Allyson tucked Beck under one arm and then hurried downstairs determined to get those markers from Bailey before she made a bigger mess. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear as she took each step. Beck bounced on her hip.
“Sean, I don’t know. I’m thinking, baby, that I don’t want to celebrate Mother’s Day ever again.”
He gasped. “Why would you say that?”
She stepped down further and looked around again at the cyclone of her living room and kitchen. The very rooms she’d
just cleaned a few hours ago. Obviously taming this home—these children—was beyond her control.
“You don’t need to celebrate me, because I’m terrible at this. Really terrible.” She paused at the bottom of the stairs, and Beck felt as if he weighed a hundred pounds on her hip. Or maybe it was her heart that weights her down. “In every single way. Do not celebrate me.”
“What? Come on.” Sean seemed impervious to her words. “You are an awesome mom, but kids get messy. Kids are messy.”
From the corner of her eye Allyson spotted movement. Her daughter. The wall. Markers. Not the kid kind of markers.
Then as if realizing she’d been spotted, Bailey raised her hands like a bank robber who’d just been caught. Bailey’s high-pitched voice rang out louder than Sean’s voice on the phone. “I ran out of paper, so . . .”
Allyson’s jaw dropped at yet another picture Bailey had drawn.
“. . . so I did the rest on the wall,” Bailey continued, her tiara cocked to the side.
“On the wall. On the wall?” Sean’s voice rang out through the phone. “What kind of markers is she using? The come-off kind?” Then Allyson could hear him talking to someone in line next to him at the airport. “Do you have kids?” he asked. “Want mine?” But Sean’s voice as coming through as if he was at the end of a long tunnel.
Allyson dropped her hand with her phone to her side. She dropped her chin to her chest, letting her hair fall over her face. Beck tugged on her ear and she let him.
Where can a mom go to wave a white flag? To surrender?
CHAPTER THREE
Allyson released a heavy breath as she parked her van into one of the last parking spaces at church. Clusters of families moved toward the front entrance. Girls in pretty dresses. Boys in coordinating outfits. The children nearly skipped with glee as they frolicked with happy smiles toward the church. And their mothers . . .
Allyson turned her attention to a group of women circled up, talking near the front steps. They were no doubt chatting about their wonderful Mother’s Day breakfasts in bed, minus the egg shells and salmonella.
Sun backlit them, highlighting hair that perfectly framed their faces. Those moms looked rested, happy, and put together. Allyson doubted that any of them had wrangled with a toilet-diving toddler or interrupted a miniature Rembrandt-in-the-making who’d used permanent markers on the wall.
She focused on one woman with long blonde hair in perfect beach waves. The woman laughed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Now that’s a mom. Talk about perfect.
I bet she has a nanny.
What’s wrong with me? Why does everyone have their act together but me?
She didn’t even have her makeup on yet. At least she’d had enough foresight to toss it into her purse before she’d left.
Bailey climbed from her car seat and stood next to Allyson’s seat.
Allyson pulled her mascara out of her purse. “Okay everybody, best behavior. It’s Mother’s Day!” She quickly dabbed her mascara onto her left eye, peering into the rearview mirror.
“Mommy, let me do it.” Bailey said, leaning in close.
“No, baby, we’re running really late today.”
“Let meeeee!” Bailey’s voice screamed out. “Let meeeeeeeeee!”
Allyson sighed. She was sure those other mothers could hear her daughter’s screams.
“Shhh . . .” She handed Bailey the mascara wand. “Just one dab, okay?”
Maybe later she’d laugh about this morning. Maybe she’d be able to decompress with Sondra—Pastor Ray’s wife. Sondra had been the first to welcome them into church six years ago. Allyson knew a good thing when she saw it, and she’d turned to Sondra time and time again. Sondra was her
Catcher in the Rye,
her crutch, Dr. Phil, Oprah, and Gandalf all rolled into one ball of goodness. Sondra’s only perceived flaw was that the woman had no idea what autocorrect on her cell phone was.
Allyson held back a chuckle as she remembered the last text exchange Sondra’s sixteen-year-old daughter Zoe had shared with her. At least it was something to brighten Allyson’s spirits as Bailey dabbed the mascara on her lashes—well, mostly on her lashes:
Zoe / 7:31 AM Mom, I feel sick.
Sondra / 7:31 AM Just take some typhoid.
Zoe / 7:31 AM WHAT?
