A Beautiful Mess

by Brenda S Anderson

  It seemed so much longer ago than that already.

  She shook off that thought. Wishing for the past to change was a waste of time and emotion that she didn’t have. All she could do was move forward.

  With plenty of time remaining before her meeting, Erin threw her messenger bag and the diaper bag over her free shoulder and, with Clara skipping by her side, carried it all outside to the detached garage. She’d only cared for Clara a few days but was already adjusting to this mom gig.

  She opened the side door to the garage, hit the button, and the garage door cranked up as if begging for some WD-40. Of course, it had been begging for months. Someday, she’d get to it. She opened the back door of her car, threw in the bags, then picked up Clara to set in her car seat.

  Clara screeched and tightened her grip on Erin’s neck. Her tears came down hard. “I no go bye-bye.”

  “It’s okay, Lolli.” Erin did her best to sound soothing, while speaking through clenched teeth. Couldn’t one thing go smoothly today? “It’s just a short drive.”

  “I no wike cars. They go boom.”

  Oh. The sentence punched the air from Erin’s gut. Oh boy.

  She stroked Clara’s hair, gently untangling curls. “I’ll be very careful. I promise.”

  “Daddy careful, too.”

  You poor child. Erin hugged her tightly, hoping to reassure her. “My car doesn’t go boom. I promise.” Again, Erin tried to lower the child, who only held on tighter.

  Well, this wasn’t going to work, and she was using up all her margin time. Would a distraction work? If so, what kind of distraction?

  Come on, Erin, think! What does Clara love to do?

  Art.

  Yes! That was it!

  “Come on, Lolli.” She set her down and took her hand. “I have a special surprise just for you.” Well, years ago it had been a gift from Corey to Mik, who had no interest in it whatsoever.

  “For me?”

  “Yes. From your daddy.”

  “My daddy?”

  “Yep. Special from him.” Now to find it. Quickly.

  She hurried into the house, into her office, and folded open the closet doors. Thankfully, the pile of belongings hidden there didn’t avalanche toward her. She did a quick scan and moved a few boxes around.

  There! At the bottom of a pile of boxes, of course, but she’d found it. She removed the top boxes and finally got to Corey’s gift to Mik, back when she was Clara’s age: an art activity box. He’d made it himself out of a tin, Scooby-Doo lunchbox. Inside, he included a blank notebook, fat crayons, markers, and an all-white smock. Corey had wanted to paint the smock alongside Mik and was sorely disappointed when she showed no interest.

  Had that been another factor in his eventual desertion of his family?

  Nope. He was not allowed to intrude on her day.

  Erin gave the box to Clara, whose eyes grew as big as suckers. “This is for the car only.”

  The child’s lip protruded out and quivered.

  “It’s okay, Lolli.” Erin knelt and held out her hands. “Can I show you something in the box?”

  Clara nodded and handed it back.

  “Thank you.” Erin unclasped the lid, opened it, and removed the apron. “This is a special car apron. You wear it anytime you’re in the car and it’ll protect you. Let me help you put it on.”

  “Okay.” Came out tentatively.

  Erin unfolded the apron that even had pockets. She looped the strap over Clara’s neck, then tied it in the back. “How’s that?”

  A smile bloomed on Clara’s face. “We go bye-bye now.” She grabbed the handle of the art box and everything inside tumbled out.

  Murphy’s Law was trying to beat her down today, that was for sure, but she had no plans to let it. “Help me pick this up, and we’ll go.”

  “Okay.” Clara filled the lunchbox.

  And Erin clasped it shut before handing it to her. “Time to go.”

  Clara practically skipped to the car. Could it really be this easy?

  Erin opened her car door but didn’t pick up Clara. Hopefully, letting the child climb in by herself would help her face her fears.

  But her feet suddenly grew roots. “I no go.”

  “Okay. But then you can’t have the art kit. It’s for going bye-bye only.”

  Clara looked down at the lunchbox, up at her seat, and back to Erin who nodded toward the car.

