“No me!” the youngster
said, shaking her head. “I no pinch her.” Her blond curls bobbed back and forth
with her denial. Dinah, the little girl next to her, erupted into a fit of
tears. Soon two or three of the others joined in, probably as much out of
sympathy as anything else.
“Is she always like
this?” Shauna whispered to Ellen.
“No, not really.
Sometimes she’s worse.”
Shauna rubbed her
aching brow and prayed the day would come to a quick end. She headed over to
the table, trying to calm the children down. “Let’s all sing a song.” With
animated cheer in her voice she broke into, “This is the way we eat our lunch,
eat our lunch, eat our lunch.” By the time she got to, “This is the way we
drink our juice,” they all wore smiles again. She finished the song abruptly,
praying they would finish their meals in peace.
Eventually, they all turned their attentions back to their
food, which gave Shauna a moment to think. She glanced over the group, her gaze
finally coming to rest on a chubby little boy.
“Does Bobby Radisson
eat all of the time?” Shauna whispered her question, pointing to the rotund
toddler who pushed food into his mouth with a vengeance.
“Uh-huh,” Ellen
mumbled with a nod. “Ever since I started working in the lunchroom, anyway. And
it’s not just the usual foods. His mother insists on sending him special snacks
every day, which the other kids always want. She won’t take no for an answer,
and neither will he. He has to have them or he cries.”
“You’re kidding.” Out
of the corner of her eye, Shauna watched him swallow down his entire meal in
less time than most took to say the blessing.
“Nope. I guess on some
level the food pacifies him. I’m not sure where the real problem lies, though.
Must be something deep down driving the hunger, but I’m not a professional,
just a cafeteria worker.”
“More, Miss Shauna!”
the youngster cried out, as if echoing their thoughts. “I hungry.”
She moved in his
direction. “But you just finished your lunch,” she argued, as she pulled out a
paper towel to wipe his sticky hands. “You have to wait until snack time to
have more.”
He immediately burst
into tears, and wailing soon followed.
“Good grief.” Shauna
looked up at Ellen. “Now what do I do?”
Ellen shrugged and
went back to work. Shauna did her best to console the unhappy little boy, but
his tears continued on well into the children’s nap time, which came right
after lunch. In fact, he cried himself to sleep.
Curled up on their mats, the children all eventually dozed
off—except Charity, who sang aloud, “Jesus
wubs
me, dis I know,” approximately eight hundred times in a row. Shauna tried to
shush her, but the child would not be silenced. Finally, after forty-five
minutes of trying to get her to sleep, the weary teacher gave up.
“Let her sing,” she
mumbled. “Maybe it will wear her out.”
It didn’t. When the others awoke, Charity was still going
strong.
The rest of the afternoon crawled by. Shauna faced one
catastrophe after another. Whenever her back was turned, Charity would do
something to one of the other children.
“Charity hit me, teacher!”
“Cherry
bite
me, Miss Shauna!”
“Charity throw blocks, teacher!”
“Cherry, no push! No push!”
“Charity pull hair, teacher.”
All afternoon, it continued on. Time and time again, Shauna
tried to reason with the little girl, tried to control her without putting her
in the time-out corner. But every attempt only led to more anger on the part of
the frustrated youngster.
The little darling threw temper tantrums, held her breath,
and screamed each and every time something didn’t go her way. “I tell my
daddy!”
Shauna wasn’t sure how many times she heard those words
through the course of the
day.
. .or how many more
times she could take hearing them again.
Four o’clock arrived.
Time to serve snacks. No sooner were the crackers and juice handed out than
Charity began to whine, “Red juice,
teacher
! Red
juice.”
“No, Charity. We’re
drinking apple juice today.”
“Red juice!”
They bantered back and
forth until Shauna thought she would lose her mind. Finally, she snatched up
the cup of juice. “No juice for Charity.”
The child burst into
tears. “Apple juice, teacher! Apple juice.”
Defeated, Shauna
placed the cup on the table, where the child willingly took it and began to
drink.
Shortly thereafter,
Charity began to dance around the room, knocking into toys and tables. “I
dance, teacher!” she shouted.
“I see that.” Shauna
shook her head. “But be careful, honey.”
Charity continued to
twirl until she spun into Marisa, who burst into tears. Shauna did her best to
bring a sense of calm to the room, but her shattered nerves made the task
difficult.
Lord, help me make it to the
end of this day. Please, Father.
At five, many of the
parents began to arrive to pick up their children. Lovely Abigail with the long
red hair went first, followed by Clay Peterson, the class clown.
Soft-spoken Dinah was next. She embraced Shauna tightly. “My
teacher, Mama!” she bragged, as the lovely woman scooped her into her arms.
Joey and Jonathan, the Cameron twins, followed Dinah. Their
father traipsed out with one wrapped around his waist, another on his
shoulders. Shauna couldn’t help but smile.
Mrs. Tarantino came to pick up Marisa, a darling girl who
always seemed to have her fingers in her mouth.
She was closely followed by Mr.
Chesterfield, a balding man
.
Shauna had already heard the scuttlebutt about the Chesterfields. Apparently
their daughter McKinsey had been a surprise package, delivered when the couple
hit their mid- to late-forties. “Bye, Miss Teacher!” she said as she left.
Shauna beamed from ear-to-ear. Why couldn’t they all be like
that? She glanced across the near-empty room at Charity, who sat in the far
corner, playing with a puzzle. Where were her parents? Why weren’t they here
yet?
Danny left, followed by Elizabeth, the little one who never
talked. That left only three—Bobby, April, and Charity.
