Forever Beach (18 page)

Yeah, Ilona Cartwright, thinking about love. It was pitiful and Ilona didn't do pitiful.

She'd spent a cold few years inside that mansion. But for the first time, she wondered if it had all been one-sided. Had she brought the cold with her? Had she been impossible to love?

At first she'd tried. So hard. Maybe too hard. Cried herself to sleep over her failures and tried harder the next day. And she just couldn't seem to make it work. So she just turned off, lived her life by rote. Didn't act out or run away, just counted the days until she could get an education and get away.

Tonight in the dark, alone, Ilona wondered if she had tried hard enough. And tonight in the dark, Nonie cried for a life that might have been.

S
arah and Leila were both feeling a little fragile Sunday morning. The kitchen seemed almost too small to hold them. And yet it felt lonely. Sarah hoped Wyatt would show up with bagels or even empty-handed. They often spent Sundays together if he wasn't working and Sarah wasn't being neurotic, which she swore she was not going to do anymore. What if Wyatt had already gotten fed up and didn't want to be with them anymore?

Even after all the loss, and all of her tough-girl past, Sarah didn't want to believe that he'd actually really walked away. If he'd only waited two minutes longer, if she'd just gone outside with her nose running and her makeup smeared.

If she hadn't waited so long to let him know how she really felt.

Was it too late? Could it really work out? Alice's words kept echoing in her mind: men don't want a “package deal.” Sarah
didn't want to believe it, but she knew it was true. Maybe it was true with Wyatt, too, and she'd just been fooling herself.

A yelp from Leila interrupted her thoughts. Sarah looked up. Leila's juice glass was overturned and orange juice was spreading across the table and dripping off the edges. Leila just watched it and didn't try to set it straight.

Sarah uprighted the glass and hurried to the sink for a sponge and paper towels. She reached the table just as Leila swept her plate onto the floor. She began rubbing her hands in the sticky juice, then helped it on its way to the floor.

Sarah told herself to stay calm. She lifted Leila out of the booster seat, carried her to the sink, and ran warm water over her arms. Then she carried her to the corner of the kitchen out of harm's way, dried her arms, and said, “Stay here.”

Leila crossed her arms, made her mean face.

“That was a naughty thing to do. Do you want to help me clean it up?”

Leila stuck out her bottom lip.

It was hard not to get exasperated even though Sarah knew what this was.

God, Leila's reaction was so classic. Sarah had pulled the same stunt so many times in her line of foster homes.
I know you're not going to love me, so I'm rejecting you first.

Sarah had thought—hoped—she and Leila might miss the worst of that stage. And they had until now. But Leila was old enough now to know something was happening and also to know she had no control over the outcome.

And Sarah thought about how some things did change. But there were others that not all the love—or therapy—in the world could fix. Today she still felt powerless.

It was all she could do not to scoop Leila up and promise
to always love her. And she would tell her, once the crisis faded and Leila was in a place where she would be able to hear her.

Right now, she needed to know that this was unacceptable behavior.

“You're upset, but you took it out on me. Now I have to clean up the mess. I know you're mad, but we don't act out when we're mad.” Sarah reached over and dragged a chair to where they stood. She picked Leila up and sat her in the chair.

“You sit here and think about why you did something so naughty.”

Sarah cleaned up the table and picked the plate and eggs and toast off the floor and put them in the sink. She saw Leila start to slide off the seat.

“I told you to stay there. I'm not happy with your behavior.”

There was a brief staredown, but finally Leila slid back on the seat.

Sarah went to the closet to get the mop, cleaned the floor, leaned over to pick up a missed piece of toast. And when she straightened up, she came eye to eye with the fridge and Sam's sign.
Fix the now
.

She reached out and touched the saying; let her fingers linger over the letters.

What would you say, Sam? I've made myself sick worrying about losing her, but is it because I worry about her safety or my loneliness?

I thought I knew, but not anymore. I'm so used to being stressed and fearful that I've lost sight of what's important, haven't I?

Have I?

