Church Girl

              Bridgette was the prettiest girl in detox.  My first inclination is to paint her as a brown-eyed angel of mercy, but really all she did was bring me a styrofoam cup of water after I puked up my breakfast.  I was sweating, shaky.  Standard issue detox stuff.  It’s boring.  But she was pretty, and I liked her because she was pretty, not because she brought me a cup of water.  Anybody could have done that.  Bridgette had beautiful black hair, tied back, little tendrils of it falling around her ears.  She had big ears.  Her black jeans and sweatshirt contrasted sharply with her stunning white skin.  We hung around the day room together, talked a lot, confessed to things we’d done, sleazy things.  She had a husband named Dave.  He was still drinking.  She had cheated on him left and right.  They were in the middle of a divorce.  She also had a six-year-old son named Nathan.  When she checked into detox, she left him with Dave.  Dave lived with his parents out in the country, about an hour and a half from the treatment center.  Bridgette was trying to find a halfway house that would take her.  She didn’t have a place to stay, she didn’t have a car, and she missed her son.  She felt terrible about leaving him.

That was my way in.  I had a car.  I had an apartment.  More than that, I had a grand and idyllic vision of the future.  Bridgette and I were married.  We were counselors, not patients, in the detox ward.  Nathan lived with us, and we had a child of our own.  There were red radishes growing in the backyard of our little yellow house in the country.  We were standing side by side in the front yard, her arms around me as I waved goodbye to the children, riding away in the school bus.  It was clean and pure, and we were happy. 

*

When we got out of detox I told Bridgette she could stay with me, just until she found a halfway house that would let her in.  I played it off like it was no big deal, just a minor hassle, no problem, really.  I figured the two of us in that apartment, sooner or later something would have to happen, right?  Wrong.  She was getting right with God.  She made it clear, as soon as she walked in the door, she would be sleeping on the couch.  I didn’t even bother to hit on her.  I told her take the bed, I’ll take the couch.  I didn’t want to fuck it up.  Anyway, I really liked her.  It couldn’t hurt to be friends for a while.  I’d never done it that way before, the right way, and I felt like doing things right, like there was something at stake.  It mattered what happened after I got her into bed.  The way she looked in those black jeans was enough to make me want to get right with God.

I even told her I’d go to church with her on Sunday.

Saturday, I drove her out to the country to get Nathan, bring him back to stay with us for the weekend.  She wanted to take him to church, too.  “I hope Dave’s not drunk when we get there,” she said.  “He’s such a drunk.  Worse than the two of us put together.  He used to buy gallon jugs of Jack Daniels.”

              “Is he rich?”

              “His parents are.  They love Nathan.  If it was just Dave there’s no way I’d let Nathan stay.  Dave doesn’t even have a job.  He just sits around and drinks all day.  A grown man, and he lives with his parents.”

              “What did he do for a living when you were still together?”

              “He was a mechanic.  He’s a real good mechanic.  That’s about the only thing I can say for him.”

              “Why doesn’t he still do that?”

              “He’s a drunk, Max.  We covered this.”  She smiled, shook her head, and placed her hand on my knee.  Her touch was exciting.  I felt big inside, like the bottoms of my lungs had filled with cool air.  She looked out the passenger side window.  Tall pines lined the road, all the needles up top.  Her profile was soft with those big ears, that little nose.  I was going to tell her she was beautiful but she spoke first.  “I hope he’s not abusing my child,” she said.  “I wouldn’t put it past him.  He really is the lowest of the low.”

              “You think he’d get violent?” I asked.

              “He used to hit me.”

              “Why didn’t you leave?” I asked, the shock apparent in my voice, the way I cringed.

              “When you’re drinking you think you don’t deserve any better.  There’s no limit to how degrading—Max, I don’t want to talk anymore.”

              “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”

              “Let’s just be quiet a minute.  We’re almost there.”

              Dave’s parents lived in a big white house at the end of a dirt road.  As we pulled in I saw Nathan and Dave in the yard.  Dave didn’t look like I expected him to.  I was expecting some kind of redneck, a rough looking man with big hands and a salt and pepper beard.  This guy was blonde, with a tan.  He looked like a college boy. 

Nathan saw us coming and ran over.  When I got out of the car, Dave smiled a little, shook my hand.  He looked healthy, not like a drunk.  He didn’t smell like alcohol.  His hands weren’t shaking.  Before I went to detox my hands shook violently every morning until I had a drink.  If he’d been the drunk Bridgette said he was, he wouldn’t have looked so good in the middle of the afternoon. 

“Thanks for bringing Bridgette up here,” he said.  “Nathan’s been crying for his mother.” 

              Surely this was not the man Bridgette described, I thought.

