by C. S. Lakin
“Ma’am,” the man said. “I need to see your driver’s license and car registration.”
Dinah watched from a car drenched in silence, silence so thick she breathed it in like a vapor mingled with rain and hurt and fury. Then she closed her eyes. In her head, the theme to Cinderella played over and over and she envisioned herself light as air, floating out the car and riding the wind, twirling and spinning on her toes in her new ballet shoes.
1984
Time after Time
Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick
and think of you
Caught up in circles
Confusion is nothing new
Flashback—warm nights—
almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
time after—
Sometimes you picture me
I’m walking too far ahead
You’re calling to me, I can’t hear
what you’ve said
Then you say, go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
If you’re lost you can look and you will find me
time after time
If you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting
time after time
—Cyndi Lauper
Jake’s store manager, Bill Hodgeson, scooted into the plastic chair across from Jake, threw his Ray-Ban sunglasses on the table. Jake pulled his empty lunchbox closer, made room for Bill to spread out the contents of his brown sack. Their lunch breaks often coincided, and Bill always ate in the lunchroom, liked to be thought of as one of the guys. After all, he’d risen from the rank of lowly employee a decade or so ago, and he’d known most of the workers in his department for about as long. Jake had still not gotten over his amazement at how much food such a small, wiry man could consume. In under a minute, Bill had all his food items spread out before him—two sandwiches, chips, mixed nuts, a baggie of carrot pieces, three packages of Hostess cupcakes, and a Tupperware container with something that looked like potato salad, from what Jake could make out through the obscure plastic.
“Hey, Abrams, how’s tricks?”
“Going well.”
“And the family? Your kids behaving?”
Jake gave a little snort, which caused Bill to laugh. Bill had three teenage boys and was always at the ready to share some story of how boneheaded they were. But even despite Bill’s complaining, Jake would feel the layer of great affection under his razzing, some quality that Jake knew he himself was lacking where it came to his boys.
Bill unwrapped one of his sandwiches and spoke between bites, occasionally wiping his moustache. Ever since Magnum P.I. became popular, it seemed men everywhere started sporting moustaches like the one Tom Selleck had. “Hey, your job is to make sure they survive the teenage years. After that—they’re on their own.”
Jake let out a sigh. As much as he liked Bill and wanted to confide in him, ask his advice on how he kept his humor through all the trials of parenting, the man was his boss. Some part of Jake wanted to hide vulnerability, hide his past. Men often looked upon another man’s misfortune or failings as a sign of further possible incompetency. Jake needed Bill Hodgeson to believe he had a firm handle on his family.
“So what’s bothering you?” Bill asked.
Yesterday’s confrontation with Rachel was still replaying in his mind. “Can I ask you a question?”
Bill pushed crusts in his mouth and started unwrapping the next sandwich. He glanced up at the clock. “I got ten minutes. Is it a long question?” He grinned as he chewed.
“Do you . . . are you very religious?”
Bill nearly spit out his mouthful. His eyebrows shot up. “Me? Religious? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“No, I was just wondering. You see, Rachel is really big about going to church and all that stuff. She keeps on me to go with her.”
Bill shrugged. “So? What? It’s like, a couple hours on Sunday morning. When you’d probably be sleeping in anyway, right?”
Jake’s confusion must have been evident. Bill clarified. “You heard the expression: ‘happy wife, happy life’? It’s just another one of those compromises you make, so the little woman will stay happy, not turn away from you in bed when you want to . . . you know, get a little playtime. That’s not such a big concession, is it?”
“So you’re saying—”
“Look, for Margie it’s a big social deal. She’s been going to the same church her whole life. Her parents go. All her high school friends are there, now married, showing off their kids and latest clothes, and yakking about their new hairdos and all that crap. You just stand there and smile, try not to snore if you nod off when the preacher does his bit. Throw a few bucks in the basket as it goes by. What’s the big deal?”
