Another Way Home

by Deborah Raney

  “That’s the truth,” Danae said, laughing. “Whenever we babysit my three nieces, they beg for popcorn so they can watch Uncle Dallas eat it his special way.”

  “Except their mom banned all popcorn eating from the house,” Dallas added. “They have to go outside now.”

  “I can see why,” Misty said, picking another of Austin’s missed kernels out of the carpeting.

  Dallas noticed she had warmed up considerably.

  “So . . .” Misty tilted her head, curiosity in her eyes. “You guys don’t have kids?”

  “Not yet,” Danae said.

  He couldn’t help but notice that there was no trace of the usual melancholy in his wife’s voice. She said it matter-of-factly, as though any day now, they would have kids.

  And in that moment, he wanted that for her more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time.

  12

  By nine o’clock the women started drifting back to their own rooms. Berta was still in the office catching up on paperwork, and Danae sent Dallas on home. She wished she could go with him. She was eager to learn his impressions of the shelter. But after the whole popcorn thing with Austin, she was pretty sure he would have only good things to say. She smiled, thinking about how cute Dallas had been with the little boy.

  Not so many weeks ago, their exchange would have only made her sad—or even angry—for what she didn’t have. But something had changed inside her in recent days. Some holy alchemy had transformed her, altered her very soul. And finally, she wanted God’s will more than she wanted her own.

  Misty had put Austin to bed around eight thirty and had come back through the dayroom with a basket of dirty clothes on her way down to the laundry room. She came back to the dayroom now with an armload of little boys’ clothes. She plopped down on the sofa across from Danae and started folding.

  “Want some help?” Without waiting for an answer, Danae went to sit on the other end of the sofa. She pulled a warm T-shirt out of the pile and folded it in half.

  “I don’t think I can come up with the money to pay for these.” Misty held up one of the shirts they’d gotten for Austin.

  “You’re not expected to pay for them, Misty. That’s part of the service we offer.”

  “Why?”

  The question took her aback. “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you all do this?”

  “The shelter, you mean?” She shrugged, feeling like she was walking on eggshells. “I guess just because we care about women in your situation. We want to help you get back on your feet.”

  “I don’t get that.”

  “Nothing to get. When you get . . . trapped in an abusive situation it’s hard to get free. Even harder if you don’t have a safe place to go.” She was grasping at straws. They hadn’t covered the answer to questions like these in the training sessions. “We just want to show God’s love and be that safe place . . . until you can get back on your feet.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I don’t see I have a whole lot of choices.”

  “The counselors will help you.” This wasn’t the time to remind Misty that the shelter had a two-month limit. She doubted they’d be too strict with that, especially since it involved a child, but they would be urging Misty to find work and a place to live. As long as they didn’t make her feel she had no choice but to go back to her husband. “You’ve talked with a social worker, right?”

  “Yeah, I did. For all the good it did,” she muttered under her breath.

  An early-news channel droned on low volume in the background as they worked together in comfortable silence.

  “You’ve got a nice hubby,” Misty said, not meeting Danae’s eye—and looking guilty for having said it. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by that or anything,” she added quickly.

  Danae waved a hand. “Oh, I know you didn’t. And thanks. He’s a good guy, Dallas.”

  “I see that. I think . . . that’s what I hate most about what Hank did.”

  Danae had never heard her use her husband’s given name. She hoped it didn’t mean Misty was softening toward him. If she took Austin back into that . . . She shook off the thought. She couldn’t let herself go there. “What? What do you hate most, I mean?”

  “That Austin don’t have nobody to, you know, look up to. Be a role model.”

  “Does he have grandparents around? Or do you have any brothers? Or uncles?”

  She shook her head. “None I’d want for a role model.” She gave Danae a half grin and rolled her eyes. “I haven’t made the best choices. I know that. Not that I had a say in my family. But the ones I chose and the ones I didn’t—they’re all a bunch of lowlife perverts. I just . . . I don’t want my kids—my boy—around any of them. I don’t want him to be the one to pay the consequences for my mistakes.”

  “Well, you’re making good choices now. You were right to get Austin away. Somewhere safe. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “No. It wasn’t. That’s for sure.”

  They finished folding the laundry and Misty took it back to her room and returned with her hairbrush. She started messing with her hair, trying to put it up in a braid. She had long dark, wavy hair. It had been dull and in need of washing when she first arrived, but now it was freshly shampooed and it shone even in the dim lights of the dayroom.

  “Do you want me to braid your hair?” Danae was a little surprised when Misty held out the hairbrush to her. She grabbed a bar stool that served as a side table near the sofa. “Here. Sit here.”

  Misty settled on the stool and slipped a covered rubber band off her wrist and handed it over her shoulder to Danae. “You’re lucky to have your smooth blonde hair.”

  “Hey, I’d trade you any day. My youngest sister has even curlier hair than yours—except hers is blonde like mine—but I always tell her I’d trade her too.” She stroked the brush through Misty’s hair and separated it into three hanks.

  “I guess we all want something different than what we got. I guarantee if you had my hair, and I had yours, you’d still be trying to trade me.”