              She knelt down to put her arms around Nathan.  He was talking fast, saying things I couldn’t understand, something about school, his teacher and his new friend.  “Max,” she said.  “Wait here a minute.  He wants to show me what he made in school.” 

              She left me standing with Dave.  “So,” he asked.  “You’re from the hospital?”

              “You could say that.”

              I got the feeling he was pretty sure I was fucking her.  He didn’t trust me.  I wanted to tell him “I’m not fucking her,” but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing you were supposed to say.  It hovered there, instead. 

              “Well,” he said.  “Thanks again for bringing her up.  I know it’s not your job, but Nathan needs to spend time with his mother.  I know she’s not too crazy about me, right now, since I was the one who made her check in.  God knows what she’s told you.”

              I shook my head.  “She hasn’t told me anything,” I said.  “No worries.” 

              “All I do is hang out with that kid,” he said.  “Just that and, you know,” hands in his pockets, he motioned to the house with his shoulder.  “I sort of have to look after my parents.  They’re old.  They got all these animals out back.  Goats.  Chickens.  I take care of them.  You wanna see?”

              I felt bad for him.  I liked the guy.  He didn’t need to justify himself to me as though I had been a caseworker.  So I followed him to the back yard.  It was big, full of trees except for a fenced off section with tall grass.  There were little miniature goats with long hair and curled horns standing at the edge of the fence.  He took me over there and I knelt down to get a better look.  They had rectangular pupils.

              “I’ve never seen a goat before,” I said.

              “It’s a trip, huh?  Look at their eyes.”

              I smiled, turned my head to look back up at him.  “That’s exactly what I was looking at.”

              He smiled, too.  Then Bridgette came back. 

              “We’re gonna take him,” she said.  “I’ll have him back Sunday after church.”

              “Sure,” Dave said.  “Have fun.”

              “Do you wanna go to cheeseburger land?” she asked Nathan.

              “Yeah.”  He was excited about that.

              “What did you say?” Bridgette asked sternly. 

She looked genuinely angry.  I didn’t understand, because of everything I had heard him say, “yeah” seemed to me the word Nathan articulated most clearly.  When he said, “Yes, please,” I understood. 

“That’s my little angel,” she said.

Dave rolled his eyes.  I think I might have rolled mine, too.  It seemed like such a small thing to fuss over, especially after she hadn’t seen him in so long, but what did I know about raising a kid?  As we were getting in the car Dave said, “Drive safe.  That’s precious cargo you’ve got there.”

              I was miserable taking his son away, even for the weekend, but I was with Bridgette and it was too late to change course.  As we pulled back onto the main road, Nathan asked, “Mommy, do you love my daddy?”

              “I’ll always love your daddy,” she said. 

              “Are you gonna come home soon?”

“Mommy and Daddy don’t live together anymore.  Do you wanna sing a song?”  She launched into a roaring rendition of “Jesus Loves Me This I Know,” but Nathan didn’t sing along.  She turned to me, narrowed her eyes, and said, “I can tell he hasn’t been practicing that one with his father.”

*

              When we got back, Bridgette sat Nathan down on the floor in front of the TV with a plate of macaroni and cheese.  She put a Bible cartoon in the VCR – an animated version of The Ten Commandments, it looked like – then sat down on the couch and started smoking cigarettes, one after another.  I wondered why Nathan would be better off in a little apartment watching cartoons and singing about Jesus than he would be running and playing on a farm with his apparently good natured father.  I wondered whether Bridgette had lied about Dave or I had just caught him on a good day.  I wondered, finally, why she bothered.  She must have known I wanted to sleep with her.  What difference did it make what I thought of Dave?

              Nathan got up to bring his plate to the sink and dropped it, spilled what was left of his macaroni and cheese all over my carpet.  I didn’t care, I’d spilled worse things plenty of times, but when Bridgette rose, he started crying.  “I’m sorry, mommy.” 

              “You made a mess of Max’s floor,” she said.

              “It’s no big deal,” I told her.

              “Please, mommy, I’m sorry,” Nathan sobbed. 

              “It’s okay, sweetheart.  We just need to clean it up.  That’s all.”

              I was uneasy sleeping on the couch that night.  I couldn’t get over Nathan’s reaction to his mother.  I thought about Dave, how he probably thought I was sleeping with her.  For the first time, I was glad he was wrong about that.

*

              We went to church the next morning.  Bridgette wore a black dress with a pattern of purple flowers.  She was lithe and delicate and sweet looking and I forgot all about the night before.  I felt good, like nothing could touch me, like I was really something to be seen with her.  My neighbor was coming home from somewhere just as we walked out the door of my apartment.  He was a big guy with nice clothes and a cop’s moustache, a nosy neighbor who had a pretty good idea about the way I drank prior to detox.  He didn’t like me, didn’t like having me in his neighborhood, and when he saw me with a pretty woman and a kid, dressed for church, he didn’t know what to make of it.  I smirked at him, raised my eyebrows.  That’s right, I thought.  Fuck you. 

