Moms Night Out (4 page)

Now, she looked forward to seeing another glimmer of sunshine. Her best friend Izzy was graciously serving a one-year sentence, uh, a one-year
commitment
in the toddler nursery.

She and Izzy pretty much did everything together. In grade school Izzy was wild and popular, where Allyson was an introvert . . . with braces. Nothing much had changed, well, except for the braces part. As they neared the classroom, instead of going in, her two older kids returned to her, clinging to her.

“Let go. Let go. Let go,” Allyson said to Brandon and Bailey who tugged on her arm. They released their grasp and then raced to the children’s church room where Marco, Izzy’s husband, stood waiting to sign them in. In his early thirties with dark hair, Marco was a lovable, huggable teddy bear of a guy, except for the hug-gable part.

Marco had a heart of gold, but he’d always had three irrational fears: luchadores, biker gangs, and small children. This made Marco especially vulnerable at Halloween.

“Izzy . . . They’re talking to me again!” Marco hissed as Bailey and Brandon chattered away.

Izzy leaned out of the classroom door and peered down the hall. “You’re doing fine, babe!”

Marco shook his arms as if trying to release tension. “I’m just supposed to check them in.”

More eager than she probably should be, Allyson handed Beck over the Izzy. Then she adjusted her shades, making sure they were on straight.

Izzy, of course, was adorable, even with a half-dozen toddlers, including her twins, racing around her feet. How someone could look so good in a T-shirt, blue blazer, large-rimmed glasses, and a messy bun was beyond Allyson.

Allyson waved to leave.

“Hey!” Izzy called out, motioning for her to stop.

Allyson reluctantly did.

Izzy cocked an eyebrow and offered a serious expression. “Don’t kill the messenger, but the Sunday School Coordinator said to remember your number this time.”

“Yes, yes, okay, fine.” She waved her hands in the air. “But please, please don’t page me over something trivial.”

Izzy’s face scrunched up as if she’d just taken a bite of a lemon. “The fire department didn’t think it was trivial!”

“Izzy,” Allyson said flatly. “Look at me.” She stepped forward and with one quick motion pulled her sunglasses off her face, revealing her right eye and the smudges of black mascara all around it. Bailey had gone wild with the wand, smearing it under Allyson’s eye and on her eyelid before she could stop her.

Izzy winced and pulled back as if the spider-like swipes of mascara were really a spider. “Aaagh . . .”

“I just need an hour to myself. On Mother’s Day. Please.”

Izzy nodded. “Yeah, like me. With twenty toddlers.”

Allyson turned, steepled her hands, and then gave her friend a quick curtsy. “Thank you. You’re a servant.” She pointed, and then hurried away before Izzy had any other messages for her.

“Sure! And fix the eye!” Izzy called after her. “It’s weird . . . even for me!”

Allyson didn’t have to be told twice. She hurried to the foyer bathroom and placed her large purse on the bathroom counter. She opened it, digging through the items—unpacking them on the counter. “Library book, diaper (thankfully clean), sippy cup, toy dog,” she muttered under her breath as she tossed each item onto the countertop. She was looking for the baby wipes, but then remembered she’d used them all two days ago, cleaning the chocolate off Beck’s face before his dentist appointment.

Well, plan B.

She turned to the get paper towels, deciding that rough, brown paper towels and tap water would have to do. She quickly swiped her hand over the automatic sensor, waiting to hear the rumble of the machine letting out one brown square. Nothing happened. She tried again, slower this time. Nothing. She tried waving her hand faster, and then she tilted her head to make sure there were paper towels up there. There were.

She swiped her hand again, nothing, and then she pushed her fingers up into the bottom rim, attempting to snag a piece big enough to yank out. It didn’t work.

Tension tightened in Allyson’s arms, and she closed her eyes slowly, telling herself to calm down. She took one slow breath, blowing it out. She’d heard that worked for some people, but obviously not for her.

Allyson eyed the paper towel dispenser again, wondering what it had against her. It was as if it knew that this was not her day and it taunted her by holding back. Frustration shot through her limbs.

“Work!” Allyson shouted at the machine. “Work!” She hit it once, twice, three times. “Why won’t you work?!” her voice rose in volume, and she stamped her foot on the ground, just like she’d seen Bailey do a hundred times.

