“I lived with them until I was four. Then Dad, our dad, took me back to live with him. I guess they moved away; he never said.”
“You’re kind of young to be a doctor, aren’t you?”
John laughed. “I graduated early. Full scholarships to med school. Left the farm at age sixteen, just returned this year.”
“Really?”
Just in time.
“I became an OB/GYN because of what happened to our mom. Dad and I went to your church Sunday. Is it always like that?”
The gears of Pierce’s mind ground with confusion, shifting from his life with Laurie, to memories and grief, to church last Sunday.
“Like what?”
“Do you always talk like that? I went to church for a few months, with the girl I almost married. The minister talked about everything we shouldn’t do, threatened us with Hell, and bragged about everything he did right. You said you’re not perfect. You even asked the congregation to forgive you. What’s that about?”
Pierce wasn’t sure how to answer. Was he in the role of brother or pastor?
You’re my child.
His cell rang. “Excuse me a moment.” Laurie—thank God. “Hello.”
“Pierce, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Is John there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Ask him to come for dinner tonight.”
His throat tightened. “What?”
“Invite him to our home. You two can talk without being interrupted or rushed. And you’ll have me for support. It’s a good idea.”
John was paying the waitress for a to-go bag and glancing at his watch.
“Pierce?” she asked.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be home soon.” He ended the call.
John’s cell vibrated across the table. “My alarm.” He snapped it in the clip at his belt. “If I don’t set it, I’m always late.”
His brother was leaving. Pierce could pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Say they would talk soon, then never follow up. He could dismiss this meeting as having little consequence, let Laurie handle asking questions and making connections, and never speak to his brother again.
But that was not the right thing to do. He didn’t like it, but he knew it.
“That was Laurie. How about coming for dinner tonight? We’ll talk more.”
He saw the surprise in John’s eyes. “Okay. I’m on duty, I have to be at the hospital by eight o’clock. But I can come around six.”
“Sure.”
John paused. “Out of curiosity, what did God say ‘no’ to you about?”
Pierce’s blood first ran cold, then hot with shame. “I asked God to help me forget my father, forget everything from before. So I could have my life with Laurie back the way it was before her miscarriage.”
“And He told you no? I mean, does He talk to you often?”
Pierce laughed derisively, thinking of recent difficult conversations. “All the time.”
John processed, then the ghost of a smile played about his lips. “That’s really cool.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Laurie had four and a half hours to prepare. Four and a half hours to clean. Four and a half hours to plan. No matter what Pierce said, they were making a plan.
“I’m making a casserole,” she said when he arrived home. “I need you to do the floors. I simply can’t bend to do it.”
“Sure thing.” He accepted the rag and mop she’d already hauled out of the kitchen closet.
She layered ham, diced potatoes, and sliced green pepper for their dinner, added cheese and slid the dish into the oven to bake. She would top it with more cheese and croutons later. She set the timer.
Then she joined Pierce, dusted while he vacuumed. She wanted to make a good impression. Getting ready for company was so much fun.
She followed Pierce to the kitchen. “We need to make you a list.”
He gulped a glass of water. Poured a refill. “A list for what?”
“A list of questions. If we have them written down, you won’t lose track or forget anything that’s important to you.”
“Laurie, I …”
She could see the war behind his eyes as he fought to keep the doors of his heart open. She walked to him, placed his hand over their baby, and wrapped her arms around him.
“John is your brother, and he’s coming here for dinner. I know you’re not entirely comfortable with that, but we both know that talking to him is probably the best way to find out why your mother died the way she did.”
The baby kicked Pierce’s hand.
Laurie smiled at him. “I’m so proud of you! For meeting with John today, for inviting him here tonight. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Pierce simply pressed his forehead to hers. “I hope you’re right. I really hope you’re right.” He paused. “I think a list of questions is a bad idea.”
“But how will you—”
“Maybe, if you see me get stuck, you can kind of guide the conversation. You can probably say it all better than me anyhow.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
Later, when she added the finishing touches to her table, she critiqued her handiwork. From her best dishes, to the crystal salt and pepper shakers, to the floating scented candles centerpiece, everything was in place for a cozy dinner for three.
She heard Pierce’s footsteps on the creaky floor, then his arms wrapped around their baby from behind her. She let her head lie back on his shoulder, breathed in the remnants of his shower. He kissed her cheek.
“Can we just stand here for a minute? Moments like these with you are what I thought I’d lost,” she said.
God, please don’t stop pulling my husband toward healing. Little about my pregnancy is the way I had envisioned, but don’t stop Your work in us.
“He asked me about God,” Pierce said.
“Hmmm? I could sleep here in your arms, but it’s time to make the salad. Want to help?”
“Sure.” He followed her to the kitchen, where she gathered the ingredients and handed him a knife.
“If you’ll slice, I’ll mix the dressing.” Her hands stopped in mid-air as his previous statement registered. “Did you say he asked about God? What exactly?”
