Shelter Me (12 page)

"So," he said, smiling warmly. "Is that a 'yes?'"

I found my voice. "Yes," I managed to say. "Of course."

His face relaxed into a grin, and he laughed a little. "Mari, I'm so happy. I was worried - I mean, I didn't really think you'd say no, but of course I was worried that you might. Let's pray together."

I closed my eyes, and he took both of my hands in his.

"Dear Lord Jesus, thank You so much for this wonderful blessing You've brought into my life. I know that You see Marissa as a precious treasure, just like I do, and it's such an honor to be able to catch even a small glimpse of how You must see all Your children. I know that You've called on me to love her like You love Your church, and I promise to try. I know that since You've called me here, and placed her in my path, this union is blessed by You, and that is the most beautiful thing I can imagine. Thank You, merciful Lord, because I know she will bring me more happiness than I deserve. Amen."

"Now," he said, when I'd opened my eyes again. "Let's eat."

As he took my plate and disappeared into the kitchen, I looked back to the flowers. But the spider was gone.

***

When Mom came to pick me up, I kept my hands shoved into my pockets for the ride home, giving perfunctory answers to all of her questions. But I didn't realize something was different until I got home, and saw that Martha and my dad were sitting in the living room, waiting for me. Martha looked excited, and my dad looked slightly worried.

"So!" Martha burst out, jumping a little in her seat as I walked in the door. "Is there anything you want to tell us about tonight?"

I pulled my hand out of my pocket and just let it hang next to my hip.

Martha squealed, running over to grab my hand and lift it up on display. "Oh my gosh! It's so cute! Mom, look at it!"

"Congratulations, honey." My mom was smiling hesitantly. "Your dad - well, I guess Mark called him first, to make sure it was okay to ask you. So we've sort of been expecting it."

Of course he did.
 

"Well, I had no idea," I said. "It doesn't feel like it's been that long."

"That's what I thought," my dad said. "But, you know, if you feel like you're ready..." There was an unspoken
you're not ready
in his eyes, or maybe I just imagined it.

"Of course she's ready," my mom snapped, waving a dismissive hand in my dad's direction. "Don't be ridiculous, you know how fast these girls of yours grow up."

"They didn't get it from me," Dad muttered, but everyone just ignored him.

"Mari was never boy-crazy like Mary was, though," said Martha, still captivated by the stones. She tilted my hand to catch the light better. "But whatever, eighteen's not young to get married."

"It is in the real world," said my dad. "But, all that matters is that Marissa is happy."

I didn't quite believe him, but I was suddenly struck with a wave of euphoria. In spite of everything, in spite of Mark having to ask my father's permission, this was something that was all mine. This was something that I was doing on my own, as an adult woman, and the rest of my family could only stand by and watch. And that felt wonderful. They couldn't dismiss me as a lost little girl anymore.

"You must be thrilled," said Martha, in a tone of voice that implied I wasn't showing the appropriate amount of glee.

I smiled. "I'm very happy," I said, my voice sounding stronger than it had in a long time. "I can't wait to be Mark's wife."

Martha squealed again, finally letting my hand drop and engulfing me in a hug. Mom hugged me after that, then Dad finally got up from his easy chair and came to pat me on the shoulder, awkwardly. Mom and Martha were already chattering amongst themselves about venues and bakeries, so he said softly, in my ear:

"Honey, I'm really going to miss you."

It was the first time he'd said anything like that to me in...years. Maybe ever. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I wasn't going to give in.

"Well," I said. "I'm not going anywhere yet."

That, at least, was true.

***

The next day, I heard the doorbell ring. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Nobody ever used the doorbell. George jumped off my lap, scurrying under the radiator and poking his head out with wide, terrified eyes.

"It's okay, buddy," I said, getting to my feet and peeking out the window. I couldn't quite see the front porch because of the way the eaves jutted out, but that never stopped me from trying. The driveway, however, told the story - it was Mark's car, a sleek black sedan that I'd recognize anywhere.

