Where Grace Appears

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  “I think it’s better we keep our distance, Finn,” Josie said.

  “Can we just talk again? Please?”

  “I don’t think so.” A brief pause. “I can let you know when the baby’s born, though, if you want.”

  “Yes—yes. Thank you.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Bye.” He hung up the phone, let his arm fall on the sofa before remembering Katrina. Great, more guilt. “Sorry. That was—well, she and I were—”

  Katrina slapped him on the shoulder. “Really, Finn, you don’t have to explain.”

  He squinted up at her. “I don’t?”

  She flung herself on the cushion beside him, propped an elbow against the top of the leather couch, her dainty hand resting on her dark hair. “Nope. That’s what’s great about our relationship. I can totally be myself with you. Who I am is not dependent on me being the only woman in your life, and who you are isn’t dependent on being the only man in mine, right? I like being with you, living for the moment. It’s kind of like jumping. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” So much for being wanted, being needed. By Katrina, by Josie, by his unborn child. But he’d chosen this path. Hadn’t he wanted to be what Katrina described? Independent, assured, fully comfortable in his own skin—whether that included a significant other or not.

  She stood, held her hand out. “Ready to go?”

  “I—I’m actually not feeling well all of a sudden.”

  She lifted a hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel warm.” She studied him. “This girl really got to you, didn’t she?”

  He could tell her about the baby, couldn’t he? But why should he? She wasn’t invested in any part of his life—in him. She’d just said as much. Why bare his heart if he was just another passing pleasure to her, one of many men in her pocket.

  The thought churned his stomach. He pulled away. “Forget it, Katrina.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Fine, then. I’ll find someone else to accompany me tonight.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  She stomped out of the room without another word, but her anger spoke volumes about how much he did indeed matter to her. How could you spend time with someone, go through the bond of jumping hundreds of times, of laying in one another’s arms in the darkness of night while the city lay quiet, and tell yourself they didn’t matter to you?

  Before she reached his door, he called out. “We still on for tomorrow’s jump?”

  Her expression softened. “Sure, Finny. Whatever you want. Let me know how you feel in the morning.”

  And then she was gone, leaving him more confused than ever.

  He sank back on the couch.

  He was going to be a father. A father. He cursed, put an arm over his eyes.

  God, help.

  It had been a long time since he’d thrown up even a 911 prayer to the God of his childhood. But then again, it had been a long time since he’d felt this unsure about himself, this lost.

  Turn from evil and do good.

  Good. What was good in this situation? Sending Josie a hefty check to help with medical bills? Going to her, groveling at her feet to let him have a second chance, to let him be part of this child’s life?

  My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

  He tried to push the words from his mind. Didn’t he believe in the inherent goodness of self, as Rousseau taught? Why then did he battle with his goodness? Why listen to words from a dead book? Besides, he’d never understood that verse, even as a child. Why should it come to him now? Even Josie’s father put more emphasis on the doing parts of his faith rather than an emphasis on weakness to obtain power. What did it all mean?

  He closed his eyes, exhausted. Perhaps he should give up while he was ahead, throw himself into his work and his jumping, find meaning in concrete things.

  His eyes grew heavy. Either way, his dreams would tell him. His body wouldn’t rest if there was more for him to do. Over the last several months, he’d gotten good at listening to the tears.

  22

  The war cries curdled the air as Tripp ducked behind a hydrangea shrub. The paint on his face cracked from the sun.

  He was ready for battle.

  “Found him!” Davey blasted him with a round of Nerf bullets while waving his brother to the site of capture. “Come on, Little John. The Sheriff of Nottingham is no match for us!”

  Tripp dove out from behind the bush, rolled onto the grass, and landed at the foot of Josh and Maggie’s small porch. He climbed up the stairs on all fours, pretending exhaustion, then popped up beside a laughing Josie. He hooked an arm across her shoulders, pointed his small Nerf gun at the boys, who stood wide-eyed at the bottom of the steps. “What’ll ya do now, ya fine Merry Men? I’ve caught ya lovely Maid Marion. Surely, you wouldn’t risk striking her for the likes of me?”

