Hearts Communion

by Marianne Evans

  She went weak. “Please? Call me Jellybean,” she whispered sadly.

  Jeremy chuckled softly and stepped behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and automatically his thumbs pressed into tight, knotted muscles, working them free. His fingertips moved against shoulders held too taut; under his ministrations, Monica felt herself go lax.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and in a second moment of surrender, she simply let herself rest, content in his care. Until she bounded forward in her chair, eyes wide, remembering herself. “Oh my goodness. Lunch! Leo’s Coney Island.”

  “Which is kind of why I showed up in the first place,” he teased lightly. He turned her chair slightly and smiled into her eyes, smoothing a hand against her cheek in assurance.

  “Thank God you did.”

  “Already done.”

  Monica laughed, turning back and reclining once more. She slid her hands against his. “You’re good for me, JB. So good. I only wish I could return the favor.” Her words were as serious as could be.

  Hearts Communion

  15

  It was difficult, but Jeremy forced himself to let Monica’s comment rest. Still, for the rest of the day, the residue of it roughed against his spirit like sandpaper. Since their lunch date could only last for an hour, he focused on lightening her mood. He strove to help her work past the dark cloud of confrontation so she could move through the rest of her day at Sunny Horizons.

  Before leaving her at the center that afternoon, however, he’d offered to cook dinner for her at her place. And he had a plan brewing. On the way to Monica’s that night, he stopped at the local grocery store and paid a visit to the butcher counter.

  When she opened her front door a short time later, he offered up a few sacks of groceries, which she accepted with a smile. Jeremy also carried a small package wrapped in heavy, white paper. As he intended, that part of the delivery put a puzzled look on Monica’s face. Toby, meanwhile, sniffed and started wagging his tail so hard his entire body shimmied. The dog made low-rolling noises, hopping around their legs when Monica led the way inside. In the kitchen, Jeremy kissed her cheek and chuckled. “I once read that the way to win a woman’s heart is through her dog. I’m about to find out if that statement is true.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yep.”

  Monica waited, and watched, while Jeremy unwrapped the package to reveal a large, fresh steak bone. “Can I hand it over?” Even he could hear the hope in his tone.

  Judging by Monica’s soft eyes and large smile, her heart had indeed been won. “If you don’t, he’ll probably maul you. Don’t let those innocent, velvety brown eyes of his fool you. He’s a chocolate lab on the outside, but inside, he’s a beast.”

  “Sure he is.” Truthfully, Jeremy couldn’t wait to spoil him.

  Toby seemed to sense something was afoot, because he whined and bumped up against Monica’s body. Then, he changed course and head-butted Jeremy’s hand in a playful bid for attention when Jeremy took just a bit too long to surrender the treat. Victorious at last, with the bone clenched in his mouth, Toby trotted into the living room and promptly flopped into place directly in front of the couch. His throaty noises and teeth clicks left Jeremy laughing. “I miss having a dog. I haven’t had a dog since I was in high school.”

  Monica began to unpack dinner supplies. “He’s my buddy. I sure do love having him to come home to.”

  “I’ll bet.” Jeremy stole another look into the living room. The spot where Toby rested, right next to the coffee table at the left end of the couch, seemed like his natural “spot” in the house. Jeremy could easily picture him in that exact position, right next to Monica’s feet, as she curled up each night. Her unconditional companion. She needed that. Her entire spirit yearned for connection. He took in the woman before him. Bursting with spirit and life, it seemed such an injustice that she would never carry a child, and nurture it from conception to birth, and each day of her life thereafter.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, shoring up his strength of will. There were options. Would she—could she—see that?

  “You picked up some nice pork chops, JB.” Her observation hit him like an alarm buzzer going off. “These’ll taste great with a little light breading and some stir-fried veggies, don’t you think?”

  Jeremy blinked free of his thoughts and found his way into an easy smile. He stroked her shoulder in passing. “Sounds great to me. I figure after we season them up, and put them in the oven, we can take a walk with Toby while they cook.” He pulled out some jasmine rice from the paper sack. “We can have this, too.”

