Chapter Five

I paced in front of the bus stop waiting for Rosabel to arrive. Of course, on the one day I needed the bus to be on time, it was running late. I closed my eyes and shook my head as the crisp October wind pecked at my face.

I should have been at home, readying it for our supper with Luc’s supervising officer, Colonel Bradley Hemlock, but Jessa hadn’t been cooperative when I suggested she pick up Rosy in my stead.

“I have too much homework,” she’d said as she took in my shirt dusted with sprinkles of flour, the splashes of dirty water on my pants, and my hands, red from scrubbing some of the more stubborn buildup on the ceramic tile lining the entrance to our townhouse. “Really you should change your clothes before you pick up Rosabel.”

I jerked windbreakers for Maggy and me out of the closet and slid into a pair of flip-flops, unconcerned about my appearance when I still had a fair amount of cleaning before the house would be fit to entertain the boss.

I looked down at my cell phone. Ten minutes late. What the hell? Visions of crazy drivers swerving at a school bus full of children flooded me, and my blood pressure rose at the thought of something horrific happening to my Rosy. I pulled Maggy closer as an accented voice said the bus had broken down; the children were on their way home.

A few minutes later, Rosy, weighted down by a backpack half her size, followed the other kindergarteners off the bus. She cinched her jacket closed as the wind whipped her blond hair about her face. I pulled her into a hug, brushed my lips across her forehead, took the backpack off her shoulders, and slung it over mine. “How was school today?”

“It was fun, Mommy. We’re learning about animals. We got a field trip to the zoo on Friday.”

“That’s right. Thank you for reminding me. Maggy and I are going to meet you there,” I said, making a mental note to write it down so I wouldn’t forget. “I’m glad you had fun today.”

Back inside the house, we climbed to the second story where Rosy promptly sat at the kitchen island and began her homework. Jessa was curled up reading on the couch in the den adjacent to the kitchen. I read the title and saw a half-dressed man on the cover.

“What are you doing, Jessa?” I asked, fuming that I’d lost half an hour of time while she’d been reading for pleasure.

“I’m reading.” She didn’t make eye contact with me.

“I thought you had homework,” I said. Eyeing a spot of dust that remained atop the entertainment center, I grabbed a rag and wiped the dust away, as I awaited her reply.

“Oh, I do, but I wanted to read first. You’re always harping at me at how important it is to read. And this book is so good.”

“Jessa, I have things that I need to do, and you couldn’t help me out by going to the bus stop?” I shook my head in disgust and resisted the urge to rip the book from her hands.

“You’re home all day. You shouldn’t have trouble getting things done, Aunt Lily.”

“First of all, I don’t move as easily as I did thirty-two weeks ago and I’m still getting sick. Second, your uncle remembered this morning that he’d forgotten to tell me that his boss was coming over for dinner tonight. I had to make a special trip to the grocery store because the meal I’d planned for us tonight was going to be too complicated to attempt with the time constraints of giving this place the deep cleaning that it needs to have company here tonight. And there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to help me out a little bit around here. I’m not your maid.”

"You're not my mom, either." Jessa slammed the novel onto the end table, grabbed her bookbag, and stormed upstairs to the third level of the townhouse. The door to her room right above us slammed and knocked the pictures on the wall askew.

At least she was predictable, though her words stung. Rosabel and Maggy looked up at me in alarm. Not wanting to deal with the probable barrage of comments about how Jessa was being naughty and wouldn’t receive any presents from Santa, I steered Rosy back to her writing practice so I could get back to work.

My lungs constricted and stomach heaved with each spray of household cleaners as I rushed through the house. After an hour of cleaning, the house sparkled and it was time to peel carrots and potatoes to complement the roast that was baking in the oven. As the skins fell into the sink, I ran through my to-do list and sighed with relief that everything was nearly finished. At this rate, a shower was in my forecast.

“Mommy, can I have a drink of milk?” Maggy asked as I placed a water goblet onto the dining room table.

“Can you wait for just a couple of minutes, Sweetie?” I asked.

“I’m really thirsty, Mommy.” She typically would have had a snack by now and I’d forgotten it in the haste of the afternoon.

“Rosy,” I called, “do you think you can pour it without making a mess?” After she answered, I continued, “Okay. You can pour her some milk. Just be careful.”

I’d just placed the final spoon onto the linen placemat when glass shattered and Maggy began to wail. Frightened by its urgency, I ran to the kitchen and slid as I stepped into a puddle of milk on the hardwood floor. I righted myself before I lost my balance, and winced as my back strained from the motion. I then turned my attention to Rosy. She was thumbing a shard of glass, and her eyes widened with the realization that she was bleeding. A drop of her blood dripped into the already pink milk that pooled beneath her.

