Any Dream Will Do

by Debbie Macomber

  I hesitated and so Sarah filled in for me. “Shay, a wise, confident, trusting woman. Isn’t that good!” the youngster said, looking well pleased with herself.

  “It’s very good,” Drew said, holding my gaze. “I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

  “When are we going to eat?” Mark asked, sounding bored. “I’m hungry.”

  “I am, too,” Drew said and headed for the Crock-Pot. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s nothing special, so don’t get your hopes up,” he warned me.

  The truth was, just spending time with Drew and his children was special enough. He could have been serving sawdust for all I cared.

  Mondays were technically my day off. Off being figurative. While I wasn’t involved in church business, unless there was an emergency, I often used my free day to catch up with housework as much as possible.

  This Monday, like most Mondays, I was knee-deep in laundry. I had three separate loads piled on the floor in front of the washer and dryer. As soon as I finished those I would need to run two extra loads for the bed sheets. I couldn’t put off getting groceries another day, either. The cupboards were shockingly bare. I’d need to find time to squeeze that in between a dentist appointment for Mark at eleven-thirty and when I needed to be at the elementary school. I’d volunteered with Sarah’s class to help with an art project.

  I’d volunteered. What was I thinking?

  Being forced into the roles of both mother and father physically and emotionally drained me. Some days, when the frustration felt overwhelming, I had to remind myself Katie hadn’t opted to die. She didn’t want to leave our children. Or me. Doing so broke her heart.

  It had nearly broken me, too. It’d taken all this time to come out of the blue funk I’d sunk into. These days, I was able to deal with the needs of the children that would normally fall into Katie’s hands without the anger. It was the unreasonable irritation with Katie that had once clung to me like an insidious spiderweb I couldn’t seem to free myself from. It was much better now. I’d learned to adjust, hold on to the good times, and remember how deeply she’d loved me and the children.

  She was gone and I was left to face life without her, taking on all the responsibilities she’d carried in our family, and feeling grossly inadequate to do them half as well as she had.

  It’d been four years now and I would never stop missing Katie. She’d been the perfect pastor’s wife: devoted, loving, kind, godly. I felt like a part of me was missing every single day. The grief wasn’t suffocating the way it had been that first year. I still missed her terribly, but I’d forged a path through that overwhelming loss, and as with most pain, I’d found rewards as well. A deeper understanding of myself, of all that I had for which to be grateful, the good years Katie and I had shared, the love we’d found, our children. These were small jewels I’d picked up along the way toward healing. I could remember her now and not feel the anchors weighing me down. I could even laugh and joke again.

  And one day, God willing, I would even love again.

  By the time I’d finished folding and putting away the laundry, buying groceries, and taking Mark to the dentist—he was going to need braces—it seemed I was rushing from one point to another. Before I headed to Sarah’s school, I popped dinner in the Crock-Pot and made a mental list of everything else I needed to accomplish that day. My head was spinning out of control. Back at the house, I stripped the beds, and put the sheets into the washing machine. I’d need to make the beds later. Mark promised to get the sheets into the dryer while I dropped Sarah off for her violin lesson.

  After dinner, while the kids did their homework, I put the freshly dried sheets on the beds and loaded the washer with our towels for the last load of the day. It would help, I realized, if I was able to spread out these chores over the rest of the week, but that never seemed to work well for me.

  I was more than ready to sit down and relax when Sarah asked me to read her a story before she went to bed. It’d been a long time since I’d read my daughter to sleep, seeing that she was reading at a fourth-grade level herself all on her own.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, she surprised me by crawling onto my lap and laying her head against my shoulder. This, too, was out of the norm and left me wondering if she was coming down with something. I never felt more inadequate than when one of the kids was sick.

  “You not feeling well?” I asked. This clinging little girl wasn’t like my take-charge nine-year-old daughter.

  “No,” she answered, her voice so low I had to strain to hear her. “I’m sad.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “What are you sad about?” I asked, thinking something must have happened at school.

  She turned and buried her face in my chest.

  “What is it, pumpkin?” I asked, using the pet name I had for her.

  Sarah released a wobbly breath as if struggling to hold back tears. “I heard Mrs. Gallon tell another teacher that I was a motherless child.”

  I stiffened. “Mrs. Gallon is wrong.”

  Sarah cocked her head so she could look at me, her eyes wide and questioning. “My mommy died, though.”

  “Yes, she did, but you have a mother, Sarah, one who loved you very much. She just isn’t here any longer.” My words hung in the air between us as my daughter absorbed them.

  “I’m not motherless?”

  “No, you most certainly are not.”

  The tightness around her eyes relaxed. “I remember her,” Sarah whispered.

  Katie’s photograph sat on Sarah’s dresser. The picture was taken shortly after Sarah’s birth. Katie held our infant daughter and smiled into the camera. I’d always loved that photo of my wife, and looking at it now, I felt more than a pang of loneliness.

  “She used to read me stories and sing to me.”

  My arms tightened briefly as I remembered Katie singing in the shower and as she moved about the house. It seemed she was filled with song. “Your mother had a beautiful voice.”

  “Was she in the choir?”

