Missing on Main Street Page 5

  Lydia arrived, with coffee and muffins, amid angel chorus. Kat was thankful her friend had misplaced her purse. Then she was, instantly, riddled with remorse for being thankful while her friend was hurting. Lydia understood her look and sat beside her. “At least I can be helpful here,” Lydia said.

  “Any news from Ethan?” The toddler choir kept singing in a cacophony as the women spoke.

  “No. But he, probably, won’t call. He’ll email me when he lands and gets settled.”

  Kat wondered what her fellow homeschool mama was like when she was alone, in her empty house. If it was Kat, she imagined she’d feel gloomy at first, and then take the longest, steamiest bath in history, drink an entire cup of coffee before it cooled, and curl up in her favorite pajamas to watch cheesy mystery movies. Heaven.

  “He’s still hoping I make it to Africa. He’s way too confident in me. I’m the dope who misplaced her passport two days before take-off. Add to that, the fact I only picked it up the day before, and I’m not a girl to bet on.”

  “Hush. I’ve lost a handful of little things these last few weeks. And, apparently, I’ve stolen two quilts.” She shot out of her chair, toppling it and placing too much weight on her foot, just in time to stop Archie Andrews from sticking his halo in a light socket.

  Once the last heavenly being flew away with their harried parents, Kat and Lydia turned to the donation closet. Jess and Sam followed close behind until their mother sent them off to work with flashcards. They groaned and obeyed. The door opened without a key, and the motion sensor flicked on the light, showing a disheveled mess of upended boxes and clothing.

  “We have one hour to get to Mission House. This will take forever to reorganize.”

  “So, why reorganize it? We’ll do that later. Just grab anything you think will fit a teenager and shove it in a box. Everything else will have to wait until we can deal with it.”

  On hands and knees, the ladies worked. The volunteers at the youth center would be less than thrilled to sort boy clothes from girl clothes. But it couldn’t be helped. The ladies needed to hustle if they wanted to keep on schedule.

  Lydia tried not to catalog the clothing Joan had offered the charity. The items were too familiar to ignore. She gave each an extra pat before shoving it, wrinkled, into the nearest open box. She scanned for the beloved leather jacket but couldn’t spot it.

  ✽✽✽

  The teens were always happy to see the B.F.F. volunteers, even more so around Christmastime. Missing their families, they created a temporary haven in the common room. Christmas decorations, handmade or ancient, graced every flat surface. Quilts from the Honey Pot Quilting Club decorated each couch and the shoulders of almost every teen. “Hobo Joe’s already been here.” Lydia nodded toward the enormous platters of fudge and cookies. Five teens under the age of fifteen crowded one dish.

  Kat turned over the used clothes donations to Ms. Tina, the mission’s head. Mr. Mike, the home’s security officer, and resident counselor escorted Lydia to his office, AKA the wrapping center.

  “We have four new teens this winter. Each from a different city and about to age out of the system. This may be the last childlike Christmas they get.”

  Lydia shook her head. She tutored Mission kids every Thursday during the school year. Their stories and scars wrenched her heart in ways she never thought possible. Some students came to her hard and bitter, all business. Others tried to approach life with a stoic’s ease but still held an ember of hope in their eyes.

  She got to wrapping gifts. She prayed over each gift and each name she wrote on their tags. The presents were homemade by residents of the Senior Center. The few purchased gifts were nothing monetarily impressive but served as offerings of the community. Lydia had contributed a few gift cards, along with her daughter’s used clothes, and an old video game system for the center. She wished she had more to give. Her time would have to suffice for now until the Lord provided a loaves and fishes miracle over her small favors.

  Sam and Jess played a board game with a cluster of kids. Their competitors were too old for the game but enjoyed the distraction. Many Mission kids left behind younger siblings at foster homes or worse. Remorse and worry clouded each older child’s heart. Survival came first, at a substantial cost. But that didn’t make the separation any easier.