  Isaac looked sideways at Davey, a bit unsure of himself. Though only four minutes older, Davey was the apparent leader.

  The older twin straightened his back—and his resolve. “You can’t hide behind the maid forever. We will wait you out!”

  “But Aunt Josie—I mean, Maid Marion…is she scared? We can’t leave her, we should rescue her!” Isaac raised his Nerf gun in the air.

  Tripp leaned his head toward Josie’s ear, felt her hair against his cheek. “What say you, lovely maiden? Are you scared?”

  Josie made a show of waving her hand wildly at her throat. “So scared! You must do something now, Merry Men! I feel I may swoon if you don’t!”

  Isaac’s eyes grew wide. “Davey, she might swoon!” He elongated his o’s in the word swoon to get his point across.

  Davey fell out of character for a moment, looked at Josie, his face wrinkled in distaste. “What’s swoon?”

  Tripp stifled a chuckle.

  Josie lay her forearm across her head in dramatic show. “Faint! I will faint straight away if something isn’t done!”

  Tripp didn’t miss her sly smile just before she grabbed his gun and whirled out of his arms. He stared down the barrel of the Nerf Rival Takedown XX-800 Blaster.

  “But since I’m a modern woman who doesn’t need to stand helplessly by while I wait to be rescued, I will help the Merry Men out. Sheriff of Nottingham, do you surrender to these fine gentlemen?”

  “Never!” Tripp lunged off the stairs, running toward the boys.

  “Get him, Merry Men!” Josie shouted.

  The boys pummeled him with Nerf bullets. He jolted his body, howled in mock pain as they continued their assault.

  “Boys!” Josie shouted. The Nerf guns grew quiet. Tripp gave up his howls for soft moans. “Punishment without trial is bad form. Though we know this scoundrel to be guilty of all kinds of injustices, we must give him a fair trial.”

  Davey grabbed Tripp’s arm, pointed toward the house. “To the trial!”

  Isaac scooped up his other arm. They paraded Tripp into the house, sat him at the kitchen table. Josie paced before Tripp, then put both hands on the table and leaned over him. “And how do you plead, Sheriff?” The corners of her mouth tugged upward, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss those sweet lips.

  “Guilty.” He made a slow study of her face. “Wholly and terribly guilty.”

  Josie straightened, slapped her hand on the table. “He’s confessed, boys!”

  “Can we shoot him now?” Davey asked, gun raised.

  Josie tapped her finger on her chin. “Hmmm. Do you really think he deserves death for his crimes? Is that not a bit harsh?”

  “Then what can we do to punish him?” Isaac seemed disappointed that Tripp wouldn’t get his due.

  “I know!” Davey jumped up and down. “No cookies before bed!”

  “No cookies!” Isaac chimed in, grinning.

  Tripp fixed a frown on his face. “Please, sirs. Not that, anything but that. All that chocolaty oatmeal goodness! I beg you to reconsider. For the sake of my stomach and my taste buds
.”

  “If not the withholding of said chocolaty goodness, then what would you have us do?” Josie cocked her wrist in the air.

  “I think I should be made to…kiss a girl.” Tripp shot a wicked grin in her direction.

  “Ewwww!” the boys said in unison.

  Josie shook her head, but Tripp was on his feet. “What do you say, Merry Men? Do you think the punishment fitting?”

  “But Aunt Josie’s the only girl here, and she’s Robin Hood’s wife.” Davey stuck out his bottom lip.

  Uh-oh. Tripp hadn’t expected the kid to make such a quick connection. “Then perhaps just a quick kiss on the cheek.”

  “Like how we have to kiss Aunt Pris?”

  Tripp shared a giggle with Josie. “Exactly like that.”

  Davey sat at the dining room chair, legs dangling, arms on the table, fingers tapping. “I guess that is punishment. Okay, go ahead.”

