Hearts Communion

by Marianne Evans

  Over the next few weekends, she attended church at Woodland with Jeremy and the entire Edwards family. Doing so reinforced a strengthening spirit, and stirred within her a need to do something else—something she hadn’t comfortably done in years, almost since her youth.

  Pray.

  Each night when she first climbed into bed, Monica grew accustomed to the habit of tucking beneath the blankets, clicking off the light, and giving herself over to intensive, from-the-soul prayer sessions with God. Recalling Ken’s words helped. No wordy petitions were necessary. Sometimes thoughts and pleas spun through her mind. Other times she simply closed her eyes, sank into her spirit, laid silent and listened.

  And she didn’t just pray for herself, for answers to the questions she held in her heart. She prayed for her students, and their families—Jessica, Caroline and David in particular. She also prayed for acceptance and a comfortable, more welcoming place within the heart of Jeremy’s family—especially with regard to Elise. She even found herself praying, almost automatically, for Woodland Church, Ken Lucerne, and the faith family with whom she became increasingly involved. Woodland possessed a spirit of unity, of loving community that not only drew her in, but became a home to her searching spirit.

  Then, into that mystical stillness, worked a song of pure gratitude that left her feeling more centered, and at peace, than she could ever recall. Miraculous voices from the heavens, burning bushes, none of that happened for her; she continued to wonder about where she was meant to go with Jeremy, and how they would handle a mutual desire for family life, but at the same time, she embraced his love, and his every attempt at understanding.

  This process of growing taught her patience. Every time doubts set in—every time she felt like her physical emptiness would ultimately let him down—he drew closer, and his intimacy with her spirit only increased. The sessions left her feeling calmer, more receptive and open.

  Like God unfolding a plan.

  The memory of Ken’s words came to her as she drove to Wednesday ballet class with Jessica. She parked her vehicle in front of the community center, smiling at the little girl who rode in the passenger seat. Jessica Carter was fast becoming one of Monica’s best dance students. She was committed to learning the dance she’d be performing in the recital a month from now.

  “I’ll help with your bag, Miss Monica, OK?”

  “Sure, Jess. Thank you so much!”

  Jessica beamed, flourishing under the positive affection of the adults and kids around her. Today, as usual, Monica allowed for extra time before class started so they could set up, and practice. So, while Monica performed some warm-up stretches, the music for Jessica’s performance played and her protégée went to work rehearsing.

  Monica watched, and observed, “Your turn was right on the mark, and you ended in first position just like a champ, Jess. You’re learning fast.”

  Jessica relaxed from her graceful pose and bounded toward Monica. “Am I caught up, Miss Monica? I want to be caught up with the other girls. I want to be in the Christmas recital.”

  “You know as much as they do. You just need to keep practicing. You’re very graceful; I’m impressed. The recital will be no problem for you.”

  Jessica looked at her with happy pride. “I want to dance again, OK?”

  “You bet.”

  Monica reset the CD and pressed play, prepared to coach Jessica’s performance once more.

  This kind of interaction is what Monica lived for. She was amazed at the little girl’s determination. She discovered, during each week’s drive to class, that Jessica was a non-stop chatterbox about ballet. Monica had already taught her the five basic ballet positions, and Jessica practiced the steps repeatedly, watching Monica’s every move.

  For now, Monica gave up stretching and joined her student at the center of the room. They executed the dance piece in tandem with about fifteen minutes left until class formally began.

  “Watch your arms,” Monica said, pleased when her eager pupil curved them above her head with a beautiful sense of timing and grace. “Good girl! That looks wonderful!” A new part of the recital song began, so Monica continued to prompt Jessica along and perform the routine.

  Movement in Monica’s peripheral vision drew her attention to the entrance of the room. With quiet footsteps, seeming reluctant to interrupt, in came Caroline Dempsey.

  And David Carter.