“First, he asked me about the service. He’s only been to one other church, but didn’t find it very friendly. He was surprised I admitted my mistakes and confessed my short-comings in public.”
She gave the long-necked glass bottle filled with fresh herbs and olive oil a good shake, and stared balefully at him.
“I know. I know. You were right,” Pierce admitted.
“And?”
“Then he asked me what God said “no” to me about.”
She set the bottle on the counter, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and squeezed it tight. “Did you tell him?”
He stuck his nose in the air, sniffed, and grinned. “Of course.”
She snapped the towel at his thigh.
He reached for her, and the doorbell rang.
***
Pierce had to admit, as he listened to John and Laurie talk, if he had met John as a boy or recently as a man on the street, they probably would have been friends.
John was smart. Very smart. He cared about his profession and his patients. He lived modestly except for his custom vehicles and an obsessive attachment to very expensive designer boots, an appetite cultivated during his years at a private medical school where shoes were the only form of self-expression allowed. Apparently, the habit was not only difficult to break, he had no desire to do so. Any future wife would have to accept and accommodate this; she would get the small closet. Laurie had laughed when John shared the fact.
With Laurie’s perfect performance as hostess and her sweet laughter drifting across the table, Pierce almost forgot who John was and why he was there. Almost.
When the antique clock chimed seven, reality hit Pierce like a furnace blast. Instant heat, sweat, the desire to close an
d shield his eyes. He struggled not to cower in a corner.
John wiped his mouth and lay the linen napkin beside his plate. “Laurie, that was really great. I might make it through the night without my customary two a.m. vending machine raid.”
“Thank you.” She answered their guest but looked at Pierce, locking her eyes on his. She must have sensed that ripple of panic. She reached for his hand and he squeezed hers—an unspoken go ahead. “We were hoping you could help us, tell us about Luther. Or maybe Annabelle. Do you know why she died?”
John shifted in his chair, instantly transforming into “Mr. Physician.” “Well, I only know she died immediately after having me, or that’s what I was told. I was born, she passed out, Dad didn’t know what to do for a newborn, so he took me to the neighbors. He returned home, bringing Mrs. Taylor. But Mama had already died.”
Laurie continued in her friendly, gentle way. “Do you know why he didn’t get help before that? Call a doctor?”
“No time. I came early and fast. Most likely premature, precipitous labor, less than three hours. Probably thirty-five, thirty-six weeks gestation—about a month early. The hard contractions came quick and close together from the start. But there’s no way to know if her labor started because of infection, her water breaking, or placental abruption, which is when the placenta begins separating from the uterine wall. The latter often results in infant fatality, the mother’s as well if there’s no immediate medical intervention.
“That’s how I became interested in obstetric medicine. As a kid, after school I went to the library and read medical journals, researched possible scenarios for what had happened.
“It fascinates me. How a woman’s body can do that, actually grow a person inside, then deliver a healthy, totally self-supporting life.” His expression filled with wonder at the miraculous. “It’s amazing, don’t you think?”
Pierce couldn’t breathe. “Excuse me,” he said.
***
Laurie watched Pierce leave, knowing that John saw the long, loving look she sent after her husband. She heard their bathroom door close.
“Everything you described and talk about so easily?—he’s only recently begun remembering. His mind blocked out the trauma. Those memories almost cost him his ministry and us our marriage.”
“You’re kidding. He looks totally calm, totally in control.”
“He’s not.”
“He would make a great doctor. Solid under pressure.”
“No. He just hides things well. Too well.”
“Right. Like Dad.” With calm, quiet eyes he looked at Laurie. “What does Pierce think about me? I want to get to know him better, learn about our mother. It’s more than obvious this invitation was your idea.”
She must tread carefully, choose her words wisely.
“I don’t think he knows exactly what he thinks of you. He’s trying to keep an open mind about you, and an open heart to God. Both of you have questions only the other can answer. You’re happy just to talk with him, be in his company, get to know him.” She sighed as the weight of the day rested heavily on her shoulders. “Remembering why and how his mother died hurts him.”
***
Pierce stood in the bathroom, arms braced on the vanity, staring into the mirror.
His mother’s eyes looked back at him.
But she wasn’t his mother only; she was their mother, his and John’s. And apparently John was neither scarred nor damaged by his childhood and history. It didn’t bother him to know, to remember, or to talk about any of the same things that had crippled Pierce.
He shook his head. If his mother—their mother—had lived, he would have had to share his room, his toys, share her. His entire life would have been different.
What kind of big brother would he have been?
Tears flooded his eyes. Grief squeezed his chest tight, and he sucked in a sob.
What was this terrible ache around his heart? Like it had been seized by a large, menacing hand.
The walls of the bathroom closed in. The room became smaller. The light brighter. The fan louder.
He stood there paralyzed.
He couldn’t break down. Not now. He needed to leave the bathroom, go shake his brother’s hand, and get the man out of his and Laurie’s home. Out of his mind.