Jake puzzled over Bill’s words. It somehow just didn’t seem right, going to church with that attitude. And Jake was afraid if he took that initial step, even if he made it clear it was just to please Rachel and get her off his back, that he’d be sucked into something he’d have a hard time getting out of. Once he made an appearance in church, he knew Rachel would expect him to go every Sunday, and then she’d expect him to participate, or—worst-case scenario—want him to go up to the altar and fall to his knees in some emotional display of surrender, like they did on those whacky TV evangelical shows, religious revivals where the Holy Spirit purportedly struck people down and turned them into a weepy mess—like the programs put on by that corrupt Jim Bakker, who recently swindled millions from his devotees. No way was he going to give Rachel the impression he was looking for religion; it would only press her to preach at him with more fervor and persistence.
“My wife is pretty . . . devout. I think if I set foot in the church, I’ll never get out.”
“Oh, one of those. I get it.” He crumpled up the sandwich wrapper and ripped into one of the cupcakes. “Want one?”
Jake shook his head, glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the floor. Nice chatting with you.”
“Abrams,” he said with a mouth full of cupcake. “When she talks religion, just nod your head a lot. Women want you to listen, so if it looks like you’re interested, that’s all that matters. Send her off to church with a big smile, and when you get her in bed that night, show her the stuff that really matters in life. If you make her bells and whistles go off, she’ll forget about all that other stuff. Let her have her religion, but believe me, if you take my advice, she won’t be begging for you to come to church—she’ll be begging you for something else—if you get my drift. It works with Margie. It’ll work with Rachel too—you’ll see.”
“Uh, okay, thanks for the advice.” Jake got up, lunchbox in hand, and headed out the break room to make the long walk across the warehouse to the lumber yard. It wasn’t Rachel’s sad, disappointed words that upset him so much yesterday when she’d gotten out of her parents’ car at the curb, telling him how he missed such a good sermon and if only he had been there to hear it. It was catching the expression on Joey’s little face, so intense and grown up at three. His look radiated a peace and calmness that dumbfounded Jake—not the kind of happiness other kids at that age displayed, having their needs and wants satiated, some new toy to play with or a candy bar in their hands. Joey’s joy went much deeper than that, and when he’d turned and looked at Jake as he walked behind Rachel into the house, that joy bit Jake with a surge of envy. Like he’d been searching his entire life to feel like that, to find the secret to that elusive joy, not knowing if it even could be found in this world or the next—if there was a world to follow. There was no mistaking his young son had found some rare treasure and Jake instantly yearned for it, felt a huge hole in his heart, then and there.
And then Joey had stopped and said, “God’s waiting.”
“Waiting? For what?” Jake had answered.
Joey giggled, the way he always did when he thought someone was being silly on purpose. “For you, Daddy.” He threw his head back and a halo of gold c
urls wiggled on his head.
“For you!”
Rachel stirred, listened, thinking what she heard were branches scraping the windows this blustery March night. But the unmistakable sound of crying brushed through her stupor, whisking away cobwebs of sleep and bringing her fully awake to the solitary sound puncturing the night. She eased out of the covers, leaving Jake sleeping on his side facing the wall, and stood in the dark room, assessing. Joey lay unmoving in his small trundle bed in their alcove; the nightlight glow showing his peaceful face, content, undisturbed. Strange, the crying came, not from Dinah’s bedroom, but from down the hall—in the room Simon and Levi shared.
Which immediately raised her hackles. Just what could Simon be up to this late—and who was crying as a result? She forced down her irritation, mulling on her endless struggle of wills with Simon, these years of entrenched war that showed no sign of surrender or even truce. Thinking about Simon weighted her heart with exhaustion and self-recrimination. How many endless, agonizing hours had she prayed over that boy? Tried to reason with him? Shown him grace and unconditional love? She knew part of her just wanted to be appreciated, to be loved back. He was certainly her thorn in the flesh, her great test of endurance and persistence. She’d hoped by now God would have softened his heart, made it pliable and moldable, but it seemed the harder she tried to reach Simon, the hotter his flame. She could smother him with love all she wanted, but it did no good—he burned ever brighter. Would he carry that hurt his entire life? His mother abandoning him, with him taking it out on every living being on earth? Please, God, no. Show him your love, his value in your eyes. Let him long for your praise and approval.
