Above the Fear

by Joan Fennell Carringer

  Taryn looked away.

  “You might as well admit it. It’s written all over you. Just take your time with this, will you? I don’t want to see you get hurt. You’ve known him for such a short time.”

  When Taryn remained silent, Sharris said softly, “I really do care what happens to you. I know you’ve always had an inferiority complex, but you’re just as pretty and desirable as anyone else. Don’t let your fears of winding up alone lead you into a hasty relationship that might bring more pain and sorrow than you can handle. You’re a big girl. You can rise above those fears.”

  “I’m a grown woman, Sharris. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can take care of yourself, but can you take care of your heart? The heart doesn’t always want to do what the mind knows it should.” Sharris put on her jacket. “Think about it. Get to know him before you let yourself believe you love him.”

  As soon as the door closed behind her sister, Taryn sighed. How did you put falling in love with someone on hold?

  Going to the kitchen, she gently roused Suzi and led the sleepy little girl to the living room, then helped her lie down on the sofa. Suzi sat back up quickly. “Taryn?”

  Sitting down close to her, Taryn waited for her to speak.

  “I was just now dreaming about a picture I saw in Uncle John’s room. I forgot about it til I saw it in the dream.”

  “What kind of picture?”

  “I wasn’t nebbing around, Taryn. Really, I wasn’t. Mommy asked me to put his socks and underwear that she’d just washed in his drawer. I never looked in any of his drawers before and I don’t think Mommy did either because Uncle John always puts his own things away. There was a picture in there.”

  Taryn waited.

  “There was a man on the picture and it looked like Uncle John, but I’m not sure if it was because he was younger than Uncle John and he had a beard and moustache and long hair. But he looked so much like Uncle John. His eyes were like Uncle John’s, and his hair was dark like Uncle John’s and he was about the same size as Uncle John was when he first came here. Real skinny. Remember how skinny he was? He looks a lot better now.” She chuckled. “He says it’s because of Mommy’s cooking, but I think he must not have had very much food to eat when he lived in California.”

  “Was there anything unusual about the picture, other than you thought it might be your Uncle John with a beard, moustache and long hair? I guess that would get your attention.”

  “No, it wasn’t that. There was a little boy sitting on his shoulders. He was the cutest little boy and he had dark hair and eyes, just like Uncle John. He looked real happy and had a great big smile on his face. I kept wondering, if that man really is Uncle John, who is the little boy?”

  “Did you ask your Uncle John about it?”

  “No, I didn’t want him to think I was snooping in his room. I turned the picture over and there was some writing on it. It said ‘me and Ricky, age 5 ’. That’s all it said. I think it was Uncle John’s writing because he left Mommy a note on the table one time and it looked like the same writing.”

  Taryn tried not to seem as interested as she felt. “Maybe Ricky was somebody very special to him and he kept that picture so he would always remember him.”

  “I think he’s his little boy.”

  Taryn’s eyes widened. “But your Uncle John doesn’t have a little boy.”

  “He never said he didn’t.”

  “But he never said he did. There’s no way he wouldn’t tell you something like that.”

  Suzi yawned. “You’re right. If he had a little boy, he’d be so proud of him he’d tell everybody in the world about him.” She laid her head against Taryn’s shoulder. “Taryn?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you and Uncle John get married and have a little boy. Maybe a little girl, too. You and Uncle John would really love your kids, wouldn’t you?”

  Taryn smiled dreamily. “We certainly would. Now…..” She eased herself away from the little girl and stood up, then gently pushed Suzi into a lying position. “You take a little nap and when you get up, we’ll think of something to do that’s fun.”

  “Maybe ride bikes?”

  “It’s still too cold.” Thank goodness!

  “We’ll think of something.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she was fast asleep.

  Taryn pulled the soft afghan from the back of the sofa and spread it over the little girl, then stooped down and kissed her cheek. It would be so wonderful to have a child like her someday. If she was John’s daughter, she could look very much like Suzi.

  Uninvited, the picture Suzi had just mentioned slipped into her mind. She’d said the little boy looked like John.

  There were lots of dark haired, dark eyed children. There was no reason to start worrying and wondering. Just like Suzi said, if John had a child, he would be telling the world about him, not keeping him a secret.

  Just the same – who was Ricky?

  ∞ SEVENTEEN ∞

  JOHN SAT IN THE BACK of his brother-in-law’s SUV, listening to nothing but silence. Behind the wheel, Ted’s eyes were focused straight ahead of him and for the first time in her life, Josie didn’t say a word. What else was there to say? It had all been said in their parents’ home in Asheville.

  He’d never seen his father so shaken or his mother cry so much. It was hard to read his dad to know if he was angry or sad, but his mother’s tears left nothing to the imagination.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us,” she kept saying. “More than anything else you did, what hurts the most and so deeply is that you kept it a secret from us that you had a son, our grandchild, for eight years. Eight years, John! Because you were ashamed of your own lifestyle, you never gave us a chance to get to know and love your son. Our grandchild! We could’ve taken care of him. We could’ve helped you. But now he’s gone and you have no idea where he is. Maybe it was the only way God could open your eyes, but maybe He took your son, forever, in the process.”

