Forgiven

by Karen Kingsbury

  Everyone but Ashley was halfway through a second round of sweet-and-sour chicken and chow-mein noodles when she pushed her full plate back and looked at Landon. At about the same time there was a lull in the conversation.

  Landon cleared his throat. “Okay, everyone. We can’t wait another minute.”

  Kari put her fork down and stared at her sister. “Wait for what?”

  The scene had played out a number of times around the Baxter dinner table, announcements about one thing or another—weddings and children and other milestones in life. John felt a rush of joy. Something big was coming, and he no longer thought it had anything to do with a painting.

  Ashley laughed and leaned on Landon’s shoulder. “Didn’t you wonder why I couldn’t eat even a forkful of Chinese food?”

  “Yah!” Cole raised his fork in the air. “My baby brother doesn’t like Chinese food—that’s why!”

  A thrill ran through John, the length of his spine and all the way to his toes. “You’re having a baby?” He was on his feet and moving behind Ashley and Landon.

  Kari squealed and Brooke broke into applause. “It’s about time!”

  “That’s what I said!” Cole sat up on his knees and grinned at the faces around the table. “Only now we have to wait till April.”

  John hugged first Ashley, then Landon. A lump formed in his throat, too thick for him to say anything except, “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Landon twisted around and patted his arm. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “But the baby’s not a souvenir.” Cole gave a serious shake of his head, and around the table the others laughed. “We’ll get him at the hospital after he’s done in Mommy’s tummy.”

  The conversation continued, a chorus of happy voices and well wishes and talk about names and birth dates. All the while, John felt his emotions like whitecaps on the surface of his heart. They stayed that way the rest of the evening and after the kids had gone home.

  Ashley and Landon were having a baby.

  He made his way outside onto the porch and took a seat on the swing, the place where he and Elizabeth had spent so many hours together, talking about the kids and the directions they were taking. He sighed as he lowered himself onto the old wooden slats and set the swing in motion. How many hours had they spent here talking about Ashley? Worrying about her decision to go to Paris, then reeling when they received the news that she was coming home pregnant and alone. With Ashley it had never been her poor choices as a young adult that made things hardest for all of them. It had been the way she cut herself off from the family, believing herself to be the black sheep.

  John squinted into the dark night. If God hadn’t brought Landon into her life . . . if things hadn’t played out the way they did with her health issues . . . how different these days might be for everyone. He let the swing slow to a stop, and he ran his hand over the empty seat beside him. The front porch had never felt colder. With Elizabeth there he had always been warm. The two of them would share quiet laughter and conversation, recalling times gone by and days yet ahead, praying together for the kids.

  Now the front porch offered nothing but quiet and chilly breezes.

  A shiver ran through him, and he pulled his sweater tighter around his body. His eyes found the sky, and he remembered something Ashley had asked before she left tonight. “Dad, how’s the project coming? The one with Mom’s letters?”

  “Uh, right . . .” John had gulped, grabbing at something to say. “I still want to put that together for you. One of these days, for sure.”

  Ashley had looked impatient. “You don’t have to make a scrapbook. Just give me the box, so Brooke and Kari and I can go through them. We’ll copy the ones we want and make a book for everyone.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “How’s that sound?”

  He set the swing in motion again, and her question faded. He couldn’t turn the box of letters over to Ashley. What if she found something else, some letter he’d forgotten about? Finding Ashley in his closet reading the letter he’d written to Elizabeth after Luke was born was close enough. If he’d been five minutes later, the secret would’ve been out. Every one of his kids would’ve known the truth. That somewhere out there they had a sibling, a full older brother they’d never known about.

  At first, after Elizabeth died, he had wanted to keep the secret because of her wishes. She hadn’t ever wanted the kids to spend their lives missing a brother they might never know. And so she had convinced him to put the boy out of his mind. Together they had agreed not to talk about him, not to look for him. Especially after failing to find him a decade ago.