  “Perfect. It’s one of my favorites.” Her eyes danced with affectionate mischief. “You get Toby a bone, and offer up a walk? He’s never going to want you to leave.”

  Jackpot, he thought. Like a conspirator, Jeremy moved close. He nuzzled her cheek, then leaned in. “You’ve happened upon my ulterior motive,” he whispered.

  Monica’s answering laugh launched his heart.

  Minutes later, the meat was cooking, and Jeremy helped Monica slide into her coat. As soon as she jangled Toby’s leash, he bounded out of the living room and scrabbled across the tile in the kitchen, meeting them at the back door in a headlong rush.

  While Jeremy laughed and grabbed a nearby plastic bag, Monica clipped the leash into place. Toby yipped gleefully while Monica stroked the dog’s thick, glossy coat, cooing at him as his exuberance propelled him into hip-hops and dancing circles.

  “Toby,” she beseeched, “you’re going to knock us over! Behave!”

  Monica hardly exaggerated. Pinned into a confined space, the three of them were forced to tuck together quite cozily. Jeremy slipped a stray slice of hair beneath the wool cap Monica had just pulled on. “I don’t mind.” Being pinned against her warm, giving body, even in total innocence, was heaven.

  “You don’t mind?” Monica sounded a bit breathless. “The six months of traction you’ll endure once you tumble down my basement stairs doesn’t intimidate you?”

  Jeremy just grinned, opening the door so they could leave. Cold air buffeted him immediately, and when he looked over at Monica, he noticed the way her cheeks almost instantly brightened in color.

  He laced his fingers through hers, sliding their joined hands into the pocket of his coat. Monica sidled up next to him, leaving no doubt she enjoyed the connection. She stepped that much closer, their steps smooth and syncopated.

  A comfortable rhythm in place, a bracing wind at their backs, Jeremy shrugged deep into his coat, and ventured forward. “I want you to do me a favor.”

  “What would that be?”

  “That last comment of yours. At school. Do you remember it?”

  Monica drew in the leash just a bit to keep Toby on the sidewalk. She avoided Jeremy’s eyes, but she lifted her chin, and he could have sworn she went tight. “Yeah. I remember.”

  “Well, I want you to explain it to me, because here’s the thing: in case you didn’t get the memo, you are good for me. Why don’t you see that?”

  Nestled within the thick, wool lining of his coat pocket, her hand went taut in his, so Jeremy stroked her hand with his thumb until the tension eased. Monica finally turned his way and arched a brow, as if waiting on him to draw the obvious conclusion. Family. Kids. Inwardly Jeremy sighed, but he drew on his patience, and waited.

  Toby sniffed at bushes; he pawed at a few dirt piles and trotted along. His presence, and the motion of walking, lent a calming distraction to the moment. And at last, Monica came forward as well. “It’s the story of my life lately. You were actually on my mind all morning, and I felt so good. After talking to Ken, I had a lot to think about, sure, but for the first time I felt good. You know, to-the-bone good. I actually allowed myself the luxury of contentment.”

  “So far, I like where this is headed.”

  “I did, too. But then, like clockwork, in walked reality. My reality. What David Carter did only served to send me crashing down to earth like a meteor.”

&nb
sp; “Because he has a child, and you don’t.”

  “Not don’t. Never will. He’s been blessed in such a precious way, and doesn’t even realize it!” Her frustration bubbled between them like a tangible thing. She picked up after Toby and their walk resumed. “I want to ask you a question.”

  “OK.”

  “About adoption.”

  Jeremy couldn’t help looking at her in surprise. Just like that, as prepared as he was to initiate a heart-to-heart conversation about that very topic, Monica came forward on her own. She seemed ready, too, which left Jeremy oddly assured. He slowed his steps, but didn’t stop. He tilted his head her way only to find her gaze already latched on him, direct and faultless, sparkling in the overhead light of a street lamp.

  “Ask me anything,” he said.