  David fidgeted and shifted. Any semblance of his previous arrogance and hostility was gone. Jessica’s back was to the door, but when she caught sight of Monica’s expression, she spun, and charged toward her parents. Caroline knelt, and opened her arms to the delighted youngster.

  “Did you see me? Did you see me?” Jessica’s attention bounced from her mother to her father, her eyes shining and happy. So innocent.

  Caroline looked at Monica over the top of Jessica’s head. “I’m sorry. We don’t mean to interrupt.”

  Monica couldn’t find her voice yet. David Carter gave her a long, unreadable look. He seemed a far sight from the explosive man who had trashed her office, but she had no idea what to expect. He gave Jessica’s shoulder a squeeze then crossed the small, open space toward Monica. She fought against the urge to recoil.

  But then elements of his approach sunk in—his hesitant footsteps, the apologetic expression on his face. He extended his hand in a tentative gesture. “I owe you a lot more than an apology, but for now that’s all I have to give.”

  Monica felt lightheaded. What was going on here? She accepted David’s handshake with a nod, waiting, not knowing what she should say, or do. What on earth had happened?

  “I can only explain it to you the way I tried to explain it to Carrie. I was at the end of my rope when I came to your center. I had received the final divorce papers that morning, and everything hit me, and caught up with me all at once. The only thing I could think about was seeing Jessica. All I wanted to do was hold my daughter. Being denied the ability to see her…” The sentence dangled, with no need for elaboration. “Ms. Kittelski, you may not believe me when I say this, but I’m not prone to violence. I never meant for my behavior to–to–well—turn so frightening. You bore the brunt of it, and I’m truly sorry about that. If I can make monetary amends, I will.”

  Still thoroughly confused, Monica felt a dawning gratitude. Obviously, a momentous shift had taken place within the family relationship that revolved around Jessica. For now, that was more than enough.

  “Don’t worry about the money,” Monica replied quietly. “And as long as you have your focus where it should be, I’m more than happy to accept your apology.”

  Caroline stepped up, her arm around Jessica’s shoulder. “I know the timing is terrible, but we’re here because David and I are going to take Jessica out to dinner tonight. He’s leaving on a business trip in the morning, or I wouldn’t interfere with her ballet schedule. We wanted a bit of time together. You know. As a family.” She paused. “Will that be a problem?”

  Monica waved that concern aside. “Don’t even think about it. As you just saw, Jessica is doing great, and she knows the choreography better than I could hope. Go, and enjoy dinner together.”

  A few students began trickling in. Before leaving, as David and Jessica left to retrieve Jessica’s backpack and ballet duffle, Caroline looked into Monica’s eyes with a happy smile. “I’ll fill you in when I drop her off in the morning.”

  Monica couldn’t resist giving her arm a squeeze. “Your smile says it all.”

  “Yeah. I’ll bet it does. Thanks for your understanding. You really are one in a million.”

  A warm flush skimmed upward against her neck and cheeks. “See you tomorrow.”

  She watched them leave, the two struggling, but hopeful parents with the little girl held between them, their hands linked into a solid unit.

  Her heart nearly overflowed with joy—a joy that was tempered only by an acute sense of longing.

  ****

  Monica had known Caroline Dempsey less
than a few months, but the change in her was remarkable. Reconciliation—coupled with forgiveness—left the woman stronger now; ready to take on the world.

  The next morning, Caroline sat in the chair next to Monica’s desk at Sunny Horizons, pausing for a few minutes to talk before heading off to work. They shared a cup of coffee, and Caroline began to relay the events that had transpired yesterday. “After what happened at your office, David knew he crossed the line. I was all set to take him down after the way he behaved. I was even ready to threaten him with an outright claim to full custody. Even a restraining order. I was that afraid.”

  Monica leaned back in her seat, still amazed. “What do you think turned him around? Do you think it was the divorce decree, like he said?”

