Sheltering Hearts Page 2

  She started the car, and voilà! No terrible sound! Started right up! Jeez, these old cars with a million miles on ’em could be quite temperamental. She was so happy that she found herself grinning victoriously at Clay from behind the wheel. And he, smiling slightly, raised his can of cola in a toast.

  A couple of hours later, returning from the support group, she was almost home when she heard the sound again. But just a little and not for long. She pumped the brakes—at least they worked well. Whatever it was, she’d ask around at her next single moms’ support group to see if anyone had a friend or brother who’d be willing to just diagnose it for her. That would make her feel better.

  When Dory got home from work the next day, her grass was cut. Her grass had been cut? Well, she might’ve let it get a little tall, but it was only April! She always caught up eventually and it wasn’t as if there was a neighborhood association monitoring upkeep out here by the river.

  Her new neighbor was at the side of his house, hosing off a shiny new riding lawn mower. Something in her gut clenched and an unwelcome memory surfaced. Her ex-husband, Todd, nicknamed Trip, used to do those kinds of neighborly things. In fact, he was so dang helpful in their little Oklahoma neighborhood, everyone thought he was just the nicest guy….

  The kids got out of the car, dragging backpacks. “I’ll be right in,” Dory said to them. And then she walked over to her neighbor’s yard.

  He turned off the hose, smiled at her and said, “Hey, Dory. How’s it going?”

  “You don’t have to cut my grass,” she said. “I have a lawn mower. I can get it done.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said. “Glad to help.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  He frowned at her. “I said I didn’t mind. Why don’t you want my help, anyway?”

  She thought for a second. She didn’t want to get reeled in, that’s why. But she said, “Listen, I’m just too busy to be repaying grass-cutting favors.”

  “Yeah, I got that—busy. Look, that’s perfectly fine. I didn’t have any kind of repayment in mind.”

  “But it’s a pretty big yard!”

  “Dory, it’s a riding lawn mower,” he said, throwing an arm wide toward it. “It’s kinda fun, to tell the truth.” Then, for no reason she could immediately figure out, he crouched. “Hey, what’s your name?”

  Austin had followed Dory and now stood right behind her. He just stared at Clay for a second until Dory said, “It’s okay.”

  “Austin,” he said shyly.

  “Well, Austin—want a ride on my new lawn mower?”

  “We need to get dinner…” Dory said.

  “A very short ride?” Clay asked. Then he stood and looked into her eyes.

  “Please, Mom? Just a short ride? Please?” Austin pleaded excitedly.

  She sighed. “Please be careful,” she said to Clay.

  “I’m very careful,” he said. “Come here, Austin. I’ll drive you over to your front door.”

  Austin scrambled excitedly onto Clay’s lap and Clay revved up the lawn mower, lifted the blades off the ground and let Austin put his hands on the steering wheel. Then they started off toward Dory’s house, taking very wide S-turns getting there, making the ride longer. By the time he delivered Austin to the front porch, sweet Sophie was standing there, a very envious light in her eyes. “Well, I bet you’d like a short ride, too. Ask your mom,” Clay said.

  Swell, she thought. She’d pretty much shut down the come-on, so was he planning on winning her over by charming her kids first? Sophie was just watching her with large, imploring eyes. “Mr. Kennedy, this is Sophie. Very quick ride, please. We have to get going,” Dory said reluctantly.

  “Very quick,” he said. Austin scrambled off, Sophie scrambled on and Dory stood right in front of her little house, watching and waiting. He made some more of his wide S-turns, stretching out the ride a bit, and she could hear Sophie’s laughter and squees right till they pulled back up in front of the house, and he lifted her down.

  “Thanks, Mr. Kennedy,” she said.

  “If it’s all right with your mother, I’d like to be called Clay. We’re neighbors,” he said. Then he made a wide turn on his lawn mower, raised a hand and yelled, “Adios!”

