has opened up to me
the mystery of “God-things.”
Acknowledgments
I affectionately appreciate the contributions of Juliette Montague Cooke, who sailed from New England in the 1840s to be a missionary to the Hawaiians on the island of Oahu. Her diary, which I read while writing this book, changed my heart and how I told this story. I can’t wait to meet her in heaven.
Mahalo to Mark, Claire, Joe, Maureen, Bud, Lola, Mark, Nancy, and all our brothers and sisters at Kumulani Chapel, Lahaina, Maui, for your aloha and kokua at a time we needed it most.
“I’m really going to miss you, Todd. I hope you have a good time.” Christy Miller flipped her nutmeg-brown hair behind her ear and pressed the phone closer with her shoulder, waiting for his reply.
Todd laughed. “Hey, we’re both going to have a good time.”
Christy switched the phone to her other ear and crossed her long legs. “Yeah, I guess I’ll have a good time with Paula when she gets here. But I wish I was going to Maui with you and Uncle Bob. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“Two or three weeks,” Todd answered in his easygoing manner. “Depends on how long it takes us to paint and do all the repairs on Bob’s two condos. So, when does your friend get here?”
“She’s coming tomorrow. If you stay in Maui longer than two weeks, you won’t even get to meet her.” Christy released a heavy sigh. “I guess I thought all along that you’d be here when she came, and we could go places together. Only now, you’re going to Maui, and Paula and I will be stuck here in Escondido!”
Todd chuckled. “Like I said, we’ll all have a good summer. You’ll see.”
He paused, and Christy wished just this once he would say something tender and meaningful like “I’ll miss you” or “I wish you were coming.” She fingered the gold ID bracelet he had given her and waited.
“Hey, I have to get my stuff together. Your uncle’s going to be here in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, well, I know you’ll have a great time.” Christy switched from her moping tone to a teasing voice. “And I know better than to ask you to write me. But maybe you could send me one little postcard of a waterfall or something tropical to help me feel even more depressed that I’m not there with you.”
He laughed again. For such a wonderful guy, Todd could also be a brat. What did he think was so funny?
“I’ll see you, Chris. Aloha!” Click.
That’s how abruptly he often ended his phone conversations. As usual, Christy kept holding the phone to her ear, hearing the dial tone and dreaming about what it would be like if Todd ever talked to her on the phone the way Rick did.
She considered Rick only a friend, yet when he called a few weeks ago to tell her about his upcoming trip to Europe, he had said things like, “When I look into the blue Danube, I’ll be remembering your blue-green killer eyes.”
At the time all Christy could think was, Oh brother! Yet if Todd ever said something like that, she’d absolutely melt.
Placing the receiver back in its cradle, Christy hopped down from her perch on the kitchen counter and tugged open the refrigerator door in search of breakfast.
Mom walked through the kitchen, lugging a laundry basket bulging with dirty clothes. “Christy! I didn’t realize you were up already.”
“We’re out of milk,” Christy mumbled. “Mom, how come Dad works for a dairy, yet we’re always running out of milk?”
“We had half a gallon in there last night. Your brother must have used it up this morning. There are banana muffins in the basket on the counter and orange juice in the freezer.”
Mom paused and rested the basket on the counter. “Oh, did you call Todd yet? He and Bob are leaving for Maui this morning, you know.”
Christy peered over the top of the open refrigerator door at her round-faced mother, standing a few feet away. Christy heard suppressed laughter in Mom’s voice, and one look at her big grin proved it. Her own mother thought there was something funny about Todd going away for several weeks.
It wasn’t funny! Christy was going to miss him terribly, even though they lived too far away to see each other more than once a week during the summer.
“Yes, I called him.” Her words came out chopped, and her actions were swift as she closed the refrigerator door.
“I just wondered,” Mom said in a motherly way before stepping down into the garage to start the laundry.
“Oh, you’re up.” Christy’s dad, a large man with reddish hair and strong hands, entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll take you driving?”
“Driving?”
“Yeah, driving.”
“Today?” Christy felt like someone had just put ice cubes down her back.
“We don’t have to go.” Dad opened the refrigerator and looked around, shuffling jars on the top shelf. “Where’s the milk?”
“It’s all gone,” Christy answered, her thoughts still processing the paralyzing idea of driving today.
“We’re out of milk?”
“I guess so. That’s what Mom said.”
Dad made a pinched face as he sipped his coffee black. “Come on, let’s go driving. We can pick up some milk on the way back.”
“Okay.” She did an exceptional job of sounding like she really wanted to go.
“Can you be ready in ten minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll go get dressed.”
“Margaret?” Dad called to Mom in the garage. “Why is it I work for a dairy, but we’re always running out of milk?”
Why is it I really want my driver’s license, but I’m always running out of courage to practice driving? Christy asked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Why do I freak out like this? I’m going to be sixteen in only … She quickly counted … in five days. Five days! I’ve got to get over this fear, or I’ll never get my license!
Soaking a washcloth, she held it on her face and then bit into the wet terry cloth, chomping down hard. This is ridiculous! Everyone I know has a license. They all did it. What am I so afraid of?
