For Better or Worse (14 page)

Kelly placed her hands on her hips. “You want to take Zoey to buy clothes—maternity clothes?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm and confusion.

“Well, of course I don’t want to take her. I just think she needs—I don’t know. She’s still clinging to you a lot, and every time I pray, she remains heavy on my heart. I just think maybe I should … let her know I’ll help her and the baby in any way I can.”

Kelly stared at him for a moment, then tears welled in her eyes.
Oh boy, here come the waterworks again
. She wrapped her arms around Harold’s neck. “I think that’s a great idea. You’re the best man”—she pressed her lips to his in a quick motion—“in the whole world.”

Harold laughed and kissed her back. “Okay. Guess I need to tell Zoey.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Kelly zipped out of the room. He could hear her and Zoey talking. Zoey didn’t sound as excited, but he heard her consent to go. He put on his shoes and grabbed a quick breakfast. To his surprise, Zoey was ready to go.

“Where are we going?” Zoey asked as she buckled her seat belt.

“To the Concord Mall. Does that sound okay?”

Zoey nodded and looked out the windshield. The drive was a quiet one, and Harold was thankful when they finally made it to their destination. Silently, they walked into the mall. She looked up at him. “Where should we go?”

“You lead the way. I’m just here to pay for what you need.” He laughed, trying to lighten the tension. She stared at him, but her expression wasn’t hard as it once had been. Instead, it was a mixture of sadness and age. Zoey had changed so much since the pregnancy. She no longer argued. She helped out around the house without being asked. She’d allowed her hair to go back to her natural, auburn shade. But she still clung to her sadness.
Please, God, draw her back to Yourself
.

Harold followed Zoey to several stores. At the first one she picked up a few items without trying them on. The new clothes seemed to lighten her step a bit, and at the next store she asked if he minded if she tried on a few of the shirts before they bought them. Harold walked dutifully through each store, trying not to compare shopping to eating a metal pipe. He pulled out his debit card when it was needed then moved along behind Zoey.

“What do you think of this shirt?”

Harold hoped he masked the shock on his face when Zoey asked his opinion. He knew with each hour she loosened up a bit, making small comments, saying thank you at appropriate times. Now she was asking what he thought. He knew he’d never take the place of her father, but he wanted to make his own place in her life.
God, maybe I am making some progress with Zoey
. “It looks great. You should get two.”

Zoey giggled, and for the first time in a long time, the smile reached her eyes. “I only need one.” She placed her hand on her stomach. “I’m starving. Can we go eat after this?”

“Definitely.” Harold looked at his watch. He thought he was going to have to eat his fist. Shopping was exhausting, and he’d worked off his measly bowl of cereal two hours ago.

He bought the items she’d selected, and they headed toward the food court. After ordering, picking up their food, and finding a table, Harold sat across from Zoey and nodded. “Wanna pray?”

“You can.”

Harold bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this day with Zoey. I’ve had a good time with her. Let this food nourish her and the baby. Amen.”

Harold glanced up and noticed Zoey studied her food.

“Thanks for taking me today, Harold,” she mumbled without looking up.

“Not a problem.” He motioned toward the food. “Now, feed that baby.”

Zoey chuckled, picked up a fry, and stuck it in her mouth. “You know, Mom really loves you.”

Harold took a slow bite of his sandwich. He hadn’t expected Zoey to open up to him; he’d just wanted to let her know he was there for her. “I love your mom, too.”

“She loved my dad, as well.”

Harold swallowed slowly then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I know she did. I think your dad must have been a really special guy.”

“He was.”

Zoey grew quiet as she took several bites of her sandwich. Harold tried not to watch as she chewed and took sips of her soft drink. He could tell in his spirit she had more to say. He wanted to encourage her, but no words would come to him. He wasn’t good with words anyway. He’d always been more of a listener, and his experience with women was minimal at best. Though dating and marrying Kelly had changed that quite a bit.

“I’ve been so mad at God.” Zoey’s words were soft, and she still hadn’t looked up from her tray. “I said really ugly things to Him when Daddy died. I told Him I hated Him.”

Zoey looked up then, peering into Harold’s eyes. Harold gripped his napkin between his fingers.
God, give me the right words to say
. “I know you don’t hate God.”

Tears pooled in Zoey’s eyes, and she didn’t bother to brush them away. Her gaze stayed focused on Harold’s. “I don’t. I don’t hate God.”

She looked back down at her food. She stuck a french fry in ketchup and twirled it around. “When I was doing stuff I shouldn’t have been doing, I would come home at night and yell at God in my mind.”

She dropped the fry and grabbed her straw and twirled it around. “I would tell Him that in Romans He said that nothing could separate me from His love.”

“Romans 8:38–39.” Harold said the scripture. He’d just read the verses only weeks before. They’d stuck with him because he’d thought of Zoey and how he wanted to make her see that God loved her so much.

The tears streamed down her cheeks. This time she brushed them away with her napkin. “Yes. That’s right. I told Him He had to love me. He couldn’t give up on me.”

Harold reached over and squeezed her hand. “He hasn’t given up on you, Zoey.”

Zoey sniffed and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to yell at Him anymore.”

“He’ll forgive you.”

“I know.”

Harold waited as Zoey wiped her face with her napkin then started to eat her lunch again. His heart drummed in his chest. He knew something had changed within her. But what was he supposed to say to her? Nothing would come. No words. No great comment of wisdom. Some father figure he was. He took a drink then finished his lunch, praying for God to show him what he could say. Nothing. He wasn’t hearing anything.

Harold and Zoey walked out to his truck. He placed her bags behind their seats. He started to hop into the cab when he felt Zoey beside him. Before he could say a word, she wrapped her arms around him. Stunned, Harold hesitantly returned her hug. “Thank you, Harold.” “You’re welcome.”