  Danae laughed. “You’re probably right.”

  She finished Misty’s braid, tucking in wayward strands of hair here and there. But she couldn’t quit thinking about what Misty had said, and wondering if she’d intended it to mean more than just about hair.

  She thought of her sweet sisters and how bitter and jealous she’d let herself become toward them. Jealous because they had the babies she so desperately wanted. But not counting the blessings she did have . . . ones that they could have been equally jealous of, but weren’t. Her beautiful home, a husband who made enough money that she could stay home, enough money that she enjoyed many luxuries her sisters only dreamed of—entire days spent at the salon spa, a lovely wardrobe, beautiful furnishings for their home.

  And still enough money that they could afford the fertility treatments.

  How many women struggling with infertility would have given anything for this privilege she took for granted?

  She suspected Misty would trade her lives in a heartbeat. Except for Austin, of course.

  But oh, how much she had to be thankful for. And she was ashamed for how ungrateful she’d been. And how blind she’d been to her blessings.

  She secured Misty’s braid with the twist of a rubber band, and as she performed the simple, mundane task, she determined to begin, this very night, to live a life marked more by gratitude. And less by petitions.

  Old habits were hard to break, but with God’s help, she would break this one. She would break free.

  * * *

  The Friday lunch crowd had died down by the time Danae found a parking place near the restaurant. Port Cape Girardeau was a favorite of hers and Dallas’s, and she was shocked to learn that neither of her sisters had ever eaten there. “My treat,” she’d told them when she called to invite them.

  She didn’t realize until then how rarely she did anything like that. How deeply ingrained her
ungrateful thinking was! But the greater surprise was that God seemed to be assigning her exercises in generosity in an effort to teach her an attitude of gratitude.

  An attitude of gratitude. She smiled to herself, remembering mom singing the catchy Sunday school song. She could remember nearly all the words, but apparently she hadn’t learned the lesson they contained because she was finding this little experiment more difficult than she imagined that night at the shelter when she’d marked the beginning of a journey toward freedom.

  She locked the car and put her head down against the cold mid-November wind that blew off the Mississippi. An opening in the mural-covered floodwall across the street from the restaurant afforded a glimpse of the wide river that formed Cape Girardeau’s eastern boundary. Low whitecaps pocked the gray-blue water, and gulls dived for lunch in the wake of a river barge.

  The barge’s low horn sounded as she crossed the street to the old restaurant with its distinctive painted Coca-Cola sign taking up half the northern face of the building. The luscious aroma of hickory barbecue assaulted her the moment she opened the door, and her stomach growled in response.

  She hadn’t seen her sisters’ cars in the parking lot, but they were seated at a table just inside the door. There were only a few other tables taken in the dining room and jazz notes wafted out from the speakers somewhere above her. Corinne and Landyn were deep in conversation and didn’t see her approach.

  “Hey, sisters.” She pulled out a chair beside Landyn.

  “Danae!” they said in unison.

  Corinne scooted back her chair and gave Danae a hug. The small mound of Corinne’s belly surprised her. She held her older sister at arm’s length and noticed she was wearing a loose-fitting shirt. Not a maternity top, but the closest thing to one.

  “You’re starting to show!” She put a hand lightly on Corinne’s tummy, feeling genuinely happy for her sister. “I’m so glad you guys could both get away.”

  Landyn looked at her watch. “Yeah, well, don’t let me stay past three. I promised Chase I’d relieve him before the girls woke from their naps.”

  “I should probably leave by then, too,” Corinne said. “How are you?” The way she asked—almost with a grimace—made Danae regret how she must have made her sisters dread even being around her recently.

  “I’m doing good,” she said, smiling. She looked from her oldest to her youngest sister and saw in their eyes that they thought she was going to tell them she was pregnant. “And no, I’m not pregnant.”

  They both visibly deflated.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sis.” Corinne touched her arm.

  “It’s OK. It really is. We’re taking a little break from trying. I mean . . . we’ll take a baby any time God wants to give us one, but I’m going to stop the fertility treatments until, well, for a while. I’m not sure how long.”

  “You’re OK with that?” Landyn looked doubtful.

  “I really think I am. We need a break. I started my last round of the meds this morning. I’ll be off them by Christmas. I guess . . . if I’m not pregnant by then, we’ll have to decide what’s next. How are you feeling, Corinne?”

  “Good. Other than having to pee every five seconds. Speaking of which . . .” She scraped her chair back and excused herself. “I’ll be right back.”

  Danae and Landyn laughed as they watched her head toward the back. And Danae was surprised to realize that she felt only a tiny twinge of envy.

  “You look great,” Landyn said when Corinne had disappeared around the corner. “I like the way you’re wearing your hair.”

  “I’d still trade for your curls in a heartbeat. I told one of the girls at the shelter that just last night.”

  “You’re still volunteering there?”

  “I am. And I love it. It’s been really good to have something like that to fill my time.”

  A few minutes later, Corinne appeared and slid back into her seat. “Have you guys ordered yet?”

