Oceans Apart

by Karen Kingsbury

  And so for now Max was hers.

  She was glad, though she would've liked it best if Max had been able to stay with the Evanses. Maybe Kiahna hadn't known the man that well, after all. From her journals, and the letter she'd written in her will, it was clear that she thought Connor Evans was the type of man who would make a good father for Max. But if the man could spend two weeks with the boy and still send him home, then maybe Kiahna was wrong.

  Either way, it felt wonderful having Max back in the apartment with her. She'd missed him, and when he left—whether to the Mollers or to Mr. Ogle and his wife—she would feel his loss far more than she'd realized. The two weeks he'd been gone were the longest she'd been away from him since he was born.

  Yes, having him around was more work for her. Sometimes she would get out of breath, and Max would have to get her oxygen tank before she could get up again. But Max was used to that; they made a good team. She would've hated to die without having this last bit of time with him.

  “How much longer, Ramey?” Max was finished scolding Buddy. He stood and faced her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to get this over with.”

  Ramey stifled a smile. He'd picked up that line from her, because that's what she'd told Mr. Ogle: “Send them by. I want to get this over with.” A needle of guilt pricked her conscience. “Max, that's the wrong attitude, pal. Wrong for me and wrong for you.”

  “But I told you, Ramey.” He dropped to the ground in a heap beside Buddy. The dog immediately lay down and rested his head on Max's knee. “I don't wanna be adopted. If I can't live with the Evanses then I wanna live here with you.” He grabbed a fast breath. “And if you get old and die, I wanna live in heaven with Mommy and you.” He paused. “Okay, Ramey? Okay?”

  “What's wrong is that the Mollers are nice people. They've heard all about you and they think they want you to be their son. That would be a good thing, Max. Try to see it that way.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  A knock sounded at the front door, and the room fell silent. Ramey struggled to her feet. “I'll be right back.”

  She guessed it was a full thirty seconds before she reached the door. And it was only twenty steps away. She opened it and sized up the people standing before her. “Hello … please come in.”

  “Thank you.” The man spoke, and the woman offered a shy smile.

  “You must be the Mollers.”

  “We are.” This time the woman took a step forward and looked past Ramey. “Is Max here?”

  Ramey studied them for a moment, then turned and led them into the TV room. They were older than she'd expected, in their early fifties, at least. They both had warm smiles and an anxious look, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

  Ramey was enough ahead of them that when she entered the room where Max and Buddy were waiting, she turned around to see the reaction from the Mollers. The woman smiled and gave Max a little wave; the man stood a foot behind her, his eyes kind and glistening. “Hello, Max. We're the Mollers.”

  The woman took a few steps toward Max and held out her hand. “We're so glad to meet you, Max.”

  Max pulled himself up to his feet. “Hello.” His chin stayed tucked close to his chest, but his eyes met the woman's.

  Ramey leaned against the nearest wall and took in the scene. It seems okay, God … I guess. She narrowed her eyes and waited.

  Mr. Moller came up alongside Max and pointed to Buddy. “Is this your dog?”

  “Yes, sir.” Max pulled himself up some. “That's my dog, Buddy. He wants to come, too.”

  “Uh …” The man looked up at Ramey and gave a slight shake of his head. “Well, Max …”

  Ramey shrugged at Mr. Moller's distressed look and mouthed the words to him, “Good luck.”

  Mr. Moller patted Buddy's head. “Max, we can't have dogs.” He put his arm on his wife's shoulder. “Mrs. Moller is allergic.”

  Max's eyes got wide. “But, sir, Buddy's … he's my bestest friend.”

  Mrs. Moller stooped down to Max's level. “Maybe we can get a goldfish, or a turtle. Something in an aquarium.” She put her hand along the side of Max's face. “How would that be?”

  Ramey winced at what was bound to come next.

