But it had never happened.
A minute passed, and Josh's crying subsided. He dried his face once more, stood, and kissed Laura. “I'm going to bed. Tell Dad I'll see him next week.”
“I love you, Josh.”
“You too.” He started to walk off, then stopped and turned around. “I wish Uncle Clay was my daddy. That'd be so cool.”
Laura's remaining resolve crumbled like ancient pottery. “I'm sorry, Josh.”
“That's okay.” He slumped forward a bit. His chin almost touched his chest as he walked off. “G'night.”
She listened while he made his way up the stairs toward his bedroom. When the door closed, she grabbed the cordless phone from the wall and dialed Eric's office number. A young woman answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” Her voice was perky.
Laura wanted to scream. “Eric Michaels, please.”
“Eric … let's see.” She covered up the phone to muffle her voice. “Someone tell Eric he has a phone call.”
Eric? Who was the girl, and what was she doing there after ten on a Friday night?
A minute passed and Eric picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“You left Josh alone? ” Her tone was a pinched mix of shock and controlled fury.
“Laura, let me explain.” He paused a moment too long.
“No.” She huffed. “You're too late. Your son went to sleep in tears, Eric.”
“Look, I don't need a guilt trip. I feel bad enough.”
“Oh, I can tell.” She raised her voice. “What could be so important you had to leave our son alone, Eric? What?”
“A teleconference from New York, that's what.” He hesitated. “The minute you left, Murphy called wondering where I was. The call was scheduled for seven-thirty.”
“That's ten-thirty New York time.” Laura gave a short laugh. “Even a man like Allen couldn't possibly keep hours like that.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means after a while the stories get old.” She took the phone into the living room and dropped onto the edge of the leather recliner. “Who answered the phone?”
“Here?”
“Yes, there. Whoever she was she called you by your first name. I thought secretaries had more class than that.”
“Her name's Vicky. She's not a secretary. She's Murphy's assistant, and she's happily married. None of us are formal with the assistants.” His tone was condescending. “Does that answer your question?”
“Look, Eric …” The conversation was going nowhere. “I don't care if President Bush was calling you, Murphy could've handled the teleconference.” She huffed. “Josh needed you tonight. It took Jenna half an hour to calm him down.”
“That's ridiculous. He's old enough to—” Eric stopped himself and paused. “I passed Jenna on my way out of the neighborhood. He wasn't alone for three minutes, Laura.”
“Okay, so you had your phone call. You could've come home.”
“Things came up.” He let loose a long sigh. “You know how it is before a trip. Don't do this now, Laura, please.”
Suddenly, she could feel Clay's arms around her, hear him reminding her not to do anything crazy, and that everything was going to be okay. But Clay was wrong. Everything was wrong, for that matter. What was happening to her? When was the last time she'd read her Bible or prayed about her relationship with Eric? Everything that ever mattered was unraveling like a half-knit sweater, and she couldn't think of a single way to stop it.
Worse, she didn't want to stop it.
When she spoke again, the fight was gone from her voice. “I'm going to sleep, Eric. When you get home from New York we need to talk.”
“Talk?” For the first time that night, the slightest hint of fear spilled over into his words. “Don't overreact, Laura. You know how busy I've been.”
“Yes, I know. Josh knows too.” She closed her eyes. “That's why we need to talk.” Her voice broke, but she did her best to cover it. “We can't go on like this, Eric. I can't.”
Silence hovered between them, then Eric's tired sigh sounded over the phone line. “You're right. I get back early Thursday afternoon.” His voice was kinder than before. “I'll come straight here and take you to dinner. I promise, Laura … things'll slow down. I'll make it up to you and Josh. Give me a chance.”
Normally, Eric's promises melted her, even though he rarely made good on them. But tonight she was too tired, too hurt to care. “Good night, Eric.”
He hesitated. “Plan on dinner, okay?”
“We'll see. I have to go.”
