Lead Me Home

by Stacy Hawkins Adams

  She could tell Monica was uncomfortable and knew she’d have to reassure her later that the frostiness had nothing to do with her. They were leaving the house now, heading to a neighborhood ice cream shop. Few people would be there on this chilly fall afternoon, but Monica had requested it, and Shiloh didn’t mind complying with what might be a craving, or simply a teenage request.

  They settled into their spots with their mint chocolate chip and birthday cake ice cream and enjoyed their treat and the sunny day.

  “I told Pastor Randy I enjoyed his sermon today,” Monica said. “That grace stuff he talked about is what I need right about now. Good to know I’m still eligible.”

  “Always,” Shiloh said, reflecting on her own worship service revelations. “Don’t be like me and think that it applies to everyone but you. It’s a gift that’s granted the minute you repent, and turn toward God.”

  She hated to change the subject, but she couldn’t wait any longer for an update. “So how are you doing, and how are things with your dad?”

  Monica shrugged. “I’m the talk of the town, I guess. It’s all over Facebook and Instagram that I’m pregnant by Trey, and everyone is saying horrible things about me. It’s insane, and I can’t believe I’m being trashed this way. The crazy thing is, I think he’s the one spreading the rumor, even though he’s like my father—demanding that I get rid of the baby.”

  Monica’s stoic revelations threw Shiloh for a loop. “Come again? Why would Trey mess up both of your reputations like that?”

  Monica gave her a “Let’s get serious” look. “It doesn’t mess up his reputation, Mrs. Griffin. Especially if I get rid of the baby like he wants. It builds him up as a guy who can have any girl, and keep rolling along. And I guess that’s exactly what he’s doing. Meanwhile, everyone is shunning me like I have a disease.”

  There was still some ice cream left in Monica’s cup, but she rested it on the table as if she were full. Shiloh leaned forward, so she could peer into the girl’s eyes. Now seemed as good a time as any to share her own experiences, if Monica wanted to listen. “So what are you saying, Monica … are you going to get rid of the baby?”

  The girl shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, Mrs. Griffin. My dad is insisting that we make an appointment as soon as possible; my future is hanging in the balance here. But Grandma Eleanor is saying not to do that, because I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  Shiloh decided to tread carefully. “What do you think?”

  “I think there are going to be regrets whatever I do. If I become a teen mom I’ll miss college altogether, or go somewhere local that won’t allow me to study music and become a professional musician. If I give the baby away to be adopted, I’ll always miss him or her, and wonder if my child is being cared for the right way. And if I get an abortion I’ll wonder for the rest of my life who or what my child might have been.”

  Shiloh nodded. “I get it; I’ve been there.”

  Monica’s eyes widened as she soaked in what Shiloh was saying. “What do you mean? Did you …?”

  “I had an abortion when I was in college, and to this day I remember exactly where I was and how it felt before, during, and after. Those memories are etched in my spirit forever.”

  Monica was taken aback. She didn’t speak for several minutes, and Shiloh allowed the silence to fill the space between them, as the girl thought about, or prayed about, what she wanted to know next. When Monica finally spoke, she still didn’t have much clarity.

  “Well, if you were me, what would you do? I’m just so torn …”

  Shiloh sat back in her chair and shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not going to make this decision for you, like Trey, your dad, and your grandmother want to do. As much as I have my own set of beliefs and experiences, I need you to talk to God and follow his lead. You have to live with yourself, and with your decision—not Trey, not your dad, and not your grandmother.

  “We parents can become frantic sometimes in our efforts to ensure that our babies get all the right breaks and opportunities in life, but we don’t realize the power in allowing you all to see us being authentic, and sometimes afraid. You will face a consequence for your intimate relationship with Trey, whatever you decide. The question is, which choice is going to honor God more. You have to go into your secret, quiet place with God—or create one if you don’t have one—and tell him what’s on your heart and mind. Then you need to find the courage to follow where he leads, Monica. That’s the only thing that’s going to give you peace.”