Twenty minutes later, sitting in the church parking lot in the driver’s seat of their parked car with Dad next to her, Christy knew exactly what she was afraid of. She was afraid of the car.
That was it. The power a car put at her command was scary. The possibility of misusing that power and getting hurt, or worse, hurting someone else—that’s what she was afraid of.
“Dad …” Christy began but then didn’t know what to say.
“Ready?” Dad cinched his seat belt and checked to make sure it was secure.
“Do you ever think about how fast, I mean, how a car could …”
Dad looked intently at her, his eyebrows pushed together, waiting for her to finish her thought.
“Never mind. I just feel a little nervous.”
“Don’t. If you let yourself get nervous, you’ll be a nervous driver.” Dad squared his shoulders and looked straight ahead. “Start the car, Christy.”
She responded right away, swallowing her anxious thoughts and taking a quick peek at Dad out of the corner of her eye. How was she supposed to relax when her dad had braced his arm against the door and planted his feet on the floorboard, looking as is he were about ready to take off in a rocket for Mars?
“Ten and two,” Dad said.
“Ten and two?”
“Hands on the steering wheel at the ten- and two o’clock positions. Release the parking brake.”
Christy followed his orders and tried to calm her heart, which had begun marching much faster than her brain.
“Okay. Put ‘er in drive.”
As she slipped the gearshift to D, Christy slowly pressed on the gas pedal. The car inched across the vacant parking lot like a reluctant caterpillar. She made it to the other side of the lot without going more than seven miles per hour and promptly pushed on the brake. The car faced the back fence at a complete stop, and Christy glanced at her dad, awaiting his approval and further
instructions.
He sat there with his chin tucked down to his chest and looked at her without turning his head. “That was very nice—if you only plan to drive through car washes the rest of your life.”
Christy let out a loud bubble of laughter. Dad was right! It did feel like they’d just driven through a car wash. As she laughed, she felt more relaxed.
Dad relaxed too and looked behind them. “Put ’er in reverse, and let’s see you drive as you would on a city street.”
Still smiling, Christy popped the gear to “R” and looked back over her right shoulder. She pushed the gas pedal, but nothing happened.
“Give ’er some gas,” Dad said, still looking straight ahead.
So she did. She put her right foot down hard, and the car lurched backward at a startling speed. Her hands jerked the wheel first to the right, then to the left.
Dad hollered, “Hit the brakes!”
So she did.
Bam! The bumper hit the cement base of a parking lot light pole, jerking their heads back then forward.
“Put it in park. Turn off the engine,” Dad barked and reached to turn off the ignition himself before ejecting from the passenger seat and running to the back of the car.
Christy sat completely still. Her lower lip began to tremble, and she felt the hot tears rushing to her eyes. She didn’t dare turn around. She couldn’t move. “Come here, Christy.”
She blinked and forced her frozen arm to open the door and her wobbly legs to carry her to the back of the car. Dad pointed to the bumper.
“Could’ve been worse. I can pound it out. Best thing for you is to get right back in the saddle.”
She couldn’t believe Dad was acting so calmly! She had been sure the impact had crushed the entire back end of the car. How could such a sickeningly huge thud cause so little damage?
Her face must have mirrored all her terrified feelings, because Dad slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.”
A few tears tumbled down her face. She pressed against Dad’s chest and in a small, shaky voice said, “I’m really sorry. I just didn’t … I mean, I was … I, I don’t know.”
From where her ear was pressed against Dad’s chest, Christy heard a rumbling sound. She looked up at him, and he let out a roar of laughter. He kept laughing, and she smiled frantically, trying to figure out what was so funny.
“Look around,” he invited.
She looked and saw nothing. No cars in the parking lot. No people. Only several parking lot lights planted strategically across the large lot. “I don’t see anything.”
“Exactly,” Dad said, smiling broadly. “What are the chances, in such a huge space, that you’d find something to run into?” He chuckled again.
For the third time that day, Christy felt a squeeze in her stomach, knowing that she was the only one who didn’t see what was so funny.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” she said defensively. “You said to give it gas.”
“No, Christy,” Dad said, the laughter evaporating, “don’t blame me, and don’t blame yourself either. That’s why they’re called accidents. Come on.” He headed back to the passenger side of the car. “Let’s give it another try.”
They went through the same seat-belting motions as before. Dad looked quite serious again. When Christy put the car in drive, she noticed Dad’s right foot automatically hit the floorboard as if he were going for his invisible brakes.
Christy looked straight ahead. “Can I just ask you one little question?”
“Yes?” Dad faced forward, right arm braced against the door and left hand on his seat belt.
Christy playfully leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel like a race car driver, and said with a giggle, “You sure your life insurance is paid up, Dad?”
“Now, don’t get silly. Driving is serious business.”
She could see the smile he suppressed, so she added in her best Disneyland ride attendant voice, “Please keep hands and arms inside the moving vehicle at all times, and remember there is no flash photography.”
