Junk Love, page 30
* * *
That evening, in the sumptuous guest bed, Holly’s arm was getting tired. Another snuffle warmed her knuckles through the mesh of Komi’s portable crate.
“I’m here. Go to sleep.”
Komi shuffled around and around, then flopped down with a harumph.
Holly plucked up her phone and scrolled to Meena’s name. But it would be rude to call after 10:00. On the ceiling, stars of reflected light flickered from the pond in the Japanese garden, romantic and hopeful. Tears came. Crap.
Needing a distraction, she opened her Bible app. Haman had just been hanged on his own gallows before dinner; Esther’s drama might get her mind off her own.
Hang on. Why was she doing Bible research now when her relationship with Jacob might be over? In high school, there had been a time when she’d been curious to see if she might be blessed with a Eureka moment, a flash of faith, a key to the house of her dad’s faith family. But wasn’t she reading it now because of Jacob?
Kids. Kids with Jacob. That was the real motivator. When this all started, her question at the ranch was whether she could raise kids to respect his belief in the Bible, regardless of her own. Or whether the Bible was bullshit.
Jacob didn’t know that.
He lifts my chin. “You read the Bible more than most of my Christian friends. It’s a matter of time.”
“You’re banking on that?”
“No. I predict it. I see you growing.”
Was she growing? Was he seeing something blooming in her, not just the Bible reading? Jacob might be making her a better person; she didn’t think the Bible was. Was it?
She scrolled to the “Highlights” section of her Bible app. And scrolled. And scrolled. Dang. There were a lot. She liked this one. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7:
Love is patient, love is kind. Love does not envy, it is not boastful, is not arrogant, is not rude, is not self-seeking, is not irritable, and does not keep a record of wrongs.
It felt good to forgive her mom.
Love finds no joy in unrighteousness but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
The words felt like a beacon guiding home. She had a long way to go to embody that kind of love, but having a goal like a mile marker always helps.
But the verse listed below it, 13:2, was in orange, her code for questions:
…and if I have all faith so that I can move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.
What’s the reverse of that—having love but not faith? Lonely, that’s what.
She hadn’t asked Jacob her God questions, not wanting to get his hopes up or to be influenced by him. Even so, if she did have some kind of spiritual moment now, how could she trust it? She’d take any kind of leap to get to Jacob. She hoped she wouldn’t lie to herself like that, trick herself, but she’d done dumb—done it well. Solid performances in Dumb. World-class.
He deserved to be warned. In his experience, Bible reading must have accompanied his growing faith, so he assumed the same was happening for her. He probably thought her “research”—picturing his air quotes brought a lovely kind of hurt—was prompted by something pure and good. Not a selfish, doubting, “how bad is this thing” motivation.
Truth is ugly. Her truth, anyway. She saw wisdom in the Bible, flickers of truth, a better way to live. From what she’d found so far, she’d be okay raising kids in a quasi-Christian household, as weird as that would be. But how would that work, with Daddy thinking Mommy was going to hell? She had to call him and confess what was behind her Bible reading.
No. It was late. And that was breaking the rule. Just because she’d made the rule didn’t make it fair to break it. But he needed to know. Informed consent. Holly groaned and rolled over, barely able to find their texts and add one:
Are you awake?
Why am I doing this? Her finger hovered over “Send.” She wanted to connect, to hear his voice, to have him tell her he still loved her and that everything was okay. Jacob wouldn’t care why she started reading the Bible. Didn’t that just show how future-trippy she’d been, thinking about raising babies with him in August? When they’d only been dating for a month?
Selfish. As usual. Tearing up, she tapped the screen to delete, but the text bubble floated upward. Sent.
Crap. Lurching upright, her heart raced. No. She scrambled to wipe her eyes and typed:
Sorry, I
Her phone vibrated. Between seeing Jacob’s name and bringing it to her ear, a black cloud of terror stormed in: What if he’s already decided? He could have thought long and hard and might have even realized he was attracted to someone else, and besides didn’t his parents want him to marry a Christian girl like April or Erica or probably any of the girls he’d ever dated since his days as a varsity football player, and this might be the last time she would hear his beautiful, rumbly voice—the voice that made her diaphragm twitch and her heart smile and sometimes incited more lustful reflexes—because he really deserved someone better, and although he would never think of it that way because he was too good of a human being, he probably realized—although it hurt him, she was sure—that they weren’t meant to be together and it was best to rip off the Band-Aid and end this now.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Please tell me it’s over.” His voice was like a cello. “The time-out, I mean.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“K.”
“I’ve only been reading the Bible to see if I could raise kids to respect it since you do.” She left out when she’d started; he had only caught her reading later.
“That’s it?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you. I thought better of it, but it already sent.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to give me credit where credit isn’t due. If anything, the fact that I’ve been reading the Bible and still don’t have faith should be a tick against me.”