  And Dory thought, Oh, man, I have issues. Perfectly nice, helpful man treats me and my kids well and I have problems with it.

  CORSICA RIOS WAS a social worker who had been a single mother to a young son, whom she had raised into a fine man. It went without saying that she was sensitive to the many needs of single moms. Corsica moderated their support group and was the person who had originally recruited Dory to help her and a couple of her friends grow one small community effort into a nonprofit agency with many volunteers.

  Dory had learned so much from Corsica in just a few years, including fundraising, writing grants and networking, all so that single moms who found them got what they needed. Being part of such an effort filled a need in Dory, because it hadn’t been very long ago that Dory had found herself suddenly alone in Oklahoma with two little kids, behind in rent, no job, no money. Back then it was an angel named Rhonda, a single mother and founder of the Zoë Institute in Oklahoma, who had helped Dory get back on her feet. A year later Dory’s uncle Joe had died and left her the little house on the river in Fortuna, California, mortgage free. Now it was her turn, with other volunteers, to give back.

  When Dory got to her next support group meeting there were a total of nine women in attendance, five of whom needed shoring up by what the volunteers had named The Single Mother’s Resource Agency. In addition to Dory and Corsica there were a couple of Corsica’s friends from a little town upriver called Virgin River. Paige Middleton had met the group in much the same way Dory had when she sought their help for herself—she had once been a single mother and refugee from a violent first marriage. Mel Sheridan was Virgin River’s nurse practitioner and midwife. Both ladies lent their considerable experience to the cause. The four of them now made up what constituted their organization’s board of directors.

  The other five women were new. One was very young, only twenty-three, and already the mother of two, just getting out of her second abusive relationship. There was also a thirty-six-year-old mother of two teenage girls, getting divorced after a long struggle. Though new to the area, she was living with a sister who had a stable home. Another was forty and recently widowed, her teenage children struggling with the loss of their father. Then there was a forty-two-year-old mother of four who had been abandoned by her spouse of twenty-two years and was not only unemployed, but had never worked a day outside her home during her marriage. Finally, there was a thirty-four-year-old mother of two sons—aged ten and twelve—who had been divorced a few years. Her name was Elizabeth.

  After an hour of group support dialogue, moods all around were more hopeful. And after group, there was a little hands-on help. Corsica helped one woman go over the catalog of college courses and fill out an application for student aid, while Paige helped another complete the paperwork to qualify for food stamps. Dory went through want ads with a third, while Mel went out to her truck and pulled out powdered milk, dry soup mix, diapers and canned meat for the fourth. Dory asked who could use gas coupons for free gas and handed out four ten-dollar chits.

  They had given each one of the women a little help. They hadn’t saved anyone, but they’d provided assistance. And next week they’d provide a little more. And the week after that, and after that, and after that… It was a process that was ongoing and not finished quickly—Dory could attest to that. Four years after escaping a nightmare of a marriage, she was still recovering. But she was so much stronger, so much healthier and self-sufficient. Now she knew that, not only would she make it, giving herself and her children a good life, but she would thrive.

  Before leaving that night, she approached the only woman who didn’t seem in dire need. Elizabeth. Dory asked, “Is there anything special I can help you with?”

  “I have all the essentials cover
ed, thanks,” she said.

  There was a real hint of sadness in her eyes, in her voice, which Dory picked up on. “Listen,” she said, “I’m going to grab my kids and get them some ice cream at the McDonald’s down the street. I could stand a cup of coffee. You?”

  And then Elizabeth smiled, grateful. “That would be great. My kids are with my sister, so I have some time.”

  Just based on the comments Elizabeth had made during group, Dory wasn’t all that surprised by what she learned over coffee. The woman had a pretty good job and a lot of family help to make up for her ex-husband’s lapses in child support and visitation. “I’ve been divorced three years now. Half of me wishes my ex would be better about spending time with the boys just so they’d be clear that he really cares about them, but the other half doesn’t push because he’s not always the greatest role model. But my dad, brothers-in-law and brother are…they pick up the slack and the boys seem to be well-adjusted.”

