All About B.A.D. (19 page)

A timid knock, sounding uncertain. Again, a little louder. No one was expected. She picked up the child, considerably heavier now, and walked to the door. One look at the figure filling the doorframe and Conner almost jumped from her arms. The man opened his for the catch. 

“Hello, Bernadette. May
we
come in?” The same warm voice; the eyes less bright; the body slimmed down.

Silently, she wrapped both figures in her arms, swaying, gathering them into a huddle. “I’ve missed you; we’ve missed you.” Slowly unfolding bodies, she led him into the house. It took several minutes to launch all of the words she had stockpiled for when he returned.

“Josh, you look good. Did they tell you we were there?” 

“Yes, but not right away. Seems there were some issues with the folks running the front desk and the rest of the staff. But once they did, it felt awfully good to know someone had been around to check on me.”

“It was hard to leave without even being able to say ‘hi’ or make sure you were okay. Did you get my letters?”

“They kept me sane. Thanks, Bernadette. And thanks for the pictures of Conner. Every little bit hurts and helps in the state I was in.” 

“And now, Josh? How are you doing now?”

“I’m dry and I’m better and I’m going to make it.” The grin gracing his face was reassuring.

“That’s good news. She would have been really happy to hear that, to see you here.”

“Yes, BAD. I guess she would have. What about you?”

Over a dish of chicken pot pie and a cup of coffee, Bernadette filled in empty spaces between Wanda’s leaving and Josh’s return.

Much later, with their conversation subsiding, Bernadette led him to see an alteration she had made to the back of the house. With a recommendation from Kathryn Abbott, a carpenter had been hired to glass it in, transforming an old porch into a new studio where there was a continuous flow of sunlight and an unobstructed view of the garden. Splotches of paint finding their way to the floor added additional character to a house that had always enjoyed the luxury of colors. Leaning against chairs, boxes and a wooden half-wall were works completed, ones in progress and sketches on hold. 

Josh was impressed.

“She would have been happy with this too, Bernadette. You’ve done well. I’m very proud of you—of these. She was always proud of you, who you were, the woman you are yet to be.” 

“…….the race marked out for us.” Hebrews 12:1

It would be their third visit to the shelter that fall. More acquainted with the area, she had changed her route, turning onto a different street of mostly run-down houses. Occasionally, she stopped to take a photograph, or when Conner was cooperating, make a quick sketch of palms, peeling curlicues on once-grand porches or iron fences partially buried, a consequence of a long ago, forceful hurricane that swept the island.

In the midst of making hurried lines and brief notes, she glanced down the street. A figure emerged from one of the houses and headed in the opposite direction. There was something very familiar in the receding figure with the long, ropey braid swaying with the unhurried gait. The woman was carrying a child, maybe a boy. When recognition registered, Bernadette shrieked the name quickly, more loudly than intended.

“Isabella? Isabella!” 

The head turned and a startled, curious face erupted into a beaming smile. Two women, each carrying an armload, hurried to embrace one another.

“Isabella, I can’t believe it’s you! And who is this?” Bernadette reached over to pat the head of the child in the arms of his mother.

“This is my son, Sebastian.” The dark-skinned child buried his face into his mother’s shoulder. “He is not so good with strangers. And look at Conner; he is big.”

Connor’s face showed uncertainty, a struggle to remember. 

“You are well, Bernadette?”

“Yes, and you? Do you live here now?”

“I stay there with a cousin and her family.” She turned and pointed to the house she had just left. “We are fine; much better without Mr. Arthur. Are you still there?”

“Oh no, we left not long after you. We are better without Mr. Arthur, too. I never knew where you went or what happened to you. I didn’t know you had a son, Isabella. Mr. Fetters never answered any questions about you at all.”

“I didn’t say to him what I do, Miss Bernadette. Better that way. I work as a maid, but I am saving for classes. I’m still much working on my English. I must take Sebastian for watching now or I will be late. It is very good seeing you and Conner.”

“Isabella, is there a way to reach you? A telephone number? I’d like to see you again. Get to know Sebastian. The way Conner is staring, I suspect he would, too.”

Numbers and hugs were exchanged before the maid and would-be student hurried off. 

“That was a nice surprise, huh, Conner? That’s what’s called a happy accident.”

She had barely spoken the words when she remembered others from Wanda:

“Not sure I believe in coincidences, Bernadette—still working on that. Maybe what we call coincidences are really proof that God’s got it all worked out in one glorious plan. Keeping it in motion is how He keeps His angels busy. Or they could just be proof of a divine sense of humor.” Chuckling followed her little pronouncement.

Bernadette had to smile.

“I believe, Wanda, as always, that you’re right on target.”

He didn’t know how to break the news. It was going to be difficult no matter how or when he said it. He had to tell her soon. But when? The opportunity came at the most unexpected time. She had come with an interesting proposal.