  “I think so.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even have to make the first move, Monica. We talked on the phone just a few hours after he showed up here—right after you called and told me what happened.” They sipped from their mugs; the tantalizing scent of coffee wafted through the air. For some reason, the aroma sent Monica reeling backward, to Woodland, and her meeting with Ken. The earth continued to shift beneath her feet, yet she felt oddly grounded—anchored by…she wanted to say the hand of God.

  Caroline continued. “We ended up meeting for dinner at an old-fashioned, mom-and-pop restaurant near where I’m living now. We’re not reconciling or anything, but we are going to work harder to make sure our divorce remains civil. We have to. After all, we both want to be part of Jessica’s life—a good part of Jessica’s life—and we don’t want our problems to become hers.”

  “Caroline, I only wish everyone were as level-headed.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, trust me, I have my moments. I mean, I won’t be able to trust him completely until he earns it, that’s for sure. Still, he apologized. Imagine that! He said he won’t interfere with Jessica anymore, because he doesn’t want to lose all contact with her.”

  That was a relief. Monica stood, raising a blind to let in the day’s first rays of sunlight while Caroline continued. “I want to believe him, but I’m being careful. I have to, for Jessie’s sake.”

  “I think that’s smart.”

  “I may be going on blind faith, but I’ve decided to give him the benefit of a doubt. If he breaks his promise, I won’t hesitate, so let me know if he bothers you again, Monica. For now, though, I want to try to help him turn a corner. Maybe it’ll help smooth out the remnants of our divorce and give us the chance to move on.”

  “I think it shows a lot of compassion on your part, and some hoped for maturity on his.”

  “The way I see it, I have to try. We owe Jessica that much.”

  Faith. Benefit of a doubt.

  The words swept through Monica’s mind for long moments after Caroline left.

  Hearts Communion

  17

  He needed to operate from a position of knowledge. At least, that’s what Jeremy kept telling himself. Today he was in the office, ostensibly to see to year-end reports, upcoming budgets, and the continuing development of project prospects for the spring season to come.

  Today, however, there was more to the story. Much more.

  Like the two sides of a freshly minted coin, he wanted to explore every possibility, every potential loss—and gain—held deep within the situation he faced with Monica.

  Monica. She slid around him, and through him, a cloud of enticement. His brothers’ observations at the Lion’s game were right on the mark. He was in love. Now, resolving and claiming that fact took priority in his life.

  On side one of the coin, Jeremy pictured a family—kids. The vision forced him to analyze the means by which to embrace a life without that link to blood, to tradition and a lasting legacy. On the other side of the coin came a love that would make that sacrifice worthwhile. Monica’s verve, her tenderness and playful spirit, engaged him completely.

  One side or the other. Heads or tails.

  Oddly enough, considering this necessary reevaluation of his life didn’t leave Jeremy with a heavy heart, or a sense of denial. Instead, his mind and heart moved toward resolution; he wanted only to make a way through. He’d swing the hammer, and drive the nail; somehow, a sturdy and comfortable conclusion could be created. For everyone.

  He cleared his throat and straightened his back. Rolling his chair close to the desk, he clicked onto the Internet, pulled up a search engine, and typed in three fateful words: Adoption Agencies Michigan.

  His pulse went erratic. The heat index climbed within the confines of his office. Just beyond the threshold he watched his receptionist, Allison, pass by carrying a stack of file folders in one hand and a lunch sack in the other. She glanced into his office with a warm smile. Jeremy’s fingertips twitched on the keyboard. He almost feared she might know what he was doing, and start asking questions, exerting curious, well-meaning pressure. But, of course, that was irrational. She was clueless, yet he was already a wreck.

  So this is how it feels, he thought, when you take that first, fateful step off the edge—the weird quake at the pit of your stomach, the shiver of uncertainty, the hopes, and the fears. This is life-altering huge. Just exploring possibilities feels monumental. How would it feel to be doing this for real?

  The questions and sensations circuited his mind, yet here he was, no more than an outsider looking in. At this point, he wasn’t even signing up for anything—he was simply on the hunt for information—processes and procedures—an enlightening degree of background. He wanted to be informed. That’s all.

