Forgive Mike? For all he’d done to her?
She stood taller, took his hand in hers. “What he did to me was not all right. Not even a little. I’m smart enough to get away. Forgiving him is for me. I won’t carry around all that bitterness forever. Michael needs Jesus.”
How long had it taken those Beistline people to snow her like this? She even spoke their language now. He bit down on his mouthful of irritation and wrapped his arms around Bailey’s fragile frame. “How long are you staying?”
“I moved back in—indefinitely.”
~*~
Zan baked in the sun out on the waterway as the breeze blew across his dad’s boat. The waves rocked him gently, and he loved every minute of it. He sat on the back of the boat, allowed his toes to dip in and out of the water as he used his smartphone to see if Kasia was back in the States yet.
Nope. But she’d posted another batch of pictures. He’d enjoyed back-and-forth banter with her all summer—no deep discussions, no unearthing great mysteries—but he could ask her out when they got back to OSU for sure.
One picture had him hooked. The best she’d posted—three young girls with the darkest eyes he’d ever seen and a chubby toddler clearly reaching for Kasia. The kid knew, just like Zan had somehow. He thumbed in a comment.
This little muchacho thinks you’re fabuloso. I’m fairly certain he’s spot-on.
He stared out at the blank horizon. Bailey needed to meet Kasia. For a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder to where his sister sat reading. Her bruises had faded. A week could cover up a lot. He stood and moved past her.
Her peaceful expression confused him. How was peace like that possible when her whole world collapsed around her? She’d run away from her hellish marriage and moved home with no answers about the future. He ducked into the cabin, tossed his phone onto the couch.
Her gaze flicked up from the book, found Zan’s as he sat on the driver’s seat and studied her. “Something on your mind?”
“Tryin’ to figure you out.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“No, seriously. You’re so…different from the last time I saw you.”
“Well, my whole life has changed. What do you expect?” She got up and joined him, let her toes tickle the surface of the water. “The last time we saw each other, I had just gotten rescued from a marriage like quicksand. It always seemed safer to do nothing than try to escape.”
“So this church really helped?”
“It wasn’t only the people. Jesus is the One who made the difference for me.”
Jesus. Did He just make her feel safe? No, there had to be more to it. Like with Caleb. Her faith—whatever it was—was genuine.
Several questions came to mind, but he ignored them. “I’m gonna swim awhile.”
She scooted back a foot or two and gave him a measuring look. “Go on, get in.” As soon as he felt her foot on his back, he hollered, but it was too late. Where’d she get that kind of leverage?
The water stung his face before the cool, soothing darkness enveloped him. As he surfaced, her teasing laughter bounced off the surface of the water. He shook out his hair and wiped the water from his eyes with the heels of his hands. His impact had been less than graceful. Probably looked like a dying duck.
She was going to get it now. “Bailey?” he sang.
“Yeah?”
“Hope you feel like getting wet.”
~*~
The Andean highlands were simply, powerfully different. Kasia could almost believe she’d stepped back in time.
A week before she was to fly back to the States, Mark and Patty asked if she’d like to travel to one of the highland campesino churches for an evening service. She’d wanted to spend some time among the subsistence farmers all along but felt ungrateful asking for more.
She jumped at the chance.
The deep ruts in the dirt road gave Kasia’s body a beating. Still, the shock absorbers on the all-terrain vehicle held their own with the three-foot potholes. When they arrived, Kasia snapped photos of anything and everything she could without being rude.
She wondered what Grace and Lenka would think—whether Grace might want to use a few for the prayer calendar. And whether Forearms might actually be willing to sketch a few of them for her to frame. There was something more intimate about a pencil drawing.
That night, she joined the campesinos on the dirt floor of the small adobe building, stayed as still as possible. After several of the Peruvians shared testimonies or favorite Scripture passages, Mark asked Kasia to give her testimony.