“Stephen, she has asked me about you several times and I know she’d enjoy seeing you. They all would. Come and have a meal and stay with us. You could stop by on your way to your folks’ house or on the way back. Conner and I will be there a few days this time.”

“Do you need a ride?” 

“No, but thanks for the offer. I thought the last time we rode with you would cure you for life! Actually, I’ll be driving. I’ve asked Josh to go with me. He doesn’t have family here and Deah and the crew are scattering for Christmas this year. It would be good for him to have a change of scenery. I think I’ve almost got him convinced to go. It isn’t good to be alone during the holidays. Not for any of us.” 

Nodding in agreement, Stephen’s thoughts were of Lilly. They had exchanged a couple of short calls. She had sent him a funny card. He’d definitely enjoy seeing her again. The invitation before him offered the perfect opportunity. 

“You sure there’s room? Would everyone be okay with me just showing up?”

“Absolutely! Like I said, folks are already asking about you.”

“Then why don’t I come by on my trip back? Maybe leave home a little earlier.”

“Great! Let’s call it a plan. You know what Wanda always said, ‘Nothing like a good plan’!” Bernadette was beaming. “Conner will be waking up soon; guess I’d better go check on him.”   

“Bernadette, wait, there’s something I’ve needed to talk with you about.” Stephen hesitated, shifting his feet before continuing. “Some friends have asked me to move in with them at the beginning of the year. I want you to know that both living here and you have been great, but I think it’s time for me to be more involved with medical school…folks going through the same thing…studying a lot of the same stuff. I won’t be so far away that I couldn’t still help you out. I’d hate leaving you in a bind.”

She hadn’t expected his news. The truth? Why would he want to play nursemaid to a single mom and her child when he could play an active part in his other world? Had she believed it would last forever? It shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

“When are you leaving?”

“They, we, all move in the first week of January. And, like I said, it isn’t far from here, so if you needed help……….” Stephen’s sentence trailed off. 

“You’ll definitely be missed; that’s for sure, Stephen, but I understand. I really do. I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little sad. But it does make sense. I appreciate you telling me now.”

What else was there to say? An awkwardness lingered between them until Bernadette smiled. Reaching up, she gave him a quick hug before turning back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder and added, “And don’t worry, Stephen. Things will work out. They always do.”

And they did, differently and sooner than anyone would have expected. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Conner had been fidgety for days. He missed going to the shelter while Bernadette volunteered in their nursery. He loved the interaction with other children. In fact, he thrived on it. Bernadette wanted him to have a friend in his house, playing in his room, sharing his toys. The trouble was that the children from the women’s center weren’t allowed to visit. Despite all of her reading to him, walks to the park, attention from Josh or the café patrons, Connor needed a friend, someone close to his age. And Bernadette had precious little time for painting with her congenial, curious toddler wandering the studio wanting to ‘help’ mommy. She realized she couldn’t be his everything all the time, wasn’t even sure it was healthy. 

She was mulling over a solution when the phone rang.

The soft, much-accented voice on the other end was returning Bernadette’s call to wish her a ‘happy holiday’ and ‘good blessings’. At some point in the conversation with Isabella, Bernadette found herself telling the other young mother about a trailer that would soon be empty and asking if she and Sebastian would be interested in moving into a place of their own. And would she consider a barter? Maybe a little childcare, some household duties, for a tiny, colorful trailer?

“After all, Isabella, it isn’t good for things to go to waste.”

Dear Bernadette,

We’re so excited you and Conner are coming for the holidays and we look forward to meeting Josh. Your parents have mentioned your visit—always a good sign!

I’ve sketched out a map with directions. With all the changes in Lone Grove it’s easy to get lost these days. I’ve also put a red X on Mama’s property. She’s been approached to sell and is considering letting some of the acreage go. We’ll drive out so you can see when you’re here.

Until then, have a safe trip and see you soon.

Lilly

Toys, suitcases, snacks, one woman, one man and a toddler tucked into a Volkswagen Beetle left little room to squirm. Once Josh decided to go, he offered his truck for the trip. Unfortunately, it decided to blow its engine soon after. What could have been a second disastrous trip to Lone Grove turned into an interesting, albeit tight one. Conner seemed content to be near Josh or listen to music on the radio, picking up a multitude of sounds to mimic, an especially rewarding activity for his very appreciative, very captive audience. Other times he slept, flooding the small interior with quiet. This and the closeness of the space created a sense of intimacy.

Josh kissed Conner on his forehead, being careful not to wake him.

“I had a little girl. Her name was Ashley but I called her Dunk. Like Conner she could fall asleep in an instant, almost anywhere. I remember once when the three of us were at a restaurant. It was late and Dunk was tired. She put her head down and fell asleep in her spaghetti. My wife and I picked her up and cleaned the sauce and meatballs from her hair and face and finished our meal at home. I supposed the other diners thought it was disgusting but we had a laugh over it.”