The service wasn’t as boring as I expected it to be.  The pastor seemed like a regular guy.  He wasn’t wearing a white robe, or anything.  Just slacks and a polo shirt.  He talked about love.  God was love, he said.  Love came from God.  It was only through God that we could love each other.  The closer a young couple came to God, the closer they came to each other.  Like climbing the walls of a pyramid, with God at the top.  I stopped listening.  I kept looking over at Bridgette. 

              After the sermon the pastor asked if anyone in the congregation had something they wanted us to pray for.  Bridgette nudged Nathan.  “Is there anything you want to ask God for?” she asked. 

              There were only about ten people in there so the pastor heard.  “How ‘bout it, young man?” he asked.  “Is there anything special you want to pray for?”

              Bridgette stroked Nathan’s hair.  He looked up at her, hesitant.  “Go ahead, baby,” she smiled.  She was gushing.  Pure, unconditional love.  I would have married her on the spot, dedicated the rest of my life to treating her like an angel, just on the basis of that smile. 

              Nathan turned his head and spoke directly to the pastor.  “I wish my mommy would come home to my daddy and me,” he said.

              I was surprised by how well the pastor took it.  He cleared his throat and said, “Okay.  We can pray for our families.  Dear Lord, we pray that all our families will be safe throughout the year and…”

              He went on but I wasn’t paying attention.  Bridgette looked around the room, embarrassed, trembling, afraid that everybody was staring at her.  She bit her lower lip, tried to keep her smile, then got up and went out into the hall.  I waited a minute, then followed her.  “Stay here,” I told Nathan. 

              I didn’t see her anywhere, so I took the stairs down to the basement, into a dim hallway.  Bridgette was sitting on the floor with her back to the ladies room door.  I knelt down close in front of her. 

              “Kids say things.”

              She turned her head, wouldn’t look at me.  “I’m such a mess,” she said.   

              I took her chin between my index finger and thumb, turned her face towards mine.  “It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.  I honestly wanted to make her feel better.  I’d never wanted anything like that before.  Something for someone else.  Not honestly, anyway.

              “He’s not a drunk,” she said.  “I lied to you.”

              “I don’t care.”

              I stood up, offered her my hand.  She took it and I pulled her up.  We held on to each other.  Her hands pressed against my back, she kissed my neck.  I reached down, ran my hands along her sides, lifting her dress.  It wasn’t what I imagined, touching her that way.  It wasn’t hot.  Not exactly, anyway.  It felt good, sure, but how can I explain?  It wasn’t what I was used to.  It wasn’t obscene.  It was just the logical continuation of the embrace.

              I backed her through the ladies room door.  Soon she was up on the sink and I was inside her, thinking about what the preacher said, getting closer to God.

*

              We didn’t take Nathan home after church.  We took him back to my place.  I didn’t ask.  Bridgette didn’t protest.  “Are we going home?” Nathan asked.

              “This is home, now,” Bridgette told him.

              I wasn’t uncomfortable with that.  Looking in the rearview mirror, I could see that Nathan was.  “I miss my daddy,” he said.

              “Shhh,” Bridgette’s voice was gentle.  “It’s going to be okay.”

              I had the feeling I was strapped in, rushing towards something terrible, but I thought if I just let go.  I thought if I just didn’t think about it.  I thought I could have that life, Dave’s life, the life I wanted.  The yellow house.  The radishes.  The school bus.  The happily ever after.

*

              In a week I was back at my old job.  They were gracious about taking me back, understanding about the reason I had been away.  Bridgette would pack me a lunch and I would go off for the day, and when I got home she would fix dinner for the boy and me.  We were like a little family, and it would have been perfect, except we were like a little family with an abnormally morbid six year old.  Nathan had stopped talking.  He didn’t eat much, either.  He used his fork to move the food around on his plate, stared glumly at the macaroni and cheese.

              “You eat your dinner, young man,” Bridgette would say.

              And Nathan would cry.  He didn’t sob, the way children will.  He didn’t open his mouth and moan.  None of the drama usually associated with skinned knees or spankings.  He just cried.  His lower lip quivered.  He hung his head.  It was a drag.

              I tried bringing toys home after work.  I’d stop by the toy store, pick something I thought a six year old boy would enjoy, but I couldn’t remember what I liked to do when I was six and I hadn’t been around any kids since I was one, really, so I was at a loss.  One day I brought home a little fire engine.  Nathan wasn’t impressed.

              “What do you say?” Bridgette asked.

              Nathan stared at his feet, so she asked again, and he started to cry.

