“Good morning,” Marc said, walking past Carla’s desk.
Carla responded with a smile and a quick glance and resumed her work. It was July 3rd, and she hoped to accomplish as much as possible before the anticipated early closure of the office.
At 1:30 Marc returned from lunch. Carla was on the phone, but he signaled to her to come into his office when she was finished.
Carla complied, waiting in the open doorway of Marc’s office until her employer acknowledged her.
“Come in, Carla. Please—sit down.”
Marc got up and methodically closed the door. “I thought the party went well. Did you?”
“Very.” Carla smiled, revisiting the memory of the little welcome-back party for Rita. There had been lots of laughter and delicious food.
“It was nice to get to know Rita’s husband.”
“Yes.” Carla smiled again. Rita had gone out of her way to introduce Jim to her, as well as to Nancy. “He seems very nice.”
“Yes. You know that he’s a minister, right?”
Carla nodded.
“Mmm. What church?”
“It’s called Waverly. I’m not sure what denomination.”
“Did you and Nancy enjoy the party?”
“We did.”
“Good.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I… have something for you.” He opened his desk drawer and took out a small flat box wrapped in speckled paper and tied with a silver ribbon.
Carla looked at Marc with surprise.
“It’s just between you and me—a little insight I’ve picked up in the last few weeks.”
“May I?” Carla asked, starting to open the package.
Marc smiled. “By all means.”
Carla opened the box to find a sterling silver bracelet band. She looked up, puzzled. “How pretty. Thank you!”
“Glad you like it.”
“Oh, I do.” Carla put it on. She felt her cheeks redden, to her dismay, as she said, “But what’s the occasion? I don’t have a gift for you.”
Marc grinned broadly. “I was only looking for a complexion change right now, and I got it.”
Carla smiled, shaking her head. She fingered the bracelet and looked up at Marc. “It’s so pretty. I’ll really enjoy wearing it.”
“Are you spending tomorrow with your family?”
“Yes. Mom always has a July 4th potluck, and everyone overeats.” She paused, embarrassed. “I should have asked before. Would you like to join us?”
“Thanks, but no. Do you remember Joe Denspot, the psychiatrist friend of mine we ran into at the hardware store that night I broke your dish?”
Carla nodded.
“He invited me to spend the day with his family.”
“How nice! That should be fun. He seemed like a really nice man.”
“That he is. I’ll try not to break the casserole dish, whatever they’re serving. It might be my last chance to eat a home-cooked meal at his house—if I break a dish, I mean.” Marc’s eyes and voice teased.
“What are you saying?” Carla asked, her head tilted in puzzlement.
“I’m saying, that time I broke your dish, I never got to try that chili relleno casserole, but I remember it smelled good.”
“Oh.” Carla intoned her reply as if a light went on in her head. “I guess I forgot… Well, how about next Saturday?”
“That’ll work.” He smiled. “Let’s close up shop. Do you want to let everyone know we’re locking the doors in twenty minutes?”
“Yes!” Carla grinned, jumping up. She pointed to the bracelet on her wrist. “It’s very pretty,” she said again, and half skipped out of the room.”
That evening, in the privacy of her apartment, Carla removed the silver bracelet from her wrist. As she turned it in her hands, she noticed a very finely engraved inscription on the inside. She brought it under a lamp so as to be able to decipher it.
“LIFE. A new perspective. Thanks.”
Carla sat there, dumbfounded. Happy tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, God,” she whispered. “Thank you, God.”
……….
Sally Chemosh opened her eyes and rolled lazily onto her back. It was her birthday, and she could hear Andy’s new video game behind his closed bedroom door. Rolling back onto her side, she opened and shut her eyes a couple times to fully awaken. She heard Gene in the kitchen and smiled to herself, imagining her husband making breakfast for her. She knew that was what he was up to. Dear Gene, having survived a long and difficult mid-life crisis, now appeared to be in an easier place. He had his sense of humor back and really seemed to enjoy his new job. The staff at Briarwood had been so supportive and encouraging to him.
Her thoughts ran through the rooms of the house, one by one, somehow ending in the family room now devoid of the big brown leather chair. Gene had called a charity organization to come and pick it up the same week Andy’s arm had been crushed under it. Sally had wanted to sell it rather than give it away, but Gene insisted on just having it hauled out.
