A Beautiful Mess

by Brenda S Anderson

  “Feel free.” Jon held out the keys to his Mercedes. Erin was almost tempted to grab them and go for a joyride herself. Would Mik? Erin hoped she’d raised her daughter better than that, but she’d suffered so many losses, that would wreak havoc with anyone’s parenting.

  “N . . . no. I have to do this.” Mik picked up a copy paper box and aimed for the stairs leading to her bedroom. But she still trembled.

  Erin removed her sweater and draped it over Mik’s shoulders.

  Such maturity from her daughter, though Erin realized it would be fleeting.

  Erin looked around the opulent home she’d been in one time. No wonder Corey had chosen that woman over her. He’d moved onto Easy Street and hadn’t had to worry about responsibilities.

  Artwork covered many walls. Corey’s? She studied a colorful, textured painting above the sofa, of a waterfall pouring onto rocks. The water reflected light like a prism. Beautiful. Yep, there was Corey’s signature at the bottom.

  Something else glinted from the picture, and Erin did a double take. Not all of the rocks at the bottom were painted, but a handful were real rocks inserted into the canvas. She touched them just to make certain they were real.

  “Genius, isn’t it?” Jon seemed to materialize beside her. “That’s what his patrons look for in his work. What has he hidden among the paint? And the fact that his work is so real, and almost three-D-like, sometimes it takes a while to find the actual object.”

  “Patrons? Was he popular?”

  “Very much so, and with a wealthy clientele.” He looked down at her. “You didn’t know?”

  “Not when he always claimed he was too poor to increase child support. I pretty much ignored anything spoken about him the last years.” Suddenly cold, she hugged herself. “Just the mention of his name would make me angry.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  She glared up at Jon. “His wasn’t the only name I hated hearing. If I’d had a lawyer on my side, maybe I wouldn’t have had to struggle all this time.” Before he could respond, she grabbed a couple of empty plastic containers and headed for the stairs. The nursery was likely up there. She’d come solely to get necessities for Clara, not to join Corey’s fan club.

  At the top of the stairway, she glanced both ways and spied a myriad of doors. More doors than she had in her entire house. He hadn’t been able to afford an increase in his support. Ha! What a jerk. Maybe with his death, he’d finally support his child properly.

  More of his paintings lined the hallway walls. If she were vindictive, she’d take a spray paint can to each one, but if they were as desirable as Jon claimed, then they meant more support for the girls. She had to keep reminding herself, it was all about what was best for them, not about her seeking vengeance. Even though that would feel really good—for the moment. She knew better than to believe that feeling would last.

  Now where would the nursery be? She would have put it next to the master—wherever that was—but she and Corey had rarely thought alike. Hard to believe that was what once attracted her to him.

  She took a left, just because one door was actually open that way. Mik’s room? The thick, padded carpet absorbed the sound of her footsteps as she approached the open door. Yes, Mik’s room. Mik sat on her bed, holding a framed picture in her hand. Her box was empty still, no surprise.

  She didn’t have posters of rock stars or teen idols, but of sports figures, both male and female. Where their daughter had gotten her athletic prowess from was a mystery.

  Neither she nor Corey had a speck of athletic ability, which was what had brought them together in the first place. She, Jon, and Corey. As non-athletes in a school where athleticism was highly regarded, the three had been outcasts. Two nerds and an artist. They’d formed their own clique Jon initially coined Two Nerds and an Artist, or 2NA. Somewhere along the line that changed into the Three Musketeers and then the 3 Sixlets. They’d remained that until Corey irreparably tore them all apart.

  Erin took a deep breath and silently asked God for forgiveness. Would bitterness ever leave her? She needed to show a united front for Mik and for Clara if she wanted them to grow up without resentment, probably directed at her.

  “How’s it going?” Erin sat beside her daughter and glanced at the picture. Mik dressed in her softball uniform and Corey with an arm around her, looking very proud.