Should I just take each minute that we have together and appreciate it for what it is? Or should I fight to the death for her? Already I see her slipping away. Confused. Wondering who loves her and it breaks my heart. She said “shit” yesterday. That's not what I wanted for her. But if learn
ing “shit” is the worst it gets, would she be better, feel more loved, by going back to Carmen?

Tell me, Sam.

Even in life, Sam never told her what to do. He just guided her gently until she figured it out. She really didn't expect him to start now. He wouldn't be sending a lightning bolt from wherever he was watching.

Maybe he wasn't even listening, and she was just some nutcase talking to a refrigerator.

She stood, looked around. Leila was gone. But Sarah knew she'd be standing just outside the door—waiting to see what Sarah did.

And what would Sarah do?

She'd start the day again like nothing had happened.

“Morning, sunshine,” she called. She waited.

A few seconds later, Leila appeared from behind the doorjamb, quiet, contrite.

Sarah smiled. “Hey there.”

“Sorry, Mommee.”

Sarah held out her hand, thankful to see that it wasn't shaking as her heart raced. “No more acting mad.”

Leila shook her head.

“Then let's get cleaned up and we'll try again.”

R
EESA LOADED THE
dishwasher, grabbed her keys, and saying a cursory good-bye to Michael, she got in her car. She intended to go to the garden center, price the rosebushes, check out some perennials. She might even plant some annuals. But somehow she ended up on Eighth Street instead.

She parked and watched a group of young mothers, children, and possibly young grandmothers go into the center.
They were all dressed in their Sunday clothes. Reesa considered driving on, because she really didn't relish sitting through a church service heavy on homily and parables.

But she got out of the car and followed them inside.

The center was already busy. Tanisha and another woman were attempting to carry an unwieldy table from the reception area down the hallway. Reesa hurried over and grabbed one corner. They managed to get it to one of the classrooms, then had to stop to figure out how to get it through the door. By zigzagging the legs through the opening, they soon had it inside and set up next to a half-dozen other tables.

“Classroom?” Reesa asked as they stood back and surveyed the room.

“Life Savers.”

Reesa waited for elucidation.

“You know, sewing, small appliance repair, basic first aid. Stuff you need when you least expect it.”

“Makes sense.”

“Did you have a particular reason for coming today?” Tanisha asked.

“No, just thought I'd see if I could help out. It's my day off.” Because even if she did buy plants, she wouldn't have time to keep them alive.

“That's great. There's lots to do. Most people are still coming in from church. We have a hot lunch for them, then story time for the little ones. And share time for the older kids and for the adults. We've been looking for someone who could talk to the kids.”

“I can listen.”

“That works,” Tanisha said. “But let's start with serving lunch.”

The kitchen and dining room were at the back of the building near the delivery door that was painted red and bore a big sign that said
EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY
.

“It only opens from the inside and a buzzer goes off when it's opened,” Tanisha explained. “We need a second exit, but we don't want to leave temptation glaring them in the face.”

Reesa was surprised to see a variety of tables, round, square, rectangular, all covered in paper tablecloths and set with napkins and silverware. There was an assortment of centerpieces that looked like they had been collected from someone's attic or a thrift store. But it gave the whole room the aura of a giant family reunion.

“Nice,” Reesa said.

Tanisha smiled. “Just like home.”

They went into the kitchen where several women wearing aprons and hairnets were cooking at two old industrial-sized ovens. A center island held trays of warm biscuits and corn muffins. Stacks of serving dishes were lined up on the counter that ran under a large serving window.

“Someone from each table comes up and gets their food and it's served family style just like at their own homes. Or in some cases like the home they never had. You'd be surprised at the number of women and children we get who have no idea about passing food around. So those families are mentored by more experienced ones.”

Tanisha handed Reesa an apron. “The tables are assigned so we have a good distribution. At first we let them choose where they wanted to sit, but it was chaos, with empty places and cold food when the table was finally filled. Not to mention the cliques that formed almost immediately. It was a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Where is everyone?” Reesa asked. She'd seen some enter but hadn't seen anyone except the crew since.

