Belinda even came in after my freak-out, and accepted my apology and explanation about Corey’s death finally hitting home. You know that’s only partially true. I even tolerated her hug as she said she understood and that she’d had moments like that herself.
I doubt it. No one has moments like mine. Why can’t I feel things like a normal person?
Debbie reminded me that my way of coping is by plugging away, just doing the next thing without taking my feelings into consideration, so they keep getting pushed down, one on top of the other, and pretty soon, like a volcano, it all erupts. I told her I hadn’t felt anything. She said that was because I didn’t take a breather to even consider that I might be feeling something. Is that true?
Maybe the problem is, I don’t want to feel. Maybe feeling hurts too much.
Please help me understand, Lord.
__________
Corey
July 12, 2014
I took Erin out to dinner last night and planned to tell her about my dream to paint again. We dropped Mik off at Mom and Pop’s for an overnight stay and I took Erin to the new Italian place in St. Paul. I’d forgotten how pretty sexy she was when dressed up. Wow! I couldn’t stop staring at her all night and pretty much forgot about art, my work, or anything else besides Erin.
Needless to say, that led to a lot of fireworks once we got home.
It used to be like that all the time. Our first years months of marriage were pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.
And then Mik arrived and we had to grow up.
I want that back.
And there’s no reason why we can’t.
At lunchtime, before we go pick up Mik, I’ll tell her about my
. . .
Whew, that was close. I was writing, Erin snuck up behind me, and I slammed my journal shut. She sat on my lap, wearing that see-through negligee I love, and told me how sexy it was that I was still writing and working hard at getting better.
Well, you can guess what happened next . . .
So, I called my folks and asked them to watch Mik through Sunday. They know I’ve been stressed, that Erin and I are going through a rough patch, and were glad to have Mik.
I promised Erin a weekend she wouldn’t forget. Maybe we’ll finally have the second child we’ve been trying for. Why we got pregnant so easily with Mik and can’t again is beyond me. But we keep trying, which really isn’t a hardship, you know.
Before we pick up Mik tomorrow night, I’ll tell Erin about my art. I’ll let her know that’s what’s made a change in me. I’ll ask her about converting the garage into an art studio. I realize my car would have to sit outside in the winter but having a place for my art would be worth the sacrifice.
I’ll even tell her about going to the gallery after work. I like going, but the lying sits in my gut as if I’ve eaten too much pizza. Telling her the truth will get us back on track. I know it.
For the rest of the weekend, I’m tucking this journal away. It’s time I give Erin the weekend she deserves. One she’ll never forget.
__________
July 13, 2014
Oh, she’ll never forget this weekend. That’s for sure. Me neither.
And it had been going so well.
Before we picked up Mik, Erin changed. Withdrew. I don’t know why or what I did. She stopped talking. Spent a bunch of time in the bathroom, like she always does when she gets in these weird moods. Usually, Erin is really chill. Things don’t seem to bother her. I used to love the challenge of trying to get her to show some emotion, didn’t matter what kind, and I usually could.
But she’s changed since we got married. Getting her to loosen up has gotten harder. I don’t even like to try anymore. Now, she stuffs down her emotions, packs them super tight, then they boil over like a kettle cooking noodles.
How am I supposed to deal with that?
Suppose I should ask my counselor.
Like a fool, I thought telling her about wanting to paint again would help. I asked about converting the garage. And she just ragged on me about her working her tail off so I get to play.
Does she think I sit around all day doing nothing? Sheesh! After the weekend I just gave her, she acted like it didn’t matter.
I had been planning to tell her about my museum visits, too, but forget that. It’s her fault that I have to lie.
It’s all her fault.
__________
Numb, Erin returned Corey’s journal to her nightstand drawer and clutched a pillow to her roiling stomach. She remembered that weekend, probably about four years ago. She had loved that Corey was writing in his journal. It had made a difference in him and things were improving between the two of them.
No. That woman had made the difference.
Erin’s fists balled, and she fought the urge to punch something. Anger. Debbie would tell her it was okay to feel angry. Go ahead and pound her pillow. Holding in the emotion was the worst thing she could do. Still, Erin hugged the pillow tighter as the memories of that weekend flowed through.
It had been special. She’d planned to tell Corey exciting news, but before she could, he’d surprised her with a romantic weekend alone. That was the first time in months that she’d felt loved.
Until Sunday afternoon arrived. And blood had filled the toilet.
And the pregnancy—their baby she’d yearned to tell Corey about, died.
Erin punched her pillow. Fury. She punched it again and a tear dropped onto her fist. Followed by more dampening the pillow, and an unknown mass clogging her throat. Grief?
Sure, Corey, it was all her fault that their baby died. That three babies before that didn’t make it past her weak womb, and another died after this. With rare tears cascading from her eyes, she punched the pillow until her arms felt as if they’d fall off. Make your lies, your cheating, all about me, you @$#%. I will not take the blame for your family-shattering choices!
Chapter Sixteen
Jon stared at the computer screen, knowing he needed to finalize this will today, but he couldn’t chase Erin from the forefront of his mind, especially after reading the text from Mik. If he wanted to get anything done today, he better call her now.