  “He started liking my games.” Mik drew a finger over her dad’s face. “He used to come just because that’s what dads are supposed to do, but lately he enjoyed it. I could hear him yelling his support.”

  “I noticed that too.” He used to only attend when convenient, but lately, Mik’s games had taken priority. Maybe everyone was right about his change of heart. “Listen, if this is too hard—”

  “I need to do it, Mom, okay? Just let me be.”

  “You’re right. I’ll leave you alone, if you point me toward the nursery.”

  Without taking her gaze off the photo, Mik said, “Out the door, take a left. Almost to the end of the hallway, the door on the right.”

  “Thanks.” Erin stroked her daughter’s hair. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

  Mik didn’t answer, not that Erin expected her to, so Erin found the nursery and packed up necessities, clothes, a few toys. She even took a picture of a colorful fish off the wall, something Corey painted, and couldn’t resist searching for the hidden object. There it was, among the scales, a small gemstone. Clara’s birthstone maybe?

  Yeah, Corey really had been gifted. Why hadn’t she noticed that when they were married? Probably because they were too busy working and trying to keep their finances above-board.

  That’s what happens when you head into a marriage already pregnant. One of many life-altering mistakes she’d made with Corey. The hard part now was going to be teaching Mik not to follow her parents’ example. Erin had grown up watching her mom’s self-destructive behaviors, some brought on by mental illness she’d chosen not to treat, and had sworn not to repeat them. But then Erin had done exactly what she’d promised herself not to do. How was she to break that cycle with her daughter?

  She filled the containers with Clara’s items, then carried them downstairs, one at a time. All the stuff would overflow in Erin’s office-turned-nursery, but it would suffice. It had to.

  What sounded like glass shattering came from the kitchen, and Erin followed the noise. Sure enough, Jon stood amidst what had once been a glass bowl filled with strawberries.

  He spotted her and shook his head. “Just trying to clean out the fridge and my usual butterfingers took over.”

  “I always told Corey we should call ourselves the Three Butterfingers.”

  He smiled at that. “Though I have improved. Racquetball once a week helps.”

  “You play racquetball?”

  “A lot of colleagues did, so I forked out for a bunch for lessons. Gotta take advantage of networking opportunities. Turns out all I needed was a new eyeglass prescription, a whole lot of training, and mostly determination.”

  “Oh, that’s all.”

  “Yeah.” He stepped out of the mess he’d made on the floor. “But I’m still a work in progress. And to be honest, I like that I’ve added muscle to my bones. Opponents can’t call me Swizzle Stick anymore.”

  Yeah, she had noticed he’d filled out, and certainly not in a bad way, which meant it shouldn’t be too difficult finding women for him to date. Intelligence and good looks were very attractive. And he used to be kind. Maybe his selfishness these past years were solely for her. Yeah, she’d go with that. Now to start paying attention at church, the only place she knew of that would have plenty of single women. Well, other than bars, and Jon never drank. Or at least he didn’t used to drink. Four years ago, he hadn’t played racquetball either. Regardless, she would not be entering any bars to find a life partner for Jon.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She startled at Jon’s question, waking her from her musing. “I, uh . . . ” Certainly was not
telling him what she’d been thinking! “How can I help you, besides cleaning up the mess on the floor? I’ve got what I need from the nursery, and I’m letting Mik have space.”

  “Good plan.” He gestured to copy paper boxes he must have brought in from his SUV. “I figure we can donate dry goods to a food shelf, and I know a shelter that will gladly take fridge or frozen goods. If you empty the pantry, I’ll take care of this mess I made and the fridge.”

  They worked quietly side by side for the next few hours, emptying the refrigerator and the pantry, long enough so that the moon and stars had taken over the light duties for the day. And no sign of Mik the entire time.

  “I need to check on Mik.” Erin wanted to give her daughter space, but now her absence was concerning. Up until now she hadn’t shown symptoms of depression, but it did run in Erin’s family, and Corey’s death could very well be a trigger.