She dropped the glass into a bag, and I examined the cuts on her fingers. They weren’t nearly as deep as the pinkness of the floor suggested, and thankfully bandages would suffice. When Rosy was cleaned up, I kissed the booboo and told her to change into another outfit as I mopped the kitchen and searched for any stray shard that might imbed itself into an unsuspecting foot.

I pulled the roast and vegetables out of the oven and slid in a tray of rolls, setting the timer for ten minutes. I had just enough time to take a quick shower before our guest would arrive. I waddled up the stairs, and frowned as the doorbell rang before I reached the top of the flight. “Jessa, can you get that?” I asked.

“I’m still doing my work, Aunt Lily.”

I wanted to choke her, but instead I choked back the tears that burned my eyes. The doorbell sounded twice more as I descended the two stories to the front door.

I peered through the eyehole to find a woman on the other side of it. A beautiful woman. Her blue eyes and porcelain-doll skin provided a stunning contrast to the raven hair that cascaded down her back in impossibly lush waves.  She looked like a modern day Snow White, except instead of full princess regalia, she wore a fitted black leather jacket over a red turtleneck sweater that was tucked into jean trousers. A belt wrapped around a waist-size that I hadn’t personally experienced since I was in my teens--and I’d always been thin with the exception of while I was pregnant. As the door swung open, I prayed she was a salesperson so I could turn her away quickly.

“Hi, you must be Lily,” the woman said as she extended her hand to shake mine. “I’m Colonel Bradley-Hemlock, but please call me Abi.” She looked at my frumpy appearance, and it seemed like she was going to say something, but she remained silent.

I grimaced when I realized that Bradley was not a man and that this gorgeous woman spent more time with my husband than I did. I tried to correct the look, but it was too late. It had registered with her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her heels. “Oh, is that short for Abigail?” I asked, hoping to scoot past the awkwardness.

“No, it’s Abelinda,” she answered as the wind whistled around her. Even the wind thought she was beautiful.

A frown crossed my face. “Forgive me for keeping you out here and please come in. Excuse my appearance. We had a mishap in the kitchen and I was on my way upstairs to change when the doorbell rang,” I said as my hand motioned her to come inside. I led her to the second floor in time to pull the rolls out of the oven. "Would you like a drink?" She declined, so I  excused myself to  freshen up after I’d introduced her to the girls.

I hurried up the steps and tore off my clothes the moment I was inside the bedroom, tossing them into the wicker hamper just inside the master bathroom door. I threw an eggplant-colored sweater dress over my head and shimmied into the cute dress that hugged my belly a little too snugly. I looked in the mirror, and cringed as “grape” was the only word that came to mind.

My cell phone sounded to Bad to the Bone. Luc.  “Hi, Sweetie. I wanted to tell you that I’m stuck in traffic. It’ll probably be another five to ten minutes. Colonel Bradley-Hemlock is probably on her way.”

After I told him that she was waiting in the kitchen, we said our good-byes and I washed my face and twisted my hair into a bun. I considered adding some makeup to my face but decided it was pointless. Luc had already seen me without being all dolled up and was still married to me; Abi had just seen me disheveled. There was no need for pretenses. I slipped on sandals and approached Jessa’s room, knocking softly on the door as I entered.

“Our company is here and dinner is ready,” I said curtly as she sat on her daybed doing her homework.

She stood up, tucked her pencil and homework inside the geometry book to mark the page, and bounded out the door, unintentionally bumping my shoulder as she passed by me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes were laced with sadness as she looked at me and continued down the stairs. It was the most civil she’d been to me since she moved in with us four months ago.

In the den, Abi sat on the swivel chair and read to Rosy and Maggy who snuggled against her. On the loveseat, Jessa waited patiently for her to finish the book so she could introduce herself. A twinge of jealousy struck me as I watched Abi with my children. I closed my eyes to shake off the feeling, but it lurked.

Seething, and trying not to let the pregnancy hormones commandeer me, I walked to the stove and allayed my frustrations with each jab of the carving knife into the meat. I placed the beef into the center of a serving tray and surrounded it with the vegetables in a presentation fit for the cover of a food magazine. Luc climbed the stairs and headed to the bedroom to change, while I carried the trays out to the dining room table.

