Rikki was hugging them all, even the brethren, who didn’t look a bit unhappy about it. Her face was bright and excited. Her game face, I recognized. It hadn’t changed in all these years. Rikki was uncomfortable but holding her own. Pretending.
Becca also headed toward Rikki, and I excused myself quickly from Jerry Sagers so I could meet her there. Unless the years had tempered her, Rikki was unpredictable at best. With the onslaught of members, her stress level would be high. I hoped no one told her how inappropriately her daughter was dressed. Looking at the child now, I felt a sweeping compassion. So young, so hard. What had Rikki done to her?
“Ah, Bishop, look who’s back.” Charlotte Gillman flashed me a pointed look. Her narrow face made her aquiline nose more prominent now that she’d lost weight with her recent bout with cancer, and though I’d visited her almost every day in the hospital, it still shocked me. By contrast, her rotund husband seemed almost flat-nosed. Sister Gillman glanced back at Rikki. “This brings back so many memories of Sunday School class. Remember when you were both sixteen and I was your teacher? Where have you been all these years, Rikki?”
Rikki laughed a little too loudly for the chapel, and everyone cringed. “Oh, here and there. I’ve seen the world.”
“What brings you back?” asked Brother Gillman.
Rikki breathed in. “The fresh mountain air, that’s what.” She laughed again. “Actually, work. These are my children, Kyle and James.”
“They look like you.” There was a hint of disapproval in Sister Gillman’s gaze as she eyed Kyle’s miniskirt, but Rikki didn’t seem to notice.
Her eyes fell on me. “Well, Dante. How have you been? You still writing?”
I felt more than saw the members of the ward slipping away to their classes but not without casting last lingering looks at Rikki and me.
“I work as a technical writer,” I said. “For a software company. I don’t have to beg magazines to take my articles anymore.” Up close she didn’t look like I remembered her at nineteen. Then she’d worn makeup—a lot of it. The way she was now reminded me of before eighth grade. She had aged, of course, but not nearly as much as I’d expected. An odd ache formed in my stomach, though it had nothing to do with Rikki so much as it had to do with growing up, with leaving home and losing parents.
I put my arm around Becca as she moved into the place vacated by Sister Gillman. “This is my wife, Becca, and two of our four children, Allia and Lauren. Becca, this is Rikki Crockett. She grew up in this ward, like I did.”
“We’re old friends,” Rikki added.
“Nice to meet you.” Becca held out a hand. She was taller than Rikki by at least three or four inches, which surprised me. In my memories of Rikki, I didn’t recall her being so short. Shorter than I was, yes, but not this tiny.
“Are you in town for long?” Becca asked.
Rikki nodded. “I’m moving back into my parents’ house for now. Looks like we’ll be in your ward.”
“It’s all dirty!” Rikki’s little boy spoke up. “And there’s no water. But there’s this really cool tree house. We were fixing it up today. I might get to sleep there.”
Rikki laughed. “This is my son . . . James.” Her hesitation was odd, given that she should know her own child’s name. “He’s seven. And this is Kyle, who’s thirteen.”
“Kyle?” Lauren repeated. “That’s a boy’s name.”
Kyle stared at her without replying, resentment plain in her eyes. Or maybe that was all the makeup. Underneath the hardness there was a distinct vulnerability I recognized from my interviews with wayward youth. She might as well have been Rikki all those years ago. Could I help this child? I hadn’t succeeded with her mother, but I’d been younger then and vulnerable myself.
“Kyle isn’t only a boy’s name,” James said. “’Cuz it’s my sister’s name.”
“You don’t have water?” Becca’s eyes went from James to Rikki.
“They haven’t turned it on yet is all.” Rikki tossed her head. “My fault. I wasn’t sure when I’d arrive.”
Becca looked at me. “There has to be something we can do. If they’ve turned off the meter, they already read it, so they have a record of where to start charging. Someone should be able to turn it on.”
“I’ll ask around in priesthood.”
Allia glanced toward the door. “Uh, I need to get to class. I thought maybe she’d want to come with me?” She looked at me as she spoke, and I felt pride in my little girl. “Since I’m a year older, we’re not actually in the same Sunday School class, but it won’t matter for today.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “If you’re staying.”
“Sure.” Rikki gave Kyle a little nudge. “Go with—”
“Allia,” Becca supplied.
“Allia to class,” Rikki said. “Go on.” Kyle gave Rikki a perfected teenage look that quailed a lot of parents, but Rikki only laughed. “There’ll be boys.”
We watched the girls leave, Allia with her normal bouncy gait and Kyle looking small and wilted and defensive. Could Allia sense her discomfort, or was all she saw a rebellious teen who wore too much makeup?
“She’ll be fine,” Rikki said brightly. Too brightly, but only I would notice.
“Guess you gotta come with me,” Lauren said to James. “Mom?”
“You and James go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” Becca smiled at Rikki. “I’m in the Primary, so I’d better get in there, but it really is nice to meet you, Rikki. Look, would you like to come over for dinner after church? Without water it’s going to be hard to make any kind of dinner at your house, much less clean up. Besides, I bet you’re buried in boxes.”