  She hurried upstairs to Mik’s room. Neither her daughter nor the box were there. She checked all the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, but nothing. Then she did the same downstairs

  Where was she? And where was Jon?

  Her breaths coming in quick puffs, she rushed to the living room and found Jon on the couch, snoring. How had fallen asleep so quickly? She shook him, and his eyes shot open. “I can’t find her.”

  He jolted to a sitting position, and blinked. “What?”

  “Mik.” She clenched her fists tightly. Anxiety was a feeling she understood all too well. “She’s gone, Jon. Mik is gone.”

  Chapter Nine

  Panic squeezed Erin’s heart, and she barely registered what was happening as Jon helped her sit on the couch.

  “Take slow, deep breaths, Erin. One, two, three, four . . . ”

  Yeah, she knew the drill, but she didn’t have time for a panic attack. She had to find her daughter. Suddenly sweating, she got up and wished she could shed her T-shirt. “Help me find her. Now.”

  “Let’s talk this through, okay?”

  “Talk through what? I searched the entire house, and there was no sign of her!”

  “What about outside?”

  “Why would she go outside? She hates the dark.” Had since she was a toddler. That was why Corey had given her a stuffed dragon so that it would breathe fire into the darkness for her.

  “Maybe, but she spent a lot of time with Corey in his art studio.”

  “He had an art studio?”

  Jon didn’t reply. He obviously knew that anything he said would torque her off. Instead, he jogged down a hallway, toward the back of the house, and out into a yard lit with stringed lights, leading directly to a cottage-like building.

  Lights shone through the curtains. Mik had to be there.

  Jon reached the cottage first and tried the door.

  Locked.

  “Michaela.” He pounded on the door. “If you’re in there, let us in.”

  No response.

  Erin checked a window to see if she could see through the curtains.

  Not a thing.

  She joined Jon at the front door and summoned her caring-mom voice. “Mik, honey, I know you’re upset. I get it. I am too. Please, let us in.” Erin put her ear to the door but heard nothing.

  “Mik, please.”

  Jon echoed her words.

  Still nothing.

  Well, forget trying to be nice. Time to bring on the don’t-you-dare-cross-me-mom voice. “Fine. You don’t open this door by the count of three, I’m kicking it open, and you know I will.” She’d actually done it once before, shortly after Corey had left them. She wasn’t beyond doing it now.

  “Okay.” Mik!

  Erin’s knees nearly buckled. Oh, thank you, Jesus.

  The sound of a lock turning was followed by the door slowly opening. It took every muscle Erin had to hold back and allow Mik to invite them in.

  Her daughter walked away from the door and plopped down on a chaise.

  Erin pushed open the door, and her eyes grew wide at the array of canvases and paintings and art supplies she couldn’t name.

  “This was Daddy’s favorite place.” Mik kicked at the paint-splattered concrete floor.

  Erin had no doubt this was where Corey had come to escape. It looked like a piece of heaven for him.

  Did he have his own art studio in Heaven? If he did, it would be a lot more magnificent than this, and this was pretty good.

  Erin sat by Mik, and brushed hair back from her face. “How are you doing?”

  Mik’s gaze went to her lap, to a book clutched in her hands. A book Erin knew very well. She’d given Corey that journal about five years ago when they first recognized that they needed help to save their marriage, and he’d gone to a counselor who recommended journaling.

  She’d rarely seen him write in it, and she’d long blamed his lack of effort for their demise.

  “May I see that book?” Erin touched the leather cover.

  Mik shook her head, and tears leaked from her eyes, landing on the journal. “It’s proof that Daddy didn’t love me.”

  __________

  Erin

  April 9, 2019

  Dear God,

  I’m angry.

  Yeah, I know that comes as no surprise to you, but I need someone to pour out my thoughts to, and you always listen. And you love me in spite of myself.

  It’s rather ironic, isn’t it, that I begin writing in a journal after Mik found Corey’s? After venting to Debbie, she recommended I pour my thoughts out on paper as well, that it’s cathartic. Burning Corey’s journal would be cathartic as well, but Debbie said I might regret that. Usually, I agree with Debbie, but this time . . .