The chair hadn’t yet been replaced, but Sally had moved a round side table to where it had been, and Gene had brought home a large pot of varied plants to set beside it, including an elephant’s ear and a mother-in-law’s tongue. She smiled as she remembered his saying he wanted the elephant’s ear to remind him of how God had taught him the importance of listening, and the mother-in-law to remind him of his own—that he’d found her to be pretty nice. As she lay there, she was thankful that her mother now seemed convinced that Gene couldn’t do anything wrong—that he was the nicest son-in-law she could ever ask for. Well, it was true that Gene had become very thoughtful of her.
She heard her husband’s footsteps and closed her eyes, grinning to let him know she was on to his sweet scheming.
“Oh, I hate to wake her up,” Gene whispered, playing along with Sally’s pretense. “Maybe I’ll just rub her feet very, very gently, like this.”
Sally shrieked, “Don’t you dare tickle me!” and sat straight up.
Gene set the tray on the dresser and came back to sit beside his wife, supporting her back with his arm. “Ah. The love of my life was not sound asleep.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a long moment. “Here’s a little birthday breakfast.” He got up and picked up the tray, bringing it back to her.
“You bought me a sticky bun! Mmmm.” Sally took a bite and held it up for Gene to take one as well. “Mmm. This hits the spot. Has Andy had breakfast?”
“I’m having it with you, Mom,” Andy said, stepping in suddenly from the hall. He brought another tray with three breakfast sandwiches, carefully balancing it. “Happy birthday.” He came over and gave her a hug.
“When did you do this? I thought I heard your game going.”
Andy laughed. “We tricked you! Dad and I were in the kitchen the whole time.”
Sally beamed. She started picking up her roll again but stopped, her eyes fixed on a beautifully wrapped box now lying on the tray. “Where did this come from?” She looked at Gene, who turned to Andy. The little boy’s eyes were bright with excitement.
“It’s from Dad, Mom.”
“Ooh!” Sally exclaimed, and immediately began unwrapping it. Inside was a beautiful necklace, a sapphire pendant flanked by two diamonds.
“Oh, my,” Sally gasped. “Gene?” She looked up, holding the necklace almost reverently. “This is gorgeous!”
“Put it on, Mom!”
Sally gave it to Gene and tilted her head down while he clasped it and then planted a kiss on the back of her neck.
“Let’s see, let’s see!” Andy exclaimed, looking approvingly as his mother turned to show him. “You look beautiful, Mom.”
Sally laughed delightedly and then reached over and pulled Andy to her side, hugging him tightly. “You two really know how to surprise me! I’ve never had such a beautiful necklace.”
“Here’s my present, Mom.” Andy proudly held out a little box. “I wrapped it myself.”
“You did? Nice job!” She opened the box and looked at the single sapphire earring inside. “Is it an earring?” she asked, not sure whether to let her puzzlement show.
“Mmhmm.” Andy stood there, nodding vigorously, ready to burst with excitement. “You need another one, don’t you?”
“Well, I do have two ears,” Sally said apologetically, an index finger on each earlobe.
Andy held out another box, twin to the first. “I wrapped one for Johnny, too.”
Gene stood silently, obviously enjoying the moment.
“Oh…” Sally smiled, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears as Andy gave her a tight squeeze around her neck.
“I’m glad I have a brother,” he said, “even though I don’t get to play with him.”
Sally looked up at Gene, silently imploring him to answer, as Andy released his tight hug.
“We’re glad we have another son, even though we don’t get to be with him, either.” He scooped up Andy into his arms. “We love him, though, don’t we?”
“Uh-huh!” Andy said, giving Gene a tight hug, too. Then he bounded down, reaching for his breakfast sandwich.
……….
Patrice continued tracking Austin Mackey into the new year. But by March, she had concluded that this clandestine observance over the past months had indeed taken a toll on her peace of mind. She hadn’t intended to, but somehow—strangely—she had come to feel very connected to this extraordinary little boy who was the same age her own son would have been. She felt drawn to the child almost as if she were responsible for him. It was an uncomfortable attraction because it had to be secretive; but she couldn’t keep herself from feeling the need to make sure his parents were duly appreciative. Did they really know how amazingly lucky they were to have charge of this precious toddler—to be the ones to hold him when he reached up his arms to be held, to give him the right food when he was hungry, to have the privilege of making sure his diapers were dry and comfortable and that his clothes didn’t detract from the handsomeness of his little being?