Harold patted her back then hopped into the truck. Zoey walked around to the passenger’s side and jumped in as well. “God’s forgiven me, Harold.”

Harold smiled as he placed the key in the ignition. “Of course He has.”

“I can feel His forgiveness, but it’s not because I can feel it that I know He has. He says He has in His Word. If I confess my sins, He is faithful and just to forgive my sins and cleanse me from my unrighteousness.” She shrugged. “‘Course, I said it in my own words.”

“You know, I think you came pretty close to what the scripture actually says. Isn’t that from First John?”

“Yep. Chapter one, verse 9. If I remember right, that book talks a whole lot about God’s love.”

Harold peered at his stepdaughter. “You know an awful lot about the Bible, young lady.”

Zoey grumbled. “You would, too, if you grew up with my mom.”

“Sounds like she’s a pretty good mom.” “She is.”

Without thinking, Harold reached over and ruffled Zoey’s hair. He pulled his hand back, realizing she was too old for the gesture. Zoey laughed and punched his arm. Harold feigned pain. “I’m telling your mother.”

Zoey’s expression became serious. “Let me tell her about today.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harold stared out the windshield as they headed home.
She’s finally beginning to heal. Thank You, Lord
.

Kelly’s stomach churned as she made her way into her classroom. She plopped into her chair and laid her head on her desk. Three of her students had been out with the flu in the last few days. She feared she’d caught the bug from them. But I took my temperature this morning, and it was normal.

She forced herself to lift her head and take a sip of the lemon-lime soda she’d purchased in the teacher’s lounge. The lack of a fever meant nothing. She and all three of her girls were notorious for not running temperatures when they were sick. Taking slow, deep breaths, Kelly turned her rolling chair toward her computer and turned it on. She had a busy day today—team meeting with the principal during plan, a parent meeting over an at-risk-of-failing student after school. Plus she was starting
Hamlet
with her accelerated classes today. She didn’t have time to be sick.

She took another quick sip of soda, then pulled a few saltine crackers out of her bag. She nibbled on a few, thankful her stomach seemed to settle just a bit. She had to get the students’ warm-ups on the board before they started down the hallway. She forced herself to get up, walk to the board, and write down their daily prompt.

The bell rang, and Kelly heard the stampede of teenagers making their way down the hall. Her stomach rumbled again, and Kelly headed for the bathroom. She grabbed a paper towel and ran cool water over it. Trying not to mess up her makeup, she dabbed the towel against her neck and jaw. She let out a long breath.
I can do this. I can make it through the day
.

She walked out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into her room. The final bell hadn’t rung, and students sat on top of desks and stood in clusters around the room. Someone had brought a cup of coffee to class, as she allowed them to have drinks until the final bell, but the smell sent her stomach into a whirl once again. Not to mention the various colognes and perfumes that mingled in the air. Normally, she didn’t mind the smell, but today …

She scooped her soda off the desk and took a sip.
Once the day gets going, I’ll be fine
. Trying not to push her stomach too far, she sat in her chair and opened the attendance page on her computer.

“Ms. Coyle—I mean, Smith,” one of her students began. “I forgot my homework at my dad’s house, and I stayed at my mom’s house last night.”

Kelly looked at the tiny brunette. The girl never uttered a peep in class and was a straight-A student, but through her writing, Kelly had learned her parents’ divorce had been a bitter one and it had taken a toll on the teen.

“And my mom wouldn’t take me over to my dad’s this morning, because …” She looked down. “Well, if I had my license, I could—”

Kelly shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. You can bring it to me tomorrow.”

The girl smiled, exposing dimples that made her look five years younger. “Thanks, Mrs. Smith.”

As she walked away, the floral scent of her perfume wrapped itself around Kelly, turning her stomach. She bit into another cracker.

Logan, one of her sweetest and most talkative students approached her desk. “How’s your morning going, Mrs. S.?”

The strong aroma of coffee smacked her in the face. She looked at his hand that carried the oversized cup of joe. The churning of her stomach whirled like a tornado. A hot flash washed over her body. Kelly grabbed her mouth and ran for the door. Bile rose in her mouth. She couldn’t make it.

She spied the trash can beside her door. She gripped the sides as her body hurled.

“Gross,” a feminine voice sounded behind her.

“That was awesome,” another voice sounded.

“Mrs. S., are you okay?” Logan stood beside her. He’d placed his hand on her back. The boy meant well. He was such a sweet kid, but at the moment, she wished he’d take a few steps away from her.

“Here you go.” Logan handed her a tissue.

Maybe she was glad to have him there after all. She took the tissue and wiped her mouth. “Thanks, Logan.” She picked up the trash can and set it in the hall. “Will you call the office, please? We need a custodian, and I think I need a sub.”

The principal sent her home before the sub arrived. He covered her class for her. She thanked God all the way home that she worked for such a wonderful man. The custodian had been so sweet to her, as well. Decked out in his plastic gloves, he wouldn’t let Kelly help clean up her mess. She felt weak as a cooked spaghetti noodle and green as basil. The thought of Italian food sent her stomach to spinning again.
Lord, I don’t want the flu
.

She pulled into her driveway and walked into the house. She just needed to sleep for a little bit. Without any overwhelming smells or noises or anything of that nature, she would be able to rest and then be ready to go the next day. She had to be ready the next day.

Using every ounce of energy she could muster, Kelly slipped out of her clothes and into a flannel nightgown. She crawled beneath the covers of her bed and curled up a pillow and pressed it gently against her stomach. She took slow, cleansing breaths and closed her eyes. “Kelly, are you okay?”

Kelly startled at a coarse hand rubbing her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw the worried expression on Harold’s face. “I think I have the flu.”