I stood in the middle of the living room staring at the television.
Jordan walked up behind me, reached around, and handed me a Diet Coke over ice. “Is there something specific you’re watching for?”
“Jordan, there is a little six-year-old girl—”
“Of course there is. There always will be. A boy named Billy who beats the stuffing out of you and a girl named Jane, or Mary … or Suzy.”
Yes. There always would be.
“Did you even hear me on the swing?” he continued. “These. Kids. Are. Not. Yours.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Do you not know I wanted a kid too? I held you month after month when you told me we still weren’t going to have a baby. For the first three years, every time you got sick, I felt as hopeful as you. But all your tummy problems turned out to be a virus or some lunch that hadn’t settled well. Or anxiety over whether or not you were pregnant.”
Tears dripped from my face onto my shirt. “I know. I’m sorry—I haven’t given you a child yet.”
“Baby, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” He blew out a deep breath. “Katie, I don’t believe it’s ‘not yet.’ I no longer believe we’re going to be blessed with a child. I—”
“Don’t say that. Please. I still—”
“You’re about to turn forty, and I would fear for your health if you became pregnant. You’ve never been physically strong.”
“Some people still—”
He reached for me. “Let it go, Katie Girl, before it kills you.”
I pulled away from him. The truth broke my heart. Besides I’d heard it all before.
“I never thought you would step away from my touch.” He held both hands toward me. “You’re my everything, my whole life. My happiness nor my love for you ever depended on us having a baby. My love … our love used to be unconditional.” His eyes screamed for my attention.
I grabbed his hand. “I love you with all my heart … I just thought … I just thought we’d eventually get pregnant.”
“So did I. But we didn’t. For whatever reason, God decided otherwise.”
“Do we always have to act as if it’s God’s reasoning? Surely he wouldn’t be that cruel. It’s me who can’t seem to get pregnant. The doctor doesn’t know why. You’ve been checked out thoroughly, and it sure doesn’t appear to be you.”
“If we don’t have a baby, are you going to stay miserable? You used to be so happy. I can still hear the laughter that once sprang so easily from your full heart. Your easy laughter was a major reason I fell in love with you.”
“I’m happy.” I winced. Even I heard the lameness.
“I want to be with you forever, but I need to know you’re happy. I need to know I am enough.”
My breath stuck in my throat and, for a moment, I thought my heart had stopped beating. “What do you mean you want to stay with me? What are you saying? I would die without you.”
The pain sketched itself across Jordan’s face. “My real question is: can you live with me? Really feel alive and fulfilled? Can you be happy with just the two of us?
I walked into his arms and held on tight. But I didn’t answer. He deserved better, and I knew it. He deserved a wife who didn’t crave what she couldn’t have. He deserved to know he was enough. And he deserved to be a father.
“What’s the little girl’s name?”
“Who?” I asked against his chest.
I knew.
“The one you’re scanning the newscast for?”
I told him all the information I had.
“Katie, since you continue headlong on this career path, will you at least keep your heart in check while you do it?”
“Yes.” I would try.
“For both our sakes, I sure hope so.”
Alicia called Sunday night to tell me Jillian contacted her after hours. She and Thomas had picked up Bailey from the police station and asked if I could see them at nine o’clock on Monday. I wasn’t sure exactly who I would see, but I agreed.
I didn’t mention the phone call to Jordan.
I fell asleep that night asking God to comfort this child … and to grant me the rest I’d need to help her.
But confusion about Jillian and her husband woke me several times throughout the night.
I pulled into the office driveway at 8:50 a.m. The morning had dawned clear and sweet for Texas. In the yard, orange and white daylilies bloomed in a profusion of color. Figs budded on the tree. Some people call the magnolia “trash trees” because—as pretty as they are with their shiny dark emerald leaves—they are difficult to clean up after. The leaves won’t rake into small piles, nor will they compost. You have to pick them from the ground one at a time.
