Did Toby have a daughter?
“Wait, is Kasey yours?” She parked near the doorway for the ER.
Toby unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door. “In a way, yes.” He closed the door and helped her father out of the back of the car. They made toward the hospital’s automatic front doors, leaving Jenna to trail behind them.
“How old is she—Kasey?”
“Seven,” Toby called back as he shuffled along with Dad.
Jenna tried to wrap her mind around the fact that Toby had a daughter—a daughter the same age as Jenna’s child would have been if she’d carried to full-term.
But she couldn’t process it all. Not right now. It was too much, the emotions that went with what she’d been through during college on top of her worries about her father.
Shaken, she slumped into a chair beside Toby and curled her trembling hands over her stomach as Toby and her father answered the admitting nurse’s questions.
* * *
Toby ushered Jenna to a waiting area outside the doctor’s office. Jenna dragged her feet, her tennis shoes thumping against the polished floor. Mr. Crest had stated he preferred they let him be alone with the hospital staff first, with the promise that he’d call for them once he was ready. Jenna had balked until Toby pressed his hand to the small of her back and steered her out the door. Initially, he was afraid she would fight him, but she’d seemed almost grateful to be redirected.
Now, if only she’d talk.
Jenna rocked in her chair. Her already pale skin had turned ashen. She had her eyes closed tightly and was breathing hard through her nose. Toby dropped into the seat next to hers. Instinctively, he reached to take her hand but stopped himself before he made contact and grabbed the armrest instead.
“Are you okay?”
It was probably a dumb question. Her father was being examined in an emergency room. She’d been sitting in the same waiting room when she learned her mother had passed. This place—the hospital—was woven deeply into both Jenna’s and Toby’s lives. Not in a good way. Then again, when hospitals were needed, it was hardly ever good news. This was the same emergency room his family had rushed to many times with his brother. Although Toby had usually been sent to the Crests’ home, where Mrs. Crest distracted him with apple turnovers and the family included him in their evening board-game tournaments. Toby had spent many nights bunking in their guest room as a child so his parents didn’t have to split their time between him and his brother.
“Water.” Jenna ran shaky hands down her cheeks. “Can you get water?”
“I’ll get you anything you want.”
Jenna finally stopped rocking. She tipped her head to the side and studied him for a moment. What did she see? An old friend she trusted? Or still the enemy she’d made him out to be in the orchard an hour ago? Toby feared the latter.
“Water’s fine.” She looked away.
Toby begged a plastic cup off the ladies at the nurses’ station, filled it at the water fountain and then located a vending machine at the end of the hall. Score. It had chocolate-covered peanuts, Jenna’s favorite. After getting a pack, he reclaimed his seat and eased the cup into her hands.
She took a long drag of water and then cradled the cup on her lap. “That helped. Thank you.” At some point during their dash to the hospital, some of her curls had worked their way out of her ponytail so that they hung around her face. It made her look vulnerable. Protectiveness flooded his heart. Unsure of how she’d respond, he fought the desire to offer her a hug like the old days.
“Here.” He passed the chocolate-covered peanuts her way.
Jenna looked up from the cup of water and accepted the bag of treats. “Oh. These are my favorite.”
“I know,” he said warmly.
“You remembered.” Her voice sounded breathless.
“I...” He reached over and tucked her loose curls behind her ear. “I remember almost everything about you.”
Her eyebrows pinched together, and she rubbed the heel of her palm against her collarbone.
Toby angled his body toward her. Now was probably the worst time to ask, but he had to know, had to understand why she wasn’t happy to see him. Why she’d wanted him off their property. He tried to find a diplomatic way to start. “What are you thinking right now?”
“Sorry.” She dropped her hand from her chest. “Sometimes it feels like I’m having a heart attack.”
Concern for her dad. Anger at him for taking a job at the orchard. He’d expected one of those answers. Not...heart attack. Wait. Was Jenna ill, too? His gut tightened. “Should I get you a doctor?”
“Please don’t. I’m fine.”
“Is that a real fine, or like when your dad said he was fine?”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Jenn-nna.” He dragged out her name, the way he used to when he was bugging her to tell him something when they were kids.
“I...” She sighed loudly. “You might as well know if you’re going to be sticking around...”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I have anxiety. It’s not terrible. And not all the time.” She continued, speaking rapidly, almost as if her words might vanish if she didn’t get them out fast enough. “But I have attacks—episodes.” She shrugged. “Sometimes they’re really bad. I’m okay though. Right now. I’m fine.”
“You said that.” Toby let her words sink in. Jenna hadn’t suffered from panic attacks in the past, that he knew of, anyway. Were these new? What caused them? He’d have to do some more research about anxiety before probing further. One thing he understood from having lived with his brother was that where health conditions were concerned, people could unknowingly hurt with poorly phrased questions or assumptions, even when they had good intentions. He wouldn’t do that to Jenna.
Jenna set the bag of peanuts in her lap so she could knit her fingers together. “I know it’s irrational. I know... It’s just, at the time, it’s very real.” Her gaze latched on to his. “Do you think that’s silly?”
