Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Nic’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He went on eating, his satisfied “mmms” between bites both elating and stinging Lydia. Unable to watch him any longer, she shifted her head and discovered Micah examining her. The serious expression on his face sent a shaft of apprehension through her middle. She licked her lips. “Micah?”

  He cleared his throat, flicking a glance at Nic. He rose. “Lydia, while Nic finishes his breakfast, could I speak with you . . . outside?”

  Nic looked up, his fork midway between his plate and his mouth. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  Micah chuckled, but the tense set of his shoulders juxtaposed the lighthearted sound. “Yeah. Feelin’ penned in after so many days in this apartment tending to your stubborn hide.”

  Nic blasted a laugh. “Well, go on, then.” He waggled his brows. “While you’ve got her outdoors, I can sneak into the rest of them pancakes.”

  Lydia supposed she should play along and tease back, but her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. She managed to offer Nic a weak grin, then followed Micah down the stairs and into the grassless yard. A crowd of rowdy kids ran back and forth, chasing one another with sticks in some sort of wild sword-fighting game, so Micah guided her between the tall buildings. An unpleasant odor permeated the area, but the children’s voices were muffled, giving them an opportunity to visit without shouting at each other.

  Micah leaned against the brick wall and slipped his hands into his pockets. He heaved a huge sigh. His pants and shirt were rumpled, his hair stood up in untidy tufts, his cheeks sported at least three days’ worth of whiskers, and dark circles marred his striking blue eyes. Yet despite his disheveled appearance, Lydia found him attractive. Longing to settle herself securely against his muscular frame and rest in the strength he radiated nearly overwhelmed her. She’d never known a more appealing man than Dr. Micah Hatcher.

  Dropping her gaze to the discarded tin cans around their feet, she pushed her errant thoughts aside. “What did you want to say to me?” She braced herself, certain another heartache was about to be forced upon her.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Nic—didn’t want to discourage him—but he’s still got a big fight ahead of him.”

  Lydia braved lifting her face to look into Micah’s tired eyes. “Isn’t his system clear?”

  “Sure it is. For the first time in years.” Micah freed one hand and ran his fingers through his hair. He grimaced. “But he’s spent the past eight years using morphine to make himself feel good. It’s been his crutch to ease his pain, to bolster his moods, to calm his temper. Sure, he’s been addicted, but he’s also developed a habit of relying on morphine. Just because he’s clean now doesn’t mean the habit’s been eradicated. There will still be times—lots of times, I’m afraid—he’s going to want to reach for a packet of white powder.”

  Lydia’s heart took up a mighty caroming in her chest. Once again, her emotions teeter-tottered between wanting Nic whole and wanting him to be found unstable so she could have Nicky to herself. She stifled a groan. Father, help me do what honors You!

  Micah tapped a rusty can with the toe of his shoe. “As much as I hate leaving the clinic in someone else’s hands any longer, I think I’ll make a few calls and see if I can stick around for another week. Help Nic establish healthy habits to replace the bad one. Had to do that with a few fellows in Oahu after the bombing—they got too reliant on morphine, too. It happens.” He fell silent for a moment, his brow crinkled in contemplation. Finally, he added, with a gentle hesitance, “I want to make sure Nic’s on good footing before I leave him alone.”

  “That’s very good of you.” Despite Lydia’s efforts to maintain an even tone, her words snapped out on a sarcastic note.

  Micah arched a brow. His disapproval, although he spoke not a word, was as easily heard as the angry argument between the children on the lawn.

  Lydia bit her lower lip, battling tears. Shame washed over her, making her body tremble. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” How could she explain something she didn’t understand herself?

  He pushed off from the wall, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. Tenderness glowed in his eyes. “Lydia, you’re bound to be apprehensive about Nic’s recovery. I know what you stand to lose.”

  Tears distorted her vision. One escaped and dribbled down her cheek to her chin. She brushed it away and nodded miserably, her tight throat prohibiting speech.