As I looked at the large magnolia shading one corner of the lawn, I wondered why that reminded me of my career, then answered myself. Because, in my work, picking up one child at a time was the only way. But I loved the blossom’s fragrance, especially on a day that promised to be difficult. I breathed it all in.
I expected to see Jillian and maybe Thomas when I arrived. Walking through the back door, I stepped down the carpeted hallway then stepped into the foyer.
My heart stopped.
A tiny waif of a little girl sat alone in a chair facing Alicia’s desk. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white, shot through with subtle hints of red. I stood beside her … touched her shoulder.
The child didn’t look at me. Instead, she perched on the edge of the chair, her feet still dangling in midair, and stared at the floor. She wore white tights and a white dress gathered above the waist and dotted here and there with little clusters of baby-blue ribbon flowers. Her little white shoes were crowned with, of all things, little blue-ribbon flowers attached right below the half-moon curve of the slippers. Little tufts of tights puckered between the flower-adorned curves and the leather straps across her feet. This lovely dress and shoes had no doubt been a dead mother’s loving purchase for Easter Sunday.
I looked at Alicia. Her hard eyes locked with mine, her brows dug into a furrow.
I mouthed, “Bailey?”
She made a single nod. “I found her sitting on the front-porch swing when I arrived at eight thirty to unlock the door,” she said. “I brought her inside and offered her water or chocolate milk. She didn’t want either.”
I shook my head and mouthed, “Alone?”
Alicia’s steel-brown gaze and hard-set mouth meant yes.
Oh, Mama. Where is the special God for children you promised me?
I lightly squeezed Bailey’s shoulder. Still, no reaction.
“Hi, Bailey. I’m Miss Catherine. Did you come here to see me?”
She still didn’t look up, but unfolded her right hand, revealing a scrap of wrinkled paper. I took it, smoothed it flat, then read it, a note in Jillian’s script. Justin has soccer practice this morning. I didn’t want him to be late, so I’ll pick up Bailey later. She spent the night with Thomas’s mother.
The whole world, gone crazy.
“Bailey?” I looked at the top of her head. “Will you come into the playroom and talk to me?”
She looked up then, her eyes screaming everything I would ever need to know about the last six days and nights of her life. Old eyes deeply set in a field of red freckles. Her hands, now free of the note, clenched tightly with palms together, her fingernails biting little blood crescents between her knuckles and wrists. She made a brief effort to speak, then started to tremble.
Oh, dear Lord, please help us both.
My breath came in labored spurts. Words stuck in my throat. My folding knees landed me on the tiled floor. Ignoring the pain in my still-injured knees, I offered my hand.
She didn’t take it. She couldn’t. The trembling started slow—something a casual observer could mistake for her being cold or frightened—then began to intensify.
Oh, dear Lord, this little one may be in trouble. Nothing good could come from this kind of trembling.
Alicia moved toward the bathroom mum
bling something about a cold towel.
Standing, I scooped Bailey into my arms and headed down the hallway toward my treatment room. If this was a panic attack, I could help her. If she were in shock, she would require immediate medical attention. I had seconds to decide.
Dead silence and mirrored information screamed in Alicia’s face as she handed me the towel and waited for my nod to call 911.
Thank goodness, my green upholstered chair rocked. I cradled Bailey as though she was six months instead of six years. The bone-racking tremors continued two full minutes. Just as I began to think that nothing short of an ambulance could help, one tiny arm crept around my neck.
A lullaby hummed in my throat.
Miraculously, her body ceased its tremors in tiny increments until her second arm crawled up to my neck. Holding me with both arms, she adjusted her body to wrap her legs around my waist.
As if to draw life from me.
“Alicia …” As always in similar circumstances she stood barely out of sight, waiting.
“Ambulance?”
“No. But I need you to cancel the rest of my day.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Two hours passed before Bailey’s grip started to relax. And where on earth was Jillian?