              She looked at me with her lips pursed, shook her head in irritation, didn’t even touch the child.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

              I knew what was wrong with him, though.  I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t touch him.  I couldn’t believe she didn’t beg me to take them home.  “If you don’t quit crying,” she told him, “I’m gonna give you something to cry about.”

              The next day I brought him a toy gun, a pistol, like a cowboy would carry.

              “What do you say?” Bridgette asked.

              He leveled the gun at me and pulled the trigger.

              It was the first time I’d seen him smile in days.  I smiled back, and for a second there I felt like we understood one another, and it was going to be alright.  The next second, the back of Bridgette’s hand went hard across the side of his face.  He cried out and fell.  She yanked him up by his arm, swung him around.  When she let go, he crashed into the wall.  As he fell back she struck him again.  I grabbed her by the waist, pulled her away.  “Jesus Christ,” I said.  “Take it easy.”   

I had to lift her off the ground; she was kicking and shouting not to tell her how to raise her child, not to take the Lord’s name in vain in front of him.  He was on the floor in the fetal position, shaking quietly, as if he was sincerely hoping no one could see him.  Bridgette twisted away from me and went for the pot of macaroni and cheese on the stove.  She swung it, missed.  Macaroni went everywhere.  She swung again and connected with my ear.  I fell down.  My ears rang.  I saw her turn to Nathan, raise the pot above her head, and I lunged.  We both hit the floor.  After we rolled around for a minute I got her pinned.

She was still shouting.  “Let me go!”

“Are you gonna calm down?”

“Let me go!”

“Are you gonna calm down?”

Back and forth like that, both of us breathing heavy, Nathan still curled up on the floor.  After a second someone was pounding on the door.  “Are you okay in there?” It was the nosy neighbor, the big guy who didn’t like having me in the neighborhood.  

“Help me!” Bridgette cried out.  “Please help!”

He didn’t wait for an invitation.  He just crashed in.  Before I could say anything my nose was pressed into the carpet.  “Call the police,” he said.

“You’re not seeing the whole picture,” I told him.

He lifted my head a little and slammed it back down on the floor.  “Shut up, you fucking piece of shit,” he said.

Bridgette told him not to curse in front of her child.

*

              On the yellow wall of the jail cell, someone had drawn three crosses, like the scene at Golgotha.  I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.  I’d been arraigned, charged with aggravated assault.  The bail was outrageous.  More than I had.  They’d appointed a lawyer for me.  Some lady.  I tried to tell her the whole story, but she didn’t give a shit.  It was all routine to her.  As far as she was concerned I was the scum of the Earth.  She was just trying to bargain a little, make it look like she was trying.  Even Nathan had told the cops I attacked his mother.  She told them I attacked him.  It was a mess.  I was in trouble.

I thought being clean I’d never see the inside of a jail again, but I was always in trouble, trying to get stuff I wanted, stuff I didn’t deserve.  Women, money.  Whatever.  I stared at the crosses, wondered what those other two guys were hanging for.  They were thieves, I knew, but I wondered what they had stolen, specifically.  What they’d tried to steal, anyway. 

A guard called my name.  I went up to the bars.  “You’re free to go,” he said.  “Bail’s been posted.”

“Who?”

“David Yetter,” he said.

After I got all my things I went outside.  Dave was standing there waiting for me.  He smiled.  “How you doin’?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Never mind,” he shook his head.  “Stupid question.  Look, I don’t know exactly what went down but I’ve got a pretty good idea.  I know you’re not from the hospital, anyway.”

“I met her there.”

“She told me you worked there.  She told me you were just giving her a ride up to get Nathan.  She was staying at a halfway house and they were going to let him spend the night with her one night.  A lot of other bullshit.”

“Where is she now?”

“I took her home.  She’s got a lot of problems, you know?  Don’t worry.  This thing’ll never go to court.  I can get her to drop the charges.”

“Why are you helping me?” I asked.  “She’s your wife and I—”

“Please,” he stopped me.  “I don’t need to know any more than I know.  It’s not your fault.  She’s pretty, and she’s convincing, and she’s kind of my responsibility.”  He offered me a cigarette and I took it.

              We stood there for a minute, smoking in front of the jail, then he gave me a ride home.  The fire engine and the pistol were gone.  Someone had cleaned up the macaroni.  Bridgette, I assumed.  I looked around to see if she had left a note, but she hadn’t.  I looked around to see if I could find any evidence that she had ever been there, a toothbrush or a pair of socks.  Eventually I sat down on the couch and turned on the television.

Sam Ruddick’s work has appeared in over a dozen literary publications, most recently Gulf Stream, Phantasmagoria, The Red Rock Review, and Painted Bride Quarterly.  His work can also be found on-line at pindeldyboz.com, 971menu.com, and – this summer – at The Green Hills Literary Lantern.