The Book in Room 316

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  Clark had slid this onto my wrist one night as I slept. I’d worn it the entire time I was trying to recover from my grief. I’d tossed it once God refused to honor my wish to get pregnant again. I couldn’t believe Clark had dug the bracelet out of the trash and hung on to it all this time.

  I fell back against the headboard. I didn’t want these things to get to me, yet they were. I hated that all of this was affecting me. All of this was reminding me that, while I despised what Clark had done, it didn’t change the fact that I loved him from the bottom of my heart.

  After years of not praying, a small prayer entered my heart.

  Dear Lord, please help me figure this out. Give me some kind of sign of what I should do.

  I waited a moment, and of course, there was nothing.

  “So much for that whole prayer works thing,” I mumbled.

  I went back to sifting through the stuff. There were more love notes, mementos from special times in our lives. I hadn’t realized that Clark had kept all this stuff. I had gone through just about everything when I spotted a long white envelope I’d never seen before. I picked it up and saw a postmark from two days ago.

  I glanced at the return address: Gilman Adoption Agency. My heart quickened as I turned the letter over and tore it open. I pulled out a piece of paper and began reading.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Graham,

  It is our extreme honor to tell you that we have located an older child in need of a home. With your preliminary paperwork, everything has been approved and we’d love for you to come meet eight-year-old Franklin. We’d love to arrange this meeting at your earliest convenience. Franklin would love to meet you and I think you guys are going to adore him. Please call my office to schedule.

  Sincerely,

  Scott Murchin

  The Gilman Adoption Agency

  The letter trembled in my hand. A picture was attached to the back of Franklin’s data sheet. The boy was missing a front tooth, but he grinned like he was the happiest child in the world. He wore a Houston Astros T-shirt, and though he looked a little malnourished, he didn’t appear to have a care in the world.

  He looked like the child I’d always dreamed I’d have.

  I had lost everything. My baby. The ability to have children, my mother, my marriage, and now that I was coming to terms with that, God wanted to send this precious little boy into my life? What kind of madness was this?

  A child.

  I’d asked for a sign and I’d gotten a child.

  I noticed another handwritten note from Clark at the bottom of the letter. He must have opened the envelope and sealed it back up.

  Savannah,

  I didn’t want to tell you about this because I don’t want you to come back to me just for him. I want you to come back to me for us, because you want our marriage. Because you love me. I wanted you to recognize, on your own, that you and I were put on this earth to give this child a home. My prayer tonight and every night is that you will take this as a sign that we were meant to be. All three of us.

  Love forever,

  Clark

  My dream of motherhood was about to come true. But would I go back to Clark just because of a child?

  I glanced over at the tattered book that had stopped me from making a mistake. If I had slept with Wilson, the guilt alone would’ve kept me from going back. Though vengeance had seemed right at the time, it wasn’t who I was. And I was grateful that I hadn’t crossed that line.

  I picked the book up and wondered about its history as I remembered Clark reading verses as he tried to pull me out of my grief. I hadn’t purposely opened this book, and yet it had changed my life by reminding me that my broken heart could be healed.

  And with that revelation, I knew . . .

  I set the book back on the nightstand, then stood and started throwing things into my bag. I was going home . . . not for the love of a child. I was going home for love.

  I threw my bag over my shoulder, then headed to the door. I stopped and looked back around Room 316. I’d come here with my eyes closed, blinded by pain. And though the pain was still there, I chose happiness. I knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but Clark, Franklin, and I, we were going to see it through.

  chapter

  * * *

  13

  Forgiveness isn’t easy. Sometimes it’s more painful than the wound itself.

  For some reason the words of my old therapist popped into my head. Probably because I’d been struggling for the past week that I’d been home. I had known that it wouldn’t be easy. I hadn’t known it would be this hard.

  I sat at the kitchen table as Clark cooked my favorite omelet. He was rambling like we were fine.

  “I’m so excited about this program,” he said as he set a glass of juice in front of me. “Jarvis Christian College is really trying to boost their enrollment. They got a grant and they’re working with us to identify candidates. They’re giving two of our boys full rides. Unfortunately, I’m having the hardest time finding some kids to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  I tried my best to be interested. At any other time I would’ve been. But staying focused on the future—and not the past—was a struggle.

  Clark set my omelet down and studied me.

  “Am I boring you?”

  “No,” I said, managing a smile. I told myself each day that, while I didn’t have to be happy and giddy, it did no one any good for me to walk around clutching my anger like a well-worn sweater. I remember the therapist telling me that there was a reason the front windshield was bigger than the rearview mirror. The past needed to fade away. “I think it’s really good what you guys are doing at the Boys & Girls Club. Who are you going to give the scholarships to?”

  “I already have one kid on board, William Johnston. His friends call him Wiz.”

  “Oh, I remember him,” I replied. “He’s the little freckled cutie-pie you had over for Christmas dinner one year.”

  “Yes, him and Trey Ruffin. I wanted Trey because he has the book smarts, but he’s kinda just dropped off the radar and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. Wiz is excited, though.”

  Any other time, I would’ve relished this quality time, talking about the things we loved. But it’s like the devil wouldn’t let me focus.

