Perfecting Kate

by Tamara Leigh

  “Umm?”

  “There! Feel it now?”

  “I … think …?”

  Belle claps a hand over mine. “Come on, Kate. You can press harder.”

  I feel it then, an undulating movement that makes my heart go bippity-bop. “Ooh,” I croon, heedless of the other churchgoers’ reactions to the feel-the-baby-move ritual. “I feel it!”

  When I look up, Belle’s beaming, and the worry that’s dimmed her eyes these past months is all but gone. Belle, Beau, and baby are past the critical mark. Not that something couldn’t go wrong over the next two months, but they’re out of the darkest part of the woods. God willing, Belle will soon be a mommy.

  The little one shifts beneath my palm again, then gives a series of kicks that evokes images of a toddler tantrum. “I really felt that!”

  A passing teenager, badly in need of a belt to hold up his wide-legged jeans, rolls his eyes at me.

  “Yep, our bundle of joy’s a strong one.” Belle gives a conspiratorial wink. “And he’s healthy.”

  That last part makes my heart twinge, so much that I nearly miss her slip of the tongue. “He?” I prop fists on my hips. “Did you peek?”

  She gives an un-Belle-like bob of her head. “I know we said we wanted it to be a surprise, but when we went in for this last ultrasound, the doctor dangled the secret in front of us.” She curves an arm over her bulge. “It just didn’t seem right that he knew and we didn’t. Besides, I was tired of calling our baby ‘it.’ ”

  I grin. “Don’t think I’d be able to resist either.” Of course, the moment the words are out, I feign a sudden interest in the tips of my shoes.

  Belle understands, as evidenced by her silence.

  Determined not to dampen her joy, I retrieve my grin, lean over her bulge, and kiss her cheek. “I’m happy for you and Beau.”

  As I draw back, I hear her swallow. “I know you are.”

  More silence, which could be remedied by joining those entering the sanctuary; however, we’re waiting on Beau and Michael, who dropped us at the entrance to save us the walk from the parking lot.

  I touch the blue and silver bracelet Belle gave me all those years ago, finger my way to the silver cross, then to the Believe medallion.

  I do.

  Unfortunately, I’ll have to believe more deeply if I’m to vanquish all traces of ache.

  “How’s the burn unit progressing?”

  I make a face. “Slow—afraid I miscalculated the enormity of the project. If not for Dorian and Gray, I’d be in deep doo-doo.”

  “How much longer before they jump ship?”

  “A week, then it’s all me.”

  “And your next project begins …?”

  The dreaded overlap. “Three weeks, at which time the burn unit will be relegated to evening work.” Of course, it already is—day and evening, which makes for twelve- and fourteen-hour workdays. “Can’t complain, though, especially as I haven’t had any more run-ins with Clive Alexander.” Other than a few brief sightings, he’s remained conspicuously absent.

  Belle gives a sympathetic nod, having lent an ear to my rant over his ban on religious symbols. “Perhaps it’s too painful for him.”

  Of course, she also lent an ear to the revelation about his wedding ring.

  “Perhaps.”

  Belle sighs. “You’ll be able to bring in the job on time, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, though it’s likely to mean a bad case of sleep deprivation.”

  Belle’s face turns serious. “You have to take care of yourself, Kate.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  I shudder. “Scary.” And my attempt at lightening the conversation earns me a punch in the arm. “Ow. For a pregnant lady, you really pack a punch.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  As I rub the sore spot, Belle peers past me. “What’s taking them so long?”

  “Probably guy talk.”

  She smiles. “They seem to have hit it off.”

  “Yeah.” This is only Belle and Beau’s second exposure to Michael—the first occurring on a recent double date—but the two men interact as if they’ve known each other for years.

  “Though I don’t have much to go on,” Belle says, “I like him.”

  “Hmm?” I bring her back to focus. “Oh, Michael. Yeah. I like him, too.”

  “But?”

  I blink. “Did you hear a but in my voice?”

  “Big but. C’mon, give over.”

