Two Weeks: A Novel (The Baxter Family)

by Karen Kingsbury

  Mr. Green seemed to think about Aaron’s question. “She could try to get the baby back, but she wouldn’t win. No lawyer would take her case.” He sighed. “As long as we place the baby in foster care during the waiting period.”

  It was a lot to consider. Mr. Green gave them a few minutes to talk about their wishes, whether they would be okay with the two-week foster care, or whether they’d rather back out and make their profile open to another birth mother.

  In the end the decision was an easy one. Aaron still believed God had led them here, still thought this baby was supposed to be theirs. Still trusted that Elise would change her mind again and want the two of them to raise her child. If that happened, then they couldn’t let two weeks of foster care scare them.

  They signed the final papers acknowledging they approved this newest plan. The meeting had taken their lunch hour plus some, and now they had to get back to the hospital.

  In the attorney’s parking lot Aaron took Lucy in his arms. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She gave him a tired smile.

  “I was losing it.” He searched her eyes. “And you were there for me.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ll never know how much that meant to me.”

  His compliment felt wonderful. She was glad he’d noticed. “All this time, you’ve never wavered.” She stepped back and took his hands in hers. “You believed God would do this, and you still believe. It’s time I have that sort of attitude. Especially now.”

  “Yes.” He looked serious, troubled again. “But what if God’s will is for Elise to keep this baby?”

  “Then He has a different child for us.” Her strength had to be coming from heaven. It certainly wasn’t her own. “I really believe that, Aaron.”

  “Amazing.” He hugged her again. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” They held each other for another minute before climbing in the car and heading to the hospital. There they took the elevator to their separate floors. Lucy signed in to the maternity ward and checked the charts. She was needed in the NICU again. The heroin-addicted baby had somehow survived, but she was sicker. Pneumonia. Probably from the weeks of morphine. The painkiller meant the infant wasn’t moving much, and the stillness had most likely caused fluid to build up in the baby’s lungs.

  Poor thing.

  But there was good news, too. Baby Nathan, the preemie born at twenty weeks—just like their little Sophie—was going home today. He had finally reached five pounds! He would need oxygen at night and a monitor to make sure he didn’t stop breathing. But they all agreed Nathan was going to be fine.

  Later that afternoon the baby’s parents came with his grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles. The whole family was crying as they loaded Nathan into his car seat and thanked the nursing staff.

  Lucy watched them go, smiling through eyes blurred with tears. God had given Nathan’s family a miracle.

  Now she could only pray along with Aaron that God would give them one, too.

  • • •

  THEO COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time they’d had music in their house.

  When Vienna was alive, there was always a song playing in the background. Theo had talked to Alma about it the other day. Neither of them had noticed how often their daughter had a playlist on. Dance beats coming from her bedroom or Christian songs from the computer in the den. Sometimes it was just a pop list on her phone.

  But their daughter loved music. Most of the time it wasn’t just the song playing, it was Vienna singing along. And Theo and Alma had figured the melodies would last forever. Not for a minute did they think there would be a time when their home would be silent.

  The way it was now.

  Vienna had only been gone a week but everything about their lives was utterly different. Alma had taken a leave of absence through the end of the school year and Theo had asked for time from his company.

  They gave him just three weeks. As if a man could recover from losing his daughter in less than a month.

  Theo and Alma had somehow survived two memorials. One at the church and one at Clear Creek High. Alma had found a dozen photos of Vienna—some from dance, some from cheer. One of her just sitting at the dinner table smiling. Her eyes bright and innocent and brimming with a limitless future.

  In the days after the accident, Alma had worked on those photos like her life depended on it. She had several of the pictures turned into ten-by-fourteen prints, framed in white vintage wood. At each of the memorials, she set them up on a long table covered with lace. Sarah Jane’s mother did the same thing for her.

  Theo remembered watching his wife work, seeing her comb through photos on the computer and on Vienna’s phone, which had been recovered from the accident scene. He caught himself thinking that his wife wasn’t supposed to be doing this until Vienna was a senior. The pictures were supposed to be part of a video they’d play at her high school graduation.

  Not her funeral.

  A thousand people must’ve hugged them and prayed for them and cried with them in the days after Vienna died. They spilled out the back door of the church and into the hallways at the school. Most of them signed the guest books set out on each of the girls’ tables.

  Theo wished he could remember everything they said about his little girl, the compliments and anecdotes and declarations of her sweet spirit and bright light at Clear Creek High. But looking back at the memorial, all he could remember was positioning himself near the table of photographs and convincing himself just for a moment that she was still there.

  His Vienna.

  Especially when he saw the photograph, the one of her at the dinner table. For some reason in that picture Vienna seemed to be looking straight at him. I love you, Daddy. He could still hear her singsong voice. Still see her eyes just like that when she sat beside him on the way to school each morning.

  The way Theo would always remember her.

  And now . . . now she was gone. The memorials were behind them. Students had moved on with their lives and in an hour Theo and Alma would attend the dance recital. The one Vienna had been so excited about.

