Second Chance Summer

by Irene Hannon

  Dropping the box to the walkway with a thud, she dashed after the slips of paper scattering in the island breeze.

  “Looks like you could use a hand.”

  Grabbing another receipt, she gave the clean-cut young man with the slightly kinky hair and latte-toned skin a quick once-over. He and an Asian girl who both appeared to be in their early twenties had joined in the chase.

  “Thanks. I lost my grip on the box and things went downhill from there.” Rachel kept moving, stuffing the receipts back into the envelope as she retrieved them.

  With the three of them in pursuit, they managed to corral all the slips of paper in less than two minutes. After plucking the last one from the prickly clutches of a palmetto leaf, the young man handed it over to her.

  “I think we got them all.” He flashed her two rows of dazzling white teeth.

  The Asian girl passed over her fistful of receipts, as well.

  “Thank you both. I’d have been in deep doo doo with my aunt if I’d let any of those escape—and Reverend Carlson wouldn’t be too happy, either.”

  The young man hoisted the box while the girl opened the door to the church office. “It’s definitely smart to stay on the reverend’s good side.” He shot his companion a grin, which she returned.

  So these two knew the minister. Interesting. She hadn’t seen them at any of the Sunday services she’d attended.

  He stepped aside, indicating Rachel should enter first, and she plunged into the welcome coolness, thanking him as she passed.

  They followed her inside to the small, deserted office. A gone-to-lunch sign propped on the secretary’s desk explained her absence, and Rachel sent an uncertain glance toward Reverend Carlson’s closed door. She hated to bother the man. A note to the secretary about the receipts and the box of books from the attic room that Aunt El wanted to donate to the church’s annual book fair should suffice.

  The two young people, however, didn’t seem to have any qualms about knocking on the minister’s door. Or perhaps they had an appointment.

  As she scanned the desk, searching for a blank sheet of paper, Reverend Carlson opened his door.

  “Surprise!”

  The two young people called out their greeting in unison, and Rachel turned toward the trio. An expression of pure joy spread over the minister’s face, and he bear-hugged first one, then the other.

  “Now, aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes! I didn’t think you were supposed to get here until tomorrow.”

  “We both managed to rearrange our schedules to eke out another day at home.” The girl leaned close and nudged him with her shoulder. “Can you tell we missed you?”

  “No more than I’ve missed you. Have you been to the house yet?”

  “Yep.” The young man grinned. “Mom sent us over to surprise you.”

  Rachel blinked.

  Mom?

  If the minister and his wife were the parents of these two young people, some serious adopting had gone on.

  “She wants you to cut out early so we can go to Southern Soul for dinner and grab one of the indoor tables. It’s too hot to sit outside.” The girl linked her arm with his.

  “Southern Soul—now that would be a treat.” He patted her hand. “Your mom and I haven’t been there since your last visit.”

  “You should go more often. St. Simons isn’t that far.”

  “It’s always more fun when you two tag along.”

  The young man draped his arm around the minister’s shoulder. “Except for the time I dumped my fried okra in Esther’s lap and she doused me with barbecue sauce in return.”

  The minister chuckled. “I must admit, that wasn’t one of our most Norman-Rockwell-like moments. But it was memorable.”

  “So can you get away early, Dad?” The girl rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

  “To share some of Southern Soul’s famous pulled pork and ribs with my favorite people in all the world? Count on it! Tell your mom I’ll be home by three. And maybe after dinner we can stop at...” He caught sight of Rachel standing beside the secretary’s desk. “My dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there in the midst of this family reunion.”

  She waved his apology aside. “No problem. I was just dropping off receipts for Francis House and some books for the book fair.” She gestured to the box and the envelope. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. I wouldn’t want to delay that barbecue dinner you’re planning.”

  “You won’t, trust me. A visit from my children is always an incentive to play hooky.” Reverend Carlson flashed them both a grin, then drew them toward her. “Let me introduce you to the smartest CPA in Atlanta and a future Pulitzer-Prize-winning reporter—who also happen to be my daughter and son. Rachel, meet Esther and M.J.—short for Moses James.”

  After they all shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries, the two young people left with a reminder to the minister to come home as soon as possible.

  He waved them off from the front door and turned to Rachel. “Sorry for the bragging. If I sound like a proud dad, that’s because I am.”

  “They seem like very nice young people.”

  “Indeed they are. And they’ve been a great blessing in our lives. One we never expected to have.”

  His comment invited further conversation, so Rachel dipped a toe in. “I assume they’re adopted.”

  “An astute observation.” The minister’s eyes twinkled. “Let me tell you, we drew some strange looks in public when the children were small, what with Susan’s blond hair and my fair Swedish skin. We were quite the motley crew.”

  “As far as I can see, those looks didn’t have any negative impact on your children. They strike me as very well-adjusted young adults.”

