What could I cook for breakfast? Did Bailey like eggs? I hated them. My stomach turned queasy, but that wasn’t why. My nausea came from the knowledge that I had broken the heart of the only man I had ever loved. Not to mention that Jordan did all the shopping. I didn’t know what we had. I pulled the fridge open and froze.
We had groceries … kid groceries. I had heard something in the wee hours. My husband. What an amazing guy. He’d bought food for Bailey and brought it while I slept. He’d left hurt and neglected but still stood alone as the best man I’d ever known.
A gallon of milk stood on the top shelf of the fridge beside kid-packages of yogurt. A bag on the counter overflowed with cereal, pop tarts, and fruit. He’d also left an assortment of lunch supplies, animal crackers, and juice boxes. A note lay on the counter beside the bag. I snatched it up with grateful fingers.
Catherine, I’m always up early. I sensed this morning would be difficult for you. Hope my contribution makes your life easier today.
Jordan
He never called me Catherine. He called me Katie Girl, and always started his notes with, “My dearest …” And he’d never written a note that hadn’t ended with “Love, Jordan.”
What had I done? I grabbed my cell from the island. I called his number; it went straight to voicemail, but I left a message: “Baby, I’m so grateful for the things you brought. I love and miss you. I’m sorry for being so selfish. Please come home. I’ll do—” Beep. No more time to grovel. And grovel, I would. I just needed the chance.
Bailey still slept. I yawned, feeling the effects of a restless night.
All seemed quiet down the hallway. Heartbroken, I grabbed the milk and Apple Jacks. Hopefully, Bailey liked cereal. If not, she could choose from the other goodies.
I closed my eyes, envisioning Jordan standing in the kitchen smiling, as he had every morning for fourteen years. His brown hair curled loosely, especially on his forehead and at the back of his neck. He never used a blow dryer. He stepped out of the shower, patted in a tiny bit of Vavoom, and raked his hands through. At five-foot-eight inches, with broad shoulders and a muscular build formed from decades of running, he was a gorgeous man built like an athlete.
Tears stung my eyes.
I’d fetch Bailey and bring her to the clinic with me, and Alicia would help care for her. We’d be okay. I’d started a clinic and grew it into a thriving practice. I could handle a little girl.
I heard Bailey trek into the living room. “What’s all this?” she asked, yawning.
I breezed toward the living room. “What’s what, baby girl?”
One hand covered her open mouth while the other pointed toward the fireplace. An assortment of size six and seven clothes covered the hearth. There were pants, shirts, socks and sneakers, underwear, and pajamas. Nestled in the middle of it all sat a white teddy bear dressed in a pink ballerina outfit complete with headband and ballet slippers.
I lifted the stuffed animal to my chest. Oh, Jordan, you thought of everything.
How on earth was I going to get him back?
“I’m hungry,” Bailey said.
“Of course you are.” I smiled.
I’d figure out how to convince him to return home later.
Bailey spent the day at the clinic with myself, Alicia, a roster of other clients, all seeking hope or absolution. Between each client, I walked up front to Alicia’s desk with the same question on my lips. But no matter how often I asked if anyone had called to check on her, the answer was still “no.” My client load overflowed that day, and I just knew during each session that someone, someone would call to see if Bailey was alive. But with every “no” Alicia’s eyes were more brooding, and her shoulders sagged lower.
I walked again to Alicia’s desk between my two o’clock and three o’clock clients. “We live in a small area, and my office would be easy enough for, if no one else, the grandmother to find.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Alicia shoved my next chart toward me. “For the moment she’s taking a nap in the playroom.” She shook her head, and her dark straight hair slipped from behind her ears. “Kat, I fed her and read her a story. Good grief, she’s a great kid. Who do these people think they are?”
As always when Alicia was on a roll, I just stood and listened.
She tucked her hair back into its customary place. “Do you need food? Yogurt is in the fridge if you want it.” She looked at the paperwork on her desk and muttered something about Bailey. “And she’s so precious.” She looked back to me. “Oh, and three new clients called today wanting to see you.”
Alicia made me smile in the direst of circumstances. Thank God. I needed all the smiling and laughing she provided with her constant chatter and quirky personality. I nodded.
“I don’t know when I’m going to work them all into your schedule,” she continued. “But I’ll do the best I can. And don’t worry. No one qualifies for what I would call ‘emergency status.’” She frowned and shook her head again. “And don’t worry about Bailey either. I’ll make sure she’s fine.” She stood from her desk, peeked through the playroom window at her, then looked at me again. “Do you need anything else?’
I said I didn’t.
“Then you better get into your treatment room.” Alicia nodded in that direction. She peeked through the playroom window a second time then grunted and returned to her chair while I continued to stand in one place, wondering how my life had gotten so mixed up in a matter of days, and what in the world I’d do without Alicia.
She glanced up at me. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I lied. “By the way, did I leave my cell with you this morning?”
“Yes, just like always.” She opened a drawer and retrieved it.
