by Chris Fabry
Treha shook her head. She sat a few minutes listening to the conversation on the radio, the mixed voices of reporters on TV talking about the latest financial news, and the voices inside her head asking the questions that were too hard to answer.
CHAPTER 30
Paige
I dodged Dr. Waldron as long as I could, but the man and the consequences finally caught up with me on Wednesday. I was strongly encouraged to take a leave of absence. Saying no was not an option, especially after the scene I’d made in the Bethesda cafeteria the night before. When I asked Dr. Waldron how long a leave he was recommending, he would only say, “Let’s see how things go, shall we?”
I suppose I went into shock that afternoon as I packed up essential books and memorabilia from my office. I went home and drifted through the next two days. Thinking about Treha, thinking about my job, and trying not to think about either.
Perhaps my mother had been right all along. Keeping these things submerged was better. Revelation only brings pain and spills on everyone else like waves of toxic chemicals. I’d had the perfect opportunity to let my daughter go, to stay hidden and let her find her way in the world. But that chance had slipped through my fingers the moment I decided to engage with her and reveal myself. If I had stayed hidden, life would have been much simpler, much less complicated for everyone. And I would still be in her life, still speaking to her, reading her words, listening to her and walking alongside as her teacher.
Friday evening was the next meeting of the reading group, this time at Beverly’s home. I had hoped I could bring Treha but that wasn’t to be. I didn’t want to attend. I wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again. Maybe fall through a rabbit hole and stay there with Alice and her friends. But something told me I needed this, that I needed to push through the disappointment and shock and be with people who cared.
The women of the group gathered with wineglasses in hand and surrounded me with their love and understanding. Like Job’s friends they sat in silence for a while, the sound of the fire crackling in Beverly’s living room. It felt uncomfortable at first and I wanted to fill the void with words or laughter or explanation or description. But sometimes the void is better left open.
“I think you’re on the right track, Paige,” Ginny Baylor said. “With your daughter. With taking some time away from school. This is going to leave you better off in the long run.”
“What you let go will come back to you if you love well,” Madalyn said. It sounded like something on a greeting card you buy for $1.99 in the discontinued card section of the grocery store.
“How long have you known?” Esther Richards said. “About your daughter, that she was out there?”
“I’ve known where she is for more than a year.”
“You did everything you could to help her.”
Encouragement. Support. They wanted me to know I was loved, that I was not alone, and everything about it felt assuring and lovely except for the look on Beverly’s face. There was something going on there I couldn’t decipher.
Finally I said, “I don’t want to bring the meeting down. This doesn’t have to be about me. In fact, I think it would be best to do what we usually do. That probably would help more than anything.”
“And what is it we do here, Paige?” Beverly said. Her voice was sharp, edgy.
“We share the things we love about literature,” I said, mildly bewildered by the question. “This is about the stories.”
“No, that’s not really it, is it?” She looked around at the others and they grunted and nodded. “It’s not really about the stories. It’s never been just about that.”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned closer without smiling. The others were silent, staring at the fire. Either praying or waiting their turn to pile on or disagree.
“We’ve been meeting together for years,” Beverly continued. “We’ve gone through cancer, a divorce, a couple of major surgeries. Family members dying. Pets. Abandonment. Betrayal. Job losses. Through all of that we have grown together. We’ve said that there is nothing we can’t share with each other. Am I right?”
I nodded, studying the way the firelight reflected off the dull hardwood.
“We have shared things here we haven’t shared with any other human on the planet. And you have been walking around with this wound, a gaping hole, a weight you have carried alone.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” I looked up at their faces and the stares back at me weren’t hard or judgmental but from soft eyes. Still, I took umbrage. “I didn’t expect to be jumped on.”
“I’m not doing that, Paige. This is a pivotal moment for you, for all of us. What happened with your daughter is one of those deep wounds. What the school did to you might not have been fair. But there’s something more to this. Something much bigger.”
“Well, if you figure it out, please tell me. I’ve been asking God for a long time why all this is happening.”
“Beverly, what she needs right now is not our advice,” Madalyn said. “She needs our love.”
“Yes, she needs our love,” Beverly said. “But love sometimes looks like a kick in the pants.”
I wanted to get up and leave, to simply walk out, hurt and abandoned by the people who were for me. But I stayed for some reason, and the words came. “How much of the past do I have to deal with? Do I have to dredge up everything and parade it in front of everyone?”
“Those are two different questions. But the first is the most important. Let me ask this, Paige. How much of your past do you want God to redeem?” Beverly wouldn’t let me out of her sight. “How much of your regret and sorrow do you want him to forgive and use? For your good and his glory? You want to give him all of it, right?”
I nodded weakly.
“Life doesn’t come from stuffing it in the closet or holding it under the water. Come out of the shadows. Take a breath. See what freedom tastes like, smells like, feels like. It’s time.”
I closed my eyes. From my pocket, I dug out my father’s pen, the one he made, the talisman of my life that on some level still worked, still gave comfort.
