Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,98

didn’t really feel like looking my dad in the eye or suffering my mother’s scorn or answering anyone’s questions.

In all honesty, I was hoping to get some kind of message from beyond about what to do next. Let her go? Try again? Be a gentleman and respect her wishes? Go full-on caveman and demand another chance? Play it safe and cut my losses? Take the risk that she’d reject me yet again?

I listened carefully to every prayer, every reading, every hymn, every word of Father Mike’s homily, hoping to discover some hidden meaning that would make the answer clear.

But I didn’t.

Maybe it was because I was distracted by this family of six that came in late—the dad carrying a crying baby in his arms, the mom clutching a toddler to her hip with a massive bag slung over one shoulder, each of them holding the hand of another small child. The parents looked harried and exhausted—the guy’s shirt was wrinkled, the woman’s hair looked like it had been in the same ponytail for a few days—as they herded their brood into a pew across the aisle from me a couple rows up. They took turns holding and soothing the fussy infant, and at one point the dad fed her a bottle—at least, I was guessing it was a her by the giant pink bow on her bald head. The mom handed out snacks—Goldfish crackers by the looks of what was dropped onto the floor and sometimes thrown at a sibling. Both parents also dug through the bag countless times, hunting for the object that would quiet and distract their kids while Father Mike droned on . . . books and toys and sippy cups and pacifiers.

I felt a tug of sympathy for the poor parents, trying to keep four kids silent and still for a solid hour, but also for the kids—I remembered very well being in their position, knocking around in a pew with my siblings trying to avoid my father’s be quiet or else stare or my mother’s pinch.

But I was envious too. Of the unspoken language between the husband and wife. Of their closeness. Their connection. They clearly knew each other so well they were able to communicate with just a look, a smile, a nod, a headshake and silent, rueful laugh that said, What is this life? Whose idea were all the kids? Remember when it was just the two of us?

But they were happy too, you could just tell. I watched the husband put his hand on his wife’s lower back and rub gently as she swayed with the toddler in her arms. I saw the wife brush her husband’s hair off his forehead as he fed the baby. They were in something together, something they had built, something they would continue to grow. It hit me that even though I’d always wanted to be a dad, I’d really never considered what it would be like to share that experience with someone else. Watching that couple in church, I saw myself and Bianca as we could be. I looked down at my wedding band, which I’d never removed, and then at the family again.

It wasn’t a perfect life, it wasn’t glamorous or easy—there would be spilled juice and Goldfish crumbs and fights to break up and endless crying and sleepless nights and exhausted days. But it would be our life, and somehow I knew there would be more than enough laughter and joy and pride and happiness to balance out the difficult times. And at the end of every day, there would be a little space and time carved out for just the two of us, where we’d hold each other and act like it was just the two of us again—at least until our rambunctious little rug rats got old enough to come busting into our room demanding to sleep in our bed.

At one point, the couple’s oldest kid—a little boy about four years old with dark hair, big brown eyes, and a clip-on tie—wandered away from his parents and came down the aisle. He saw me watching him and hesitated, then he slipped into my pew and stood next to me.

Smiling, I moved over to give him more room. His dad noticed his absence right away and frantically looked around. When he spotted the kid next to me, he gestured for him to return, and his face said he meant business. But the kid refused, shaking his head no and crossing his arms