I texted Jordan: I love you. Dreaming of you coming home.
“Kat?”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t look so good.”
I raised my chin. “I had a long night.” I couldn’t say the words. I wouldn’t say that Jordan was gone. I wouldn’t have to. He’d come back.
He had to. I’d do anything he asked.
Chapter 11
During the next few days, Bailey appeared content, delighting in simple things.
One evening, she watched as I unloaded the dishwasher after we arrived home from work. “Miss Katie?”
I looked up at her. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Where’s the nice man who was here when I came? You know the one who cooked mac and cheese for me?” She appeared curious, yet cautious. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”
Unbidden tears sprang to my eyes.
“Oh, Miss Katie, you’re crying. Does he hit you lots?”
My words stuck in my throat. “Jordan’s my husband. He has never and would never hit me or anyone else.” I kissed the top of her head. “And, yes, he’s a very nice man.” I’d spent a lot of time on my knees before this child, and I needed her to hear me. I peered deep into her eyes and said, “Bailey, not all men hit.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I miss him.”
“Where is he?”
“He had to go away for a little while. He’ll be back.”
“Couldn’t you call him?”
“I could.” I had called so many times over the past few days; my fingers were sore from punching numbers. He never seemed to be available. He taught, he held meetings, and attended meetings, went to lunch, interviewed new faculty, and might as well have been out of the country.
“I’m glad,” she said but sounded unsure. “If he’s your husband, does he live here?”
“I sure hope so.”
“What does that mean?”
I opened my mouth to answer as the front doorbell rang. I left the kitchen and found Jordan standing on the front porch smiling but looking like he hadn’t slept much better than I had over the course of the last days. I longed to put my arms around him, but when he didn’t appear interested, I hoped he hadn’t slept a wink since I’d last seen him.
I leaned against the closed front door. “Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “To get your guitars?” Please say no. As long as they stayed, surely he’d consider this home. He’d never leave them behind.
“No. There’s no room in my hotel room.”
Anger colored my words. “Well, Bailey and I have three thousand square feet here, so I suppose it’s okay for you to use this house for a storage facility.”
I heard Bailey gasp. She’d walked from the kitchen and stood behind me, peeking around to see who knocked at the door. In the few days she’s known me, she’d never heard me upset. I turned to see her dash to the fireplace hearth, sit down, and grab her bear.
“It’s okay, Bailey.” I crossed the room and sat beside her.
She nuzzled into me.
Jordan walked toward us. “I just came by to give you some numbers … the name of the hotel … my room number … in case you can’t get me on my cell or in my office.” I knew my husband well. He’d arrived with a smile on his face, which meant he’d planned to stay longer but hadn’t expected me to be angry. When he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “You could have called me, Katie.”
“I have.” I stood. “Baby, please talk to me. Can we step into the bedroom?”
He stayed put. “You’ve always known my schedule, including class times.”
I just stared. “I usually get your answering machine. It’s frustrating, but there is some joy too.”
He squinted.
“You recorded the greeting before I broke your heart. When you were sure I cherished you.”
He put his hand on his heart. “Those were better times for sure.” He turned and left without another word.
While hurt and confusion blanketed my days by Jordan’s absence, he remained— remarkably—the same source of stoic help and consolation he had always been— just from a lonely and distressing distance. Bailey and I never knew when he’d drop by. He appeared to have an internal radar that signaled him when we were in distress.
Initially, she mentioned her mother often, but with the resilience born of a child, she started turning to me for the things she needed. She enjoyed the most mundane chores. She never tired of grocery shopping, or stopping for gas in the evenings, especially since she always conned a red Slurpee out of me. Removing the stain from her lips and chin was an ongoing challenge, but one she seemed to welcome and I never tired of.
In the evenings, as we trudged toward home, we filled the moments with simple things. Things that Jordan and I’d always done. I popped microwave corn and shared with her straight from my bag. I planned to make homemade pizza for dinner one night, but when I pulled out the bread maker Jordan used for the crust, I felt sick all over. I shoved the bulky appliance back in the cabinet and called Pizza Inn instead. Bailey ate half the pizza without breathing.
On a plain old Wednesday, as she and I were stowing groceries, the front doorbell rang. With a box of Cheerios in hand, I opened the door. Jordan stood on the front porch, holding a large package wrapped in little-girl paper. Bailey had followed me to the door, but when she saw Jordan, I heard her walk into the living room—I suspected to the hearth. He’d come back. I knew he wouldn’t stay away. I dropped the Cheerios and tried to put my arms around him while he balanced his purchase.
Acting like he didn’t notice, he stepped inside but looked at me with cold eyes. The stranger Jordan had become when he’d left with his suitcase a couple of weeks ago stood staring at me. He shifted his package to one hand and returned my Cheerios with the other.
I love you. Look at me. I love you.
He smiled but kept his arms around his packages. “I came to make sure you and Bailey are okay.”