  “When I met with Ken, he asked me how I felt about adoption. To be honest, and fair, it’s not something you and I had a chance to even touch on when I told you about my condition.”

  “One step, one brick, at a time,” he reminded gently.

  Monica nodded; her lips even quirked upward a touch, but somberness colored her dimly lit features. Somberness and fear. A sharp ache lanced his heart, a longing to take those two emotions and erase them completely from her heart, and her mind.

  “It’s a pretty logical, reasonable jump to move from infertility to adoption,” Monica said. “When I was diagnosed, adoption was the first thing the doctor talked to me about. He gave me all kinds of advice about adoption as the means to having a family of my own someday, and he encouraged counseling, to get me through the aftershocks of dealing with my condition.”

  Jeremy nodded, keeping the walk moving slow and steady. He kept his hold tight on her hand as well. “What was your reaction to the idea? Then and now?”

  Monica shrugged. “Honestly, back then, the word adoption hit me like a blue fog. It was a word, thrown in among thousands of other words that swirled around me without really sinking in. I couldn’t focus on it or anything else, really. The only thing I came away with was the fact that I’d never have children.”

  “By blood,” Jeremy clarified, again keeping his voice deliberately gentle.

  Monica sighed. “Yeah, I know. And—adoption is great. I don’t have a problem with adoption.”

  Oh, yes she did. Jeremy heard the word “but” dangling at the end of that sentence as clearly as he felt the first, tentative tingles of snowflakes brushing and melting against his face. “Monica, let me in. Play this thing out so I’ll know what you’re feeling.” If you don’t, we won’t stand a chance. I’ll have no idea how to reach you.

  The words remained trapped in his throat, but he had the feeling she sensed them anyhow. Her reply confirmed that fact.

  “You want the reality, right? Not the candy-coated, public-consumption version.”

  “Always.”

  She gave Toby’s leash a gentle, guiding tug, turning back toward her house. “Let’s go back.”

  The topic dropped while they prepared dinner, and sat down to eat. Jeremy waited her out, wanting Monica to be the one to take the initiative. They sat across from each other at the dining table in Monica’s kitchen; they chatted and relaxed, but toward the end of the meal, Jeremy could only hope his endurance would be vindicated. He craved even a small measure of resolution between them.

  “I meant it when I said adoption is great.” Monica returned to their critical topic and Jeremy took a deep, relieved breath at her attempt to come forward. “It is an answer. For some people. Most people, I suppose. In my case, I’m just not so sure about it.”

  That statement astounded Jeremy, and this time he couldn’t filter, or cushion his words. He got up to pour them both a cup of freshly-brewed coffee. “How can that be? Monica, you’d be perfect.”

  The surrounding atmosphere featured soft candlelight coming from tall tapers set in crystal holders at the middle of the table. She had also extended the effort of serving their meal on china of simple, almost translucent white that featured a subtle floral pattern along its edges. The meal was meant to be enticing and intimate.

  Now, tension seeped in like an unwelcome blast of cold air. Monica’s back went straight. She lifted a linen napkin from her lap and dabbed her mouth. After delivering the coffee, he resettled across from her and longed to reach for her hands. Almost immediately, she had wrapped her fingers snug around the warmth of her mug which rested atop the table for the moment. Slowly, gently he eased them away; that accomplished, he held them firm. Monica swallowed, her eyes downcast.

  “Trust me,” he whispered. “Please, trust me.”

  Monica’s chest rose and fell on a shuddering sigh. “I can’t help wondering…”

  “About what?”

  “About…well…would they truly be mine? Would that bond, that mysterious, irreplaceable bond that happens between a mother and a child, ever come to be? To my way of thinking, that’s a connection that can only happen through blood, right? Like your family has. It comes about through the process of carrying an infant from that first second, that first cell burst of creation. A tiny, miraculous being from a communion of body and spirit. From the soul of you and the one you love. That’s how I see it, and that’s why it means so much to me. I don’t see or understand how adoption can come close to that.”