  Tripp swept Josie in his arms, lowered his lips to her soft cheek for but a second. “There. Debt paid.”

  “Now we can have cookies, right?” Isaac asked.

  “Cookies all around!” Tripp marched to the plate on the counter.

  “Hold up, Sheriff.” Josie fell hot on his heels. “These Merry Men need to wash up before they indulge themselves.”

  Tripp turned direction. “To the bathhouse!” He marched toward the bathroom, the boys following close behind.

  When they returned, they all sat at the table, plates and glasses of milk at each setting.

  Isaac reached for a cookie. “Grandma makes the best cookies.”

  Tripp grabbed up two to put on his plate. “She does. I’m glad I’m not withheld from the chocolaty goodness.” He winked at Josie. While babysitting twin boys with your pregnant girlfriend—if Josie would allow that label—was not your typical Friday night date, he couldn’t imagine anything better.

  “When you guys have your baby, we’ll make him a Merry Man too, right, Uncle Tripp?”

  A cookie crumb caught in his throat. Though he did consider himself part of the family, he didn’t remember Maggie or Josh ever referring to him as “uncle.” Yet, what was the harm, really? Half the town already thought the baby was his—something he struggled over. He strived to live with honor, and the gossip among the town diminished his reputation. But he’d take it any day if it spared Josie even a little disrepute. He looked at her now, wearing out her bottom lip with her teeth over Davey’s question.

  “You know, boys, this actually isn’t Uncle Tripp’s baby. It’s just Aunt Josie’s, okay?”

  The words shouldn’t have stung with such intensity. She was trying to protect him, but somehow it felt like pushing him away.

  Davey shrugged. “Okay.”

  They chatted about the boys’ kindergarten class. Isaac said he’d show Tripp his LEGO mini figure collection.

  Josie stood. “Bath time and pj’s, boys.”

  “Then a story, right?” Isaac asked.

  “That’s right. What’ll it be?”

  “Midas and the Golden Touch!” Davey shouted.

  Josie hauled the boys off for their bath while Tripp cleaned up the plates and cookie crumbs and empty milk glasses. She peered around the corner at him a half hour later. “Boys are in bed, waiting for story time.”

  He smiled, threw down the kitchen towel. “Good, don’t want to miss it.”

  “I didn’t think you would, it being a book with nice big pictures and all.”

  He pinched her arm and followed her up the stairs where he knelt on the floor beside Davey’s bed, the two boys on either side of him, Josie in the rocking chair in the corner. “I guess I’m being nominated for this one?”

  She shrugged. “They wanted you to read it.”

  He turned the brightly-colored hardcover book to the first page. “Once upon a time, there lived a King named Midas who loved gold. King Midas had a daughter named Goldie who he loved with all his heart….”

  I thought my heart may very well break in two for the tender scene before me. Of course Tripp was a natural with my two energetic nephews. He would make a great father someday.

  I pushed my feet against the hardwood floor of the boys’ room, tried to rock away the emotion climbing my throat. Why did the thought of Tripp being a father sadden me when only a short time ago it nearly made me giddy with hope?

  But I knew.

  Finn. Finn’s call changed everything. And I hadn’t the guts to tell Tripp, either, had instead made that careless comment in front of the boys about Little Mouse being just my baby. Yet, what else should I say? I didn’t want them to assume a picture-perfect family that wouldn’t materialize. Nor did I want them inadvertently solidifying the rumors of Tripp being the father. Hadn’t I told Tripp I wanted to take it slow? For reasons like Finn. To give Tripp an easy-out if that’s what he preferred.

  I leaned my head back, listened to the story of the king who found out the hard way what really mattered. When Tripp finished the story, we tucked the boys into bed. I smoothed their hair back from their foreheads, kissed them, and told them goodnight.

  “Aren’t you going to pray with us?” Davey asked.

  “Mommy always prays with us. Daddy too when he’s home.” Isaac clutched his bed covers with a tight fist.

  My mouth grew dry. “I-um, sure.”

