Masquerade (25 page)

Don eased onto the carpet and crossed his legs Indian-style, still holding the dead kitten.

Except for the rush of a car passing outside, silence settled over the room. Then the furnace cut on. The comforting flow that whooshed from the vent. This was a sound she’d come to rely on.

“It’s not your fault, Celeste. Kittens die,” he said, gaze trained on the tiny body in his hand.

No kidding. People, kittens . . . what next?
Is God going to strip everything I love away from me?

“It’s a shot in the dark trying to play Mama to newborn kittens. They’re very fragile. We can’t fully provide what these babies need. Some things are best left to nature. The survival of the fittest, you know. . .”

Her heart raced as her head jerked toward him, but she held her tongue. How could she begin to explain the pain that another loss provoked in her?

Scrambling to her feet, she charged to the bedroom, yanked open her vanity drawer, and unearthed the velvet box. She lifted the lid and sorted through jewelry until she found a pink ribbon. The cool silk slid between her fingertips.

Back in the living room, she knelt beside Don and tied the ribbon around Kitty Girl’s limp neck, then stroked the white chest. She lifted the body from his hands and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to bury Kitty Girl.”

He coughed. “A garbage bag would work.”

She pivoted on her heel and frowned. No cold, clinical disposal for this little one. There was a small box in the garage that would work perfectly. “I’ll be back.”

“Good.” He pushed to his feet and brushed his hands together. “We have three remaining babies that still require our attention.” After he strode to the kitchen, she heard water running.

Celeste turned and tugged on the front door. Outside, Joe’s bare mums stood like aging sentinels against the cinderblock foundation. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed in the chilly morning air, and hurried to the garage. A white athletic sock resting on a shelf caught her attention. Joe. He was probably going to use the sock to polish something, but never got around to it. Her head dropped—or never had the chance. The sock looked clean, so she carefully slid the tiny body inside, tucked the end under, and laid the bundle on the shelf.

The box. Now where was that thing? She rubbed her arms, searched her memory. Moving to another shelf, she reached behind some paint cans and pulled out an old cigar box which housed an assortment of hardware. She dumped the contents into a bucket and stepped back to Kitty Girl.  After  gently  placing  the  sock  in  the box, she

closed the lid, grabbed the shovel, and strode back to the front yard.

The earth between the mums was still hard from its winter sleep. With each thrust of the shovel, Celeste wept. Tears for Kitty Girl, for Joe, for a baby she never got to hold in her arms.

It’s not your fault.
Don’s words floated on the breeze.

“Yes, yes it is,” she muttered and lowered the casket into the ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lorna stood beside Celeste and sipped her after-school Coke. “So, what happened between you and Doctor Don after Ted and I left Sunday?”

              At the classroom counter, Celeste jotted notes in her lesson planner for the next day and tried to ignore Lorna’s question. Over her years of teaching, she’d both welcomed and dreaded these afternoon interactions. Today fell into the latter category.

“Nothing happened.” As much as she wanted to appear nonchalant, a barrage of emotion swelled within her as she glared at her notes, fingers tightening around her pen. Anger for one—she was ticked off at Lorna for the tactless way she’d dropped bread crumb comments in Don’s presence about Celeste’s availability. She was angry at Don since he’d been less than compassionate about Kitty Girl. She hated him for his lack of feeling. A sudden sadness stole her energy and tears threatened, but she held herself in check.

Lorna swept a strand of hair from her cheek. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

Celeste lowered her pen and faced Lorna. “What about the way you smirked at
me
all evening?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb. I hate it when you do that.” Celeste strode to the other side of the room and began erasing the blackboard. The eraser buckled and fell to the floor, leaving a chalky print on the linoleum. She rubbed her hand, stooped over to pick up the eraser.

“Okay, all right,” Lorna held up her hand, “maybe I was a bit overbearing . . .”

Celeste glowered at the woman, set the eraser on the blackboard tray.

“Okay, maybe a lot, I don’t know. All I know is, I care about you. Don seems like a good guy. He’s single, you’re single. Hey, why not wade into the water? Could be a good match.” She took another sip of Coke, pressed her back against the counter.

She had to admit Don went out of his way to help her over the weekend. Even though Kitty Girl died, he didn’t give up. He helped with another feeding, then made some calls, finally connecting with a vet friend who said he’d take a look at the kittens. Tension thick in the air, Don left her house, kittens in tow, and promised the babies would be cared for. She had yet to hear how it had played out.

Celeste took a step forward. “I’m not ready for another relationship.”

Lorna shrugged. “Ready to entertain thoughts of another relationship?”

She stared past her friend. “I don’t know.” Maybe with someone other than Don. How she wanted to lock up the  past  and  throw  away  the  key.  The one-night stand

with the attractive pre-med student, the guilt that forced her back into faithfulness to Joe—even though she had no idea who he might have hooked up with in Africa. The abortion, the guilt. Always the guilt. Round and round it went.

Carrying a pile of folders, Barbara appeared from the adjacent room. “I got the children’s Polaroid pictures sorted and ready to glue onto the front of their special booklets tomorrow.”

Lorna pushed from the counter. “I’d better get going. Gotta pick up the girls at a friend’s house. See you gals tomorrow.” She waved and lumbered out the door.

“You look as white as the Pillsbury Doughboy. Are you all right?” Barbara set the folders on a table and pulled out a chair.

