Unveiling the Past

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Welcome aboard Flight 5957, with service from Dallas–Fort Worth to Fort Smith, Arkansas,” the chipper voice crackled over the intercom.

  Time to buckle up and fly.

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Diane

  At a quarter of ten Sunday evening as Diane changed into her pajamas, her phone rang. Visions of emergencies dancing in her brain, she snatched it up. Kevin’s name and number showed on the screen. She hit Accept Call and jammed the phone to her ear. “Kevin? Where are you?”

  “In Fort Smith. Put your phone on speaker and get your mom, will you?”

  Diane pattered through the house to her mother’s room, phone against her head. “We looked for you this morning, and we were worried when you didn’t show. Why didn’t you leave a message when you called? Mother’s spent the whole day worrying.” She tapped on the door. “Mother? May I come in?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll explain as soon as you have her listening in.”

  Mother called “Come on in” at the same time Kevin spoke. Diane entered the bedroom, switching her phone to speaker as she headed for the bed. She held up the phone and showed her mother. “Kevin’s on the line. He wants to talk to both of us.”

  Mother sat up and grabbed the phone. “Kevin, are you all right? You worried us.”

  Diane preferred he didn’t know how he’d worried her, but it was too late now.

  “I’m sorry about that. I did call—I tried both of you, but neither of you answered. And what I wanted to say didn’t really work for a phone message. So I had to wait until I got home.”

  Diane glanced at the clock. “You’re just now getting home at almost midnight?”

  “Yeah. Layover in Dallas. I guess I could’ve called from there, but what I have to say is too personal to be said in a busy airport.”

  Mother frowned and shook the phone. “Young man, it’s late. Let’s get on with it.”

  Kevin’s laughter rang. “Yes, ma’am. You asked if I was all right. Well, I am. I’m more all right than I’ve ever been. I met Jesus last night in my hotel room. He’s my cornerstone now, and I’ll be building better things for the rest of my life.”

  Diane clapped her hand over her mouth to hold back her cry of elation. Mother didn’t stifle hers. Diane’s ears rang from the shrill “Ohhhhh! Praise the Lord!”

  Kevin laughed again. “I have been. I’ve also been asking Him what I can do to make things right with my son. I plan to go see him tomorrow, to apologize and ask to start over. I don’t know how he’ll respond, and I confess…I have some trouble controlling my temper when someone gets obnoxious. Would you pray I handle myself well?”

  “Of course we will.” Mother nudged Diane. “Won’t we?”

  “Yes. Yes, we will.”

  “Thanks.” Kevin’s voice quavered. “Thanks for everything. Now, Hazel, I’ll let you get to sleep. Diane, could we talk a minute longer?”

  “Good night, Kevin.” Mother beamed at the phone, her eyes glittering. “Thank you for calling and letting us know. All the angels in heaven are rejoicing with us.” A smirk creased her cheek as she handed the phone over. “Here’s Margaret Diane.”

  Diane turned off the speaker feature and put the phone to her ear. “Okay, it’s just me now.” She closed Mother’s door behind her and hurried to the living room. She sat in Mother’s chair and pulled her feet up. “What’s going on? Why’d you go back to Fort Smith without saying anything?”

  “I’m really sorry about leaving without telling you. As I said, I did try to call, but your phones must have been off. I can’t really explain why I felt the urge to book a flight and go home so quick. I just kept feeling like there was more I needed to do here than there was to do there.”

  If the Holy Spirit had prompted him to go home, she shouldn’t argue. But hurt lingered. “I’ll be honest, Kevin. When you didn’t show today, it took me back to college, to when you weren’t there for me then, either.”

  “I’m sorry, Diane. I really am.” The brokenness in his voice proved his sincerity.

  Tears stung Diane’s eyes. “It’s okay. I understand you needed to go home.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’m sorry for more than leaving this morning. I’m sorry for every day you spent raising Meghan alone. I’m sorry for the financial support you didn’t receive from me. I’m sorry for the shame you were forced to endure because of my stupidity. There’s nothing I can do or say that will change the past, but if there’s anything I can do to make it right, anything you need, anything Meghan or your mom needs…ever…call me. Okay?”