Chapter 6
Something foreign stirred inside. With her molded into my lap, I felt pregnant. With a six-year-old. I rocked her and stroked her hair and back. Mercifully, no words were required. What on earth could one say? This tiny creature witnessed the murder of her beloved mother. If what I suspected was true, she couldn’t have picked her father from a lineup. Her stepmother had left her alone on my front porch with the door still locked, possessing nothing but a hastily-written note to identify her. Father, I need you always, but I have never needed you more. Lord, in your mercy, help this baby.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. Her arms released my neck; otherwise, she didn’t move.
“Me too,” I said. “What shall we do?”
“Sometimes my mom takes me to McDonald’s and sometimes to Dairy Queen.”
“Wanna go with me?” Oh, no. What words had slipped out of my mouth? New kid. No paperwork. No one had signed a consent form for her to leave the premises with me, or a form releasing me to travel with her in a moving vehicle. A liability I had never made an exception for. Until now.
But I also hadn’t signed a consent form allowing anyone to drop a grieving, frightened baby outside my doorstep.
Not that it mattered; I would be the one facing liability and licensing issues. I was also the one who carried her to my car after she said, “Yes, to McDonald’s.”
Alicia must’ve heard the back door open and close because she followed us outside. She approached as I assisted Bailey into the bumper seat I kept in case I had to transport a child, then wrapped and clicked the seat belt around her. She stood by the passenger side with her face showcasing both sympathy for the child and horror at finding her on the stoop this morning.
As I slid behind the wheel, then fastened my own seatbelt, Alicia walked around to the driver’s side and whispered, “Jillian came by and sat in the waiting room for an hour, then told me—and I quote—that she wasn’t sitting here all day.”
“She left?”
“But she managed to leave her phone number first. Said you could call when you wanted her.”
“How generous.”
“Oh, and don’t worry. I had her sign consent forms for treatment and a release for Bailey to leave the building. You know …” Alicia’s open hand swept toward the car like Vanna White displaying the puzzle. “Just in case.”
“Thank you.” There surely were better words, but right then, they didn’t reach my troubled brain.
“It gets better,” Alicia continued, her voice low enough for my ears only. “Jillian didn’t want to sign the papers, for fear her signature implied some sort of responsibility. But when I offered to come get Bailey out of your room and hand her over, she suddenly remembered how to spell her name.”
I smiled at Alicia trying to shower her with wordless gratitude. “Bailey and I are off to have lunch at McDonald’s.” I allowed my voice to rise an octave to let both Alicia and Bailey know what I had in mind.
“And then what’s the plan?” Alicia asked.
“I don’t have one. Did you reach my other appointments for today?” I pushed the button to lower the top of my convertible into its waiting pocket. Bailey’s face told me she’d never ridden in a convertible.
“Yeah, or left messages and am waiting to hear from them. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” Alicia leaned into the convertible. “And if Jillian calls?”
“I’ll contact her when I want her.”
Alicia straightened with a smile. “Buh-bye, Bailey.” She waved to both of us, but Bailey didn’t acknowledge her. She evidently could only allow room in her heart for one person at a time.
I watched Bailey eat her Happy Meal. “I like your dress.”
She opened packet after packet of ketchup, then squeezed them into a red mound, taller now than her pile of fries.
“My mom bought it.” She smiled then looked away.
“Cool shoes. Where did she find them?”
She pointed her right foot out and looked. “Walmart. They didn’t come with the flowers, though. My mom put them on with glue—the kind that burns.” Bailey pulled her foot back in. “You wanna go to Walmart with me too?”
“We’ll go there another day.” I rested my chin on my fist, my elbow on the table. “You look beautiful. Did someone help you dress?”
“Grandma.” Bailey made a large motion with both hands like driving a wobbly steering wheel.
I smiled, suspecting Grandma drove somewhat like my dad who I always said drove with an evangelistic spirit. If you weren’t a praying person when you got in the car with him, you were by the time you got out. “Your mom’s mom?” I asked.
“No. Did I tell you my mom is dead?”
I doubted she processed what she’d said. “You didn’t tell me with words.”
