Bailey loved amusing the waiting client and my staff with her little girl jokes. “Knock knock … Who’s there?”
“I love you,” she’d say to Alicia and Bella, the words spilling from her lips as freely as if she’d known the two young women her whole life.
I walked up front and watched her pull an atomizer from her purse—one that had set on her vanity at home—as she approached a client. “I can change you into anything I want with one puff of my bottle,” she said with a giggle.
“Okay, go ahead,” a waiting client said.
She squeezed the bulb. “Poof, you’re a dog.”
The client played along. “Ruff-ruff.”
Then she ambled to Alicia. “Poof, you’re a cat.”
“Meow-meow.”
A new client, one who came to me to help with her eating impulses and compulsions, raised her hand to Bailey. “Hey, if you can change me into anything, make me a skinny woman please.”
She stared at the lady, looked at her atomizer, and said, “That’ll take at least two puffs.”
Everyone laughed, myself included. I’d been standing at the door, simply taking it all in. Marveling at the resilience of this amazing little girl.
“Miss Katie,” she said, now reaching me and throwing her head back to look into my eyes, her neck straining against the action.
I stroked her hair, silky and trailing down her back. “What, sweetheart?”
“I’m happy,” she said with a grin.
I smiled, even as my eyes filled with tears. “Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.”
I pulled into the parking space of Port Arthur Elementary School to meet with Bailey’s teacher who I’d made an after-school appointment to meet with. After checking in at the front office, I walked toward Bailey’s classroom sniffing things that took me back to childhood. Sharpened pencils, glue, and peanut butter cookies.
After walking into a room filled with pint-sized desks and primary colors, I shook the hand of the teacher who appeared about ten years my junior. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Smith. I’m Catherine Collier.”
“Louise,” she said, directing me to the only adult-sized chair in the room other than her own. “I’m glad you came.” Once we were both seated, she got right to the point. “Tell me, how are you related to her?”
I drew in a breath. “I’m not. But she lives with me.”
“I see.” She pressed her lips together.
“How’s she doing in class?” I asked, hoping to move on from the obvious question of why a non-relative had custody of a child. “I know she missed lots of time before her mother’s death and for a couple weeks after, but I want you to know that she’s being tutored every day now.”
Louise pulled a pad of paper from the far side of her desk and picked up a pen without taking her eyes from mine. “She’s doing as well as any child could in her tragic circumstances.” She tapped the pen on the tablet. “She was behind at first and sad most of the time, but she’s catching up to the other children quickly.” She smiled at me then, bringing a breath of relief to my concerns. “And she’s starting to mix with other kids.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.”
“She is kind, and the kids like her. Not all of them know, of course. Hopefully, most don’t.”
“Hopefully.”
“And I’ve noticed her little grin starting to bloom.”
“That’s great to hear.” I stood. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I just wanted to introduce myself and give phone numbers where I can be reached any time.” I pulled a paper from my purse with the information.
She looked at my card without standing. “I’ll pass this along to the front desk but … I’m not sure what her file has on record now.”
“I would assume her mother’s information.” I prayed silently that she wouldn’t ask about her father.
“Is there a father?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But right now, Bailey is staying with me.”
She looked at my card again. “You’ll want to bring a document of custody to the front office as soon as you can.”
I wondered if the heat in my body had reached my face. “I’ll do that,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I looked around in the classroom in appreciation. “I’m glad to have met you.”
She stood then. We shook hands a final time before I walked away thinking I might go home and make peanut butter cookies with Bailey.
Bailey loved the window displays at the local mall. The first time we visited, she pulled me by the hand into J.C. Penney and pointed at the adult-sized model positioned at the doorway to the center court. “What can I have?”
“Let’s look at clothes in your size,” I said with a chuckle.
We roamed every aisle, and she touched everything. “Are you having fun?” I squeezed her hand.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, then added, “Do we have to just look at clothes? What’s a mini paddy?”
I laughed. “Something you’ll learn about when you’re earning your own money.”
“Man. Can we look at jeggings?”
“Yes. And more tops and shoes.” I sighed. “But don’t grow up on me too fast. Who told you about jeggings?”
“All the popular girls at school wear them.”
“Miss,” I said to the first sales girl I spied. “Can you show us jeggings in size six?”
Bailey squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.
She tried on everything, and we took all that fit. “Can we get ice cream before we leave?”
“Yes, if you’ll give me a ten-year pass on the nail thing.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Let’s find vanilla and chocolate.”
“Can we get the little balls that melt in your mouth?”
Nothing seemed to be the same as when I’d been six. But her eyes shone in a way I couldn’t resist. “Little round things it is.”
We held hands and headed to the booth in the center of the mall.
Chapter 12
Later that night, we ate Mexican food we’d picked up before leaving the shopping center. “Do you think my dad loves me?” she asked before biting into a taco, catching me completely off guard.
“Of course.”
“Why do I live here and not with him then?”