  “How are we going to heal?” I finally said, immediately shifting the tone of the conversation.

  Clark slid into the seat across from me and took my hand. “I don’t know. All I can do is make you the promise that I’m going to do whatever it takes. Pastor Ed wants us to come see him,” he said, referring to our minister. “If you prefer that we get a regular counselor, we can.”

  I thought about it. Maybe we could do that after, but right now it was going to take a whole lot of God to help us get through this.

  I lowered my eyes, determined not to cry. Why wouldn’t my heart cooperate with my head since I’d made the decision to forgive my husband?

  “I don’t know how many ways to tell you I’m sorry,” Clark said. He’d been apologizing every day since I’d returned home.

  I opened my mouth, poised to ask for more details about what had happened between him and Dawn. But something made me pause. Would any answer ever be good enough?

  You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep rereading the last one.

  I smiled as I remembered Clark’s words when he’d been trying to convince me to adopt—and I answered each request with a “but the baby we lost . . .”

  Instead of asking about the past, I decided on neutral ground.

  “Whatever happened to that grant you were getting from the Lawson Foundation to renovate the club?” I asked.

  Clark leaned back. “Unfortunately, they wrote us a bad check that didn’t clear, and that we can’t collect on because they filed bankruptcy.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said. “So their debt just gets canceled? How shysty.”

  Clark pointedly looked at me and replied, “Nah, the foundation does go
od work. Mr. Lawson has really tried his best.” He hesitated. “Just because someone really screwed up once and can’t repay their debt doesn’t mean they are a bad person and will never be able to get it right in the future. Bankruptcy is about canceling all their debts, giving them a second chance, and hoping they have learned a lesson from their experience.”

  I stared at him, reading the undertones of his message. After a few moments I replied just as pointedly, “But bankruptcy doesn’t allow you to just start over as if nothing happened. You have no credit at all. You can’t borrow, you have to be accountable for your actions, showing the court that you are worthy of a second chance.”

  He didn’t blink as he responded. “And anyone who really appreciates that second chance, and the fact that they don’t have to live in debtor’s prison for the rest of their lives, doesn’t mind.”

  “So, the prisoner should just be set free?” I asked.

  “It’s the first step to forgiveness,” he said. “In fact, that’s what forgiveness is. A person might not deserve it, but someone sees fit to give you a second chance, believe in you and give you a fresh start.” He stopped beating around the bush as he leaned in. “I thank you for coming back to me, Savannah. Now I pray for a fresh start. I want your heart back, and I’d like you to know that I will guard it until the day I die.”

  We sat in momentary silence, and I resolved—in that moment—that I would choose the front-view window and not the rearview mirror.

  “You know what I’d like?” I finally said, smiling at him.

  “What, babe?”

  “I’d like to finish breakfast and then go see our son.”

  That made Clark smile, too. Our adoption wouldn’t be finalized for thirty days, but we’d immediately bonded with Franklin, and that little boy had given me more joy than I’d ever thought possible. I wasn’t just fighting to heal for me and Clark, I was fighting for that new child. Our son.

  “I’d like that, too,” Clark said. He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and held my hand as we continued eating.

  Clark was more than his mistake. He was right. Freeing him would set me free.

  That thought brought me peace.

  Ollie

  chapter

  * * *

  14

  There had to be a hundred people here. At least that’s how it felt as I listened to the laughter that filled my house. The sound of my sons arguing on the back patio. My daughter and daughter-in-law in the kitchen, laughing as they baked and shared gossip. And then my grandkids, who ran across the living room as if they had no home training. The only one acting like he had any sense was my grandson Jeremiah, who sat in his usual spot on the end of the sofa, headphones on, drowning out the noise as he played on some handheld video game.

  Yes, it seemed like a hundred people were here.

  In reality, though, there were only about twenty. But that was more stimulation than my seventy-nine-year-old mind could handle. I longed for the silence that I had been encased in for the past six weeks—before my children decided that they needed to celebrate my birthday today. They just didn’t understand. I had no desire to celebrate my birthday anymore, especially since my beloved wife, Elizabeth, died one year ago today. Why my kids had the cockamamie idea that a party on the day I lost my soul mate was the answer to my grief was beyond me.

  Stop being a pessimist.

  I heard Elizabeth’s words in my head. And that brought a smile to my face. She used to always complain about how much of a grouch I could be. I didn’t used to be that way. Old age had brought with it a shorter temper. Right now, though, if I could just get Elizabeth back, I would never utter a grouchy word again.

  “Hey, Dad. You sure you don’t want a beer?”

  I thought about taking a beer just so that my youngest son, Cole, would quit asking. But while their parents didn’t seem to care, I didn’t like drinking in front of my grandchildren, especially my grandsons. I wanted to make sure they always saw a good example, since alcohol brought out the worst in people, especially my sons.

  “No, thanks,” I replied.

  “Jeremiah, how long are you going to play that game?” my oldest son, Charlie, said as Jeremiah continued tapping away at the screen. He kicked Jeremiah’s foot when the fourteen-year-old didn’t answer. “Boy, do you hear me talking to you?”