  “That’s lucky. How old are they?”

  “Ten and twelve. Typical boys. Good kids.” She glanced down into her cup for a moment. “I don’t have the kind of problems the women I met tonight have. I should be so grateful. I almost felt guilty taking up chair space tonight.”

  “Oh, heavens, don’t! I’m sure you had a reason for coming out to support group.” Dory paused, then said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of problems do you have?”

  She gave a half smile. “Nothing that compares to some of the situations I heard tonight. I have three sisters—all with good marriages. And they’re very supportive. But to tell the truth, sometimes I just get so lonely. I thought maybe some women in the same boat, with situations like mine…”

  “I can relate,” Dory said. “I guess that means you’re not dating….”

  “I’ve had some dates,” she said with a shrug. “Actually, a few nice guys have asked me out, and I’ve been seeing one regularly lately—it’s not serious, though. Nothing seems to shiver me timbers, as my dad would say.” Then she smiled.

  Dory laughed. “I have an idea, something for you to think about… You might not be in need of gas coupons or food or shelter from an abuser, but please don’t let that stop you from attending our support group—we can all use people to talk to. We don’t weigh the problems to see who has the heaviest load. We just deal. You know? I understand how hard it is to keep up with everything when it’s all on you, but more than half of our volunteers are single moms. They volunteer because they know how tough it can be and they want to help. We’re getting some amazing things done and we’re growing into a real significant resource, one that’s even more important now that the economy is down and government benefits are being cut like mad. We need the help, Elizabeth—would you consider becoming a volunteer? I can guarantee you’d meet some fantastic people.”

  “How’d you get into it?” she asked.

  “Exactly like this. I needed some emotional support and found the group. It felt as good to give support as it did to get it, and then Corsica recruited me to help her develop this organization so it could assist more women and kids. We’ve come such a long way in three years. It’s become so important to me. I work full-time as a checker at a grocery store—that pays my bills. But this work feeds my heart.”

  “I don’t know that I have a lot of time, but I sure have some,” she said. “I think I’d like that. I think my heart needs a little something.”

  AS OFTEN HAPPENED after support group meetings, Dory’s thoughts turned to her own story as she drove home. She had lost her parents when she was young—she didn’t even remember them. Her mother and father were killed in a freak traffic accident. Though Dory had been in the car with them, she was not only spared, but uninjured. She was sent to live with her father’s much older brother and his wife. Her aunt and uncle took her in when they were already in their fifties, a couple who had not had children until she was sent to them.

  She grew up in Fresno, California, as an only child. The little Humboldt County house that she and her children now called home had been inherited from her uncle Joe. It was a very small three-bedroom, fifty-year-old vacation home and a place he had stayed while on hunting trips. Dory remembered fun summers and long weekends there—running in the woods, fishing in the river, catching fireflies.

  There was no real reason for her to have ultimately found herself in an abusive marriage—she had been raised in a loving home. It wasn’t easy, though, when she was a young teen to have “parents” so much older than all the other moms and dads. Her aunt and uncle were understandably nervous and resistant to Dory’s idea of cool clothes, fun pastimes, acceptable behavior, music and friends. She’d roll up her skirt on the way to school, and while riding the bus put on makeup she wasn’t supposed to wear. She had been a bit rebellious—defying them now and then—but she had been a good kid.

  And she always knew her aunt and uncle loved her, wanted the best for her.

  Trip Jones was a couple of years older than Dory and a high school dropout. Uncle Joe had strictly forbidden her to date him, so she pretended to go to girlfriends’ houses to get around it. But because her aunt and uncle were so much older than her friends’ parents, and old-fashioned besides, she didn’t get much of a frank education about the ways of men and women. Before she knew it, she was in too deep with Trip and he thought he owned her. He could talk her into anything, and he ultimately talked her into running off with him when she was barely eighteen.