I put the taco I’d held back on the plate. “He has to work out a few things first. Do you want to live with him?”
“I don’t think so. I like it here, ’specially when Mr. Jordan comes over.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“I think he loves you,” she said before taking a bite of her food and chewing it soundly.
“You think so, huh?” I picked the taco up again.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said around the ground beef and lettuce. “I think he might love me, too.” She swallowed hard. “Can I call him?”
“Uh, yes.” I looked at my ever-present phone. “Let’s see … it’s 7:00. Should be a good time …”
Twenty minutes later, Jordan arrived. “Do I smell Mexican?”
“Yes, sir,” Bailey answered, looking up at him. “But we ate it all.”
“No problem.” He patted his stomach. “I’ve eaten anyway.” He looked around the living room as though he’d never seen it. “How about a game of Sorry? Do you know that game?”
“Yes, sir,” Bailey exclaimed, then darted off to the closet where I kept the board games.
Minutes later, while they moved pieces around the board, I threw Velveeta cheese and a can of Ro-tel in the microwave and poured it over chips. I carried it to the table, and they stopped the game long enough to dig in. At one point, Bailey looked up with cheese on her chin, laughing. “Run into the kitchen,” I told her. “Grab some extra napkins.”
When it came time for him to leave—when the game was over and returned to its box and the box to the closet—I drew up my courage and asked, “Will you stay?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to get back now.” He kisse
d Bailey on the top of her head and started for the door. But halfway, he turned. “I have some things for Bailey in the car,” he said to me.
I followed him to the car after instructing Bailey to stay put. We walked without saying a word to each other until Jordan opened the backseat door and brought out a shopping bag. “Here you go,” he said.
“Are you going to file for divorce?” I blurted.
He looked at me for a long time. “Catherine, I don’t need a divorce. I need a wife who cherishes me.”
“I do cherish you.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And when did you start calling me Catherine?”
He stopped long enough to ponder his answer. “When did you decide that I could be pacified with broken promises?” He lifted his hand to his brow and rubbed. “When did you decide that I’d never leave no matter how often I let you know I was becoming unhappy?”
“I just thought …”
“That I would stay forever, no matter what?”
“I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Forgive me.”
He kissed me on the cheek and left.
I finished the spring semester at the university while Bailey completed first grade by a fragile margin. Jillian had been correct about her having missed a lot of school. I’m sure her mother would’ve had an explanation, but I’d never hear it. Isabella trucked rapidly to catch Bailey up but, as with anything else, we all knew that would take time.
Late May arrived on a heatwave. I ached for my husband and would never be whole until he came home. Still, I enjoyed living with Bailey. As we drove to work, we shielded our eyes with dark glasses. Hot Texas wind swirled through the car, mussing our hair and browning our skin, but she loved riding in the convertible with the top down.
She laughed often.
The clinic hopped with clients; the parking lot stayed crowded. Each day, I shepherded Bailey through the back door to Alicia—who left her chair to kiss Bailey soundly on her cheek. Then I pointed Bailey into the playroom where Isabella rose from the dining table—nearly covered by school supplies—to take Bailey into her arms.
I gave her one last kiss and trekked back to Alicia’s desk.
One morning I asked, “Billy will be here Friday at 10:00, right?”
She grinned. “He is every Friday.”
“I needed to know for sure.” I smiled, thinking of the progress we’d made together. “He’s doing great.”
“Thanks to you.”
As I walked to my office, I heard Bella say to my girl, “Let’s have a tea party.”
I smiled the rest of the day. If not on the outside, on the inside.
That evening, while sitting idle at a traffic light on the way home, I lifted my cell and speed dialed the number to Jordan’s desk.
He answered on the first ring. “Psychology.”
I was glad to hear his voice, not his machine. “Hey,” I said.
“Well, hello.”
“I’m glad you could answer.” I took a breath. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Katie Girl, but I was just about to walk out the door for a meeting.”
“At least you called me Katie Girl.”
He chuckled. “Old habits.” He cleared his throat, then said, “Hey, I was thinking about Bailey. Do you think she has been to Galveston?”
“I don’t know …” I said, glancing in the rearview mirror at her. The light turned green, and I eased into the flow of traffic.
“Well, why don’t you ask her,” he said. “We could take her down this weekend.”
“Okay.” I was thrilled about the idea of the beach—Bailey would love it— but I wanted more than a weekend. I wanted him home full-time.
“I miss you guys,” he said, “but I really have to run.” Jordan hung up then, but I held the phone to my ear until the silence sounded final and lonely.
Bailey was thrilled at the idea of the beach and that we’d be going with Jordan. We hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks, and we both were anxious.
He turned into the driveway on Saturday morning at 8:30, we loaded up his trunk, then climbed in.
We reached Galveston by way of Crystal Beach, littered with beach cabins. No longer an accurate term; some were sprawling mansions.
