Always on My Mind

by Susan May Warren

  Casper rolled his eyes. “Thank you both, but you don’t understand. I am praying—all the time. And it hurts more every day because my prayers are accomplishing nothing. I can’t fix her. I can’t save her. I just have to stand by and watch. I wish she could see that she’s going to really get hurt.”

  “You don’t think Jesus sees our choices, our decisions, and wants to run out in front of us with semaphores?” John said. “He does, in fact, warn us over and over of the ways we’re destroying ourselves. But we don’t listen. And what does love do? Forgives. Comforts. Protects. Saves. Renews. Loves.”

  John moved toward the door. “If what we call love doesn’t take us beyond ourselves, require more of us than we ever dreamed, then it’s not the unconditional, divine love God intends for us. God’s love is not cautious, not wise, not sensible, and not remotely conservative. In fact, loving another person the way God loves them is the greatest adventure we can have.” He winked at Casper. “The greatest treasure you can find.”

  His eyes seemed to glisten. “I am thankful I raised better sons than I was. I believe in you both, and I know you’re good men. I’m very proud of you.”

  John gave Darek a nod. “Stay safe, Son.” Then he looked at Casper. “And you, be wise. You can be your own worst enemy sometimes. Maybe it’s time to get out of the way and let God be in charge of your heart.”

  Then he walked out the door.

  RAINA WORE THE BLACK DRESS to her appointment at the courthouse. Finally it fit her.

  She’d lost her appetite three days ago. Somehow the physical ache served to distract her from the howl inside, the one that cracked free every time she thought of the finality.

  Good-bye.

  This was crazy. She’d already made the decision two months ago. Already accepted the wounds, the scars. Now, with Monte’s supposed upcoming proposal, her mind lay in knots. She should have signed Layla over a month ago instead of waiting. She thought it would get easier—it only turned the act excruciating.

  As Raina walked into the courthouse and found her way to the county attorney’s office to sign the paperwork, every step seemed to revive Layla’s tiny cry, tucked away in her memory.

  She wrapped her hand around the railing, forcing herself up the stairs.

  How, really, did a mother separate herself in two pieces and give the best part of herself away? Forever?

  She found the office, breathing through the burning in her chest, and knocked.

  “Raina, good, you’re here.”

  “Dori—what are you doing here?” She hadn’t expected her adoption coordinator in person. Dori once again wore the green jacket, this time with a short black-and-white wool skirt, and looked younger than a person who talked people into life decisions should.

  “I came because we have a new development in your case,” Dori said. She opened the door wider, and Raina recognized Ivy—a very pregnant Ivy Christiansen—sitting at her desk.

  Oh. No. She hadn’t considered, when she asked to have her case moved here, that Ivy, Casper’s—Owen’s—sister-in-law, might be the one to do the paperwork.

  She stood there stricken.

  “Don’t worry, Raina,” Ivy said, waving her in. “I’m bound by confidentiality.”

  Raina tried to read her expression, found it enigmatic. Judgment? Compassion?

  Dori gestured her to a chair and shut the door.

  Ivy sat behind a desk that overlooked the harbor, sunlight cascading through the window onto her desk, piled with files, a laptop on the pullout arm. She shifted as if trying to make herself more comfortable.

  Yeah, Raina well remembered those days.

  The balmy day—a temporary and unseasonable forty-two—had left the air soggy. She’d talked herself into needing the cool, spring-sweet air, but now sweat slicked down Raina’s back from her walk to the courthouse.

  “Is everything okay with . . . the baby?”

  Dori sat down. “She’s fine. Healthy. But her adoptive parents . . . Well, there’s a new development. The mother is pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “This happens occasionally—somehow, with the adoption, the pressure of conceiving seems to be lessened, and parents inexplicably find themselves expecting.”

  “But . . . I don’t understand. She’s pregnant? How does that affect . . . ?” She might as well say it. “Layla.”

  Dori didn’t even seem to blink at her name. “The mother is very ill. She’s bedridden and on medication. But she’s nearly three months along, and the baby is still alive and growing. Unfortunately, they’ve decided that they would rather decline the adoption in favor of preparing for the birth of their own child.”