He informed Gina to hold all calls for the moment, closed his office door, then dialed Erin on his cell.
“Jon?”
“Hey, how’s it going?” His voice cracked like he was nervous or something. This was Erin, his lifelong friend. What did he have to be nervous about?
“Not bad, actually. I got a new client. I’m setting up his account as we speak.”
Finally, good news for her. He reclined in his chair. “Lurch?”
She laughed. “Yep. I accidentally called him that, too.”
Oh, no. “And his response?”
“He laughed. Called you Jon Boy.”
Whew. “I’m happy for you, Erin. Any more prospects?”
“A couple more appointments next week. If I can get two more clients, I’ll be happy.”
“Just two?”
“Mik is still my number one priority.”
But not Clara. Somehow, he had to convince Erin that she was the best choice for guardian. “I don’t hear Clara babbling. How is she doing?”
A sigh. “Thankfully, Belinda Caldwell offered to watch her three days a week so I can get work done.”
Belinda babysitting sounded like a Trojan Horse to him, which meant he needed to stick closely to Erin, make sure she didn’t fall for their so-called kindness. He pulled up his calendar on his computer and penciled in “Erin” on any open dates, which were far too few. One per week at the most, including tonight. But today was Maundy Thursday, and he intended to attend service tonight. Or maybe . . .
“Um, I was wondering if I could join you at church tonight.”
“Church? Tonight?”
“For Maundy Thursday service.”
Silence blew over the line.
“I forgot.” She practically whispered. He could visualize her shaking her head while bringi
ng up a calendar. She prided herself on being organized, but Clara was seriously messing with that. “I forgot about Easter. How . . . ”
“Hey, life has thrown you some curveballs lately. I understand if you’re busy.”
“No. I’m actually not busy. And I need to go to the services. Tonight. Tomorrow. Sunday. I need to be reminded of what Jesus did for us and worship Him, especially now, because I’m not feeling very loving or forgiving. But . . . ”
Of course, she had a “but.” With Erin, nothing was ever easy. “You can’t go?”
“Well, it’s not that I can’t, but Clara goes to bed at seven, seven thirty. Taking her to church would be a disaster.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Jon leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He should have thought of that before he called.
“But we could hold our own service at my place.”
He bolted upright. “That’s a great idea. Want me to pick up bread and wine?”
“Make that sparkling grape juice for the kids. And can you make it by six? Then it won’t throw off Clara’s schedule.”
He checked his calendar and calculated the amount of time needed to leave work, go home to change, do a little shopping, and drive to Erin’s. I can be there at five thirty.”
“Perfect. And Jon?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” she said in a hushed tone.
“It’s my pleasure, Erin. I need you to know you can count on me from now on.”
“I’m beginning to believe that.”
Musical words to his tone-deaf ears. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Pearl.” And he’d do whatever it took to get her to believe she was worthy of that name. Maybe Corey had been right in what he’d asked Jon to do. As time went on, the request wasn’t sounding so bad after all.
* * *
Erin dressed Clara in footy pajamas for church so she wouldn’t have to change her again after the service. Then she stared in her closet at her meager choices. Yes, she was holding the service here at home, but that didn’t mean she should make a smaller effort of presenting herself. She’d like to think that when the disciples met with Jesus for the Passover meal, they wanted to be at their best.
“Do I have to go?” Mik’s moan came from the bedroom door, raising the hair on Erin’s arms.
She took a breath before turning to her daughter wearing shorts that were way too short and a crop top. “Yes, you will join us. And you will change into something appropriate.”
“But it’s just home.”
“That doesn’t make this service less important.”
“None of my friends have to go to church.”
Lord Jesus, give me patience and wisdom! “I’m sorry for your friends. They’re missing out.”
Mik rolled her eyes, of course.
Don’t react. Mik was goading for a reaction, and Erin would not comply. “Please change your outfit, also,” Erin said as calmly as she could.
“I have nothing to wear.” Mik actually stomped her foot. Jesus, You need to help me here, or I’ll be spending the rest of my days in jail for strangling my child.
Erin breathed in and out to the count of eight. “If you need me to, I’d be glad to help you choose.” For herself, she took a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve blouse from her own closet, hoping to give her daughter an idea.
“Fine.” She clomped from the room.
Lord, help me. Honestly, allowing Mik to skip the service would be easier, but her daughter needed this service as much as Erin. They both needed Good Friday, too. And they desperately needed Easter.
If yesterday’s breakdown had taught her anything, it was that she remained angry and unforgiving toward Corey and that wom—and Lilith. If Jesus could forgive Erin for all her bad choices, she should be able to extend the same forgiveness to her ex.
She rubbed her wrist. This running and hiding in the bathroom every time something bothered her had to end.
The doorbell rang as Erin finished her hair. Extending forgiveness to Jon would come first. She hurried to the door, flung it open, and stared.
Would she never get used to seeing this trendier, buffer Jon? No glasses. No bowtie. But a blazer over khakis and a button-down shirt. He’d even spent time on his hair. The man had transformed out of the stodgy lawyer role into normal life very well. Very well indeed. How was it no woman had snatched him up yet?