  Tripp squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry, my modern day damsel-in-distress, I can take this one.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing I’d never hear the end of my little speech as Maid Marion.

  He sat on the edge of Isaac’s bed, and I sat on the end of Davey’s. “What should we pray for then, men?”

  “That Mommy and Daddy will get home safe.” Isaac’s voice trembled and I put a hand to my chest.

  Davey sniffed. “Our real Mommy died in a car accident.”

  Tripp looked thoughtful. “So you’re afraid the same thing might happen to your new mom?”

  Both boys nodded.

  I swallowed. “Oh boys, I can understand why you’re scared, but just because that happened does not mean it’s going to happen to either of your parents now, okay?”

  Tripp shifted on the bed, crooking one leg. “You want to hear what I do when I’m scared about something?”

  Davey giggled. “You’re big. You’re not afraid of anything.”

  “Sure I am. You know those spiders with the really long legs?”

  “Daddy long legs?”

  Tripp nodded. “Those things scare the daylights out of me.”

  “But Mommy says they don’t even bite you!”

  Tripp pretended a shiver. “Anything with legs that long deserves to put the fear of God in a man, in my opinion.”

  We all laughed.

  “So what do you do?” Isaac’s eyes grew wide in the dim light of the room.

  “I write what I’m scared of on a piece of paper and then put it in a box. As long as it’s in the box, it’s God’s to handle and not for me to worry about.”

  “Does it work?”

  “You want to try it?” Tripp asked.

  The boys nodded. I opened their closet and searched for a shoebox, finding the boys each had a pair of dress shoes stacked neatly in their boxes, a polaroid picture of the shoe taped on the outside. I wouldn’t expect anything less of my sister.

  I dumped one pair on the floor, certain Maggie would forgive me for a good cause. Meanwhile, Tripp secured pencils and paper from Davey’s desk and helped the boys write out their worries.

  “Now, fold them up.” They both did. “And put them in the box. But wait—” My nephews looked up at him, faces glowing and expectant. “This is serious business, men. When you place that fear inside the box, you are really putting it in God’s hands. You can’t take it back. Are you ready for your mission?”

  They nodded, and Tripp gestured to me. “Aunt Josie, will you please do the honors?”

  I slipped the lid off the box and went first to Isaac, then to Davey as they each placed their wrinkled paper inside. Then I shut the lid tigh
t. Tripp knelt down beside the boys and placed a hand on each arm. He prayed the most beautiful prayer of protection over my sister and her husband, over the boys and me. His rhythmic words lulled me into a state of peace, and when I opened my eyes to his final “Amen” I saw that both boys lay asleep.

  We tiptoed out of the room. I carried the box downstairs where I placed it on the kitchen counter. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “Those are two amazing little guys.”

  “I didn’t know that about you—that you write down your worries and put them in a box.”

  “A guy’s got a right to a few secrets, doesn’t he?”

  I cocked my head. “What other secrets do you have?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I read the most popular memoirs, literary fiction, and political books Amazon recommends to me?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying, right?” He planted a kiss on my forehead. “You know, I’ve enjoyed playing house with you.” He trailed his lips to my mouth, creating pleasant prickles along my skin.

  “I can’t make out with you while my nephews are upstairs sleeping.”

  “Even if I say you make one beautiful Maid Marion?”

  I laughed. “I’m a regular whale of a tale, that’s for sure.”

  He gave me a chaste kiss on the lips, pulled me close to lean his chin on the top of my head. I sank into it, closing my eyes, imagining this was our life. Not having to say goodbye at night. Having children upstairs. It surprised me how much I wanted it all.

  Unless Finn pushed his way into it.

  I opened my mouth, breathed through a quivering breath. “You know…there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “There’s more cookies, isn’t there? I knew you were holding out.”

  I shook my head. “No, I…” But I couldn’t push the words forth, couldn’t ruin this moment by speaking of Finn. “I really don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.” I stood on my tip-toes to capture his mouth with my own, sank into him, relished the feeling of being loved.