Why was he coming over here? And without calling first?
 

"Mari!" my mom called up the stairs. "You have a visitor!"

"I'll come up," I heard Mark say, galloping up the stairs.

As he approached, I quickly smoothed my hair and sat down at my desk, trying to look as composed as possible.

"Hi," he said, as she walked in without knocking.

"Hi," I replied. "I didn't expect to see you."

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by." He was smiling, but there was no warmth behind it. He was obviously in a bad mood, but I couldn't figure out why he would have come here if so.

"Okay," I said. There was no doubt in my mind that my discomfort was obvious, and I was waiting for him to say something that would explain his sudden visit other than "
I was in the neighborhood
." Wasn't he always?

He sat down on the edge of the bed. George crawled out from under the radiator, halfway, staring.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about our life together," Mark said, finally. He was frowning a little. "I could hardly sleep last night."

"I'm sorry," I said, shifting in my chair. I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

"I'm not asking you to apologize, Mari!" he said, looking even more irritated than before. "I just want to share a conversation with you about our future. You have to be able to hear my concerns if we're going to be married."

"All right," I said. I had the insane urge to apologize for apologizing, but I managed to bite my tongue.

"We have to figure out how we're going to live together," he said. "For instance, all this stuff -" he gestured around the room "- is that coming with you?"

"Uh..." I looked at my bookshelves. "It doesn't have to."

"I don't want to tell you what to do," he said. "But you've seen my house, you know what it's like. The kind of lifestyle I have there. I want to accommodate you, but I also want to make sure we don't lose the aesthetic. You know what I mean? I need things to stay organized and attractive. I like to keep a nice home."

"I know," I said. A little bit of defensiveness was creeping into my tone - I couldn't help it. He seemed to be preemptively accusing me of ruining his oh-so-precious space. Sure, I'd assumed I would move my stuff in after we were married. Wasn't that what people usually did? But if he didn't want all my books and mementos, he just had to say something.
 

He sighed, resting his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair. "I'm sorry, Marissa. I know I'm being difficult. It's just - a lot to take in, all at once. You know?"

"I do," I said. It was confusing, although I did understand it. Didn't he say he'd been planning out wedding since the day we met? Well, the fantasy clashing with the reality was probably difficult to handle.
 

"You can bring whatever you need to feel comfortable in your new home," he said, finally, his face relaxing into a smile. "I don't want you to think you can't - I just want things to stay tidy. That's all. Clutter is incredibly stressful, and I'm trying to manage school, and all these church outreaches. I just want us to bring nothing but joy into each other's lives. That's all."

My parents were having a quiet conversation in the kitchen; I could hear the tail ends of words but couldn't quite discern the meaning. At least that meant they weren't eavesdropping, and I knew Martha was out with her friends.

"Okay," I said. I didn't think his desire was particularly realistic, but I wasn't going to pick a fight.
 

"Good," he said. "I'm glad we're on the same page with that, at least."

His eyes drifted down to the radiator, where George was still crouched, staring.

"You're not going to bring that cat, are you?"

I actually, physically bit my tongue.
 

"Well," I said, my voice trembling a little, "I was going to."

Immediately, I felt humiliated. I'd been making a huge assumption all along - that of course, my cat would come with me when I got married - and he'd just shot it down with a single sentence. How could I have been so stupid? I should have asked. I should have...

"Oh, Marissa, no, please. Don't cry." His whole demeanor changed in an instant. He hurried over to me, kneeling down beside my chair and grabbing both of my hands in his. It was only after he'd said something that I realized, yes, my eyes were brimming with tears. I crumpled a little in my seat, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands. This was too much. It was just, it was just all too much to handle.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, please. There's no need to cry. You're making me feel like a monster. I just assumed she was the family cat, I didn't think you'd want to take her away and make her settle in a new house. Especially with her...you know, getting along in years. That's not a very good idea, is it? I mean, you want to do what's best for her, right?"