  Diane sighed. “Kevin, that’s kind but really unnecessary. You’ve apologized. I’ve”—her throat tightened as emotions rolled through her—“forgiven you. I don’t hold any grudges. Honest.” It was amazing how good it felt to say it all out loud.

  “Thank you.” His voice turned husky, as if his throat had closed up, too. “There’s one more thing, and then I’ll let you go because I am beyond tuckered. I’ll be seeing my lawyer this week. I’m changing my will. Meghan’s my daughter. She deserves half of my assets, equal to Kip.”

  Diane’s heart skipped a beat. “Won’t that create more issues in your relationship with Kip?”

  A wry chuckle rumbled. “Kip doesn’t know he’s my beneficiary, so no worries there. Besides, there’s enough to be split two ways and he’ll still land in tall clover.”

  Diane didn’t know how to respond to his statement, so she remained silent. The grandfather clock ticktocked in steady, rhythmic beats. One of the dachshunds—probably Molly—whined. Then Kevin spoke again.

  “Thanks again for letting me sneak back into your life. You could’ve slammed the door on my foot and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you let me in. And I’ll never be the same. Good night, Diane.” The connection ended.

  Diane stared at the blank screen for a few seconds, replaying his tender farewell. “I’ll never be the same,” he’d said. She wouldn’t be, either. She couldn’t determine an exact moment, but sometime in the past two weeks, she’d stopped being angry at herself for the mistake she’d made in college. She was so much more than an unwed mother, and it was time to let go of the regret and simply appreciate being molded into the person God had designed her to be.

  Would she have come to this place of recognition if not for having to encounter her past face to face? Maybe. But maybe not.

  A sigh, one of contentment, eased from her throat. She tipped her temple against the padded headrest and whispered, “Good night, Kev. And thanks.”

  Thirty-One

  Carson Springs, Arkansas

  Meghan

  Meghan flopped into her folding yard chair, held her stomach, and groaned. “Oh, I’m so full. I should have saved half my steak for tomorrow.”

  “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.” Sean grinned.

  Meghan laughed. What a wonderful morning they’d enjoyed. Sleeping late, giggling while eating bowls of the kids’ cereal she’d accidentally picked up in place of their standard raisin bran, then working together in the kitchen preparing their lunch. Sean grilled the steaks to perfection, and he complimented Meghan’s tossed salad, steamed new potatoes, and whole green beans so many times that her cheeks were probably permanently red from blushing. But his praise lifted her heart. She could cook. She could do some of the things his mother had done for his family.

  She reached across the short expanse between their chairs and took his hand. “Sean, I told you about the case in Fort Smith, but I didn’t tell you everything that happened. Are you awake enough to listen?”

  He rolled his head to the side on the seat’s woven back and erased the humor from his expression. “Of course I am. I’ve been wondering when you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Well, first of all, nothing’s bothering me. Not like a problem, okay?” She licked her lips, trying to deci
de how to begin. She’d turned her thoughts over in her mind so many times, but somehow articulating them didn’t come easily. “It’s kind of about Sheila, kind of about me, and mostly about us.”

  “Then I need to know what it is.” He squeezed her hand. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Meghan drew in a breath, filling her nostrils with the mingled scents of charcoal, fresh-cut grass, and cooked beef—an aroma she wished she could bottle. “Sheila told me something Saturday before we left the hotel that totally blew me out of the water. She said I reminded her of her mother.” She searched Sean’s face for signs of disbelief or doubt, but his expression remained unchanged. “She said I acted like her mother in the way I advised her and looked out for her even though she could be something of a, well, ‘a pain’ is the word she used.”

  A grin lifted one corner of Sean’s lips. “I could see that.”

  Meghan grinned, too. “She can also be a real sweetheart. I decided that from now on she’s my adopted little sister.”