Finally Beverly spoke again. “You’re a mother, Paige. What do you intend to do about your daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
She cocked her head and I realized my infraction.
“Okay, let me just . . . think,” I said, holding up a hand. I tapped the pen against my leg. “The honest truth is, my plan right now is to let her decide. To let her go and let her see if she wants to keep the distance between us or decide that she wants a relationship. Isn’t that what God does with us? Doesn’t he allow us the choice of whether to respond to him or not?”
“He does, but that’s usually after a fair amount of pursuing by the Hound of Heaven.”
“So you think I should go after her.”
“I think the familiar misery is easier to live with than what might happen if you pursue her.”
Esther cleared her throat. “Beverly, I think you’re being too hard on her.”
“Am I?”
“Treha doesn’t want a relationship with me,” I said. “She flew to Arizona to get away from me.”
“She’s testing you. She’s calling you out instead of letting you relate to her on your own terms.”
“I don’t think she believes I’m her mother.”
“Tough. You are. She’ll get over that.”
“She said I lied to her. She can’t deal with being lied to.”
“What did she mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’m assuming she—”
“You’re assuming? Paige, the time for assuming is over. Go to her. Talk with her. Find out what’s going on in her mind. You are her mother. Act like it.”
I looked at my mentor, my friend, the woman who had saved my life. How could I not trust her, not believe she was right?
Ginny bent forward. “I think you should go to her, Paige. Take the chance to be rejected. Get this out in th
e open. And we’ll be praying for you and cheering you on.”
CHAPTER 31
Treha
Treha hung around the house with Charlie a few days but finally rode with Miriam to Desert Gardens Retirement Home on Saturday morning. She walked through the hallways in her scrubs and the memories flooded back. Dr. Crenshaw’s room had been taken by another man, something that made her sad because she had sat with him evening after evening going through word games. She was pleasantly surprised that Mrs. Williams was doing so well. During the time Treha worked at Desert Gardens, the woman had fallen from her bed and broken her hip. She looked alert and was glad to see Treha.
Treha walked the grounds with Buck Davis, the aged security guard who had been at the facility as long as Miriam had. He asked about her time away at school, oblivious to the problems she had encountered, but she didn’t mind the questions. She knew he just cared.
She held off meeting with Elsie until lunch. The woman hugged her tightly when they met at the windowed side of the cafeteria, the side most avoided. A staff member served them like they were royalty.
Elsie took Treha’s hand when she sat and wouldn’t let go, cradling it with arthritic fingers. “I prayed for you every minute I was awake, my girl. I’m so glad to see you.”
Treha stared at the food, which looked a lot like the food at Bethesda. She pushed the tray back and prepared for the inevitable questions. But when questions come from someone you love, you don’t mind.
“Tell me what you thought of the school.”
“It was nice. I liked the rooms and the buildings. How clean it was.”
“What about the people? The professors?”
“I learned a lot. The teachers were kind. I think they want people to learn as much as they can.”
“Miriam said you had trouble with a roommate. Don’t judge the place on one bad apple.”
“I didn’t.”
“But if you’re back here, you must be thinking of quitting.”
“I don’t think it’s the best place for me.”
“Because of this English teacher who says she’s your mother?”
Treha nodded.
“Miriam told me about that. At least as much as she knows. I tried to see it on the computer but I don’t know how those things work. My nephew brought his little contraption over and he found the video. She seemed genuine, didn’t she? You’re a good judge of that.”
“I thought she was. But I found out that she didn’t tell me the truth about something, and when a person doesn’t tell the truth about one thing, can you believe anything she says?”
“I see your point. That does tend to make you skittish. Well, I suppose you can just take a blood test and settle the whole thing, can’t you?”
“Even if she is my mother, I don’t know that I would want to have a relationship with her.”
“Must be a whopper of a lie.” Elsie waved a hand. “It’s none of my business, of course. But how did you find out about this mysterious lie she told?”
“I have a friend, Anna. She’s the one who found out about the lie.”
“I see. So you did make a friend.”
Treha nodded.
Elsie spooned some soup into her mouth, then crushed a small package of saltines and tried to open it. Treha opened the wrapper and sprinkled the crackers on her soup the way Elsie liked it.
“Thank you, my dear. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted those and I just haven’t been able to get that package open.” She stirred her spoon around the bowl. “Kind of like life, in a way. What you want is right there, so close you can taste it. Sometimes you need somebody else to open it.”
Treha picked at her food.
“What do you think you want to do about all of this?” Elsie finally said. “Do you have a plan?”
“I don’t want to let you down. You helped pay for my schooling.”
“Don’t let money make the decision. You decide what’s best, what you want to do. That money was an investment in you. Period. Do you understand?”
“Thank you.”
“So you have a choice, and it’s not about money. What do you want to do?”