  Monica fixed her eyes on her melting ice cream, but didn’t speak. Shiloh knew she was wrestling with everyone’s voice swirling in her head, with what she knew of God’s truths, and with how her own heart might feel about all of this. She saw a reflection of herself in the girl, whose dreams still rested with the summer flute program that she hadn’t mentioned this afternoon.

  “I know this seems hard to imagine, Monica, but twenty years from now, God willing, you’ll be about the age I am, looking back over your life and the choices that loomed before you. If you can visualize it, try to ask yourself what you would tell your fifteen-year-old self.”

  It sounded so Oprah-like that Shiloh wondered whether Monica would even grasp what she was trying to say. And in some ways, she felt hypocritical sitting here trying to minister to a teenager, when her own house full of them was angry with her.

  Monica sat back and peered at Shiloh. The poor girl looked miserable. “I can’t talk to an older version of myself when I can’t connect to the current version—sorry, Mrs. Griffin.”

  Shiloh thought about the anniversary commemoration she had held in secret all of these years and wanted to shout “Don’t do it!” She also thought about Monica’s musical gift, and what her father was likely demanding of her in regard to staying on track. She wouldn’t interfere with another parent’s reasoning; she wouldn’t want someone doing that with one of her sons, especially someone she entrusted her child to.

  What she could and would do was pray for God to give clarity to both Monica and her dad. She also would continue to be part of Monica’s support system, however all of this turned out. That’s what grace was all about.

  sixty-two

  The short drive back to Shiloh’s house was quiet, as Shiloh and Monica lost themselves in thought.

  When Shiloh pulled into her driveway and parked, Monica turned toward her. “I just texted my dad and told him you’d be bringing me home shortly, but he said he’ll come and get me.”

  Shiloh was surprised. “Okay; that’s fine. Is everything alright?”

  Monica shrugged. “Who knows? He’s been acting weird ever since he found out. For all I know, he was at church today, sitting outside in his car listening to the live sermon on the radio instead of coming in to sit with me and Grandma.”

  Shiloh frowned. “Is he upset with me? Or with Pastor Randy?”

  Monica shook her head. “No, Mrs. Griffin, I think he’s mad at God. For taking my mom instead of healing her cancer. And now for letting his baby girl be stupid enough to fall for a cute boy’s whispered lies.”

  Shiloh understood. Grief could lead your mind down strange tunnels. She made a mental note to have Randy reach out to Claude when he arrived, and invite him for coffee.

  They got out of the car and strolled to the edge of the lawn to admire Ms. Betsy’s lush indoor plants, which were visible from her bay window facing the street.

  “They’re beautiful,” Monica said. “She must have what you call a green thumb, to keep her plants looking so good.”

  “It takes a lot of time to maintain, but Ms. Betsy loves it,” Shiloh said. “I guess anything worth having in life does—flowers, gifts and talents, relationships.”

  Monica looked at her. “I’m glad you make the effort, especially with me. Since my mom has been gone, I haven’t had anyone to talk to like I really need to, because both my dad and grandma have been grieving and overprotective. Thank you for being here for me, Mrs. Grif
fin, and for always being honest with me. I know you can’t tell me what to do about the baby, but at least you’re not judging me, or running from me.”

  Shiloh touched Monica’s arm. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m grateful to be here to listen and to offer my friendship. And did you hear me at the ice cream shop? I can’t run from you or judge you if I’ve been in your shoes, which I have. But even if I hadn’t, no one has the right to judge another so harshly that we can’t reach past our beliefs and assumptions and love them. None of us is perfect and none of us always gets it right. Why do I get to judge my sin as less problematic than yours? We Christians do that all day long, but that doesn’t make it right. I’m glad you still consider me your friend, despite my flaws and imperfectness.”

  They hugged and walked toward the house. They were about to go inside when a horn beeped, and Shiloh turned to see Monica’s dad pulling into the driveway. He gave her a slight wave, and motioned for Monica to join him.

  “Just a minute, Daddy—I left my Bible in the house,” she called to him.

