain, but I couldn’t control what went on in her thoughts. A new level of prayer, and trust, now permeated my days. God was healing her, and He didn’t need my help.
“Why don’t you start the coffee, and I’ll finish up Mount Baby Clothes,” I said.
“Perfect, thanks babe,” she said.
I was rewarded with a kiss that was more like the pre-pregnancy, pre-traumatic tragedy Bailey. She scruffed up my hair, then left the room. A few minutes later, as I folded, the scent of coffee brewing filled the house.
A plan formed, and I had to work fast. I finished folding and put all the little stacks away. Clothes in drawers, diapers in a big basket on the dresser.
Bailey entered the bedroom again. “Can you give me a few minutes before you head out? I want to get dressed.”
“Yep, no problem.”
She grinned at the empty rocking chair, and mouthed ‘thank you’ before she disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower start. Perfect. First, Paul. I gingerly picked him up and set him in his carry seat that stayed parked under the crib when not in use. I carried him to the coffee table in the living room and positioned him toward the front window. Good, he didn’t wake up.
Brenna sat curled up on the couch, reading a crochet magazine. She whispered, “Good morning.”
Next, Helen. She squirmed a bit, but stayed asleep as I repeated the carry seat routine with her. I set her next to her brother. I pulled the curtains open as far as they would go, dodged outside onto the porch and positioned Bailey’s favorite rocker sideways, so she could enjoy her coffee and easily see the babies through the window.
“Wanna go to the diner with me this morning?” I whispered to Brenna.
“Yes, that’s awesome. But will Bailey be all right?” she asked.
“She’ll be fine, it’s just for an hour. Run up and get dressed,” I said. “Bailey wants to have her coffee on the porch, but it’s too cold for the babies.”
She nodded, grinned, and tip-toed up the stairs.
I gazed at my babies. “You guys please stay asleep until Mommy drinks her coffee, OK?” I asked in a whisper.
Helen squirmed, but settled.
Bailey’s sweater hung in the hall closet, so I grabbed it on my way to the kitchen. I poured her a giant mug of coffee, fixed it with one teaspoon of sugar. As I walked back down the hall, she came out of the bedroom. Perfect timing.
“What’s this?” she asked, waving her hand from the two carry seats to the open curtains.
“It’s your coffee on the front porch.” I helped her into her sweater and led her outside.
She sat down in the rocker.
“See? You can see them perfectly.”
She smiled as I handed her the coffee. She took a big breath and let it out slowly. “What a luxury. Thanks, Scott.” She took a sip of coffee as if it was the nectar of the gods.
The chill outside reminded me I was in t-shirt and jeans. A minute later I was dressed and back on the porch waiting for Brenna.
She stepped
outside, dressed in jeans and a team logo T-shirt, the apron Gwen made her slung over her shoulder.
“You really like the team or are you just trying to impress me?” I asked.
“Tracy gave it to me. She said she and Javier are taking me to a game.”
“I see. Well, that would be fun, and I’m more than a little bit jealous,” I said, reaching for her hand.
“Bailey, Scott’s taking me to the diner today. Will you be OK?” Brenna peeked in the front window at the babies.
Bailey grinned. “It’s ‘pretty nearly practically perfect’ as Anne would say. Have a good time. We’ll be fine.”
Brenna kissed Bailey on the cheek.
As we walked away, I turned to see Bailey rocking, sipping, and looking in the window.
Score!
I glanced sideways at Brenna as we walked to the diner. No labored breathing, no slowing down.
She grinned and rubbed her palm against her nose. “Isn’t it wonderful? Bailey says we have to enjoy it when it actually gets cold. It’s only ever mild weather in winter here.” She shivered.
“Let me give you my jacket,” I said, and began to remove it.
“No, that’s OK. I want to feel it. Besides, it’s not that far.” She skipped ahead of me.
How many times had I heard Bailey say that very thing? They’d risk a head cold just to enjoy dropping temperatures. Silly girls.
She stopped in her tracks and then turned to look at me, her eyes wide. Then I saw it. I jogged to catch up with her.
“Two school buses,” she said. “I can really help today.”
We hurried inside.
Music to my ears. Clinking silverware against ceramic plates, the whoosh of the kitchen doors swinging back and forth, the low murmur of conversation all served to warm my heart. Except the low murmur was more like a buzzing din. Every table was filled to capacity, and nearly every close friend I had in the world flitted around serving tables, even Doc. I noticed a few folks standing against the wall, waiting for service.
Christmas music rang out from the radio on the counter.