Homefires (60 page)

His silence could have baffled me, made me wonder if he conceded to my wishes because he truly respected my intellect or could have made me ponder why, after all these years, his self-confidence had geysered out the top. The latter explanation seemed feasible since he’d always, in the past, had some macho something to prove. Now, he seemed at peace with me as an equal. In my new matter-of-factness, I regarded the current relationship as one long overdue.

It was, to me, one of mutual respect. All I’d ever wanted from my marriage.

Now, when I wanted time to myself, I went shopping. Kirk played golf. I didn’t care that sometimes this stretched into dusk. I loved my solitude. He was the one who complained I read too much or spent too much time writing in my endless journals. Of course, he did it teasingly, distracting me and playfully demanding a kiss or mussing my carefully coifed hair. We’d end up tussling and making love.

Despite occasional tensions, Kirk and I maintained a sense of togetherness for our children, saving serious discussions until Toby hung out with neighborhood teen buddies and Dawn
was tucked away with kin. She spent most weekends with Trish, now her cherished ‘Mema.’

“That’s as close to being ‘Mama’ as I
dare
go.” Trish tweaked the small turned-up nose. “Gene’s satisfied with being ‘Uncle Gene’ and protecting her from monster-Toby.” She leaned and kissed the puckered up lips. “I’m so glad your mama and daddy came to visit our church today.”

Trish looked at me then, concern furrowing her face. “Everything okay?” Because Trish knew Dawn’s time with her was a double blessing for them both: it gave Trish the child she never had and spared Dawn the unpleasantness of homefront skirmishes.

“Yep.” I smiled lazily from the parsonage’s overstuffed floral sofa. “I love sharing her with you. You should have had five of your own. I’ll never, ever,
ever
understand God’s reasoning in some things.”

Trish shrugged, kicked off her heels and shuffled in hosedfeet to the adjoining kitchen to check on Sunday lunch heating in the oven. Her weight had slowly crept up through the years, but she was still, to me, beautiful. I could see her from where I lounged, swollen feet propped on her glass-topped coffee table. The long salon hours took their toll, leaving me near collapse by Sunday mornings.

“Need any help?” I asked, rolling my neck to dispel tiredness.

“You just stay where you are, Sis,” Trish insisted, pulling a pan of steaming barbecue chicken from the stove and gingerly peeling back the foil. “You deserve a day of rest.”

“But I feel guilty,” I muttered.

“Don’t.” Her busy hands soon had chicken arranged on a silver platter. Effortlessly, she orchestrated a dining table array of mashed potatoes, coleslaw, whole green beans, yams, buttered rolls and a three-layer chocolate cake that made my sweet tooth gasp.

“You’re so creative, Trish. Such a homemaker.”

“Reg’lar ol’ Julia Child.” She blushed becomingly. “If I’d thought of it in time, I’d have gotten Gene to go fetch Chuck to eat with us.” Trish padded to the refrigerator for her gallon tea jug and filled the iced glasses parked on white counter space.

“How is he, by the way?” I hadn’t seen my brother in so long, I’d lost count of time. I was ashamed my life’s problems had pushed him aside, same as they had MawMaw.

“Teresa finally signed over her power of attorney to Anne and Daddy.”

“Praise be!” I breathed, closing my eyes in relief.

Trish turned to face me, grim. “She’s asked him for a divorce.”

“What?” I gazed at her in disbelief.

“Says she needs to get on with her life and Chuck’s not part of it.”

“Oh Lord – how can anybody be so cruel?” I blinked back tears. “I’ve got to go see him. Soon.”

Trish wiped her own eyes and placed napkins beside her stacked china. “He’s brave, Sis. I know it hurts him like crazy, but he’s putting on that big grin of his so nobody will know. Fact is, if a kidney donor doesn’t turn up soon, our brother will die.”

“Let’s don’t even go there, Trish. Let’s believe for a miracle, huh?”

Trish winked. “I’m game.”

I sat there, thinking how courageous my brother was. In contrast, I was a wimp.

But I
had
come a long way.

“Let’s eat!” Trish called out the back door, heralding our males to lunch.

And I knew in that moment I still had a ways to go.

The next eighteen months saw me plowing much new, hard terrain. Kirk and I met our nightly Cosmetology School requirements to place us in the upper-income bracket of the business. I found a profound sense of accomplishment in earning wages that, many weeks, exceeded Kirk’s. We were, in every professional sense, a team.

One day, Anne called in tears. “Neecy, sit down.”

“W-what is it, Anne? Is Chuck – ” My voice choked off as my pulse raced away.

“Remember my friend at the nursery, Janice Towery?”

“Uh hm.”

“Well, her brother was in a bad automobile accident three days ago. He was only thirty one years old. The doctors had him on life support. I was there with Janice when they had to make the decision to disconnect him.”

“That’s terrible,” I muttered.

“I heard them say he had an organ donor card and this thought came to me, Neecy. I just came out and said ‘Can you donate his kidneys to anybody you want to?’ And the doctors said they could. I asked them to donate a kidney to Chuck.” She began to weep.

“Oh Anne.” It was like a big fist squeezing my heart. “What did they—“

“They said ‘
yes.’”
My weeping joined hers for long moments.

“Anne,” I finally managed to croak, “Chuck’s gonna
live!”
And in that moment, I realized how truly terrified I’d been that he would not.

“He sure is, Neecy. My boy’s gonna make it.”