  But Layla was supposed to be their own child.

  Except, no, she wasn’t. Layla was Raina’s child.

  Her child. “What . . . what happens now?”

  Dori glanced at Ivy, back to Raina. “It’s up to you. We can put Layla in the system. I have no doubt we’ll find new adoptive parents for her. She’s a wonderful baby.”

  “Or . . . you can keep her,” Ivy said, leaning forward. She wore a strange smile, her eyes bright. “You can raise her yourself.”

  Raina had no words, nothing for the feeling of relief inside her as the knot in her chest loosened, as the long-accustomed ache released.

  Except . . . “I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t prepared for . . .”

  Only, maybe she had. In fact, until January, she’d held on to the feeble, tenuous hope that Casper might return, that somehow he’d forgive her. Crazily hoped that they’d scrabble past the wounds, betrayals, and fears of the past nine months and come out the other side, a family.

  Which meant that yes, she’d thought about being a mother. Longed for it, in the place she refused to voice.

  “When do I have to decide?”

  Dori caught her hand. “Take a few days. But soon. They are delivering her to the home tomorrow, and we’ll place her with a temporary family. But we have other parents who might be a good fit.”

  Other parents.

  The thought could unravel her. She looked at Ivy. “Please don’t—”

  “This is all confidential,” she said, but a question remained in her eyes.

  “The baby is Owen’s,” Raina said quietly.

  “Oh.” Ivy’s eyes widened. But then she nodded, saying nothing.

  Raina got up. “I’ll call you with my decision,” she said to Dori and walked from the office, her thoughts ahead of her, down the road to her daughter in her arms, a hand clasped around her finger, her tiny body curled into Raina’s embrace. She saw a little girl with black pigtails chasing seagulls on Deep Haven’s rocky shoreline, laughing as her mother pushed her on the swing set. She saw her tucked on the sofa, reading one of the Frances books, and making cupcakes and . . .

  Swinging up into her daddy’s arms. Only, the image that swept through her mind had dark hair, blue eyes. Not Owen. Not even Monte . . .

  Raina stood in the middle of the sidewalk, her cheeks wet, her throat hollow.

  Oh, she still loved him, and denying it only turned her inside out, made her moan.

  She shoved her hands into her pockets and headed toward the harbor, water running under the snowpack along the gutters.

  It didn’t matter how much she longed for Casper. They had too much between them, and her silly daydream had no happy ending.

  Still, she wanted to call him. Needed to talk to him. Just . . . as a friend, of course. Because despite everything, he’d been kind to her. Light, in a way that pierced her dark heart.

  Yet what, exactly, would she say? He’d demand she tell Owen and . . .

  What about Monte? He’d said he wanted a future with her. She tried to fit him into the picture like a puzzle piece.

  The sun hung bright, the sky so blue she could drink it in, the snow crispy and fragile, melting, the scent of woodsmoke lingering in the air from the nearby fish house. She stopped in at the Java Cup, bought a latte, and took it outside.

 
Clarity. She just needed someone to tell her what to do.

  If Liza were here, she’d know. Her aunt always mustered up the right answer, tapped into her deep faith, her unwavering assurance that God had a plan.

  Maybe He did for people like Liza. But not for people like Raina who kept making one bad decision after the next.

  Maybe she wasn’t selfish—just afraid. After all, others might have God, but she had no one but herself to depend on.

  Except what about Thor’s words? “A small life is lived by staring inward, but a large one is lived by diving into God’s love.”

  And sitting alone on the bench now, the lake water breaking free from the clasp of ice and washing debris to shore, what choice did she have? She lifted her face to the wind like Thor. God, if You’re up there . . . if You care in the least about Layla . . . help me know what to do.

  Raina waited.

  Silence.

  It was a silly prayer, and she didn’t harbor the faintest hope God would really hear her. Or answer. She took a sip of her latte and remembered her outburst to Casper right after Layla’s birth. But God—no, He doesn’t love me. God doesn’t even notice me. I am nothing to Him.