The memory of it made Josh smile.

“Dunk would have been a little older than you are now and like you, Bernadette, she was very talented. Except it was with her voice. It was like crystal, a sweet, clear soprano. Took after her mother that way. Both could sing like angels.”

“What was your wife’s name? What was she like?”

“Her name was Caroline. And she was beautiful. I wondered more than once why she ever looked my way. And she was witty, smart, patient—but the most notable thing about Caroline was her limitless capacity for love. It was the same quality people found in Wanda.”

“She sounds like someone I would have enjoyed knowing, Josh. How did the two of you meet?

“I was a graduate student in the university’s art program, and she was studying interior design. We met at a party. I still remember her dress, how she wore her hair and the scent of her perfume. We both had come with other people but once we started talking we left together and never looked back. I called it a wonderful coincidence. Caroline said it was destiny.”

“Did Caroline become an interior designer?”

“Yes, and a very good one. Her talent kept us afloat during some very lean years when I was trying to establish myself. Every day she’d go into her firm’s fancy office to meet with customers and come home to a one-bedroom apartment in a less-than-desirable part of Houston. She never complained. Caroline had a great deal of faith in my ability. She convinced one of her clients—a man in the oil business—to look at some of my work. We met, he liked what he saw and after he commissioned several pieces for his corporate offices, I was on my way. I have pieces hanging in boardrooms in several countries around the world.”

“Josh, that’s amazing. I know so little about your career. Would you tell me about it?” 

“I eventually had my own large studio in a loft downtown. This was after Caroline and I built a nice home in a better part of town. I was the new golden boy of the art scene. When I wasn’t painting, I served on boards, led classes at the museum, occasionally gave lectures at Rice University, networked across the city with influential folks. Lots of partying, lots of drinking. It was a heady experience. Once Ashley was born, Caroline left the firm and worked out of a studio at home. As she cut back on her work to be more involved in Dunk’s life, I ratcheted up my hours. I justified the time away from them by saying it was for us, our future. She said she didn’t need that much, that she and Dunk would rather have me.”

He paused. Bernadette held her breath.

“I lost it all. In less than an hour. We were at a holiday Open House hosted by a wealthy patron of mine. It was early so the liquor didn’t seem that much. Caroline said we should go. She and Ashley had a surprise for me and she wanted me sober. After stalling them for another hour, she said she and Dunk were leaving and that I could catch a taxi home. She said I shouldn’t be driving anyway. I insisted I wasn’t drunk and that we would leave soon but she took the keys and they left. They were run off the highway by a drunk driver. Ironic, huh?”

The car slowed as Bernadette swiped at her tears.

“Afterwards, everything that had become more important to me than my wife and child meant nothing at all. Lost it all, especially myself. Every day you think if you could go back and change your decision. If you could hold them and tell them how much you love them and how sorry you are. Anyway, once I learned I couldn’t drown myself in alcohol—and believe me, I tried—I dried out and decided to start over. Drove down to Galveston, walked into Wanda’s café and was rescued. That’s why I didn’t think I could dry out a second time without help. My
help
was gone.”

“Oh, Josh, I’m so sorry.”

“I am too, Bernadette. But I know I am doomed to be controlled by my past if I don’t have any concept of my future. Coming up with possibilities for moving forward is much more difficult than anything I ever put on a canvas. I’m working on it.” After another long pause, Josh seemed to collect his emotions. He turned the conversation to the woman beside him. “What about you, Bernadette? Are you working on new possibilities? Do you have future plans?”

Plans? She had been edging out one day at a time after Wanda’s death. Hers were emotion-driven, short-term solutions for long-range situations. Plans? Disintegrated, all of them.

“The last time I thought beyond tomorrow was when I bought the car we are riding in.” The truth was painful.

Josh reached over and touched her shoulder. “Maybe it’s time we revisit who we started out as; think about where we would like to go. Maybe we could urge each other on. Friends serving friends, as Wanda would say. What do you think?”

Bernadette nodded. The tiniest sparkle, a sliver of silver, flashed in her eyes.

Without a wave or thought of consequence, she had sped out of Lone Grove in a topless splash of red in early spring on a bright, sunny day. Now, returning in winter, everything remembered was flushed with grey. She and Josh traveled past new subdivisions and starts of others before reaching the city limits sign. Lilly had sent write-ups about Lone Grove’s itch to stretch further and absorb more, but still the changes were startling. Old markers had been replaced with new promises of things to come in the form of fishing expeditions, bait shops, marinas and homes on the lake. Old and new were hinged together by frail spaces in a delicate compromise. Bernadette was grateful for the map Lilly had enclosed in her last letter. Maneuvering her way through additional traffic lights—around fresh corners and down new streets—she reached the quiet outskirts on the other side of Lone Grove and entered the Donahues’ lane.

There, the car and its inhabitants were engulfed in an eerie sense of uncertainty of what waited at the end.