She stood up and dusted off her pants, cast her gaze around the small, lantern-lit room. Her back ached from the drive, but it was nothing compared to the clamminess that shrouded her then. Every audience she’d ever stood before had been easier than this one. Combined. “Um, I’m a Polish-American. Different nations and cultures have always fascinated me.”
Mark translated for her after each sentence.
“My dad is a pastor, and as soon as I started walking, I heard God loved me and created me with a work—a ministry—in mind. All my life, I’ve been trying to find out what that is.”
Except she’d blown it. All she could do was pick up the pieces and survive now. Her well of words dried up, and tears were no more obliging. Pebbles rested in the dirt at her feet, and she kicked at one.
Someone cleared his throat, and she looked up. Mark’s inquiring expression prodded her on.
She swallowed and wet her lips. “One thing I’ve learned: God works best in me and through me when I put my own hopes and desires aside. When I make my life about serving others, I am truly blessed. Truly happy. And only then.”
She heard several thank-yous and compliments as she took her seat once more, but she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Her eyes burned.
But nothing came. She realized she hadn’t cried in—she couldn’t even think of the last time. Though there were moments of true joy, something in her heart had atrophied, withered from non-use. She had no idea what it was, but it ached.
The physical pain in her chest crippled her. She hung her head between her knees and breathed deeply.
If she couldn’t pinpoint what hurt so deeply, she might dry up too.
No. That wasn’t true. She knew how to experience joy. Just keep pouring herself out for others. Keep serving.
Keep busy.
She needed a strategy—every moment purposeful, no distractions. There were people in America she could bless too. Maybe she could take over the homework club. Jen graduated—had she already found someone to keep the club going at Heritage Arms?
Soft guitar music filtered through her thoughts, and she lifted her gaze from the dirt floor. Mark played, accompanying Patty, who sang a lilting melody. The mud building filled with song as everyone raised their voices, praising together.
When three children got up to sing “Amazing Grace” to an old Quechuan melody, they captivated Kasia. The melody sounded wistful and ancient, and the girls’ voices quavered, a guttural sound that reminded Kasia of an Apache ceremonial dance she’d once seen. Otherworldly.
As they closed in a final congregational song, Kasia sang along quietly in Polish, wondered how it would feel to be a part of the multitude at the feet of Jesus.
The crowd remained for fellowship when the service ended before going their separate ways. Kasia seized the opportunity to step outside into the quiet. Myriad stars hovered in profuse clusters, and a few areas were so hazy she wondered if she were looking at a distant galaxy. The cloudy expanse of the Milky Way across the sky was unmistakable.
Out here, the night hung like a curtain over the landscape, but she felt safe.
Truly, unequivocally safe. God was with her.
Footsteps approached, and she turned to see Patty. Just over the woman’s shoulder, the moon peeked over the mountain ridge.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Never gets old.” Patty watched the moonrise with her for a moment. “We’ll
probably pack up and return to Los Baños in about ten minutes.”
Patty left silently as Kasia stood and the moon slowly raised its head to peer at her over the silhouetted crest. She half believed that if she hiked to the summit, she could reach out and touch it.
Her heartache subsided. Out here, the darkness held none of her demons.
Only peace.
21
Zan relished the flavor of the spicy shawarma at their favorite local Mediterranean deli and bakery. Was happy to score lunch with Bailey too. Every minute he could spend with her before he moved to Oconee State was worth gold.
She smeared her forkful of fresh spinach through the puddle of house dressing at the bottom of her bowl and lanced a tomato, and glanced back up at him. “I realized how much mercy God had shown me.”
“Bay. You’re not a bad person.”
“But I’m not perfect either.”
“Of course not. Nobody is.”
She wiped her mouth on the cloth napkin. “Do you believe there’s a God?”
“I guess. I mean, I believe there’s Someone out there who sort of oversees everything.”
“And do you think He’s pleased with the way we run things down here?”