  Most under ten were foster adopted out. A double-digit birthday was the greatest obstacle between a group home and a forever home. Mission House’s youngest resident was eleven, Sam’s age, and had little hope of leaving before he turned 16. He attended Bailey Elementary and was in the Christmas Pageant. His past was too terrible to dwell upon. Lydia focused on his fantastic smile and outrageous math prowess.

  “Have you seen Ivy?” A B.F.F. youth group regular and a resident of Mission House approached Lydia from behind.

  “Oh, hello, Emily. No, I haven’t.”

  Emily frowned and worried a hoodie string between her thumbs. “I was hoping to see her before I moved.”

  “Move?”

  “Yeah, there’s a rumor I may get transferred back to the city. Mom’s been trying to clean her act up again. She’s held the same job for months.”

  “Good for her. Did you have a court appointment?” This was a question Lydia learned from Mr. Mike. Often, a scared child imagined their situation improving when there was no evidence to support the daydream. It was a crushing coping mechanism. Though Lydia hated to squash their hopes, she understood better than to encourage them.

  Emily nodded. “Last week. I wanted to talk it out with Ivy and get her address. I don’t have mine, yet. I figured if I had hers, at least, I could reach her. Once I got set up.”

  “Did you try calling her?”

  “Her phone’s been disconnected.”

  Disconnected? Lydia patted the girl on the shoulder of her skeleton jacket. Lydia planned to call Ivy’s phone for herself and double-check. “I haven’t seen her. If I do, I’ll pass along the news. When does the judge say this move may happen?”

  Emily shrugged. “Not until after Christmas. Knowing mom, she’ll mess it up right before the move. I’ve never seen her sober at Christmas.”

  Lydia frowned. She prayed silently for Emily and her mother as the girl spoke. She couldn’t imagine the pain of being separated, perhaps forever from her daughter. Mourning for Joan and Ethan wasn’t the same. They’d come home to her. She could bear Christmas and an empty house, void of her family, assured of their love. What must it be like left alone, wondering if your family loved you and if they loved you enough to give up their vices? She added extra pleading to her petitions to the Father, for all the struggling parents whose children lived at Mission House.

  Jess cheered her brother’s winning and ran to Kat, pulling on the hem of her cardigan. Kat patted her head, without looking, and stared into her phone. Lydia felt her eyebrows arch. Pay attention to her. She urged with her mind, hoping her friend would get the cue and turn her thoughts to what was important.

  The Christmas pageant was bleeding the joy out of Kat Miller, and Lydia was readying herself for an intervention. The little girl turned her attention to Lydia, who obliged her with an air five. Jess tromped away satisfied.

  “Can you believe this?” Kat Miller shoved her distraction device in front of Lydia’s eye line. “The stomach flu is plaguing the shepherds. All of them.”

  “They are all cousins. Maybe they’ll keep it to the family.”

  “They better. I can’t handle half of my pageant missing. “

  “It’s just a play. I think you’re taking things too far. Maybe your incident has left you a little confused.”

  “Um, no. I expect people who commit to something to hold up their part of the commitment. I don’t think I’m wrong to ask for follow-through.”

  “Yes, but it’s Christmas. Families have a lot happening. Every tradition is special. What traditions do you and your kids have together?” Kat sputtered and shoved her phone into her purse.

  “Well, Cookie Ni
ght, Mission House, the Senior Center, the parade, the pageant...”

  “What traditions do you have that aren’t about serving others? It’s a wonderful thing to give, but pausing to enjoy life, as a family, is just as important.”

  Offended and dumbfounded Kat snorted as she scrimmaged for her keys. “We do cookies and movies, and advent and stuff. The usual Christmassy things. We do a Christmas chain with Flora’s family, though we may need to reschedule a bit. We also have schoolwork to do this break. Which reminds me.”

  Lydia listened as her friend rattled off to-do lists and goal setting ideas. She watched on as the Miller children sunk into their individual electronic toys on the drive back to the church building. The entire time she prayed for her husband and daughter, the ones she missed so much it ached. She prayed that Kat would slow down enough to enjoy being a mediocre mother, instead of contending to be a blameless believer. It tore at Lydia to see her friend missing the mark when it was right in front of her.