  “Buddy stays with me.” The utter defiance in Max's tone was underlined by his loud, panic-stricken voice. His breathing was hard and fast, causing his small chest to jump as if he'd just run up a flight of stairs. He took hold of the pretty blue scarf on his dog's neck. “Come on, Buddy. They don't want us.” Before he pulled Buddy out onto the patio, he turned and shot one more line at the Mollers. “If he stays, I stay.”

  When the glass door was shut, Mr. Moller looked at Ramey and gave a polite nod. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I take it you're no longer interested.” Ramey settled back on her heels.

  “Oh, no. We're very interested. Children can deal with loss better than adults. He'll miss the dog for a while, but he'll be okay eventually.” Mrs. Moller cast a sad look back at Max. “He's probably upset about the whole situation.”

  “That's exactly it.” Ramey liked the woman.

  The man held his hand out to Ramey and gave her another smile. “We'll let him take a few days to get used to the idea, and then we'll contact Mr. Ogle.”

  “Yes.” The woman clutched her purse to her midsection. “We're hoping to bring him home soon.” She tilted her head. “He's a beautiful child. I'm sorry he's hurting.”

  Her husband put his hand at the small of Mrs. Moller's back and gave her a slight hug. Over his shoulder he gave Ramey one final look. “We'll be in touch.”

  For ten minutes after they left, Ramey was still exhaling hard, coaxing her heartbeat back to some kind of normal. Pain radiated from her chest, and for a moment she thought maybe this was it. The heart attack her doctors had been saying could happen at any time.

  She shuffled into the kitchen, snatched her nitroglycerin pills from the cupboard next to the sink, and put two of them under her tongue. There. That would help. With slow steps, determined not to die with Max and Buddy on the back patio, Ramey crossed the apartment and sat in her favorite chair.

  The couple was nice, kind. But how could she let her Max live with anyone who couldn't take Buddy?

  Her heartbeat slowed some, and the pain in her chest eased. She huffed hard through her nose and glanced at Kiahna's journal, still on the lamp stand table beside her chair. Kiahna believed in second chances and forgiveness, hadn't she? Wasn't that what she'd prayed for all her life?

  Okay, God, so I prayed for it, too. She looked up at the ceiling, because God had to be somewhere beyond the plaster and wood boards. I asked You specifically for a forgiveness miracle, and this is what You give me? She pursed her lips. I have to be honest, God, I'm thinking about forgetting the whole prayer thing altogether. If You're there, I'm not sure You like me enough to listen. Because as nice as they are, let me tell You, God, the Mollers aren't the answer I was expecting.

  She crossed her arms over her round abdomen.

  Then she remembered something else Kiahna had written in her journal. Though her life hadn't turned out anything like she'd planned, she knew that in the darkest times God was always working. Always.

  Ramey stared out the patio door at Max, lying on the ground alongside Buddy and probably crying his eyes out. She shot another quick look at the ceiling. Times don't get much darker than this, God. Her gaze shifted to Max again. But what if Kiahna was right? What if somehow God was working out His best miracles even now, when life looked beyond hopeless?

  All right, then, I'll keep on praying, God. I'm begging You here, just begging You, God, please … give Max a miracle in his life. Just this once. The kid can't catch a break, Lord. I still think the miracle will be wrapped up in forgiveness, somehow. So that's what I'm asking You for. Okay? A sheepish feeling filled her heart. Oh … and one more thing. I'm sorry if I sounded rude a minute ago. My dander was up, that's all. I really do think You can do this, or I wouldn't ask
.

  She was still too new at talking to God to know how to end the conversation, so she looked at the ceiling one last time and whispered, “Thanks, God. I'll be right here waiting.”

  Max felt more scared than ever in all his life put together.

  Everything in his brain and heart was spinning in circles and landing in a big mixed-up pile. His mommy had told him to always use his manners with strangers, but just now he used his mean voice on the Mollers. So somewhere in heaven she must be disappointed with him. Disappointed was worse than being in trouble, because it meant your mommy was sad inside.

  “Don't be sad, Mommy.” Max said the words near Buddy's ear, and his dog did a loud huffy breath. “I'm sorry … I'm so sorry.”