He scrubbed his face with both hands. Patted it like a prizefighter does before stepping back into the ring. He rounded the corner to the dining room as John neared the front door.
Laurie caught his eye. “Honey, John has an emergency at the hospital. He has to leave right away.”
“Laurie, Pierce, thanks again for dinner. Sorry I have to eat and run.” He stopped on the front porch, turned back. “You may not want to have a relationship with him right now, Pierce, but in the future I might need your help with Dad.”
John wanted his help. With their father.
Concern tinged Laurie’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“His sense of reality comes and goes. It’s a little better right now—” His cell rang again. “I gotta run.” He jogged to his custom truck, then looked back as he opened the driver’s side door. “By the way, your church youth group will be at the farm this weekend. Seems they’re cleaning out the barn.”
“Good old Gilbert,” Laurie said as they watched John drive away.
Pierce exhaled heavily, marveling at the irony. The day they’d painted their bedroom, the time he’d freaked out over Laurie cutting her finger, Gilbert had indeed said the youth group would be helping a nearby farmer.
“Yep. Good old Gilbert.”
He helped Laurie with the dishes, then convinced her to go to bed early, when he saw her yawn for the fifteenth time while loading the dishwasher.
In their quiet room, he massaged her feet.
“I’m really proud of you, Pierce. You did great with John tonight.”
“He’s a pretty smart guy, isn’t he?”
“You’re smart, too. You both have the same care with others, as well. John for his patients, you for your congregation.”
He hadn’t considered that. What else did they have in common?
He placed her feet under the sheet and sat in the near-dark watching her sleep. Despite her peaceful countenance, chaos reigned outside of him and Laurie. In the past, that chaos would have controlled his relationship with Laurie and his relationship with God.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his heart. But Laurie and God were on the inside now. He didn’t push them away anymore and wasn’t pushing them out. They were his lifelines.
Although it didn’t make sense, he had never felt safer. Even though Laurie was asleep, and he wasn’t. Even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid John. Or box up the memories that had recently been unpacked.
He considered walking in the woods, but didn’t want to leave her. So he went to bed, too. The bed sagged under their weight as he lay against her back. He raised up, kissed her soft, cool cheek. Listened to her steady breathing, then settled behind her. He placed his hand on her belly, patted his baby goodnight. Hope kicked back.
“The Lord is my shepherd.” He whispered the psalm, until his breathing matched Laurie’s, until his body and mind dangled in the place between waking and sleeping.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures.”
Can I have another dog, Mama? Can I, Mama?
They sat together on the porch like they always did—Pierce on Mama’s lap—watching Daddy drive the tractor far across the pastures and into the fields.
Mama kissed his head. “We have to be careful now when you sit with me.”
“Why, Mama? Are you sick?”
“No. Your baby brother or sister is growing in here.” She pointed to her stomach.
“Really?” He wiggled off her lap. “Can I see?”
Mama smiled sweetly, brushed her hand through his hair. “Not ‘til he’s born.”
“Tomorrow? Is it a boy?”
She gave a little laugh.
“No, not tomorrow. It’s going to be a while. And I just think it’s a boy. We won’t know for sure until he’s born.”
“Can I hold him? Will he play with me?”
She cupped his face in soft, gentle hands. “Yes, and yes. He’ll have to grow some first, but you two will be best friends. And you’ll always have somebody, no matter what happens.”
“I have you, Mama. And Daddy.”
“Yes, Pierce, you’ll always have us, too.”
Pierce woke with a start. As a long-submerged swimmer surfacing and gasping for air, he sat straight up in the bed, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.
Laurie reached for him as she rolled to face him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The tears traveled from his toes. Up, up, coursing through his heart with such force he thought the sorrow might drown him.
“I loved him before he was born.” The tears gushed forth as he stammered. “My brother. I loved him because Mama did, and she taught me to do the same.”
“Oh, Pierce. Honey, let the grief out.”
He wept in her arms, remembering the little farmhouse, his mother’s spindle chair, the feel of his little boy cheek against the soft cotton of her dress, as he tried to hear his brother moving inside her. The gentle stroke of Mama’s hand through his hair.
After long minutes his sobs ended. “I can’t reconcile them showing up at church last Sunday. I don’t know what’s worse: that I didn’t recognize them, or that I’m glad I didn’t recognize them.”
“There is no worse, Pierce.”
He relaxed in her embrace, their unborn daughter between them. “I never saw my dad shed one tear when Mama died. Last Sunday, he cried like a child.”
“Not all tears can be seen, Pierce. Yours weren’t visible for years.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Laurie had not seen a more desolate place in Alabama or anywhere else.
Pierce hadn’t wanted to accompany her to the farm, he simply wasn’t yet ready to see it or his father. Instead, he’d asked her to be his eyes and ears today, and she’d gladly agreed.
Now she wasn’t so sure she was ready either.
She slowed her car and turned onto the long dirt drive, passing a tilting mailbox that bore the name Bridges. This had to be the place.
The Spindle Chair Page 21