  The words ran through his mind, over and over and over. They were like the tires on the car, going around and around and never stopping. His mother was right. God had to step in and make Sheila run off with their son. She’d straightened up her life. She wanted him to do the same thing but he was already in too deep. He’d had so many chances to be the father Ricky needed and failed every one of them. Was it too late now?

  He couldn’t stop the thoughts that tumbled, one after the other, through his mind. When he left home at nineteen and went to California with a couple of his friends, he was filled with hopes and dreams. The first few months had been great. They’d all gotten jobs and were renting a small, but nice apartment. But then Josh got homesick and went back home and Mike unexpectedly got married and moved to another state.

  John had never felt so alone in his life. Not to mention there was no way he could pay the rent on the apartment by himself. Maybe he should follow Josh and go back home, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. He loved California. He loved the ever present sunshine, the warm days and blue skies, the beaches and all the great night spots that were always open.

  It was at one of those night spots that he met Joe. The two hit it off right away, and since Joe needed a place to stay, he moved in with John. At least he could keep paying his rent. When Joe wanted to move his girlfriend in, John wasn’t fond of the idea until he found out she had a good job and was more than willing to help with the expenses. The arrangement worked out better than he thought it would, until Joe found someone else and decided to leave.

  Then, it was just John and Sheila. She wasn’t broken hearted over Joe, she told him, and didn’t want him pitying her because he’d left her. The truth was, she wasn’t that crazy about Joe anyway. Now that he was gone, she wanted to have some fun.

  They frequented the night spots and John found himself starting to really like the taste of liquor. Although he and Sheila shared separate bedrooms in the apartment and nothing happened between th
em, on the one night they both came home stone cold drunk, they went to bed together for the first time.

  Six weeks later, she told him she was pregnant and was going to have an abortion. He was horrified that she would even consider it and promised if she had the baby, he would take care of it, as well as her. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him, but there was no way he could allow her to murder their child because of what they’d done.

  As he watched her stomach grow, he felt more and more responsibility toward her and asked her if she wanted to get married and make it legal. He’d never forget her words.

  “Nobody needs to make it legal to have a kid. Don’t you know that?”

  She became so demanding he could hardly stand her. He made up his mind that, when the baby was born, he was going to take him back to North Carolina and raise him by himself. Sheila didn’t want him anyway. She would be glad to be rid of both of them. He was also going to stop drinking. He’d wait until he knew he could stay sober to tell his parents he had a child. They didn’t need to know until he could prove he could be a good father.

  The drinking not only continued but got much worse. And then came the drugs. She was depressed, she told him, and needed something to help her cope. He was in danger of losing his job and needed encouragement. One time was all it took to get them both hooked.

  He lost his job and so did she. They sold most of their furniture to keep up their habits. When they were evicted from the apartment for not being able to pay the rent, they had no place to go. He’d never met her parents and she told him adamantly he never would because she hated them and they hated her. She wouldn’t ask for their help if she was dying. But, she told him, there was a commune that would take them in, no questions asked.

  In the backseat of the car, John couldn’t stop the tears that were running down his cheeks. How could he have been so gullible, so naïve, so weak?

  His son was born on a filthy mattress on the floor, delivered by an elderly woman also living in the commune. And he was dying. Somebody managed to get the paramedics there and both Sheila and Ricky were rushed to the hospital. His baby was an addict.

  He didn’t want to remember what happened next but it flooded his mind anyway. The detoxing of that little, helpless baby. The embarrassment from the accusing looks of the doctor and what seemed to be a million questions. Worst of all was when Social Services took the baby away because both he and Sheila were determined to be unfit parents.

  There was no way he could tell his own parents about his son then. Chances were, he would never see him again, and the boy was probably better off without him, unless he straightened up his act, and the more he tried, the less he succeeded. He was an addict and no longer had any control over his actions.

  Even though he managed to acquire job after job, he quickly lost every one of them because of his drinking or from losing too much time while he was high on drugs. Sheila left him, telling him he was a total and complete failure, not only as a man but in everything he tried to do.

  He was too ashamed to go back home. Every once in a while, when he was in control of his senses, he called his folks and let on like everything was okay and he was fine and happy. No need to make them worry and maybe even come looking for him. He would rather die than have them see him the way he was.

  He was still living in the commune when Sheila came back. She was clean, she told him, she had an apartment in another city and she had Ricky back. She wanted him to have a chance to get to know him.

  What she wanted was a free babysitter for their two year old son. Since he couldn’t keep a job, he stayed home while she worked. She came home late, if at all. The baby got on his nerves and he drank and depended on drugs more and more. Once a neighbor heard Ricky crying for an extended period of time and threatened to turn him in if he didn’t start taking better care of him. He wasn’t coherent enough to even let it bother him.

