The Weight of Love (7 page)

12

ELDER WORTHEN

STILL CHRISTMAS DAY

“Now?” I ask.

“Y
eah.” Sister Allen laughs. “While we’re all here.”

“She does a good job, man.” Elder
Smitts chuckles at me. “Don’t worry about your precious hair.” He reaches an arm out to swipe it, but I dodge easily.

I point at him. “Don’t touch the hair man.”
How can you be almost twenty-one and this ridiculous?

Jaycee laughs. “Are you afraid of what I’ll do to you?”
She snips her scissors between us with a look of pure dare on her face.

I don’t even know how to answer that because right now I feel like it applies on a million different levels.
“You can do him first.”

“You’re afraid,” she challenges.

“Do him first.” I cross my arms and smile. I’m actually not afraid of her cutting my hair. I’m afraid of my reaction, and how it will
feel
to have her cut my hair. I’m still trying to get over my desire to wrap my arms around her at that lost look in Sister Allen’s kitchen.

My companion’s hair is short. It only takes Jaycee
minutes. She’s good.

“Thank you.” He stands up and Sister Allen takes the towel off his shoulders and walks with it outside. He runs his hands over his head. “Feels good.”

“Good.” Her face catches mine. “You’re next. Unless you’re still scared of me.”

I need to find a hymn or
something. Something nice. Something calming. I sit on the stool.

“Loosen your tie a bit.” She’s
holding a towel, waiting for me to comply. I do as told, knowing that next she’ll be tucking the towel in my shirt to make sure she doesn’t get hair on me.

This is what it’s like to be tempted.
To be tempted to the point of insanity.

I can feel her warmth as she moves around me,
her fingers brushing my skin as she tucks in the towel.

“I love your hair, and
I’m honestly a little intimidated.” She smirks, but our eyes catch just the same.

It’s hard that I can’t ask her how she feels. What she’s thinking.
She lightened up so much from earlier and it makes me want to know what changed for her.

“I trust you,” I say before she has a chance to look away.

“Okay, well I promise not to take too much off.”

She walk
s around behind me, her fingers running through my hair.

“Take it all off!” Bishop Allen chuckles as he walks in from the living room.

“Don’t worry,” she says quietly. “I’d never take all this hair off. It would be a waste.”

Her hands run over my head
spreading a warmth through me that has very little to do with anything gospel related and more relating to how I’d like to touch her. Okay. That’s it. I start thinking hymns. HAVE to start thinking hymns. What do I start with…?
I Am A Child of God.
That’s good. Primary song for kids. I go through the first verse in my head.

I close my eyes as her fingers slide across my
scalp and her scissors snip in an easy rhythm.

Okay, doesn’t matter who it is. Second verse… but I can’t remember
the second verse because her warmth brushes against me again.

“You’re tall.” She laughs.

“Yes.” I let my eyes open, but I picked a bad time because she’s in front of me and as she leans forward her legs lean against my knees and I have to find another hymn right now. Now.

I have that tight chest and shallow breathing I have when a hot girl is in the room, and this is not the time or place for that.
I’ll Go Where You Want Me To Go.
Yep, this is good. A good missionary song. I run through the words in my head. Better. Keep my eyes closed, and now I can try to convince myself that some guy has their hands on my head. But it’s hard when her fingers are so small, and move so swiftly, and she smells so good.

Both her hands are on my hair and she shakes it out,
running her hands over my head a few more times. Maybe I can just enjoy this one stupid, simple thing.

“You totally don’t trust me.” Her mocking tone is still there. “You’re all tensed up.”
She grabs my shoulders with her hands in tease, but all I feel is her small strong hands on my shoulders.

“Sorry.” And once again I open my eyes at a bad time. She’s leaning forward, our faces much too close.

At any other time in my life, I’d carefully take her hands, or her wrists. I’d lean toward her and pull her gently toward me, maybe onto my lap. I’d touch her face, her hair, and then I’d kiss her, I’d…

O
kay
. This has to
stop
.

One thing’s for sure, I will need to spend some extra time on my knees tonight
, and I’m
never
asking her to cut my hair again. It’s too much.

13

JAYCEE

“I’m
baack!” Kyla whispers from the doorway.

“Come on in.” I step forward and grab her in a hug. Her trip to Utah wasn’t long, but we’re not separated often.

“Bridger must be asleep?” She slides off her boots and follows me in from the entry.

