Before I Say Goodbye

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  I came around the desk and took her in my arms. “I know. It should be. We’re going to get through this together, I promise.”

  She melted into me. I loved it when she did that. “Just so you remember who you have to come home to each night.”

  “Get to, not have to.” I kissed her, feeling a flare of annoyance when someone rattled the doorknob. “Guess we’d better go. I’m not sure my counselors would approve of us making out in the bishop’s office.”

  Becca’s laugh rolled over me before she kissed me again. One night at a stake Relief Society event, a psychologist had talked about marital relationships and had mentioned that a kiss between a husband and wife wasn’t a real kiss unless it lasted at least five seconds. Becca had taken his advice to heart, and I silently thanked that man every day.

  “By the way,” she said sometime later as she turned to the door, “you have lipstick on your face.”

  As I scrambled for a napkin and a mirror, she opened the door and left the room. I could hear the prelude music signaling that I should hurry to sacrament meeting. When I emerged from my office a minute later, Rikki and her two children were walking across the foyer.

  “Can’t we sit in the back?” Kyle said with a whiny voice I’d bet she didn’t know was being overheard.

  Rikki tossed her head exactly in the way she had as a teen. “Huh-huh. Those chairs are way too hard.”

  They were both dressed more moderately this week. Kyle was wearing a plaid skirt that seemed vaguely familiar with a T-shirt that was tight but not immodest. Her hair was pulled back, and she had a blue flower in her hair. Rikki was once again wearing her red gypsy skirt but this time coupled with a white frilly blouse that seemed to have come from another age. On her it was exactly right.

  “Dante,” she said, pausing. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “That’s about all we have before church starts. Would you rather make an appointment?”

  “No, a minute’s fine.” She turned to the kids. “Go on in, guys. On the soft seats, though.” Her gaze swung back to me. “I’m sure the hard seats haven’t changed since we were here.”

  “Actually, they aren’t the same metal chairs. They’re plastic now, but every bit as hard. What’s up? No water problems, I hope?”

  “It’s Kyle. She’s acting weird, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I mean, I know it’s hard moving here and starting a new school, and being one of the youngest in her grade never helps, but it’s different this time. She disappeared for hours yesterday and wouldn’t say where she’d been, and she keeps coming to my bed at night, crying, but she won’t talk about it. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “I’ll talk to her, if you’d like me to.” Little did she know this worked into my own plans. I needed to figure out how to help Kyle not end up like her mother. The sadness in Rikki’s eyes was all too apparent, and I didn’t want that for her daughter.

  “I would. Thanks.” She sighed. “She never knew her father, and there’s never really been a man in her life. I didn’t think it mattered, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “I’ll be glad to talk to her. That’s what I’m here for, Rikki.”

  “I don’t mean as a bishop, Dante. I mean as my friend.”

  I lifted my shoulders, extending my hands toward her, palms up. “It’s the same thing, Rikki. I am who I am.”

  She didn’t speak for the space of several heartbeats, but then she nodded. “Okay. I’m not averse to having her taught the gospel. I think good values will help keep her steady until she’s grown.”

  “They help keep us steady all our lives.”

  She nodded. “Maybe.”

  “I wanted to thank you for talking to Travis on Friday.”

  “He would have gone home eventually, even if I hadn’t told him to.”

  I hadn’t known about that part. “I meant for telling him to ask me about the campout. We had a good talk. I haven’t told him much about how I grew up, and I should have.”

  “He needs you, Dante. Just like you needed your dad.”

  “I know.” I felt grateful to her, and it wasn’t a comfortable place. Stop it with the pride, I told myself. “We’d better go in.” I started past her when she spoke.

  “Are you going to Saint George with Becca?”

  I paused and turned. “What?”

  “To the garden show.”

  “Oh, I asked her about that. She said it was nothing.”

  She snorted. “Are you really that blind? Ask her about it, and this time listen.”

  “I did.” I tried to stifle the irritation I felt at her insinuation.

  “She wants to go. Remember how much I wanted to dance?”

  I remembered it well. Rikki had been good, but too much was against her. Her dad would never have paid for the private lessons she needed to go somewhere great. I didn’t kid myself that Rikki had shed more tears over that than losing me.

  “Well, she wants it, maybe like that. Or she will.”

  I couldn’t believe Becca would feel that strongly about anything and not tell me. I wanted to tell Rikki that my wife was her own woman and free to pursue what she wanted. But suddenly I was thinking of the riotous flower beds outside our house that screamed to be noticed. “I’ll talk to her again.”

  She grinned. “Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll go with her, and you might not like what you get back.”

  I matched her teasing tone. “Becca can hold her own. Even against you.”

  “The question is whether she can hold her own against you.”

  I laughed. “I’m not so tough. But you know that.”

  “I remember.” Her voice was so soft it could have been a fleeting touch. “You made the right choice, Dante. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I won’t.”