  But now he had another reason to keep the secret. The kids were all he had, and without Elizabeth, he wasn’t sure how he could make them understand. If they found out they had an older brother, they were bound to have mixed reactions. Shock, certainly, and a sense of loss. But they might even feel betrayed, both by him and Elizabeth.

  And that was something he couldn’t risk.

  Seeing Ashley with the letter in her hand that day last summer, John had felt his heart crash to his knees. What other letters had he written to Elizabeth about their firstborn son? No, there was no way he could let Ashley have the box of letters. If it meant that much to her, he’d have to make time to go through them, find a few poignant pieces, and copy them for the girls and Luke. That way their longing for a piece of their mother’s past would be met, and Ashley’s interest in the box of letters would be fulfilled.

  The whole thing felt nerve-racking. What if Ashley grew tired of waiting and snooped around his room again, maybe thinking she would surprise him by putting together a scrapbook of Elizabeth’s letters without his help? He took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

  “Elizabeth . . . I miss you.” His words came as easily as breathing, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “Ashley and Landon are having a baby.” He brought his lips together and waited. A chorus of distant crickets filled in the spaces, reminding him of early autumn days gone by. “Can you believe it?” The question kept him company for a few seconds, but he was still alone. The way he would be forever. He stared at his knees and felt the familiar stinging in the corners of his eyes. Then he looked to the farthest places in the sky. “God, tell her I love her.”

  The temperature was still dropping. John gripped the swing’s thick chains and pulled himself to his feet. As he did, the phone rang. He picked up his pace as he headed into the house and answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “John? It’s Elaine. Elaine Denning.” She hesitated. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  Elaine Denning? The woman had been Elizabeth’s friend for many years. Over the summer she was part of a group of people he spent time with, friends who attended church together and sometimes met for cards or a picnic at Lake Monroe. He hadn’t seen her in several weeks. “Hey, Elaine, how are you?”

  “Good.” She uttered a shy-sounding laugh. “I’ve been up in northern Michigan with my daughter. She just had a baby.”

  “Congratulations!” John smiled at the picture of Elaine helping her daughter with a newborn. But he ached at the same time. Elizabeth should’ve been Ashley’s help when her little one came along. It was just another of the losses that never seemed to stop coming at them. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed the kettle, and began filling it at the sink. “A boy or a girl?”

  “Little girl. Maisy Anne.”

  “You must be thrilled.” He put the kettle on the stove and flipped the burner on. “She’s your second grandchild, right?”

  “Third. My son in Indianapolis has two little boys.”

  John leaned back against the kitchen counter. “My daughter Ashley told us today that she and Landon are expecting.” He chuckled. “Must be the season.”

  “Congratulations to you too, then.” A smile sounded in her voice. “Ashley deserves this. I’m happy for them.”

  “Me too.” There was silence for a moment. A time when he should’ve been telling her about Eliz
abeth’s excitement, how she was right here a few feet away, and that he’d put her on the phone now so the two of them could talk. Instead he said, “So you’re back, huh?”

  “Yes. A month’s a long time to be gone.” Her tone changed, and she sounded almost nervous. “Hey, John, I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.” The water in the kettle was starting to boil. John pulled a mug from the cupboard and dropped a small coffee bag inside.

  “Well . . . tomorrow’s the farmers’ market at the park downtown, not too far from the university. All the squash should be in by now and the tomatoes, and I thought . . . I wondered if you’d like to go with me.”

  The question stopped John where he was. He set the mug down and pictured the setting, the small makeshift booths and the big-band music that would probably play from the park stage through most of the afternoon. The smell of popcorn and sizzling sausage sticks. The farmers’ market was something he and Elizabeth had visited often through the years.

  When he didn’t answer right away, Elaine hurried on. “Don’t feel pressured, John. I mean, I know you’re busy with your kids, and the weekends are tough for everyone. I was just thinking I needed to go and—”

  “Elaine.” His tone was kind, filled with an easy sort of humor. He had nothing on the calendar for the weekend, except church and maybe an hour’s visit with one or more of his girls and their families. “I’d love to go.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t eat nearly enough squash or tomatoes.”