Just then, she heard the toilet flush, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her heart rate quickened, and she quickly stepped back from the paper towel dispenser. With one smooth motion, Allyson swooped her hair down over her forehead so that the mascara eye wouldn’t be so obvious.

Allyson held in her horror as Mattie Mae Lloyd exited the bathroom stall, slinking toward the sink with a swoosh of her floral skirt. Mattie Mae washed her hands, offering Allyson the smallest smile and a judgmental glance. Allyson fiddled with her hair, pretending like it had been someone else—not her—who’d just lost her cool. An invisible woman who’d just slipped out.
Yes, that was it.

Mattie Mae flicked the water off her fingertips and then moved toward Allyson, stepping past her toward the paper towel dispenser. With one smooth motion, Mattie Mae swiped her hand in front of the sensor. With the hum of the machine, a paper towel slipped out.

She cast Allyson one more glance, dried her hands, and then strode out, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. The perfect church lady.

At that moment Allyson wished more than anything that the floor would open up and swallow up her, her junk purse, and her spider eye.

Compose yourself The Lord worketh everything together for good,
she told herself. Then she stepped forward and swiped her hand one more time, fully expecting a paper towel to emerge. Instead the machine didn’t budge. Allyson half-laughed, half-moaned at the hilarity of it. Seriously?!

Finally, she found a handy-wipe in a side pocket of her purse and cleaned the mascara off her face. She hurried to the sanctuary, and let out the quietest moan when she realized it was full. Well, almost full, except for a spot half-way up next to a large man she didn’t recognize.

With quickened steps she hurried up the aisle and reached the spot.

“Psalm 127 says that children are a gift from the Lord,” Pastor Ray was saying from the pulpit.

Allyson squatted down next to the pudgy man with the receding hairline. She pointed to the empty spot next to him. “Excuse me, can I get in there?”

Instead of scooting over, or standing to let her in, he closed his Bible, turned slightly to the side, and pulled his knees against the pew, as if expecting her to get through a two-inch gap.

Why do people do that?

Pastor Ray’s voice continued through the sound system. “That’s why the position of mother is a high calling and one to be honored and protected.”

Allyson attempted to slide in, but there just wasn’t enough room. She then tried to step over the man’s legs, but her pencil skirt only allowed her to stretch her legs so far. She did her best to wobble half around, half over him, and just as she thought she was clear, Allyson lost her balance and nearly fell into his lap.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” the man frantically whispered under his breath, as if she meant to seduce him in church!

Scurrying, she quickly scooted herself over him, finally falling into the pew next to him. Her hair fell in front of her face as she landed with no grace. Then, attempting to compose herself the best she could, Allyson straightened her body and brushed the hair from her face, pretending as if nearly the whole church hadn’t just seen her display.

And it was then she realized that all wasn’t well that ended well.

Brushing her bare foot on the low pile carpet, Allyson winced and glanced over at his reddened face. “Uh, can I have my shoe?” she whispered. With the slightest shake of his head, the man scooted it over with his shiny black shoes.

Still staring straight ahead, trying to take in the pastor’s words, Allyson slipped her foot back into her shoe. Heads were still turned her direction—those beside her, those in front of her—but she ignored the looks, pretending Pastor’s Ray was speaking only to her.

“Let’s be honest, I know what you’re thinking,” he said to the congregation. “Should I feel happy when my child sticks a Fruit Roll-Up in the DVD player? Or wakes up at 3:00 a.m. crying?” Pastor Ray motioned to his Bible as a ripple of soft chuckles erupts around the sanctuary.

“But I know for some of you, Mother’s Day can be hard,” he continued. “If you’re like my wife, Mother’s Day is when you examine all your efforts and wonder whether it’s worth it when you have to sacrifice so much.”

Pastor Ray looked to Sondra, his wife. “Or whether you’re having an impact at all when that teen rebels.” Allyson noticed Sondra and Zoe exchanging glances. Was the slightest motion of Sondra elbowing her daughter’s ribs just her imagination?

“Or whether you’re really a good mother by some measure that you’ve created in your mind. So as we get started today what I want to say to every mother here is that there is hope for you. I want all of you to focus in on what the Lord is saying to you—”

“Allyson!” It was Izzy’s loud whisper that interrupted.