  Micah caught her by the upper arms and dipped his knees slightly to peer directly into her face. “Listen to me. My mama has a little plaque hanging above her kitchen sink. Says something like, ‘Only one life will soon be past; only what’s done for Christ will last.’” He rubbed her arms, the touch gentle and rough at the same time. The Texas twang crept into his voice. “What’d we do here? We helped Nic. Bein’ set free of his addiction’s done him worlds of good. And it stands to do Nicky some good, too, to have a daddy who isn’t a threat. But mostly what we did, Lydia, we did out of love. Not out of love for Nic—truth be told, I don’t even like him all that much.”

  A short, unexpected snort of laughter escaped Lydia’s nose.

  Micah grinned and continued. “But love for Nicky, ’cause we want what’s best for him. And mostly—at least for me—for love of Christ. Doin’ right because He’s called us to reach out to the lowly and downtrodden.”

  Lowly and downtrodden. Micah’s description certainly fit Nicolai Pankin. Lydia sniffled. “I know. And I . . . I want to honor Christ. That’s what I kept praying when we were in Nic’s apartment—‘Father, let me honor You.’ But inside . . . in here . . .” She placed her trembling fingertips against her chest. “I’m so afraid of losing m-my son.”

  Micah swept her into his arms, cradling the back of her head with one strong hand and rubbing her shoulders with the other. She shook with silent sobs, her face buried in the curve of his neck.

  “I know. I know.” His sweet Texas accent eased out like honey on an oven-warm biscuit. “But what you gotta remember, darlin’, is that when we do what’s right for Christ, especially when it goes against our human wants, we open up doors to blessing beyond anything we could possibly imagine. Trust, Lydia.”

  He gave her a tight squeeze and then set her aside. Hands still gently gripping her arms, he smiled his Micah-smile—crinkled eyes, lips crooked slightly higher on the left—and winked. “Wait an’ see. Things’ll work out for you an’ for Nicky. Remember that higher ground I read about to Nic? You got your own higher ground, Lydia, where Jesus is waitin’ to give you everything you need. You just gotta trust.”

  28

  Although Lydia didn’t visit Nic’s apartment the week following his first morning of clarity, she stayed up-to-date on his progress thanks to Micah. He made use of a phone booth a few blocks from Nic’s apartment building and called her each day promptly at three o’clock. After sharing about Nic, he always asked about Nicky, then prayed with her before disconnecting and returning to Nic.

  As the week progressed, Lydia greater understood Micah’s worry about Nic replacing his habit of using morphine. Each day, she became increasingly aware of the hour hand on the clock creeping toward three. With what would she replace her newly formed habit of standing beside the telephone at 2:59, heart racing in anticipation, steepled fingers pressed to her lips, when Micah deemed Nic capable of forging forward on his own and returned to New York?

  Nicky had settled back into his routine, acting as if he’d never been carted away by a strange man who daily threatened to sell him to an unknown family. Lydia marveled at his resilience, and in the back of her mind mulled the thought that perhaps—just perhaps—Nicky would adjust to living with Nic when the time came. A prayer winged heavenward numerous times both day and night for God to work His perfect will in their situation. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope Nicky could stay with her, knowing her heart would surely shatter if the hope was dashed. Instead of hoping, she did as Micah advised. She trusted.

  And she discovered,
as the days slipped by, an indescribable sense of peace taking root in the center of her being. The peace was still there on the morning Nic had indicated he would come for Nicky. She and Micah had prayed extra long the afternoon before, and she’d shed tears. Yet, with God’s strength bolstering her, she maintained a smile as she laid out a pair of clean shorts, a bright red shirt with a sailboat embroidered on its front, and blue socks for Nicky.

  She watched the little boy scramble into his clothes, biting back a chuckle as he grunted in aggravation while searching for his shirt sleeves and blinked away tears when he began to hum as he wriggled his feet into his socks. When he’d finished dressing, she sat on the edge of his bed and stood him before her to comb his wayward curls into place. His little hands rested on her knees, his trusting face tipped upward, and she offered another prayer for strength before speaking in a calm voice.

  “Sweetheart, today is a special day. Today you’ll get to see your new place to live.”

  Nicky’s dark eyes grew wide with alarm. “But, Mama, I don’t want to go away again!”

  Lydia hugged him close and kissed his hair. Then she lifted him into her lap, taking his quivering chin between her fingers. “I don’t want you to go away, either, Nicky. But you see, Nic Pankin is your real daddy. He couldn’t take care of you when you were a baby because he was sick, so I took care of you. But now he’s better, and he wants to get to know you. He wants you to live with him.”

