Homefires (59 page)

The phone rang as I drained spaghetti in the sink. I snatched the receiver from the wall.

“Hello?”

“Mama?” The query was tremulous and whispery.

“Heather?”

“Oh, Mama. I’ve been so worried. I didn’t know where you were for the past two weeks. I had this terrible feeling that the Rapture had come and I was left and – ”

“Whoa!” I laughed then, a loud resounding belly laugh. “Slow down, honey. Didn’t Connie give you my message? I didn’t have the phone then, but I told her to tell you I’d called.”

“No.” A long disgusted sigh. “She’s a friend of my roommate and is sorta – flaky.”

“Ah, honey – I’m sorry you didn’t know how to contact us.” I felt an instant jolt of guilt. “We’ve been packing and moving. And it’s been such a mess. I figured you’d be so busy getting to know – ”

I heard a distinct snuffling sound on the other end. “Heather? Honey, are you
crying?”

A loud gulp, then, “Oh, Mama – I was so scared. It was weird, not being able to find you.”

Her words smote me. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. How
did
you find us?”

Another solid snuffle. “I called Callie. You know, at her Mom’s? She gave me her address and phone number right before I left for school. I didn’t think about – ”

“But, she didn’t have our number.” I’d not been in contact with Callie since our last talk that day in Toby’s room. Hadn’t, in fact, been in touch with anybody, not even family. It was better that way. No questions. No explaining.

“No, she didn’t. But she suggested I call Grandma again. I’d called her several times, but she hadn’t heard from you, either. And when I phoned her again today, Grandma said you’d just called and given her your number. Mama, it was like – you just dropped off the earth.
Nobody
knew where you were.”

“Oh baby – we’ve just been in over our heads. When can you come home for a visit?” I felt badly, but Heather had always been so self-sufficient I hadn’t fathomed this turnabout.

“How about this weekend?” Heather began to sound more like herself again. “Can you and Dad come up and get me Friday afternoon?”

“Try and stop us!”

That Friday, Heather waited on the dorm curb when we arrived, bag in hand, and talked non-stop on the hour-and-a-half drive back to Harborville, gazing at us as if for the first time. Dawn, plastered against her sister’s ribcage, gazed up into her animated features with bald adoration. Toby, too, was affected by the reunion, offering Heather not a stick, but his entire pack of Juicy Fruit gum, which she sensitively accepted, then shared with her siblings.

Later that evening, after Kirk turned in and the kids slept, Heather and I settled down on the cozy den’s sofa bed for girl talk. My daughter watched me closely, as though weighing something.

“What?” I asked, pushing my newly cut, blonde-highlighted hair behind my ears.

Heather shrugged, then propped on pillows. “You look so different.”

I wiggled my nose at her, bunny style, making her giggle like when she was small. “Different good or different bad?” I plumped my pillows and lay back, stretching and crossing my recently tanned legs at the ankles. I wore a new blue teddy and had just given myself a pedicure and polished my toenails Scarlet Rose to match my nails.

Heather’s green eyes, so like Kirk’s, remained vigilant while her mouth curved into a soft smile. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I know. I’m glad you’ve finally started doing things for yourself.
”

I gazed warmly at her, struck that we’d transcended our old family ties to be friends. “Yeah.” I grinned lazily, at ease with our new status. “S’about time. I got kind of tired being plain Jane. Y’know?” I fought back an urge to clench my teeth together.

“You deserve pretty things, Mama.”

Heather’s eyes did their little dance back and forth, sliding up and down over my features. Measuring – so like Kirk’s it took my breath.

“What is it, honey? You seem to have something on your mind.” I held out my hand to her, “Tell Mama about it.” She sat up, scooted closer and took my hand. Only then did I see that she choked back tears.

“What?” I gently coaxed.

Her moist gaze locked with mine and I saw the stricken dilation of pupils. “Mama, I know – about Daddy and...Roxie.”

My heart thudded to my toes. I tried to keep my countenance cool. “What do you mean, honey?”
Please, God. No.

Heather’s tears pooled along her lids, but she braced up and squeezed my hand. “When I called Callie, I said something that gave her the impression that I knew – though I didn’t. She went on to comment that Daddy is a good man and I must forgive him.”

I rolled my head away and squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh God, Heather. I didn’t want you to know. Callie shouldn’t have – ”

“Mama, please don’t blame Cal. She was so upset when she learned I hadn’t known about it till then. You know, she’s hurt, too.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. Everything feminine and caring and genetic poured from the green depths into my soul in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Mama, that you had to go through all that. I know you’re hurting.”

I smiled at her even as my eyes misted. Friend to friend. Mother to daughter. Heart to heart. Soul to soul.

“I love you, my darlin’ daughter. You okay?” A tear spilled over my lid and down into my hair. I swiped it away.

“I’m okay,” she said softly. Her chin lifted slightly and I saw she’d dealt with it, alone. And her eyes burned with resolve. “I saw how Roxie chased Dad.” Her shoulder rose and fell limply. “I mostly hurt for you.”

How strong she was. How brave.

So would I be. I pulled her to me and hugged her, long and hard.

“I’ll be okay, honey.” I pressed my damp cheek to hers and inhaled her clean
Charlie
fragrance. “Why, in time, I’ll be as good as new.”