They hung up with no declarations of love or assurances that the other would be missed. Laura returned the phone to its place on the wall and tried to remember the last time Eric had told her he loved her. Two months? Three, maybe? Was this the man she'd thought would rescue her from a childhood of sorrow and abandonment? The man she'd thought would share her dreams of happily ever after?
And what about Josh? Eric had never once told the boy he loved him, even after she confronted Eric about the issue back when their son was four. Not one time.
“You love him, don't you?” They'd been finishing up dinner, and Josh had gone out back to play.
“Josh?” Eric had looked surprised. “Of course.”
“Then tell him. A boy needs to hear that from his father.”
Eric had dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “That's ridiculous. My father never said it to me.”
“Your father wasn't a Christian.”
“Maybe I'm not either.” The moment he'd said the words his face had looked stricken. “I … I didn't mean that.”
But he had meant it, of course. Eric hadn't been to church with her since the stillborn death of their tiny daughter a year after they were married. At the time Laura had thought the loss was infinitely harder on her than Eric. Until one afternoon when she came home to their small apartment and found him in the baby's bedroom, sitting in the rocking chair they'd bought at a garage sale.
It was the only time before or since that she'd seen him weep.
“Why, Laura?” He'd been utterly broken, his usual confidence shattered. “Why would God take her?”
“He didn't take her.” Laura had knelt between his legs, gripping his wrists and trying her best to help him understand. “It's just one of those things.”
“No, it's not.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Because I'm still in school and God didn't help us and no one'll give us decent medical care. Otherwise she would've lived.”
In some ways Eric was right. A nurse at the hospital told them that their baby's death had been preventable. With ultrasound testing they could've worked on her before she was born. But without insurance, the test hadn't been an option.
Even now—so many years later—Laura could see that time in their life as a dividing line. Until then Eric's faith had been stronger than the San Gabriel Mountains. Solid and unmoving. But that night as Eric wept, something hardened in his heart. Not long afterwards he stopped going to church, stopped talking about God's will or referring to Bible verses.
Several times Laura talked to him about it. “This is because of the baby, isn't it?” Eric would only shake his head and give brief, terse answers. “The baby wasn't meant to be.”
“Then why, Eric? What's happened?”
Once when she asked him, he locked his gaze with hers and waited a moment. “We lost that little girl because I couldn't give you the very best care.” He gritted his teeth. “Life's about making your own way. And believe me, Laura, I'm not leaving that up to God. Once I get started, you'll never have to worry about medical care again.”
Eric had kept his promise. By the time Josh was born, they had the best insurance, the best doctors in Southern California. But in the years since, he'd become a driven businessman who didn't share his family's beliefs, and who couldn't muster up the words to tell his son he loved him.
Laura got undressed, slipped into a nightgown, and eased herself between the cool sheets.
Eric would be up into the wee hours of the morning, packing, checking last-minute details before leaving. He'd stay in the guest room, no doubt, so she wouldn't hear from him again until Thursday.
As she fell asleep she tried to feel sorry for herself, but she couldn't. Her marriage was dying, and she and Eric were both at fault. Yes, he'd been difficult to love. But how hard had she tried? Why hadn't she said something the first time he slept in the guest room? And how many years had it been since she'd surprised him with a weekend getaway or a special date night?
What was it the Bible said? That little foxes were the ones that spoiled the vines? How many little foxes had she allowed in since Josh was born? Laura rolled over. Only one memory could replace the missed opportunities filling her mind.
The memory of a long-ago yesterday, back when Eric Michaels couldn't wait to leave college and race home to be with her. Once, a lifetime ago, they'd been lovers. But now—in a way that seemed almost sudden—the branches of their love had become completely barren.
And spring didn't feel like it would ever come again.
FIVE
SEPTEMBER 9, 2001
Sierra looked like a princess.