  “They are. But when I think where those two might have ended up...” He shook his head. “Fortunately, their stories had a happy ending—as did Susan’s and mine.”

  Rachel bit her lip. The man had places to go. She shouldn’t delay him. Yet in light of his experience with adoption, might he have some insights that would help her as she struggled with her own dilemma?

  “My intuition tells me you have some questions.”

  She conceded his observation with a shrug, choosing her words with care. “The concept of adoption interests me. I’m curious about why people make that choice.”

  “I’ve had a lot practice talking about that over the years while counseling potential adoptive parents—particularly those who are considering adopting children of other races. If you’d like to come into my office for a few minutes, I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

  “I don’t want to delay your dinner.”

  “You won’t. I can wrap up the most critical things on my to-do list in another twenty minutes if I push myself—and my children just gave me a great incentive to do that. The rest can wait until Monday.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  Reverend Carlson followed her into the office and gestured to a grouping of comfortable chairs in one corner. “Let’s sit there. It’s more conducive to conversation.”

  While she settled into one of the plush seats, his phone rang and he gave her an apologetic look. “Do you mind if I take that? The air conditioner in the church is giving us fits, and I’ve been expecting to hear from the repairman. I’d like to get him out here today or we’ll all be in the hot seat on Sunday.”

  “By all means. Take your time.”

  As Reverend Carlson moved behind his desk and began to converse with the man, Rachel examined the unpretentious office. The desk was piled high with books. Several were open, and a long page of handwritten notes was front and center, as if he’d been working on Sunday’s sermon. Family pictures shared space with yet more books on the large shelving unit against one wall. She had no trouble recognizing Esther an
d M.J. in a series of shots that marked the passage of years. The walls contained more photos, along with some framed scripture passages.

  She leaned closer to read the latter, which were done in calligraphy and grouped together on the wall in front of her. The quotes were from a variety of books, and all were themed around adoption.

  “Those are particular favorites of mine.” The minister rejoined her, pointing to two adjacent passages.

  She read them again, first the one from Psalms, then the one from Hosea.

  “Even if my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me in.”

  “For in you the orphan finds compassion.”

  “I’ve amassed quite a collection over the years.” Reverend Carlson settled into a chair beside her.

  “So you’ve always been interested in adoption.”

  “No. At least, not in a personal sense. Susan and I always hoped to have a family of our own, but after she had a series of progressively more serious miscarriages, it became clear that route was too dangerous. Adoption wasn’t on our radar in the beginning, though. I suppose we were so disappointed by our failure to become biological parents that we were blind to other possibilities. And back in those sad days, the notion of raising someone else’s child didn’t hold a whole lot appeal.”

  Rachel leaned forward and knotted her hands in her lap. This didn’t quite match her own situation, but it was close. “What happened to change your mind?”

  “Not what, but who. One cold winter morning, a few years into my ministry, I found a homeless seventeen-year-old sleeping in a pew in my first church. She’d come to the Sunday service, hidden in the ladies room and spent the night. After Susan and I fed her, she told us she was pregnant—and teetering on the verge of abortion. Between the two of us, we convinced her to give the decision more thought. I hooked her up with an excellent counseling agency, and she decided to carry the baby to term and put it up for adoption. She and I had many conversations during those months, and in the end she asked if Susan and I would consider adopting her child. That was M.J.’s mother.”

  “Wow.” Rachel let out a slow breath. “That was a lot for her to ask of you—and a lot for you to take on.”

  “Susan and I would have agreed with you before we met M.J.’s mother. But over the months we knew her, we both concluded God had brought her into our lives to offer us another chance to be parents. All we had to do was trust in Him and follow the path He was laying out for us.”

  “You make that sound easy.”

  “Far from it. We knew raising a biracial baby would bring many challenges—but we felt confident love would conquer those. So by the time M.J.’s mother approached us, we were considering the very thing she asked.”

  “What about Esther?”

  “She came to us two years later. Susan and I were on a mission trip to Korea, and as part of our visit we did some volunteer work at an orphanage. Esther was two and a half, and from the moment she and Susan laid eyes on each other it was love at first sight. I wasn’t far behind. Since everything had worked out beautifully with M.J., giving him a sister seemed the most natural thing in the world. We set the process in motion even before we left the country.”

  Rachel tried to think of a delicate way to phrase her next question. “So did you ever feel any regret or...” she tried to find the right words, “as if you’d missed something beautiful by not having your own biological children?”

  Reverend Carlson rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, linked his fingers and leaned back. “In the beginning, after we realized that wasn’t an option for us, we both went through a grieving process. It’s hard to let go of a dream. Yet clinging to one dream can blind you to the possibility of other, perhaps better, dreams. Meeting M.J.’s mother helped us see that.”

