Tara Quinn - A Child's Wish

“Fine,” Kelsey said, her needle going through the plastic canvas with quiet deliberation.

Meredith had assumed that as soon as Mark left she’d relax. She’d been fine before she arrived. So what was making her tense? Her own internal radar? Someone else’s?

The fact that Mark and Susan were doing what adults do when they’re alone together—while she spent her Friday evening stitching butterflies with a fourth grader?

“You and Josie getting along okay?” The girls might be suffering from too much togetherness, now that Mark had agreed to let Kelsey go to Josie’s every day after school in exchange for summer care for Kelsey’s friend.

“Yep. We’re best friends now.”

Meredith’s yarn knotted. She hated it when that happened. “You used too long a piece,” Kelsey said, glancing over and then looking back at her own work.

“I know. I make a better teacher than a doer.” She dropped the needle and canvas on the table. “You want a snack?”

“Ice cream?”

“Of course. What weird flavors did your dad buy this week?”

“Butterfinger and rocky road.”

Grabbing three bowls and two spoons, Meredith pulled open the drawer where Mark kept his ice cream scoop. “So what’ll it be for you, young lady?” she asked, scooping a bit of vanilla into the first bowl for Gilda, the cat, who was purring at Meredith’s ankle.

“What are you having?” Kelsey asked without looking up.

“I guess I’ll try Butterfinger. I’ve never had it before.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have, too.”

“DO YOU THINK judging a book by its cover is the same as knowing about people?”

It was five minutes to ten and Meredith was tucking Kelsey into her white-painted canopy bed, pulling up the new comforter. Though it’d been in the fifties all week, the temperature was supposed to drop down to near freezing that night.

“What do you mean?” Meredith asked, sitting on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb Gilda, who’d already curled up and was sleeping soundly. She tried to ignore the tightness in her stomach—too much ice cream, she told herself.

“If a book looks bad that doesn’t mean the story inside is bad. So if people look bad, should we still think of them as good?”

Meredith forced herself to focus carefully on the nine-year-old’s questions and ignore the increasing pain in her gut.

“That’s not a yes or no question, sweetie,” she said. “No, you shouldn’t judge people just by how they look, but people put out messages about themselves—messages you need to learn to read as you go out into the world and deal with strangers.” The words rolled off her tongue without conscious thought.

Kelsey nodded, but her eyes were full of confusion.

“Say, for instance, you see someone who has wild clothes on. That wouldn’t mean that the person doesn’t have a good heart. It might just mean that he or she has artistic taste.”

“What if they have tattoos?”

A few years ago the question might instantly have been a cause for concern. “Lots of people have tattoos these days,” Meredith replied. “It’s kind of the in thing for college students, and lots of moms are getting little ones on their ankles and other places. And you’ve seen girls at the mall with them on their lower backs, haven’t you?”

The girl nodded, her hair falling around her shoulders.

“It’s more accepted now, so people are changing their opinions about tattoos and a lot of quite regular people are getting them.”

“They might be good people?”

“Right.”

“And say, maybe, someone was greasy and dirty looking… It could be that he was just working in the garage, huh?”

“Could be. But unless you know that he was in a garage, I’d be careful there. Someone who doesn’t have good hygiene might be wonderful inside, but it might also be a sign that he or she is down on his luck—which could make him desperate. Or it might mean he has no respect for the human body, in which case you don’t want to go anywhere near him.”

Kelsey’s features relaxed, but Meredith’s stomach didn’t.

“Okay?” Meredith asked.

Kelsey nodded, sliding down until the covers were up to her chin.

“You have some stranger bothering you?” Meredith had to ask.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I just heard someone talking about judging people and it didn’t really make sense to me, is all.”

Thank God for that. Kelsey Shepherd had already been through enough in her young life. And so had her dad.

AT TEN AFTER TWELVE Meredith heard Mark’s automatic garage door start to open. She yanked on her ankle-length hikers, tied the laces and grabbed her bag, which was packed and waiting. And then she reached for the remote control and turned off the TV.

“Hi,” Mark said, coming in and dropping his keys on the brass plate on the counter.

“Hi.” Meredith looked at the keys rather than at Mark. If his hair was mussed or he had that satisfied look in his eyes, she’d die of embarrassment.

“I know it’s late, but you got a minute?”

Her gaze darted to his. “Sure.” Her stomach was still uncomfortable, but she’d lain down after Kelsey went to bed and it was better than it had been before.

“In the living room?”

Odd, but…okay.

The first time she’d ever been in Mark’s living room, three years ago for a retirement party for one of the teachers, she’d been impressed with the simple, elegant gold, brown, maroon and green decor. The room had the feeling of a cozy fall day, right down to the coasters on the plain oak coffee table. Rather than choosing the love seat or the sofa, Meredith chose the autumn-colored wing-back armchair. It only sat one. No awkwardness there.

“What’s up?”

“I need your help with Kelsey.”

Meredith’s stomach tensed again. “What’s wrong?” The little girl had been happy enough that night.

“Nothing, when she’s with you.” Mark’s words weren’t quite resentful, but his frustration was evident.

“She’s not okay with you?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t seem to like Susan and I don’t get it. Susan’s kind and gentle and she wants so badly to be Kelsey’s friend.”

Settling back into the chair, allowing her bag to slide down her arm and onto the floor, Meredith nodded. “I know she does.”

“I’m sure it’s just because Kelsey resents having to share me, but I have no idea what to do about it. I make certain that she and I still have at least three nights a week alone and on at least another two, she’s included in whatever plans Susan and I make.”

If only more parents tried that hard. “So what do you want from me?”

She could take Kelsey to her house to spend the night, or even a weekend now and then, but that wasn’t going to solve the problem.

“To see what you think. I couldn’t talk to you about this at school, of course, and most of the time you’re around, it’s with either Susan or Kelsey there.”

Thank goodness for that. She wasn’t sure how long she and Mark could last without fighting, if they spent much time together by themselves. She had a tendency to piss him off.

“I guess I was hoping, since Kelsey seems to adore you, that you’d be able to talk to her or something. Or maybe have some insights as to what I might do.”

Meredith wasn’t sure what to say. Susan was her closest friend—a lot of times in her life she’d been Meredith’s only friend. She would be loyal to Susan until death. So would it be disloyal to talk about her behind her back if she was attempting to help Susan get what she’d said she wanted?

Waiting until she felt calm inside, until she felt the doubts fall away, to be replaced by the certainty that she’d learned long ago to trust, Meredith let the quiet of the room settle around her.