Three Shoeboxes e-book

by Three Shoeboxes (epub)

  Although it took Jillian a few days to reconcile this new truth, it all came together on Christmas morning. As Bella and Brady unwrapped their Christmas presents, Jillian watched her siblings closely. Filled with joy, her smiling eyes twinkled with the love of the jolly old elf, himself.

  Long after I’m gone, Mac had thought, Santa Claus will live on in my children.

  ⧝

  It was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received, Mac thought in another area of his brain when he realized he was standing in that long, dark tunnel of depression again. What if it’s one more step? he asked himself. In the blink of a blinded eye, the smallest ray of light permeated the blackness that consumed him. Cautiously, he stood and slowly walked to the light. With each step, the light’s intensity increased—and he began to run. The brightness warmed his face and for the first time, he could smile. Reaching the end of the tunnel, he looked back. Although it was a pain that would linger in his memory, at last the brutal maze had been conquered.

  ⧝

  Mac awoke panting. He looked around. The answer was simple and had been with him throughout the entire journey: Hope has always been the only escape. Stifling a yawn, he glanced out his hospital window and smiled.

  ⧝

  “Mom,” Bella said, entering the kitchen with her little brother two steps behind her.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” Jen said, focused on proofreading her newest piece on her laptop.

  “Brady says that Daddy has brown eyes, but I think they’re blue.”

  “They’re dark brown,” Brady said, nodding vigorously.

  Jen closed her laptop and looked up, giving her full attention. “They’re brown, babe,” she said gently.

  Bella gasped. “I was trying to remember what Daddy’s face looks like but I can’t anymore,” she said, ready to cry. “I…I don’t remember what Daddy looks like.” The tears began to fall.

  Jen grabbed the little girl, placing her on her knee. “You have to put it into context,” Jen said. “Don’t just try to picture Daddy’s face. Instead, try to remember an experience you had with him and then you’ll be able to see him.”

  “Or don’t even bother,” Jillian muttered, standing in the door’s threshold. “That’s what works best for me.”

  Jen’s head snapped toward her teenage daughter. “Don’t ever tell her that, Jill.”

  “Well, it’s true,” Jillian said. “Do you want me to lie, Mom?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Jen said, clearly frustrated.

  Jillian shook her head and smiled; it was not the kind of smile inspired by joy. “I’d say you guys are the ones being ridiculous.” She turned to walk away. “Why even bother trying to remember anything about him?”

  “Jill, don’t…” Jen started to say.

  “I can see him!” Bella called out, interrupting her mother.

  “You can?” Brady asked his sister, sounding as fearful as he was excited.

  “On the sailboat,” Bella said, “the last time we went out. I can see him smiling at us.” Instantly, her smile disappeared, and the crying continued. “I can see him smiling,” she whimpered.

  “Oh babe,” Jen whispered, hugging her daughter tightly.

  ⧝

  At last, Mac’s treatment was complete and he was released a free and healthy man. “Did you write the letter, Faust?” he asked, anxiously.

  Faust nodded. “I did, Mac.”

  “And sent it to my attorney?”

  The doctor nodded again, extending his hand for a shake. “I’m proud of you,” Faust said.

  Mac was taken aback. These were the very four words he’d always longed to hear from his father but never did. Somehow, coming from this wise man, they had the same effect he’d always imagined. Mac walked past the handshake into a hug. “Thank you, Faust,” he told his confidant, “for everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Mac,” the doctor replied, his kind eyes confirming that he meant it.

  Mac swallowed hard. “I hope we…”

  “…never see each other again,” the doctor said, finishing Mac’s thought.

  “Exactly,” Mac said.

  “I understand,” Dr. Faust said, “and I doubt we ever will unless I need to hire the best man in advertisement.” Without another word, he left the room.

  It only took seconds for Mac to pack his things. His entire wardrobe now fit into a paper bag: he owned three pairs of jeans and twice as many t-shirts. Material things no longer matter, he realized and, although he was more than anxious to reunite with his children, he felt better than he had in a very long time.

  ⧝

  It was nearly dusk when Mac stepped into Attorney Roland Dube’s office.

  “My God, Mac, you look great,” Roland said, standing up from behind his desk. “How are you?” They shook hands.

  “Except for not seeing my kids for over a year, I’ve never felt better,” Mac said.

  “Great. Glad to hear it.”

  “I need to see my kids, Roland. I really do,” Mac said, not mincing words. “How soon can we get into court to make that happen?”

  Roland shook his head. “Ummm…Mac, I don’t mean to piss on your parade, but I’m not sure this would be the best time to file a motion.”

  Mac felt like he just took a right hook to the jaw. “What? I’ve spent months doing everything that was asked of me,” he said, getting angrier with each word, “and you’re going to tell me that it’s not a good time?”

  The lawman lowered his tone. “Mac, hear me out on this. You know I’d never steer you wrong, especially where the kids are concerned. You know that, right?”

  “I’m sorry, Roland, go ahead.”

