Hearts Communion

by Marianne Evans

  But she had to tell him everything. She could accept no other option but complete honesty. “My condition became severe enough that I finally sought help. I went to specialists. For months, I lived an honest-to-goodness nightmare when it came to my health. I won’t go into the ways in which I felt like a guinea pig, or like I was nothing more than a test specimen. At the end of almost a year, after blood tests, hormone treatments, a laparoscopy, and at last, full-blown surgery, the best they could come up with was that I suffered from ovarian cysts which I had a possibility of outgrowing at some point in the future.”

  Monica paced, unable to meet his gaze right now. “The process was humiliating, but I was young and figured I had hope. In the meantime, I found my calling with early childhood education. Maybe something inside my head was getting the message my heart refused to accept—that I better prepare myself for life without kids of my own by building my life around those I could help, and teach and engage.”

  Jeremy stood, and he did the pacing now. “Are you sure kids are out of the question? From what very little I know about endometriosis, it’s inconsistent, isn’t it? Women can still get pregnant, still have happy, healthy babies—right?”

  The longing in his voice was a near perfect echo of her own. She understood completely because she lived those desires day by day, month after month, until hope became exhausted. She didn’t even try to cushion her answer. “Not this time. Not for me.”

  Those six quietly spoken words hung in the air.

  “You can’t hold any illusions about me, Jeremy. I’m beaten, and I’m scared, and I’m angry. I don’t even feel…” She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling to blink her blurred vision clear of moisture. “I don’t even feel feminine sometimes.” She faced him squarely. “I’ve been told in counseling that that may be part of why I focus on dance and physical expression—to affirm my time and place as a woman. I just don’t know anymore. And I most certainly don’t want to wake up to feelings like I have for you, then go through a crash and burn when the relationship dissolves because I can’t be everything you want, and need. The idea of that scares me to death. I’ve been denied so much—so many things that my heart holds most dear. I know how selfish and narcissistic that sounds, but my feelings are my feelings, and I can’t escape them, no matter how hard I try.” She hung her head, returning to the couch.

  Jeremy joined her.

  “I’m so sorry for backing off from everything, and everyone, today. But can you possibly understand how Daveny and Kiara’s announcement cut through my heart? How being around your family affected me?”

  He studied her for a moment before answering. “Yes, Monica, I can. But the only way you’re going to get to the other side of this situation is by grabbing hold of some semblance of faith, and trust. Learn to let go of what God is denying you, and focus instead on everything He’s given you!”

  She’d been down this road before, and she was ready. “Really?” She fired back. “What has He given me? I’m empty! I’m literally and figuratively empty! How can that appeal to you—in the long term? Once the passion and excitement is replaced by the day-to- day, how will you be able to be happy with a woman who can’t give you a family? A woman who can’t give you a child, and the legacy you’ve admitted to building your life for?”

  “Thanks for shortchanging me, Monica. Thanks a lot.”

  “Jeremy, listen to what I’m saying! Be realistic! This is as much about how inadequate I feel as it is about my feelings for you!”

  “OK, then let me be realistic.” He stood and turned to her. He met her hot and confrontational posture straight on. “In fact, here’s a healthy dose of realism for you: do you think you’re not benefiting every single child at Sunny Horizons? What about the girls who dance for you? What about them? Don’t any of them count in the balance?”

  Monica gaped. “Well there we go. Problem solved!”

  “Monica, stop it!”

  “No, you stop it! First of all, the answer to my problems is not that simple. Secondly, even the point of view you just expressed doesn’t answer what I’m unable to bring to a relationship, to a family life, with you or anyone else over the long term.”

  “So your answer is to give up? Really? That’s so not like the woman I’ve gotten to know, and admire.”

  “It’s not giving up, it’s being realistic.” Monica tried to steady her breathing; she leaned forward and cradled her head in her hands. “I’ve been operated on by scalpels and lasers, spent portions of the month flat on my back, endured tests and needles, been treated with drugs and still endured the pain. At the end of the road the truth is this: I’m not meant to have a family. I’ve had to find a way to accept that.”

