Goose bumps covered Bella’s sweaty body. She bowed twice and, as she exited the massive stage, she scanned the crowd for the cameraman. “It can’t be,” she whispered under her breath. “There’s no way.”
⧝
Impeccably dressed, Mac felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through his body. It was similar to panic, but different enough to actually enjoy. While his colleagues at Grocholski Advertising filled the conference room, he shook off the jitters of presenting his first proposal to the new company. He was at the bottom of the food chain again, but he couldn’t be happier. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “allow me to introduce the new look for Harvey’s Super Stores.”
He removed the white cloth that covered the giant easel, revealing a colorful collage of drawings and catchy phrases. The room erupted in cheers. Harvey Patterson, the client, clapped the loudest.
After an impressive detailed presentation, the room cleared out.
Mark Grocholski—or Grock, as he insisted everyone call him—and Harvey Patterson stayed behind. “Mac, since we opened the very first store back in 1986,” Harvey said, “I’ve entrusted all of my advertising to this firm. To be quite honest, though, this is the best material I’ve seen. I couldn’t be happier.” He glared at Mac’s boss. “Whatever you’re paying this guy, Grock, it can’t be enough.”
Winking at Mac, Grock replied, “It’s funny you should mention that, Harvey. I was planning to offer Mac a position where he can run his own creative team.” He looked Mac square in the eye. “So what do you think?”
Mac shook his boss’s hand. “I think I’ve finally returned to a very important piece of my life,” he said. “Thank you.”
“So is that a yes?” Grock asked.
Mac smiled. “It’s a definite yes.”
⧝
It was opening day on the softball diamond. Jillian took the pitcher’s mound, prepared to use all the moves her father had taught her. As the crowd cheered her on, she struck out the first three batters. She then got on deck to hit. As she approached the plate, Jen yelled, “Come on, Jillian. You can do it!”
“Come on, Jill!” Bella screeched.
“Hit a home run!” Brady added.
Jillian didn’t even acknowledge her family’s screams. Instead, she concentrated and fouled off the first fastball.
On the second pitch, Jillian caught all of it and tagged it. Bouncing once, the scorched softball went over the fence for a stand-up double. The umpire waited several moments for one of the younger spectators to throw the ball back onto the field. It never came.
While standing on second base, Jillian searched the many different faces in the crowd. Although everyone was smiling, she just couldn’t bring herself to do the same. The only person I wish had seen that double is far, far away from here, she thought, angry at herself for allowing such a thought.
Finally, the ump plucked a new ball from his pocket and handed it to the catcher. “Play ball!” he yelled.
The game resumed.
⧝
Jen answered her front door an hour later. It was her sister.
“Where are the monsters?” Diane teased.
“Jill’s still at the softball field with her friends,” Jen said. “She should be home soon. The other two are in the backyard playing quietly, thank God.” Jen smiled. “What a game Jillian had.”
They sat on the couch. “Oh yeah?” Diane said.
“I’ll let her tell you about it when she gets home,” Jen said.
Diane nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t make Brady’s spelling bee. Mom called and told me that some guy in the back was clapping for him. That’s kind of creepy.”
“It was the strangest thing,” Jen said. “Brady didn’t seem to mind, though. He was happy to have a fan.”
“Who was he?” Diane asked.
Jen shrugged. “Probably one of the teachers. When we got back there, he was gone.”
“Mom said Brady came in second place?”
Jen laughed. “Yeah, and of all words, he misspelled cheese.”
As Diane laughed, a tornado named Bella blew into the room. She approached her aunt and kissed her. “Thanks for coming to my dance recital, Auntie Diane,” Bella said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it, sweetheart.”
“It’s a good thing you got your ticket online,” Jen joked. “They actually sold out.”
Diane’s eyebrow stood at attention. “You’re kidding me? I realized the place was packed but…”
“Oh, these dance recitals are a big to-do,” Jen said. “It’s dog-eat-dog for good seats.”
Diane laughed.
“I thought you were playing outside?” Jen asked Bella.
“I just came in to get a drink. I’m going back out.”
“Take it easy on your brother,” Jen told her.
“Not a chance,” Bella yelled over her shoulder, as she left.
Jen and Diane were laughing when Jillian came into the house, wearing her softball uniform.
“How was the game?” Diane asked.
“We lost by one,” Jillian reported before kissing her aunt.
“Well, that stinks,” Diane said, looking at her sister—confused.
“The good news is,” Jillian said excitedly, “I hit a double. It bounced over the fence and rolled into the woods. They stopped the game for a few minutes…” She shrugged. “…but nobody could find the ball.”
“Why?” Diane asked. “Did you want to keep the ball?”
Jillian snickered. “Not for a double, Auntie Diane.”
⧝
It was a warm Sunday afternoon when Mac—and a dozen adolescents—arrived at the soup kitchen of Our Lady of Grace Church. For several weeks, he’d become heavily involved in the Youth Group. While other adults took the kids on outings to have fun, Mac opted to show the teenagers that some of the greatest joys in life could be found in helping others—folks who could never return the goodness.