Bailey looked up from her teddy bear. “I am.” As I’d expected, she sat at the hearth, her favorite place. A small indoor water fountain graced its left corner. A globe spun in alabaster hands—meant to convey the “whole world in His hands,” theme—and she was enthralled by it. She looked up at Jordan with her hands wet from dipping them in the fountain.
He stepped toward her, extending the bag. “This is for you.”
She looked at him.
He peeled away the colorful paper and offered her a pink Barbie car with the long-haired blonde behind the wheel. Still, she only looked at him; her large eyes focused on what could or might happen next.
So Jordan lowered himself to his knees and drove the car around her feet until her resolve melted, and she dropped beside him. For the next half-hour, they played while I watched. Then, he stood and lifted Bailey carefully into his arms. “I need to tell you something very important,” he said to her.
“Okay.”
“Miss Katie and I have hurt each other’s feelings badly, but we love each other very much.”
“All right.”
“You are safe here,” he assured her. “We didn’t mean to upset you, and it won’t happen again.”
Her eyes found mine, and I nodded.
“No one will hurt you or anyone else,” Jordan said. He walked into the music room for his guitar. “I wanted to teach you a song,” he said to her.
She ducked her head but nodded.
Jordan sat in his chair and said, “Come closer.”
We both sat at his feet as he strummed, my heart beating louder than he played. He flashed his boyish smile at Bailey. “Do you know Jumbo the Elephant?”
She smiled at him. Finally. “I don’t think so.”
I watched as she allowed Jordan into her heart. Was he doing the same?
“This is how it goes.” He strummed. He taught her the words, and I taught her the motions. We scrambled from the floor and bent in from our waists, molding our arms into long trunks, prancing around our living room. Bailey and I made great looking elephants. After he returned his guitar to its stand, he switched on the stereo, then began to teach her to dance by standing her feet on top of his and dancing her around the room. The evening unfolded as I had dreamed it would with our children.
Be still, Catherine.
I hoped he’d come home to stay. I watched him with Bailey, thinking of what could be.
But he hugged both of us and walked toward the door again. “She’s beautiful, Katie,” he said on his way out.
“Are you coming back?”
He blew both us a kiss as he backed out the door without an answer.
What did that mean? What was he doing? Would he keep popping in and out like a gift-bearing Jack in the Box? I had loved Jordan deeply. But right that second—though I would be in love with him forever—I hated him.
What about Bailey? Did he intend for her to bond with him? If so, he was doing a masterful job, but would he keep leaving? That showed potential harm to her. He wouldn’t do that. Ever. He must be taking his time before coming home to stay.
Other than Thomas and Jillian attending their scheduled counseling sessions, there was total silence from the Russell home. While they made no move to bring Bailey into their home, I knew that Bailey depended on me, so I devised a plan.
She had a month of first grade to complete, and I had about three weeks remaining of the spring semester at the university, which meant only a bit of time to find the right person to help me.
I stood in front of my Child Development class one morning and made an announcement. “I need a nanny,” I said. “A female who is loving, planning to be a psych major, in possession of a car, devoid of a social life, willing to work flexible hours and love someone else’s child for minimum wage.”
I gave a thumbnail sketch of Bailey’s situation to my students as I made the plea for help. “I need her transported to school and picked up afterward and brought to my office. I’m aski
ng someone to become part of the team effort to raise this little girl.” I smiled at my students. “She’s been through a lot, and I need to spend more time with her before I let her ride the bus.” The students looked around at each other.
After class, when one of my best students, who never said a word in class, but aced all my tests semester after semester, walked toward me and placed her phone number in my hand, I knew I’d found Bailey’s caregiver.
“I’m Isabella or Bella.” She shifted a book under her arm. “I have a car, money, no boyfriend, and a big heart.” Isabella—or Bella—had a healthy, round friendly face. Her hair hung heavy and full to her hips, all in one length. No bangs. No layering. Long lashes circled green-and-gold eyes. She wore no makeup. She didn’t need it. Her tailored wardrobe and her choice of shoes and handbag indicated she was a young lady of privilege.
“You’re hired,” I said.
Thomas attended his counseling sessions and reported that Jillian had agreed to someday allow Bailey to spend an occasional night at their house if he asked nothing of her. He would be in charge of the child’s care during all visits.
Okay.
So, at bedtime on the first Wednesday of the next month, Bella carried a bathed, fed, and pajama-clad Bailey to her father’s. Thomas met them at the door and held it open for them to come inside. She was already asleep on Isabella’s shoulder. With great tenderness, our godsend tucked her in and laid out her next-day’s clothes, with the promise that she’d return in the morning.
We—Bella, Alicia, and I—remodeled the office to make it more child-friendly, adding private areas for Bailey and keeping snacks on hand. A table stood in the playroom where Isabella tutored her. Together, the three of us worked out a life with Bailey.
In the beginning, afternoon clients asked about Bailey’s presence, but soon enough found themselves expecting to see her or signs of her homework on the front of the coffee-bar refrigerator in the mornings.
The Children of Main Street Page 11