A Thousand Tomorrows / Just Beyond the Clouds

by Karen Kingsbury

  Elle’s breathing grew shallow and she gasped for air, grabbed at any way to understand what he’d just said. “Him? You’re… you’re in love with a man?”

  Across the room, her mother dropped to another chair. “Dear God, no… no.”

  Trace was going on, saying something about it being wrong. “All my life I’ve had to choose. God and His goodness, or the desires of my flesh.” He let out a cry that cut through her. “I can’t promise you forever when… when I’ll be looking for every chance to be with him. Oh, Elle… I’m so sorry.”

  It wasn’t happening. The only way Elle was able to fill her lungs, to keep from passing out or having a heart attack, was by convincing herself that what she was hearing was all a lie. It was impossible. Trace Canton, her one true love, wasn’t leaving her stranded at the altar for a man. No way.

  She let the shock work its way through her body, through her heart and soul. He was still going on about getting counseling and knowing it was wrong and wanting God’s will, when she interrupted him. “I have to go, Trace.” Her voice was cold, unfeeling. “Good-bye.”

  Her phone felt like a burning piece of coal. She closed it and dropped it at the same time. Then she turned to her mother, but the words wouldn’t come. Not that she needed words. Everything that could’ve been spoken had already been said. Her mother, too, looked ready to pass out. Always in their growing-up years, Elle had been the strong daughter, the one who rubbed her mother’s back when the task of raising four daughters without the help of a husband seemed daunting to her.

  Elle was the daughter who took responsibility for Daisy, helping her with kitchen tasks and reading to her when their mother was busy with the other girls, and she was the one who, of course, had gone into teaching—just one more way she could help people. But here, with three hundred wedding guests sitting in the sanctuary down the hall, Elle couldn’t take another step.

  Her mother must’ve known. Because she stood and drew a long breath. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll say there’s been a change of plans.”

  The shock was still exploding through her, but Elle had never loved her mother more than in that single moment. An hour later, when the wedding guests were long gone and she and her mother and sisters had wept together until they had no more tears to cry, they went back to Elle’s apartment.

  She stayed the summer with her mother and Daisy, unwilling to talk about Trace or the disastrous wedding day. In July, she received a letter from him. He had quit his job as principal of Pinewood and had relocated to Los Angeles. He was still seeking God’s will, still aware that acting on his passions was sinful. He asked her to pray for him.

  A year later, on what would’ve been their first anniversary, she pulled the letter out and realized that God had been healing her heart even when getting up every day had been a struggle. Because on that day, with tears streaming down her face, she did the thing she couldn’t do until that moment.

  She prayed for Trace Canton.

  And then she folded up the letter and tucked it into a box with the invitations and napkins, and the guestbook that had never been used.

  People who knew her well said things intended to make her feel better. “Better to find out now, Elle. Better than living your life with him and having him leave you three years from now.” Or, “You’re not the first one to be left at the altar. It’s not a reflection on you, Elle. It was his problem, and it’s his loss.”

  The truth about why he left never came fully to the surface, although the whispering in the lunchroom at Barrett Elementary must’ve been only a fraction of what it was at Pinewood. People talked, and she assumed they knew. But no one ever said a word to her.

  No one but her mother and her sisters. “It’s a lie,” her mother told her one evening, a week after the broken wedding. “Trace is believing a lie. The truth is we all struggle with sin and we all have a choice whether to live life for God or against Him.” She ran her fingers over Elle’s hair. “Don’t let this change how you feel about yourself or about love, Elle. Please, sweetheart.”

  But there was nothing her mother could say or do to undo the damage. If the devil was lying to Trace, he was doing the same thing to her. Because from the moment Trace explained himself on the phone that day, from the moment she stepped out of her wedding gown, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, she became convinced of one thing.

  Love was a lie.

  And she could live the rest of her life without having anything to do with it.

  That was her determination. Yes, she could love her mother and her sisters. And over the next two years she threw herself into getting a master’s degree in special education so she could help Daisy find a better life.

  But she would never open her heart to a man again.

  SHE AND SNOOPY finished two full laps around the park, and Snoopy started whining again. He didn’t like to walk more than two laps, not this close to suppertime. She stopped at a bench and he took the spot on the ground next to her, his warm body pressed against her ankles.

  Once in a while, when she felt particularly close to God, she would allow herself to imagine that if love burst through the doors of her heart some far-off day, she wouldn’t stop it. She wouldn’t pursue it, but she wouldn’t resist it, either. Not if God had a plan for her to find love again. Even that was a stretch. She thought about the past few days, and the visitor who had plagued her classroom and her thoughts. Yes, God might bring love into her life again. But not in the form of a married man. The one thing she could never, ever do was allow herself to have feelings for Cody Gunner. Because the first time her heart was broken, she was lucky to escape with her life. Elle had no doubt that the next time wouldn’t merely set her back a few years.

  It would kill her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cody had planned to make his mind up about his brother’s involvement at the ILC before the Friday field trip. But the closer it got to Friday, the more he knew he wanted to attend the trip with Elle and her class. He loved her compassion, loved the way she worked with her students.

  Or maybe he just loved watching her.