With his sleeves rolled up, Mac began serving potatoes to the homeless and downtrodden. Offering a smile to each one, he occasionally shared a laugh with some. And while he did his part, Steph Grossi, one of the pre-teens from the Youth Group, said, “Mr. Anderson, I have a strange question.”
“Then prepare yourself for a strange answer,” he teased.
She giggled. “Seriously though, why is it that being here makes me feel better than almost anywhere else I’ve ever been?”
Mac smiled. “It’s pretty simple, Steph. There’s no better feeling than having purpose and that’s exactly what you feel when you’re here.” He drifted away in thought. Just wait ‘til you have kids. I swear there’s no better feeling in the world. Grinning, he peered into Steph’s eyes. “I’ve found that the greatest reward we can give ourselves is to give to others. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way.” He nodded. “And I’ve also found that when you help someone dig themselves out of their troubles, you can usually find a place to bury your own.”
“Thanks, Mr. Anderson,” she said.
Mac continued to spoon out more than potatoes—offering love and compassion to those who needed it, while teaching others to do the same. Life is becoming purposeful again, he realized, thank God.
⧝
Drew, Brady’s best friend, was in town visiting with his grandparents for a full week. At Brady’s relentless pleading, Jen finally agreed to throw his eighth birthday party a few weeks early.
The same banner from the year before hung in the living room. A small contingency—Jen, Sue, Diane, Jillian, Bella, Brady and Drew—were gathered for the quiet celebration.
Jen entered the living room with the candle-lit cake and started in on a strong rendition of, “Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Brady. Happy birthday to you!”
Making a closed-eyed wish, Brady blew out the eigh
t candles. Everyone applauded. Jen handed the boy his present. He slowly unwrapped the gift. It was a remote-control race car.
“Whoa, so awesome!” Drew said.
“It’s the race car you wanted, Brady,” Bella said.
Brady nodded but said nothing. He was clearly upset.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” Jillian asked.
Jen was surprised. “It’s not the car you wanted?”
“What I really want is…is to go sailing with Dad.” He broke down crying and ran out of the room.
While both Jen and Drew hurried after him, Diane looked at Jillian and Bella. “Guys, your mom’s trying the best she can and you should…”
“…be happy that our dad abandoned us?” Jillian asked in her sarcastic tone.
“I…I didn’t say that, Jill.”
“We miss Daddy, Auntie Diane, that’s all,” Bella said through her sniffles. “We just miss him really, really bad.”
Jillian stormed out of the room.
Diane pulled Bella in for a hug, where the young girl sobbed mournfully.
⧝
Mac sat on the very park bench that had hosted him at his worst. This time, instead of a vodka bottle, he held a pen and a pad of paper, and wrote a birthday letter to his little boy.
Dear Brady,
Happy Birthday, my boy. What I wouldn’t do to be there with you in person right now to help celebrate your eighth birthday. You have no idea. But please know that my thoughts are with you, son, and so is my heart. I’m singing for you today and wishing you all the best this world has to offer. You deserve it, buddy!
It’s very important that you know what you mean to me, Brady. Everything… that’s right, you mean absolutely everything to me. My life would be so empty without you in it.
As I think about you today—as I do every day—I need to ask you to please not be in too much of a hurry to grow up. It’ll happen soon enough.
I’m very proud of you, Brady. You’ve always been a good boy who listens well, which is so important as you grow older. You can’t learn anything when you’re talking, only when you’re listening, right? Remember that. And never be afraid of your feelings, my boy, or being able to express them. Holding things inside is usually the worst thing you can do, believe me.
Although you can’t see me today, I am with you. I am always with you. Happy Birthday, buddy. I can’t wait until we go sailing again! Soon…
You Live in My Heart—Always,
Dad
⧝
Nine endless weeks had passed. Dressed in a new suit and tie, Mac took a seat near his attorney. He glanced over at Jen, but quickly looked away when their eyes locked.
Roland picked up on it. “Maybe you should give Jen a shot and talk to her,” he told Mac, “see why…”
“Roland, I’ve spent a year healing to get back to my kids,” Mac interrupted, “and I really need us to focus on that right now.”
As Roland started to respond, Court Officer Beaupre announced, “All rise. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Dana Rowe presiding.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mac spotted Dr. Faust Fiore sitting in the gallery. Thank you so much, Mac told the man in his head.
Faust winked at him, as though he’d read his mind.
Judge Rowe entered the room, as did social worker, M.J. Connell. Everyone stood. Judge Rowe peered over a pair of eyeglasses that were sitting on the bridge of his slender nose. He finished reviewing the paperwork before him and then glanced thoughtfully at Mac. “Mr. Anderson,” he began, “from what our records indicate, you have not seen your children for nearly a year. Is that correct?”
Mac stood. “It is, your Honor.”
“And you have come before this court today to appeal an active no contact order that currently prevents you from visitation?”
“Yes, your Honor, I have.” He took a deep breath. “May I please speak?”
The judge waved his hand, giving Mac the floor.