I sniffled. "Him," I said, my voice muffled slightly through my hands. "His name is George."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "You can probably tell, I'm not - I'm not really a cat person."

"It's okay," I said, although it wasn't. "I just never thought about it before. I never thought about leaving him."

"Of course you didn't, sweetie," he said, his voice as smooth and soothing as a cup of warm tea. "I shouldn't have brought it up right now. We don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

My head was swimming. Maybe he was right, about it being too much stress for a cat Georgie's age. But people moved all the time with their cats, didn't they? It was just up the road. I wouldn't have to put him in a carrier, even.
 

Then again, there was Mark's
nice house
. George was always a good boy, but sometimes he brought up a hairball or his food disagreed with him. And then there was his litter box, and the smell...maybe it was better not to bring him. After everything else we'd talked about today, I'd feel horribly guilty if George ruined Mark's perfect living arrangement.

I wiped my eyes, trying to pull myself together. Mark stood up and shook his head a little, like he was trying to shake off this whole encounter.

"Okay, I think I'd better go," he said. "I've made a mess of this whole conversation, huh?"

"No, no, it's fine," I insisted.
 

"I'll let you calm down," he said. "We can talk more about this later. I'm sorry, Mari, really. I am. I'm not very good at this."

I shook my head in protest, but he was already leaving.

George finally crawled out, sauntering up and winding himself between my legs. I couldn't bring myself to reach down and pet him. He had no idea.
 

Ugh. I had to stop being so melodramatic. I'd come back and visit him all the time; he'd probably never even notice that I was gone.

He purred, so hard that I could feel his chest vibrating against my calf.
 

"Is everything okay, Mari?" My mom was standing in my doorway. I hadn't even noticed her coming up.

"Yeah," I said. "We were just having a talk."

She sighed, looking me up and down. I was sure my eyes were still red and swollen, my nose still running slightly. I sniffed.

"I just..." I took a deep breath. "Do you think it would be okay if George stayed here, after I moved out?"

"Of course, honey." My mom came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is that why you're crying?"

"I guess I never thought about leaving him behind."

"Well, you could take him if you wanted to." She looked vaguely concerned. "I'm sure he'd adjust to a new home just fine."

"I don't really think he'd fit in," I said. "Mark's house is...really nice."

"Well, honey, he loves you. I'm sure he'd learn to love George, too."

"Yeah," I said. "But I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Well, okay, honey." She came over and patted me on the head, gently. "Whatever you want."

If only,
I wanted to say.

If only.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jacob

I expected to be at least a little nervous on my first day of work, but instead, I felt strangely calm walking through the giant sliding doors. I'd been shopping here since I was a kid, despite how my parents protested when they razed the apple orchards and replaced it with the outdoor mall, with Ashefield's as the anchor. It was just too convenient to be able to run in and grab a cheap pair of socks, or a five dollar DVD for the night. As a kid I'd spent most of my time in the bike section, and today I still caught myself wandering in that direction, momentarily forgetting why I was here.

The wall of TVs was blaring behind Mr. Harris, who was standing in the middle of the round counter that filled up the center of the department. He was fiddling with a digital camera when I walked up.

"Hello there," he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Jacob, yes? Did you clock in?"

I nodded, gesturing to the employee ID card slung around my neck. "It said I was too early, but that's okay, right?"

"Well, yes." He smiled. "Being early is good. But generally you want to wait until no more than seven minutes before the beginning of your shift to clock in, otherwise the system ends up reading it as overtime. It's no problem, though, I'll just have you leave a few minutes early."

"Got it. Sorry."

"Please, don't apologize. Better early than late." He walked me over to one of the lower shelves in the lesser-trafficked corner of the department. "I'd like to get you trained on register sooner rather than later, but until then, I'll have you working on some of our regular cleaning and organizing. Most of what we handle is customer service, honestly, but until you can cash out I'll teach you the rest of the stuff."