  But that wasn't even the only thing mixed up. Also he looked at Mr. Moller's eyes, and he saw a grown-up look that meant he wasn't changing his mind. Max thought about kicking and screaming and throwing himself on the floor. He never did that before, because his mommy would give him that serious look even if he got a whining voice. But once he saw a boy in first grade do that kicking thing, and it worked, sort of. The principal came to first grade and helped take that boy away. So if the boy didn't want to be in class, then it worked, right?

  He thought about that. But just when he was maybe going to throw his own fit, Mr. Moller looked at him that way. Smiling, but very serious. Max knew it didn't matter what he did, they were still going to adopt him. But not Buddy …

  And so here was the confusing thing. What about God? His mommy always told him God had a plan for him. Max wasn't sure if it was a written-out plan somewhere in a desk in heaven, or something God was working on a little more every day. But He had a plan, because that's what his mommy told him, and she never, ever lied.

  Plus also, Mr. Evans at the airport hugged him hard and said he loved him and told him the same thing, that God had a plan for him. Even Mrs. Evans told him that. But why would God leave Buddy out of the plan?

  He gulped hard and slipped his hand beneath Buddy's new blue scarf. Ramey took him shopping on the weekend for it because sometimes people liked dogs that were pretty. Buddy was always pretty, o' course, but maybe the Mollers wouldn't think so unless he had a nice scarf.

  Max also thought maybe they should buy a toenail cutter thing because Buddy's toenails were too long. Even for a dog. Also Mommy used to say it was 'portant to have clean-cut toes. But Ramey said the Mollers probably wouldn't look at Buddy's toes. At least not on the first visit. And plus the cutter was four dollars and ninety-seven cents.

  And the most mixed-up thing was that Max didn't care what the Mollers thought of him and Buddy, because he didn't want the Mollers to adopt him. But Ramey said maybe this was his only chance, and that only made him more sad because it wasn't his only chance at all. It was his second chance.

  The Evans family was his first chance.

  He sank his face against his arm, in the quiet part by his elbow.

  God … I'm very scared, God. Please help me know what to do next. If I need to cut Buddy's toenails, I will, but please … please don't send me to live with the Mollers.

  Another bit of scared came in his heart. He squished himself against Buddy and prayed some more. Mommy told me that You give people second chances, God. I believe You because Mommy has a second chance right now, with You in heaven.

  He opened his mouth because he really wanted God to hear this part. “But what about me? Please, God … could I have a second chance with the Evans family? Or if not, could you show me where to find my daddy somewhere out there?”

  Most times when he finished praying, Max would have a slow, warm feeling in his tummy. Peace, his mommy called it. But this time his heart still felt extra thumpy, and he wasn't sure at all about the big pile of things inside him.

  He could still hear his mommy's voice, still smell her and feel her skin soft against his. Be brave, Max … whenever you're afraid, be brave …

  And that was the worst part of all.

  For the first time ever, he couldn't be brave for his mommy. He couldn't even remember how.

  THIRTY-TWO

  It was Tuesday morning, and Michele was doing everything she could to get their lives back to normal.

  She'd let Connor and Max go by themselves to the airport on Friday, and when Connor returned, she met him at the door with a hug. “I'm sorry, Connor.” She let her forehead fall against his chest. “I've been terrible.”

  His eyes were bloodshot, but they filled with a tired kind of hope. “We both have.”

  “But your affair … it was my fault, too. I was …” She hung her head for a moment. “I was so caught up in myself I didn't remember to love you.”

  Connor tightened his hold on her and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “That's okay. You were sick; you couldn't help it. It was me, Michele. All me.”

  “No.” She pulled back and searched his eyes. “I was wrong back then, even if I was sick. And I'm sorry.” A moment passed before she could speak. “You needed to know.”

  For a long while they only looked at each other. Then he nodded, his own eyes damp. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a single kiss and studied his eyes once more. “And something else. I wasn't ready to hear about Max's mother before. But if … if you want to tell me sometime, I'm ready now.”