Once the main course had been eaten and cleared from the table, Jessa asked to be excused so she could finish up the last bit of her homework. Rosy and Maggy squirmed in their chairs as the noise and mischief level burgeoned with each passing moment. I readily consented, telling Jessa that we’d be eating dessert in about twenty minutes and encouraging the girls to go downstairs and play quietly.

“The meal was delicious, Lily,” Abi said for what was probably the eighth time. I thanked her again and wished that she’d leave already for probably the hundredth time. “I know you’ve been here for about two months. Have you met many people, Lily?”

“I’ve met a few mothers at the bus stop.” I hadn’t done much more than converse with them while we waited for our children, but several of them I trusted enough to leave my girls in their care should an emergency arise. Or should the baby come early and Jessa show herself.

“That’s good to hear. Sometimes it can be a challenge for the families who don’t live on post to meet others. Have you found a church yet?”

“We haven’t, but we’ve been unpacking and getting to know the area,” I replied, a little unnerved by the direction the conversation was heading.

“I’d love to invite you and your family to come to church with me, if you’d like. We’re a friendly bunch.”

“Where is it?” I asked. We hadn’t attended church regularly for about three years and needed to find one that was welcoming.

“It’s on the corner of Jefferson Davis Boulevard and Potomac Way—the Woodbridge Order of the Father Church.”

Hell, no! I closed my eyes, trying to ESP my thoughts to Luc. From the perplexity on his face, the message was signed, sealed, delivered, and read. “Are you okay, Lily?” he asked.

Okay, maybe the message just flew right by him. No bonus points for him being in touch with his inner woman. Or with his wife. It was time for something pregnancy-related to kick in. “I think I’m okay. I was just really nauseous for a moment, but I think it’s passed.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. It must be quite taxing to deal with morning sickness, especially this far into your pregnancy,” Abi said as she leaned forward in her chair. After she received a nod of agreement from me, she looked at both of us and segued back to her original question. “So would you like to come to church with me? I think it’d be a great fit for you.”

This time, Luc came to my rescue. “Thanks for the offer, Colonel Bradley-Hemlock, but we’re Catholic.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d love to bring you into the fold.” She sat quietly in her chair as I tried hard not to scoff at her words. Bring you into the fold.

The Order of the Father wasn’t the most welcoming of churches. In fact, it frowned on those guests who walked into the church unescorted by a member. The uninvited were the ones who came into the church in dresses, suits, or regular church-wearing clothes. Actual members wore robes in shades of green ranging from mint to hunter. The darker the green robe, the more clout the person carried in the church.

The church locked its doors to no one, but once someone entered the doors, it was only a matter of time before that person became either a convert, one who’d passed the background checks and professed his infinite devotion to the church and its ways. Or a reject, one who had no hope of being accepted into any Order of the Father church. For anyone who sat in the hall, sermons based on tolerance, proselytization, and stewardship filled the church’s walls, but for those brought into the fold, tolerance was nothing more than a façade for something much more sinister. Something that was anything but tolerant.

I needed to change the thoughts in my head before I was consumed by the memories of a car, blown to pieces along with the passengers inside it, metal and bones raining down on anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity. I couldn’t think about the two caskets or my own emerald robe blazing to ashes. No. I’d steer this conversation to a more friendly terrain.

“So, Abi, are you married? Do you have children?” I asked, glancing at the clock. The sands of time seemed clogged in the hourglass as I tried to keep my thoughts at bay.

“No children--and currently I’m in the process of getting a divorce,” she said with a quick look to Luc. “I’m eager for it to be finalized. I’m ready to do away with the toxicity in my life.”

In the last hour that she was with us for the evening, I learned that Abi had grown up in this area and that she’d been back here for about a year. Her husband, a Marine, had left her shortly after he returned from a stint overseas, about four months ago. She took some time off work to deal with the divorce, but her church was there to help her pick up the pieces. She used every opportunity she could to interject positive thoughts about her church and again invited us to attend as we escorted her to her car. Once the silver Audi pulled away, my shoulders relaxed as I pivoted to return to the house. Colonel Bradley-Hemlock was nice enough, but I didn’t like her. At all.

As I gave Luc a kiss goodnight, he asked me if I wanted to accompany him and the girls to the cottage tomorrow. I shook my head. “I’ll pass. I’m sure you’ll all have more fun if you don’t have me slowing you down. I’m going to use this weekend to relax and to purchase some things for the baby.” I gave him a long embrace and retired for the evening.

But sleep eluded me. Thoughts of the robe and the explosion burned in my memory as I tossed and turned to stamp out the inextinguishable fire.