  “Oh yes.” To my mind, the choir had never sounded the same without Katie.

  “I don’t remember what her voice sounded like,” Sarah whispered, and again it seemed as if she was close to tears.

  I kissed the top of Sarah’s head and sighed. I hadn’t thought to record Katie’s voice before she died. The cancer had claimed her far too quickly, even though she’d battled valiantly. When she’d been told she had only a few months to live I’d been in shock and denial, refusing to believe she would die. Talk about someone burying his head in the sand! I didn’t want to believe, let alone accept, that I was about to lose my soulmate.

  “All you need to remember,” I advised my daughter, “is how much your mother loved you.”

  “And I’m not a motherless child,” Sarah stated emphatically.

  “Right,” I assured her.

  Sarah covered her mouth as she yawned.

  “Do you still want me to read you a good-night story?”

  She nodded. “Please.”

  Forty minutes later I crept out of Sarah’s bedroom and decided to check on Mark. My son was a quiet boy and hadn’t been as open in dealing with his feelings when it came to the loss of his mother.

  Mark sat at the kitchen table, an algebra book open in front of him. Both Mark and Sarah were intelligent children. I never had to worry about their grades. “How’s it going, buddy?” I asked, coming to stand behind him. I rested my hand on his shoulder.

  “Okay.”

  He almost always answered questions with one word. I’d learned the key to communicating with him was to ask questions that required thought on his part.

  Pulling out the chair, I sat down next to him and looked over the problems. Mathematics had never been my strong suit. Mark was already working equations that were above my skill level. I didn’t volunteer to help should he need it, which, thankfully he didn’t.

  “So what do you think about getting braces?” I asked.

  He shrugged.
“It’s all right, I guess.”

  It would mean a lot of dentist appointments, not to mention the expense. That reminded me I needed to check our dental coverage to see how much of the cost would be covered by the plan…if the plan even included braces.

  “How about a bowl of ice cream?”

  Mark glanced up and paused as if he needed to clear his head before he considered the offer. “We have ice cream?”

  “I got groceries today.” Scooting back the chair, I headed over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer. “You want some?” I asked, pulling out the container.

  “What flavor?”

  “Vanilla.”

  “No thanks.” Mark slouched his shoulders forward as he bent over his math homework.

  Really, what kid refused ice cream? “You don’t like vanilla?”

  “It’s okay. I’m not in the mood.”

  “How about a banana?” Fruit never lasted long at our house.

  “No thanks.”

  I’d noticed he hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, and that didn’t seem right. If this continued, I’d make a doctor appointment.

  “Mark,” I argued. “You’re a growing boy. You need to eat more.”

  My son slapped his pencil down on the table with such force that it shocked me.

  “That’s the problem, Dad, I’m not growing. I’m the shortest boy in my class and I hate it.”

  So that was it. Well, this was an area I knew well. “Hey, kiddo, I was short at your age, too, and look at me now.” I was proud of every inch of my six feet. Setting the ice cream back in the freezer, I joined Mark at the table. “I didn’t like being short when I was your age, either.”

  Mark held on to the pencil with both hands with such force that I was convinced it was about to snap in two.

  “When did you start to grow?”

  My son wouldn’t want to hear this, so I fudged a bit. “High school.”

  This was a white lie, although there is no such thing. A lie is a lie. I didn’t get my height until the summer after I’d graduated. The growth streak hit just before I left for college.

  “High school.” Mark groaned and, bending forward, pressed his forehead against the tabletop. “I have to wait that long?”

  Offering sympathy, I patted his back. “I’m sorry, son, but most likely you will.”

  It went without saying this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Like Mark, I’d been as skinny as a beanpole, too. Short, skinny, and something of a nerd. Unlike Mark, my grades weren’t anything to write home about. Thankfully, in that area our son took after Katie, who had always earned top grades. In fact, we’d met in college when I’d needed a math tutor.

  “Isn’t there anything I can do to grow quicker?” Mark pleaded. “Aren’t there growing pills I can take?”

  “Not that I know of.” There probably were, but I wasn’t about to mention that to my son.

  Mark closed his eyes, shook his head, and then slammed his textbook closed. “I’m going to bed.”

  Hesitating, I wasn’t sure if I should follow and try to encourage him, or not. Until now I hadn’t had much success in offering him reassurances. He didn’t want reality and I didn’t blame him.

  At his age I’d been impatient, too. I was a senior in high school before I’d asked a girl out on a date, and the main reason was because nearly every girl in my class was taller than me.

  The house was quiet when I sat down in front of the television with a bowl of ice cream. I liked to watch the late news for the weather report so I’d know how best to help the kids dress in the morning. Mark didn’t need help as much as Sarah. If it was up to her, Sarah would wear a summer dress every day. She was a girly girl who liked dresses and her hair done up fancy.

  Thinking about her hair made me want to cringe. My daughter wanted to keep her hair long, which was nothing but a hassle for me. I knew this desire was partly because of the picture Sarah had of her mother. Before all the cancer treatments Katie’d had long, thick, dark hair. This was Sarah’s way of being like her mother. Unfortunately, my daughter’s hair tangled easily and she hated having me brush it out. For all the crying and whimpering she did while I fussed with her hair, I was surprised I hadn’t been turned in to Child Protective Services for child abuse.