  Shiloh pushed open the door and told Monica to go on inside and find it. She strolled over to Claude’s pickup truck and tried to muster a smile. He remained expressionless, but nodded hello.

  “Hi, Claude. It’s so nice to see you. Thanks for letting me spend some time with Monica this afternoon—I’ve really missed her,” Shiloh said. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “We missed you in service this morning, but I was glad to see your mom and Monica.”

  More silence led to more chatter from Shiloh. “I won’t ask how you’re doing, because I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders right now. My heart hurts for you, Claude, and for Monica. But you can trust God with this. Ask him to guide you.”

  He looked at her with questioning eyes.

  “Trust him? Like I did with Sheree? I didn’t even make it to the hospital in time to say goodbye before she passed. I begged God on the way there to have my wife hold on, so I could at least tell her goodbye. Didn’t happen. Now you’re saying I should trust him with my daughter?”

  Shiloh was grasping for a response when Lem’s panicked shout caused her heart to clench.

  “Mom! Come now! Monica just passed out in the kitchen!”

  sixty-three

  Claude flung open the door to his truck and reached Shiloh’s front door before she had even moved.

  Shiloh yelled, “Call 911, Lem!” and followed Claude inside.

  When she reached the kitchen, however, Randy was there, with a 911 operator already on the phone, following the woman’s instructions about how to revive Monica. He knelt beside the girl and placed a cold wet dishcloth on her forehead, and Monica came to.

  “Don’t try to move, sweetheart,” Randy instructed the groggy girl, in a soothing voice. He cradled her head on his lap and the phone in the crook of his neck. Monica’s skirt and legs were soaked in blood, and Shiloh knew what had happened. She looked at Claude, who stood just inside the kitchen, peering at his daughter in shock.

  “Daddy.”

  When Monica uttered that single word, he sprinted across the room toward her, knelt on the other side of Randy, and held her hand.

  “I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with tears. “God, please don’t let me lose her, too. I need her.”

  His prayer sent a shudder through Shiloh, and she realized that this man was still reeling from his wife’s death more deeply than she had realized. She wondered whether he, Eleanor, or Monica had received grief counseling.

  “She’s going to be fine, Claude,” Randy said. “But I think she’s lost the baby.”

  Monica was alert enough to hear that pronouncement, and as the words sank in, her pain ripped the air from the room. With her head still on Randy’s lap, and her father caressing one arm, she released a guttural howl, a scream of loss so primal that the hairs on Shiloh’s neck stood on end. Before she could control herself, Shiloh fell to the floor where she was, a few feet away, and let her own pain tear through her body. She heard herself howling too, releasing all the pent-up anger, guilt, shame, and loss she’d felt all these years for the child she had intentionally chosen never to know.

  When paramedics arrived, they were initially perplexed about who needed care—the woman or the girl. But the moment they saw the bloody lower half of Monica’s body, they shifted into action, staunching the flow of blood, then lifting the girl onto a stretcher to carry her out of the house and load her onto the ambulance that would take her to Froedtert Hospital in the city.

  Her father trotted alongside the stretcher, still holding her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he told Monica. “I’m right here with you. Pastor Randy, my keys are still in the truck!”

  Claude and Monica disappeared into the ambulance, and Randy dashed back into the kitchen, to check on Shiloh. She lay crumpled on the tile, and he gathered her in his arms.

  Her tears had finally abated, and she was spent. Shiloh realized she hadn’t been any help to her young friend; instead, the tables had turned. Monica’s instant grieving of her loss had allowed Shiloh to finally grieve her own. It had scared Shiloh, and Randy, and their boys, who stood around her now, in tears, asking their dad if she was okay.

  Just as calmly as he had helped Monica, Randy stroked Shiloh’s hair as her head lay on his shoulder, and he reassured them that she would be fine.

  “God is doing some healing today in his own way, sons. Your mother loves you; she needs you to understand that, and to love her back. I guess you all are discovering earlier than most that Mama and Daddy aren’t perfect.”