  There was pain in her face and something more in her eyes, yet I wouldn’t lie to her. If she was going to be in my ward under my care, I had to be completely honest. I would help her as I would any ward member but not at the risk of my family. Even if I hadn’t been totally and absolutely in love with Becca, which I was, I was committed to her and the kids.

  “Kyle can go to class with Allia, if you think that would be better,” I said. “I’ve already talked to the teachers, but I wanted to see how you felt about it.”

  “She already told me she won’t go to the other class alone.”

  “Okay, tell her to go with Allia.” Now probably wasn’t a good time to bring up makeup and clothing. I still wasn’t sure I should be the one to do that on any day. Maybe Becca has an idea how to go about it.

  I nodded at Rikki and hurried up the aisle to the stand, where my counselors Brother Paul Thorley and Brother Steve Mendenhall were already seated. But eyes weren’t on me. They were on Rikki, who swished across the back of the chapel and up the other aisle to where her children waited for her on the same bench they’d occupied last week. Several ward members smiled and waved at her. It had always been like that, even in the old days. Rikki had a certain way about her that made people gravitate toward her. Given her upbringing, she could have been suspicious and bitter, but she’d always accepted people for who they were. I suspected that was another reason I’d loved her so much. Yes, she’d been fragile and needed someone to help her, but in return she’d accepted me just as I was. Not like my father.

  * * *

  I pulled Kyle aside after sacrament meeting, promising to take her to Allia’s class later. “Have a seat,” I invited when we reached my office.

  She slumped down on one of the chairs, not meeting my eyes, her face sullen. I knew the look well enough, both from my past experience with her mother and with other youth in my ward. She didn’t want to be anywhere near me or my office.

  “I like to get to know all the new members in my ward,” I told her. �
�That’s why I asked you here.”

  “I’m not a member.”

  At least it was a response.

  “Well, your mother is, and I guess you’ll be here for at least a while.”

  “Till she moves again.”

  “Yeah, but for now you’ll have to make the best of it.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. The skirt she was wearing really did seem familiar. I wondered if Allia or Lauren had something similar.

  “How are you liking it here?” I asked. “You seem to have made friends with my daughter.”

  Kyle shrugged. “I guess. I’d rather be in California.”

  “If you’re thinking that now, you’ll probably really think that once it starts to snow, though if you’ve never been skiing, that might make up for the cold. I never really picked it up, but my kids love it.”

  She met my eyes with an expression that said I was nuts, though whether I was nuts to think she’d like snow or because of my lame attempt to talk to her, I had no idea. I was usually better than this. Of course, most kids I talked to I’d known both them and their families for years. I knew something about them. I knew nothing about Kyle except in her face I saw a younger Rikki—hurting, vulnerable, defiant. Please, Father, help me reach her.

  “I guess you’ve heard that I knew your mother when we were about your age.”

  She nodded.

  “She was my best friend for a lot of years. I don’t know what I would have done growing up without her. We did everything together.” I gave a short laugh. “Of course if my son or daughter started hanging out with someone of the opposite sex all the time, I’d be worried, but Rikki and I, well, we were more like siblings most of the time. Neither of us had any brothers or sisters.”

  “And your parents were lousy.”

  “I take it your mom told you about her family.”

  “Everything. I’m glad I didn’t know them.”

  “Your grandmother wasn’t all bad. She’d give me cookies sometimes when I came over.”

  “She did?”

  When her husband wasn’t home, but I didn’t have to add that. “Yeah. I liked her. She reminded me of my own mother.”

  “She died, didn’t she?” Kyle shivered.

  “When I was really young. Younger than your little brother.”

  She was silent a long moment, as if digesting the fact that I had ever been so young. “I bet that was horrible.”

  I nodded. “A lot of horrible things happen to good people, to children. What’s sad is when there’s nobody around to help. That’s one reason why the Lord has us come on Sundays to be here together as a kind of an extended family. We call it our ward family. Growing up, your mother and I didn’t have much support at home, but we had our ward family, and they helped us. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.” For me, it had been. It could have been for Rikki as well, if she’d let it. If she’d stayed. “What I’m trying to say is that no matter how rough it gets, there are people here who will look out for you.”

  She snorted. “No one here even knows me.”

  “Not yet, they don’t, but even so anyone out there would help you if you asked. I would. For as long as your mom is living in that house, I’m your bishop, whether or not you come to church. That means if you need me, you can call, and I’ll try to help.” Warmth spread through me as I spoke. I remembered my own dear bishop and his counselors and how often they’d filled in for my father. The only way I could begin to repay them for their service was to live the gospel and to reach out as they had done to me.

  Kyle’s freckled nose wrinkled. “So that’s why you helped us move in and those women came to clean?”