“Not at all.”
“Seriously?”
“Listen, Jenna, we all have things we struggle with.” He took a deep breath. “You clearly already know, but I spiraled into depression after the reality set in that I’d never play professional ball. I had no clue who Toby Holcomb was without that trajectory for my life. Unlike you, I wasn’t brave though.”
“I’m not brave.” She sounded hoarse. “Feeling like the world is collapsing when nothing is actually wrong isn’t brave.”
“You just told someone. That’s brave.” Toby rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands together. “I was a coward. I didn’t tell anyone when I was low.” Even himself. He should have known, locked up in his apartment for days at a time. Staying in bed. Not showering. Depression. The mind sure had a strange way of protecting itself...lying. Telling him he was fine. Normal. That how he was acting was how a failure of a man should act. He’d lost his dream of being a professional athlete and then tanked the sporting goods business he’d started after that.
Toby Holcomb is a failure.
Toby shook his thoughts away and pressed on. “Instead, like a fool, I self-medicated.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Just say it. She already knew anyway. “Alcohol. Lots of it, I’m afraid. I’m ashamed to say that it took me almost five years to snap out of it.”
Silence. Say something. Tell me my past doesn’t make me a bad person now.
“What made you snap out of it?” Jenna quietly asked.
God. That was the simple—and complicated—answer. His mother’s constant prayers.
“I could really have hurt someone or myself, making poor choices like driving drunk. I thank God for both of those police officers who arrested me. If I hadn’t been caught...” He shook his head. “It’s more th
an that though. I was so busy focusing on what I lost—what I felt like was unfairly taken from me—” he tapped the knee that sometimes still gave him trouble, the one that had cost him his career “—that I lost sight of what God put me on this earth to accomplish.”
“Football?”
He snorted. “That was something I was good at a long time ago. Something I never used to glorify God. No.” He straightened in his seat. He’d never verbalized these thoughts to anyone—not even his parents—but it felt right sharing with Jenna. “I was put on earth for the same reason you were. I’m supposed to love people, Jenna—we’re supposed to share God’s love with people. No matter what situation I find myself in, I’m supposed to deal with it in a way that points people toward God. That’s my purpose.”
She pressed her hand into her forehead. “You make it sound like the easiest thing in the world. Dealing with situations that way—as if we’re on display for the sake of God.”
“Easy? Hardly. But, as Christians, isn’t that exactly what our life is supposed to do? At least...I think it is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The old Toby wouldn’t have said all this stuff.”
He sat up in his chair. Tapped his fingers on the armrest. “The old Toby wasn’t a Christian.”
“And now?” she whispered.
“I am. Thanks to my mother.”
A soft smile lightened Jenna’s face. “She never gave up on you.”
“I’d long given up on me, but she hadn’t. I’m thankful for that. For everyone who pointed me toward God in some way. You included.”
Jenna hugged her stomach, her shoulders hunching forward. “I’m not like that anymore. I have a really hard time with some of the things that have happened in my life. I feel like if people knew that I had the anxiety...why I had it...” She shook her head. “If showing people God’s love through how I handle my experiences is my purpose in life, then I’m failing.”
Toby nudged her arm gently with his elbow. “Good news. I don’t think God expects perfection from us. There are all those grace and mercy and forgiveness parts of the Bible to back me up.”
Toby looked away. He was a hypocrite, saying things he wanted to believe but wasn’t quite sure he really did. He should tell her—tell her that he struggled with wrapping his head around grace and second chances just as much as she seemed to—but the words lodged in his throat.
He glanced back at her. No...he couldn’t tell her that he failed at everything. That he was bound to fail in his fresh attempt at a relationship with God. That he’d end up failing her. Again. Like he’d failed her after her mom died. It was impossible to say something like that when she was looking at him for the first time in the old way she used to when they were kids, with her eyes large, lighting up, as if talking together was the best and safest thing in the world.
Jenna relaxed her arms. “That’s not the answer I thought you’d have.”
Toby swallowed hard. “What did you think I’d say?”
“I thought you’d say you changed for your daughter’s sake.”
“My—wait—my what?” He jerked his head toward her, trying to read Jenna’s face for any signs that she was kidding.
“Kasey...your daughter.”
Wait. She thought? No. “Kasey’s not my daughter.”
“You said earlier that you guessed she was yours.” Her brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I was named her guardian in the will.”
“Guardian? So who—?”
“You remember Sophia, my cousin, don’t you?”
“Sophia died? She was younger than us.” Jenna touched his wrist. “Tobe, I’m so sorry.” Her hold tightened. “Oh, poor Kasey. Losing her mom so young.”
“I hoped you could help her since...” your mom died when you were young, too. “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a little girl. When your dad found out, he called and offered the bunkhouse, a job. My parents live in a retirement community, no kids allowed. I’m all Kasey has now. If I hadn’t accepted guardianship, they’d have placed her into foster care. I couldn’t let that happen.” He shook his head.
“You did the right thing.” She laid her hand over his for a second, then cupped it back with her other in her lap.