“Your Honor” Mac began, “many months ago, I was convicted of domestic assault, for which I admit I was guilty. Though I will never be proud of that fact, only in the last year have I been able to understand why I acted as I did.” He breathed deeply. “You see, your Honor, I’ve been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a result, I’ve lost my career, my home, my marriage, but worst of all, nearly nine months of my children’s lives, time which we can never get back.” Tears filled his eyes. “I can’t imagine that receiving the death penalty could have felt worse. I’m sorry for what I did, but…but I think I’ve been punished for my illness long enough.” He paused. “Your Honor, in these past months, I’ve done everything this court has asked of me and more. My only motivation to overcome my illness and reclaim my life has been to reunite with my three children.” He nodded with conviction. “I love my kids more than my own soul and I beg this court, regardless of the circumstances or conditions set before me, to please allow me back into their lives, back to where I belong.” He paused again to collect himself. “I was sick once, very sick, and I understand there was a need to protect them. But not anymore. I take my medication and I’ve worked through the root of my issues.” He peered into the judge’s eyes. “Most of all, your Honor, I believe my children and I should be reunited because I was never just their father—I’ve always been their dad. You see, I know in my heart that they need me just as much as I need them. Please, your Honor, please let me see my kids. Let me love them again, in ways that only they can understand.” He whispered, “Please…”
Except for several sniffles—Jen’s being the loudest—the courtroom remained silent. Judge Rowe shook his head. This one simple act struck fear in Mac’s heart. Oh, dear God… As if he were about to be electrocuted, he squeezed his fists and gritted his teeth.
“Mr. Anderson, your passionate plea has touched the heart of this court,” the judge explained, “but you must understand that the welfare of your children is paramount.”
Mac nodded. Please God! He felt like he was going to pass out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jen slide to the edge of her seat. Her face was bleached white.
“Mr. Anderson,” the judge continued, “I apologize for the pain you’ve endured this past year. It’s quite evident to me that you’ve suffered tremendously.”
Mac nodded again, awaiting the worse.
“I apologize because, although I agree that your children needed to be protected at a time that you required psychological help, I’m not sure that a no contact order was in the best interest of anyone involved—you or your children.”
Thank you, Lord, Mac thought, his eyes swelling with joyous tears. This judge actually understands compassion.
“You see,” Judge Rowe explained, “that’s the problem with family court—the laws are vague and those passing judgment are compelled to play it safe.” He shook his head. “Family court should, whenever possible, keep the family unit intact. And that clearly did not happen in this case.” He paused to write something down. “Mr. Anderson, I am going to grant your appeal and revoke the no contact order.”
“Yes!” Mac blurted, nearly leaping out of his skin. At last, he could breathe again.
“…with several conditions,” the judge added.
Mac nodded.
“…that you reunite with your children under the initial supervision of the Department of Social Services,” the judge said, smiling at Mac. “We need to ensure that your behavior is appropriate and your interaction with the children is acceptable. If what you’ve said to this court today is true, then I can’t imagine this will pose a problem.”
“I understand, your Honor.” Mac had to force the words past the lump in his throat. Tearfully, he smiled back. “No problem at all.”
“Your assigned social worker will report back to me on your progress and we’ll revisit the need for supervised visitat
ion at that time.”
“Thank you, your Honor. Thank you so much!”
The judge leaned forward. “No, Mr. Anderson, thank you. In all sincerity, you should be commended for the work you’ve put in and the devotion you’ve shown toward your children. I’ve seen many similar cases come before me and not every father is willing to dedicate himself the way you have.” He looked at Jen. “The first visit will be scheduled for this coming Monday at 6:30 p.m. Will there be a problem with this, Mrs. Anderson?”
Mac cringed. Here we go…
“No, not at all,” Jen squeaked. She, too, was clearly overwhelmed with emotion. “I’m absolutely delighted, your Honor.”
For the first time since he could remember, Mac looked at his estranged wife—stepping into her eyes. When he did, Jen returned the gaze and stared straight into his soul. She smiled sweetly. He swallowed hard. There are still deep feelings, he realized, surprised by this.
Jen’s eyes never left her husband’s. “And I know the kids will be too,” she added. “They’ve really missed their dad.” Her face was awash in tears.
Mac swallowed hard again.
“Very good then,” Judge Rowe said, wearing a smile while he jotted down another note. “Mr. Anderson, on Monday at 6:30 p.m., you will be reunited with your children. We can…” The rest spilled out as some undiscernible buzz.
Mac turned to Roland and hugged him.
“One last thing, Mr. Anderson,” Judge Rowe said.
Mac broke off the hug. “Yes, your Honor?” he asked, reluctantly.
“This court would like to extend its best wishes toward a successful reunion with your children.”
Mac was overjoyed. “Thank you, your Honor.” He’d never been happier. He turned back toward Jen. She winked at him, releasing a swarm of butterflies in his gut. It doesn’t make sense, he thought, after everything we’ve been through.
⧝
Mac met Faust outside of the courtroom.
“Congratulations,” the doctor said, “it looks like our court system finally got something right.”
Mac felt overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you for coming today, Faust,” he said.
“I was here in case you needed a closing pitcher,” Faust said, “but I just witnessed a no-hitter…a perfect game.”
Three Shoeboxes e-book Page 23
