“Mom, stop, you’re embarrassing her,” Dad said.
“She likes it,” Gramma Jane said. “Every girl likes to talk about the boy she likes. And he likes you, too, doesn’t he?”
“He loves me.” Wavy followed the confession with one of her rare dimpled smiles. Mom thought it was so cute that she told the story to her book club friends when they came over for New Year’s. Wasn’t it sweet how her tragic ten-year-old niece had a little boyfriend who loved her?
It was sweet until Mom met Kellen.
We were in the kitchen, getting ready to leave for our music lessons, and Mom was arguing with Donal about his Christmas toys.
“Donal, we’re going to come back to the house and get them, okay? You don’t have to take them all with you. Wavy, will you tell him?”
Wavy shrugged, maybe because in her experience, you didn’t always get to go back for your toys.
The doorbell rang and Mom sent me to answer it. On the front porch stood a huge man in jeans and a snap-front western shirt. He said, “Hey, I’m Kellen. I’m here to get Wavy and Donal.”
I left him in the entryway and ran back to the kitchen.
“Who was it?” Mom said.
“Kellen. He’s here to get them.”
Donal dropped his toys and ran out of the kitchen, shouting, “Kellen!”
Wavy went after him.
Still in our coats, we trundled into the front hall, where Kellen swooped Donal up so high he almost knocked his head on the ceiling. Wavy smiled, while Donal talked nonstop. Now that he was talking, that was all he did. “And the Jesus baby was missing. And we crawled crawled crawled around on the floor to find it. And I wore a towel on my head. I was a shepherd. They wore towels on their heads. And Wavy was an angel. She had a halo. And … “
“Who is he?” Mom whispered to me.
“He said his name was Kellen.”
“Is he Jesse Joe’s father?”
Mom opened her purse, rattling her keys to be sure her can of mace was there.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m Brenda Newling.”
Kellen set Donal down and came toward my mother with his hand out.
“Good to meet you. I’m Jesse Joe Kellen.”
I watched my mother’s face as reality crowded out the story she’d invented. She had imagined little Jesse Joe as the sort of shy young man a quiet, wounded girl like Wavy could befriend. In Mom’s fairy tale, they held hands and shared secrets, and would someday go away to college and have good lives, if properly encouraged by a supportive aunt.
Soft brown eyes and a shy smile, Wavy had said. His eyes were almost sleepy as he offered his hand to my mother, and a big gold cap studded the middle of his shy smile.
Behemoth was the word my mother used to describe him to her book club friends, and he was enormous. Bigger than the Incredible Hulk on TV. Even though he wasn’t green, Mom recoiled from the hand he offered. His shirtsleeves were cuffed back, revealing several tattoos, including one in a horseshoe shape. In the center of it was a four-leaf clover and the words Lucky Motherfucker. This was Wavy’s “little boyfriend.”
My mother stepped back and bumped into Leslie. Kellen still had his hand out, offering to shake, but he withdrew it and rested it on Wavy’s shoulder. She didn’t shake him off, like she would have with anyone else.
“Well, this is really inconvenient,” Mom blurted. “No one called to say that they were leaving today. It’s unreasonable for Val to expect…”
Kellen wasn’t listening. He’d gone down on one knee so that he was eye-to-eye with Wavy. While he looked at her, the rest of us didn’t exist.
Wavy whispered something into his ear and he answered: “I got your letter. I missed you, too.” All of that was shocking enough, but then she kissed him on the cheek. Unheard of.
“Mom, I’m going to be late to my lesson,” Leslie said. Only she would be upset about that. I dreamed of reasons to keep me from my violin lessons.
My mother cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Kellen, we have an appointment to go to. Perhaps you could come back this evening to discuss this.”
“I guess Val forgot to call.” Kellen finally took his eyes off Wavy and got to his feet.
“I guess so. If you’ll excuse us, we need to leave. Come on, kids.”
“Why can’t I go with Kellen?” Donal said.
“Because I haven’t spoken to your mother yet.” My mother rattled her car keys. “Now, come on. Why don’t you girls walk Mr. Kellen out, while I get the car? Don’t forget to lock the front door.”
I was thrilled to stand in the entryway with Kellen. He had alarmed my mother and received a kiss from Wavy. As they parted on the front porch, Kellen reached out and ran his hand over Wavy’s hair, all down her back. She turned and smiled at him.
At the music school, while Leslie was having her lesson, Mom scooted her chair next to Wavy’s and whispered, “Who is that man?”
“Kellen.”
“Jesse Joe Kellen? The person you sent the Christmas card to?”
Wavy nodded.
“How old is he?”