  With an adult-like sigh, Clara climbed into the car and into her seat. Tears rolled down her pudgy cheeks, and Erin kissed them away.

  “You’re a brave girl. Your mommy and daddy would be proud of you.”

  “I want Mommy, Daddy.”

  “I know, Lolli. I do too.” I really do want them back. But that wasn’t happening, so Erin buckled in Clara then hurried around to the driver’s side. By now, all her time margin had been eaten up, and she had a short fifteen minutes to get to a place thirteen minutes away. And that was with no more speedbumps.

  Okay, God, I need Your help here. It was a bit late to ask for help—that should have been her first reaction—but at least she was asking now.

  Fourteen minutes later, her hand clutching onto Clara’s, she strode into the swankiest building in the Brainerd area, and stood outside a door that had Law Office of Vanessa Martin, Attorney at Law, etched into the glass. Erin inhaled a deep breath and released it to the count of ten before entering, all while praying that the counselor would be understanding of Erin’s need to have Clara along.

  She directed Clara to a seat in the waiting room, then approached the receptionist and handed her a business card. “I have an appointment with Vanessa Martin.”

  The woman’s gaze flicked to Clara then back to Erin. Scowling, she made the interoffice call. “Erin Belden is here to see you. And she’s not alone.”

  Oh, thanks a bunch, lady. She summoned a confident smile and said, “Thank you” before sitting beside Clara. Well, Clara wouldn’t be a complete surprise to the attorney, at least.

  A shortish, round-faced woman appeared from down a hall. She looked jolly, really. Definitely more like a pastry chef than an attorney.

  Relief filled her. Certainly, this woman would understand.

  “Erin?”

  “Yes.” She stood up and offered her hand.

  The woman clasped it in a tight grip. “Vanessa Martin.” Her head turned toward Clara. “And this is?”

  Erin summoned the speech she’d prepared in the car. “This is Clara. Her parents . . . ” Erin shot a glance at Clara who was busy with her art kit. “They passed away over a week ago, and I’ve been assigned as her temporary guardian.”

  “Hmm.” The woman’s lips pinched. “Just how temporary?”

  “Until the probate hearing determines who is to be legal guardian.” Wouldn’t an attorney know that?

  “I see.” She clasped her hands in front of her ample stomach. Did that mean she was relaxed? “Then you and I should waste no more time today. While I have no problem with my employees and contractors having families, I do expect professionalism at all times. And this . . . ” She nodded to Clara. “Is far from professional. I wish you the best in your endeavors, Ms. Belden.”

  “But I—”

  The attorney spun around before Erin could finish her plea and puttered back down the hallway.

  Erin glanced at the receptionist, who looked away.

  Well, if that was how they were going to be, Erin didn’t want to work for them anyway.

  “Come on, Clara, it’s time to go.”

  The child placed her crayons back into the tin. Erin clasped it closed and handed it back. “You can be a big girl just like me.” She showed the girl her messenger bag slung from her shoulder.

  “I big wike you.” Clara gripped the box handle tightly and smiled.

  Side by side, they strode from the office. Erin rubbed her feet outside the door as if wiping off the dust. Yes, she needed business, but not from people like Vanessa Martin.

  The problem was, she was
afraid that many of the references from Jon would be the same as Vanessa.

  * * *

  “She said what?” Jon closed his office door then hit the speaker on his phone so he could work while talking to Erin.

  “She said I was unprofessional, and she refuses to work with anyone like me.”

  A bunch of nasty descriptions much worse than unprofessional flitted through his mind regarding Ms. Vanessa Martin. In the courtroom, she was a bulldog disguised as a jolly grandma, but he’d thought, maybe, the woman would have a soft place for Erin.

  “I’m sorry.” He removed his bowtie and flung it onto his desk. “I’d hoped she was different outside the courtroom, but apparently not.”

  “Any more bulldogs on the list? Just so I can be prepared for them.”

