“What is that?”
“We’re going to buy a couple of trees for the house. And sometimes showing a tree party is better than explaining what it is.” I hugged her. “Before we do anything, let’s sit for a minute first. Okay?”
“Yes.”
We walked to the sofa. I left her there for a second to grab the two cups of cocoa from the kitchen I’d prepared right before her scheduled time to arrive. I reached into the fridge, collected a can of whipped topping, and sprayed it into peaks atop both mugs.
“Derrien,” I said, handing her a mug as I sat beside her. “This cocoa is for you if you want it.” I smiled.
“Oh, I love cocoa, especially with whipped cream.” She took a sip and laughed at herself when she felt her wet creamy mustache.
“Sweetheart, you must have a thousand questions about why I felt I had to call Children’s Services—though you didn’t want me to—and even why I disappeared from your life.”
“Oh, believe me, I know why you disappeared from my life. And if you’re asking if I’m mad at you, the answer is no. I did hate having people come to school and asking me questions, but somebody had to do something.” She took another sip. “Nobody did anything before you.”
The forty-year-old had returned.
“Many nights in that shed, I wondered if God could see or hear me, no matter what the preacher said at church.” She drained her cup as though she hadn’t had a thing to drink in weeks and set it on the coffee table. She looked at me. “I pleaded and I begged, but I was losing the desire to hang on. But then one day, my mom told me to get dressed, and we drove to your office. I’ll never forget that day.” She wiped her mouth on a tissue she pulled from a box on the end table. “Even though other bad things happened after that, I knew God had heard me.”
Listening to the wisdom of this child dumbfounded me.
“He sent you, and He sent Bailey. And no, I don’t get mad when God works, even when I don’t know exactly how things will end. The preacher was right, I just had to trust and wait.”
And I was the counselor? Derrien knocked the breath out of me. “Want to say or ask anything else?”
“Are you saying the choice is mine?”
“Yes.”
“We talk about nothing.” Her eyes came close to sparkling. “Where are those trees?”
We had a grand evening. Derrien and I drove in Jordan’s truck—the redneck truck he’d left behind—to the big red-and-white striped tent where every size and shape of Christmas tree stood.
Once Derrien understood that she’d been invited for nothing but a good time, she’d trembled—this time with excitement. With her seated next to me, we bounced toward the trees. She found herself unable to sit still in the seat. Glints of joy sparkled in her eyes. She jumped up and down within the straps of her safety seat.
“Thank you, God,” I whispered.
There were Charlie Brown trees, magnificent, noble firs, and everything in between. Elvis Presley’s sultry rendition of “Blue Christmas,” crackled over cheap outdoor speakers.
Of late, we’d experienced a lot of rain, but then, I couldn’t remember any other kind of Christmas season in Port Arthur. So, large sheets of plywood had been laid end-to-end on the ground so tree shoppers could walk from their cars to the trees without falling in the mud. Still, I found the walk to be rather treacherous. Mud oozed between the plywood, forming slippery patches. While I found it difficult, Derrien found the walkway delightful. She slid around, squealing, her laughter infectious.
We searched for two noble firs for the house. I wanted one twelve-foot beauty that would stand in the living room and a smaller tree that would grace an upstairs bedroom, where I displayed my Victorian doll collection. Derrien and I lingered over our choices. We found the larger tree first, then settled on a seven-footer that sported three beautiful sides and one flat side. She seemed drawn to that tree. She hugged it, jumping up and down when I said we would take it.
Our choices demanded we make two round trips in the truck. Derrien, not only didn’t mind two trips but seemed pleased by them. She slid up and down the muddy wooden walkway and laughed until she hiccupped. With my eyes glued to her every move, I knew this evening to be priceless for her.
Dear God, how You must love this little girl. I can’t always be here for her. You can, and I believe You will.