  “Well …” I grope to explain away my big but. “I suppose it’s—”

  “Shoot! They’re here—my Beau, your Michael.”

  My Michael. Wishing “my Michael” sounded right, I look over my shoulder and, from among the churchgoers, pick out Michael and Beau.

  “This conversation is on hold, Kate. No hanging up, hmm?”

  She knows me well. And I’m grateful, as I could use a sounding board. “No hanging up.”

  She raises an arm to wave the men toward us only to falter. “Well, howdy-do. It appears that Beau and Michael have hooked themselves a fish called Maia.”

  “What?” I swing around and, sure enough, alongside Michael saunters my housemate.

  What’s she doing here? True, I invited her as I do every Sunday, but she turned me down as she does every Sunday. When last I saw her, she was at the window wearing a robe as Michael and I stepped into Belle and Beau’s car. Before heading to church we stopped for coffee, but it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes since we left the house. And yet Maia’s coiffed, made up, and decked out in a red suit dress.

  Red.

  Belle nudges me. “Maybe you finally reached her.”

  I would rejoice were it true. Unfortunately, I suspect Michael is responsible for her setting foot on holy ground. And that makes me stand taller and press my shoulders back despite the shift in weight that causes my back to ache all the more.

  A moment later, Beau, Michael, and Maia halt before us.

  Michael smiles and nods at Maia, who’s standing closer to him than ought to feel comfortable. “Look who we ran into in the parking lot.”

  “Belle,” Maia acknowledges my best friend before swinging her gaze to me. “Kate.”

  Strangely out of breath, I say, “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m glad you decided to come.” That wasn’t a lie, was it? I really am glad she came.

  Maia glances at Michael. “I changed my mind.”

  Might that have been when Michael appeared on the doorstep? As I struggle with resentment, Maia continues, “Though I was resigned to another boring Sunday, when you left I was struck by a need to be among friends.”

  What? Couldn’t call your married boyfriend?

  No sooner does the vicious thought slip in than I remind myself that it’s been weeks since I saw her actively engaged in home wrecking. No late-night comings and goings.

  Maia rolls an elegant, red-clad shoulder. “So I thought, what the heck, give Kate’s church a try. After all, if Michael thinks it’s worth looking into—” she glances at him from beneath her lashes—“maybe I should.”

  Who do you think you’re kidding! Sure, Michael and I aren’t married, but we’re dating. You—

  In an attempt to calm down, I excuse Maia’s behavior with the reminder that her interest in Michael is a step in the right direction. A definite improvement over her pursuit of a man who made a lifelong commitment to another woman. But then she winks, and before she speaks, I know my struggle to remain Christlike is doomed.

  “And who knows,” she drawls, “maybe the experience will make a saint out of a sinner.”

  Ha! If this were a Catholic church, I’d dump holy water on you. Ssssssssss!

  Beau steps forward. “Uh, shall we?”

  Noting his furrowed brow, I wonder if he picked up on my tension; however, a reality check tells me it’s more likely that it’s his pew he’s worried about. Sure enough, as we move toward the sanctuary, he leans toward
Belle. “Why didn’t you and Kate secure our seats?”

  “The baby moved, honey.”

  His irritation dissolves. “Oh.”

  Amid the buzz of churchgoers who greet one another as if it’s been longer than a week since they last met, Maia and I sandwich Michael between us as we walk the aisle behind Beau, Belle, and baby. Shortly, we claim a pew two rows back from Beau’s regular spot.

  Lowering beside Belle, I note that Beau seems only slightly ruffled. Of course, he is preoccupied with his child.

  As his fingers span the compact ball, Belle leans near me. “Why do I get the feeling that Maia Glock is one of your big buts?”

  It’s a moment before I tune in, and when I do I’m grateful for the preservice din, which drowns my snort. Big buts. Not big butts.

  Whew! Kind of funny.

  Or is it? I glance around and discover that Michael and Maia are chatting.

  My hand he’s holding. I stare at my lap where our fingers are entwined. Mine.

  But his attention she’s holding.