Treha looked around the dining room at the tables, the older people talking and laughing. Some were alone, locked away. Others were vibrant and connected, like Elsie. “Part of me wants to come back here. To work with Miriam and you.”
“And we’d love to have you. You know that.” Elsie took a deep breath. “But deep down that feels like giving up, doesn’t it?”
Treha looked at her, searching the old woman’s eyes.
“The natural thing for an old geezer like me is to want things to stay the same. Want things to stop changing. Keep things the way they are or go back to the way they’ve been. I think that’s why we get cranky in our old age. The world passes, leaves us sitting at the stoplight. You were built for more than this place, Treha. I can feel that.”
Treha put down her fork and took a sip of water.
Elsie reached out a hand and took Treha’s. “The Lord knows your heart. He knows your hopes, dreams. He knows what’s best.” She closed her eyes tightly and began to pray. “Lord, you know Treha’s heart’s desire. We don’t understand all that’s happened. We don’t know how it all fits together. But we trust you, not just in what we can understand, but in what we don’t. And we want your will. Show her the next step. Make her heart’s desire what you desire.”
Elsie squeezed Treha’s hand, and when Treha looked up, Miriam was standing next to the table, a concerned look on her face.
“Treha, I’m sorry to interrupt. There’s someone here who would like to see you.”
Treha glanced behind Miriam and saw someone standing at the back entrance who took her breath away.
“Who is it, Treha?” Elsie said.
“Ms. Redwine. My teacher. My mother.”
Ms. Redwine walked gingerly to the table and smiled at Treha and Elsie. Treha stared at her, not believing she was there. She searched for air, a breath, what to say.
Elsie put down her napkin. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here, sister.”
“I apologize. I know I shouldn’t have come without an invitation.”
“Her mother would have come a long time ago.” Elsie raised her voice and Miriam stood behind the older woman, her hands on her shoulders, calming her a little.
Ms. Redwine knelt on the floor in front of Treha. “When you left, a thousand thoughts flew through my mind. I knew I had to make a choice. Last night something happened. I realized so much of this has been about how afraid I’ve been.” She looked at Elsie and Miriam. “I wish I’d come here sooner. I would choose differently if I had it to do over. I can only hope that as you hear the story, you’ll understand and forgive me.”
Miriam pulled a chair around and Ms. Redwine sat. Treha kept her distance from the woman and stared at the table.
“I’ve heard about you from Treha,” Ms. Redwine said. “And I actually saw the film some time ago, when it was in theaters.”
“You saw your daughter in a movie and you didn’t come see her?” Elsie said. She shook her head. “I don’t understand people. Is this what they teach professors in school these days? Because if it is, I don’t want Treha to have anything to do with them.”
“What I meant to say was, thank you for being there for her when I couldn’t be.”
“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?” Elsie said.
People stared at the stranger in their midst. Those who knew Treha looked concerned at the scene unfolding.
“Maybe we should take this conversation to my office,” Miriam said.
“Maybe we should take this woman to the woodshed,” Elsie muttered. She looked up again, spiking her napkin into her soup and wagging a finger. “Do you have any idea what this girl has been through? Do you have any idea the pain she felt not knowing where she came from? And you come waltzing in here dressed in your jeans and carrying your expensive purse and expect us all to fall down and giv
e a thank offering. Somebody said you graduated from Bethesda?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, if this is the kind of people they’re putting out these days, I’m glad Treha’s not going there, missy.”
Ms. Redwine was near tears now and Miriam found a napkin and handed it to her.
“I understand your anger. You have every right. And it shows you really care about my daughter. I have so many regrets.”
Treha’s fingers began to type on the table in front of her. She felt her eye movement kick in and she began to sway forward and backward in her chair. They were talking about her as if she weren’t in the room.
“Well, it took you an awfully long time to do anything about it.”
“Maybe it would be better if we talked in private,” Ms. Redwine said.
“Excuse me,” Treha said. In one motion she pushed away from the table and ran toward the hallway.
CHAPTER 32
Paige
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a credit card. I’d taken the earliest flight possible, and because of the time difference, I was on the ground in Tucson with my carry-on luggage by 10:45 a.m. Navigating my way from the airport to Desert Gardens was surprisingly easy, but walking into that facility was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
Elsie was an elderly hurdle all her own. Her back was up from the moment we met. I’d known that the people who cared for Treha would feel like this. And strangely, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I wanted people to defend Treha, take her side, show loyalty and concern. Inside, I was grateful to God for sheltering her.
What I hadn’t planned was Treha running from the dining hall and out of the facility. Miriam stopped me from following and suggested we give her some time. She asked the security guard, Buck, to make sure Treha was okay. The two had a special relationship, evidently. Meanwhile Miriam, Elsie, and I moved to Miriam’s office. We made small talk as we waited but that quickly turned into a series of questions about my life. Elsie wanted to know when I had studied at Bethesda, how I came to teach at Millhaven, when I decided to come to Arizona, and how much I paid for the ticket on such short notice.