  The conversation lasted another minute or so, and they made plans for John to pick her up at ten o’clock the next morning.

  As he hung up, John poured the boiling water into his mug and gripped the countertop. She meant nothing by it, right? Certainly Elaine would know he wasn’t ready for anything close to dating. His eyes found his ring finger and the wedding band that had been there thirty-six years. In every way that mattered, he was still married. There was no room in his heart for someone new, no matter how kind or enjoyable she was to be with.

  He blinked and looked at his mug. The coffee was ready, so he plucked out the bag and tossed it in the trash. Elaine Denning? Of course she wasn’t interested in anything other than his company. A simple outing to the farmers’ market. He remembered something from the summer, the way Ashley had bristled at the thought of his spending time with Elaine. Even in a group setting.

  John downed three hard swigs of coffee and shook his head. Elaine was looking for friendship, nothing more. Anything else would’ve been ridiculous. He carried his mug through the kitchen to his bedroom upstairs. Then he turned on the light in the large, walk-in closet and stepped inside.

  The letters were there, the box pushed to the back of the top shelf, where they’d been for the past year. The whole conversation with Elaine faded from his mind. Maybe Ashley was right. Maybe if he took the time to go through the letters, he’d come up with some part of Elizabeth that the kids could hold on to.

  But even before he touched the box he was overwhelmed by a desperate sorrow so great it stopped him short. His hand fell to his side, and he hung his head. He couldn’t go through the letters, not now. Maybe not for another year or more. Reading her letters—words she’d written—and others that he’d written to her would be like intentionally putting himself in a paralyzing place of grief. A grief he was only now learning how to navigate.

  He stepped back out and turned off the closet light. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, he refused to think about the letters or the project Ashley wanted him to put together. He simply wasn’t ready. Instead, as he climbed into bed, he was thinking about something else.

  Squash and tomatoes.

  Katy was on her third cup of decaf, and still she and Rhonda hadn’t made all the callbacks for the second round of auditions.

  “We won’t be out of here until after midnight.” Katy swigged the last part of her coffee and set the cup on the table. They were sitting across from each other at a café not far from the university, a place that served coffee and sandwiches and stayed open until two in the morning. Katy figured they might need every bit of that time to get the callbacks done.

  Rhonda yawned. “Good thing the kids know the calls come late.”

  “True.” Katy sorted through the audition forms spread out in front of her. “Okay, we’ve taken care of callbacks for three of the lead parts.”

  “Annie . . .”

  “Kelsy Bouchey has a big edge so far.”

  “Oliver Warbucks . . .”

  Katy grinned. “I still like Tim Reed, but we’ve got four other teens coming back.”

  “And Miss Hannigan . . .”

  Katy checked her master sheet. “Bailey Flanigan and five other girls.”

  “Right.”

  “Now let’s look at the orphans. That’s going to take the longest time. Choosing the right fourteen little girls oughta be a trick. And I’m pretty sure I want to add Kyle Lanham.”

  “Yeah.” Rhonda gave a tired laugh and leaned her elbow on the table. “Have you thought about my job? I have to teach ’em to dance.”

  They both giggled, and Katy pulled the next audition sheet closer. As she did, from somewhere near the front door a voice called out, “Katy Hart!”

  She looked up and just as quickly she wanted to crawl under the table. It was Stanley Gaelic, the rock-paper-scissors guy. She whispered to Rhonda, “Look who . . .”

  Rhonda was quietly laughing too hard to talk. She pointed to the restrooms near the back of the café. “I . . .” She stood up. Her face was red now. “I have to go.”

  Stanley walked up and looked at Rhonda. “Oh, hey, Randy. How’s it going?”