  Nicky poked out his lower lip and bounced off her lap. He marched to the corner and stood with his back to her and his arms folded tightly over his skinny chest. “No. I don’t want to. I don’t like him. He yells, an’ he won’t let me play. He calls me ‘kid.’”

  “Nicky, sweetheart, please listen to Mama.” The little boy hunched further into the corner. Lydia’s heart ached so badly tears pricked once again. How could she share this information in a way that would make sense? Nicky was still so young.

  Oh, God, please help me.

  She drew a deep breath. “Nicky, Nic is sorry for yelling. You see, he had a bad sickness that made him yell. He didn’t like yelling, but inside he hurt all the time. You know how when your tummy is upset, you get grumpy?”

  Nicky didn’t turn around, but he peeked at her over his shoulder. A lock of hair fell across his thick eyelashes, rising and falling as he blinked. He gave a very slight nod.

  “Well, because Nic didn’t feel good, he was very grumpy and he yelled. But, Nicky, Micah and I prayed to God for help, and Nic prayed to God for help. Now Nic isn’t sick anymore, and he really, really wants to be a good daddy to you. He loves you, Nicky.” Lydia had no doubt that love for Nicky had given Nic the will to battle the monster of morphine addiction. She clung to the knowledge, trusting it as proof Nic would treat his son kindly in the future.

  Nicky’s lower lip trembled, and tears began to splash down his cheeks. “But I love you, Mama, an’ I wanna be with you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I know.” Lydia held her arms open, and with a little sob Nicky raced to her. She swept him into her embrace, pressing her nose into his hair as he nuzzled into her shoulder, crying quietly. “But no matter where you are, my love goes with you. It won’t ever leave you any more than Jesus will leave you. You believe me, don’t you?”

  Nicky’s head bobbed against her neck. She kissed his temple and rocked him, much the way she had when he was a baby suffering a touch of colic. “You’re a very lucky boy. So many people love you. Jesus, Mama, Grammy, Poppy, Micah, and now Daddy.” She remained in Nicky’s room, holding him, singing to him, and praying for him, until a doorbell announced Nic’s arrival.

  Nicky refused to release her neck, so she carried him down the stairs and encountered Mother and Father standing stiffly side by side in the foyer with Nic framed in the vestibule doorway. He looked up as Lydia descended the stairs, and she gave a jolt of surprise at his appearance.

  His clothes fit loosely—he’d lost even more weight during his ordeal—but he wore clean trousers and a tucked-in plaid shirt buttoned clear to the collar. He, too, was clean—the coarse whiskers gone from his chin, his hair neatly combed into a thick wave that swept from his forehead to the nape of his neck. He was once again the handsome man who had caught Lydia’s eye five years ago.

  Nic’s gaze had seemed to memorize Nicky as Lydia approached, but when she reached the bottom riser and set Nicky on the floor, Nic shifted to face her parents. For a moment, his lips pressed together, but then his face relaxed, as if something had whispered an assurance in his ear. He offered his hand to Father.

  Father’s cheeks mottled red, and he harrumphed. But he gave Nic a brief handshake of greeting before jamming his hand into his trouser pocket. He fixed Nic with a steely glare. “Lydia tells me you’re clean.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone, and Lydia held her breath, anticipating an outburst from Nic.

  But instead, a slow smile crept up Nic’s smooth-shaven cheek. “Yes, sir, I sure am. And it goes deeper than my skin.” His gaze drifted to Nicky, who stood half behind Lydia with his arm wrapped around her leg. Tenderness bloomed across his face. “Hi.” The single-word greeting drifted out as softly as a feather floating on a breeze.

  Nicky’s hold tightened. Lydia cupped the back of his head with her hand and gently urged him forward. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

  Nicky shrank back. He flicked a worried glance upward and whispered, “Dunno what to call him.”

  Nic went down on one knee before the boy and traced the sailboat on Nicky’s shirt with his finger. “Well, most folks call me Nic, ’cause that’s my name. But, ya know, other folks are just folks. None of ’em are my son.” He scratched his chin, giving the impression of deep thought. “Since you’re my son, you could call me somethin’ different than other folks do, if you wanted to.”