Sondra / 7:32 AM
And a bowl of chicken noodle poop.
Zoe / 7:32 AM Mom stop!
Ah, technology.
***
Sondra reached into the maintenance closet, without turning on the lights, and pulled the extra set of keys off the hook on the wall. With quickened steps she hurried down the church hallway. If she would have known Ray had bought her a red Mother’s Day corsage she would have worn her red pumps. No matter, she walked with a quickened pace with her clipboard in hand. How a pastor’s wife would survive without one she didn’t know.
Her daughter Zoe, sixteen, bright, and way too adorable for her own good kept pace with her. Sondra had assumed that when Zoe came to be a teenager she’d stop trailing after her. Wrong. She’d walked these halls more times than not with Zoe chasing after her. Zoe used to chase after her and ask if they could eat out after church or maybe go to the park. The questions hadn’t ceased, they’d just changed in nature. If Zoe was anything, she was persistent.
“Mom, slow down!”
“Walk with me, Zoe, just walk and talk.”
Zoe huffed. “Mom, you’re like the fastest person in the world.”
Sondra unlocked the door and rushed into her husband’s office. Piles of books and papers covered every surface. She didn’t know how Ray kept track of anything. How he found anything. Actually, he didn’t. That’s what he needed her for.
She grabbed a solid blue tie from the back of his chair and zeroed in on his sermon notes on the corner of his desk, scooping them up.
“Mom, it’s really, it’s just a dance. And there’s going to be some laser lights and some glow sticks and that’s it.”
Sondra shook her head, turning back to the doorway she’d just entered. “A rave is not a dance. Trust your mother.”
Did Zoe think she was born yesterday? If her daughter only knew. Sondra pushed that thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think of
that
. . . not now. Not here. Sondra tucked the back panel of her white blouse, deeper into her skirt with her free hand and continued on.
“But, Mom, a lot of the kids from church, they’re even going . . .” Zoe looked to her with puppy-dog eyes. That worked when Zoe was five and she wanted a donut, but not now. Not for this.
She waved her hand her daughter’s direction. “Uh-uh, no way.”
Sondra rushed out of Ray’s office and hurried down the hall, toward the back of the sanctuary. She smiled and waved as they passed the Johnson family in the hall—dear, faithful parishioners.
“Com’on, have a heart.” The exasperation in Zoe’s voice was clear, but that was her job, being the voice of reason when her daughter didn’t have any.
She shook her head. “Zoe . . .”
“You always do this. You’re going to murder my social life.” Zoe’s wide eyes and perky nose resembled the three-year-old she once was. Where had the time gone?
Sondra blew out a breath. She didn’t have time for this—this conversation. Her internal clock sensed the minutes were ticking down until her husband was ready to take the pulpit. She quickened her pace. “Well, maybe your social life deserves to die. You know you’re not allowed to date until you’re seventeen. We have a winner.”
Zoe paused beside her, lifting her hands in frustration. “And a loser.” She motioned to her head. “I have ‘preacher’s kid’ stamped on my forehead.”
Sondra hurried into the atrium where Ray was being mic’d up by one of the technical guys. “Ah, there you are.” He smiled. “Did you find my notes?”
“Right here.” She handed Ray the notes. “Now, just one more thing . . .” She ripped off his checkered tie, replacing it with the solid blue.
“Where were they? I looked everywhere—” Then, as if realizing what she was doing, he glanced down at his tie. “And what’s wrong with that tie?”
“The video guys say its strobing, so this is better.” Sondra efficiently knotted it and then stepped back to eye her work. “Okay, looks good.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “And the notes were on your desk. Corner pile.”
“Oh.” Ray returned the smile and winked. He was the most respected man in this church—a fine preacher—but he could still cause her heart to skip a beat with that playful look of his.
Unaware of her father’s flirting, Zoe sauntered up to her daddy with her hands clasped behind her back. Sondra knew what she was up to, and she waited to see this unfold.
“Hey, Dad. You were awesome in the first service.” Zoe batted her eyelashes. “And I was just wondering, uh . . .”
Ray slipped his arms into his suit jacket and shrugged his shoulders so that it slipped on with ease. “Sweetheart, I know what you are doing, but I’ve already talked to your mother and we agree.” He pointed his finger at her and grinned. “Points for trying though.”
“I didn’t even get a fair shot.” Zoe huffed and paced off.
He turned back to Sondra and a look of understanding passed between them. “Love you,” he said.