  The first time he hit her he told her it was because she cried every night that she wanted to go home. Things only escalated from there, and before she knew it they’d been together five years, she was the mother of two small children and her life had become one giant nightmare.

  But God had been looking out for her. They eventually ended up in a small Oklahoma town, and it was there she found help in the form of the Zoë Institute. Her life was forever changed. And now she was forging ahead, trying to help others in a similar way.

  OVER THE NEXT couple of weeks Dory got to know Elizabeth a little better. They had coffee with Corsica and talked about where her volunteer time could best be spent. Elizabeth worked for a local big-box store in the accounting department. She wasn’t a CPA, but she was an experienced bookkeeper and had lived locally for a long time, so she could be a big help with fundraising and public relations. When it was time for their annual conference for single moms, she could maybe teach a workshop on money management, applying for loans and benefits, budgeting, et cetera.

  She also got to know Clay, because at home there were also developments. When Clay was around, he was always doing little things for her without being asked. One morning, as she was pushing her large garbage canister down her drive to the main road, he intercepted her and took it off her hands. And a couple of days later, when Austin was outside pitching his ball up in the air, Clay appeared to toss it with him. Dory went out onto the porch and yelled at Austin not to bother Mr. Kennedy.

  “We’re just playing!” Clay hollered back. “It’s not a problem at all!”

  Then Sophie actually came outside to join them. It seemed both her kids were interested in playing ball now that summer had arrived, and while Dory might like to think of an excuse to criticize Clay, the truth was it was good for them to have an adult to play ball with them.

  And then she came home to find her grass cut. Again.

  But the last straw came that afternoon when she looked outside in the yard for Austin and he wasn’t there. Dory yelled into the house, “Sophie, do you know where your brother is?”

  “Nope,” she yelled back from her bedroom.

  Dory walked around her little house calling, but no Austin. She saw that Clay’s big SUV was parked in front of his house—would Austin have gone into the house with Clay? Up to now Clay had limited himself to catching the kids outside and maybe tossing the ball around for a little while. In spite of herself, she was catching on to his schedule—it seemed as though he worked about every other day, occasionally off for a
couple of days in a row.

  She ran up his porch steps and knocked on the screen door; the inside door had been left open. “Hello? Austin?” she yelled when no one answered her knock.

  Austin was not there. She yelled for him and he didn’t answer.

  Dory suddenly felt a heaviness in her gut and her heart began to race. Even though Clay’s car was right there and he was clearly nearby, even though Sophie was safe in the house, she was remembering a long time ago. Four years past. Trip had beaten her senseless. Up till then he’d been known to lose his temper and whack her around, but that time he’d hurt her badly. Frightened of the consequences, he had grabbed the kids—aged two and four at the time—and taken off. She had been terrified she’d never see them again….

  Dory, driven by fear and flashback, ran down the path toward the river. Austin was never to go to the river without a grown-up! Of the two kids, Austin was the more likely to defy her rules, but even he rarely did so. She screamed, “Austin! Austin! Austin!” as she ran. And when she burst through the trees, she saw them at river’s edge, sitting on the bank. Austin held a long fishing pole, and Clay sat next to him, knees drawn up, encircling the boy with his arms. “Austin!” she yelled.

  They both turned to look at her, and both stood up. She converged on them, but she got down in front of Austin, grabbing his upper arms. “I couldn’t find you!” she almost screamed. “What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be here!”

  Austin had a wild, terrified look on his face. His mother never screamed at him! “But Clay’s growed up!” he said.

  “You can’t leave the yard without asking! Without telling me where you’re going! I was scared to death!” She gave him a little shake. “I couldn’t find you!”

  “He won’t again,” Clay said calmly. He reached down and lifted Dory’s elbow, urging her to her feet. “He followed me. The next time he says it’s okay, I’ll be sure to check with you myself. I should’ve thought of that.”