Oceans Apart (Kingsbury, Karen)

by Kingsbury, Karen

  Michele tuned out the rest of the report. Connor and Max caught the best fish of the trip? The image turned her stomach. Why had she called in the first place? After another minute of Elizabeth's report, Michele cut in.

  “Honey, is Daddy there?”

  “Oh.” She made a quick giggling sound. “Sure, Mom. Here he is.”

  As the phone was passed, Michele heard voices in the background. Susan was singing, and a boy's voice—obviously Max's—was joining her at full volume.

  Connor came on. “Hey, just a minute. I'm going to move over by the tent so I can hear.” A few moments passed. “Okay. There.” He breathed in. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” She could hear the bitterness in her tone, but she was helpless to do anything about it. “Just thought I'd see how the trip was going.”

  “It's good.” His voice was light and cheery. Didn't he feel any of the emotional turmoil that haunted her every waking moment? “I wish you were here.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead in her free hand. The small talk was killing her. “Sounds like you're having a good time.”

  “We are.” He hesitated. “Max is getting along great with the girls.”

  “That's what Elizabeth said.”

  “He's a great kid, Michele. If you were here, you might think so yourself.”

  “Connor.” She wanted to scream at him. “I didn't call for a glowing report about the boy.”

  “His name is Max.”

  Something in her husband's tone—something almost steely—caught her short and made her heart skip a beat. What had happened in the past three days? Was the connection between father and son already so strong that Connor felt the need to defend the boy to her? She held her breath and waited until her heartbeat resumed. Then she gritted her teeth and found her voice. “I know his name, Connor.”

  “You're always calling him ‘the boy,’ that's all.” His words were gentle again. “Maybe it would help if you called him Max.”

  “Help what?” Anger stirred. This wasn't at all how she'd expected the call to go.

  “Help you accept him.” A long silence followed. “Michele, I think we should consider keeping him. He's … he's a great kid, and he needs a home.” He paused. “How can we turn him away?”

  Her eyes flew open and she was on her feet, pacing the length of the room. “Do you hear yourself, Connor?” Her voice rose a level. “I thought I made myself clear before I left. I can't bring the son of some floozy flight attendant into my home. I'll think of your … your backstreet affair every time I see him!”

  “First of all”—Connor was angry now, his words a study in controlled fury—“she wasn't a floozy. And second, it wasn't a backstreet affair. It was wrong, but until you let me explain myself you won't understand how it happened.”

  Michele's head was spinning, and she thought she might faint. “Connor …” She sat on the edge of the bed. It took all her energy to finish her sentence. “You're defending her to me?”

  “Michele, you don't understand.” The anger was gone, and in its place, Connor sounded defeated.

  “No, I don't.” She massaged her fingertips into her brow. “I need to go.”

  “We just started talking.”

  “I can't think of anything else to say.”

  “Michele … don't do this.”

  “Good-bye, Connor. I'll call you some other time.”

  “You're coming home Saturday, right?” He sounded resigned to the fact that they weren't going to get any further tonight. “Same as us?”

  “Actually—” Her voice cracked. Her throat was thick, and she waited a moment to find her voice. “I think I'll stay a few more days. I don't know. I'll be in touch.”

  “Time away isn't going to make any of this any—”

  “Connor.” She was exhausted, unable to take any more of his pleading. “I'll call you later.”

  She hung up without saying any of the things she'd planned to say. Without asking him to tell the girls she was thinking about them, without telling him how badly she missed them, and without doing the one thing she'd set out to do.

  Tell him she still loved him.

  The receiver was still in her hand. She lay back on the bed and brought her arm up over her eyes. Okay, so he had feelings for the boy. Couldn't he have waited until they were together again to let her know? Did he have to take over the conversation right from the beginning, going on about how great the child was, how well he was getting along with the girls?

  She sat up and looked around the room until her eyes fell on her purse, hanging from the back of the door handle. An idea hit her, and though she felt a decade older than she had an hour ago, she struggled to her feet, took the purse, and found the address book in the side pocket.

  Connor would've hated the idea of her calling him. But in that moment, nothing could have made the possibility more intriguing. She thumbed through the tiny pages until she reached the

  E

  section, and there it was.

  Loren Evans.

  She sniffed and dabbed at her tears once more. Then she dialed the number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Loren?” Her tone held none of the sorrow she was feeling. “Hi, it's Michele.”

  “Why, Michele …” His voice filled the phone line, rich and full. She could almost see his smile. “How are you, little girl?”

  It'd been six months since she'd called the man, but years since they'd seen each other. Don't let him guess why I'm here, God … please. “Hey, I'm in Santa Barbara visiting Margie.”

  Her father-in-law was quiet for a moment. “Brought the whole family?”

  “No.” She knew her response would come as a relief. Loren would've wanted to see the girls, but certainly not Connor. “I'm by myself.” She clicked her fingernails together. “I was thinking about coming by tomorrow, if you're not busy.”

  “No, ma'am.” His chuckle stirred memories of the past. “Not too busy for my favorite daughter-in-law. What time you want to come?”