  “Monica, you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. You’re good hearted and intelligent—smart enough to recognize stubbornness! You’re suffering from tunnel vision.”

  “Tunnel vision.” She shook her head. “I guess that’s how you’d see it. I suppose it’s easy to downplay what I feel, and the emptiness that goes along with it.” Then, since they were at the point of no return anyhow, she admitted to the worst of her doubts and fears. “I feel like I was marked as unworthy. Less of a woman.”

  He studied her in silence for a long, tense moment. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  She shook her head, making an exasperated noise. She looked up in time to see Jeremy squeeze the bridge of his nose.

  “You know, I could talk until I’m blue in the face, but you won’t realize the truth of what I’m saying until you find a way to take a long, hard look at the life you really have in front of you versus the life you’re clinging to despite everything God’s showing you!”

  “Once again, Jeremy, you’re using platitudes to simplify what I feel—and I’m here to tell you, it just doesn’t work! It sounds great in theory, sure, but that philosophy has failed me miserably.” Almost immediately, she regretted those snapping words, and her waspish tone.

  Her attitude didn’t seem to deter him in the least, though. Jeremy possessed the ability to recognize pain versus anger. Further, he cared—cared enough to endure the sword slice of her self-doubts. So when he took a deep breath, and returned to her side at the couch, Monica welcomed his touch—the way he held her shoulders fast, but with tenderness.

  And he urged, “Please don’t make this your life’s deal breaker. You’re better than that. You’re an exquisite, remarkable woman. And you have too many gifts to offer this world, and the children in it, to let this beat you, or close you down. Anything less is a waste.”

  The words slipped past her defensive walls and struck home, giving her a lot to think about. Jeremy continued. “One last thing to consider, Monica – and I want you to understand this fact with complete clarity: passion and fire may cool, but they never disappear. My feelings for you won’t disappear. If you’re waiting for that to happen—expecting it to happen because of infertility—then you’ll end up disappointed. I told you at Polonia, I’m a man of action. I’m about resolving things—good and bad—by being present to the people I care about. I don’t disappear. I don’t vanish in the face of what I do, or don’t, receive in this life. My blessings come from God—and you’re just that to me, Monica Kittelski. You’re precious. To me. To God. Accept that fact. Deal with it.”

  His tough-minded declaration stirred her senses. Her blood sang, pounding in her ears. Tears poured down her cheeks, a sudden and unstoppable flood of release and longing. “I’m scared, and I hate being scared. I blew it today, and I know it. I didn’t mean to. Honest. Thing is, I don’t know how to move ahead without screwing up, JB. And I do not want to screw this up.” The resumption of his nickname came easy just now.

  He relaxed his shoulders a bit and took her hands in his. “I told you before, I’m not good with the words, with putting emotions forward,” he said quietly. “But I know who is. Would you please, for me, talk this over with Ken? I promise you he’ll provide objective advice. He’s been through heartbreaks tha
t are different from yours, but just as powerful, and he’s a remarkable man. I trust him completely, and he will not pressure you. You don’t have to claim God. Not yet, if you’re not ready and able—but give a try to listening to God. I believe in His providence with all my heart, Monica. Pour your heart out, and I promise, in His hands, you’ll be safe. You’ll be cared for. Would you do that? For me?”

  “For us?” she asked with a shaky voice and a trembling that was probably easy for him to see, given her tight stance.

  “For us.”

  “I can only try.”

  His eyes dimmed. “Trying is fine, Monica, but you can’t bolt in the face of what you’ve been denied, like you did today. That worries me a lot more than whether or not you can have kids. Get a handle on that part of your battle, OK? More than a mother to my children, I want a woman who will stand by my side—no matter what—knowing our strength, and provision, will come from Christ, and that in that faith will come goodness. Lean on Him, Jellybean, or your troubles will only intensify. You’ve been bearing the load on your own for way too long. You need, and deserve, His grace. It’s perfect, and it’s faultless, no matter what your outward circumstances appear. The time-worn cliché is so very true: when we can’t, God can. Will you talk to Ken?”