Patrice longed to experience just once what they had every day. She wasn’t jealous, but she felt a need to talk with someone about this strange circumstance in her life revolving around her own loss and her attachment to Austin. She had in fact tried talking with Danielle, but it was a no-go made clear by Danielle’s dismissing comment that Patrice would one day have a son of her own who would mean far more to her than Austin ever possibly could. No, Danielle didn’t seem to be the person to confide in, on this issue.
Patrice pondered the odd notion that Nancy Herring would understand more than Danielle her feeling of loss and her need for someone to fill it. As she thought of Nancy, her mind turned to Rita Helgessen, and a bemused smile spread across her face.
Rita had acknowledged that her pro-abortion stand had weakened during the course of her illness. Maybe she was the one to talk to. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was. Consequently, the next Sunday, Patrice asked her friend to ride with her out to a new area for their afternoon walk.
They drove out to the Mackey’s subdivision and parked, Patrice divulging that she enjoyed watching young children and that this particular neighborhood had an abundance of them. Early on their walk they passed a house where three little children were playing in the front yard.
“Look at that little curly-haired girl! Isn’t she cute?” Rita commented.
“Yes—carrying her doll by her hair!” Patrice looked at Rita and they both laughed.
When the Mackey’s house came into view, Patrice informed Rita that she had observed an extraordinarily cute little toddler at this particular house. “He might be in the back yard. Let’s walk around and down the ally.”
But no one was in the Mackey’s backyard, and they walked on. Thirty minutes later, when Patrice was gently adamant that they return past the same house, Rita commented, “Patrice, I didn’t know you liked children so much.”
“I don’t normally. I mean, I could take them or leave them—mostly leave them,” she laughed. “But this one is really cute.”
“And how old did you say?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe eighteen months.”
Rita stopped for a moment, causing Patrice to stop as well. She turned, facing her friend. “I know you support a woman’s choice to have an abortion. But… have you had one?” She hastened to add, “You don’t have to answer me, but if you want to talk about it, I’m a pastor’s wife, you know.”
Patrice took a deep breath and kept walking, Rita catching up with her. “I support the part of pro-choice that means your private life is private. I just think this little guy is cute.”
“Well, I hope I’ll get to see him.”
They both peered at the house and yard as they approached it again.
“Oh! Look!” Patrice exclaimed. “There he is in the back yard. Let’s go down the ally.”
They walked past, silently, but were able to get an eyeful of the toddler as he played in the sandbox, bending over with his little legs straight, to pick up a toy. They had to catch their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing as he lost his balance and fell over on his side. He seemed not the least bit deterred from his task at hand, getting back up to resume filling his little bucket.
“He is a cutie, Patrice,” Rita whispered. “No wonder you like watching him.”
Patrice smiled. “Do you want to come back here next Sunday?”
“Sure—OK.”
“Don’t you agree he must be among the top ten most beautiful children on the planet?”
“I would,” Rita agreed, smiling.
“And, yes, Rita. I have had an abortion.”
“About eighteen months ago?”
“Yes.” Patrice swung around sharply, facing her friend with a look of surprise. Then she sighed, as if the confession had brought a long-awaited release somehow. “How did you know?”
“Oh, just a lucky guess. But it makes sense, I think, to want to see what your own child would have looked like.”
“I didn’t think it would have that effect on me. It surprises me. I find myself wanting to track him to watch his development—I don’t know why. Is that normal, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Rita said with a shrug and a dismissing smile, “but it’s a nice area to walk in, and the little boy adds interest—I mean, you never know for sure if you’ll get to see him.”
“Exactly,” Patrice replied. It was more of a relief to talk about it than she had anticipated. She felt confident that Rita would welcome discussion without becoming rudely inquisitive. This turned out to be the case, and Patrice gradually shared more and more with Rita. The Sunday afternoon walks became goal-oriented around seeing the toddler. Within a few weeks’ time, Rita learned Austin Mackey’s name and how Patrice had gained access to it. She also became privy to the circumstances of the abortion and to Marc’s reaction to Patrice’s plan to pioneer the nurturing of a fully developed fetus solely for medical research.