  Right?

  His conscience, and God’s spirit, didn’t answer him back right away, so he scrolled, and hummed at some of the agency names he drew his cursor across. Bethany Christian Services. That sounded promising. He clicked the hyperlink, and began to wander through the website that opened. The rest of the world promptly faded away.

  …Thousands of young women and men choose to make an adoption plan for their unborn children…

  …any number of reasons why, but what remains consistent is that they want the very best for their children, and feel adoption can provide it. Bethany has been bringing families together through infant adoption with tremendous success for the better part of a century…

  …birth parents relinquish their rights voluntarily, and completely…

  …the majority of birth parents meet with the prospective adoptive parents and attain some level of openness in their adoption, even after placement…

  That nugget of information caused Jeremy’s hand to go still on the mouse. His brows rose. He understood Monica’s fears a bit more clearly now, even after just a cursory glance through the information. What if the birth parent, for whatever reason, simply didn’t feel a connection with the prospective couple? How crushing would that be, especially since that level of meeting wouldn’t come until well into the adoptive process? Still, that degree of openness provided for a commendable and dignified means by which to assure everyone involved. Though difficult in some ways, a pre-adoption meeting with the birth parents made emotional sense, so he found himself in favor of it.

  Aside from the potential to be chopped at the knees, that is.

  Jeremy climbed deeper and deeper into web-based information gathering, satisfying his questions on one level, opening up all new ones at the same time. He took notes on a nearby legal pad, jotting observations, facts and statistics. After the better part of an hour, he returned to the Bethany site. There he even spent a few minutes watching a video that featured a family telling their adoption story. Intent, Jeremy listened, hanging on every word. There was a happy ending, sure—but what about the times when hopes were dashed? What about the heartbroken birth parents surrendering the life they had helped create? How much strength would that take—to sacrifice a God-given piece of yourself for the opportunity to give a child a better life?

  Through it all, Jeremy came back to one fundamental truth: he couldn’t blame Monica for being confused, and heart-protective, when it came to an issue that was so im
portant, and, through no one’s fault whatsoever, seemed riddled with the chance for heartbreak.

  In her case, even more heartbreak. All of it centered on family.

  Following a heavy sigh, Jeremy stretched, inching his chair backward a few degrees while he pondered. He spun the chair, looking out the window at a line of typically slow-moving lunch-hour traffic. The motion of the cars soothed him almost to the point of hypnosis. And he continued to ponder.

  There might even be a third side to this mysterious relationship coin—one he hadn’t considered fully until after the football game with Collin and Marty. That third side of the equation included the faces of his nieces and nephews. That particular silver piece encircled his extended family, and the love he felt for them.

  But, even with their precious faces in mind, Jeremy couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted to know more about the process of adoption. He couldn’t help imagining the prospect of welcoming into his heart, and life, the presence of a child who simply couldn’t exist in happiness, and security, with its birth parent.

  A pair of soft, slender arms slid slowly around his neck, accompanied by the subtle aroma of jasmine and lily. After a bit of a jump he smiled, automatically closing his eyes and going still so he could simply saturate himself with Monica’s presence. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder, and she kissed his cheek. “Hi there, handsome,” she said softly.

  Jeremy took hold of her hands. “Hi there, back.” He swiveled his chair around, half-tempted to topple her onto his lap and enjoy a brief, warm snuggle, or perhaps a restrained necking session…

  That’s when his breath caught. On the screen before him was the adoption site. To his right, a notepad full of information about adoption. In a hurry, but as smoothly as possible, Jeremy flipped over the sheets of paper and clicked the exit toggle to his internet connection.

  “Hey, Uncle Jeremy?”

  The summons caused Monica to start with visible guilt; she quickly worked free of his grasp. Jeremy stifled a laugh. They were both acting like guilty teenagers. “Yeah, Alex. What’s up?”