We sang “Here Comes Santa Claus” and stopped at a slapped-together wood-framed booth edging the trees for more hot chocolate with whipped cream. We could have stayed in the truck while the trees were being loaded, but she had too much fun with her slip-and-slide to stay put.
We would only trim one tree that night, so we chose the smaller tree for upstairs, which was perfect by my estimation; I wanted to trim the downstairs tree with Bailey.
Derrien had never seen fancy baby dolls wearing long dresses nestled into tree branches for decoration. Her eyes gleamed as we strung ropes of pearls and yards of lace onto the tree, then fashioned a large bow from tulle and attached it to the highest point. We carefully weaved the streamers into the tree, around the baby dolls, to highlight but not obscure their faces. The tree matched the room perfectly—a concoction of ivory and shades of pink.
Pangs of anxiety groped at my stomach as the hour grew later and skies turned darker. I feared an uninvited visit from Tracia.
Derrien, like last time, was noticeably efficient at caring for herself. She’d brought everything she needed, arriving complete with shampoo, toothbrush and paste, blow dryer, comb, brush and curling iron, pajamas, and clothes with accessories for the next day. She arranged everything in immaculate order for the morning. In the bathroom, right beside her comb and brush, she laid her bracelet, necklace, and earrings—things that seemed, yet again, as though they were suited for church.
I felt that one of her jobs was to make Tracia look like a perfect mother and that she was giving it everything a child of her age could give.
In the bedroom, her dress hung on the closet doorknob, and her shoes— with socks tucked inside—were posed below.
We’d eaten pizza, and Derrien readied herself for bed. I’d assigned Bailey’s room to her—the bedroom that my dad called the regal room. She seemed enchanted with the upstairs Victorian bedroom—that dad always referred to as the dollhouse—but I wanted her to sleep downstairs, so she would be closer to my room.
While Derrien dried her hair, I removed the mountain of green-and-burgundy throw pillows and pulled back the heavy damask duvet fashioned from the same rich-hued fabric. I piled the pillows on the floor next to the window. This bedroom, though smaller than the master bedroom, had an advantage over my own. The window overlooked the golf course, granting this room a great view.
Trekking from the bathroom, with dry, sweet-smelling hair, her eyes glowed—a look I feared never to see again. With assistance from me—because she was so tiny—she crawled onto the bed. She always seemed small, but nestled in this large bed between green satin sheets, grasping her well-worn bunny she appeared tiny. And with dark hair spread over an emerald-green pillow, she looked miniature.
“I’m in Bailey’s room again.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I wish she was here.”
“Me too.”
“You thought Tracia might come again, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” It dawned on me then that Derrien knew. She knew Tracia had come that night months before. “You little turkey, I hoped you never knew she came.”
“Oh, believe me, I heard all about it.” She rolled her eyes. “But Miss Katie, I don’t think my dad would let her come here again. He’s different than before we met you. He’s in counseling with our pastor now.” She blinked once. Twice. “So is Tracia.” She looked impish.
I laughed, never having seen that look.
“So she could have her church work back,” she finished.
“Oh, I’m so glad.” I hugged her again.
She chuckled. “Miss Katie, about what you did for me—not tonight, t
hough that was wonderful—but, what you did before … about the shed and then the can in the garage …”
“Anything I accomplished in your life … and it hasn’t been enough—”
“Oh, please don’t say that. You’ve done everything for me.”
“It’s been my pleasure. I wish it’d been more,” I said. “But Derrien, when I invited you here tonight, I determined we would not have to speak of anything except trees and Victorian baby dolls.” I smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a relief after all you’ve had to tell other people?” I peered into her sleepy eyes. “Wouldn’t it, baby?”
She shook her head yes and smiled. “I still wish all of life was like it is inside your house.”
I traced the outline of her small face, not trusting myself to speak.
“Miss Katie,” she said, “I was wrong about something.”
“How’s that?” I asked, repositioning myself on the bed.
“I believe you are magic after all.”
I grinned. “Oh, yeah? How do you figure it?”