Rita found herself biting her tongue to keep from honestly reacting to some of what her young friend told her. She was struck by the fact that whereas it seemed helpful to Patrice to talk about the abortion, there was no verbal regret, even though her actions seemed to reflect remorse. Why else would she desire to observe the development of another child the same age?
When the child’s mother came over to the alley fence one Sunday afternoon holding Austin, Rita was amazed to see Patrice almost embarrassingly overjoyed to have a chance to hold him. The little boy let her, and squeezed his fingers and palm together in a toddler’s wave when they finally said goodbye after a fifteen-minute visit.
It was that day on the ride home that Patrice told Rita that Marc had named their baby ‘Trent.’
“Mmm. I guess it’s nice that he has a name.”
Patrice looked at Rita. “Yes, I’m glad. I don’t know why.” She lowered her voice as she confided, “Sometimes I wish…” She turned to Rita with a half-smile. “It doesn’t do any good to look back.”
Rita said nothing, but reached over and patted Patrice’s arm. There was no smile on her face, but her support was undeniably comforting, leaving Patrice grateful for her friendship.
……….
“How’s Marlene doing?” Lou asked her daughter at the dinner table. Graduation was approaching, and she knew it had to be a hard time for Midge’s pregnant friend.
“I think just fine. She’s staying too busy to have time for a pity party. Besides, I think she’s pretty much enjoying getting ready for the baby. She has a crib already set up in her room, and her dad’s making a little cradle to have by her bedside. She says he’s really getting into this grandpa thing.”
“He must be pretty handy,” John Ferguson observed.
“I don’t know,” Midge said, grinning. “Marlene says this is his third attempt. This time she said it finally rocks.”
“I’d be glad to help him, you know.”
“I think he wants to do it himself, Dad.”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” He smiled at his daughter. “How’s Nick these days? Has he decided what he’s going to do?”
“I think he’s planning to go to that school he’s always talked about.”
“Still pre-law?”
“Mmhmm. But he wants to join some kind of military program so he can graduate as a commissioned officer.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Is he dating anyone, Midge?” Lou asked as she passed the rolls to her husband.
“I don’t know. I don’t care.” It was a perfunctory answer. “I don’t think he is, because he still catches me in the hall sometimes, and I don’t think he would if he were dating someone.”
John and Lou looked at each other.
“You have forgiven him, Munchkin, haven’t you?”
Midge looked up at her father. “I think I have. It’s his parents I’m having a hard time forgiving. And every time I see Nick, I think of them.” She sighed. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
“Don’t you think they regret what they did as much as Nick does?” Lou gently chided. “Perhaps you and Nick should get together just to talk about it. You might find it a little easier to let it go.”
“I’m not bitter,” Midge answered. Her tone was not defensive.
“Make sure you’re not, Sweetie,” Lou advised, “because it will pull you down. You just have to remember the happiness Nicky’s brought into Bob and June Mackey’s lives. And in the end you didn’t choose the easy way out, despite the pressure Nick’s folks were putting on you both.”
“Nick is genuinely sorry, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“So then everything has worked out except the rift between his parents and you?”
“And…?” Midge asked, her whole being emanating the unspoken question ‘What of it?’
“Well, I’m wondering if there isn’t some way to resolve that.”
“Like?”
“Like maybe praying for them?” John Ferguson had put down his fork as if to fully focus on the conversation.
Midge looked down at her plate and closed her eyes tightly. “I’ve tried.”
“Maybe… maybe we could pray for them as a family.”
Midge looked at her mother. “Have at it.”
“No, Midge—all of us together.”
“Mom, they wanted me to kill Nicky.”
“They didn’t know Nicky then.”
“They don’t know him now. What’s the difference? They were only concerned for their own son—not our son. What kind of love is that?”
“Well…” Lou Ferguson was at a loss for words.
“I’ll tell you what kind of love it is—it’s love with limits—not given to stretching. I’m so glad you guys aren’t like that.”
John Ferguson took a long, deep breath. “You know what Jesus said about someone who wrongs you. He said to rebuke that person and, if he repents, to forgive him. You know, Midge, God has worked a lot in your mom’s heart and my heart through little Nick. But we haven’t—I haven’t—been praying for the Brommers. I think we’ll start.”
“And what do you want me to do?” Midge asked. There was a decided edge to her voice.
John Ferguson smiled. “We’re not asking you to do anything, Munchkin. You just keep on trekkin’. We’re proud of you.”