  Jeremiah removed one headphone from his ear. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Put the game down and go play with your cousins.”

  Jeremiah stared at his father in disbelief. “My cousins are four,” he finally said.

  “He’s all right,” I said, tousling the curly red mop atop his head. Jeremiah was the quiet and reserved one of my grandchildren. He was a loner, who I could tell felt like he didn’t fit in anywhere—even with our family. And Charlie didn’t make things easier for him. He hated that Jeremiah wasn’t an aggressive bully like him, and he constantly gave his son a hard time. “Jeremiah’s enjoying quality time with his grandpa,” I said.

  “You call that quality?” Charlie said, pointing at the TV. “You’re watching some show in black-and-white.”

  “It’s Gunsmoke. It’s a classic,” I said.

  “You’re watching Gunsmoke and he’s catching Pokémons. Yeah, real grandfather-grandson bonding time,” Charlie quipped.

  “Are we bothering you?”

  Charlie threw his hands up. “Fine. Do whatever makes you happy.”

  I looked over at Jeremiah. “This makes us happy, right?”

  Jeremiah nodded. “Yep.” He put his headphone back on his ear and went back to playing his game.

  Charlie shook his head and headed outside onto the deck. I went back to watching TV. The show had just gone to a commercial break when my four-year-old twin grandsons raced through the living room. One bumped into an end table and caused a picture of Elizabeth to topple over, fall to the floor, and the glass to shatter into a million pieces.

  “Jacob, Jonathan!” I screamed as I jumped up. Both boys froze in fear. I’d been yelling at them for the past hour, telling them to stop running in the house. But since my daughter Marian was into that New Age “let kids be kids” discipline, the twins didn’t listen to anyone.

  The outburst caused the women to come running in.

  “Oh, my God. What did you boys do?” Marian said.

  “They broke Grandma’s picture,” Jeremiah responded, not looking up from his game.

  I stared at the shattered glass as mist covered my eyes. It was my favorite picture of Elizabeth. She’d picked this frame out on my twenty-fifth birthday.

  “Dad, I am so sorry,” Marian said as she stooped down to help me pick up the broken glass.

  “They broke it . . .” I said as I continued picking up the pieces. The corner of the ceramic frame was cracked beyond repair. I was so upset my hands were shaking.

  Marian kept uttering apologies, but other than that, silence had filled the room and the twins looked terrified. If Elizabeth had been there, she would have told them not to worry about it as she cleaned up the mess. But all I could do was shake in anger.

  “Dad, it’s okay. We’ll get another frame,” Charlie said.

  “We’ve had this frame for fifty years,” I snapped.

  Jacob stepped toward me and extended a piece of paper. “I sorry, PawPaw. I drewed you a picture.”

  “See, he’s sorry,” Marian said, smiling like everything was okay.

  Despite my anger, I took the paper—and then I noticed the scribbled crayons over the words on the page.

  “Did you . . . ?”

  At that point I noticed torn pages leading a trail down the hall. “Oh . . . my . . . God.” I darted over and picked up the pages—ripped from the Bible that sat on the nightstand in my room.

  I raced to my room and saw Elizabeth’s Bible on the floor with half the pages haphazardly torn out.

  “Oh, boys, what did you do?” Marian asked, appearing behind me.

  Once again I fell to my knees as I picked up page after p
age. And each crumpled and torn page pierced my heart.

  Everyone must’ve followed me to my room because Charlie reached over to touch my shoulder. I snatched my body away. I needed to get out of this place. It was suffocating me. I didn’t want all these people in my house. I didn’t want these people around me. The only person I wanted, I couldn’t have.

  I stood and stomped back into the living room, picked up the photo, shook the glass off, then stood and headed toward the door. “Dad, where are you going?” Charlie asked. I ignored him as I grabbed my keys off the table by the door and headed out.

  “Dad . . .” Marian said as she, Charlie, and Cole followed me out.

  “Come on, this is your party. Don’t be like this,” Cole said.

  “You’re getting all worked up for nothing,” Charlie said.

  I didn’t say a word as I clicked the remote to unlock the doors to my 2001 Ford F-150. My pride and joy. The truck Elizabeth had finally broken down and let me get.

  Charlie said, “Where are you going?”

  Still, I didn’t reply. I rolled down my window and put the truck in reverse. Cole jumped in the back to keep me from leaving the driveway.

  “Dad, it’s your birthday. We’re not letting you go,” he said.

  “Cole, if you don’t want to end up in the grave next to your mother, you will get out of my way,” I hissed. My chest heaved as I struggled to keep my calm.

  “Dad, the twins didn’t mean it. We’ll buy you a new frame,” Marian said.

  I just glared at her. That was her solution to everything. Just buy a replacement. Some things couldn’t be replaced.

  “I’m just going out to clear my head. I’ll be back,” I finally said, hoping that would be enough to get them to leave me alone.

  “How long will you be gone?” Charlie asked. “Yvonne and Mandy are on the way over,” he added, referring to his sisters.

  He was holding that out as bait. Yvonne was the only one of my kids that I could stomach for more than a couple of hours. She was the only one with an iota of sense.