“For tonight, I felt like my mother was back.” My heart fell into tiny pieces. No words felt appropriate. Derrien looked so precious dressed in her lavender pajamas and smelling so like Bailey. “I’ve not had this much fun in a long time, not since she died.” Derrien swallowed hard then whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Her face puzzled. “How did I get lucky enough to be here?” She shifted her position in the bed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled. I just don’t know how it happened. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I invited you, and your dad said yes.”
“What did my mom say?”
“I don’t know because I only spoke with your dad.”
“Well, I hope he’s all right tonight.”
“You’re a child, and your father isn’t. He can fend for himself.”
“I love the idea of not thinking about him for tonight. I still worry about him even though things are better.”
“Goodnight,” I said and kissed her forehead. “Lights on or off?”
“Before lights out, I have a surprise for you.” She smiled. “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to my grandma’s house for Christmas break.”
The tears that hadn’t come when we’d talked on the sofa trickled down my face. “Oh, baby girl, I’m so happy. I don’t know what to say.” I grabbed her hands. “How did that happen?”
“God.” She smiled.
When I leaned forward to look more carefully, I realized I gazed upon an angel. “So, you just trusted and waited.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Derrien, I’d thought you needed this visit. But guess what?”
“What?”
“I needed you to come here.”
Her grin spread the width of her face.
I snuggled the covers under her chin one last time, kissed her forehead, then slipped from the room, my heart nearly exploding with joy.
In the kitchen, as I grabbed a bottle of water I would need for the night, the phone rang. This time I checked caller ID. Jim Dickman. I frowned, not wanting anything or anyone to intrude on Derrien’s beautiful day. The anxiety crawled around again. “Hello,” I said.
“Catherine, I called to tell you Tracia went to Houston for her shopping. She said she told me, but I don’t remember any such thing.”
“Okay.”
“She’ll never know Derrien isn’t here.”
“You don’t intend to tell her if she calls and asks?”
“She probably won’t call, but don’t worry. She never asks about her,” Jim said.
“Thanks for calling, Jim, and goodnight.” I started to hang up, then brought the phone back to my ear. “Oh Jim, wait. Derrien is going to visit with her grandmother for the Christmas break?”
“She is.”
I smiled. “Goodnight, Jim.”
Sitting in bed propped against ivory pillows, I read a chapter from Psalms. Afterward, I closed the Bible, laid it next to my lamp and thanked God for Derrien’s presence in my home. I’d been dismissed by Tracia as her therapist and hadn’t known when or if I’d see her again. But she’d loved this tree evening. After tonight I might not, unless God decided otherwise, ever see her again. Jim would come get her in the morning, and she’d resume school on Monday, but this time no CPS workers would be waiting for her. She looked better. Her color was improved, and she had gained weight.
I bowed my head, “God never let her forget tonight. Remind her that Bailey would be in her life if she could be and would love her forever. Let Your love and the knowledge that Bailey and I love her, be a warm truth inside her heart forever. I trust her into Your care.” I switched off the light and slid under the covers. “Oh, and give me the ability to trust and wait … like Derrien.”
I looked at the pillow beside me. “Goodnight, Jordan.”
Chapter 28
Just as Bailey and I pulled everything from the attic for the tree, the doorbell pealed. With lights strung around my neck and tinsel wound around my fingers, I opened the door. “Jordan,” I said, lifting my brows.
“Bailey called me yesterday from Bella’s and invited me for a tree party over here today,” he said eyeing her with a conspiratorial smile.
“Well,” she hollered from the other room. “You gave me your number and said I could call if I needed anything, and I needed you.”
I turned toward the tree to eyeball her.
“So, I really needed him.” She put her hands up looking at me like she’d been busted, then walked over, pulled him toward her, and kissed him.
We all laughed.
We had a perfect tree night and made plans for Jordan to join us for Christmas dinner.
