Mother Of Prevention. Lori Copeland
take care of it.” He got up and walked to the back door, unlatched and opened it. Sailor entered the house on a rush of cold air.
“Drop it!” Pastor Joe shouted.
Startled, I sat up straighter. “Pardon?”
“Drop it!” He backed up, keeping his distance from the dog. I rose slightly and peered over the edge of the table. My jaw dropped. Sailor had the snake in his mouth. A black tail wildly gyrated back and forth.
“Sailor! Drop it!” Pastor Joe repeated sternly.
“No! Don’t drop it!” I sprang up, wondering what I’d done with the bat. This snake was like a plague!
Sailor wagged his tail and dropped it. The snake was badly injured but still alive.
“How in the world?” I breathed.
“Yow.” Joe’s eyes focused on the disappearing reptile.
“Mommy?” Kris came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
“Kris! Get back!”
My daughter jumped, her eyes darting to the pastor, then back to me. “What…?”
“The snake! Sailor carried it into the house.”
What had I done? Committed the unpardonable sin? Was God punishing me? Could I expect a plague of grasshoppers or a swarm of locusts next?
“Where’s the ball bat?” I asked.
Wide-eyed, Kris pointed upstairs. “You left it by the attic door.”
“Stay where you are,” Joe commanded. “I’ll take care of it.” Joe sidestepped me, grabbed the snake behind the head and took it briskly outside. Kris and I continued to balance on top of a kitchen chair.
Sailor stood in the middle of the floor, obviously proud of his show-and-tell display.
“Sailor. Bad dog,” I scolded.
Kris clung to my robe. “Mommy, you said you’d gotten rid of the snake.”
“I know, dear. I thought I had.” That snake had nine lives—all intended to test me.
When Joe returned, it was close to 4:00 a.m. and time for me to get up.
He had disposed of the snake—where or how I didn’t ask. I only hoped this was a permanent riddance. I dragged Kelli out of a warm bed and dressed her. Pastor Joe helped carry two sleepy children outside to the garage.
After stowing our luggage in back, he wished me well, and casually assured a worried Kelli that Mommy would be coming back. He stepped back and watched as I backed the van out of the garage and sped off in the gray dawn.
As I adjusted my rearview mirror I suddenly realized he’d never answered my question. How did I go on?
I guess no mere human held the secret. No one could explain how anyone lived through times like this and kept their sanity. Or their faith. I realized that I was mad at God. Livid. He’d taken the best part of my life, other than Kelli and Kris. How could I be anything but bitter?
Chapter 4
Since Neil had died I had been knee-deep in paperwork. I had no idea there was so much involved in dying. Not for the deceased, but for the ones left behind. It was like mopping up after a public disaster; only, this tragedy was private and mine. I had signed papers, taken care of trusts, filed insurance papers and I still wasn’t finished. I couldn’t believe that Neil died and left me to cope. I gazed out the kitchen window at the two holly trees he had planted six years ago. They’d been just twigs back then. Now they were at least five feet tall and one of them sparkled with bright red berries. He had planted a male and a female tree, explaining that was necessary if we wanted berries.
I blinked back tears. It seemed as if everything came in pairs. Everything except me. Alone was a terrible word. The Colorado trip had gone surprisingly well. I had another trip coming up tomorrow—Arizona this time. The girls had made it all right without me, thanks to Mrs. Murphy, but I had still felt guilty about leaving them, and now I was getting ready to leave them again.
The phone rang, jerking me out of my thoughts. I reached for the receiver on the second ring.
“Kate? That you?” It was Nancy Whitaker, one of the stylists I worked with at the salon. Why would she be calling on a Sunday night?
“It’s me.”
“I stopped by the shop for a minute and found you had forgotten to take your briefcase. Won’t you need it on your trip?”
I groaned. My teaching material. Of course I’d need it. How could I have been so careless? “Rats. I’ll have to detour by in the morning and pick it up. Or if you’re going to be there for a while I can run over now.”
“Don’t do that.” Nancy paused. “Tell you what. I’ll drop it by on my way home. Will that work?”
“That would be great. I still have to pack, and the kids haven’t eaten yet.”
She promised to drop by and we broke the connection. I dug a pizza out of the freezer. Junk food again. I had zero interest in cooking. I fed the girls whatever was handy, and sometimes the meals weren’t exactly balanced. Corn chips and baloney sandwiches. Boxed macaroni and cheese. As for me, I’d lost ten pounds I didn’t need to lose. My appetite was gone.
I wandered into the bedroom trying to decide what to take with me, although by now I had narrowed my travel outfits down to a few that would pack well with the least amount of wrinkles. I shuffled aimlessly through my side of the closet, not really caring what I wore. I made a few selections, folded them and plopped them in the suitcase.
Kris hovered in the doorway. “You never did bake those chocolate chip cookies.”
I stared at her, trying to remember. What cookies?
“For my school party,” she prodded.
I shook my head to clear the fog. “Honey, that’s long over.”
The color in her cheeks heightened. “I know that. I’m not a baby.”
“Well, then, your point is?”
“We could still bake cookies.” She met my gaze, looking defiant. “I sort of promised.”
I sat down on the bed trying to figure out what we were talking about. “Promised what?” I asked gently.
She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “I told Mrs. Harrison that I could bring cookies tomorrow. We don’t ever get anything special in class for just because.”
I swallowed hard. “Just because” was a catchword in our house. Anytime we did something nice or bought a present for someone for no particular reason, it was a “just because” gift. Just because I love you. My eyes touched a well-known brand of perfume in a cut-glass bottle. Expensive and unexpected. My last just because gift from Neil.
I looked at Kris, noting the flush staining her cheeks, the hesitant expression. Had I actually sent her to school wearing that purple-and-black-plaid skirt with a golden-yellow-and-black-striped shirt? She looked like a walking ad for crepe paper. What had I been thinking? Or more to the point, why wasn’t I thinking? I seemed to be lost in a fog most of the time. And had I, in my preoccupation, caused her to look so insecure?
I realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Okay. One batch of cookies coming up. Chocolate chip okay?”
She grinned, relief crossing her youthful features. “That would be great, Mom.”
I nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll finish up here and then we’ll get started.”
My daughter took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And can we go back to church next week?”
Well, now. I hadn’t seen that one coming. We hadn’t been back to church since Neil’s funeral.