  Whatever it was, he didn’t want to stop spending time with her. The days with Carl Joseph at the center had given him the distraction he’d been looking for. Even if he hadn’t been looking for a girl with hazel eyes.

  After watching her work with the young adults at the center every day that week, he couldn’t deny the obvious. She was helping them. Even if a person with Down Syndrome lived at home in a safe, loving environment all his life, it wouldn’t hurt for him to know how to cook or eat correctly, how to shop on a budget or take the bus.

  Elle Dalton was dedicated to her students in a way that surprised him. He had studied her all week, trying to see past her beauty. Whatever drove her, it wasn’t a temporary incentive. She was committed to changing the lives of handicapped people, and she went about it as if that alone were the purpose of her life.

  At the end of class Thursday he found her in the break room again. Most of the students were gone, but Daisy and Carl Joseph and Gus were outside taking turns at the tetherball pole. “Mr. Gunner”—she was making copies of something, probably the bus route—“thanks for not scaring me this time.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled, but he was careful to keep the moment professional. “Look, Ms. Dalton—about your field trip tomorrow. I was wondering if I could join you. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  Elle stopped and put her hands on her hips. She studied him for a moment before she answered. “You’ve already made up your mind about me”—she waved to the room beyond—“about the work I’m doing here at the center.” She wasn’t angry, merely pointing out what she clearly thought was a fact. “Why come with us?”

  “Because—” He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. She had that effect on him. “The truth is, I’m impressed by your work here. You’re giving your students skills they wouldn’t have otherwise.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really? I
changed your mind that easily?” There was teasing in her tone.

  He smiled. “You haven’t changed my mind about putting people like Carl Joseph out in the world to fend for themselves. But”—his voice grew more serious—“your work, your passion for these people, is a great thing. A very great thing.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced down at her feet. Her cheeks grew red and she turned back to the copy machine and pressed a few buttons. When she spoke, it was hard to hear her. “You can come with us, Mr. Gunner.” She faced him once more. This time her expression was no-nonsense. “But I take these field trips very seriously, and so do the students.”

  “I know that.” He hated how she thought of him, critical and ogre-like. Maybe that’s why he needed to spend more time with her. Not so she could change his mind about the purpose of the center, but so he could change her mind about him. “The Subway thing… it won’t happen again.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know where we’re going tomorrow?”

  “To a dance class downtown?”

  “A dance class and then to an old church. One of the oldest in Colorado Springs. It has a midday Friday service.”

  Cody clenched the muscles in his jaw. He and God had been on a roller-coaster since Ali died. She had faith enough to move mountains, but it hadn’t helped her in the end. After her death, there were times when he wanted nothing to do with Ali’s faith, and other times when it made perfect sense, when he was thankful beyond words to Ali’s God for giving them as much time as they had.

  Even so, over the last few years he’d fallen away from even thinking about faith. It hadn’t been a part of his life before Ali, and truthfully it hadn’t helped much to believe there was a higher power, a Great Being who watched over the moves of His people and helped when He was called upon. Cody crossed his arms. “Carl Joseph has never been to church. Our family, we’ve never been churchgoers.”

  “I know that.” She no longer seemed flustered. “I talked to each of the students. Every one of them wants to go.”

  “Because prayer is a life skill.” It wasn’t a question. He had seen Elle remind them about prayer time and again during the week.

  Elle drew a long breath. “Yes, Mr. Gunner. Because prayer is a life skill.” She studied him. “Are you opposed to God in some way? Do you want to keep Carl Joseph from attending the church service?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “I guess I haven’t seen a lot of proof of God, that’s all. If you want to take your students to church, I won’t stand in the way.”

  “And you won’t mumble under your breath or give angry looks to the pastor, rolling your eyes, that sort of thing?” The hint of teasing was back in her voice.

  He was beginning to understand Elle Dalton, at least the public Elle. She hid behind a layer of professionalism and mild sarcasm. He understood that. But the time he spent with her left him no closer to knowing the real her. Not in the least. He considered her question. “I’ll sit in the back. You’ll never know I’m there.” He angled his head. “I might even learn something.”

  “All right then.” She went to a filing drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “We’re meeting here an hour earlier than usual.” She handed him the paper. “Here are the details.”

  He thanked her and was headed toward the door when he stopped and faced her again. “What’s your interest, Ms. Dalton? That’s the part I can’t figure out.”

  “My interest?”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t being combative, not this time. He was simply curious. Maybe if he understood her motives, he could consider the reasons for putting someone like Carl Joseph out into the world by himself. He searched her eyes. “Why isn’t it enough for people with Down Syndrome to live at home with their parents, safe and loved and cared for?”

  “Because”—passion filled her tone—“people with Down Syndrome have dreams and hopes, Mr. Gunner. Did you know that? They look at magazines and television, and they picture themselves dressed in a suit, headed off to work. They see married couples, holding hands and kissing, and they dream of knowing love like that.”

  Cody could feel himself frown, despite his determination to stay neutral. “They want to be married?”