That day, he arrived on time and with mountains of gifts for Bailey and me. The entire day was perfect—the gift-giving, the dinner, the laughter, the song singing. Perfect except that after Jordan and I put Bailey to bed, Jordan tucked me in tight before he left, breathing in my ear, “Good night, Katie Girl. And sleep tight.” I would have wept at his leaving once again, but before the tears could come, he whispered, “I love you.”
That night, finally, I slept.
Days after Christmas, I stood sweeping the back porch at work when Jim Dickman phoned. He reported that things were starting to settle down at his house, after weeks of drama, threats, and tears. He thanked me for taking Derrien Christmas tree shopping and told me she’d had a wonderful visit with her grandmother. He felt certain Derrien would never be mistreated by Tracia again. Tracia’s parents and her brother threatened to withdraw relationship if she ever violated her pastoral counseling concerning Derrien. Her family was truly aghast, he said, his voice strong and steady, that she’d cruelly mistreated her stepdaughter. Jim and I chatted about how frightened Derrien had been about speaking with the social workers who came to her school, but he felt proud of her. She told them the truth with detail and had gotten through the ordeal with dignity and grace. She asked her dad—in case she didn’t get to come to my house again—to thank me that she would never have to spend the night in a shed or use a can for a potty again.
I took a small measure of comfort from this conversation but still grieved over having made the mistake of trusting Tracia and Jim to do the right thing after finding out about the shed. At the worst moments, that decision haunted me to the point of doubting myself in my career. Mostly those monsters-in-the-closet, middle-of-the-night moments.
Really, I just needed my husband.
Winter pulled a cloudy shade down over the city and the clinic. Bailey had turned seven in October, and I knew Derrien had turned nine. My husband lived in a hotel in Beaumont close to the university.
My church sponsored a conference at the Family Center in Port Arthur. M.C. Hammer headlined as one of the speakers and entertainers. I had heard him once before—before his spiritual conversion—and felt curious to see and hear the gospel
version of his reinvented self. I knew there were other guest speakers on the roster, but I’m not a very detail-oriented person—concerning social functions—and didn’t bother to find out who the others were. My church sponsored it, so I was in.
Bailey beamed in the seat beside mine, excited to be at a concert. Our fingers intertwined, and I could feel her shiver with excitement as we heard music drift from behind a parting curtain and a choir start to sing. She wore a red coat and matching hat Jordan had bought her for Christmas. She knew how cute she looked.
Seated in the bleachers, she grinned as the music swelled larger and larger, filling the auditorium. My hands clutched a program, but before I scanned it, I started to people watch. I’m always curious about the people who are advance planners and manage to obtain prime seats. In this case, front-row chairs on the floor of the stadium where local basketball games were won or lost.
Slipping into those seats were the Dickmans, Jim, Tracia, and Derrien.
My heart became a pounding mass. Tears stung my eyes. Weeks had marched past since I’d watched her jump up and down on the muddy tree lot sidewalk. And the one and only call from Jim.
Derrien, who stood in a chair so she could see, turned to survey the crowd. Two thousand conferees gathered with expectations for a fun evening, but Derrien Dickman, like a good hunting dog, sought me out and stared me dead in the eyes. Her face never changed as she turned back to face the stage. Her seeming rejection and the accompanying shock licked me like flames.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a voice belted across the arena, “please give a Beaumont welcome to Dallas Cowboy legend, and ambassador for Jesus Christ, Deion Sanders.”
One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine people—including Bailey— jumped to their feet screaming and applauding. I scrambled through my program to scan for other speakers. Deion Sanders with his million-dollar smile peered up at me from the paper in my trembling hands.
Had I been able to find my legs, I would have left, even over Bailey’s disappointment. Not because I didn’t like Deion Sanders, but because Derrien’s blank stare had impaled me to the chair. Her refusal to smile had hurt. Whatever Sanders said will remain a mystery as will whatever Hammer preached.
The Children of Main Street Page 26