  ✽✽✽

  Flora’s family loved their yearly Christmas light excursion. Flora made peppermint hot chocolate and filled each person’s thermos full of the rich, warm cocoa. She baked crispy treats and sugar cookies. She rolled energy balls and sorted individual bags of trail mix. Dinner out was an extravagance. One the year’s bank account wouldn’t afford. But lack of funds would not spoil their family’s Christmas. Kevin and the children roasted hot dogs and street corn on the outdoor fire pit. They wrapped them in foil for the drive. The truck would get messy, but their memories would be worth the extra detailing.

  “Don’t forget the nativity cards,” Ever hollered from the garage.

  “Got them,” Eloise answered and skipped her way to the truck.

  Flora’s temples beat out a cadence. The kids were singing the Jingle Bells chorus for the fifteenth, no sixteenth, time in the last 10 minutes. She didn’t shush them or blame them. Instead, she gathered every giggle close and enjoyed every flat note. Eloise was her ordinary childlike self. The preteen drama was missing in her smile, and her eyes were as brilliant as the Christmas lights the family was hunting.

  At every nativity, Eloise was the first to offer to leave the thank you note. She dashed up the yard, careful to leave the decorations undisturbed, and placed the hand-packaged candy canes and letter in the manger. “Thanks for Sharing the Light of the World,” the cards read.

  Ever led a prayer of blessing for each house that made space for the Christ Child. Kevin would lead a prayer of hope over each neighborhood they patrolled. The family would move on to the next street, rejoicing in each other’s company and in the one time of year where Jesus was on everybody’s mind.

  Two hours later, as the automatic timers shut down displays, the happy family pulled into a gas station. The last stop for the night was always a bathroom run. The cleanest bathroom in Ashton, inside the Nifty Thrifty, lay right on the edge of the highway. Chilly breezes hit the crew as they exited the toasty truck. Flora shivered and hooted with cold. “Hurry, ladies,” She cheered. Eden and Eloise hustled into the convenience store with Flora squeezing in behind them.

  The caroling from the stalls tickled the worried mother’s heart. It would be all right. Eloise was just going through a phase. This meant more grace and more understanding from Flora and in return, more grace and understanding from the Heavenly Father for both ladies. Flora untucked Eden’s dress from her leggings and helped the little girl get paper towels. She then sent her out to her restless father and brother as Flora waited for her eldest.

  “Mom?” Eloise’s voice was tiny, awkward for her opinionated eldest. “Is anyone in here?”

  “Don’t think so, honey.” She scanned under the stall doors. No feet told of occupancy. “It’s just us.”

  The metal lock unhinged and Eloise invited her mother into the tiny water closet. “Oh,” Flora sighed in understanding. The mood swings, the tiny patches of pimples, the sullen sleepiness, they all made sense. Eloise had formally started her walk into womanhood. The preteen cried.

  “Oh, babes, don’t worry,” Flora wanted to hug her baby but couldn’t in the confined space. She settled for patting her shoulder. “Give me a second, and I’ll be back with everything we need. It’s okay.”

  Flora shut the stall door and waited to hear the lock settle before going for her purse. She’d been readying herself for this moment. As a student of hormones, Flora prepared her bathroom pantry for the changes that occur.

  She’d packed a tiny first-period bag filled with handmade items and essential oils, even a mixed cd filled with praise from female singers. A quill pinned, poetic letter lay in the bottom of the kit, written for her eldest, along with a coupon for ear piercing. But all of that was at home. Though Flora had gathered supplies, she didn’t think the future would arrive so soon. She searched her purse, but it held nothing useful. She’d failed to replenish her own stash.

  Two stalls over from her daughter, a door creaked open. “Sorry to interrupt.” It was Ivy, Lydia’s student. Dressed in her usual jeans and a hoodie, she walked over to the sink and washed her hands.

  “I didn’t know you were here. Sorry.” Flora apologized in a loud voice, hoping Eloise could hear her.