“Oh, they're all singing hymns of thanksgiving.” Tanisha shrugged. “You don't have to be religious. And we certainly don't push them to believe, though we do encourage them to visit their places of worship. But everybody has to participate in the singing. It's like a prolonged blessing.”

She handed Reesa a stack of wicker baskets. “Put a paper napkin in the bottom then put biscuits in one and corn muffins in the other. At the end of the meal they can take the extra bread back home with them.”

“Does everyone come here for Sunday lunch?” Reesa asked as she began piling biscuits into the baskets.

“We encourage one meal a week here; a lot come in every day. But it isn't a soup kitchen. They have to pay during the week. Not much, just enough so they remember there is no free ride. Only Sundays are free, but you have to sign up for it and clear any guest ahead of time. It probably sounds kind of like a prison, but some of these women have survived by gaming whatever they could. That's no way to live if you don't have to. So it's really a question of retraining.”

“I can tell you've really planned how to approach this.”

“Yes, we have. I've got a good staff and a bunch of volunteers with business and not-for-profit experience. We're always looking for more.” She gave Reesa a bright smile.

Reesa just bent over her task of filling the baskets.

By the end of lunch, they had served close to sixty people. The cooks retired to a table to eat, and several of the diners relieved them to load the dishwasher and scrub the pans.

Reesa had been surprised to see quite a few men among the diners.

“It's an experiment. The center is for women and children only. But it doesn't seem right that they shouldn't have Sunday dinner with their whole family—if they're drug- and drink-free and are working or actively looking for work.”

“How can you get them to abide by the rules? It seems fraught with volatility.”

“Peer pressure. Amazing what women can do if they've a mind to.”

L
EILA'S SECOND BREAKFAST
was more successful; the only parts on the floor when it was over were the wayward bits of scrambled eggs that managed to fall off her fork.

Sarah cleaned the kitchen for the second time, washed up Leila, and put her in clean clothes. She was behind in her work but it seemed like today they both needed a personal health day. So Sarah grabbed the play bag, added a big bouncy ball and two water bottles, her wallet, and a towel for unexpected messes, and they went to the playground.

Only a few children were there. Their mothers or babysitters sat on benches while the kids climbed over the jungle gym and ran from one spring toy to the other. Sarah hadn't taken Leila to the child services group play for a while. She'd thought they were past that. But she'd kept Leila at Green Horizons School and Day Care for the summer session. Hopefully by September she'd be pre-K ready.

Leila usually got along with other kids, and Sarah hoped that her new sense of insecurity wouldn't cause any setbacks there. But she needed to be vigilant.

Leila started to run toward the other children but stopped and turned back to look at Sarah.

Sarah smiled encouragingly. “Go play.”

“You come.” Leila took Sarah's hand and pulled her over to one of the ride-on ponies. When Leila held up her arms, Sarah swung her up. Leila immediately began rocking as fast as she could, and Sarah went to sit on the bench near the other mothers.

They were already talking among themselves, about summer activities and back to school. Sarah didn't join in. She didn't want to have to go through all the explanations of her and Leila's situation. Especially with everything suddenly up in the air.

So she sat watching Leila, holding her breath when she slid off the pony and ran after another little girl. Sarah shifted a little to be able to see them both, since the other mothers seemed to have forgotten they were there.

They ran out of sight for a minute, but she could hear their delighted squeals. Then one head appeared at the top of the sliding board. The little girl swung her legs forward and slid down the board. Before Sarah could move, she saw Leila scrambling over the top of the slide. Sarah's heart leaped into her throat and lodged there. It wasn't a very high slide and Leila could usually manage it, but she always waited for Sarah to come catch her.

Sarah was off the bench and had crossed the distance between them without even thinking.

“Watch me, Mommee!”

Holding on to both sides to push off, Leila slid down, stopping at the end of the slide.

Sarah gave her a thumbs-up, while her heart lowered to a normal rate.

Leila jumped off and ran around to do it again.

“Is she yours?” asked one of the mothers who had come over to supervise.

Sarah nodded.

“Isn't she kind of young to be on the slide by herself?”