Tuesday Night Miracles Read online

  “People still bake, I guess.” This from Jane, who has trouble with a can opener.

  Kit does not want to remember baking as a young girl, and her mother who was kind enough to let her Girl Scout troop learn how to bake brownies in her tidy kitchen. The brownie makes her want to cry, but instead she writes her mother’s name very tiny on the front right side of the birdhouse.

  Dr. Bayer is back in her chair, riffling through her notes, when Leah suddenly clears her throat, looks at Dr. Bayer, and points to the door.

  “My goodness, it’s time to wrap it up,” Dr. Bayer says quickly. “Leah needs to catch her ride back to the shelter. It looks as if you’re all done anyway.”

  Dr. Bayer helps everyone clean up, and before she dismisses them she takes a stack of envelopes from her briefcase.

  Grace, Kit, and Jane stare at the envelopes.

  “Does this mean we have another assignment?” Jane asks, as her birdhouse swings from her left hand.

  “Oh, yes. Inside these envelopes is your assignment. That will serve as the next class. You’ll be on your own. I’ll be in touch. Leah, you know about this. Good luck to you all, and remember, if you need me you have all my contact information.”

  And then there is a parade of silent women walking out of the Franklin Building holding freshly painted birdhouses in one hand and a white envelope in the other.

  13

  The Black Dot

  The moon has totally disappeared by the time Leah Hetzer has checked in with the night supervisor. She’s also reactivated the shelter alarm system, made certain that her sleeping children received another kiss from her, knew they were safe and that she was within shouting distance, checked to make sure the evening dishes had been washed and put away, and then walked over to the far window in the huge living room.

  Leah loves this window. It is bold and large and everything she is not but so wants to be. The second night after she arrived at the shelter, she spent the entire night, once the children had fallen asleep, sitting by the window. It was as if she were afraid that it wasn’t real, and she kept touching the cool glass with her fingertips to make certain that it was there and that she was also there.

  It is still difficult for her to determine what is real and what isn’t. The glass is real. Her children are down the hall and living and breathing, and that is definitely real. The man who has caused them so much emotional and physical damage can no longer hurt them, and that, too, is real. And yet so many things remain surreal. Is she really here? Did the worst finally happen? Is it over?

  The reality of just how far she has traveled during the past few weeks is still an amazement to Leah.

  “I can almost see the possibilities,” she whispers into the cold window, as if she is going to confession—and as much to convince herself it is true. “It’s just a bit foggy, and there are so many miles yet to travel—so many.”

  So much is happening that it is impossible for Leah to stay constantly centered. That is why she comes to the window. The glass is real and cold and gives her something tactile, something solid. No matter how she tries to be a rock for her children, Leah feels as if she is swinging in midair without any attachments. But she is attached and people are helping her and she is safe.

  Safe.

  It is a word she has longed to hear, see, and feel for such a long time. If she had been able to wrap up one thing for her children since the day they were born, it would have been a safe minute, a safe hour, a week without worry or harsh words or something breaking and falling around them.

  And then she had ruined everything, the one chance, the only safe moments they had ever had since the day they were born.

  Leah taps her fingers lightly on the window and pulls herself around so that she can place her forehead on its slick surface. It feels as if the very house is putting a soft cotton cloth on her face that has been dipped in fresh water. It is the only comfort she will allow herself, the smallest measure of affection—simple moments of aloneness, and so many wishes that she feels she must now abandon.

  “How could you?” she asks herself, examining her conscience over and over and only imagining a day when she can forgive herself. She believes it will be a long time coming, no matter how strong she appears to others, how weak she knows she remains beneath the crusted layers where she hides her deepest insecurities and all the fears she has buried.

  After tonight’s class, and meeting those other women and Dr. Bayer, Leah has tried to convince herself that dreams can still be captured, that one mistake does not ruin the possibilities of change and a better life—not just for her children but for her as well. But it’s not easy to see that simply being alive is a victory.

  “Those women,” Leah says to herself, breathing into the window, her hot breath creating a small fog on the glass. “They have so much, they are so much, how can I even keep up?”

  Leah has heard the other women at the shelter talking about how tragically sad and mesmerizing others think they are because they have been beaten down. “We are women who have already paid more than our share of the price,” she overheard the woman in the bedroom next to her say. Women Leah now knows firsthand, who have slipped sideways down a short path to hell only to be pulled out moments before they burned to death. Women who have held the pain of sacrifice and longing in their hands but have been allowed to quench their thirst for only a brief moment. Women who are scorned for what others think are their poor choices, the limits of their simple minds, the disgusting quarters they inhabit allegedly by choice.

  Leah has lived in a snake pit for so long she is not certain how to rise and walk free, and she is frightened. But she senses a lovely breeze of kindness from Dr. Bayer and she forces herself to remember something normal and lovely, something that will connect her to the Tuesday-night women in a way that will give her enough courage to go back if there is another group meeting. Two of them are mothers, and surely that is a bond. They must have lost their tempers occasionally, and they must also be searching for their own forms of forgiveness for what they’ve done.