  Sean’s smile grew. “Works for me.”

  His easy acceptance gave her the courage to go on. “The thing is, I didn’t think there was anything inside me that could be a good mother. I love Mom to pieces, but she was nothing like your mom was to you when you were growing up. Then I looked at the legacy of mother-daughter relationships from Grandma and her mom, to Mom and Grandma, and finally Mom and me. They all had conflict at the center. I didn’t want to carry that legacy on with my child. Then I met my father’s son and saw how he turned out—”

  Sean’s jaw dropped. “You met your father’s adopted son? Where? How?”

  Meghan explained ordering a pizza and it being delivered by Kip Harrison. “A chance meeting, but wow, it really shook me up. I had hoped maybe at least my father had some paternal instincts, something I might have inherited, but then I met Kip. Added to that, the desk clerk, who’d gone to high school with him, told me some things about him, and…Whew.” She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “That pretty much let me know I wasn’t going to inherit any great parenting genes from my father, either.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering Sheila briefly laying her head against Meghan’s shoulder in the hotel room. “But maybe I put too much importance on my gene pool. I mean, Sheila saw something maternal in me. And there were moments during the week when I felt maternal toward her. Protective. Sympathetic. Even a little annoyed sometimes, like I wanted to tell her to straighten up, you know?”

  Sean grinned. “That sounds like a mom.”

  Meghan laughed, then quickly sobered. “The thing is, Sean, you inherited some really great traits from your parents that need to be passed to the next generation. I inherited some good things, too. Like faithfulness, a good work ethic, moral values, even stubbornness.”

  He raised his brows. “Stubbornness?”

  “Yes. Stubbornness is just another word for determination, and determination is a positive trait.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It sure is.”

  She pulled in another breath, savoring the scents that spoke of a new season coming to life. “All this is meant to say that I was wrong to refuse to think about having children.”

  Sean’s fingers convulsed, and his body tensed. Hope ignited in his eyes.

  “I based my decision on fear. But God doesn’t give us a spirit of fear. I can’t let fear get in the way anymore.” Her lips quivered, but she managed to form a smile. “If our kids turn out half as handsome and kind and wonderful as you, I’ll feel like the most successful mother in the history of the world.”

  Sean leaped out of his chair, swooped her into his arms, and delivered a warm, lengthy, joyful kiss. She clung, savoring the salty taste of steak on his lips. Or maybe she was tasting her own tears. Releasing her fear had sprung a leak. But she didn’t begrudge them. Happy tears were always welcome.

  He set her on the ground but kept his arms looped around her waist. She left hers around his neck and smiled up at him. The sunshine glistened on his dark-brown hair and brought out the rich, deep brown in his irises that usually seemed almost black. His square jaw showed a shadow, enhancing his manliness. Incredibly handsome, respectful, honest, even-tempered, God-honoring—he was as close to perfect as a man could get. And he was her husband. He would be such a wonderful father to their children.

  “Sean?”

  “Yes, babe?”

  “I could never have imagined being so blessed.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “Me neither, babe. Me neither.”

  “Sean?”

  His eyes slid open, but he didn’t release his hold or lift his head.

  “Greg said something to Sheila about her dad that’s stuck with me. He said, ‘Don’t let bitterness erase the memories.’ I don’t know if I’ll get in touch with my dad, but would you pray for me to know what to do? And that even if I don’t ever have a relationship with him, I won’t let bitterness about him taking off on Mom create problems in my other relationships? I don’t want any of the memories I’ll be gathering in the future to be tarnished by bitterness.”

  Sean kissed the end of her nose and drew her to the chairs. “Let’s pray about that right now.” She bowed her head, and Sean began, “Dear heavenly Father…”

  Thirty-Two

  Fort Smith, Arkansas

  Kevin

  Kevin pulled up in front of the house he’d shared with Julie and Kip for eight years. He killed the engine, then draped his wrist over the steering wheel and stared out the window at the brick 1980s cookie-cutter ranch. One thing about Julie, she kept things neat. Her gardener was doing a good job with the yard, too. The bushes out front were nicely shaped, no leaves littered the grass, and he didn’t spot a single dandelion, even though the neighbors’ yards were dotted with yellow.