“Can I be a tick against you? Wouldn’t bite, just snuggle.”
Holly’s laugh was a groan. She smiled and lay on her side, pulling the comforter over her shoulder.
“Make up something else to tell me,” he said. “I miss your voice.”
“I can tell you what my mom said. But you should think about the Bible thing.”
“What’s to think about?”
She scoffed. “My weird motives! My lack of faith. We’re still where we started. Don’t you think you need a Christian woman?”
“Would you call me an arrogant manwhore if I told you I want you no matter what?”
Holly giggled into the fluffy pillow, wishing it was him. “I thought I was Samson. Besides, if you were a manwhore, you’d put out.”
His laugh was heaven, and she breathed, grinning, picturing his smile through the phone.
“Wow.” His chuckle burbled to quiet. “What’d your mom say?”
“She told me I can’t make your choices for you.”
“Me choosing you?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You’re shitting me.” His voice was springy, smiling.
“Nope.”
“I take back every mean thing you’ve ever said about her.”
Holly grinned.
“You should always listen to your mother.”
“Really?” The glimmering pond lights danced on the ceiling.
“Be there in 20 minutes.”
“I’m at my mom’s. And I don’t always listen to my mother. Although we did have a nice moment.”
“Your independent thinking is one of the 10,879,256 things I love about you.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I can do impossible. Want to see me pull an Ethan Hunt and get to Vegas in two and a half hours? If I use my siren…”
“Don’t!” she smiled. “Before you go Team Nanette on me, you should hear the other thing.”
“Listening.”
“She got sick, and Charles is away on business, so I’m helping out. Upshot is, tonight she compared Christianity to a physical disability.”
“Nice,” he laughed.
“My mom said if I marry you—”
“When.”
Komi whimpered.
“No!” Holly reached toward Komi’s crate. “If we got married, I’d need to make accommodations.”
“I do have special needs.”
“You’re not offended?”
“She’s on my side. I’ll take it. When do you get home?”
“I head home tomorrow after Charles gets back.”
“Red eye?”
“Not sure. He is coming from Japan.” She tucked her arm under the warm duvet. “Why?”
“Mark rented a cabin to get some friends together. Think I freaked him out. We’re calling it ‘Bros-Ski-Brewski.’”
“Freaked him out?”
Komi sighed, lying down.
Jacob sighed, too. “He doesn’t like seeing me down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Thanks for the rule violation. Are we done with this bullshit? I mean, this really clever idea you had, which has fortunately run its course?”
She smiled and smoothed the fluffy comforter.
“Holly…?”
“Sorry. I guess? You’re free to break up with me if you decide I’m right.”
“Deal. Text me when you’re 20 minutes out. Meet you at your house.”
“No! Your boys’ weekend. Bros-Ski-Brewski.” Turning on her side, she wished the pillow were his chest.
“Won’t be back ‘til Sunday. I’ll tell him, ‘Toughski shitski.’”
“You should go! We can spend time together after.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
Holly smirked. “You can hold me to anything you want.”
“That’s just mean.”
Holly
Friday, December 9, 2016
In the rearview mirror, Komi was antsy, getting tangled in the leash.
“Lie down.”
Marimba chords chimed from Holly’s purse. Wishing she’d put it in the dash mount after the rest stop, she glanced from the straight stretch of interstate to find the Mini’s phone button.
“Hi, this is Holly.”
“Hey.” It was Courtney. “You still at your mom’s?”
“Hey, you! I’m on my way back. Want to go out tonight?”
“Can’t.”
“Hot date?” Was Courtney dating someone? How long had it been since they’d talked?
“Maybe. Nina said you know him. Scott?”
“No way!” Her grin was in full force, gaping a bit. “What are you doing? Drinks? Dinner?”
“No drinks.”
“Right! I forgot about your No Alcohol November. But it’s December now…”
“Nah. I’m taking the rest of the year to detox. We’ll see from there.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic!”
Courtney chuckled. “I can finally take a turn being DD.”
Laughing, she asked, “So, dinner…?”
“And a movie, unless he’s lame, and I bail. Either Arrival or The Girl on the Train.”
“You don’t sound excited.” Holly was. She loved love. How cool would it be if Courtney and Scott found it, too? He might be perfect for her.
“I am, a little,” she said, not sounding like it. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
Komi whimpered in the backseat.
“What’s wrong?” She groped in her purse for a chew toy.
“Vanessa’s been busy.”
“What?” When her fingertips brushed the firm rubber, a Porsche flew past, so she grabbed the wheel, startled.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this. Don’t mention me when Debbie calls.”
“My certifier? Can’t I just supervise? What about Cora’s folks?”
“Don’t push it, Tiger. Debbie barely got you approved after Diapergate.”
“Seriously?”
“I know. It’s bullshit. Don’t rock the boat, okay? How far out are you?”