“Doubt it. I seriously can’t figure out why He doesn’t just hit His all-powerful smite button and end it. I mean—to sit up there somewhere, just watch all the suffering and let it go on? You’d think He would intervene.”
She nodded. “He did, Zan.”
He focused on the last bite of his flatbread. God sure had let Bailey suffer for ages before He got her away from Mike.
“He could ‘smite’ us all—the whole world—any time He wanted. That’s what would really be fair. But He’d rather offer us the relationship He created us for.”
Caleb would freaking love that Zan was having this conversation again. “Jesus, right?”
Her eyes lit up, and he almost wanted to believe—just to make her happy.
Bailey’s phone rang. She checked the number. “I’ve got to take this. It’s about the administrative position at the financial firm.”
“Sure, yeah.”
She stood and walked through the archway into the shopping area. Zan finished his last bite of curried pork and washed it down with sweet tea.
She bounced back to the table. “I don’t want the conversation to end here, but he can interview me at two. Can we come back to this?”
Zan smiled at her. “Bailey, if you can prove a God who would execute His own Son—for someone like Mike—is loving, you can wake me up in the middle of the night.”
“Good. I’m going to call Mom and tell her about the interview.”
“Go on out and call her. I’ll get this.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
She picked up her purse. “Deal. And thanks.” She gave him a quick peck on the top of his head.
She wound her way past the imported olives, grape leaves, curries, and freshly baked breads. She’d been through so much pain. He wished he could undo it.
When he stepped out into the sunlight and glanced around, her car door was open, but he couldn’t spot her. He walked toward the corner and peered down East Bay Street. Had she walked to the back of the deli for some reason?
No. Bailey’s purse and phone were on the front seat, and the phone was on. Something was wrong. He picked it up. “Hello?”
“Where’s Bailey?” His mom’s voice was filled with panic.
“I don’t know. Her phone is—”
“Zan, go find her. Now. Michael was waiting outside for her. The police are on their way, but—”
Zan pitched the phone back onto the seat and raced toward the lot behind the deli. He found the closest alley. Nothing but empty crates, a dumpster, and the stench of rotten vegetables.
But then he heard muttered threats behind the dumpster.
“Michael, don’t…”
The pain in his sister’s voice ripped through him as he sprinted around the corner.
“Hey!” he shouted.
Mike straightened up and faced him. Blood streamed from the side of Bailey’s mouth, and her arm was bent at a strange angle. She whimpered as she tried to stand behind her husband.
Mike spun back to her. “I told you to sit down!” His words slurred; he was a tower of drunken rage.
Before Zan could react, Mike kicked Bailey in the chest. Her body slammed into the corner of the dumpster, limp. And then everything tinted red.
Zan yanked Mike back by his collar and a handful of hair. As soon as the wife-beater was on his feet, Zan pummeled him—face, chest, stomach, face—anywhere his fists could make contact. Mike’s nose crunched against Zan’s knuckles. Mike swung at Zan a few times, but a bloody lip was the worst he could give. Zan was too fast, and Mike was too wasted.
When Mike collapsed in a heap, it was all Zan could do not to punt him across the alley. “Please. Stop.” Garbled words and a broken voice stilled him and pulled his gaze to the tangled mat of hair and blood that framed Bailey’s face.
Zan’s eyes stung, and she blurred as he knelt beside her, held her face in his trembling hands. She shrank from his touch, and it nearly killed him. “Bailey, tell me you’re all right.”
She drew in labored breaths, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Fine…” She gripped his hand, and the lack of strength in her sucked his hope like a vacuum. “Mom?” she tried.
“She said the police were—”
Feet pounded the pavement behind him as two officers approached. One of them surveyed the scene and swore right before he radioed for an ambulance.
Zan kissed his sister’s temple and slumped beside her, hung his head. Why had he let her go outside without him? One mistake—one simple mistake—might cost him more than he could afford.
~*~
Adrenaline shot through Kasia until it was hard to breathe.