  “After lunch. Say, two o'clock?”

  “Great.” He stopped. “Everything okay, Michele? You sound upset.”

  She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. That was the exact response she had hoped to get from Connor a few minutes ago. “I'm okay, Loren.” She tightened her grip on the receiver and managed to sound believable. “We can catch up tomorrow.”

  “Okay then. Two o'clock it is.”

  They hung up, and Michele replaced the receiver on its base.

  As she slipped her address book back in her purse, she shook her head. What was she doing? What good could come from spending an hour with Connor's father? It wasn't as if the man had any influence on his son, not anymore. She lay back on the bed again and analyzed her motives for several minutes.

  The reason wasn't all that complicated really. Loren Evans represented a part of her past, the part that was honest and real and before her husband's affair. Maybe by spending time with the old man, she could figure out what to do next.

  She thought about her sister's party a few rooms away, and Bobby, who was probably waiting for her. But she couldn't face any of them. She changed into her sweats and a T-shirt, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. Before she fell asleep, she thought about her faith, the faith she and Connor had always shared.

  It had grown dusty in recent years, no doubt. People wanted their hair cut on Saturdays, and that left only Sundays to run errands and prepare for the coming week. Their combined schedules made church attendance a hit-and-miss event at best. Elizabeth and Susan barely knew their Sunday school teachers, and it had been years since Michele and Connor had offered to help out with one of their classes.

  How much softer would the blow of Connor's affair have been if she'd been more connected with the Lord? Would forgiveness have come easier, sooner? She let her thoughts drift, and they landed on a memory from last summer. One of the secretaries at church had called and asked if they still wante
d their names on the church registry.

  “Of course.” She'd given the woman a nervous laugh. “We've been members forever.”

  “Good.” The woman's voice was tender. “We haven't seen you around and we thought we'd ask. I'm glad nothing's changed.”

  But something had changed, hadn't it?

  Connor had cheated on her, and buried the truth for all those years. No wonder he chose yard work instead of church so many Sundays. The guilt probably made being in church just about unbearable.

  But what about her? Had she known in the center of her being somehow that Connor had cheated on her, that what they shared wasn't as wonderful as it felt or appeared? She thought about that, and the answer came easily.

  No, she hadn't known at all. Not on the surface, and not in the deepest places of her heart. She trusted Connor without reservation, holding nothing back in the way she loved and believed in him. But maybe if she'd been closer to God she would've seen the truth for what it was. Maybe she would've asked more questions about his time in LA or the stormy night when he couldn't call home because he was stuck in Honolulu.

  A sigh lifted from the basement of her soul and made its way through her teeth. “Why, God … why did we drift?” Her voice was a whisper even she had trouble hearing. “And how are we supposed to find our way back from here?”

  She waited for some type of response, but the only sound was the distant party banter.

  “God … only one thing will save our marriage now.” She spoke the words aloud again. They seemed more real that way, more heartfelt. “Please, God … find a home for the boy. He needs to be out of our lives, the sooner the better. Please, God.”

  It would take years to ease the pain of what Connor had done to her. A hundred years to forget it. And if the boy lived with them? The healing would never come, never. It wasn't just the affair, of course. It was the fact that the woman had given Connor the son he'd always wanted. And worst of all, that Connor had lied to her. His deceit had robbed her of even the sweetest memories, because everything about the past looked tainted in light of the lie Connor had carried with him.

  As Michele fell asleep she thought about the extent of the damage, the sum of the disaster he'd wreaked on their lives.

  Every I love you, every kind word, every happy moment.

  All of it was suspect now.

  Despite her talk with God, Michele was restless that night. Several times she woke up in tears, and thought about her family and the camping trip they were enjoying with the boy. No question that with him in the picture, their marriage would never work. But unless someone stepped forward to adopt him, Connor wasn't about to let him go. And that was the saddest thing of all. Because of the boy, Connor hadn't only robbed her of her past.

  He'd stolen her future as well.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was Friday morning, time for Ramey to pray once more for a miracle.

  She was sitting in her recliner with Buddy on the floor beside her. Dogs still weren't allowed at the apartment, but due to the circumstances with Max, she'd gotten an exception from the manager.

  In her lap was Kiahna's journal.

  Ramey had read all of it in the past week, desperate to better understand the relationship between Kiahna and Max's father. What she'd learned both touched and grieved her. After Connor Evans, Kiahna had never loved another man. Her entire life was devoted to Max and making a good life for him.

  If Kiahna had cared about this Connor man so much, then maybe that was really where Max belonged. Maybe it was the very thing that would cause Kiahna to smile from heaven and know that things had worked out after all.

  But there was a problem.

  Marv Ogle called a few days earlier and told her about the Evans woman's request. Apparently things weren't working out with Max, which meant that he'd come home and be put up for adoption.

  “I'm in touch with several private adoption attorneys,” Mr. Ogle had told her. “Older children are usually harder to place, but I think we can find a home for him.”