  She’d pegged that right.

  Raina watched the shadow of a tanker drift along the horizon. Took another sip of coffee, listening to traffic, the ruckus of the water churning the ice on shore. And the expected silence from the heavens.

  “Raina, are you okay?”

  She turned and her brain reeled as Casper’s shadow fell over her. With his hands tucked into his down-jacket pockets, he stood, wearing jeans and hiking boots as if he might be headed out for a trek in the woods.

  She blinked at him. Opened her mouth.

  “I was driving by and saw you sitting here and . . . You looked like you needed a friend.”

  She closed her mouth, swallowed as unexpected tears filled her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said softly, moving onto the bench beside her. “What’s the matter?”

  Oh, she couldn’t . . . Not really. Because she might think she needed to talk to him, but actually speaking the words of her failure out loud to Casper—no. She shook her head.

  He slid his arm behind her, turning toward her. She looked down, picking at the coffee cozy, seeing him out of the corner of her eye.

  He wore a loose stocking cap, his curls long and tantalizing, worry in his blue eyes. Just his presence beside her made her want to lean into him.

  She looked out at the harbor, blinking hard against the sunshine and the fragrant springlike breeze, trying to scrounge up words.

  As usual, he saved her. “Listen, I don’t know if you’re in the mood, but I’m heading to Mineral Springs.” He gestured behind her to his truck, a snowmobile propped in the back. “I downloaded a map of the area, and I thought maybe it would be interesting to check out where Aggie and Thor lived.”

  He made a wry face. “I know it’s probably stupid, but I’ve been thinking about your question—why would she end up with Thor when she believed Duncan offered her everything?” He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it’s because, despite what Duncan could offer her, she longed for something bigger, the grand adventure of true love.”

  Raina nodded, hungry for his truth.

  “And Thor’s letter, the line that mentions the truth about Duncan . . . I think Aggie ran away with Thor on her wedding day—we did find that dress in the Mineral Springs collection. And if she did, maybe Duncan came after her,” Casper said.

  “But what does that have to do with the bonds?”

  “If Duncan stole them from Aggie’s father, maybe he had them with him. Once she was married, all her worldly goods would pass to him. Who knows what nefarious plans he’d made? What if . . . ?”

  Something . . . a memory pressed against her. Or maybe just her crazy dream, but—

  “What if Aggie found them and took them?” she finished. “Duncan would surely go after her. Maybe that’s why he and Thor fought?”

  Oh, she liked it when they brainstormed ideas, when she ignited that fire in his eyes.

  “Right. And maybe afterward, Thor took the bonds and hid them.”

  “But why?”

  “To protect her? To keep someone from looking her direction?”

  She frowned. “Where would he hide them? Mineral Springs?”

  “At their old store?”

  “I like it.” More than she wanted to admit. Because right now, just right now, she couldn’t think another moment about her future. About the choices before her.

  Just for this moment, she didn’t want to be afraid. She wanted to stop looking at herself and look ahead. To live large.

  “Enough to take a drive?”

  She took a breath, feeling the sunshine on her face, the fresh air in her lungs. “You just can’t let this treasure hunt go, can you?”

  His smile dimmed for a second. Then he shrugged. “Not if there’s the slightest chance . . .”

  That, probably more than anything, was what she longed for. Hope. “Let’s go treasure hunting, Sherlock.”

  “Give me a kiss, Son. I won’t see you when you get out of school.”

  Darek stood at the door, holding it open as Tiger climbed out of the truck. A caravan of other vehicles—parents dropping their kids off at the Deep Haven elementary—lined up behind him.

  He bent down to wrap Tiger in a hug, but his son put a hand on his shoulder, pushed, turning his face away.

  “Tiger.”

  “I don’t care!”

  He took off at a run, his Power Rangers backpack bumping against him.

  “Tiger!”

  But Janelle Ingstrom was frowning at Darek from her Chevy Blazer, so he watched until Tiger disappeared into the building, then climbed into his truck. Closed his eyes.