The Rikki I knew would have laughed at that. Dirt was not an issue. The queen of making the best of any situation, she’d probably throw up a tent and call it camping. One thing I knew for sure, she didn’t like being at the mercy of strangers.
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” Rikki said. “If you’re sure there’ll be enough.”
I stared at her, experiencing a strange kind of inevitability about the situation. After all, I couldn’t undo Becca’s invitation.
Becca smiled. “There’s plenty. I’ll find you after church, and you can follow us over.”
“You’re not in your dad’s house?” Rikki’s eyes swung to me.
“Oh, no. We sold that house after he died. It was a little small for four children.”
“What he means is that it was too old and run down at the time, and we didn’t want to renovate. We built a house on a lot the next street over.” Becca squeezed my arm and backed away. “See you later.”
I wished she hadn’t gone, but we had a hundred and twenty children in the Primary, and she was needed there. Besides, she loved the calling, and I wouldn’t begrudge her the fun.
“She’s nice,” Rikki said. “Looks like you did okay after I left.”
It hadn’t been that easy, but it was also not something I wanted to talk about after all those years. The time when Rikki and I had known each other well enough to talk about anything had long passed. “Becca’s wonderful,” I said.
“Good Mormon girl?”
“Yes.”
“I’m happy for you.”
I could tell she meant it, even though she was still using that fake brightness, the one she used to hide pain. Why are you really here? I wanted to ask. But that was one more familiarity time denied us. I didn’t know this Rikki, for all that she appeared the same.
“Sunday School is in the Relief Society room. I’ll show you where it is, and we’ll catch up at dinner.”
She waved her hand. “I think I remember where it is.”
Well, she hadn’t remembered that Mormons didn’t wear tank tops. Once I would have pointed that out, teasing her without mercy. That wasn’t appropri
ate now. As her bishop, I would pray a lot, give her time to see if she adjusted, and maybe talk to the Relief Society president for ideas. It might come to the point of talking to her, especially about Kyle’s manner of dressing. But hopefully not.
Sometimes being a bishop was all about waiting. Waiting and praying.
“See you later.” Brushing past me in a cloud of scent that reminded me of springtime, Rikki went down the aisle, her long red gypsy skirt billowing out behind her. That was Rikki for you. Brilliant colors that screamed either “Look at me” or “Please keep your eyes on the color and away from what I’m trying to hide.”
For a brief instant, I experienced the old loss I’d felt when she left twenty years ago, pulsing like an open wound. The next minute, it was gone as though it had never existed.
Why are you here, Rikki? Why in all the world and all the wards have you come here?
Through the door I caught a glimpse of the three teens who’d come in late to sacrament meeting. They should be in class right now, so apparently they needed an escort. I hurried out the door to give them a hand.
Chapter Four
Becca
The little boy’s name wasn’t just James, I soon found out, as I questioned him for our Primary records. His name was Dante James Crockett, and he was seven years old, turning eight later in the year. Dante. The woman had named her son after my husband. What had he meant to her?
In seventeen years my husband had never mentioned the name Rikki Crockett. I knew he’d had a girlfriend before his mission, but it had never seemed important. Had Rikki been that girlfriend? Or had they simply been friends growing up?
I shook my head. Dante was a beautiful name, and there was no reason why Rikki couldn’t use it. Dante, the Italian poet, who had loved a woman from afar, a woman who’d been the inspiration for much of his work.
I frowned, not appreciating the image. My Dante hadn’t been pining after anyone.
Not as far as I knew, anyway.
This must be one of those strange coincidences. Only last week, I’d run into an old friend of my brother’s I’d had a huge crush on as a teen. When I told him about the children, he’d reminded me that his sister’s name was Lauren, too. Coincidence.
Rikki seemed nice enough, and James, well, he was too sweet for words. Despite his rumpled looks, he’d taken immediately to folding his arms, singing the songs, and raising his hands at any obvious question, answering with thought and seriousness.
There he was, at it again. “Yes, James?” asked Mayra Godfrey, our Primary president, her narrow face wrinkling in concern.
“How do you get baptized? I never saw anyone get baptized before.” His ignorance was starkly clear to everyone in the room, even the youngest children, who gaped at him in amazement.
“James, you don’t know anything.” Lauren’s clear voice rang out, accentuated by giggles from the other children. “I was baptized after my birthday. I got to do it twice, since my toe poked out.”
“Cool,” James said, unperturbed. “So did you have to stick your head under the water? Was it scary?” More giggles at that.
Lauren shook her head. “Your daddy holds you so you don’t have to be scared.”
“I don’t have a daddy.”
“Lauren.” I drew her away from James and the other children as Mayra stepped in and began to answer James’s original question in her easily understandable way that made her a favorite with the children.
“What, Mom?” Lauren frowned at me.
“Please don’t tell James he doesn’t know anything. That’s hurtful.”
“But it’s true. He didn’t know about John the Baptist or about the dove. He doesn’t know any of the songs.”