“Love you,” she whispered back. And she did love him, and loved this life as a pastor’s wife . . . if she only had time to breathe. It was hard holding their little world together.
Sondra paused in the empty hallway, took a breath and composed herself. Putting on her best smile, she then waltzed into the packed lobby.
“Good morning.” She shook Dave Piper’s hand. Then she waltzed passed Bonnie Sue Johnson with a wave. “Somebody has a birthday, right? Nice to see you,” she called to one of the choir members.
She motioned to Zoe to follow her. “Hey, did you get that recipe I sent?” she called to Tiffany, one of the young women in the college group. Tiffany nodded that she had.
“Nice to see you. Thank you for coming,” Sondra called to a new couple that she’d seen for the first time last week. She moved their direction and then paused as another sight greeted her.
A frazzled and disheveled looking Allyson struggled through the door, holding Beck on her hip and dragging Bailey with one hand. Brandon trailed behind, but as soon as they got inside he darted away to play with friends.
Allyson wore shades, even inside. Large dark shades, and Sondra wondered if she’d gotten any sleep. By the way Allyson looked Sean had to be out of town. She’d seen that desperate, frantic Allyson before.
“Ally, hey, oh are you having a tough morning?” Sondra reached up and stroked Allyson’s arms, and she brushed a few strands of red curls out of her friend’s face.
“Sondra,” Allyson’s words released with a groan, “tell me it’s going to be okay.” The young mom was throwing out a lifeline. Sondra knew all Ally wanted was a glimmer of hope. But just like she had to disappoint Zoe earlier Sondra knew that she didn’t have the answer that Allyson wanted to hear.
“It’s all going to be okay. Just give it five years—seven or five,” she muttered.
Allyson’s shoulders slumped. “Years?”
“Do you want me to help you with the kids?”
“Brandon!” Allyson’s voice split the air, and numerous heads turn their direction. Sondra followed Allyson’s gaze to see the small boy racing around old Mr. McGregor who was trying to maneuver his walker. She bit her knuckle, and then breathed out a sigh of relief when Brandon darted away.
“Brandon, what are you doing?” Allyson called out, exasperated.
Beside Sondra, Zoe snickered, and Sondra wanted to ask her daughter, “Do you still want to date, sweetheart? Want to rush into marriage and motherhood and all that?”
Instead, Sondra took a step closer to Allyson. “Need some help?”
Sondra remembered what it was like trying to get to church with a happy Zoe, a dressed Zoe, a matching-shoes-on-two-feet Zoe . . . and she only had one child to wrangle.
Allyson squared her shoulders. “Help? No, I’ve come this far, Sondra. I’m going to finish this.”
She motioned her little tribe of people forward, toward the children’s wing. “Let’s go, let’s go. This way. Walk around everybody. Don’t walk into them, walk around them!” Allyson sighed. Giggles erupted from the children and the small tribe moved forward, sort of, in a cluster of unproductive movement.
Before Sondra had a chance to offer her help for a second time Mattie Mae Lloyd approached, waltzing up as if she was coming to ask Sondra to dance. “Good morning, y’all. How is everyone?”
Sondra’s lips lifted in a grin. “Great, Miss Mattie. Just wonderful today.”
Mattie Mae’s floral dress of pinks and greens was as bright as her garden. Pearls graced her neck, and her lipstick matched her pink sweater. Sondra also knew the large, yellow purse hanging from Mattie Mae’s shoulder carried her large-print, burgundy, leather-covered Bible. Mattie never went anywhere without her Bible.
“Oh, Sondra, you are such an inspiration to me,” Mattie Mae cooed.
Then she reached over and grasped Zoe’s arm. “And sweetie, you are so bless-ed to have her as your mother.”
Zoe nodded, as if agreeing and then Mattie Mae glided over to the nearest couple.
Zoe clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m just so
blessed
.”
“Um-hum.” Sondra offered yet another smile. Yet if the church ladies only knew . . . nah, she shook her head. They’d never find out.
***
Beck fussed as he clung to Allyson’s side. She struggled down the hall, trying to keep up with Bailey and Brandon who raced ahead. The burdens weighing on her shoulders felt slightly lighter after seeing Sondra’s smile. Everyone saw Pastor Ray’s family as the perfect example, but Allyson had been around the mother and daughter enough to know no family was perfect, and knowing that gave her hope in the strangest way.