The Mothers(66)

“Nothing.”

“What’s with the candle, then? You’re dripping wax all over the place.”

She toed the white blob on the steps. Luke leaned forward, blowing out the flame. He was only making a bigger mess.

—

“WHEN YOU GONNA settle down, girl?” Mother Betty asked Nadia one morning. “You always flittin’ around, here and there. You think life is for wandering about, lookin’ for what makes you happy? Those just white girl dreams and fantasies. You need to settle down, find a good man. Look at Aubrey Evans! When you gonna do the same?”

Luke no longer came by to visit her father, but she passed him in Upper Room sometimes. He always looked shy of speaking, but he never even mumbled a hello, his eyes tracing the worn carpet. That sliver of space between them when they passed in a narrow hallway felt electric. She told herself she could not think about him. She needed to be good. She began to meet Aubrey on her lunch break, when they sat at a table by the window and shared coffee. She thought about confessing, but every time, the words clung to the roof of her mouth. What good would come of telling the truth? She had ended things with Luke. What good would come of Aubrey knowing all the ways they had betrayed her?

She never went to Aubrey’s house, but once a week, she met Aubrey for dinner at Monique and Kasey’s. Returning to the little white house made her feel like a teenager again—she wanted to stay up late eating ice cream or lounge in the backyard until the light grew dim, her future awaiting her, unblemished and free. She and Aubrey walked to the corner store for snacks or sat in her old bedroom, painting their nails. She always propped Aubrey’s feet into her lap and painted her toenails. It seemed like a small thing she could give.

By Halloween, Nadia had become such a fixture around Upper Room that the pastor had asked her to help chaperone the children’s Halloween party. She said yes. She said yes to nearly everything anyone at Upper Room asked of her. At first, she’d only offered the Mothers rides, but now, while her father continued to heal, she began to loan his truck. She and Second John lifted dozens of folding chairs into the truck bed for the Men’s Fellowship; she drove across town to pick up a new drum kit for the choir; she carried the food baskets from the homeless ministry to the shelter. She had grown up and found God, people thought, but she hadn’t found anything. She was searching for her mother. She hadn’t found her in any of the old places, but maybe she could find her at Upper Room, a place she’d loved, a place she’d visited right before dying. If she could not find her mother in the last place she’d been breathing, she would never find her at all.

The Halloween party did not require much hauling, besides the decorations, but she still agreed to help. Each year, the church handed out candy, the least offensive way to commemorate a holiday whose demonic origins worried them but whose popularity was too great to ignore. Costumes were allowed, but only positive characters. Superheroes but no villains and nobody dead. Bible figures were preferred, but no one knew whether Bible characters skirted the death rule; each year, a smart aleck dressed in a mummy costume and called himself Lazarus. That evening, she barely recognized the children’s church room. The lights were out, but the ceiling was covered in plastic glowing stars. If darkness was required for Halloween events, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be combatted by celestial light. The children crammed into the room and darted down the hallways with plastic sacks filled with candy. Bearded Noahs dragged stuffed animals behind them; Adams juggled half-bitten apples; Moseses carried paper tablets under their arms, and Marys rocked baby dolls.

In the doorway, Nadia perched on a chair with a bucket of candy between her legs. These were the moments when adulthood was formed, not a birthday but the realization that she was now the one pouring a handful of candy into children’s bags, that she was now the one expected to give, not receive. Aubrey and Luke arrived later. When they’d texted, Aubrey hadn’t mentioned that she would bring Luke, but why would she? He was her husband—wasn’t it expected that he would always be with her? He wore a long brown bathrobe and whenever a kid asked who he was, he flexed and said that he was Samson. But his hair was short, so all evening the children beat him up and he had to take it.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Aubrey asked. She carried a pair of scissors. Delilah.

“Nobody,” Nadia said. She hadn’t known what to wear, so when children asked, she said that she was no one, a peasant.

All night, they sat in the children’s church doorway listening to the laughter. She watched the ancient lovers give out sweets under the fake starlight, Samson lounging on the plastic chair, his bum leg stretched out into the hallway because it got stiff and painful if he folded it. He plucked pink Starbursts out of the bucket and gave a handful to Aubrey, because they were her favorite. Later in the night, Aubrey rested her head against his shoulder and the brief contact felt so intimate, Nadia looked away.

The night was brisk and dim, the sliver of moon barely illuminating the sky. When Aubrey went to the bathroom, Nadia stepped inside the children’s church room to refill her bucket. She leaned against the window, listening to the faint yelping of coyotes, when Luke leaned closer to her.

“I’ve been talking to this guy named Dave,” he said.

“Who’s Dave?”

“He doesn’t think it’s good that we never talk about him.” He swallowed. “Our baby.”