  “No. I haven’t even looked at a menu.” Landyn took a sip of water and opened the menu.

  Danae slid her menu to the edge of the table. “I already know what I want.”

  Twenty minutes later they were feasting on the best barbecue in town and laughing in a way they hadn’t in far too long. And Danae knew it was her fault.

  Their server came and refilled their drinks and when he brought them back to the table, Danae took advantage of the lull. “I don’t want to get all serious on you guys and spoil the fun, but”—she swallowed the huge lump in her throat—“I just want to say I’m really sorry for being such a pain to be around these last few months. Oh—who am I kidding?—the last few years.”

  “Well,” Landyn deadpanned, “I didn’t want to say anything . . .”

  Danae smacked her arm. But she was grateful her sister hadn’t let things get too maudlin.

  Corinne was more serious. “Hey, we get it, Danae. This has been really hard for you. And we’re all praying for you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. And thank you. I promise I’m not going to be such a drama queen from now on.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” But Corinne was smiling now.

  “And you know you can always talk to us. Just because you’re not going to be a drama queen and be all mopey and act like a jerk and make the rest of us miserable with your constant whining doesn’t mean you can’t.” Landyn’s eyes held a playful spark.

  Danae laughed, but partly to keep from crying. She had been all those things. But she wasn’t about to ruin the lighthearted mood of the day. She was so grateful to her sisters for loving her anyway. She wasn’t so sure she would have been so patient if she were in their shoes. Grateful. One more thing for her gratitude journal—sisters who stood by her no matter how big of a jerk she was.

  She reached to grasp a sister’s hand in each of hers. “Seriously, I love you guys. Thanks for putting up with me. Now, how about we change the subject before I start crying like a little girl?”

  That made her sisters laugh.

  “Let’s get dessert,” Landyn said. “My treat.”

  Corinne gasped dramatically. “Oh, my goodness! Mark this day down. Our baby sister is buying!”

  “Excuse me?” Danae reared back in mock dismay. “Do I not get credit for buying the meal?”

  They ignored her and pored over a dessert menu.

  She grabbed the menu from Corinne’s hand. “There’s really only one choice, sisters.” She summoned their server, who came running. “Blackberry cobblers all around, please.”

  Corinne and Landyn each nodded hearty approval.

  The server smiled. “Three of those, coming right up.”

  Blackberry cobbler. One more thing to be grateful for.

  13

  Danae drove over the November-gray streets of Cape Girardeau, winding her way through the neighborhood to the women’s shelter. The month was nearly over and the towering trees in the neighborhood had finally given up trying to hang on to their leaves.

  Autumn was such a poignant time, with the leaves dying and flowers fading. And yet, she thought it was no accident that God had designed this season of dying to be one of the most beautiful of all. It had been a glorious fall. And the winter snow would be beautiful. But these weeks between the last leaf and the first snowstorm always made Danae a little sad.

  She hoped Berta would be at Cape Haven today. She and the older woman had become unlikely friends, and she usually tried to arrange her schedule so that she volunteered the same days Berta did. But Berta had been working nights lately because they were short of help on that shift. For Dallas’s sake, she tried to be home in the evenings when he was, but she always felt safer and more confident when Berta Salmans was at the shelter.

  The shelter had been especially quiet over these weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. She hadn’t heard how many of the women would be at the shelter Thursday, but Berta had said many of them would probably try to go home for the holiday.

  Danae had been ag
hast. “Surely you don’t mean home to their abuser?”

  Berta had frowned. “Usually home to their parents or siblings—but even that puts them at risk of their abuser finding them. And sadly, sometimes that’s exactly what they want. These women are hopeful their abuser will ‘behave’ over the holidays, so they can have a warm family Christmas together. Unfortunately, the stress of the holidays just makes things worse.”

  Danae slowed the car as she neared her turn. A flicker of light against the gray sky caught her eye. There it was again. It came from between two houses ahead of her. Surely people weren’t putting up their Christmas lights yet. The only thing that drove her more nuts than people who still had their holiday decorations up in February were the ones who put them up too early. At least wait till Thanksgiving, people.

  Straining to make out the flashes of light, she slowed the car and rounded the last curve before the shelter. She slammed on the brakes when she realized what the lights were, and where they were coming from.

  Two police cars were parked in the driveway of the shelter, blue and red lights strobing against each other in a frenetic rhythm. The front yard was swarming with uniformed officers.

  “Lord,” she whispered, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Whatever’s happening, please be with everyone inside.” Austin! Oh, please let him be OK! And Berta.

  She started to pull into the driveway, then thought better of it. There was no ambulance, which should be a good sign, but she had a bad feeling about this.

  She fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Berta’s number.

  The woman answered on the first ring. “Danae? Don’t come in today. We’ve got stuff going on here. I’ll explain later, but you stay home.”

  “I’m right outside, Berta. What’s going on?”

  “You’re here? Where?”

  “I’m on the street, across from the house and down a ways. I can see the police cars. What happened? Are you OK?”

  “I think so. Misty’s husband paid us a little visit.”