  “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve received help,” Roland said, “that you’ve gotten well again, and so will the judge, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But you’ve spent an extensive period of time estranged from your children. And I’m sure that time has been equally difficult for them. The way the court is going to see it…”

  “Roland, please!” Mac squealed.

  “Fine,” the lawman said, surrendering with a nod, “I’ll file for an emergency hearing first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” Mac said, feeling relieved.

  “You’re welcome, Mac,” Roland said, “but you need to be prepared for whatever decision the court renders.”

  “I understand,” Mac said. “Whatever gets me closer to getting back to my kids.”

  ⧝

  “Look Roland,” Jen said, standing in front of his desk and making him squirm with discomfort, “I need to know what Mac’s plans are for the kids.” She pulled a letter out of her purse; it was from the court. “It states that I may appear next week, as Mac is appealing the no contact order. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Sure,” Roland said, clearly crawling out of his skin for having to speak to her in person. “I filed a motion on behalf of Mac to have the no contact order dropped with regards to the children. This way here, we can get visitation set and…”

  “Should I go?” she asked.

  “You absolutely can, especially if you want to object to the motion.” He leaned in toward her, trying to gauge her reaction.

  She said nothing.

  “But I don’t think it’ll matter,” Roland added, “I doubt highly that the court will allow Mac to reunite with the kids just yet.”

  “And why’s that?” she asked. “He’s not better?”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Roland quickly countered. “He’s much better. In fact, he looks great…like his old self again.”

  Oh, Jen thought, feeling her heart flutter and face flush.

  “It’s just that Mac will need to provide evidence of stability after finishing inpatient treatment,” Roland explained, “a permanent r
esidence, secure employment, established supports within the community—you see what I mean.”

  She nodded. “I do,” she said, still trying to shake off the man’s back to his old self again comment.

  “As I said, you’re welcome to attend next week’s hearing if you want.”

  “I…I don’t know, Roland,” she muttered. “Did Mac say anything about us,” she asked, “…about me?”

  Roland met her eyes. “Mac instructed me to appeal only the no contact order, which currently separates him and the children,” he said, shaking his head.

  Jen was surprised to feel most of the air leave her lungs. “I never wanted to keep the kids from him,” she said, thinking aloud, “I tried explaining that to him in court, but the judge wouldn’t let me.”

  “I know, Jen,” Roland said, “I know.”

  “Thanks for the information,” she managed before stuffing the letter back into her purse and hurrying out of the man’s office.

  ⧝

  It was late, the house cloaked in a welcome silence. Jen adjusted the kitchen telephone to a comfortable position in the crook of her neck. “I don’t know what I should do, Joel,” she said.

  “What does your gut tell you?” Joel asked on the other end of the line.

  Jen shook her head. “Roland Dube, our…I mean, Mac’s attorney, claims that the court won’t allow Mac to see the kids right now.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  She shrugged. “I do,” she said. “He’s been straight with me this entire time.”

  “Is Mac better?” Joel asked.

  “Roland says he is, but that it’s really up to the court to decide.” She shook her head again. “This is so crazy. Part of me really hopes that he’s well again…that he’s back to who he was before he got sick. But another part of me is terrified to have him back in our lives.”

  “I can understand that,” Joel said. “I think anyone could.”

  “Mac hasn’t seen the kids since…” her heart sank, “…since before last Christmas.”

  “Which was the court’s decision,” Joel said. “You need to remember that.”

  “I know.”

  ⧝

  Mac felt the onset of a panic attack, but within minutes—through proper breathing and thought control—he quelled the symptoms. At this point, he’d become an expert on anxiety. Following Roland out of the courtroom, he struggled to keep his rage at bay. “I hate that vile woman,” Mac hissed, as his attorney turned to face him. “She must not have a soul.”

  “Judge Tremblay is the toughest on the circuit,” Roland whispered, “and she definitely doesn’t seem to care for you.”

  Mac continued to take in deep breaths. “I can’t believe this,” he said, “after everything I’ve done…”

  Roland grabbed his arm. “Listen, I told you that the court was going to consider the significant time you’ve spent away from the kids.” He gave the arm a squeeze. “They’ve finally settled into stable lives and the judge is making sure that nothing disrupts that.”

  “I’m never going to see them again,” Mac said under his breath, his mind spiraling.

  “That’s not true at all,” Roland said in a louder tone. “As Judge Tremblay just explained, the court is looking for stability on your part. After a lengthy hospitalization, she wants to see how you interact in society.” Both eyebrows rose. “Mac, you need to prove you have the ability to maintain a safe, loving and consistent relationship with your children before the court will ever entertain a reunion.”

  “And how in the hell…” Mac said.

  “By establishing a secure residence,” Roland interrupted, “gainful employment and an active role within the community. You might even consider attending religious services.”

  “How long?” Mac interrupted, still working on slowing his breathing. “How long do I have to prove myself before we can get back here?”

  “Give it a couple more months,” Roland said, “a few months away from inpatient treatment; time that would more than prove your credibility to the court.”

  “A couple more months?” Mac repeated, closing his eyes for a long moment. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his eyes now laser-focused on his lawyer’s. “I need my kids to know that I’m out of the hospital, Roland, that I’m better and that I need to see them.”