  After their divorce, he’d stewed about her taking the house and sticking him with an apartment, but now he was glad he hadn’t fought for the house. Kids needed the stability of a home. He hadn’t given Kip much else, but at least he’d given him that.

  He hadn’t called before coming. With it being Memorial Day, the post office where Julie had clerked for as long as he’d known her was closed. So she’d be home. Murray’s Pizza, however, was open seven days a week. If Kip was actually working these days, he might be gone. If he was, Kevin would get his son’s schedule from Julie and come back at a better time. Sure, he could’ve gotten the information by texting, but he’d hidden behind impersonal texts for too many years. He wanted his ex-wife and son to see his face, to see his body language, to see that he had changed.

  He felt so different it had to show, right?

  He left the car and strode up the driveway to the front door. Sunshine beamed down, and a soft breeze teased—a perfect almost-summer day. When he was done here, he intended to drive to his mother’s place and spend an hour or two with her. Memorial Day, a day of remembering those who had served. Dad served two years in the U.S. Army, required by every graduating male back in his day. Maybe they’d visit the cemetery. Dad wouldn’t want flowers on his grave, but he and Mom could make sure the custodians at Memorial Gardens were taking care of his plot, maybe reminisce a little bit. He cringed. Or maybe not.

  The porch, small and square, was deeply inset and fully shaded. A tiny camera, something new since the last time he’d been there, blinked from the upper-right corner. He glanced at it, then pressed his finger against the doorbell button. Even though he hadn’t lived here for a dozen years, it still felt weird pushing the doorbell. Before it stopped chiming, the interior door swung open and Julie, wearing a royal-blue lounging suit that brought out the brilliant blue of her eyes, stood framed in the full-glass screen door.

  He offered a half smile and little wave.

  She cracked the screen door. “Who died?”

  “What?”

  “Somebody must have died.” She gla
nced up and down his length. “Black slacks, button-down shirt and tie…You’re even wearing dress shoes. You look like you’ve been to a funeral.”

  Kevin released a nervous laugh. He’d spiffed up to set a good example for his son. He rubbed his fresh-shaved cheek. “Nobody died.” Except himself to sin, according to the What Does It Mean to Be Saved? booklet he’d downloaded to his tablet and read while on the plane. “I came to see Kip. Is he here?”

  “Yes.” With a graceful sweep of her wrist, she tossed a heavy strand of highlighted blond hair over her shoulder. “But he might not want to talk to you. This is a rough time for him.”

  A sarcastic comment formed on Kevin’s tongue, but he held it inside. He nodded, sending up a brief request for self-control. He sure hoped Hazel and Diane were praying, like they’d said they would. “That’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk. I’d still like to see him.”

  She shrugged and stepped out of the way. “Come on in, then.” Kevin crossed the threshold and waited on the patch of tile inside the door while Julie went to the basement opening. “Kip? Will you come up, please? There’s”—her shoulders stiffened—“someone here to see you.”

  “Who is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

  Kip’s reply made Kevin wince. How many times had he used that excuse to put off answering his son’s request for attention?

  “It’s your dad.”

  Moments later, feet pounded on the stairs. Only six thumps, which told Kevin that Kip took them two at a time. He rounded the corner, came to a stop several feet away, and gaped at Kevin.

  Kevin couldn’t help but stare in return. When had Kip last seen a barber? His shaggy hair fell over his eyes like a sheepdog’s hair, and his clothes were wrinkled and baggy, the pant legs dragging. But it was his bare feet that captured Kevin’s full attention. Long, with dark hair growing on his big toes. A man’s feet.

  Sadness struck. So many years lost…He swallowed and forced a smile. “Hi, Kip.”