“Just outside Beaver. I’ll come as fast as I can.”
Courtney paused before: “That’s what he said.”
Holly shook her head, chuckling.
“I can watch the kiddo for a few hours. When Debbie calls, have her ask me, like you’re not sure.”
CORA
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Znnn-sht, znnn-sht, znnn-sht. Only the flaps of her nursing bra held the greedy plastic cones to Cora’s breasts. Her helpless arms, her head, her twisting red hair, and the translucent rubber tubing all succumbed to gravity.
Her tears had dried up. Her milk had dried up. Each clenching suck yielded only pain. Only physical pain, though, and Cora would have had to be in her body to feel it.
It was a watching more than a feeling, registering the percussive pulses like heartbeats. The extending tubes confirmed her new status as an android. It made logical sense that this thing might be keeping her alive now: a robotic pump to replace the fleshy heart she’d been born with—missing.
Her heart was still on Holly’s front porch—in her mind, anyway, where Holly had cradled her while she waved goodbye like a movie heroine. Naomi would be in her bassinet now in Holly’s room. Or she might be having a bottle. Holly would take good care of her. Maybe better than Cora could.
Aiden’s poem came to mind:
Mi Corazón
Is gone
I’m not sure how I’m breathing
Death is slower than I expected
Now, they had that in common. Or they would have that in common if Aiden weren’t fine now. Different time zones.
A buzz broke through the znnn-sht, znnn-sht, znnn-sht, and her phone lit up on her glass coffee table. I’m not home. Go away. Whoever it was couldn’t help. The shuddering phone skimmed away from the wilting houseplant and a pile of bills toward the table’s edge to do itself in.
Cora read the screen despite herself: Aiden.
The clenching on and in her chest lurched like a miserable hiccup. Had he sensed her thinking about him? No. That was magical thinking. Like in the desert when she and Julie had been surrounded by rustling, wispy tufts of tall, tiny flowers, and Julie said, “The bees are telling us to go this way.” Magical thinking was dangerous; Aiden calling was just a coincidence. But it reminded her of the physical world, and she turned off the pump. He could leave a voicemail.
Raising a plastic cone, she scraped up milky moisture by its edge. The robot apparatus had to come off before she poured her labor into one container; it almost reached the 4-oz. line. It might be enough.
Putting it in the refrigerator took all her strength, so when she tripped coming back to the couch, scuffing her cork-soled scuff on a pacifier she hadn’t seen in the dark, Cora didn’t have the heart to pick it up. Beyond sobs, she kicked off her house shoes, flopped onto her back, propped her feet on the couch’s arm, and pressed her palms against her eye sockets.
Buzz.
She held still and hoped it would stop.
Buzz.
Dropping her hands to her chest, she turned and observed her phone skittering at the table’s edge, hanging off a little. She was curious. Would it go over?
Buzz.
It moved a little more.
Buzz.
It moved a little more.
Then nothing. Tucking the throw pillow under her head, she turned to her side and watched the phone be still.
After a minute, she closed her eyes.
Buzz.
She grabbed it: Aiden. “Hi.”
“Cora? Are you okay?”
Letting her eyes close, she sighed. Of all the asinine questions.
“Sorry. Of course you’re not.”
Her ears pricked at his insight. The shadowy ceiling was pinstriped by persistent light cutting through the blinds.
“Did you have a good visit with our girl?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why is Holly being the foster parent so different from her being a safety service provider? You can’t be there at night?”
She shrugged even though he couldn’t see.
“Cora?”
“The caseworker said they got a new report of concern. We have court tomorrow.”
“11:00 like before?”
She nodded, then said, “Mm-hm.”
“Should I call in? I’m scheduled to be in the field doing interviews, but I can try to swap assignments. I can say it’s a family emergency.”
Family? Aiden was Naomi’s family, even if he wasn’t hers. “That’s okay. It won’t make a difference.”
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” His voice was sweet.
“We’ll see.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No. Thanks.”
“Do you want my folks to call in?”
“They can.”
“Only if they can help. They don’t want to upset your parents.”
“They’re already upset.”
“I feel bad about Thanksgiving,” he sighed. “Would they meet my parents if I wasn’t there?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t know anything. She didn’t know why Child Welfare insisted she was a terrible mother; she didn’t know if they were right. She didn’t know why Aiden was still in her life, being sweet and supportive and apparently healthy and normal, or why her heart still ached for him sometimes, like when she was trying to sleep the night before Halloween knowing he was out here on the couch. She sat up.
“Sorry. We don’t have to figure that out now. I wish I could be there with you.”
“I have to go,” Cora muttered, sliding her foot into her sandal.
“Do you have one minute?”
Where was her other Birkenstock? She knelt, feeling under the coffee table. “I guess.” When her fingers hit the strappy shoe, she dragged it out.
“Have you heard of the serenity prayer? ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference’?”