Bailey’s nose plastered against the window. “Why are the houses up on long legs?”
“You can’t see the water from the highway, but these homes are built alongside the Gulf of Mexico—an ocean of water. When lots of rain falls, the water rises and would flood the homes if they were built on the ground,” I said.
“Wow.”
Jordan chuckled. “If you want to know how big the ocean is, lower your window. You can hear it from here.”
She did. “I never heard that before. Why does it get louder and then not so loud?”
“The surf rolls in and back out. It’s loudest,” I said, “when it’s gushing in.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will when we reach Galveston,” Jordan said.
“I smell salt.”
“The Gulf is salt water.”
“And pew,” she wrinkled her nose.
We laughed as Jordan rolled the car to a stop.
“Fish wash up on the beach and die if no one flips them back in.” This was great. A fun day out, and she was learning about a world she hadn’t been exposed to.
“Poor fishies,” she said. “Why did we stop?”
Jordan seemed to relax as I turned from the front seat to look at her. “We are in a line to board the ferry—the only way to reach Galveston.”
She pointed ahead. “What in the world kind of big boats are them?”
“Not boats really,” he explained. “Those are huge barges that can load forty cars—including ours—and carry us across to the beach.”
We stayed in the car on the way over. She watched as other kids and parents threw food at the seagulls.
“Want to get out?” he asked.
“No. Can those birds bite?”
“They won’t.”
“I’m fine in the car.”
People crowded the beach, all of them glad to be out of the city. Jordan checked for a spot away from folks who were drinking and swearing. We spread our towels and shucked down to our swimwear.
“Can I walk closer to the water?”
“Yes. Jordan will finish setting up our things, and I’ll come with you. Hold my hand?”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
She pulled my hand forward, anxious to test the water with her toe. “Look, there’s a fish, but he’s dead.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” She couldn’t back up fast enough.
The surf rushed toward us. We’d been walking on wet sand but were now standing in gray foamy water.
“Help me out.”
I grabbed her, and we walked toward our towels. “That’s why we had to hold hands.”
“I got it now.”
“The water is lots of fun, but it can be dangerous.”
Once she adjusted to the tide, we had a great time in Galveston, splashing in salty water on rubber floats. Bobbing in shallow surf. All of it fun, but tiring.
“This is the bestest fun I ever had,” Bailey exclaimed toward noon.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said.
Jordan grinned at her. “I thought you would love coming here.” He touched his shoulders. “But all three of us are turning pink.”
I glanced at my stinging arms. “This is the first time any of us have been here this season.”
“I never been.”
Jordan looked at her, “Can we all agree to a short day if I promise we’ll come again soon?”
“Yes sir, but can we stay and eat our lunch beside the water?”
“You bet.”
“Chicken salad on wheat for you,” I said, handing the sandwich toward him. “And peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches for you, little one.” I dug through the plastic bowls and found chips and Oreo cookies. Jordan had pac
ked a cooler with bottles of cold water. We drank most of it, then poured the rest over our stinging shoulders and sand-covered legs and feet.
“What are you eating?” Jordan asked when he realized I’d only had water to drink.
“I’m not hungry,” I answered, my focus on the shoreline. If I allowed our eyes to meet, he’d read mine and know …
“I noticed you’re losing weight. A lot of it.”
“I’m okay,” I lied.
“Yeah, well … I’m worried.”
“Don’t be.” Just come home to me.
After lunch, we drove toward Port Arthur, once again taking the ferry across. Bailey showed a different attitude about the ferry. She jumped from the car and joined Jordan outside where the hot wind whipped around them, pasting clothes to their bodies and tossing their hair into their faces and eyes. He’d brought a loaf of bread, and together they pulled small pieces and threw them upward. The gulls swarmed to eat it. I watched them from the car, wondering what thoughts might be going through Jordan’s mind about then. They waved at the large birds. She threw her head back and laughed.
Off the ferry, and on the road, he seemed distracted and quiet. Our habits had always dictated that we use drive time to chat about work, family, and hopes and dreams, but that day he seemed unsure of what to say. He remained noticeably quiet—uncomfortably so. For the first time, he appeared homesick and as lonely as I’d been since the evening he’d left our home.
Weary of telling him I loved him without hearing the answer I wanted, I remained quiet.
Chapter 13
Jillian and Thomas kept their promise to show up at my office twice a week but without a change of heart concerning his daughter. He whimpered through our sessions and Jillian denied, justified, and whined about everything from the Texas humidity to the fact that Sue’s father called their house to check on Bailey.
Sometimes I saw them together. Sometimes separately.
Thomas came alone one day. “Where’s Bailey?” I heard him ask Alicia.
“In the playroom with Bella.”
I stood just out of sight. His chin was scruffy, and his shoulders rounded—a sure sign of depression. I stood where I could see into the playroom window and hear what Thomas said to her, not eavesdropping as much as needing to hear her father say something meaningful to her.
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