  She deflected her gaze, but slowly—very slowly—she nodded.

  Hearts Communion

  11

  “I’m not saying I don’t like Monica, JB. That’s not my point at all!”

  “That’s not the way it seems to me right now, Mom.”

  Just days after Sunday dinner with his parents, Jeremy found himself the subject of a motherly debriefing. She knew he usually spent Tuesdays and Thursdays at the offices of Edwards Construction in a grudging concession to company bureaucracy, so she paid him a visit, the subject matter of said visit, his girlfriend.

  His mother sat across from his desk in the utilitarian office he occupied. Just down the hall was a second office for the bookkeeper, Paula Cromwell, and out front sat the receptionist and Jane-of-all-trades, Allison Moynah. The duo comprised his corporate team, and they were housed in a small business office along Jefferson Avenue.

  He stretched back in his chair, doing his best to absorb the crux of her comments without becoming angry, or defensive. “So can you clarify what are you saying, Mom? Because what should be a pleasant get-together is starting to feel more like an inquisition.”

  When his mom had called Monday and asked to meet, Jeremy had embraced the opportunity. Now he wasn’t as enthusiastic. Tension crept through the muscles of his shoulders. His fingertips twitched with a pen; he clicked and tapped it while he sat, and waited.

  His mother temporarily embraced the silence, then continued. “JB, she’s nice enough, I suppose, and certainly she’s as attractive as can be, but I don’t know, she seems remote. Shuttered. She’s very guarded. It’s like she was uncomfortable for some reason. I guess I’m surprised she holds such strong appeal to a family man like you when all she wanted to do all day was hide.”

  That comment struck a chord. All he could think of, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Monica’s defeat, her sadness and the futility she experienced. She was lost right now, and he cared for her. Therefore, abandonment was not an option. He wanted to stand up for her. “Mom, trust me when I say there are circumstances that can cause even the most wonderful person to stumble, and hold back.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “And this family knows that better than most, JB—especially after what Collin, and all of us, endured after Lance was killed.”

  Jeremy sighed, sipping from the mug of coffee before him. Elise’s ginger tea steamed nearby, thus far untouched. More and more he realized this visit wasn’t about catching up, it was about probing. “True, Mom, and I appreciate your protectiveness. But show some compassion as well. Show her some leeway and understanding. She has a few things she’s working out.” He couldn’t bring himself to be as open and blunt with his mother as Monica had been with him. Not yet. Not when quicksand shifted and pulled all around.

  “All right, all right—but still, I just don’t know what to make of her.”

  “Meaning?”

  She leaned back, crossing her legs and finally sipping from her mug. “For example, she loves kids, but this past weekend, she wanted nothing to do with them. She owns a daycare center, for heaven’s sake, but we had to force her to play a few simple board games with the kids, and join in the soccer game.”

  Jeremy went stiff. His mom made valid points. Her honest, though blunt observations were on the mark, but they only served to stir his disquiet, and increase his understanding of the undercurrents that had affected Monica’s mood that day. So, once more, he stepped forward to be a buffer. “Daveny and Collin are excellent judges of character, and so am I. Trust in that, OK?” After a calming pause, Jeremy felt better. Shifting aside a half-unrolled set of blueprints, he retrieved a stack of job files and made ready to dive back into paperwork. And he bluffed just a bit. “As to avoidance, maybe she was looking forward to a little adult company and conversation. Remember, she’s with kids almost twenty-four seven. She may have wanted, and needed, a bit of a breather from the pitter-patter, know what I mean?”

  “Yes, to a degree, but I think there’s more to it. You’ve said you’re talking about it. Working it through. If that’s the case, then I’m happy. I promise I’ll leave my overly protective fingers out of the mix. I don’t mean to be so rough on her, or you, but I worry about my kids. It’s wired into my DNA. Always has been, always will be. If she has your heart, then she’ll have mine as well. No question.”