  Lem was the first to approach his parents and kneel beside them. He leaned over to peer into Shiloh’s swollen, tear-stained face.

  “I’m sorry that I’ve been so mean, Mom. I love you, no matter what. Everyone makes mistakes. I know you’re really sorry; that’s what matters.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and Randy, and the other boys came over too, and followed suit.

  Shiloh’s tears kept flowing, but she didn’t mind. They were cleansing, at this point, and she knew if she released them, she’d be able to help Monica heal, and maybe Lem’s friend, Lia, too. God’s timing was impeccable. Whatever he was doing in Monica’s life had intersected with her need and her father’s need, too.

  sixty-four

  By Tuesday morning, Monica was still pale and weak, but her doctor had decided to let her go home, if she ate breakfast and lunch, and walked the hall a few times with no problems.

  According to Claude, that prescription had garnered the first smile from Monica since her miscarriage, and she had heartily eaten the light breakfast the nurse placed before her two hours ago. He sat next to his daughter this morning, stroking her hair while filling Shiloh in on how Monica’s recovery was going. Shiloh had been taking turns with him and Eleanor in staying by Monica’s side, and had come by today after getting the boys off to school, Randy off to the church, and prepping a few things for their drive to Atchity tomorrow.

  “I feel a lot better leaving town, knowing you won’t be spending Thanksgiving here, my dear,” Shiloh told Monica.

  Monica, who hadn’t said much since Sunday, gave Shiloh a halfhearted smile. “Me too.”

  The sadness in her voice matched the emotion enveloping her spirit. Shiloh wished she could hug or pray away the girl’s pain, and she knew Claude’s sentiments were similar, but he was doing a great job of staying upbeat for his daughter.

  Shiloh and Randy had chosen not to share with the congregation that Monica had been hospitalized, because of the sensitive nature of her illness; but Eleanor had been surprisingly forthcoming with members of the women’s Bible study, and according to Claude, several ladies had come by their home to deliver hot meals and drop off gift cards to area restaurants. Another group of ladies texted Eleanor this morning to share their plans to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for the family, Claude announced, so Eleanor could focus on caring for Monica when she came home.

  “This i
s a difficult spot to be in,” Claude said after describing the women’s kindness, “but I tell you, Mom’s friends from church have shown us a lot of love. She says they knew about Monica’s condition already, and this just gives us an opportunity to receive some grace and unconditional support.”

  Shiloh smiled, but didn’t respond. Love in action always resonated more than words. Randy had informed her that when they returned from Atchity, he would be spending some regular one-on-one time with Claude outside of church, playing golf or tennis or doing whatever Claude preferred. So Claude didn’t know it yet, but he was going to have more than enough opportunities to vent, laugh, cry, and see God at work.

  Monica struggled to sit up and take a sip of juice.

  “You sure you’re feeling better?” Shiloh asked.

  The girl shrugged. “Everything aches—but what can I do?”

  Shiloh knew Monica was talking about her heart and her reputation as well as her body. Before she could respond, an answer came from the doorway.

  “You can keep your head up, Monica, that’s what.”

  Shiloh shifted in her seat to find Jade standing there, looking fabulous as always, and carrying a bouquet as big as herself.

  “What on earth …”

  Jade laughed at Shiloh’s reaction. “I know. These flowers are on steroids, right? Each pageant contestant received one of the bouquets that graced the stage on Friday night, and since Vic and I are going to California for the holiday, I thought I’d share mine with a very special girl.”

  Jade sauntered into the room and turned in circles, trying to find a spot large enough to hold the arrangement. Claude left Monica’s side to take it from her.

  “Tell you what? Why don’t I put this in my SUV, since it looks like Monica will be going home later today. There will be plenty of room there, and I’ll make sure to put it in a nice spot once we get it home. Thank you, Sister Smith.”

  Jade gave him a wide grin and a light hug. When he left the room, she offered Monica a hug, too. The girl reciprocated, but looked embarrassed.