Celeste pressed her hands to her cheeks and sighed. “Have you ever wished you could rescript your life?” She sat across from her aide, gaze fastened on her thumbs.

“I guess you might say God rescripted my life.” She cocked her head and squinted. “Or maybe a better way to say it is, God always had a script in mind from the very beginning.”

Celeste’s head shot up.

“The script I would have written included Bob and I growing old together, traveling during our retirement years, playing with our grandchildren, continuing to serve the Lord together in new ways.”

Celeste nodded. Her script included Joe and her surrounded with children,  making a lasting home togeth-

er, working side-by-side.

Barbara fiddled with a button on her sweater. “God handed me the script, but it was up to me to act it out under His direction. I could step off the set and go my own way. I could try to rewrite scenes, and believe me, there were times in life when I tried. But I only ended up miserable.” She leaned in, leveled her gaze at Celeste. “When the script included the death of my precious husband, I definitely wanted to take the pen and rewrite that scene. It was a piece of the story I had absolutely no control over. The only thing I could control was my response.”

“Are you telling me God caused your husband’s death?” That old familiar anger bubbled up inside her. If God wrote the script—if He controlled everything—then He must have killed her Joe, too. She’d known that all along. That’s why she railed at the Almighty. But her rage hadn’t changed a thing. It couldn’t bring Joe back. It was just as Barbara said—anger had only made her more miserable.

“No, I don’t believe God caused Bob’s death. Certainly, I don’t pretend to understand all of the Lord’s mysterious ways, but I do believe He’s used my loss, and I do believe in His promise.”

Her ears perked up
.
“Are you talking rainbows again?”

Barbara smiled and lifted her face to the ceiling. “I’m saying that God has promised to take care of me and use me, if I let Him. You know, I don’t think I would have met  you  if Bob  hadn’t died.  I  wouldn’t have met  all the

beautiful children in this school who’ve given me so much more than I’ve given them.” She touched her finger to her upper lip. “You see, the key is relinquishment. Bad stuff’s going to happen in
this life that’s
beyond our control. It’s part of living in this imperfect world. God wants to help us through life.  He wants to give us eternal life, the joy of knowing and loving Him forever. But in order for Him to do that, we have to place our lives in His hands, trusting Him to do what is best for us and for the unfolding of His plan.”

Celeste propped her hand in her chin. “I just don’t know if I can trust Him, or if I even want to. He scares me.”

“When you’re convinced He loves you, you’ll trust Him.” Barbara caught Celeste’s gaze and squeezed her free hand.

Celeste scooped the folders up and tapped them on the table. “By the way, did you know there are seven colors in the rainbow?”

Barbara stretched out her arms and wiggled her fingers. “You know, I don’t think I’d ever counted. But that makes sense.”

“Yes, from a scientific standpoint.”

Barbara shrugged and yawned. “From a biblical standpoint as well. Of course, God created science, so the Bible and science are congruent.”

“Isn’t seven supposed to be the perfect number?” She fished for more of Barbara’s thoughts, since this woman seemed to know a good bit about the Bible.

A smile played on Barbara’s lips; her eyes seemed

to take her some place far away. “God uses the number seven quite a bit in the Scriptures, especially in Genesis and Revelation, the first and last books of the Bible. So, it doesn’t surprise me that He would put seven colors in His rainbow to illustrate how He wants to draw us into His rest. There is a completion to all things, Celeste, and those who place their lives under His care find His rest.”

Maybe someday she’d find His rest, whatever in the world that meant. For now, too many unanswered questions remained.

Barbara scooted away from the table and slapped her legs. “You going home soon?”

“Yeah, but I want to tidy up a few things first.”

“Anything else I can do to help?”

“No, that’s fine. Amelia’s already left for the day. You go on, too. Get some rest.”

The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “Rest, yes, a good word.” She rose and grabbed her purse off the counter. “See you tomorrow.”

Barbara’s shoes squished against the linoleum as she plodded out the door. Celeste listened to her aide exchange cordialities with someone in the cafeteria. Perhaps one of the cooks since the aroma of cornbread hung thick in the air.

She opened a folder and picked up a Polaroid snapshot. Lily stared back at her, four front teeth missing from her smile. Celeste touched the child’s face. Proud of the gap in her teeth, Golden Girl liked to rub her tongue along her gum. If her words had been difficult to understand  before,  they  were  even  more  so  now.  She

drew the picture close to her face. Those gorgeous blue eyes. So piercing. Intense. Like they could see right through her.

Those piercing blue eyes. The picture slipped from her fingers and fell to her lap. Every muscle in her body froze as she gasped for air. No, it couldn’t be possible. Or could it? She yanked the picture from her lap and studied Lily’s face once more. Why hadn’t she seen it before? They looked so much alike. So much so they could be . . .

No, it couldn’t be true. Her head reeled from all the thoughts and questions galloping through her mind. She tucked the picture back inside the folder, scrambled to her feet, and dashed out the door.

Down the hall a light emanated from Sue’s office. Good. The door stood open. Sifting through the file drawer, she lifted a folder with Lily’s name on the top. She licked her finger, frantically made her way through the pages.
Birthdate: July 7, 1976.
The seventh day of the seventh month, and Celeste had been six months pregnant. Lily was now seven, would turn eight in July.

Her breath came in short spurts. She anchored herself against the cabinet to keep her balance as her gaze swept the page.
Parents: None listed. Guardianship: Child Protective Services. Birth place: Kinser General Hospital.