“It’s after nine.” I nod.

“Right.” We sit on the couch. “I can’t wait ‘til we’re all there, Jaycee. You’re going to
love
it.” Her smile is exuberant and borderline ridiculous. But I love that Kyla’s not afraid to show me how excited she is.

“Yeah, maybe.” The idea still worries me and freaks me out more than I’d like to admit.
Leaving Matt’s family. His house. Our memories here. My childhood here.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out.” Her eyes are pleading,
her smile falls, and she leans toward me.

“I’m not… I mean, I…
” But I’m not sure how to finish. I exhale and sit back.

“Is Matt what has you so afraid to go?”
Her voice is quiet, like it always is when she asks about him.

“Yes. No. I don
’t know.” It’s all a mess. He’s gone. He shouldn’t be keeping me anywhere, right?

Kyla stares at me in silence. It feels like hours, but is maybe a minute. “You know I loved Matt, right? That I thought you two were good together.”

I nod. I can guess where she’s going.

“He had opportunities to take you to the temple.”
For the kind of marriage that every LDS couple should want. I get it.

I know this.
“Kyla. I wasn’t a member long enough when we were first married.”

“I know.”

“And he only had one minor hiccup when he came home from Afghanistan.” Drinking was Matt’s downfall. He wasn’t a drunk, but he’d started to need a beer or two in the evenings, or when he felt stressed. We couldn’t go until he stopped.

“And
he was home for a year.” Kyla’s trying to use her best diplomatic voice.

“He wanted it
, Kyla. Bad. We were going to go as soon as he came back.” He just didn’t make it back. How can I take that goal away from him?

She takes a deep breath in. “Jaycee, that’s what he sa
id when he went the first time…”

“Stop.” I shake my head. “It was hard coming home. Hard. You and I can’t imagine what it was like for him out there.
” Matt didn’t even drink to get drunk, it was just his friends. It was difficult for him being under the stress he was. And it was such a short time.

“And it would have been a lot easier if his hear
t was where it should have been.” Kyla’s immovable on this.

“That’s not fair
. We’re talking a few short months after a war zone! He had it together by the time he left again.” My pulse quickens and my jaw aches from how tight my teeth are clenched together. I’m half furious at Kyla and half angry because she’s right. It was just bad timing all the way around. Instead of screaming, I cry. Again. My jaw relaxes, one of the benefits of tears of frustration and despair instead of anger.

“Oh, Jaycee…
I’m not saying he didn’t deserve you, or that you two wouldn’t have made it. But did you ever think that maybe you weren’t able to make it there for a reason?”

“What on earth could be the reason Kyla?” Now my voice has the volume I was after when I was angry. “Why? Why would I see him and want him the way I did, right from the beginning, if we weren’t supposed to have it all?
Because it all happened so fast? Why? Why would I have felt so good about marrying him if we weren’t supposed to be?”

“I don’t know,” Kyla whispers. “I don’t know, Jaycee. But if that
’s how you really feel, way down deep, why haven’t you made it happen?”

I slump low in my couch in defeat. “I don’t know,” I whisper, only it almost sounds like a pathetic whimper.

“Maybe… Maybe you were the perfect woman to be with him for his short time in this life. The perfect mom for Bridger. Maybe Heavenly Father has someone else for him? Maybe He has someone else for you? Maybe it doesn’t work like this at all and we’re both reading too much into everything. You’re only twenty-four, sis.”

“But I fe
el like a really old twenty-four.” I chuckle as I wipe tears away.

“
You
are
an old twenty-four. You’ve lived more life than most people in their fifties.” She laughs and pulls me into a hug.

“Thanks.”

“I want you to come with us, but I also want you to feel good about coming.” Her arms tighten further.

“I’m working on it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

14

ELDER
WORTHEN

I’m trying not to notice Jaycee in the corner of the gym at the church. Both Christmas Day and my haircut are still on my mind more than they should be. She’s talking with her new helper—a woman new to our area. Her son is running with the youth. He’s so much like Gage it’s unbelievable. It makes me wonder if he’s been as hard to categorize as Gage was.

Bridger doesn’t really look at anyone and I see his mind picking out patterns on the wood floor, seeing things other
s don’t see. Life with him must be difficult. By the time our dad left, Mom had a good understanding of Gage’s needs. Mom also had a teaching degree and alimony. Both are things Jaycee is doing without.