  But then what?

  He and Alma got ready for the performance quietly. In separate spaces, separate worlds. That was becoming more the norm now. They would wake up, say a few words and set about their days. All in silence. There wasn’t anything to talk about, really. No reason to make dinner, no weekend to plan. No future to be excited for.

  All of it had died when the drunk driver crossed the line.

  On the drive to the school, Theo couldn’t take the silence another minute. He turned on the radio. Love Songs & Oldies. The station was one of Vienna’s favorites. They were a mile from the campus when Rod Stewart came on. “Have I Told You Lately?”

  “Turn it off.” Alma looked at him from the passenger seat. “Please, Theo. It’s too much.”

  “No.” Theo shook his head. He didn’t want to argue with his wife, but moments like this didn’t just happen. He turned up the volume, just enough to fill the car. “This is her song. On the way to her recital.” He clenched his teeth. “That doesn’t just happen.”

  Theo thought he’d cried all he could cry. At some point the healing had to begin. He couldn’t get teary-eyed every hour—the way he’d been since the police officers walked up the driveway. But this time he couldn’t stop himself.

  The memory came back to him like it was yesterday. A month before she was killed, Vienna was in this very car with them and this song came on. Somehow, Vienna knew every word. He could hear her voice, feel her presence with them.

  “Have I told you lately that I love you? . . . Have I told you there’s no one else above you?”

  She sang every line till the very end of the song. And when it ended she leaned up from the backseat, her hands on their shoulders. “That’s exactly how I feel about both of you.” She grinned at Theo and then at her mother. “Whenever you hear it, remember that!”

  Alma dropped the fight. She looked out her passenger window, an
d when the song ended she reached over and turned off the radio. “Please, Theo. I need to think.” She looked at him and her expression eased up. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Me, either.” He wanted to take her hand but this didn’t seem like the time. None of this was her fault. But he knew something for sure. If they chose to grieve separately, in their own silent worlds, then in time it would hurt them. Their marriage.

  One of the pastors who had talked to them after the accident told them to see a marriage counselor. Or a grief counselor. “Most marriages don’t make it a year after a loss like this.”

  Most marriages. Theo had heard that before and he had scoffed at the possibility. No one would want to lose a child, but such a tragedy would surely make a couple closer. Not more distant.

  Now, though, the tragedy was his and Alma’s, and he understood. The silence was strangling the life from the two of them. Even when it was the last thing they wanted. As if the loss was too great to get around or over. Too deep and dark to walk through.

  Like overnight they’d become blind to each other. All they could see was themselves, their own heartache and loss. Their separate memories of Vienna.

  No wonder so many marriages didn’t survive this.

  Help us, God. Vienna wouldn’t want us this way. We need You.

  There was no immediate answer to his silent prayer. But halfway through the recital, Alma reached out and took his hand. Nothing about the action would’ve seemed unusual to anyone watching. But Theo knew differently. They hadn’t held hands since they came home from the second memorial.

  He took a sharp breath. Then he wrapped his hand around Alma’s and held on tight. As if his next heartbeat depended on this one single connection. The whole time he kept his eyes on the stage. A girl in the front row was tall and thin, beautiful brown skin like Vienna. Theo watched her dance, watched her perform all the numbers Vienna had known by heart. Especially the last number. The encore.

  The one Vienna had helped choreograph and had been so excited about minutes before . . .

  Theo couldn’t finish his thought. If he squinted just so, he wasn’t watching someone else’s daughter. He was watching his own. His precious baby girl. His Vienna.

  Alma didn’t let go of his hand after the recital, even when so many girls and their parents came up and hugged them. Jessie Taylor presented them with another framed picture, one of herself and Vienna taken at the last practice before the accident.

  They were halfway home—not talking, but still holding hands—when Alma’s phone rang. She answered it on the first ring. “Hello?”

  No telling who was on the other end. Theo listened and kept his eyes on the road.

  “Yes, this is she.” She gasped under her breath. “Who . . . who gave you our information?” She looked at Theo. “The state? Okay, wait, so what’s the situation?”

  For a long time Alma listened. Then she took a deep breath and seemed to hold it. “Mr. Green.” She exhaled. “I truly appreciate the call. Can I . . .” She paused, clearly bewildered. “Can I call you back tomorrow?”

  A few more seconds and the conversation ended. Alma set her phone down and turned to him. “Theo. That was a private adoption attorney.” She blinked, like the conversation was still hitting her. “Mr. Green. He said he usually didn’t make these calls on a Sunday night, but he needed help.”

  “With what?” Theo had no idea where she was going with this. “What did he want?”

  “The state gave him our names. Said we might do a short-term foster care of an infant. For two weeks.” She leaned back in her seat for a few seconds and turned to him once more. “While the birth mother decides whether to go through with an adoption.”

  Foster care of a newborn? For two weeks? Tears blurred his eyes. He blinked a few times so he could still see the road. “Why would they call now? Of all things?”