  The weatherman stood in front of a map of western Washington and the entire half of the state showed cloud cover. Rain was forecasted for the remainder of the week, typical of winter in this part of the state. Naturally, my children wanted it to snow, but snowfall was rare in Seattle.

  Even before the news finished airing, I felt myself drifting off. My day had been full, and it would be morning before I knew it.

  Checking to make sure all the doors were locked and secure, I turned out the lights and headed to my bedroom. A half-hour later I crawled into bed and nestled against the pillow. Closing my eyes, I murmured my prayers. As always, Mark and Sarah were the first ones that came to mind. I asked for wisdom as their father, how best to guide and shape their young lives. I worried about fulfilling their needs, being a good father, and feared I overcompensated because they had lost their mother.

  The church family was next. My concerns there were multiple. Our numbers were growing, not by leaps and bounds by any means, but there was a slow increase and that was encouraging. We’d gone back to mailing out the monthly newsletter. Funny how a little thing like that could make a difference.

  Linda had headed up the Christmas program and the choir was practicing for the Christmas Eve service. I hoped to get the tree up and decorated following church Sunday afternoon.

  As I was rounding out my prayers, Shay Benson popped into my mind. My thoughts came to an abrupt halt and my eyes opened. Seeing her in church on Sunday morning had boosted my spirits. Although I’d spoken to her only a few times over the last year, I’d kept tabs on her through Kevin.

  Shay had fulfilled every requirement. According to Kevin, she’d made significant progress in the last few months. She had found employment at The Corner Café, which was situated about six blocks away from the church. With help from Hope Center, she would move into one of the tiny houses supplied to graduating residents in the transition phase. He’d told me she’d be allowed to live there for a year with minimal rent until she could afford a place on her own.

  Kevin had warned me not to get my hopes up when it came to Shay. The real test would come once she left the center and mingled with the real world. He was optimistic, but he’d seen too many promising women return to their former lifestyles.

  Kevin never lost heart, though. I wasn’t sure how he did it. His faith was strong; I wished I could be more like him, resilient and unwavering in his efforts, refusing to let the weight of discouragement keep him down.

  I wanted to believe the life lessons Shay had learned at Hope Center had taken root. Kevin had assured me she would face more than one trial in her efforts to build a new life. The good news was that as long as she maintained a good support system, attended group meetings, and stayed out of trouble, she would do well. For her sake I prayed she would.

  Graduation was the following weekend. I was pleased Shay had come to personally invite me. Remembering how quickly Sarah had taken to her brought a smile to my face. Having her join us for a meal had been a big move on my part. It was the first time since we’d lost Katie that I’d invited a single woman to our home. Not until after she left did I realize what I’d done, but I had no regrets.

  We’d all enjoyed her company.

  Even Mark.

  I noticed my normally somber son had actually smiled a couple times as Shay and Sarah told me about choosing a new name for Shay.

  Bunching up my pillow, I smiled into the darkness. I’d had a full day. It seemed I’d been on the run from the minute the alarm sounded until I placed my head back on the pillow. I should be exhausted.

  I was exhausted.

  At the same time, I was smiling, thinking about Shay.

  And feeling pleased that I’d be seeing her again
soon.

  The Thursday before graduation was the Bring-a-Meal night. As soon as I stepped into the cafeteria I realized the volunteer group serving was from Seattle Calvary, Drew’s church. The woman he’d mentioned several times, Linda Kincaid, was busy supervising a group of servers.

  After I’d eaten I built up my confidence enough to seek her out. Cleanup was going on around me when I approached her. “You’re Linda Kincaid, aren’t you?” I said.

  She turned and looked for the source of the voice until her gaze caught mine.

  “Yes.” While her words were clipped, her eyes were friendly. “Have we met?”

  “No…not formally. Drew…Pastor Douglas suggested I introduce myself.” I needed to remember not to use his given name, although that was the way I thought of him.

  “You attend Seattle Calvary?”

  “No…well, I did last Sunday, but that was the first time.”

  We were interrupted when one of the volunteers asked Linda a question. “Put it in the van,” she instructed. She reached inside her pocket and handed the other woman a set of keys before returning her attention to me.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying again?”

  “Nothing, really. I wanted to meet you. Drew…sorry, Pastor Douglas, has mentioned your name several times. He told me how much he relies on you.”

  “He’s a good man and I’m happy to help him,” Linda said. “He’s carrying a heavy load.”

  “He is,” I agreed. “Does he ever come to one of the BAM nights?” He hadn’t in the year that I’d been at Hope Center.

  A touch of sadness flirted in and out of Linda’s eyes. “He routinely did, but that was before his wife got so sick. Now he feels it’s more important to have dinner with his children. Why do you ask?”

  I looked down at my feet, wondering how much I should say, if anything. “He’s a good cook.” I quickly amended that. “Perhaps I should say his Crock-Pot skills are finely tuned.”

  Her mouth opened and closed as though she wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s cooked for you?”