  She spoke fast, the first sign of letting nerves get the better of her. Jeremy let that truth run its course, and perhaps empty itself into his care.

  She seemed unaware of his calm, steady regard. “Then, there’s the idea of being given a child to raise through adoption. Well, I can’t help thinking…and I cringe at this one because a part of me knows it’s irrational and everything else…but what if I get angry at my child, or something goes wrong—an accident, a careless blunder? What about when we make mistakes as parents? What if someone steps in and takes our child away?”

  Resigned, out of steam, she slumped her shoulders. She moved a hand from his and lifted her mug, but set it back down without taking a drink. “So, you see? All in all, I’m nothing more than a mixed-up mess about kids.”

  “Jellybean, you’re emotional about kids. Big difference. My entrée into your life, then meeting and mixing with my family, hasn’t made the issue any easier for you to sort out.”

  Tears coated her eyes like a shimmering mist. “Jeremy, please don’t say that. Meeting you and everything that’s come along with it, means so much to me. I’m just—confused. And I’m sorry for that, but it can’t be helped. How can I make you happy?”

  Heightened emotion tinged her cheeks with red, testimony to the degree of her pain. Now cognizant of how deeply Monica had been scarred, Jeremy watched her with a constricted heart.

  He stood and stepped around the table. A glance at her hands told him how tense she had become. Each of her ten fingers had been wound in tight, her rigid posture a fortress raised against attack.

  Cautious, Jeremy knelt in front of her chair. He reached up a fingertip and lifted a stray tear away from her cheek. He brought the droplet to his lips and drank it in then cupped her face, all the while transfixed by her turbulent eyes.

  He murmured. “Monica Kittelski, you sweet, beautiful woman. What battles you’ve fought. I don’t ever want to negate your feelings. I only wish I could answer the most important questions of all: How come a remarkable woman like you, with so much to offer, can’t have children? Why has fate been so unfair? I don’t understand it. I never will. The only thing I can do is stand next to you. The only thing I can do is try to reassure you with the love I feel. But I want you to think about something.”

  “What?” she rasped, looking tired, but she didn’t back away, and she maintained their physical, and visual connection.

  That lifted his hopes.

  “It’s true, and unchangeable, that you’ve been cheated in a big way when it comes to children. But maybe because of that, you’ve been given the chance to shower love and respect and attention on the kids you work with every day. I’ve said it before, I know, b
ut you’re giving them so much—so many things they need in order to survive. The end result is this: You make a difference. You care. That’s motherhood, whether by blood or not.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Ken said almost exactly the same thing. I heard similar advice in counseling years ago, but JB, something inside me just refuses to absorb it. On one level, I realize that makes no sense, and it chokes off something inside of me, but that’s how I feel. I can’t get past it. I wish I could!”

  Monica blinked fast and hard. She turned away, and he realized at once that she was trying to avoid the emotions cresting over her. Jeremy moved close and took hold of her shoulder. “Stop turning away from me and turn toward me instead.”

  She rested steady and gave him the trust of going still, and listening, despite tears that rolled fat and slow down her cheeks when she faced him once again. “Monica, you have got to stop boxing with God.”

  He maintained eye contact to emphasize his next point. He took hold of her hands, kissing the backs and squeezing them tight. “I don’t doubt your stamina, and your strength, but you’ll never outlast God, and you certainly can’t outrun Him. Look at what’s in front of you. Look at your blessings.”

  Her turbulent eyes delivered the message, as did her silence: she was trying—but with minimal success.

  Hearts Communion

  16

  In the week that followed, Monica worked hard to make sense of herself.

  The dinner date with Jeremy helped her outlook tremendously. It was like he knew her needs clearly; he strived to help her find a sense of equilibrium while her heart spun like a top, bouncing, skittering, bobbling until it rolled into some form of smooth and consistent orbit.

  She sought answers just as desperately as Jeremy. That fact alone lent a balm to her stormy soul because it reinforced their mutual depth of feeling. God was moving in her spirit—Ken’s council and Jeremy’s steadfast support His lightning rod.