  A memory floods into Leah’s mind and she closes her eyes and grabs on to it as if it were a passing life raft. She is lying in the park after dark with both children. They have run from the house to distract them from the everyday perils of their lives, and she is talking to them about stars and angels.

  “Pick out a star,” she told her son and daughter. “And point it out to me.”

  They each rise up and search until they find one they like.

  “Now, right now, forever and ever, that star will be yours and on that star there is an angel who is always going to watch over you no matter what.”

  “Really, Mama?” her daughter, Jessie, asked, unable to move her eyes from her star angel.

  “Really.”

  “Even when Daddy gets so mad and tries to hurt us?”

  Leah froze, and then she did what any mother would do. She said yes, even when Daddy tries to hurt us.

  They named their stars Tiger and Bear. Fierce animals, so they thought, who would rise up and guard them and be their protectors if their mother could not be there, if anyone or anything tried to harm them. The next day Leah bought them a stuffed bear and a stuffed tiger; the three of them had created a wonderful secret, and the secret gave them power. Even now her babies slept with their stuffed animals, their angels, tucked tight against their chests.

  Leah longed for the night when they would no longer need to hold on to those angels so tightly. A night when they would truly feel safe and she knew for certain they had forgiven her, and when she could finally forgive herself. But then again maybe it was okay to keep those angels alive, to feed the stuffed animals cereal from little plastic cups like her children do every other night. The first night they did it she laughed and they were hurt but now she reminds them if they forget, and she eats every single kernel they put in the cups after they have gone to bed.

  “I have an angel, too,” she tells them. “She is a brilliant goddess wh
o refuses to tell me her name, and she has the power to save us and carry us on her giant wings.”

  And the night that brought them to the shelter the children became true believers. Leah knows she is the angel, and she knows her wings have been clipped, and she has vowed to win them back, one feather at a time.

  Leah is so exhausted that she can’t believe she is still awake, but her mind is swirling in so many directions that she almost feels dizzy. The shelter has been good for her and the children, in spite of her angst. There is food and counseling, and in a strange way she feels almost as if she is part of a family. It’s a caravan, and the people in the shelter are all headed in the same direction. They are pioneers on this journey to a new land, but first they must all help one another. That’s how it feels sometimes, but tonight, perhaps because she is so tired, because of the Tuesday-night class, the journey seems endless.

  She can’t help but imagine where the other women are right this second and what assignment they are holding in their own envelopes. Hers remains unopened. What if she can’t do what is being asked of her? What if she continues to fail her children? Did Kit, Jane, and Grace go home, rip open their envelopes, make tea or have a glass of wine, and then lie down to watch television? Did Jane’s husband stand by the door waiting for her and then throw his arms around her the moment she got home? Did Kit let out the dog and then take a load of sheets out of the dryer before she sat down and gave herself over to her husband’s embrace? Did Grace flop on the couch and drop her head onto her daughter’s shoulder and confess the night’s discussions?

  Leah will not allow herself to imagine being in any of those places. That would be too generous. She must earn back every dream she has ever had.

  The wind picks up just a bit, and she can see some of the fall leaves that have already given up begin to swirl in the front yard. It looks as if they are dancing. She closes her eyes for a second and tries very hard to remember when she last danced. Did she ever dance? There is nothing to remember.

  Nothing.

  Leah has trained herself over the years to hold her dreams at arm’s length. Dancing and rolling in the leaves and anything beyond the survival of the moment is not easy and she feels as if her penance is well deserved. No dancing for now, Leah. No wandering around inside her mind with thoughts of cars and houses and warm food and a light bill that has been paid every month for a year.

  No foolish dreams of books lined up on the shelves that she never has to take back to the library. Fresh fruit and new shoes for the children every single time they want it. Movies and new school clothes and the trip to Disney that every child in the world craves. Grandparents. Leah will find them real grandparents. She will. She will make their dreams come true first.

  Someone gets up to use the bathroom, and Leah pulls her head away from the window.

  “Are you okay out here?”

  When she turns to look up, it’s the woman who lives in the room next to hers with her baby. Her name is Sherry. Leah knows she will be lucky if she can get off the old couch and make it to her own bed.

  “Can I sit?”

  Leah nods and scoots her feet back to the floor.

  Then, without asking, Sherry very softly and gently puts her hand on Leah’s shoulder for a moment. Just a moment. A simple, sweet touch.

  “It gets easier, you know. I couldn’t even sleep the first week I was here. If I heard someone get up, I automatically grabbed for the knife I hid and refused to surrender.”

  Sherry waits. She turns her head to look out the window, too, and for a long time they just sit there in the quiet.

  “It’s so hard,” Leah finally whispers.

  “Trusting again is no easy trick, believe me. But we are all the same in here, you know? And you would be surprised how much we have in common with everyone who isn’t in here.”

  This almost makes Leah laugh. “I feel like I’m in grade school and everyone else is getting a graduate degree,” she says. “I feel judged.”

  “Maybe you’re judging, too,” Sherry says, turning to look Leah in the eye.

  Leah takes in a breath. She never thought of that, that she was being a judge also. And how many people did she look through who were doing the same thing to her?