As the flight from Miami to Charlotte began its final descent, people repacked their carry-ons, women touched up makeup, flight attendants collected trash.
Kasia’s heart hammered. The door opened, and she tasted the metallic tang of gate-side air pouring in. She raced up the Jetway, thanked the Lord once more that she’d gone through customs back in Miami.
Her family would be at the baggage claim, waiting. She almost ran.
And there they were.
Kasia slipped into Tatuś’s embrace, smiled at Mama and Lenka over his shoulder. He grunted a laugh. “Squeezing the life out of me, Curly-Q.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes.
“I missed you, Tatusiu.”
He squinted as he studied her face. “It’s good to have you back.” He cupped the back of her head and planted a firm kiss on her temple.
“All right now. Let her mother get to her.” Mama’s eyes were all misty, and she sniffled her greeting into Kasia’s ear while they hugged. “Kocham cię, girl. I hope it was what you needed.”
Progress at least. “I love you too.”
Lenka hugged her without a word. There was too much to tell, none of it airport conversation. Lenka’s tear-filled eyes said enough.
Coming home felt better than she’d dared to hope.
Things could only get better from here.
Kasia sat in the back seat of Tatuś’s four-door truck. She relished every bite of a grilled-chicken sandwich slathered with honey mustard and tried to field the barrage of questions coming at her rapid-fire but failed.
First-World America overwhelmed her more than she’d expected.
Lenka gestured to the shopping centers plastered with back-to-school-sale signs. “Maybe we should wait until you’ve taken all of this in.”
How different from the humble simplicity of the Andes. “I can’t wait to give you the gifts I brought,” Kasia said. They passed a burger joint, the lot flooded with cars. “Monday night kids eat free,” the sign read.
Monday. Small group.
Her parents spoke with hushed voices in the front.
“Um, wo
uld it be awful if I wanted to swing by Kyle’s for small group?”
“He would love to see you!” Kasia almost couldn’t handle Lenka’s giddiness.
“You’re not exhausted?” Mama asked.
“I am, but…it’ll be next week before everyone’s together again.”
“Do you want to drop in or stay?” Tatuś asked.
“I don’t know. I want to get home, but it’s been so long, you know?”
“Well, I’d love to see what all the hype is about, so I’m up for staying. We’ll leave it up to you, Curly-Q.”
She chose to go, directed them to Finley Lake Apartments.
They parked, and Tatuś helped her down from the truck. Mama and Lenka walked to the sidewalk and waited for them.
Kasia scanned the area, relieved that Blake’s car was missing. She noticed her movements mirrored her father’s. He took her hand as they walked across the lot and up the steps.
Kasia heard the guitars and djembe from outside Kyle’s apartment. The African drum was her favorite percussion instrument. Ever.
Her family stood back, motioned for her to open the door. As soon as she could see inside, Jayce spotted her.
“No way! Hold up, everybody!” His crazy laughter filled the room as he jumped up and met her. “Kasia Bernolak!” He pulled her into a one-armed hug, more like a headlock, and pointed at her. “Who knew ’bout this? Who knew she was comin’ tonight?” Jayce’s sideways grin looked about to slide off his face. “You, Kyle? Keepin’ it quiet?”
“It was a last-minute decision,” Kasia said. “I missed you guys.”
Kyle stood, set his guitar down. “Come on in.”
People moved legs and Bibles out of the way for her to get across the floor, and A.J. hopped up to give her a huge hug. She smelled like mangoes. Kasia’s mind immediately flew to the half-dressed children playing beside Cajamarcan fruit stands.
“Where can two senior citizens sit and be out of the way?” Tatuś asked.
Almost as soon as they all got settled, Kyle squeezed her shoulder and winked a quiet welcome. “Why don’t you share something? Anything.”
“Oh, I could do that so much better next week, you know? Besides, tonight’s not about me.” She tugged a curl from the nape of her neck and twirled it around her finger.
Strains of Silence Page 16