  Anyway, I said I’d give journaling a shot, see if it helps, but instead I’d write my thoughts to you, as a prayer of sorts.

  Right now, I’m trying to decide on what to wear to Corey’s funeral today. I know, I know, with all the problems in the world, that’s what I’m focused on. Selfish, right? Debbie would probably tell me it’s a coping mechanism. Regardless, what I wear today is what’s on my mind.

  Black would tell others that I’m in mourning, but at the moment, I am not at all sad. I’m angry. Even in death, he keeps complicating my life. What the heck did he write that made Mik feel she wasn’t loved? I’d always defended him to her. I’ve hidden his journal for now. With all of Mik’s mixed emotions, I can’t afford to have her heart broken any more. With mental illness running in the family, it scares me.

  So now today, I get to go to Jerk’s funeral—yeah, I know, you’re not keen on me calling him that, but I could call him a lot worse. You’ve heard me use worse.

  I have no desire to go to the funeral, and if not for Mik, I wouldn’t attend at all, but she needs me there.

  Back to what I should wear. Do you really care? Maybe you do, after all you clothed the birds and the flowers, right?

  I don’t want to wear black because that would be a lie. Red would reflect my feelings but would be disrespectful. Maybe just khakis and that boring, beige blouse Joyce gave me a while back that I’ve never worn. I love Joyce, but not her taste in clothes. At least she’ll be happy to see me wear it.

  There, my first journal entry is complete.

  And I still feel angry. Guess I shouldn’t expect a one-and-done, though, should I, Lord?

  Sorry for griping so much, but thanks for listening.

  __________

  Erin held Clara’s hand and Mik slogged alongside as they walked to the church Corey had attended with his new wife. That they’d even gone to church had surprised Erin. Back when he turned away from her, he’d also shut out God.

  But then, she hadn’t been much more than a go-to-church-on-Sunday person, either. It had been tradition more than faith, and her mom had set a poor example for even attending. Corey’s folks though, they lived what they believed. One positive aspect from the divorce was that it had ignited her faith. God had become real to her, and she’d learned to depend on Him rather than think of Him as a Santa Claus figure who gave you gifts whe
n you behaved.

  If only she could rid herself of the bitterness toward Corey. Every time she thought she’d moved on, something would remind her why she resented him. Resentment was the one feeling she fully recognized—God probably had something to do with that, because He did want her to change. And she’d begun . . .

  But then Corey had to die and leave her his love child.

  Clara tugged on her hand, yanking Erin out of her pity party. These unwelcome parties had to come to an end, or these two girls would join in.

  Chin up. Walk confident. Don’t let stares and gossip bother you. Start acting like the adult you are.

  They walked inside the building that looked more like a warehouse than a church, and Jon was right there greeting people. When had he become so adept at being social? The two of them had connected as children because of their ineptitude with social skills.

  Admittedly, he’d taken over well on Sunday after Mik had found Corey’s journal. He’d packed his car while Erin tried to reassure her daughter of her father’s love, and then he’d carried all of Clara’s belongings into Erin’s house while Erin did more damage control with her daughter. She couldn’t have handled the evening without him. And she told him so again now as he wrapped her in a brief hug.

  Mik took the opportunity to break away, probably to the restroom. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Just doing what I should have done long ago.” He stepped back and wiped a handkerchief across his nose.

  “If you’re hoping for forgiveness, it might be working.” She nodded to more people entering, strangers to her. “You’re busy. We’ll catch up later.” She continued through the church’s concrete block wall lobby that was softened by easel after easel of what she presumed were Corey’s paintings. A portrait of a toddler finger-painting drew her in. Clara.

  “That’s me! Daddy make this!” Clara reached up and touched the painting, and Erin didn’t try to stop her even if art critics would be upset. This was more about Clara learning what death really meant.

  Clara raised her arms to Erin. “Up, please?” The child was polite, too.