  Must be the red outfit. Can’t stand red.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “She’s definitely a but.”

  “Turning over a new leaf, hmm? Stealing them away before the ring’s in place.” Belle sighs. “Still, I suppose that’s progress.”

  Is she stealing him away? Is my jealousy founded? If so, what should I do? Or am I supposed to do anything? Though I’ve enjoyed the attention Michael lavishes on me—business cards notwithstanding—and his stance on perpetuating the human race makes him a fine catch, perhaps I ought to take the hook out of his mouth and throw him back.

  I consider our joined hands and remember all the Sundays when the only hand I’ve had to hold has been my own. Despite Michael’s criticism and pursuit of my perfection, it really has been nice not to be lonely. No, he may not be “The One,” but isn’t something better than all the nothing I’ve had?

  Shortly, we rise to join in hand-raising songs of praise. By the time the worship leader gives us leave to take our seats, my fingers are no longer entwined with Michael’s.

  As the mustached Brother Leo approaches the pulpit, out of my peripheral vision I see Michael lean near Maia and whisper something. And my jealousy cranks it up a notch. While I struggle with what I try to convince myself is an uncalled-for emotion, our pastor extends a welcome. Then he jumps into today’s sermon with, “Fidelity!”

  It flashes huge on the screens, and I almost choke. Clearing my throat, I glance at Maia, who resembles a taxidermist’s prize work, stuffed and mounted.

  “Are you struggling to overcome temptation?” Brother Leo sweeps his gaze around. “Contemplating an affair?”

  Are you listening, Maia?

  “Or have you already lost the battle? Sinned? Betrayed your spouse and children—or perhaps another’s spouse and children?”

  Dare I gauge Maia’s reaction? I go back and forth until Beau overcomes whatever compunction he has and leans forward to see past Michael. And in that moment, my conscience slaps me across the face. I’m gloating. True, Maia needs to know what God says about fidelity, but probably not the first time she sets foot in a church.

  Poor timing. And despite my recent bout with jealousy, I feel sorry for her.

  “Think!” Brother Leo expounds. “Think of the untold pain you’ve caused or will cause if you don’t turn from this sin.”

  Looking main floor to balcony, he allows silence to settle, and in the mounting tension, I glance at Maia’s pale countenance. She’s going to walk out and never return.

  “Let’s see what God tells us.” Brother Leo slides his glasses on. “Open your Bibles to …”

  Ears falling deaf, eyes blind to the book and verse that appear on the screens, I grip my Bible. What should I do when Maia walks out? However, she remains until the service ends. Then, like a jack-in-the-box, she’s on her feet and heading for the doors. With a word to Belle, I hasten after my housemate as she attempts to make it to the parking lot ahead of the others.

  “Maia!”

  Though I know she hears me, she uses her long legs to draw farther away. Still, if not for the hand that pulls me back, I could have caught up with her.

  I look around into Michael’s face.

  He shifts his gaze to Maia’s receding figure. “Must have hit home pretty hard.”

  “You know?”

  “Yeah.”

  He says it with such regret that there’s no doubt he wishes Maia didn’t have the past she does. That she—

  I throw my thoughts in reverse. Past, I tell myself and am so tempted to reassure Michael that Maia appears to have put her home wrecking behind her—at least temporarily. But that might leave me sans boyfriend …

  So I say nothing while inside I war over feelings for him that are more brotherly than loverly, motives that hinge more on his indifference to having children than on a desire to actually spend my life with him, and instincts that warn I’m wasting his time and mine.

  “Belle and Beau are waiting.” He drops an arm across my shoulders. “Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

  “Though Maia is certainly a big but, and this mutual attraction you think they share is another big but—” Belle folds her hands atop the table and leans as far forward as her tummy allows—“I’d wager the biggest but is yours.”

  I lower my glass of Perrier and turn my attention to the half-eaten Chicken Santa Fe, which appears far less appetizing than it did a half hour ago.

  “Talk to me, Kate.”