Allyson turned and noticed her friend standing at the end of the pew. Izzy crouched down in the aisle, uncomfortably close to the bald guy whose cheeks turned yet another shade of pink.

“Look, I know you didn’t want to be paged,” Izzy whispered, “but Beck has an
especially
large head and those are
especially
small pottys in the children’s wing.” Izzy winced. “But the good news is that we found the screwdriver and we got the seat off the toilet, but we don’t know how to get it off Beck’s head.”

“What?!” Before she could stop herself Allyson’s scream split the air. Somehow this made the salmonella incident seem like a cakewalk.

Pastor Ray turned her direction, and she could tell he was trying to keep his train of thought. “Our music minister, uh, he is going to come and, uh, lead us in song, and we are going to continue in worship . . .” Pastor Ray managed to say.

Allyson clenched her fists, and lifted her face to the ceiling— to God—breathing out a quick prayer for strength. Did He see her? Did God really see her efforts? Did it matter?

She released a shuddering breath and rose.

Happy Mother’s Day.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sean held the bouquet of flowers in one hand, and carried his overnight bag in the other as he entered the house. The room was dim. The moonlight from the windows bathed the living room in a soft gray. For a moment he wondered if he had the right place. To say their home was a mess was an understatement. Every toy in the house was scattered over the living room, their extra blankets, and plastic cups, plates, bowls were too. Couch pillows made up a leaning fort that looked ready to tumble at any moment.

“Hey, Hon?” Sean called. “Ally?”

He noticed something else, on the floor a trail of chocolate wrapping papers led the way to their bedroom, and then into the closet. He peeked in. Ally was inside with her computer. There was a picture—a video maybe—of a bird on the screen. The door squeaked as he opened it farther.

He stepped into the closet. “Hey!”

Allyson was heaped on the floor. She cowered down as the light shined in, clutching a bag of dark chocolate.

She glanced up at him, and her lips curl up in a slight smile. “You’re home, hi.” Her voice was soft and raspy.

“What happened?”

Ally gave the slightest of shrugs. “Just taking a little break. Mommy time.”

He slid down the wall and sat beside her. “Okay.”

Allyson lifted the bag of chocolate up to him. “I ate the whole
bag”

“That’s okay.” He tried to reassure her, and then breathed out. Sean cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously, the whole bag? Really?” “Uh-hum,” she muttered, appearing half-asleep. Or maybe in a chocolate coma. Yes, he thought it to be the later for sure.

“Actually, I’m hiding,” she admitted. Her face looked beautiful in the glow of the computer screen, even with rumpled hair and a smudge of chocolate on her lips.

He reached up to brush a curl from her cheek. “From what?” “The house. It’s awful.” She moaned.

“It’s not awful.”

Allyson tilted her chin down. “It’s awful . . . it’s so bad.” “Well, it’s bad, but it’s not awful . . .” He let his voice trail off. She looked at him in disbelief, and he offered a slight smile. “Well, some of it is awful.”

He noticed then what she was watching. It wasn’t a video but rather a Ustream of an eagle’s nest. “What do you have there?” Allyson looked back to the screen. “Sondra posted it. I can’t stop watching, and I—I don’t know why.”

He watched with her as a mother eagle tended to her babies in a nest. The image was gray and grainy. There was no sound. No action . . . it was the last thing he’d choose to watch.

“Weird,” Sean muttered. He turned back toward the closet door and picked up the flowers he’d laid down, and then with sincerity he offered them to his wife. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Allyson took the flowers and smelled them. Then . . . came the tears.

Her shoulders shuddered like a tree in a storm. “That’s really sw-sweet.” Her words came out as a sob.

Had he done something wrong? “Hon, what? They’re just flowers.”

“I’m gonna get up and clean. I’m gonna get up and clean.” It looked as if she was forcing herself to hold back her tears. “I’m going to go right now. Here we go.” Then she wiped away a tear and sat there, not moving an inch.

Sean waited, unsure what to do, what to say, how to help. He traveled for work often, and at first Allyson had seemed able to keep down the fort. But lately? As the kids had gotten older it seemed the three of them had teamed up on her. He’d been getting more and more desperate calls and frantic texts from his wife—and it wasn’t like he could do much when he was away. And now that he was back—Sean still didn’t know what he could do to help.