Rachel hesitated, sighed, then cracked open the boys’ bedroom door. The sobbing and whimpering stopped as she stepped into the dark. Simon’s snores told her he’d been asleep a long while. Maybe Levi’d had a bad dream. He sometimes did. Or at least she guessed he did. There were mornings he came to the table with a gauze of sleeplessness stretched across his face, as if he’d spent the night being trampled underfoot by nightmares more powerful than a herd of horses.
Levi. He was the one real enigma in the Abrams family. The first months she’d spent with him, babysitting him, he had been so openly affectionate, untainted by his mother’s leaving, young enough to welcome her into his arms without fear of loss. But once she’d married Jake, he had drawn back, grew sullen around her, resisted her caresses and attention, even pushed her away. Now, at eight-and-a-half, he often gazed at her with scorn, disobeyed her requests. Levi—the sweetest most ready-to-please child had been slowly becoming morose, secretive, aloof. And she knew who to thank for all that.
She went to Levi’s bedside, sat on the covers, found his hand and took it in hers. She was surprised when he didn’t pull back. She whispered to him as he stirred, tried to sit up.
“Are you sick, Levi?” She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t feel hot.”
He shook his head, then pivoted to look at Simon.
“He’s sleeping.” She paused, noted relief on his face. In that moment, Rachel understood. How had she not seen it—through all the bravado and snippy retorts and sullen grumblings? In that simple revealing glance Rachel realized Levi was afraid of Simon. And rightly so, she mused. “Come, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
Her eyes rested on his as he weighed his choices. She kept her expression neutral, not too sweet, not too pushy. She gave him room, stood, walked out and left the door cracked open. She hoped, prayed, he’d follow her.
As she moved in silence in the dimly lit kitchen, pouring milk into a saucepan, adding a few tablespoons of Nestle’s Quick, she chastised herself. How confident she’d been, three years ago, thinking she could waltz into Jake’s family and sort things out with a snap of her fingers, like she was Mary Poppins with her magic carpetbag of remedies. Sure, she knew healing and nurturing took time, but the more she’d tried to untangle and tame the wildness, the more this garden got away from her. She’d prune and clip and chop only to find toxic tendrils of discontent and hurt wrapping around her ankles. Like opposing magnets, she’d reach out to the boys but they would back away, repelled by her. What am I doing wrong? she pleaded with God. Help me see what to do.
She’d thought having Joey would meld the family together—he being the bridge that linked Rachel by blood to the rest of the children, that his sweet unruffled spirit would infiltrate their hardened hearts, draw them nearer to her. Why couldn’t the boys have responded the way Dinah did—eagerly embracing her, trusting her love was genuine? Maybe boys were different, found it hard to be soft and vulnerable. She’d always thought that was a lie, something society enforced, to keep men tough and autonomous. She knew plenty of boys at church who soaked up affection from their mothers—even boys Reuben’s age, teenagers not afraid or annoyed to be kissed on the cheek or hugged in public. But she would even settle for a sincere smile. Didn’t she deserve that, at least?
As Rachel poured the steaming liquid into a mug, Levi plodded in. He pushed hair from his face and sat at the table, wordless. She set the mug before him, sat, studied him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head, no hesitation.
“Okay.” Words played in her head, sentences she’d said before, reassurances and platitudes and compliments. She let them play out until silence returned; she spoke none of them, knowing they had done no good in four years. She had said the wrong things. She needed a new direction—but what?
“How about I just talk a little. You can just listen. Or if you feel like shaking or nodding your head . . .”