Kirk never knew of our talk. His greatest fear was that the children would hear and lose respect for him, like he’d lost respect for his alcoholic father. So, I shielded him. Heather was more comfortable with him not knowing so it made sense to keep silent. I was grateful that Heather’s regard for her father didn’t appear to have slipped.

I tried to imagine myself in her place. But I could not because my dad, handsome and winsome as he was with females, simply didn’t have that venturous, on-the-edge personality that accommodates sexual duplicity. Dad also lacked a certain blinders-on
denial
required for marital deception. I was, by no means, an authority on the subject but one thing I knew: kids are casualties that ought not be.

Heather and I rarely mentioned Kirk’s infidelity after that night. She came to terms with it on her own and seems not scarred by it. I don’t think I’m being too Pollyanna. Heather has, increasingly, been open with me in all areas of her life and I think that, had it posed problems for her along the way, she would have told me. We have that kind of relationship.

I learned a valuable lesson: if the worst happens, we need not fold up and die. Life goes on.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I enjoyed the message,” I said as Kirk cranked our new blue VW hatchback. “Dr. Bergdorf has a smooth delivery.” It was our first Sunday at the Harborville First Baptist Church; one of many we’d visited in recent months. Each time we entered a different vestibule – weekly – I always hoped it would click with Kirk. We needed a church home. Spiritual continuity.

“It was long,” Dawn said, yawning. It had been.

“I liked it,” Toby declared, and I knew why.

“She was cute,” I said, tossing him a grin over my shoulder.

“Oh, Jane Smith,” he said, blushing pleasantly. “Yeah, she is cute. She goes to my school.”

“Ah.” I settled back, tensing a little at Kirk’s continuing silence.

“Did you really like it?” he asked suddenly.

I looked at him, fighting a niggling annoyance. “The service? Overall, it was nice.”

Kirk looked thoughtful. “I felt he could have been a little more enthusiastic over the beatitudes. And he rambled at times.”

I made myself smile and relax. “Everybody’s not the pulpit dynamo you are, Kirk.”

“
Were
,” he said quietly. “Past tense.” The muscles in his jaw knotted and his voice dropped to an octave lower whisper. “And I don’t think I’m hot stuff.”

There it was. Resentment. I frowned. “I didn’t say you did. I wasn’t comparing – ”

“It didn’t sound that way.” The quiet words, raw and palpitating, gouged me into fury.

“I can’t believe you said that,” I hissed through my teeth. I wasn’t nearly as successful as Kirk in arguing quietly, but I did try.

Later, alone in our room, we had it out. I didn’t back down an inch. Which made it quite heated because it was not in Kirk’s nature to capitulate. Now, however, he forced himself to do so. The victory was not a thing I relished. I didn’t want to argue to begin with and resented being forced to do so.

“We need church, Kirk,” I said. Dear
God, how we need church
.

“I agree.” He raked fingers through collar-length hair, whose darkening waves made my fingers itch to tangle in them, even now. A full mustache cast his features more Tom Selleck than I liked. It thrilled and frightened me. Just as his strong sex drive did.

I spun away in frustration, away from his blaring masculine appeal. “You don’t act like you agree. All I hear is this onrunning put-down of each message.”

“Can’t you understand, Neecy?” His hoarse supplication cut to my heart. “I can’t be a spectator. I’m far too emotionally involved to simply sit on a pew and – exist.”

That jostled me. I whirled. “You can’t be a follower, can you, Kirk? You never could. What’s so terrible about taking time out to listen for a while? Is it so
beneath
you?” My anger far exceeded the subject. I couldn’t even understand it myself, not completely.

Kirk stood at the window, hands shoved in pockets, his back to me. “You don’t understand.” His words were so quiet I wondered if I’d heard right.

“I
do
understand. You refuse to submit to another man’s ministry.” I knew the oversimplified statement was sharp, but I also knew it to be true. Kirk Crenshaw didn’t trust another man to guide his thoughts and destiny now that he’d experienced pastoral authority. I didn’t know that he ever would. Just as I tried new untested sod, so did Kirk.

He turned slowly, his expression so sad it took my breath. “It’s much, much more than that, Neecy.” He walked past me, on his way to help the kids decide on a restaurant for our Sunday lunch trek. At our bedroom door, he paused, looked over his shoulder and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I deserve what I’m feeling.” His green gaze darkened with pain. “It’s just so hard.” The door closed softly behind him.

Kirk and I pitched ourselves into building our four-chair hair styling business. Two of the chairs we leased to other stylists.

“I don’t want a boss,” I stated flatly when the subject arose. Kirk, sharp looking in his black shirt and slacks – that matched my own outfit – leaned indolently against the trellis entrance to my stylish stall and measured me with shuttered eyes. I knew I forced him to shuffle tactics to integrate me into his business scheme. His was a black and white approach.

“Every business needs a boss,” he declared gently, raising my ire another notch.

“I might not be sharp with numbers,” I sniped, fluffing my platinum blond bob and checking out my new red lipstick in the salon mirror, “but I’m smart enough to make appointments, turn out a great hair style, collect money and make change without major problems. So,” I faced him squarely, “I don’t want a boss.”

When had I begun to welcome confrontations? It had to be a perverse charley horse reaction to anything I sensed in myself as remotely compliant. I detested my old submissive self and would run around the block and back to avoid her. Today, Kirk simply walked away, saying nothing. I marveled again at the man he’d become.