  “There’s a girl. She keeps changing her mind about placing her child.” Alma went on to explain the situation. “It’s possible they won’t even need us. He just wanted to know if we were open.”

  Theo wiped his hand across one cheek and then the other. Sure, their file was still active, their license to do foster care still valid. But a few years ago they had asked the state to stop calling until further notice. “How in the world?”

  “Someone must’ve made a mistake.” Alma searched his eyes. “The state never should’ve given him our name.”

  Theo was quiet, letting the reality wash over him. “It was all Vienna talked about before . . .”

  Alma’s voice filled with purpose for the first time since the accident. “We should tell him yes, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Theo heard the catch in his voice. “Only God could’ve done this, Alma. Only God.”

  “Definitely.” Alma was crying now, too. They might’ve struggled to find each other this past week, and the road ahead was nothing but steep hills and sharp dropoffs. But right now they didn’t need words to know what the other was thinking.

  They were not alone. God was with them and He could see them. He cared. Because only He could’ve brought about this phone call from the adoption lawyer. A way of letting them know that Vienna was still living, safe with Him. Because this wasn’t just a matter-of-fact call with a simple request.

  It was their daughter’s dream come true.

  20

  Some days Cole felt like he was carrying boulders in his backpack.

  Elise had gone thirteen days without changing her mind. Thirteen days when all they talked about was the baby and whether they should stay in Bloomington for the summer or get settled in Louisiana and have the child there.

  They talked about where Cole would work and how quickly he could start taking online classes. Elise had done the research. Liberty University had a crazy amount of online degrees. Hundreds of options.

  All this made Elise happier every day. Her life was falling into place.

  Not so much for Cole. His was falling apart. At least that’s how he felt.

  There were times when he would be sitting in his science class and just the sight of Elise made him work to catch his breath. Not the way she had affected him back in the beginning, when he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But because the pressure piling up on him was too great to inhale under.

  Like he was suffocating.

  Here was the worst of it: He could only blame himself.

  Yes, he was in love with her. He still could barely think when her eyes caught his, or when he heard her laugh. And he was beyond blown away by her talent as an artist. He had found one of his mom’s old easels and a box of paints she didn’t use anymore. For the last few weeks Elise had come to his house a handful of times, and always she worked on a painting: Cole at bat in his Clear Creek uniform.

  Yes, he loved everything about her.

  But that didn’t mean he was ready to change his life plan. Didn’t mean he had it in him to move to Louisiana and start working full-time to provide for her. And it certainly didn’t mean he was ready to be a father. He wasn’t even nineteen.

  Like always, his dad was right. But what was he supposed to do about his promise to Elise? Now she was counting on him. At different times, when the weight of it all built up and pressed in around his shoulders, he thought about finding a way to tell Elise. But then he’d look into her eyes and know that all he wanted was her.

  Whatever the cost.

  It was Easter Sunday and finally Elise was doing something she’d promised him weeks ago. He picked her up a few doors down from her aunt and uncle’s. They still didn’t know about him or the baby. Elise planned to tell them tomorrow. During his away baseball game.

  “My mom says I have to explain everything to them. As soon as possible.” She had shared this with him at lunch Friday. “I haven’t been very social around them. They probably think I hate being at their house.”

  Cole hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the details. Elise had talked about exactly how she should tell them, which words to
use and what she should say. How they might react.

  The whole time Cole kept shifting beneath the boulders in his backpack.

  Didn’t she see that he had more to deal with than whatever uncomfortable moments might come out of being honest with her aunt and uncle? Cole had so much to think about he was afraid his head might explode. Where was he going to work? And what if he’d mentioned marriage a little too soon? What if they ended up not getting married? Was he still supposed to work to support Elise and the baby? And for how long?

  One boulder after another.

  It was half an hour till the church service. Cole’s parents and siblings were saving seats for Elise and him. Her coming to church was a step in the right direction, because until now Cole couldn’t even answer the most obvious question: Did the girl he loved really care about following Jesus? As far back as he could remember that had been at the top of the list. His mom used to say, “Most important thing in life is figuring out what to do about Jesus.” She would smile. “But second is finding a girl who believes in Him like you do.”

  Cole helped Elise into the car. She was five months pregnant and still not showing at all. She wore a flowery skirt and a fitted blouse. The perfect Easter outfit. “You look pretty.” He still hadn’t kissed her. Didn’t want to until they had more of this figured out.

  “Thanks.” She settled into the seat beside him. “You didn’t ask how my doctor appointment went.”

  That’s right. Cole gripped the steering wheel. “Sorry.” He’d had a home game. No question his hitting was off. The burden of life made it hard to see the ball the way he used to. That’s what Cole had learned this season. He wasn’t half the hitter he’d been last year.

  And even still the Liberty coach wanted him to try out.

  He tried to be interested in what Elise was saying. He still listened while she read the pregnancy app on her phone. How the baby had gone from the size of a pea to a grape to a cantaloupe. And how the infant’s brain was developing, and the lungs and skin. The fact that the baby could hear now.