  On his computer, he brought up the list he’d given to Erin and ran through the names. “I’d be lying if I said there weren’t any bulldogs, but Martin’s probably the worst.”

  “What’s your opinion of Lawrence Portsmouth?”

  “Lurch? I mean, Larry? Why?”

  “Did you say Lurch?”

  “Could be.” That was what everyone called the man behind his back.

  “Well, I have an appointment with him on Monday. Do I need to put on my armor before going?”

  He laughed but pictured the Frankenstein lookalike glowering down at Erin, and balled his fists. “Not a bad idea. Yeah, he’s tough, I’m not going to lie.” If only he could be there to shield her. Life shouldn’t be this tough for her, and he hated that she was going through it alone. Hated that once again Corey had stuck it to her. If his friend were still alive, he’d give him a piece of his mind. Not that it had helped in the past.

  “What if I can’t find a sitter for Clara again? It’s not like I have a list of available sitters at my ready. I’d thought I was past that stage.”

  He imagined her slouching onto her couch, a bowl of Sixlets in front of her, her go-to for stress relief. “I wish I could help you.” He brought up his calendar and double-checked the date. No surprise, he was booked, if not overbooked, for the day. “If I think of anyone, I’ll pass it along.” Not that he had a list of babysitters lying around either, but he’d ask.

  “Much appreciated. And I’ll put out feelers as well. But right now, with Clara napping and Mik hunkered down in her room listening to who-knows-what, I’m going to pretend my bathtub is jetted and pamper myself.”

  “You deserve it, Pearl.” He scratched out a note to himself to gift her with a weekend at a posh hotel, all by herself. First, he had to find out when the Beldens could watch the girls.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You do.” She had to believe it somewhat. After all, he’d noticed the tattoo across her wrist that spelled out, “Lulu.” His research showed that Lulu was Arabic for Pearl. Interesting. Somehow, he had to make Erin really believe that the nickname fit her perfectly, that she was a treasure hidden inside a hard-to-crack shell.

  He intended to crack that shell, no matter what it took.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Was it wrong to relish the fact that both Mik and Clara were gone today for that woman’s funeral? Zax had picked up Mik this morning, and the Caldwells had picked up Clara shortly thereafter. They’d asked if they could keep Clara all day, and Erin had to hold back her glee as she’d said, “Of course.” Chances were, Zax and Mik would make a day of it as well, before he flew off to Israel.

  For the first time in a week, she could make real progress on her job, the initial task being moving her office furniture into her already-crowded living room, then some of her living room furniture into the nursery. Erin loved the times when she could turn off her brain and do physical work, although an extra pair of hands would be nice.

  She opened all the windows in her home, letting in fresh air. Rather than turn on music, she listened to God’s music outside her windows as spring was slowly pushing aside winter. She even hummed along with the birdsong.

  This was how she’d imagined her life being when she’d quit at Belden’s Accounting and started her own business. Free. No longer shackled to someone else’s rules and schedule. Able to take a day off just because. Open her heart to romance again.

  Ha! Any intelligent male would take one look at her as a single mom, raising her ex-husband’s child, and they’d run far, far away. She wouldn’t blame them. But, oh, it would be nice to be special to someone again. Someone who wouldn’t abandon her. Life had taught her that fairy tales and happily-ever-afters didn’t exist in reality.

  After dressing in old jeans and a T-shirt, Erin stood inside the doorway to her former office and mentally planned out the move. The computer desk would have to go in the living room, as would her file cabinet. Her bookshelves could stay in here. Even so, there was plenty of room for the toddler bed and Clara’s dresser. She’d enlist Jon to help move that from Corey’s place.

  She inserted furniture sliders beneath the desk legs and slowly pushed it through the doorway and down the short hall to the living room where she left it in the middle of the room. Next came the file cabinet.

  Now what to put in Clara’s room . . .

  The rocker, naturally, but moving that would be trickier as it didn’t have feet for the sliders. A second pair of hands would be most helpful as the chair wasn’t heavy, just awkward, but she could do this. Maybe a blanket would work.