  “It’s been a long haul for me, sister,” Sherry shares. “My own journey started to change when I realized that my assumptions were getting in the way of me moving forward. I was my own roadblock.”

  “I can’t believe I’m even talking to you like this.” Leah sighs. “I’m afraid to talk about my feelings. About what I might want.”

  “So this is a good night, then?”

  Leah nods.

  Sherry starts to get up, but Leah grabs her arm.

  “What is it?” she asks, resting her hand on Leah’s shoulder again in a gesture of nothing but pure kindness.

  “I’m still so angry. I’m afraid of what I might do. I’m still so, so … angry.”

  Sherry lets out a huge breath, so that it sounds as if she is saying, “Oh,” and then she closes her eyes before she speaks.

  “We’re all angry, honey. We are fucking pissed as hell. It’s what you do with it. That’s the key to everything.”

  After Sherry leaves, Leah summons the courage to open her envelope. She slips her fingers under the edge, breaks the seal, slips out the single sheet of paper, begins to read, and is absolutely stunned.

  14

  The Second Assignment

  The Green Dot

  Kit wonders if there isn’t some kind of professional organization she can contact to report this Dr. Olivia Bayer chick. The birdhouse, which is sitting right next to her, was one thing. But add the comedy club and this new assignment on top of that and she thinks the woman must be losing her mind.

  But who in the world would she call? Who is going to listen to a badass member of the anger class, anyway? The ten seconds he was home during the past week, Peter told her to let it ride. He thinks the class is interesting and innovative, and that there must be a purpose to everything.

  “Think about it,” he has said every day for the past five, since Kit opened up her damn white envelope. Kit glared at him every time, too, but that didn’t stop him from pressing on.

  “What?” she challenged him this very morning.

  “It’s interesting and provocative if you can stop complaining long enough to think about it,” Peter tried to explain. Their conversations usually took place in the kitchen as he was leaving, which he seemed to do a lot.

  “Hogwash!”

  “Hogwash?” he said, laughing, as he grabbed the lunch Kit had prepared. “From what you’ve said, this Dr. Bayer woman is a bit older, Kit. She’s been around the block. You could be doing push-ups in some kind of serious program. Think about all of this.”

  She glared at him, and then he smiled, melted her a tiny bit, said, “Thanks for the lunch,” and ran out the door before she could take her glare to the next step.

  Kit can’t bring herself to look at the assignment any longer. She’s got the damn thing memorized and she needs to get on it before there’s another assignment, or another birdhouse to paint, or an email from Dr. B. to come back to that building for another group session.

  Take your time doing this, Kit. I really want you to think about it. You must find an old friend, someone you have not talked to or seen in quite some time. Plan an outing. Lunch. A day in your backyard. Anything. Reconnect. I can’t wait to hear what happens.

  In between bouts of complaining, Kit has been driving herself crazy trying to think of someone to call. How sad is that? She grabs her old address book out of the junk drawer next to the refrigerator, sits down, and is determined to call every person in the book until she connects with someone.

  It takes her exactly one phone call.

  “Ronnie, it’s Kit Ferranti. How are you?”

  “Oh, my God, Kit! I thought you fell off the face of the earth. I feel like I haven’t seen you since we were toddlers, but it’s been what … five or si
x years? And I’m sorry about your mom. My mom told me. I can’t believe you called today.”

  Kit can imagine Ronnie’s mother, the town crier, phoning everyone within a fifty-mile radius when she found out about her mother’s death. And Ronnie? Is she still the petite, smart-mouthed redhead who helped Kit get in trouble almost every day of her young life?

  “Thanks,” Kit says. “Why today?”

  “I’m in the city and my afternoon appointments cancelled. I love being a sales rep, but sometimes the entire day falls apart. Are you free?”

  This is way too bizarre. Kit can feel her stomach moving into her mouth. Is Dr. B. an angel? A goddess? Some kind of powerful magician who can control the world? What in the holy hell are the chances that Ronnie, an old friend from high school, would be in town and available today?

  “Yes. Sure. Do you want to come to my house? I’m in the same place.”

  “Not really. I took the train into the city. Can you drive in? This will be fun! We can have lunch, catch up, see what happens.”

  Kit reluctantly agrees, hangs up, raises her fist in a mock threat to an invisible Dr. Bayer, and decides she must shower for this adventure.

  By the time she’s found something halfway decent to wear, left a note for Peter, and decided to call a cab so she doesn’t have to worry about downtown Chicago parking, she’s so nervous she feels as if she’s going on a first date. Ronnie and Kit have known each other forever. Ronnie’s flirted with her brothers when they were all in high school together, ate pasta on Sundays at her parents’ home, smoked with her behind the bleachers during football games, was invited to her wedding, baby showers, her two sons’ graduation parties.

  Nestled in the back of the cab, Kit wonders what happened to all of that. Did I let go, or did she? Is it possible that Ronnie has already heard about Kit’s recent problem? Talked to someone else from the old neighborhood or, worse yet, one of her brothers? Worrying gets her nowhere as they get closer to the city and the downtown park where Ronnie said she’d wait for her.