I called Trish right away and told her the good news.

“God gave us our miracle, Sis,” Trish said. “Anne was used to instigate it, don’t you know? If she hadn’t thought to ask – ”

“Got that right, Trish. A good sermon illustration for Gene. ‘
Ask and ye shall receive
.’”

Chuck was immediately prepared for surgery. His family was there to lend love and succor in those pain-filled hours. But he came through like a trooper.

His first slurred words after surgery were “See, ya’ll? I tol’ you I was strong as an ox.”

Kirk’s attentiveness never wavered. I didn’t seek it, but it was there. Slowly, it began to affect me. I’d never been immune to Kirk. Never. But the adultery trauma had closed off a part of my gentle, sensitive side. Now, his unceasing gallantry tugged at the binding ropes until, little by little, their knots slipped loose to release feelings I was loathe to acknowledge. They would render me entirely too vulnerable.

Kirk told me so often and so fervently that he adored me and could not live without me that I began to trust it to be truth. Something in his need broke down some of my last defenses. I
now felt free to crawl into his lap, as a child would, and ask him for a hug. Or a stroke. Or a word of encouragement. I’d never felt this liberty with another living being.

The dark times still came, but they were fewer and farther between. I thought I could even see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, especially with Kirk’s support.

Heather came home on weekends and summers. Dawn spent after school hours at the salon with us, doing homework, watching television, coloring and doing crossword puzzles. After a year of private Christian education, we entered Toby and Dawn in public school so Toby could play football and other sports and ready himself for college.

“It’s so-o-o nice being an ordinary person,” Heather exulted one summer afternoon as we lounged around the salon, sipping canned sodas and munching chocolate chip cookies the two of us had baked the night before. “I got so tired of being a PK.”

“Yeah,” Toby echoed. His chocolaty grin belied his gripe. “Everybody watches you like a hawk.”

As the day wore on, I grew more and more silent as clients came and went. Depression, which had hovered for days, dropped and wrapped me like Saran. I didn’t recognize it until I choked and struggled against its invisible force. I felt Kirk’s gaze but didn’t return it. I could not reassure him that I was fine when I wasn’t. My despondency wasn’t flagrant. I’d simply stopped pretending. Kirk never had. Now, he at least put as much effort in diplomacy as I did. I’d always given him space to struggle through low points. That’s all I wanted now. I didn’t want Kirk to feel responsible for my moods. That wasn’t fair to him.

Nevertheless, I felt the strain of his concern and struggled to ease myself free by staying busy.

“We’re going home, Mom,” Heather called from the door. “Pizza okay for supper?”

“Sure.” I shot her a smile and finished polishing my mirrors. Kirk’s big hand captured mine and he pulled me around to face him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his green gaze probing mine.

I shook my head, averting my eyes. But he would have none of it.

“Look at me, Neecy.” The command was gentle but firm. “Something’s bothering you. We need to talk.” He took my hand and led me to the waiting area, where he seated me on the plush navy sofa, closed the vertical blinds and locked the door. Then he lowered himself into the almond and navy striped chair facing me. He hooked a tan ankle over his knee and steepled his fingers to his lips, his gaze riveted to my face.

I gazed dully at him, feeling only melancholy. Loss. Anger at myself. At him. At the world. Yet – none of these feelings were as powerful as they’d once been. And they would run their course in a day or two, then dissipate.

His voice sliced through my stupor. “What do you want from me, Neecy?”

I frowned. “What do I want? Kirk, I don’t know of a thing I don’t have that you could give me.”

He stared at me for long moments, as if not seeing me. “Except what you feel I stole from you.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. It was true, in a sense. I sighed. A long, ragged sound. “I wish I could say it doesn’t matter, Kirk. Do you think – if the tables were turned – that you could say that to me?”

A dark shadow flickered across his face. “I can’t say, Neecy. Because I’m not in your place.”

Anger stirred inside me. “You can’t just – imagine?” I asked, knowing full well he could.

“No. I cannot do the hypothetical thing. It’s not me.”

Old denial Kirk. Smooth as an eel. So much for genuine empathy.

“What do you think would help you not feel so – deprived?” he asked evenly.

The question took me off guard. “I’ve never thought of the situation as something to be ‘fixed,’ Kirk. I’m trying to get past it. We’ve come a long way, actually.”

His gaze sliced to me, electrifying in its intensity. “I don’t think so.”

I threw up my hands. “Kirk, you know I’ve worked hard at putting this thing in the past. You’ve been wonderful,” I
reminded him that I
noticed
. “If you hadn’t – I couldn’t have made it this far.”

The green laser pinned me. “Did you know that I’m suicidal?”

“Why
?” Dear God in Heaven.

“I’ve lost everything. My ministry, my wife....”

My stomach knotted. I would not succumb to guilt. No way. “Kirk, that’s ridiculous. We’ve got this business and you haven’t lost me.”

Some infinitely sad shadow passed over Kirk. “Where is my sweet little wife? Whose voice was like a soft bubbly brook. And who would have died before speaking sharply to me? Where is that woman?”

The question was a bullet to my heart. Because Kirk knew. Deep down, he knew.

Like a balloon with a tiny prick, I began to leak life.

“You’d better get used to the new me, Kirk,” I said dispiritedly and stood, reaching for my purse. “Because the other woman is dead.”

“Why?” Kirk was on his feet, eye to eye with me. “Why does she have to be dead, Neecy?” he asked in his velvet-husky way.