Submerged(Bound Together Book 1)(23)
After laying my sleeping toddler down in her crib, I head to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of white wine. I’m not much of a drinker, but sometimes I just need a little something to help me relax. The clock says almost four o’clock, which means I’ll be starting dinner soon, and have yet to figure out what in the heck I’m going to make for us. When I set my glass down on the counter top, I can’t help but glance down at the business card lying on top of the small stack of papers. Picking it up, I hold it firmly and read the name once more. Blake Crisp.
After several moments of just looking at the big block letters, I toss the card back down on the counter. I’m sure this Blake isn’t my Blake. In fact, I’m certain. If he were going to be a mechanic at a shop, why would he make it seem like he was going to be completely unavailable? Surely someone who was getting ready to start work in an auto repair shop certainly could continue to see a woman after work if they both so chose. Which only reinforces my thought that this Blake is in no way my Blake.
But why am I still left feeling slightly uneasy?
* * *
The next morning, Mom arrives at seven-thirty sharp to go with us to church. I feel bad going because I’m always the woman whose baby is a perfect angel until the sermon starts. As soon as the congregation sits and the pastor starts to speak, that’s when Nat decides she’s had enough.
I don’t attend every Sunday like I probably should. Mom always grants me a pass, saying that it’s not the frequency of your visits as long as you go every once in awhile. So, here I am on an early Sunday morning, with diaper bag in hand, heading to church. It’s actually my second time this month, if you can believe it.
“Ready?” she asks from the doorway before taking her granddaughter from my arms.
“Yep. I think I have everything.” I give the room a quick once-over just to make sure the coffee pot and television are off.
The ride to church only takes about fifteen minutes since traffic is somewhat light. The small Lutheran church is nestled back in a great little subdivision where everyone has a white picket fence surrounding their yard. It’s nothing to drive down this road on a Sunday morning and watch them watering their AstroTurf yard or getting the pool floaties out for the day.
Mom is carrying Nat as we walk up the front steps, greeted by an older couple I’ve seen every Sunday that I attend. They wear the exact same outfit, too, no matter what time of year. They are without a doubt the cutest old couple ever with their handholding and their grandparent smiles. I didn’t know my grandparents, but I always imagined that this is what they would have looked like.
“Good morning, dear,” the older woman says to me before turning her attention to Natalia, giving her the typical pat on the top of her head.
“Good morning,” I reply as we walk through the door.
“Do you want to sit in back?” Mom always asks. Of course, I want to sit in back. As soon as Natalia starts her stuff, I try to get out of the chapel as quickly as humanly possible. I hate being the person that everyone is staring at, waiting on me to hush the noisy baby. Of course, I’m not the only young mom in church. Several other babies attend on a regular basis, but I am the only single mom who attends every so often when the guilt of not going starts to weigh her down.
Hey, don’t judge me.
I nod a firm confirmation to my mom and slip in one of the back pews. Several other families are gathered around, all close to the exit in case someone needs to make a fast getaway. I haven’t made it through an entire church service since I was living at home. I can say that because following leaving home, going to college, and living on my own as a young twenty-something, single woman, I didn’t have time to go to church. Hell, I was usually just getting home. Mom never pushed until I got pregnant. Even then, she didn’t push per se, she just suggested I attend with her every once in a while. So, here we are on a Sunday morning, waiting for the service to start.
We barely make it through the first song and I realize today is going to be a difficult day for Miss Natalia. She won’t sit still, won’t play with her toys, and won’t be quiet. She’s basically a church nightmare.
To save myself the embarrassment, I go ahead and excuse myself, firmly latching onto the wiggle worm in my arms, and head to the family room just outside of the main chapel. There’s a small area where families can entertain children, change diapers, or whatever without completely disrupting what is happening on the other side of the big wooden doors.
Natalia, who has been walking for only a few weeks now, is all over that little room. Toys are being strewn from one end to the other, and no matter how much I try to keep it somewhat organized, it’s like a mini-hurricane blew through the room in her wake. It’s just my luck that as soon as I throw my hands in the air and give up, at least until she calms down, a nice looking man walks in carrying a small boy. I’m guessing the child is three or four years old with light brown eyes and matching hair. He’s the spitting image of his dad.