“That’s because no one ever taught him. He never went to Primary before.” If Rikki and her daughter’s clothing had left any doubt about that, James’s ignorance cleared it up. “You know that hooked rug Allia’s been working on? How would you feel if everyone in this room knew how to do it, except you, because Allia hasn’t taught you yet? And what if someone teased you or said you didn’t know anything and all the kids laughed?” If there was one thing Lauren hated, it was her siblings laughing at her for not knowing something. She was the youngest, so that happened a lot.
“I wouldn’t care. Rugs are stupid.” But the line on Lauren’s brow told me she was thinking about it.
“I mean it, Lauren. Be nice to James. Pretend Jesus is sitting right by you. How would you act?”
“Okay, Mom, I get it.” A phrase she’d recently picked up from her brothers.
I let her go back to her seat next to James, who already had his hand in the air again. “What’s resurrected?”
Once again the kids laughed, but this time Lauren rounded on the biggest offenders behind her. “Would you laugh at him if Jesus was sitting in that chair?”
Everyone looked at the chair.
“I don’t see Jesus,” James said. “Is He invisible?”
“Yes. He always is,” Lauren said.
Mayra clapped her hands for attention. “I think it’s time for another song, and then we’ll talk a little about resurrection and what it means to all of you.”
During the song, Lauren was leaning over and whispering to James. I was about to have another chat with her when I realized she was whispering the words so he could sing the song. That was my Lauren—bold and sassy one minute and tender and kind the next.
James didn’t refuse her help or hold a grudge against her and the other children. He listened with an eagerness that tugged at my heart. I wondered if his mother knew how special he was—and how much in danger he was of losing that willingness if his curiosity wasn’t met or if one day he was hurt too deeply.
Before the children went to class, Lauren slipped over to me. “Mom,” she said in a whisper I could barely hear. “James can’t read. Not even a little.”
I tried not to show my dismay. “You read for him, then, okay, sweetie?”
“Okay.” Lauren ran back to James and marched with him from the room behind their teacher.
Curiosity driving me, I slipped out to the hallway and down to the Relief Society room and peeked through the partially open doors. The sisters were singing a hymn, and Rikki was smack dab in the middle of the room, her bright skirt a radiant flower among the calmer pastels. Several of the old-timers sat next to her. Our ward was great about welcoming new people, so I wasn’t surprised.
What I hadn’t expected was the welling of jealousy in my chest. Jealousy that this woman could flounce into an LDS chapel wearing a tank top and a flowing red skirt without even a hint of embarrassment. Why I’d be jealous at such a ridiculous thing made me wonder if I was hiding something from myself. What?
A longing for something.
Frowning, I turned away, feeling as though I left something behind me in the room.
Chapter Five
Rikki
Strange how I could feel so at home in a place I hadn’t set foot in for twenty years. Everything was familiar, like a long-owned piece of clothing I’d set aside and forgotten. Not that everything was comfortable. I sensed disapproving stares, and I realized I was the only one who wasn’t wearing sleeves. Oops. I’d forgotten the Mormon dress code. Was it more strict than it used to be? Probably not. I’d been a teen when I left, and teens had more options and received more leniency. I hoped Kyle was getting along okay in her classes.
In retrospect, I realized I should have come alone the first time to check out the place and the clothing. If the truth be told, I’d been a little nervous, not at meeting all these people but at seeing Dante again. Having the children with me helped. I could be bold and brave in front of them.
I hated the selfishness in me that insisted they come along. Well, I’d make it up to them. Or at least add it to the pile of stuff I would never have
enough time to make up to them. Despair arced through me, but I wrestled it down to that corner where I hid all the dark things in my life. I didn’t matter now. I could only try to do my best for my children.
Dante.
He’d aged well, as I’d always imagined he would. Tall, broad-shouldered but not overly muscular, his face carved with laugh lines that made me feel glad and angry all at once. Blond hair that hid any gray, compassionate and compelling brown eyes. Wisdom, yet still that little flavor of innocence that had surrounded him as a child, a determination to do good. It was this that had taken him away from me, and it was this I would rely upon now.
I’d met a few men like him over the years, men who’d been willing to take care of me, fight my battles, but they weren’t Dante and had only reminded me of what I’d lost. My fault. I knew that now. None of them had been as handsome as Dante. No, men who looked like him were always snatched up and held tight. Instead, I’d gone for dark and dangerous. I knew it was wrong, but it made me feel something to be with them. For a long time that had been all that mattered.
Not now. Kyle and James were my entire existence. All that remained. All that would ever be. I would lose them too soon.
I’d pinpointed Dante’s wife easily in sacrament meeting, sitting in the middle, one row back from us, near the young man who resembled the Dante I had known, except for the blue eyes he’d apparently inherited from his mother. Becca wasn’t pretty or flashy, but she was attractive in a truly beautiful sense, with caring blue eyes that were quick to see every need. I knew her type. Many had tried to save me over the years, and I’d scorned them all. She was exactly the woman Dante needed. What I needed now.
Relief Society ended, and I had little idea what had been said. That was a problem I’d always had—my thoughts, the images in my head, always burned so brightly they took all my attention.
“So nice to have you back,” Charlotte Gillman was saying to me. “Next time you might wear something a little warmer, though.”
Before I Say Goodbye Page 3