  After running a vacuum over the carpet in the nursery, she retrieved an old blanket from the unfinished attic and secured it beneath the chair, leaving a long tail in front. She grabbed the tail and pulled. It worked! She pulled again.

  Ding-dong.

  The doorbell surprised her, and she immediately looked to the clock. The funeral was at one, and it was now two thirty. Neither Zax nor the Caldwells would be home yet, would they?

  She wiped her hands on her jeans and checked the peephole.

  Jon?

  She opened the door.

  And he held out a casserole dish covered in tin foil. “Thought you deserved some funeral food too.”

  She peeked beneath the foil. Tater Tot hot dish. Yeah, it was funeral food, but it would sure taste good. “Thank you. Did you make it?” She asked in jest because the Jon she remembered didn’t know the difference between a cookie sheet and a skillet.

  “Actually, I did.”

  “Really?” She studied his face, looking for signs of deception like a little smirk or darting eyes but detected nothing out of the ordinary.

  He shrugged. “I was tired of wasting money on eating out all the time.”

  “Huh.” Jon was full of surprises since he’d come back into her life. She took the hot dish to the kitchen then returned to the living room to find him removing his jacket and tie.

  “Need a hand?” He rolled up his sleeves.

  “You’re going to work in your suit?”

  “When I left home this morning, I didn’t anticipate helping move furniture. Mik told me your plans for the day, so I figured I should pitch in. If my suit gets dirty, I bring it to the cleaners.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Or unsuit myself.” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “Very punny.”

  “I couldn’t resist.” He nodded to the office furniture in the middle of the room. “I see you’ve made a lot of headway already.”

  “I get by. It’s amazing what a single mom can do by herself.” She gestured toward the rocking chair and glanced back at him. “If you could . . . ”

  His slumped shoulders and face toward the ground stopped her. Signs of contrition? What did he have to be sorry for?

  “Are you all right?”

  Shaking his head, he looked up but avoided connecting with her eyes. “You should never have been left to deal with . . . ” He spread his arms, motioning toward the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. “With this all by yourself. I should have been here for you.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s Corey’s guilt to claim, not yours.”

  “I know, but . .
. ”

  “But what? Did you encourage Corey to have an affair?”

  He shifted his feet. Guilt? “No. I warned him away from her.”

  “So, you knew.”

  “I suspected.”

  She shook her head. “And I had no idea until he dropped the D and P words on me. ‘I want a divorce. She’s pregnant.’ Completely took me by surprise. I hate that I can’t read people, that I’m so clueless. I made it so easy for Corey, didn’t I?” She balled her fists, really wanting to punch something.

  “Don’t.” He closed the gap between them, took her fists in his hands, and gently uncurled her fingers while looking down at her so intently it made her want to back away, but she couldn’t. “Like you said, this is on Corey. His choices weren’t my fault. They definitely weren’t yours.”

  She swallowed and pulled away, trying to slow her accelerating heartbeat. What just happened there? What was she feeling now? She had to redirect toward something she did understand. Anger.

  “So why did you abandon me, too?”

  He looked to the left. Was he about to lie? “It’s complicated.”

  Not a lie, really, but not an answer either. “I’m the queen of complicated lives. Whatever it is, you won’t surprise me.”

  “But it might hurt you.”

  “You really think I can be hurt more than I’ve already been?” She spread out her arms.

  And he nodded toward her wrist that had the tattoo. “Maybe.”

  “Okay. Fine. I can see you’re not going to be forthright, so let’s can the discussion. You can lend me your muscles, I’ll say ‘Thank you,’ then you can leave. Capisce?”

  “Erin.” He stepped toward her again.

  She extended her arms, stopping him. “I can’t deal with your . . . your weird emotions on top of Mik’s and Clara’s. But I will appreciate your muscle and your hot dish, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Yeah.” He watched his foot draw an imaginary line on the floor, then he stood up straight. “Good plan. Tell me what you need me to do.”