  “And your wife felt the same?”

  “It was harder for her. Susan had always wanted to have a baby...or two or three. But I’ll never forget what she said to me one night as she was rocking M.J., not long after we brought him home from the hospital. Her words are still as clear to me as if she spoke them yesterday.” His gaze strayed toward the family photo on the small table between them.

  Rachel leaned forward again.

  “She said, ‘You know, a woman only carries a baby inside her for nine months—a very small part of both their lives. Maybe M.J. doesn’t have my blond hair or your blue eyes, but we’re going to give him something even more important that’s as much a part of us as our physical features—our values and principles and faith. If we do our job well, he’s going to carry that part of us with him his whole life.’”

  Reverend Carlson smiled, his features placid, his expression content. “She was right, as usual. We might have missed out on one beautiful experience, but this one has been just as beautiful...and we’d have missed it if we’d had biological children. Life is about trade-offs, and sometimes what you get is far better than what you give up.”

  Silence fell in the room while Rachel processed all the minister had said.

  And as the seconds ticked by, her concerns suddenly seemed petty. Yes, she’d enjoyed being pregnant—but was holding out for that experience worth the loss of Fletch? And Susan had a valid point: shared eye or hair color was trivial in comparison to the more important things a parent could pass on to a child, especially one in desperate need of loving. There would be a trade-off, but perhaps it would be a positive one.

  “Have I answered all your questions, Rachel?”

  At the minister’s gentle question, she refocused on him. “Yes. And you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Adoption is a wonderful thing, whatever the impetus for choosing it. After all, God adopted each of us. Remember what Paul wrote in Galatians, ‘But when the fullness of time had come, God sent His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to ransom those under the law, so that we might receive adoption.’ It seems somehow fitting to pass that gift of adoption on to children who are in need, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. And it’s obvious that decision has brought you and your wife great happiness. I appreciate your willingness to share your story.” Rachel checked her watch and stood. “I’m sorry I delayed you this long. Please apologize for me to your family for bending your ear.”

  Reverend Carlson rose, too, and followed her to the door. “God’s work always comes first. They all understand that. And I have a feeling I was doing His work just now.”

  At the threshold, Rachel paused. “You were. I’ve been praying for guidance about a certain issue, and I think our conversation was the answer to that prayer.”

  “Then it was time well spent. Tell Eleanor I’ll get those invoices taken care of, and please thank her for the books.”

  “I will. Enjoy your evening with your family.”

  Rachel crossed the still-empty outer office. Strange how things worked. If the secretary had been here, she might not have stayed long enough to witness the exchange between the minister and his children. It was odd, too, that the two young people happened to arrive while she was chasing receipts.

  She pushed through the outside door. Aunt El had said the answer to prayers often came in unexpected ways, and the past twenty minutes seemed to validate that.

  Yet her conversation with the pastor raised other questions.

  Could she apply his experience to her own situation?

  Could she root out the selfishness in her heart and take a path different from the one she’d planned?

  Could she find as much joy in adoption as she would in having a biological child of her own?

  And could she answer all those questions before Fletch left for Norfolk in less than twenty-four hours?

  The last question was critical.

  Because even though he’d suggested they allow things to chill for a while, she had a sinking feeling that if she let him leave
the island with the situation unresolved, their relationship was over. A decisive man like Fletch would interpret her waffling as uncertainty, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t want her to make compromises she might later regret. This wasn’t about making a choice she could merely live with; it was about making a choice she could embrace with joy.

  At some instinctive level, Rachel knew Fletch expected her to choose the possibility of love and biological children with some future suitor over the reality of the love he was ready to offer her now.

  A week ago, he might have been right.

  But after a lot of prayer and some serious enlightenment, she was fast coming to a different conclusion.

  A family with Fletch—no matter how that family was created—was far preferable to a family with any other potential husband she might meet. Her former Navy SEAL was the kind of man who came along for most women once in a lifetime...if they were lucky. And she’d already been twice blessed on that score. She should be grateful, not greedy.

  So for the rest of today she’d think about everything Reverend Carlson had said. She’d also take a long walk on the beach and do some serious praying.

  But unless some dramatic development changed her mind, come tomorrow she was going to look Fletch in the eye and make sure he knew that choosing him wasn’t a compromise.

  It was a blessing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “A packed suitcase at the end of a visit is one of the saddest sights in the world.”

  At the comment, Fletch turned toward the door of the guest bedroom. Arms folded, expression glum, Gram was surveying his bags, lined up with military precision on the floor in front of the dresser.

  “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s four months away.”

  He crossed the room and gave her a hug. “I’ll call you often, I promise.”

  She squeezed him back, her spiky hair tickling his nose. Funny how he’d grown to like her new look—and spunky new attitude—over the past few weeks.