  That was the night he became so angry with Sheila that he struck her for the very first time. She’d see that he never did that again, she told him, and called the police. When they came, she ranted and screamed and swore he’d tried to kill her and she was afraid of him. They locked him up. When he got home again, the apartment was empty.

  “I don’t want you and I don’t want your kid,” her note said. “He’s going back to social services and I’m going back to living!”

  His only relief was in drinking and drugs. How he could pass two more years like that and keep living, he couldn’t fathom, but it happened. Somehow he even managed to hold down enough jobs to keep the apartment – and keep in drugs.

  Then she was back again. Ricky was four years old and standing next to her, holding her hand, and looking terrified. What had she told him about his father, that he was some kind of monster who had once tried to kill her?

  He moved in with her and for a few months, things were good for them. The only problem was that this time she was really clean but he wasn’t. She tried to get him to seek help, as she’d done, but he always told her he could quit whenever he wanted to and he didn’t need anyone else’s help.

  A year of bickering and fighting somehow passed by.

  On his good days, he wanted to call his parents and tell them about Ricky, but he always decided to wait until he was sure he wouldn’t fall back into the old habits. On the bad days, which were becoming more and more frequent, he vowed they would never know what a sorry person he was. What if they took Ricky and never let him see him again?

  He’d never forget that last day he’d been with his son. Ricky was six. They went on a picnic, on a boat ride and swimming. Ricky laughed and squealed and kept telling him it was the best day of his life. Even Sheila seemed genuinely happy.

  That night he tried a new drug. Why did he do it in the midst of such joy? With all the strength in his body, he tried to make himself resist the temptation, but he couldn’t do it. When the high came on almost immediately, he was elated, but only moments later he felt as if he was going crazy. If Sheila hadn’t gotten away from him, he would probably have killed her. Luckily (or was it the works of God?) Ricky slept through it all. The next morning, she and Ricky were gone.

  That was two years ago. Her note said she hated him and she’d never be back and he’d never find her if he searched the world over and he’d never see Ricky again. He would be an addict forever, and she preferred to raise her son with no father, rather than with someone like him.

  In the back of the car, John shifted positions. Even after that, he wouldn’t admit he was totally out of control and needed help. When he was evicted from the apartment he and Sheila had shared, starving and skinny as a rail, with no place else to go, he went to the local hospital and begged, unashamedly, for help.

  After nearly a year in rehab, which he still thought of as hell on earth, he wanted to return to North Carolina, to confess everything to his parents and sister and beg them to help him find Ricky. He couldn’t make himself do it. He couldn’t disgrace them that way. First, he would find his son, prove he could be a good father and then he’d take Ricky with him. He and Sheila could share custody, if she wanted to, even though they’d never been married.

  Finally sober, he was able to find and keep a job for the next year, but other than what he had to have just to survive, he spent every cent he made in his search for his son. When all his efforts turned up nothing and he found himself becoming severely depressed, he was scared to death he’d go back to his old ways. If he did, he’d never have another chance to have Ricky in his life again, even if he did find him.

  He’d met Sam Bower during that time, who tried to get him to go to the Lord for the help he needed. Finally, although reluctantly, after several weeks of listening to Sam preach to him, he agreed to go to a revival meeting with him.

  That very night he surrendered himself to the Lord. Never in his life had he felt such peace. But even though his heart was finally clean and free, he still wasn’t able to find his son. That’s when he decided to go back home and
beg his family, on bended knees if necessary, to try to help him.

  Now, as he sat in silence in back of the car, watching the lights of all the passing vehicles, his story was finally out in the open and he didn’t think his parents would ever be able to forgive him. And Josie? She hadn’t said a word for the entire hour they’d been on the road.

  If his own family couldn’t understand and forgive, what chance would there be of Taryn doing so? She was sweet, innocent and pure. Why would he ever think she would want someone with a past like his?

  Had God truly forgiven him? He’d seen everything he’d done and heard every blasphemous word he’d spoken. Not one thought or deed was hidden from Him. Still, the Bible said Jesus died for those sins, that He loved him so much he willingly suffered an agony far greater than the human eye could ever begin to imagine.

  John believed it to be true. He believed God loved him despite his faults and shortcomings. He also knew his family loved him and would stand by him, once the initial shock of his unexpected revelation wore off. They were hurt right now. He needed to give them some time.

  Was there enough time left in the world to allow him to forgive himself? What if, because of his actions, his son was no longer living? What if Sheila gave him back to foster care and he was being abused and mistreated? Suddenly, he felt smothered, as if everything was closing in on him. The space around him was becoming smaller and a terrible, unexplained panic began racing through his entire body.

  “Ted, would you stop the car and let me out?” The sound of his own voice, after so much quiet time, sounded like thunder to his ears.

  Josie turned around. “Why?”

  “I need to get out. I’ll get home later.”

  “How?”

  His panic attack was worsening. “I’ll find a way. Please, just let me out.”

  “There’s too much traffic here, John,” Ted said. “I’ll pull over when we get to that little flea market just up ahead, if you still want me to when we get there.”