  “Soon enough,” Roland said.

  “No,” Mac countered, shaking his head, “today wouldn’t even be soon enough.”

  “Just a couple short months,” Roland repeated, “and then I’ll fight like hell for you and get those kids back into your life, okay?”

  Just? Mac thought, Short? He put up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Roland, okay. I’ll stay away. I’ll get established and call you in a month.” He took a deep breath.

  “That’s great, Mac. But I’m begging you—please don’t mess up now. The court will be notifying Jen that the restraining order remains in place, so stay clear of those kids until…”

  “I know. I know,” Mac said, “they won’t see me until the court allows it.” He thought about it. I’ll do whatever’s in the best interest of my children, he decided.

  Chapter 17

  Mac walked through the front door of the boarding house with some takeout food and a newspaper. He wore a uniform with the name Mac embroidered on the front and Collision Towing stitched on the back. Sitting down at an old, rickety kitchenette table, he popped a tiny yellow pill into his mouth before washing it down with a sip of coffee. With the paper spread out before him, he circled a few possibilities in the classifieds. Once done, he fingered through the paper before coming upon an article written by Jen Anderson. He read it and grinned. Very nice work, he thought. After cutting out the piece and folding it up, he pulled out the classifieds.

  Mac picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi. Mark Grocholski, please?” There was a brief wait. “Mr. Grocholski, Mac Anderson here. I was over at New Dimensions for some time.” He smiled. “Right, I’m the guy.” After another deep breath, Mac took the plunge. “Mr. Grocholski, I see you’re looking for a new gun slinger over at your firm. Any chance we can set up a time for me to come in and discuss?”

  ⧝

  Along with eleven other children his age, Brady sat on the stage in the elementary school auditorium. It was the final weeks of the school year and a spelling bee was in full swing. Mrs. Homer, the English teacher, fired one word after the other at the nervous kids. Two children had already been eliminated before Mrs. Homer reached Brady. “Brady, the word is elephant,” she said slowly.

  Brady’s forehead wrinkled. “Elephant,” he repeated. “E L E.” There was a breathtaking pause. “P H A N T. Elephant.”

  “Correct,” the excited teacher announced.

  From the rear of the auditorium, someone began clapping and only stopped when no one followed their lead. Hushed giggles traveled through the crowd.

  Jen turned to her mother. “Looks like Brady has a big fan,” she whispered.

  Sue smiled. “More than one, I’d say,” she said, waving at her grandson.

  Jen turned around. There was no one there.

  ⧝

  Seated at his small kitchen table, Mac wrote another letter; not because he wanted to but because he needed to.

  Jen, I’m writing this letter, knowing that I may never send it to you. But I need to get this all out...for me. When I first got sick, I vowed that I’d protect you and the kids from the nightmare I was suffering from…every second of every day. I realize now that this was a terrible mistake on my part. Although the kids didn’t need to know what I was going through, I should have shared every ugly detail with you. Even if it still tore our marriage apart, at least you would have known the truth about why. But I feared you would discover that I wasn’t the man you thought I was. The more I got sick, the deeper I went within myself and the more I felt alone. A
nd that’s when I felt like you’d abandoned me. Crazy, I know, because you didn’t know the extent of what was going on with me, even though you asked again and again. Once I started spiraling, I couldn’t stop. Even the smallest things infuriated me. Every time you talked about returning to work, I felt like I was losing control of my life—of our life together. I’m more sorry for that than most other things. You absolutely deserve to have a successful career. I wouldn’t have had mine if it wasn’t for you. I’m sorry for not being supportive. I really am. And then when the world came tumbling down and everything came to a head, I thought you’d betrayed me, but I was no longer tapped into logic or reason. I’m so sorry for putting my hands on you and making the threats I did. I’ve loved you more than my own soul from the moment we met all those years ago. I would never hurt you or our children. And once I lost them, I lost the rest of my mind. To say I hated you would be an understatement. I never knew I was capable of such dark emotions and even darker thoughts. But the more time that passed, the more I realized it was me. It was me all along. I’m sorry, Jen. I love you. And I miss you terribly.

  He signed it, You Live in My Heart, Mac.

  After reading it through twice, Mac folded the letter in half and placed it into a book. I needed a new book mark anyway, he thought.

  ⧝

  The auditorium was jam packed with proud parents and heckling siblings. More nervous than she’d ever been, Bella prepared to make her debut as a solo dancer. She peeked out of the heavy red curtain. Her mom and the rest of the Anderson entourage were seated up front. Everyone’s here, she thought, catching herself. Well, almost everyone. She trembled from nerves. I wish my number was up first and not halfway through the show, she thought. I just want to get it over with.

  Before she knew it, the lights went down, the music went up and Bella tap-danced her way straight into the hearts of an applauding crowd.

  Toward the end of her routine, a photographer—wearing a fishing hat and bifocals—pointed his camera at her and clicked off several shots. With a wink, he whispered, “Beautifully done.” The stranger took one last photo before walking away.