  She was supposed to be happy with that bit of news, but she couldn't be. She'd read the rest of Kiahna's journal in the days since Max left and she knew the entire story now. The way Kiahna and Connor Evans had met at the airport and how she'd invited him home only as a way of being kind. Island hospitality, really. Or maybe it was the hospitality she drew from her faith.

  In the short time that she'd known Connor, Kiahna had come to love him. One journal entry stayed with Ramey and came to mind several times each day since she'd read it.

  After Max was born, Kiahna realized something was standing in the way of her and God. Unforgiveness. How dare Connor sleep with her, make her pregnant, and leave without ever looking back? Didn't she deserve more than that? His callous ability to walk out of her life after what happened was something she couldn't come back from.

  Until Max was born.

  At that point she realized that love had power beyond anything she'd ever known. And it occurred to her that with bitterness and hate in her heart, she never would be able to love Max the way she wanted to love him. After Max was born, she wrote in her journal that she'd finally figured out what love was.

  Ramey found the entry and read it again.

  Love is what happens when people forgive. I forgive Connor Evans. A part of me will always love him, but from this day on I won't hate him. Not for one minute. I forgive him because he gave me Max.

  If only the Evans woman could understand that simple truth. Love happens when people forgive.

  Ramey flipped a page just as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver from the table near her chair and clicked the on button.

  “Hello?”

  “Ramey, it's Marv Ogle. How are you?”

  She'd been to the doctor the day before. Heart disease was making an uncontested run at her body, but that didn't matter. Her focus was on seeing that Max had a family. “Fine. What's the news?”

  “Good, I think. I got a call this morning from an attorney on the big island. He says he has a family who owns a B&B near the beach. They've decided to adopt a young boy, someone to help them keep the place up, and take over the business one day.”

  Ramey scrunched up her face. “Where's the good part?”

  “I know.” The attorney was trying to sound positive. “That's what I thought. But I called the couple and talked to the woman. They lost their boy in a drowning three years ago. She's interested in Max, Ramey.”

  “Sounds like she needs a hired hand.” Beside her, Buddy lifted his furry head and gave a sad-sounding yawn. Ramey reached down and patted him. “Max is a little boy, Mr. Ogle.”

  “I know. We talked about that. She said she'd homeschool him and teach him how to make pottery and build wicker furniture and put together an authentic Hawaiian luau. It doesn't sound too bad, really. They live in a pretty remote area; sounds like they want a child to keep them company. Someone to leave their life's work to.”

  “What about Buddy?” Ramey heard the suspicion in her voice, but she didn't care. Kiahna had loved Max with all her heart. Placing him in a situation where he wouldn't receive that type of love would be the greatest tragedy in Ramey's life.

  “Yes, well, that's a problem.”

  “How come?” Ramey rubbed the soft fur under Buddy's ear.

  “The woman's allergic to dogs, apparently.”

  Ramey smacked her lips. “That would never do for Max. He needs a lot of love and he needs Buddy.”

  The attorney exhaled in a way that rattled Ramey's nerves. “You need to understand something, Ramey. Older children don't get adopted easily.” He paused. “Mrs. Evans said she and her husband were praying for the boy to find a family in Hawaii. They aren't interested in keeping him.”

  “Then you keep him.” Her voice was louder than before. Buddy sat up and rubbed his wet nose against the back of her hand.

  “We've already discussed that. My wife and I are too old to be the boy's parents. We love him, of course, but we're on the
road half the year traveling and neither of us are home during the day when we're on the island. Max needs a family.”

  Angry tears filled Ramey's eyes, and she rubbed her back teeth together to keep from crying. When she could speak, she made her voice more calm than before. “Wanna know what I think?”

  “What?” The attorney sounded tired.

  “I think Mr. Evans wants to keep Max. It's just a hunch, but every time I pray about it that's the picture I get.” She tapped her finger on the cover of Kiahna's journal. “It's that wife of his we need to pray for.”

  “I'll tell you what, Ramey. You pray for the wife, and I'll pursue the couple on the big island. One way or another we'll find Max a home. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Ramey didn't like the sound of that, but she had no choice, really. She said good-bye and hung up the phone.

  Buddy cocked his head and made a whining sound. “You miss him, huh, boy?”

  The dog gave a sharp bark.

  “I know, me too.” She scratched Buddy beneath the chin and turned her attention back to God.

  The praying had to get stronger, twice as often, twice as long as before. Because either God worked the forgiveness miracle for Max, or the boy would lose everything he had left in life. With that thought, Ramey bowed her head and began to pray for that forgiveness miracle she'd asked God about before Max left.

  Only this time she prayed as if her next breath depended on the outcome.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Loren Evans had moved twelve paper towers from the living room into various other parts of his ranch house. It was one o'clock on Friday afternoon, and Michele was coming in an hour. He wanted the place to look respectable.

  Now that he'd finished tidying up, he found his Bible, the one he'd purchased for himself a year ago Christmas, and sat with it at the dining room table. With gentle fingers he flipped to the back of the book, to a place where he'd made a list of the things he was asking God for.