“You knew, though, didn’t you?” She started spreading the ketchup mound with a fry. She spread it larger and larger till the mess looked like a pool of blood.
“I knew.” I watched her. Cautious. I didn’t know what the pile of ketchup meant to her. I could guess, but I didn’t want her nervous system to explode again.
“Cuz of television?”
“Because Jillian—your dad’s wife—told me.” I screened her face for a reaction to Jillian’s name while pulling napkins from the holder.
“She brought me to your house.”
“Yes, to my office.” I wiped away the ketchup that seeped from her napkin a bit at a time.
She ripped more packages and rebuilt her mound. “My grandma hates Jillian.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, no. Grandma loves me.”
I laughed. “Of course, she does.” We’ll go there another day too.
“So, Grandma is Daddy’s mother?”
She nodded.
“Do you have another grandmother?”
“No. Do you?”
“No. When I was six, I had two grandmothers, though.”
“What happened?” She wasn’t looking at me. She just kept stirring her new pile of ketchup with a soggy fry.
“When I was eight, my father’s mother died of—”
She halted in the stirring. “Who killed her?”
“No one. She died from a disease called diabetes.”
“Who killed your mom’s mother?”
“Heart disease.”
“She loved a bad man with all her heart too?” Now she stirred her messy ketchup glob faster and faster.
“I don’t think so.” I struggled for a calm voice. “I believe my papa was a good man. My grandma just had a bad heart.”
“A black heart?”
“What?”
“Did your grandma’s heart have sin in it?”
Not a common six-year-old question, b
ut she looked at me like she needed information to help sort through some of the pain from the past six days.
Oh, Father, the kids who come to see me know so much about sin, and so little about love. How is that?
“Whose heart has sin in it, Bailey?”
“Lots of peoples.”
I waited.
“At my mom’s funeral, the preacher said the whole world is full of it. My grandma says the devil’s sin got in my dad and told him to marry Jillian. She says if it wasn’t for her, my dad would come to see me and his other daughter.”
“You have a sister?”
Bailey nodded. “Hailey lives with my grandma. She said since Josiah killed my mother she would love to take me too, but she can’t be ’sponsible for all my dad’s stupid decisions.” Bailey crooked her head toward her right shoulder and looked at me with arched brows.
I remained quiet as she continued, “Can a person really stick their head up their bum?” Bailey straightened, then leaned toward me to whisper, “Only my grandma didn’t say bum.” She grinned. “That’s what Grandma is waitin for now, for my dad to pull his head out of his bum and come to her house to get me. She says she loves me as much as Hailey, she’s just old now. Hailey’s sixteen and starting to like boys. Grandma tells her not to misbehave, but I don’t know if that’s the same as havin sin in your heart.”
She leaned toward me again, her face troubled. “My grandpa from Sam Ma’tonio came. He cried about my mother. His little girl. He never came to see his little girl either.” She took a bite of her french fry. “He did the most silliest thing,” she said.
“What did he do?”
“He kneeleded on the ground in his good suit after the dirt went on her. He screamed, ‘I cannot believe my little girl ended up in hell after all the years I’ve spent preaching the gospel.’” Bailey’s voice rose, and her head shook in a ‘no-way’ gesture. “I don’t know who told him she’s in hell. He doesn’t know her real good. If he did, he would know she’s in heaven. I only saw him onc’t at Christmas.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know why he wanted to hug me now that my mom is dead. He made my mom cry all the time on the phone. She said he never hugged her.” Bailey’s little face screwed into a question mark. “I didn’t want him to hug me because he squeezed me too hard and talked about the Ralph of God and how much he hates that ole Devil.” She looked doubtful. “Ralph is Josiah’s brother, and he’s not like God. Josiah and Ralph smoked cigarettes that made the kitchen smell funny and my mother cry.” She sniffed as her eyes began to shimmer. “My mom cried a lot.” Then, with a sudden change of mood, she brightened. “I could make her laugh, though.”
The Children of Main Street Page 6