  Nicky tipped his head sideways, and he brought up his hand to scratch his chin, a perfect imitation of Nic’s gesture. “You mean, I could call you Daddy?”

  Tears appeared in Nic’s eyes, and Lydia found herself battling them, as well. Nic swallowed, the sound loud in the deathly quiet of the foyer. “Yeah. You could. If . . . if you wanted to.”

  “Okay.” Nicky reached out and placed his hand on Nic’s knee. “But you call me Nicky, ’cause that’s my name.”

  “That’s a deal, Nicky.” Nic held out his hand to seal the bargain, and father and son shook hands. Nic continued to hold Nicky’s small hand as he stood upright and turned his unwavering gaze on Lydia’s father. “Mr. Eldredge, if I’m going to take proper care of my son, I’ve got to have a job. I know you’ve turned me down before, and I understand why. But, sir, that reason no longer exists. I’m clean, an’ I aim to stay that way. So I’m askin’ you for another chance.”

  Father’s chin jutted arrogantly. “How do I know you won’t go back to it?”

  Nic raised his chin also, but instead of arrogance, the gesture gave an appearance of certainty. “’Cause I’m not fightin’ it alone anymore. Micah warned me I’d still want it for a good long while, an’ I already found out he’s right on that. But I got God on my side now. An’ His strength is bigger than mine could ever be. Together, we’re gonna keep me clean. When I want that stuff, I ask God for strength to resist. I get an answer, too. I won’t go back to it.” He glanced down at Nicky, and he gently swung the little boy’s hand. “I got a good reason right here to stay clean.” His gaze rose, meeting Father’s head-on. “I won’t let Nicky down, sir. An’ I won’t let you down, either.”

  Father stood in silent contemplation for long seconds while Lydia held her breath and Nic held his gaze. Finally Father pointed at Nic. “All right. I’ll give you another chance. But I’m telling you, Pankin, I’ll be watching. One slip up, and you’re gone.”

  Nic beamed. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this. I promise.” He turned to Mother, his smile twitching into a sheepish grin. “I have a favor to ask of you, ma’am. While I’m workin’ ”—pride squared his shoulders as he stated the word—“I’ll n
eed someone to watch Nicky. I can’t leave him alone. I can find a sitter, if it don’t suit you, but I thought since he already knows you, maybe—”

  Mother gave a little delighted gasp. “Oh no! A sitter isn’t necessary. I’d be pleased to keep Nicky for you while you’re working.” She caught Father’s arm and hugged it to her ribs.

  Lydia’s heart thumped double-time as Nic finally aimed his gaze in her direction. He released his hold on Nicky and held out his hand to her. She took it in both of hers, stepping forward slightly to shorten the distance between them.

  “Lydia, after all I put you through, you didn’t have to help me. But you did, an’ I thank you for it. You an’ Micah—you showed me the kind of person I want to be from now on. With God’s help, I’m gonna be better. I’m gonna work hard to make God . . . and Eleanor . . . proud of me.”

  Lydia gave him a smile, but she couldn’t find her voice.

  Nic continued, his hand still between hers. “You’ve been Nicky’s mama ever since his birth, an’ you’ve been a good one. Thank you for takin’ such good care of him for Eleanor. I was wrong to want to pull him away from you. He’s gonna need you, too, so I want us to find a way for him to be with you as much as you both like. Can we—can we maybe meet after work one evenin’ soon and talk about how to make that happen?”

  Warm tears—tears of joy unspeakable—spilled down her cheeks. She had trusted, and God had answered the prayer of her heart. Inwardly she rejoiced as she forced her emotion-filled throat to form an answer. “Of course, Nic. And thank you.”

  He nodded, then pulled his hand from her grasp and placed it on Nicky’s head. The little boy stood beneath Nic’s touch, his little face turned upward. Nic smiled at his son before addressing Lydia again. “Will you see Micah today?”

  His simple question removed a bit of the joy that had flooded her frame moments earlier. She offered a stiff nod. “He’s leaving early this afternoon for New York, but he’ll come by beforehand to tell us all good-bye.”