  “No.” He wore defeat like a mask, as he kissed her forehead. “That's okay. It doesn't matter anymore.”

  That night they shared a bed but nothing more. The fact that they were together was a start, but Michele wondered if the damage she'd inflicted on Connor's heart was something they'd live with forever. He was still dedicated to her, clearly. Otherwise he would never have sent Max home. But would he ever be in love with her the way he'd been before? In the days since Max left, Michele caught her husband sitting on the front porch the way he had after he first found out about Max. She'd go to him, put her hands on his shoulders, or loop an arm around his neck and try to get a glimpse of what he was feeling.

  “Hey … pretty night?”

  He'd look up, a distant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes. It's nice out here.”

  “So”—she'd pull up a chair and search his eyes—“what are you thinking?”

  “About life. How strange it is, how one decision can affect so many people for all of time.”

  Other times his answer was more to the point: “Max. What he's thinking right now.”

  His words always made her sit back, shocked at what he had become in a matter of days. The old Connor would've given her a standard, “Nothing, dear,” and then turned the conversation to her. But not anymore. Now he was an open book, more so than he'd been at any time in their marriage. It was a change that would've been a huge triumph for Michele if it weren't for one thing.

  The book in his heart held nothing but pensive sorrow and broken lives.

  Half the time Connor seemed consumed with guilt over what he'd done. The way he'd hurt so many people. The rest of the time his sadness came from a place he could neither hide nor deny.

  A place that ached for his son.

  She no longer hated him for caring about the boy. The connection she'd made with the child his last night in their home was enough to at least feel empathy for her husband.

  Even the girls had struggled since Max's departure.

  “He was so funny, Mom.” Susan found her on Sunday, her tone whiny and frustrated. “No one else'll climb the tree in the front yard with me, except Max. Can't he come back again? Please?”

  Elizabeth was more introspective. “I think Dad misses him, don't you?”

  “Yes, honey. That's bound to happen. Max was here for two weeks.”

  “But I think Max wanted to stay longer than two weeks.”

  “You may be right, but Max has a future in Hawaii. They found a family who wants to adopt him.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth looked out the window at the sky beyond their backyard. “Daddy told me.” Then she found Michele's eyes again. “A couple isn'
t a family, Mom. Not like we're a family.”

  There were times when she wanted to stand on the kitchen counter and yell at all of them. Get over it, already! Max wasn't part of their family; he belonged in Honolulu with the couple who wanted to adopt him. It was time to move on.

  Other days she wondered what the girls would think if they knew the truth, that Max was actually Daddy's son. That their daddy had been with another woman even after he promised never to do that. Would they like Max as much then?

  Every few hours the thought crossed her mind that maybe they should call Mr. Ogle and tell him they'd been wrong. They wanted Max, after all. But that thought would only make a fleeting appearance in her mind. The situation was so much bigger than that, so much more complicated. Long after forgiveness had done its work, Max would still be that dreaded reminder of Connor's worst days.

  And what about the kids at school, or their friends at church? “This is Max, Connor's son. Yes … we just found out about him. That's right, Connor had an affair and never called the girl again. Mmm-hmm, this was the first we knew about the boy.”

  The idea of trying to explain it made Michele's stomach hurt.

  Of course, it would be different if Max had no one, if Mr. Ogle couldn't find anyone to adopt him. But the Hawaiian couple sounded nice enough. So what if they ran a bed-and-breakfast and wanted Max to help out around the grounds? Work was good for kids, and certainly they'd shower him with love, as well.

  By Tuesday, Connor was back at work with a layover in Atlanta and a flight home the next afternoon. Then on Thursday he set off for a series of longer legs that would take him away from home until late Sunday afternoon. The assignment was one Connor had asked for, extra hours to make up for the time he'd taken off when Max was with them.

  With the girls at school and Connor gone, Michele figured the best thing she could do was clean the house and talk to God about how they were supposed to move on. She worked her way from the kids' bathroom to the guest room where Max had slept while he was there. The sheets had already been changed, but now she dusted the windowsill and the headboard.