  I poke at a glob of congealed cheese with a fork tine and transform it into an un-smiley face. “You’re right.” I drop back against the padded seat. “The biggest but is me.” I glance to the strip of floor between restaurant and bar, where Michael and Beau watch the sports coverage of something to do with a ball—one of those small ones that fits into the hand and get the stitches knocked out of it. Just kidding. I know it’s a baseball.

  “I like Michael.” I scan his handsome profile.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “But something’s missing. You know—that feeling.”

  “Like you had with Christopher.”

  I could have gone all year without hearing his name. “Yeah.”

  Belle covers my hand with hers. “You know, not all relationships start with a bang—take me and Beau. We didn’t fall in love. We grew in love.”

  And I watched the whole thing from the sidelines, impatient for them to progress through the stages that ultimately led them down the aisle. Not surprisingly, Belle refused to be hurried with something as important as with whom she’d spend the rest of her life and have children. Though she had been a good friend to Beau, listening and pointing him to Scripture, that had been the extent of their relationship for two long years. Not until Beau worked through the issues that had led him to an alternate lifestyle and accepted Christ as his Savior did Belle extend the slightest encouragement. Too bad we can’t all be as patient and committed as she.

  I look at her. “Even at the get-go, didn’t you feel something when Beau kissed you? A queasy little flutter?” I press a hand to my stomach. “And when you were apart, didn’t you ache? I mean, there you’d be minding your own business and he’d pop into your thoughts and distract you from whatever you were doing?”

  Her eyes birth stars and a slow smile curves her mouth.

  “That’s what I want to feel, Belle. But I don’t.”

  She blinks away the stars and squeezes my hand. “Because you won’t let yourself?”

  I shrug. “I suppose that’s part of it.”

  “Have you told him?”

  “No. Besides the fact that we’re only dating, the first time we went out he told me he doesn’t require children. Of course, that could change.”

  “And so you’re holding out for fear of rejection, not allowing yourself to feel for him.”

  As I’ve done dozens of times, I examine the possibility from all sides, but no matter how honest I am, the answer doesn’t change despite the jealous sprite that
pops up when Michael and Maia are in close proximity. My feelings for Michael—suppressed or otherwise—are shallow.

  I heave a sigh. “Even if I told him and he didn’t pull back, I don’t believe it would change my feelings for him.”

  “So you could never love him?”

  I consider Michael, admire his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and nicely shaped head. He’s attractive, but I’m not attracted to him in the way he and Maia appear to be attracted to one another. “I can see us being friends.”

  Belle’s shoulders slump. “Then why are you dating him?”

  “Outside of the fact he’s one in a hundred who doesn’t require biological children?”

  She winces.

  “It’s nice to be pursued, Belle. Nice to have someone pay attention to me who doesn’t slink off the minute he realizes dinner and a movie won’t earn him a round-trip ticket to my bedroom. And so I keep asking myself whether it would hurt to settle for friendship in marriage. As I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, why not spend it with a friend?”

  She groans. “As much as I’d like to see you in a good relationship—and Michael seems a peach—I don’t think you’d fool him for long.”

  “Just as he hasn’t fooled me regarding Maia.”

  “You really think there’s something between them?”

  “I’m afraid his interest in me is all white-picket-fence fantasy.”

  “So neither of you is being honest.” She gives a tut-tut. “Well, there you have it. Sounds like it’s time to break it off and see if you can salvage a friendship.”

  Though I know she’s right, I recoil. “He’s the closest I’ve come.”

  Lame. Very lame.

  “I’ve said it before, Kate—a man who does not want-slash-need children should not be your first requirement.”

  “And as I’ve said before, better to know up front what a man expects from a potential spouse than waste time and emotion on someone whose heart is set on something I can’t give.”

  Frustration ripples across her brow. “There’s always adoption.”

  Exactly what I presented to Christopher on his way out of my life, but Belle wouldn’t know, as I never told her of my last desperate attempt to hold on to him. He’d wanted a little “Jr.” who was truly a Jr., not some unknown child with an unknown pedigree. A papered Christopher Stapleton the Third.