Page 18 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
I’d reached the point though, where I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
We were seated at the dinner table, fine china and silver at the ready. Mother had just completed saying grace, a nightly ritual that lasted at least ten minutes and seemed born more of desperation than true faith.
As soon as my mother uttered the word, “Amen,” I blurted it out.
“When did I decide I wanted to enter religious service?”
Mother didn’t look at me but lifted her fork and took a dainty bite from her plate, chewing thoroughly and swallowing before responding.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do yourememberhow old I was when I told you I wanted to be a nun when I grew up? Was I really young or something, becauseIdon’t remember it.”
“I don’t know exactly—it’s just something you’ve always wanted.” Now Mother lifted her eyes. Her tone dripped with displeasure. “What’s brought all this on? Did something happen at the party?”
“No,” I said quickly. “The party was lovely. The children were all adorable, and the parents were very nice.”
Mother studied me, assessing eyes narrowing in concentration. “It’s a man, isn’t it? You met a man. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go.”
Now it was my turn to look away. I stared down at my plate, trying to hide the blush I could feel overtaking my face. “I barely spoke to any of the adults. I was with the kids the whole time. All the men there were fathers.”
Mother’s hand came down hard on the tabletop, making the fork on my plate jump and land with a clank.
“Don’tlieto me. If I know anything in life, it’s having your head turned around by a man. You’ve been corrupted.”
I met my mother’s accusatory stare with a wide-eyed one of my own. “I haven’t. I promise. I didn’t do anything wrong. Ineverdo anything wrong. I only ever do what you tell me to.”
My own words echoed back to me and left a stinging sensation that felt something like being slapped.
How odd. It had never occurred to me before there might be somethingwrongwith that. But the resentful sound of my own voice made me wonder.
“DidI ever tell you I wanted to be a nun?” I asked my mother bluntly. “Or was it your idea?”
“How dare you take that insolent tone with me,” Mother spat, instantly enraged. “After all I’ve done for you. I sacrificedeverythingto have you—my reputation, my friendships, any hope of marriage. I’ve been here for you every day of your life. All I’ve ever wanted for you is to be fulfilled and protected. Serving God is the best way to do that.”
Chastened, I stood and lifted my plate, no longer hungry. “I know that. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going?” Mother demanded.
“To get a head start on the dishes. I made a mess of the kitchen tonight, and I don’t want the food to sit on the pots and pans for too long.”
“You didn’t finish eating.”
“I wasn’t very hungry. I’ll come back for your dishes in a little while.”
Once behind the closed kitchen door, I placed both hands on the countertop and dropped my head, breathing in and out rapidly.
Was Mother right? Maybe Ihadbeen corrupted.
Truth be told, the question of whether my choice of vocation had actually been my choice wasn’t theonlything that had occupied my mind since the party.
Shaking my head, I tried to dislodge the disconcerting images of Sullivan Reece’s wide smile and powerful hands and square jaw and unnerving blue eyes.
I didn’t know him at all really, but I suspected if any man was capable of corrupting a woman, it was him.
Dropping to my knees right there in the kitchen, I began to pray for strength and that all these newly formed doubts about my life’s path would be erased.
My prayer was cut short by the doorbell.