“I can’t do it alone though. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He skirted his gaze to hers. Her deep blue eyes captured his, and he never wanted to look away. They could be friends again. Everything could go back to how it was before. “Will you help me?”
“Of course. However I can.”
And just like that, they were a united force. He still needed to get to the bottom of why Jenna had been so upset this morning, but that would come in time.
Chapter Three
Jenna tried to focus on the abstract watercolor in the doctor’s office at her father’s follow-up appointment the next day. Staring at the strange shapes was easier than looking at her dad or the doctor. Thankfully, Toby had stayed back at the orchard to tend to the work they’d missed yesterday and wouldn’t have accomplished today if he hadn’t been around. Busy fussing over her father the rest of yesterday, Jenna had missed her opportunity to meet Kasey but hoped to rectify that once she was home from school today.
But after this blow, who knew? A motorized wheelchair. Her father, who used to think nothing of working ten hours a day in the busy season—the man who had taught her to ride horseback, to swim and to race on her bike—was being told it was best for him not to walk on his own going forward.
“You’re telling me my father can’t walk anymore?” Jenna tried to modulate her voice. It wasn’t Dr. Karol’s fault—he was a messenger, tasked with delivering bad information. Still, worry simmered through her veins.
“Jenna.” Her father’s voice held a warning.
But she pressed on. “He fell. Doesn’t everyone fall sometimes?” She heard the desperation in her own voice. Tell me it’s all a cruel joke. Tell me Dad will just get better on his own.
“The type of MS your father has—”
“It’s PPMS, I know. I know it’s different from normal multiple sclerosis.” She didn’t mean to be rude, but she’d attended every one of Dad’s appointments for the past six months. She had already listened to Dr. Karol talk about Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis—PPMS—in detail on many occasions.
Dr. Karol nodded and leaned against the counter. “With primary progressive the legs lose power, and simple tasks, like going out to check the mail, can deplete all of a person’s energy.”
“And some days it sure does,” Dad agreed.
How could he be taking the news so easily?
Jenna clutched the brochure that broke down how much their insurance would cover toward each of their chair options. “But saying he’s not allowed to walk...that...that takes away his ability to live.” Once people weren’t mobile, didn’t they get pneumonia? And people could die of pneumonia. That’s what had happened to Mom.
The doctor set down his clipboard and opened the small laptop on the counter. “On the contrary. Using a motorized chair, especially with the technology that exists these days, gives back movement and strength. Right now, Richard expends all his energy by noon, just from being mobile in your house. But a chair allows you to store that energy—it gives back his life because there are reserves left to spend time with family or go outside. Think, during harvest your father can come out to the orchard and oversee your work.”
Jenna still wasn’t convinced as she helped her father into the car and started driving home. Not walking meant accepting defeat. It meant accepting that her father was ill. She wasn’t ready for that. Might never be. She tried to repeat what Toby had told her yesterday at the ER. That every situation was a chance to show love—to show God. But her heart had a hard time digesting that. Mom had died so quickly after becoming bedridden.
While a motorized chair wasn’t the same thing, wasn’t it a step in that direction? Not my dad. I won’t let that happen to him, too.
Her knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. She eased her grip.
Dad rolled down the window and braced his arm along the frame. Warm September air laced with dampness from Lake Michigan tumbled into the car. “I don’t like admitting I need a chair any more than you do, but it seems like the right choice.”
Jenna blinked, trying to get a clear view of the road. She needed to be strong for her father. No crying. No falling apart. “We can safety-proof the house. Take away all the rugs and anything that could cause you to trip.”
“Jenna.”
“And if you want to be part of the harvest, you can ride shotgun in the truck. We take the pickup down the rows anyway. Toby won’t mind.”
“Jenna.”
“And we could—”
“Honeybee, stop. I’m sick.” He fisted his hands, but not quickly enough to hide the shaking. From stress. She was causing that. Guilt punched at her heart.
He rested his head against the back of the seat. “My body’s failing me. Admitting that is part of being able to move forward and live with my disease.”
“Why?” Jenna whispered, so quietly she wasn’t sure if her father heard her. A part of her didn’t want him to. “Why is God doing this?”
He scrubbed his hand down his face. “He’s not doing this to me. It’s not a punishment. Our bodies fail us because we’re mortal. That’s all there is to it.”
God was perfectly fine with letting people who loved Him suffer? Was it like watching ants on a small anthill? Easy to feel no attachment?
The muscles in her shoulders bunched. She couldn’t deal with Dad’s train of logic right now. “But they’re not letting you walk. Your hands shake all the time. You—”
“It’s not a big deal, Jenna.”
“Not a big deal? How can you say that? I can’t believe—”
“Stop.” He drew his hands so they were in his lap, and his gentle blue eyes met hers when she braked at the intersection. “Jenna, sweetheart, the Lord gives and the Lord takes. In all of it let the name of the Lord be praised.” He referenced a verse that was written on a plaque that used to hang near the front entrance of their home. Years ago, after Mom’s death, Jenna had ripped the plaque down and stuffed it between books on her old childhood bookshelf.
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