  She hadn’t been thrown off the scent, but her final words were just what he expected, and hoped, from his mother. A twisted knot of anxiety and tension loosened its grip from the base of his neck. Jeremy reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re very much like your father. You’re quiet about your emotions, but you carry them deep, and your feelings are strong. I’m only speaking up because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Jeremy took a quick mental walk through the past few days. Monica had stepped forward, albeit tentatively. After all, she had spoken freely, and frankly, about her condition. She had taken custody of Ken’s phone number on a promise to connect with Woodland’s pastor. From there, Jeremy toyed with the idea of including her in this weekend’s services as well and decided it would be a good idea to extend an invitation.

  Inviting her to Woodland on Sunday would establish a point of comfort for Monica with the church and its atmosphere before she met with Ken. It would also show his family, once again, his intent and seriousness. He wanted Monica to find God’s mercy. He wanted her to feel acceptance. Within the embrace of Woodland Church, she might make a way to God, to being affirmed.

  His mother leaned forward setting aside her tea in a smooth, deliberate way. Her sea-green eyes narrowed just a bit, but she smiled. “She means a great deal to you.”

  “Yes.” No need to embellish. For a millisecond he considered the emptiness Monica felt. The insecurity. It tore him apart inside. Jeremy refused to add to her sense of pain and insecurity. This relationship merited solid footing and every fighting chance.

  Indeed, she meant that much.

  “I see it all in your eyes,” his mother said quietly. She left it at that, giving his arm a gentle pat.

  Jeremy played it close to the vest, and kept it to himself that he intended to take her to church on Sunday. He also kept quiet about his intention to invite her to Rebecca’s wedding. Despite well-meaning, motherly intrusion, Elise Edwards knew her children well. She was right when she said he didn’t play cavalier with his emotions. He wanted to establish firm footing with Monica. Nothing else mattered.

  ****

  Jeremy had to admit, he felt out of place.

  It was Wednesday night. About a half-dozen women were gathered outside the doorway of the Saint Clair Shores Community Center. They looked inside, bragging proudly about the
ir daughters, who currently practiced ballet. He belonged here like a square peg in a round hole.

  Hanging back, he watched the class taking place inside, smiling while he watched Monica spin, stretch, and form her arms into a perfect arc above her head.

  “Monica is so good with the girls. I wonder if she has any kids of her own.”

  The comment came from one of the moms who peered inside, and it won Jeremy’s attention.

  “I’m not sure,” a second parent answered. “I wonder if she’s married. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring.” A pause followed that remark. “One thing is for sure,” she added, “if Monica weren’t so nice, I’d hate her.”

  A third woman chuckled. “I know what you mean. No woman should have blonde hair, blue eyes, and that much grace. It’s disgusting. Just watch her.”

  That’s exactly what Jeremy did. Throughout the last few minutes of class, Monica coached the little girls along, performing the ballet routine along with them. Each lift of her arms, each dip and sway, was executed with a smoothness that could never be taught. Fluid grace like hers was innate, and it textured each of her movements, even beyond the dance floor.

  The song came to an end, and she concluded class for the week. Monica looked toward the doorway. After she delivered a smile and a wave, the waiting parents entered the room. Still chatting amiably, adults laid claim to their young dancers who charged forward eagerly after bidding Monica good night.

  When the noise and activity died down, Jeremy slipped inside. Monica’s back was to him as she stashed one set of CDs and retrieved another. She picked up a water bottle and drank deep, which left Jeremy with a definite sensual vibration. When she patted a towel against her neck and shoulders, he stepped up. He hid his hands, and a treat, behind his back.

  “Hey, Miss Monica.” His playful call caused her to freeze for a moment, then she turned, her eyes alight with happiness and affection. Jeremy smiled and gave her a slow wink. A bit closer now, he moved his hands from their hiding position, revealing that he held a single, long-stemmed pink rose. Attached to the stem, via a white, curled ribbon was a small bag of jellybeans. “For the teacher.”