  Ivy tossed her ragged backpack on top of the automatic hand dryer. “I think I may have pads.” She unzipped a cosmetic bag and pulled out a plastic orange package. Not the organic homemade cloth napkins Flora had wanted to give her girl, but in a pinch, one couldn’t be picky.

  “Thank you so much.” She hurried to Eloise and helped her handle the situation. Ivy was still at the sink when they finished.

  Eloise thanked the older girl. Ivy just smiled. The family loaded back up into the truck and was about to pull away for home when Flora noticed Ivy sitting on a bus stop bench, wrapped in a green blanket. Kevin nodded approval before Flora asked, and soon they were squishing the kids closer together and making room for Ivy.

  The teen panted as she rode. It must be freezing out there. Flora turned in her seat to chat. “How long have you been waiting for the bus?”

  “What? Oh, the bus. No, a friend was going to pick me up, but I guess they couldn’t make it. I don’t know where I would have walked to if you guys hadn’t stopped. I was just hanging out in the bathroom while I figured it out.”

  “Where do you want us to take you?” Flora handed the girl a cookie and a lid of cocoa. A sad smile was her reward.

  “Oh, um, can you take me to the Ashton Target?”

  “Is it still open? It’s late.”

  “Yeah, Holiday hours. I need a few things. I can get a ride home from there.”

  “We’re happy to wait for you.” Kevin pulled up beside the red curb a few minutes later.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Thanks anyway.” Ivy folded her blanket into her backpack and handed the empty thermos lid back to Flora. She wrapped her long arms around the sturdy short woman and held her a moment. Flora tried to question Ivy further, but the girl spun suddenly and rushed inside the busy store.

  “I didn’t think you knew her that well.” Kevin watched on as the crowd absorbed the sixteen-year-old.

  “I didn’t think so either. She must be missing her Grandmother. It’s her first Christmas without her.” Her husband nodded and pulled away. Flora fretted over Ivy for the entire drive home.

  CHAPTER 8

  Pottersville though a small town, with small-town values, had an unusual number of teenage mothers for a town their size. Some owed this to the evil of the cities surrounding Honey Pot. Others said it was the demon liquor invading a small town. Mr. Mike said it was a lack of loving fathers, and Pastor Dean said it was a lack of believers who loved like the Father. Still, teen pregnancy wasn’t a new thing in Honey Pot. The B.F.F. hosted the town’s support group for these genuinely needy mothers.

  Teens from the town and the surrounding farms, even some from the city, showed up for the monthly Teen Moms’ meeting. During the sessions, the young mothers created baby books to
gether, tracking their babies’ milestones. Such a trivial task served as a catalyst for regular doctor’s appointments and encouraged the mothers to take pride in the health of their little ones.

  This was Flora’s area. She was wonderful at journals and scrapbooks. As the group pasted and scrolled together, she’d share feminine health tips and baby-related information. Tidbits most mothers would receive from their mothers and peers, but a teenage mother might be lacking.

  Lydia headed up the career side of Teen Moms. She taught the girls how to write a resume and conduct themselves during interviews.

  Kat believed her offering was much more basic and lackluster. She showed the girls how to fill out applications for jobs, insurance, loans, and sometimes college. Each lady helping in her own way encouraged the girls to rise above the stigma of the single teen mom. Sharing in their struggles and sadness, they offered the girls belonging and hope.

  In December the Teen Moms Group held an extra meeting. Gifts abounded, not only for the babies but for the moms too. There was a cookie decorating station for the kids and a Christmas video for all who wanted to watch. The mothers savored tea party treats in a relaxed environment. At the end of all the feasting came the presents.

  Each regular attendee received a bag of baby supplies and gifts chosen for them. They also received prepaid phone cards, donated by the community churches, and a bus pass. The girls lined up for their presents, eager and elated, their youth clear on their shining faces.

  Many girls, from the group, grew up beside Joan. Out of all the Christmas events of the season, Joan vocalized her sorrow over missing the Teen Moms tea more than any other tradition.