Misfit Table by Tiffini Kilgore

Author:Tiffini Kilgore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2018-12-25T16:00:00+00:00

chapter

twenty-eight

Order of Protection

The pastor, his wife, and their two sons eat dinner with me and my kids at our favorite Mexican hangout. We come here most Wednesdays and Sundays after church. This time is different. Jake isn’t here with us. I asked him to leave the house because of the fight with Chelsee, my twelve-year-old daughter.

Jake had brought home Chinese takeout and set up a romantic dinner in the bedroom for us. He shut the door, locked it, then got upset when Chelsee pitched a fit because she didn’t want him to keep the door shut and locked. She knocked on the door. Knocked again. Knocked again. That’s when he lit up.

They began arguing through the door, then Chelsee began pushing in. Chelsee told him I didn’t want to be in the room with him, and the arguing escalated from there. Fear and anger filled the room so I couldn’t breathe.

The truth is, when it is just Jake and me, we are good. I think. Jake sees the kids as only bits to show in billfold pictures or to talk about in newspaper articles or to use to prove that we are “the fam” in church. They are only trophies to him.

When he went after Chelsee, it jolted me out of a fog, pushing me over the edge. I tried yelling over the both of them as he pushed the door shut and she pushed back, trying to hold it open. Chelsee called 9-1-1. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I looked at the food he had set out. He went to great lengths; I felt sorry for him. At the same time, I’m scared of him. I didn’t want to be in the room. I wanted to be out there with my kids. My room has become a battlefield; so has my mind.

The police came, and I was embarrassed, again. The neighborhood came outside to watch. The police told me the only way they could keep him out was with an order of protection. I called Brother Tim and his wife, Pam, and they took us to their house. I smelled it. The bread. She made homemade chicken and noodles and bread. Fed the kids and me. And there it was. The remembering. Grandma cooking for me when I wanted to stay with her instead of going back to Dad and my stepmom’s. Ronnie making me a last supper from the last bit in our cabinet.

My nervous system is broken, and I felt as though I was on the edge of a breakdown, so we stayed there for the night. Grace, eight months old, slept in Pastor Tim and Pam’s bedroom. Pam took care of Grace so I could rest.

Jake was angry, of course, and he came by their house. Tried talking to me. Tim went out, and Dakota tagged along to see his dad. Tim told Jake I wouldn’t talk to him, and Jake was raging mad. He just about ran Dakota over when he peeled out of the driveway.

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