Jake gave a low, appreciative whistle and leaned against the hallway wall. “My goodness.” He grinned at her. “I bet you're the most beautiful girl in all of New York City.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Really, Daddy?” She did a twirl, and her pink and white skirt fluffed out around her knees. “Mommy bought this for me so I'd have a pretty church dress.”
“You found the perfect one.” He played with a strand of her hair. “Curlies today?”
“Yes, please.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Susie's daddy never curls her hair.”
“Susie?” Jake crouched down so he was eye level with Sierra. “From Sunday school?”
“Yep. Her mommy lives in New Jersey, so her daddy brings her.” Sierra brushed her nose up against his. “Just like me and you!”
“I see.” Jake gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “But he doesn't curl her hair, is that right?”
“Right!”
Jake puffed his chest up and planted his fists at his waist. “Then that makes me Super-Daddy.”
“And Mommy's Super-Mommy.” She giggled. “Know why?”
Jake felt his heart melt, the same way it always did in the presence of his small daughter. “Why, sweetheart?”
“Because,” she held her chin a bit higher, “Mommy bought me a church dress. Susie's mommy didn't do that.”
“Well … then you're right. Mommy is Super-Mommy.”
Sierra leaned close, placing her nose up against his. “Butterfly kisses?”
“For my best girl!” He rubbed his nose against hers, then turned his face and blinked in time with her so that their lashes brushed up against each other three times. Butterfly kisses were part of their morning routine. He stood up and caught another strand of her hair. “Go play in your room. I'll call you when I'm ready to curl, okay?”
She clasped her hands, her blue eyes wide and innocent. “Horsie ride?”
She could have asked him for the moon, and he'd have broken his neck to get it. Something about her sweet spirit and fresh-faced beauty had that effect on him. He had no idea how he'd survive her wedding. “Okay, pumpkin pie …” He turned around and bent over. “Hop aboard.”
Sierra's giggle rang out again, her laughter playing across his soul like music from a favorite song. She climbed onto Jake's back and gave him a gentle tap with her heels. “Giddyap!”
Jake reared his head back and made a few realistic snorting sounds. “Where to, Princess Sierra?” He used a deep voice, the one he always used when he was the horse and Sierra the rider.
“To my palace!” She patted his head. “You should grow your hair long, Daddy. Horsies are 'posed to have long hair.”
“Sorry.” Jake whinnied and began galloping down the hallway toward Sierra's room. “This horsie has to keep his hair short, princess.”
“That's okay, horsie,” she said, then leaned close and kissed the back of his head. “I still love you.”
Jake rounded the corner and pulled up sharp next to Sierra's bed. “Your palace, dear princess.”
Sierra slid down and did her best impression of a royal curtsy. “Thank you.” She patted Jake's head once more. “Do you like my pretty dress, horsie?”
Leaping and pawing the air like a wild stallion, Jake gave three exaggerated nods of his head. “Who made you so pretty, Princess Sierra?”
The princess persona faded. Sierra tilted her face, brought her lips together, and gave him a guileless smile. “Jesus did.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I'm gonna read my Bible book, Daddy. See you in a few minutes.”
Jake pranced around in a small circle, then back down the hall toward his and Jamie's bedroom. He took his shower, dressed, and found his razor in the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink. As he shaved, a sadness settled in his gut. Why couldn't Jamie miss her painting class and come with them? Just once?
He ran the blade over the angles of his face. God … how long will this go on? How long until she sees the light and wants what Sierra and I have?
Remember, my son, I began a good work in her, and I'll be faithful to see it through.
Jake froze, his razor poised beneath his right cheekbone. He'd felt similar nudges almost daily in the past month. Responses from somewhere inside him, all with a similar message so clear it was almost audible. And the silent whispers in his soul always brought about the same memory. He and Jamie at the Young Life high school summer camp the summer after he graduated. Jake couldn't exactly remember what they'd learned that week, but whatever it was, Jamie had felt it.
Felt it all the way to her soul.
When the camp leaders asked people to come forward if they wanted to live for Jesus, Jamie was one of the first campers on her feet.