  “That’s exactly why. It’s like having a bunch of extra relatives. For a lot of people, helping is a highlight of their week. Problem is, a lot of times people need something, but they keep it all inside and don’t ask for help. They think they’re a burden. Take Sister Gillman, one of the women who came to your house. Last year she was fighting cancer. For a lot of that time she was in bed, and the sisters not only brought in meals but had to spoon-feed her. She kept worrying about being a burden, but the sisters practically wrestled each other for the privilege of taking her dinner.”

  Was that a small smile on Kyle’s face? Whatever it had been, it was gone now.

  “What if someone didn’t have money for food?”

  I met her steady gaze. “Kyle, if you or anyone in this ward ever needs food, you call me personally. We take care of each other.”

  She seemed to relax marginally, but I still hadn’t found out anything about her. Not really.

  “Kyle,” I said. “Is there anything I can help you with now?”

  “No.” But her eyes no longer met mine.

  “If there is, you can always give me a call. Anytime, day or night, okay?” I jotted down my home and cell phone numbers on one of the three-by-five cards I kept in the desk for that reason. “If I can’t help you, I’ll find someone who can.” It was hardly my regular interview, but her situation was not normal. How could it be with Rikki as her mother? Wild Rikki, whom no one could pin down for long.

  Kyle studied the card for longer than it merited. Then she folded it once and closed her hand over it. “Can I go now?”

  “I’ll take you to class.”

  She frowned, and I wondered if she’d planned to make a run for it. At the door she hesitated and turned back. “My mom used to dance when she was my age, didn’t she?”

  “Every moment she wasn’t hanging out with me.” Or toilet papering someone’s house or forging a note to get out of class. Or hiding from her father.

  “Was she . . . any good?”

  “I thought she was. But it was hard without her parents’ support. She didn’t have proper lessons. I heard she danced after she left Utah.” Actually, I’d heard she did a stint as a stripper. Did Kyle know that? I hoped not.

  “She danced a lot when I was little,” Kyle said. “I only saw a few of her shows. Her best one was in New Orleans, but I wasn’t living with her then.”

  “Oh?”

  She shrugged with elaborated casualness I could see was faked. “I sometimes stay with friends.” The way she spoke called up the memory of Rikki sleeping outside in the bushes at my house, too afraid of her father to go home. Rikki might not have kicked her daughter out, but to Kyle it had felt the same.

  Poor child. Aloud, I said, “I’ve never been to New Orleans, either.”

  Kyle smiled unexpectedly. “I’ll go there someday.”

  “I’m sure you will.” I reached past her and opened the door. “Come on. Let’s go find your class.”

  “You mean Allia’s class, right?”

  “Right. But yours now, too. You have permission to attend her class for as long as you want.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Becca

  On Tuesday, Kyle appeared at my house with James shortly after three o’clock, barely beating me to my house after I picked up the children and stopped off for milk at the grocery store. The day had already been busy, and I still had dirt under my nails from planting bulbs in the backyard flower bed. Next year, I hoped to have a new crop of lilies.

  “James,” Lauren said, “you shoulda just ridden home with us.”

  “Is Allia around?” Kyle asked, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “She said I could borrow her bike.”

  “Somewhere.” I turned and called into the house. “Allia, Kyle’s here for you.” To Kyle I added, “Do you want to stay for a snack?” Since James’s school got out at 2:45, I knew neither had gone home first.

  “No. I have to get going.”

  “Where’re you headed?”

  “To a friend’s. We’re doing a project.”

  A lie. I could tell by the way she wouldn’t meet my gaze, but that was her
mother’s responsibility.

  Allia appeared from the hall and took Kyle through the kitchen to the garage. “See you in an hour,” I called to Kyle pointedly.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to go with her,” James said as the door shut behind them. “Yesterday she made me walk like forever to her friend’s house.”

  “What friend?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I stayed outside. They have a really cool playground in the backyard, and Kyle said I could play there if I didn’t leave.”

  “She left you there alone?”

  “She checked on me. There were a whole bunch of girls going in and out of the basement. They dressed kinda funny.”

  This didn’t sound good. “Funny how?”

  “I don’t know. They had black socks on their legs. I think.”

  Tights or leggings? A lot of girls wore leggings these days. Allia had some, but I still made sure any skirt she wore them with came to her knees. Well, whatever Kyle’s problem, Rikki would have to deal with it.

  “Come on,” I said to James and Lauren. “Let’s get to work.”

  James was adorable. He was eager to please, and he could take anything Lauren could dish out without getting upset, which was nothing short of amazing. How he’d managed to retain his innocence was remarkable given the worldly wear on the female members of his family. He attacked his problem of reading the same way he attacked his ignorance of the gospel in Primary—with numerous questions and pleas for examples.

  Unfortunately, he could tell me only what a few of the letters were and seemed to have no concept of telling a story from a picture. Kyle didn’t return on time, so I kept trying until even James began to show cracks in his patience. I was beginning to suspect a severe learning disability that was far beyond me, when Lauren, after drawing a picture of a tree house with a black marker, began telling a story and James jumped in.

  “And the boy climbed up to the highest point right here—”