  Lord, I don’t know what else to do. He didn’t really mean to pray; it just trickled out. In fact, he hadn’t prayed much over the past few months—so wrapped up in frustration, fatigue, and anxiety that he didn’t have time for it.

  But what could he do? He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb before Janelle started honking.

  Just a quick stop for his gear and he’d be on his way. If he drove all day and through the night, sleeping at truck stops, he might get there by tomorrow night.

  Two weeks. He promised that to Ivy this morning as he kissed her good-bye. She had two weeks left until her maternity leave anyway, and then it was just sit around and wait.

  Maybe he could stay a week longer—after all, Ivy didn’t really need him.

  Maybe Tiger didn’t either.

  In fact, Ivy and Tiger seemed to be moving forward without him, adapting to his decision to leave as if he were already gone.

  He pulled up to the cubicle rental house, parking his truck in the drive, climbing the cracked steps to the house. The snowpack on the roof had melted into the gutters, trickling down the side of the house. Before he left, he’d make sure the sump pump in the basement was running.

  He’d packed last night, so he grabbed his bags from inside the door and loaded them into his pickup. Then he toed off his shoes and headed to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

  He got out the bread, then turned to the fridge.

  Ivy had dug Tiger’s artwork from the bag, smoothing it and taping it onto the cool green surface. He paused, looking at Tiger’s handprint, colored the hues of the rainbow. On a piece of construction paper, yarn formed a stem and seeds created a flower.

  And below that, a picture, words scrawled under it. He removed the magnet that held it to the fridge and read the paper.

  My Favorite Superhero

  He studied the picture, realization coming slowly. A man wearing a green shirt, a yellow hat, holding a hammer. Behind him, the log structure of a house. Pine trees.

  For a seven-year-old, Tiger had sketched a recognizable likeness of his father.

  In large, misshapen letters, it was labeled My Dad.

  Darek braced himself with one arm against the fridg
e as he read the essay.

  My dad is my hero.

  He is happy.

  Silly.

  Stinky.

  Good.

  Old.

  Muscley.

  Funny.

  And most of all he loves me.

  “Most of all he loves me.”

  Oh, Tiger.

  The page was stapled behind another, now turned over, so Darek flipped it forward. Apparently this was one of those pieces of artwork he was supposed to sign.

  More than that, it was an announcement about career week, the teacher asking for volunteers.

  He looked at the dates.

  “Most of all he loves me.”

  Yes, he did, except maybe he’d forgotten, a little, how much.

  The school was locked, but he pleaded his case with the school secretary and she issued him a pass. He found Tiger’s classroom already in session. He’d met Mrs. White—a short woman with dark hair and kind eyes—on the first day of school, his hand laced with Ivy’s as they toured the classroom, helped Tiger find his desk. Animal-themed alphabet letters ran around the top of the room, and a sum chart hung on the wall next to a computer station. A reading nook with beanbag chairs and baskets of early-reader books encouraged a time-out inside the pages.

  He spotted Tiger sitting with his back to him, bent over a workbook, writing. Stepping into the room, he caught eyes with Mrs. White, who looked up from where she helped a child with her letters and came over to him.

  He put his finger to his lips and gestured her into the hall.

  “Hello, Mr. Christiansen.”

  “Darek, please, and I’m wondering if I’m too late to sign up?” He held out the pink flyer. Then gestured to his red Nomex helmet, his Pulaski ax.

  She appeared impressed. “I think we can make time for you. Stay here.”

  He watched as she walked to the front of the classroom and brought the students to attention.

  Tiger sat in his chair, his feet barely touching the ground, his blond hair tousled—oops, Darek had been in charge of combing it today.

  “I have a surprise for you, children. One of our parents is here to talk about his career. Mr. Christiansen, please join us.”

  Darek smiled as he walked to the front of the room, wearing his hat, his ax over his shoulder. “Hey, gang. My name is Darek Christiansen, and I’m Ti—Theo’s dad. I’m also what they call a hotshot. Which means that when there are wildland fires, I join a team of other firefighters and we try to put the fire out using tools like this one.” He held up his Pulaski.