Then smooth as can be, she began her driving exercises around the parking lot.
“Let’s hope there are no flashes of any kind,” Dad said in a low voice. “Pay attention to what you’re doing now. Turn right up here, and go down to the end.”
Greatly relieved and feeling more relaxed than before, Christy did what she considered to be a very good job of navigating the parking lot, and she told her mother so when they got home. She left out the part about the bumper, and thankfully, Dad was still outside so he couldn’t fill in any of the missing details.
Christy flopped into the well-used recliner and hung her legs over the armrest, waiting for Mom’s encouraging comments.
“That’s good, dear,” Mom said, folding clothes and stacking them in neat piles on the couch. “Don’t be disappointed, though, if you’re not fully ready or able to get your license exactly on your birthday.”
“I will be. Besides, it’s a big deal here. I mean, maybe it wasn’t back in Wisconsin when you were growing up, but everyone I know in California who is sixteen has a license. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t.”
Mom placed a folded T-shirt on Christy’s pile of clean laundry and tossed her a mound of bath towels, still warm from the dryer, which Christy snuggled into like a kitten in a feather bed.
“Those are for you to fold, not make a nest out of,” Mom said. “All I’m saying is you shouldn’t try to take the test until you’re completely ready.”
Christy dropped the first folded towel to the floor beside the recliner. “Mom, do you think Uncle Bob really meant it when he said he’d pay for my insurance the first year?”
“Certainly. You do remember the condition though. You must pass your test the first time you take it. He was very firm about that. Which is why I’m saying don’t take the test until you’re absolutely certain you’ll pass. Oh, I almost forgot.”
Mom handed Christy a letter that had been underneath the mound of laundry. “This came for you today.”
Christy folded the last towel and took the letter from her mom. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. The letter, written on a single piece of notebook paper, read:
Dear Christy,
I’ve thought about what you said, and I think you’re right. I’ll tell you more about my decision when I see
That was all. The last sentence wasn’t finished, and the letter wasn’t signed.
“Who’s this from?” Christy asked, scanning it again before trying to decipher the smeared postmark on the envelope.
Who wrote this? What did I say? And what kind of decision did somebody make based on something I said? This is strange!
Mom hadn’t heard her. She stood by the screen door, a load of folded clothes in her arms, looking at Dad, who was bent over the back of the car in the driveway.
Christy decided to check the handwriting against some of Paula’s old letters and started down the hall to her bedroom.
“Christy, what is your father doing to the car? He has a hammer in his hand. Christy?”
Christy quickly slipped into her bedroom and quietly closed the door.
“This family sure doesn’t know how to keep secrets,” Christy complained to her mother the next morning in the car.
“Why do you say that?” Mom changed into the fast lane on the freeway and glanced at her watch.
“When Aunt Marti called this morning, she knew all about what happened in the church parking lot yesterday.”
“That’s ’cuz I told her,” David piped up from the backseat.
“Why?” Christy turned around and scolded her nine-year-old brother. “You don’t have to always tell everybody everything.”
David, a compact version of their dad, had a silly smile on his face. His funny look was exaggerated by his glasses sliding down his nose.
He ignored her by returning his attention to the miniature cars on the seat beside him. Rolling one of the cars along the vinyl seat, he sp
oke in tiny cartoon voices. “Look out! There’s a telephone pole up ahead! Don’t worry, it’s over a mile away. Doesn’t matter! Christy’s driving! Oh no! Aaaaayyee! Crash! Bang! Boom!”
Christy didn’t do him the honor of turning around. She calmly said, “Mom, make him stop.”
“David, don’t make fun of your sister.”
“I’m not, Mom. I saw this on a cartoon once. Really!”
“David!”
“Oh, all right. Can you put on some music? When are we going to get there? Are we going to stop and get something to eat?”
“We’ve still got another hour before we get to the airport,” Mom said, checking her watch again. “And no, we’re not going to stop to get something to eat. You can wait until after we pick up Paula.”
“Are we going to stay overnight at Aunt Marti’s?” he asked.
“No, we’ll probably just stay for lunch and then come home.”
“How come I have to go to the airport with you? It’s boring!”
“Because last night you begged to go,” Mom answered. “Or did you forget?”
“I wish I’d stayed home.” David folded his arms and leaned against the door.
“You’re not the only one,” Christy muttered under her breath.
“Christy!” Mom snapped. “Listen, you two, I want you both to try harder to be kind to each other, especially when we go …” She stopped, and they both waited for the rest of her scolding.
“Well, especially when we go places together like this. Just try harder, all right?”
Neither of them answered, and Mom shot quick, serious glances at them. “All right?”
“Okay,” came from the backseat.
“All right,” Christy said with a sigh.
They did pretty well the rest of the drive into Los Angeles International Airport. The only disagreement they had came when Mom tried to hurry and David wanted to get a drink of water.
“Come on, David!” Christy yelled. “We don’t have time!”
Mom had already scooted ahead of them into the flurry of people. As Christy took David by the arm, she could barely see which way Mom was going.
Christy Miller Collection, Vol 2 Page 13