“Is there a problem?” He looked beyond her.
She looked to the floor, hoping to hide what was certainly a blush. Get a hold of yourself, Erin. This was Jon, for Pete’s sake. Her forever friend. “I uh, no. You just look . . . really nice.”
“I try.” He grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
She shrugged. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a compliment from a man and had no clue how to respond.
“Are you two gonna stand there ogling each other, or are we gonna do church?” Mik’s whine raised hackles up and down her spine and broke whatever spell Jon had placed on her.
Erin turned to her daughter, surprised to see that Mik held Clara’s hand and had the diaper bag slung over her shoulder. She waved to the side door directing the family to the garage where she’d set up. “Let’s get going.”
“The garage?” Jon followed behind.
“Thanks to the Caldwells, my garage has been transformed.”
“The Caldwells?” He caught up to her and walked alongside.
She could easily be mistaken, but it sounded like Jon had some contempt in his voice. Erin had found them to be very helpful. She refused to respond to his tone.
He grunted something she couldn’t understand. All she knew was that it wasn’t complimentary. Well, he could think what he wanted. Belinda’s appearance in her life right now was a godsend.
As had been turning the garage into a play area. Erin opened the side door on the garage and flicked on the light.
“Wow.” Jon said under his breath. “This is quite the transformation.”
Yes, it was. The sheets remained up from the other day. Why take them down? And intersecting brightly colored foam mats were spread over the concrete, providing much-needed cushion for their feet. If paint splattered on the concrete, who cared? It was genius, really. Turning the garage into a play area meant her home and office remained clean, so she could welcome clients at any time.
Corey would have loved it. Maybe he wouldn’t have strayed if she’d allowed—
Nope. Debbie warned her over and over not to go there. Rather, she needed to focus on the reason they were out here tonight. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward pillows—doggy beds, actually—arranged in a circle on the foam mats, and retrieved a bowl filled with water, her Bible, and a towel from a table she’d set up. She set that in the middle of the circle and sat between Jon and Clara, who’d curled up on the pillow like she wanted to sleep. Erin took Jon’s and Clara’s hands and, without arguing, Mik took Jon’s and Clara’s. A minor miracle, but still a miracle.
Erin said a prayer thanking God for the evening and for this time spent with family and prayed a blessing over the evening, and they said “Amen” together.
“Mik asked me earlier what Maundy Thursday meant.” She looked out the side of her eyes at Jon while Clara crawled on her lap and began sucking her thumb. “And I had to look it up. I knew what the tradition was, but not what the word ‘Maundy’ meant. It’s from the Latin mandatum, which is the origin of the word, mandate.”
Mik’s eyes were glazing over. Time to speed things up.
“Anyway, it means commandment. In John 13:34, Jesus says, ‘A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.’” Erin looked to Jon then Mik. “Just how did Jesus love us? What did He do that showed His love?”
Mik looked to the ground, fidgeting. “He died for us.”
Wow. Her daughter went right for the biggie, which would easily make Erin’s point. “Exactly.”
“So, does that mean to love ot
hers, we have to die?”
“Well, John 15 talks about the greatest love mankind has for one another is to lay down their life and live sacrificially.” Jon pulled out his phone and read John 15:13.
Erin thanked Jon for providing the perfect segue to her point. “Living sacrificially is exactly what Jesus was doing the night He gathered with His disciples. He knew He was about to be betrayed, by one of the disciples. He even knew who would betray Him, yet Jesus served him anyway. Jesus loved him regardless of that betrayal.”
Whoa. Her own words slammed into her heart. Jesus loved His betrayer. Period. She swallowed a lump in her throat and decided to use her personal story as a teaching moment. She brushed her fingers through Clara’s hair—the child was already fighting sleep after a busy day of play.
Erin looked toward Mik, but not at her. She couldn’t. “When your father left me, I didn’t show love. I’ve even held onto hate.” She hugged Clara. “That’s not what Jesus would want us to do. It’s not what He commanded us to do.”
“And when I abandoned your mom . . . ” Jon took Erin’s hand and squeezed it. She didn’t pull away, and he held on. “I was running away. I should have stayed, supported her, served her like Jesus shows.”
Why did you run away? The thought flickered through Erin’s thoughts. She tucked it away to ask later. Again.
“You grown-ups have issues.” Mik even smiled.
“Yes, we do. We’re all a work in progress.” She squeezed Jon’s hand and released it. “Mik, would you mind reading the scripture for tonight?”
“I guess.” She shrugged, acting nonchalant, but Erin knew her daughter longed to be included.
Erin turned to John 13 and asked Mik to read verses one through twenty about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet.
“I don’t get it. What’s special about washing feet?”
“I, uh . . . ” Erin stammered. Here she thought she’d had it all planned out.
“I’ve got this one.” Jon brought something up on his phone again. “Back in Jesus’ day, people walked in sandals on dirty, dusty roads, and they ate at low tables, so when it was time to eat, they all needed to wash their feet first. Usually the lowest of the servants would have that job, so Jesus washing their feet was shocking. He was their Lord, and they thought they should be washing His feet, not the other way around.”
A Beautiful Mess Page 14