  “Yes.” She leaned against the counter. “Before I took this job, I interviewed a married couple with Down Syndrome. They had assistance from a twice-weekly caregiver, but they managed just fine on their own. Even with a variety of health issues.” She stared at him, her voice intense. “Do you know how long those two people waited for permission to marry?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Twenty years, Mr. Gunner. Because people like you and me kept denying them the right to be together.”

  “It’s like letting grade-school kids get married.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She crossed her arms. “Down Syndrome makes a person less capable cognitively. But not emotionally. They still mature at an age-appropriate rate.”

  “You mean, Carl Joseph has the feelings and desires of any other twenty-five-year-old guy?” Cody let loose a single laugh, and it expressed how ludicrous he thought the idea. He had never considered such a thing. Carl Joseph was a child; he would always be a child.

  “That’s exactly right.” In that instant, Cody could think of only one person. His precious Ali. Wasn’t that her philosophy? People had to choose life every day if they were going to really live. He blinked back her image and took another step toward the door. “We’ll be here in the morning, Ms. Dalton. Thank you.”

  He left the break room and headed across the center’s main area. He stepped outside and saw that Gus was gone. Only Carl Joseph and Daisy remained in the yard, and neither of them heard him walk out. He stood near the door and studied them.

  They were singing as loud as they could, though it took a minute for Cody to understand them. When he did, he was struck by the simplicity of the moment. Daisy was dancing in a sort of box step, and Carl Joseph was trying to follow her lead. Together they were singing, “M-I-C… K-E-Y… M-O-U-S-E!”

  Something stirred in Cody’s heart. Even now Carl Joseph was in danger. He could have a seizure at any time, though Carl Joseph hadn’t had one since Cody had been home. He was on a new medication, but the risk remained. That’s what the doctor had told his parents yesterday at Carl Joseph’s appointment. The doctor was adamant.

  Carl Joseph’s condition was unstable. Independent living couldn’t even be considered unless his health improved.

  Cody felt a rush of sadness as he watched his brother. Carl Joseph put his hands around Daisy’s waist and the two of them waltzed to something Daisy was humming. Whatever the future held, he hoped Carl Joseph could keep his friendship with Daisy.

  For both their sakes.

  “I LOVE DANCING with you, Daisy. ’Cause you’re the best dancer in Disneyland!” Carl Joseph smiled so big it became a laugh.

  Rain was in the forecast, and Carl Joseph kept looking up, checking the clouds. Cody felt a surge of protectiveness for his younger brother. Lately Carl Joseph had been almost obsessed with clouds, peering at them and staring at them, frowning at them, as if a tornado were in the forecast when all that floated overhead was a layer of cumulus clouds.

  It was this exact sort of thing that would make him a danger to himself if he were on his own in the world. He could be walking across a street and get distracted by the sky. That quickly he could step off a curb into the path of a bus.

  Carl Joseph and Daisy had moved on to some other play-acting. They were doing some other kind of dance step—and but for Carl Joseph’s awkward clumsiness, it almost seemed they were following a regular pattern.

  That had to be Daisy’s doing. Clearly she was as taken with Carl Joseph as he was with her. No doubt she encouraged his new interest in faith, since she’d been attending the center longer than he had.

  A gust of wind blew across the courtyard, and the first raindrops began to fall. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder echoed across the valley. Suddenly Daisy began to cry, loudly and in short burs
ts. She covered her face and turned in a tight circle, frantic. At the same time, Carl Joseph sprang into action. He pulled off his jacket, put it around her shoulders, and whispered something into her ear. Then he led her with fast, jerky steps to a covering of trees and a small cement bench.

  Cody watched, mesmerized. As they reached the dry area, Daisy began brushing the raindrops off her arms and legs and face, her movements quick and compulsive. If Cody didn’t know better, he’d think the raindrops were burning her skin. He moved closer, but before he could make his presence known, he saw Carl Joseph put his arm around her shoulders and gently, tenderly, rock her.

  Cody was close enough now to hear what they were saying, though they were too distracted to notice him. Carl Joseph was still rocking her. “It’s okay, Daisy. The rain won’t hurt you. Not the rain.”

  She looked up, her expression paralyzed with fear. “I could melt.”

  “No, Daisy. That was the Wicked Witch of the West. You’re not a witch and… and you’re not a wicked witch. You’re Minnie Mouse.”

  A slight smile appeared in her eyes. “And you’re Mickey.”

  “Right.” He laughed hard, the laugh that would tell anyone within listening range that he was not like other people. The laugh that made Cody love him more than anything in life. “Right, Daisy, I’m Mickey. Mickey Mouse.” He pointed at her, his eyes big. “And I’m writing you a letter. So I can entertain you at Disneyland.”

  For a moment Daisy’s eyes lit up, too. But the rain was falling harder and she looked out at it. As she did, terror filled her face. “But the rain…” She began to cry. She pressed her forehead into Carl Joseph’s shoulder. “Keep me dry, CJ. Okay? Keep me dry.”

  Cody was stunned by the scene. His throat felt thick as he watched it play out. This was why Carl Joseph had become obsessed with clouds. Because he was driven to protect Daisy from her obvious fear of the rain. His heart swelled inside him. The friendship between the two of them was painfully genuine.