  Rhonda didn’t correct him. She simply gave him a quick wave and headed off, leaving Katy alone.

  “Katy, imagine meeting you here.” Stanley slipped into the booth across from her. “This is a hot spot for RPSers. I bet you didn’t know that.”

  “I didn’t.” Katy glanced down at the audition sheets. She had no time for this, but she had the feeling Stanley wouldn’t give up easily. She anchored her elbows on the table and smiled at him. “Are you meeting someone?”

  Stanley surveyed the café. “Just checking if any of the guys are here.” He grinned and shrugged. “They’re not. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

  “And Rhonda.” Katy looked him straight in the eyes. “Remember?”

  “Who?” His expression was blank; then he lit up and pointed back toward the restroom. “Randy?”

  “Rhonda.”

  Stanley bopped himself in the forehead. “I hate it when I do that.” He frowned, and for a moment she thought he might hit himself again. “An RPSer has to be an expert at memorizing details. I can’t believe I forgot her name.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Katy tapped the papers on the table and flipped her cell phone open. “Well . . . I gotta make calls.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Stanley reached across the table and thumbed through the stack of papers. “Have you called my sister yet?”

  Katy narrowed her eyes. Now he was getting on her nerves. “Look, Stanley, I really have to—”

  At that moment, Rhonda approached and slid into the booth next to Katy. “So—” she looked more composed than before—“what did I miss?”

  “Not much.” For a second, Katy tried to send Rhonda a signal that it was no time to encourage Stanley to stick around. But Rhonda missed it completely.

  Stanley took the chance to jump in. “I’m glad you’re both here.” He raised his eyebrows at Rhonda. “Which one of you wants to challenge me?” He bounced a few times, his excitement spilling into his tone. “You know . . . at rock-paper-scissors.” A slight chuckle came from him. “So I can show you my stuff.”

  “Well, Manly Stanley.” Katy glanced at Rhonda and then pulled up her sweater sleeves. Anything to get rid of him. “I think I’ll give it a try.”

  “All right.” Stanley gave a confident nod. “You know how it goes, right?” He held his left ha
nd out, palm up. Then with his right hand he made a fist and hit his open hand three times. On the fourth he opened two fingers, making the scissors sign.

  Katy twisted her expression, doing her best to look like she was concentrating, studying his every move. “I think I get it.”

  “It’s like this.” Rhonda looked at her. No question she was playing the moment. That much was obvious. She imitated Stanley’s moves, but she ended with a flat hand—the paper symbol.

  “Yeah.” Katy gave a thoughtful nod. “I’m seeing it better.” She shifted her attention to Stanley. “Let’s play.”

  A gleam shone in Stanley’s eyes. “I’m ready when you are.”

  They both held their hands out, palms up. Stanley’s mouth was open a little, his eyes intense. “Ready . . . set . . . go.” As he said “go,” they both hit their hands three times with their fists, and when they finished, Katy made the scissors sign.

  Stanley made paper.

  Rhonda let out a victory shout and raised her hands in the air. “Katy’s the winner!”

  For an instant Stanley’s face fell, and his body slumped forward. But he recovered quickly. “You might be good at this, Katy.”

  She patted the audition papers in front of her. “I might be, but Rhonda and I need to get back to the calls.”

  “Just one more?”

  “No more.” Katy shook her head. “Good-bye, Stanley.”

  He held his hand out again. “Not one more? Serious?”

  “Serious.” Rhonda wiggled her finger in his direction. “Bye.”

  He sighed. “Maybe next time, then.” He pointed straight at Katy. “You’ve got a future. I mean that.” Then he raised his fist in the air. “RPSers!”

  Katy and Rhonda watched him go, and not until he was out the door did Rhonda collapse on the table and burst out laughing. “RPSers? Is he kidding?”

  “No!” Katy buried her face in the crook of her arm. Rhonda’s laughter was contagious. “That’s how he acted when you left me with him at auditions.” She rolled her eyes. “What a friend.”