Before they came home, she explained her feelings to Jake. “For the first time life means something. Like I don't have to worry that something bad's going to happen. Because God has it all figured out.”
Jake had been certain that Jamie's decision would be life-changing. His own decision—made back when he was eight years old—certainly had been. Instead, she had questions from the beginning. Questions and doubts and an immediate return to the aversion she'd always had regarding faith and church and God in general. A few years later, her skepticism had been fueled by her parents' tragic deaths.
And by every firefighter funeral since.
For Jamie, a huge chasm lay between belief and unbelief, and there was simply no bridge great enough to span the gap. No bridge except God Himself. And as time went on, Jamie wanted less and less to do with God.
This, then, had become the crux of Jake's prayers for his wife. That God make good on the promise that constantly echoed in his mind. That He might complete in Jamie that faith that began two decades ago at summer camp. Jake moved the razor down his chin. And every time he prayed for her, he'd been given a reassurance, a knowing, that felt heaven-sent. No doubt about it. Not only had God heard his prayers for Jamie, He was going to answer them.
Soon.
It was this knowing that convinced Jake he and God had a deal going. That Jake wasn't going anywhere, that his body wouldn't be the next one paraded in front of five thousand uniformed firefighters. Not when God was on the brink of using him to turn Jamie's lifelong doubts into the sweetest devotion.
She was already changing. After all, she'd cared enough to buy Sierra a new dress. Jake straightened and examined his face for missed spots. Yes, Jamie cared. Just not enough to come to church with them. She'd left an hour earlier for breakfast and tole painting with a few of the firefighter wives. Twice a month on Sundays they met, giving her an excuse for two out of every four Sundays. The other two were family days, Jamie had decided. Time to hike or bike or play with the jet ski.
“God can't expect you to spend every weekend in church, can He?” She'd joked with Jake about the subject a dozen times.
But the bottom line was clearer than the sky above the city this past week. Jamie didn't want to go. And she didn't want anything to do with God.
Still, she'd bought Sierra a church dress.
That was better than the way she'd reacted a year ago when Jake started taking their daughter to church. He could still hear the frustration in her voice when they first discussed the issue.
“It's not right to fill her head with fairy tales,” she had lowered her voice to a whisper so Sierra couldn't hear her. “She doesn't need make-believe stuff about a God who”—she waved her hands—“who might not exist.”
Jake had stayed calm, his voice as quiet as hers. “What would it hurt? She'll draw pictures and sing songs and learn how to pray.” He took gentle hold of her shoulders. “Is that so bad, Jamie?”
“Yes.” She stepped backwards and planted her hands on her hips. “It'll only disappoint her if something bad happens and … and God turns out to be just another fantasy.”
“What if He isn't?” Jake had kept his distance, allowing her the space to process what he was saying. “What if God's real, Jamie. Do you really want to keep Sierra from knowing about Him? Just two Sundays a month?”
In the end Jamie had agreed—on one condition. “Don't bug me about it, Jake. I'll find something else to do those Sundays, but leave me out of it.”
Her words still stung, but she'd come a long way since then. For the past few months she would ask Sierra about Sunday school and listen while their daughter repeated her Bible story. Twice in the past month she'd even said she might attend Christmas service with them this year.
And now the pretty new dress.
Jake plugged in the curling iron and caught a glimpse of his simple gold wedding band. He loved her more than words could ever describe. Yes, Jamie's day of reckoning with God was coming. If his sense of the Lord's timing was right, it was coming soon. He slipped into a pair of new jeans and a pullover shirt.
“Sierra!” He leaned toward his open bedroom door. “Beauty parlor's open.”
“Goody!” She came running, all giggles and bouncing thick blonde hair. He never tired of her, never stopped marveling at the wonder of her life. She was only one day old when she first gripped his fingers, and he hers. In the days since, he'd yet to let go.
The Tuesday Morning Collection Page 6