“You can go now,
Shauna,” Mrs. Fritz said, entering the room. “These children are usually not
picked up until after six, and I always stay with them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“To be honest, I’d
really like to have a few words with Charity’s parents,” Shauna explained.
“Well, stay if you’d
like, but there’s something you should know,” Mrs.
Fritz
said, opening her arms wide. Charity ran into her arms, resting her head on the
older woman’s shoulder.
“How did you do that?”
Shauna asked, amazed.
“Do what?”
“How did you—Oh,
never mind.
”
She stopped herself before saying too
much. After all, she didn’t want her lack of experience to show. “You said
there was something I should know?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Fritz
said, running her fingers through Charity’s curls. “This little one doesn’t
have a m-o-t-h-e-r.”
“She doesn’t?” That
explained so much, but it also raised a host of questions.
“No. So if you need to
be speaking to anyone about her, it would be the father or the grandmother. One
or the other picks her up—usually the grandmother, Mrs. Dougherty. She
runs a bookshop not far from here and is usually one of the last ones to get
here each evening.”
Shauna
stifled a yawn. “Maybe I’ll connect with them tomorrow. I really need to get
home now.”
“I’ll see you in the
morning, honey,” the older woman gave her a gentle pat on the back. “You look
like you could stand a long, hot bubble bath and a good book.”
“I wish I had that
kind of energy,” Shauna said with a yawn. More likely, she would hit the bed as
soon as she arrived home.
She made her way out to the parking lot, where she climbed
into her car for the short drive up I-45. As soon as the key turned in the
ignition, unexpected tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I don’t know anything about children,” she spoke to the
empty car. “I’m a total and complete failure.” She pulled the car out of the
parking lot, hoping none of the parents had seen her outburst. No one must know
how wholly inadequate she felt.
***
“Pastor, I hope
you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to talk to someone.”
Kent looked up at the young woman in the snug green dress
and slick cherry-red nail polish.
Oh no.
Not Vicky Ebert. Not again.
Mascara cascaded down her flushed cheeks as her words
tumbled out with great passion. “I just don’t know where else to turn. But I
knew I could count on you. Who else can a girl turn to if not her pastor?” She
snatched a tissue from her small black handbag and wiped madly.
“Come on in.” He glanced at his watch. Five forty-five. He
needed to get home. He really needed to spend a little time with his daughter
before diving into next week’s sermon, and
yet.
.
.here stood a wounded parishioner who obviously needed his help. How could he
say no to those tears? “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the large chair
directly across from him. “Please.” He left the door ajar, a move he had
learned early on when counseling someone of the opposite sex.
“Thank you, Pastor.” She took a seat. “I didn’t know who
else to talk to. I’m just so distraught.”
“I can see that. What’s happened?”
“Well, you know Josh, right? My ex?” She dabbed at her eyes
with the tissue, leaving thick black lines underneath.
“Of course.” Kent remembered him well. Josh had struggled
with an alcohol problem for the past two years. But he wasn’t exactly her “ex.”
In fact—and Kent knew this firsthand from counseling with Josh—she
hadn’t even filed for divorce yet.
“He wants me back,” Vicky said. “But I don’t know what to
do. The boys need a father, but not that kind of a father.”
That’s so odd.
I thought he was doing better.
“Is
he still drinking?”
“He says he’s not, but I know he is,” she stammered. “I just
don’t know what to do. I tried to tell him we’re not supposed to be together,
but he just goes crazy on me.”
“What do you mean ‘goes crazy’?” Kent asked. “Does he hurt
you?”
“Oh no.” She blew her nose. “He never hits me.”
“The boys? Does he hurt the boys?”
“Not physically.” She sighed. “It’s not like that. It’s just
that he gets so loud and demanding. And I don’t love him anymore.” She
dissolved into a puddle of tears. Kent glanced down at his watch once again.
Five forty-seven. “That’s a horrible thing to confess, but I feel better now
that I’ve said it. How could I love a monster like that?”
“I don’t know, Vicky.” Kent’s heart began to twist inside
him. He ached for Vicky’s two little boys. Josh
Junior,
was just four, and Kevin was barely two. They needed a father, but would a
loving God really send back the man who had treated Vicky so bad in the past?
According to Vicky’s description, Josh Ebert seemed to be a hopeless case. Was
there no answer to this problem?
“I was so sure he had made steps in the right direction.”
Kent shook his head, unable to think of anything else to say. “I’m sorry you
and the boys are going through this.”
“I knew you
would be.” She looked up at him with sad eyes. “What I need in my life is a
good man.” Her eyes brightened with the idea. “A godly man who will love me and
love my little boys like his own.”
For a brief second, Kent nodded in sympathy, until he
realized her bright blue eyes had locked firmly into his. There was something
in her expression that he could not ignore. “Uh, Vicky,” he stammered as he
stood to his feet, “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ve got to get home
to my daughter and
you.
. .”
“And I,” she reached out to take his hand, “can’t thank you
enough for being the most awesome pastor a girl could ever have.” As she stood,
she gave his hand a squeeze. “We are a blessed church. And I feel so much
better after talking to you. I knew I would.”
“Thank you.” Kent pulled his hand away quickly, trying not
to hurt her feelings.
“You’re always here when I need you. I can’t say that about
just everyone, you know.”
“I have a wonderful idea.” He reached into his desk drawer.
“I have a friend from college—a woman—who is a licensed family
therapist. I’m sure she would love to see you. I’ll even give her a call if you
like.”
“But I want to talk to you,” Vicky said with a pout. “Not
some woman I don’t even know. How can she possibly help me? She doesn’t even
know Josh and the boys, and she certainly wouldn’t understand my needs. You’ve
known me for years, going all the way back to tenth-grade geometry class.” She
gave him a sad puppy-dog face.