I want to help
, but feel like my hands are tied. Most of the time, being a missionary feels freeing. There are so many things I don’t have to worry about—what to wear, what to watch, what to listen to. Our whole job is to listen to The Spirit, help, serve, and teach. And normally, that feels like enough.

Right now it
should
feel like enough. It should feel like everything. With Jaycee, it isn’t even a portion of what I want to do for her.

My eyes rest on her talking against the wall for a moment.
I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance.

- -
-

“Man, we’re running late.”
Elder Smitts’ foot steps on the gas a little harder.

I flip through our calendar for the week to see if there’s anyone we need to seek out at church today.

“That’s odd,
” he says.

“What?”
I look up.

“Sister Layton’s always early and her car’s still in her driveway.”
The car slows.

“You
wanna…” I’m not sure that it should be my idea for us to stop, not with the way I’m desperately trying not to think about her.

“Stop?”
he asks. The car slows to a crawl. “Yeah, I think we should.”

“So, stop.”
I stare at her tiny house.

“Yeah.”
He pulls in. “Stop.”

I’m going to feel like a real jerk if she’s inside, sick
, and trying to sleep. I follow Elder Smitts to the door. He knocks.

“Come in!”
she hollers.

We step in to her small, dark entry.
Her church stuff is by the door in a neat pile and Bridger is on a pile of Legos in the middle of the living room floor crying.

“I don’t get it.”
She looks up at us. “I packed him Legos… I mentioned something about not bringing anything, after that talk last week about distraction in sacrament meeting and he lost it…” Her face is filled with a mix of frustration and sadness.

“Jaycee.”
I don’t wait for Elder Smitts to say or do anything. I already know where he stands with Bridger. “You have a kid with different needs than other kids. Don’t feel bad about bringing what you want so he can get through what has to be over an hour of torturous boredom.”

She nods
, but doesn’t look at me. Her shoulders slump in defeat and a frown pulls down on her mouth.

I hate seeing her like this
.

“I even packed them in a Ziploc so he could see them.
” She holds it up for me.

Bridger makes a yell at her comment.

I sit next to him with the Ziploc and dump them all out. “Remember me, Bridger?”

“Worthen,” he mumbles.

“Good job.” I open the top of the bag. “I think your mom accidentally packed the wrong colors, but I don’t think she meant to.”

“Yeah.”
He sniffs his nose a couple times. The crying seems to be over.

“She didn’t mean to,” I explain
again.

“Okay.”
His eyes go up as far as my face and then back down again.

“You
wanna put in the right colors so I can see what you’re going to build at church?” I hold the open bag a little closer to him.

He
stares at the Legos underneath him as if deciding. He picks up one and slowly drops it in. Once the first one is in the bag, he quickly and carefully starts to put in yellow, blue and white. I don’t touch any of the Legos, just let him sort and work.

“That looks pretty good to me. W
hat do you think?” I lean my face down, inviting him to look at me if he wants to.

“Yep.”
The corners of his mouth pull up a little.

“Will you show me what you make when you’re done?”

“Yep.”

“Ready then?”
I stand.

“Ready.”
He clutches his bag and heads out the front door.

“How
…” Jaycee’s eyes are wide on mine and I stop breathing for a moment as I enjoy the way she’s looking at me.

“My little brother’s just like him.”
I’m
so
glad we stopped. “Just.”

“
Asperger’s? Autism?”

“Probably a combination of both.
Mom stopped continuing testing after we learned what worked with him. The diagnosis isn’t nearly as important as finding things that work—at least that’s how she feels.” I hope some of this is sinking in for her. I remember it being a big deal for Mom when she decided that she cared more about what to
do
with Gage than what to
call
him.

Her lips press together, she’s almost frowning.
It’s the face that means she’s probably trying really hard not to cry.

“Don’t worry about him, Jaycee.
My little brother’s in college now and doing really well. Bridger will be fine.” My hand comes up to rub her back, but I stop it, letting it drop back to my side.

She blinks and a few tears spill down her cheeks. I have to force myself from pulling her into my arms, or at the very least, wiping her tears away.

Elder
Smitts is still standing still in the entry.

“Thank you.”
She starts toward the door.

“No problem.”
I try to do my best relaxed, missionary smile. What I want to do is take her face in my hands, and carefully kiss her tears away. I’m in so much trouble. Probably I should ask for a transfer to somewhere new now. Before I do something stupid.