She saw the twinge of hesitation, fear underpinning him, so much fear, she noted, that she had never seen, so well hidden, buried deep, hard packed. It would take more than a sturdy shovel to loosen it.
She smiled, looked out the window at the barely visible branches trembling. A soft whistle pressed into the room through the slight opening over the sink. A car’s headlights splashed on the wall across from them, lengthened and stretched into a dark ominous shadow, then scurried away. She kept her voice low.
“I remember when you were little. I’d wait for you at the bus stop and you’d get off. You didn’t want to hug me because those big kids were watching you. You didn’t want them to make fun of you, call you a sissy.”
Levi looked at her as if surprised she’d noticed. He dropped his gaze back to his chocolate, sipped.
“For a while you stopped stuttering. You seemed happy. You liked your teachers; you got good grades on your homework. You even had fun being in the school play, remember—the earthworm in James and the Giant Peach? You were so funny slithering around on the stage in that costume, talking in that goofy voice.”
Levi smiled, disarmed by the memory.
“See, you can smile now. But I rarely ever see you smile, Levi. Not anymore. And your stuttering is back.” She wanted so much to take his hands but he kept them locked around the mug, untouchable. “I’m not trying to win your love by telling you this—that you are a sweet, lovable boy who has the potential to do great things with his life. It’s the truth. You are thoughtful, disciplined, smart. And I want to help you achieve your dreams, whatever they may be. Maybe you don’t believe me, but I’m speaking truthfully, from my heart. It hurts me to see you in pain, to see you so afraid—”
“I-I’m not af-afraid.” Some hot emotion streaked his face—she couldn’t tell if it was pain or fear or anger. Or maybe all three.
She leaned closer to Levi, lowered her soft voice even more, to where she wasn’t sure he’d even hear her. “I see how Simon intimidates you. And I don’t doubt he threatens you as well. I don’t know what he tells you to scare you so much, but I’ll say this. If he lays one hand on you, hurts you in any way, I will make sure he’s sent away—to some reform school somewhere, where he can’t touch you.”
In the dark kitchen, she couldn’t interpret his nebulous reaction. One eye twitched. His mouth lay in a tight line, ba
rricading any words from slipping out.
She dared and laid a hand on one of his; he flinched but didn’t push her away. “I mean it, Levi. If you ever want to talk, tell me what’s going on, I’m here and I’ll listen. Anytime you fall, I’ll catch you, time after time—”
Levi jumped to his feet. “I-I need to g-get some sleep.”
Before she could say another word, he turned and trudged back to his bedroom, the room where Simon waited, perhaps sleeping, perhaps not. She only knew that what awaited him in that room would not ease up, no matter what she said or did.
So she would move Levi out. Put him in with Dinah. She knew Jake was perfectly aware of Simon’s issues and wouldn’t argue against it. Levi might resent having to share a room with his sister, but so what? Survival came first. And although Simon didn’t deserve a room of his own, he’d be better off quarantined from the other kids. And Levi could have space to grow into himself, without Simon stifling him. At least for part of the day. Maybe Levi’s nightmares, then, would stop. It wasn’t the ideal situation but it was better. And necessary. And if Levi complained, well, she’d let Jake put his foot down and insist. And that would be the end of the argument.
Memories replayed in her mind—of Levi and Dinah on the swings, playing on the merry-go-round, digging in the sandbox at the park together. Together. He and Dinah had spent much of their early years joined, playing alone in a world of their own. It was time to return Levi to Dinah’s side, her little girl full of confidence and opinion, not afraid of Simon, not afraid to speak her mind. Maybe some of her self-assurance would rub off on Levi, remind him of the fun of being a child, let him rediscover the childhood Simon seemed to be stealing from him. Maybe there would be a way to add on another bedroom to the house. Eventually, Levi would have to move out of her room. Dinah was only seven, just a scant year younger than Levi, but girls needed privacy. And Rachel knew it would be a bit awkward, but with Jake’s help they could create some sort of room divider, to give each their privacy. A curtain, a pony wall? Something.