by Lisa Wingate
He turned away slightly, hiding his emotions, searching the roadway ahead as if the answer might be there. This is all too fast, his body language said. “So you’re telling me you’re not happy in Boston?” Behind the words, there was an undercurrent, a wounded tone that asked, Am I not enough, is our life together not enough?
“It’s not that,” I rushed out. “It’s not a case of having been happy or unhappy there. It’s just that Boston feels like the past. I feel like there’s something different, something new ahead for us. Like Boston was the first half of our life, and now we’re moving on to the second half. The last time . . .” The words trembled, and I pressed my lips together, tightening the billowing cords of emotion, wrapping them into a ball so that I could finally say the one thing I’d never said to him or to myself. “I felt this way eight years ago when we found out we were going to have a baby—like our life was about to become something totally new, something we never predicted. I don’t know if I was ready for it at the time, if I was ready to give up so much of myself, but I felt something. And when we lost the baby, we let it go and just went on with life as we knew it. I don’t want to let it go this time. This time I’m ready.”
“Ready?” he repeated quietly.
“Ready to embrace change, I guess. Ready to take a leap of faith and accept the possibility that I don’t have to be the one in control all the time, that I’m so afraid of not being perfect, of failure, that I’m not really living. I’m so afraid of sinking that I’ve been standing on shore all my life with my toe in the water. We’ve kept each other there. We’re over forty years old. We’re financially stable. Why not dive in now, together, and see what happens?”
He shook his head slowly, swiveling to look at me as we stopped at a four-way. “Karen, I never in a million years thought I’d hear you say something like that. This just doesn’t . . . sound like you.” Brows drawing together, he wheeled a hand in the air. “I mean, what about Geo Networking? Geo is just your kind of deal. All week long, you’ve been talking about the plans, about how you couldn’t wait to get back at Vandever and his crowd, how satisfying it was going to be to see Geo take away the business they thought they were going to steal from Lansing Tech. Now all of a sudden you’ve had a complete change of heart?”
Change of heart. That was a good term for it. “Yes . . . I guess I have,” I said thoughtfully. We passed through the intersection, and I sat silent for a moment, examining my thoughts. “I just realized that Geo is all about revenge—at least for me, it is. I’m not looking forward to it because I’m excited about the work. It’s the same work I’ve been doing for fifteen years. Same job, different name. I’m into Geo because I want to get back at Vandever and the rest of his cronies for destroying Lansing Tech. But the problem is, when the revenge is done, I’m going to be sorry I made that choice, that I gave up a chance at a new kind of work and a little girl who seems to have been made for us and us for her. This chance is never going to come along again. Shirley at Jumpkids is practically begging me to take the director’s job. I know I can do it. I can be good at it. It’s not much money, but who cares? We have enough money. It’s time to start making a life. A real life.”
He acknowledged the idea with a single nod and a contemplative stare into the darkness beyond the headlights. “Maybe,” he said, letting out a long breath. “It’s an awful big jump.”
I held my breath. Was he was coming around, starting to see the life that was painting itself in my mind? “It’s not the end of the world. It’s only Missouri. Just think how much more you’ll get to play with your tractor.”
As usual, humor helped to defuse the tension, to bridge the gap between us.
He squinted thoughtfully, testing the idea. “That’s a point in Missouri’s favor.”
“Absolutely.” Something heavy sat atop the elation that should have been rising inside me. I knew what it was. “James . . . there’s one other thing I need to tell you. Now, before we make any real decisions.” I couldn’t let things go any further without letting James know that there was a question in our future. “I had an appointment at Dr. Conner’s office the day before I came here. . . .” How was he going to feel about this? What was he going to say? Would his fears spoil everything? “My second Pap test came back irregular, and Dr. Conner wanted to do a biopsy. It’s probably nothing, but you need to know there is a possibility that . . .”
“That you have cancer again?” he finished.
“It’s possible. But it’s probably nothing. Dr. Conner said it’s probably nothing. He just wanted to be sure, and since I wasn’t going back to Boston right away, I had Dr. Schmidt do the biopsy here. I’m still waiting for the results.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I could see him struggling with anger, fear, and his own past. “My God, Karen . . .”
“I’m sorry.” How could I make him understand? “I just . . . I couldn’t face thinking about it at first, with everything that happened at Lansing, and then I came here. Things were so good with the Jumpkids, and so relaxed between you and me. I didn’t want to spoil it. I didn’t want to worry you. You worry about the cancer too much. I worry about it too much. Let’s face it—that’s the real reason we never had a family, never made any big future plans. We’re living like people on borrowed time, and we shouldn’t be. We have to go ahead and . . . I don’t know . . . embrace life.”
Seeming shocked, he cut a glance sideways, as if he was afraid we might be tempting fate by saying “cancer” out loud.
I rushed on, because I didn’t know what else to do. “But that’s the thing, James. Don’t you see? We can’t keep letting our lives be ruled by what could go wrong. Life isn’t guaranteed—we know that. This latest scare is probably nothing, but if I were to find out tomorrow that I have cancer, I’d want to be here with you and Dell, working with Jumpkids. That’s what I’d want to be doing.”
Slowly he turned his hand over so that our fingers interlaced. A team. A pair. “You’re right,” he said. “You know, you’re right. It’s time we got on with life.”
In that moment, I was reminded of all the reasons I loved him so much. He was steady, careful, rock solid in a way that made even these fledgling ideas seem concrete. I wondered if he was analyzing the details in his mind, calculating the odds of things working out the way I wanted them to. “There’s Kate and Ben to consider. They’ve been practically raising Dell for two years. How are they going to feel about our taking her?”
I hadn’t wanted to think about how Kate would feel, and whether this would drive a wedge between us. Kate and Ben loved Dell, too. “I know Kate and Ben would take Dell in, and I know Kate would give what she can, but Kate’s energy is taken up with Joshua and Rose. Dell has so many needs, and there isn’t much left over for her. She feels like she should be a helpmate to Kate, rather than a kid herself. She needs time to discover who she really is, to figure out who she wants to be other than just a caretaker for her grandmother or Kate’s children. She needs someone to take care of her.” In my heart I knew it was meant to be, but I also knew that James had a right to make the choice on his own. “We don’t have to make any big decisions right now. We can take the weekend to discuss things with Kate and Ben, and to talk to Dell. But either way, I want to stay here and take the Jumpkids job. It just feels . . . right.”
James nodded, and I sensed his thoughts melding into mine, our minds and hearts uniting into a common dream as we slowed and pulled into the parking lot of an old, rambling farmhouse with a state highway sign out front that said DEBUKE HOUSE and a tall security fence in back.
“Uncle Bobby’s truck isn’t here,” I breathed, scanning the parking lot. “Maybe they weren’t able to find him.”
James surveyed the house as we exited our car. “The sooner we’re out of here with Dell, the better.”
Hurrying onto the porch, we rang the buzzer. An African-American woman, probably only in her midtwenties, looked out the window, then came to the door and unlocked it, allowing us into t
he entryway. She locked the door behind herself before saying anything.
“You must be James and Karen.” She shook James’s hand and then mine. “I’m Twana Stevens. Brother Baker called and said you’d be here any time.”
“Is Dell here?” I rushed to say, not able to wait for polite introductions. “Is she O.K.?”
Twana flashed a friendly, understanding smile. “She’s fine. She’s a little upset about everything that’s happened and about missing the play tonight. We haven’t been able to convince her to talk much. She didn’t want to come in the house. We let her sit on the back steps for a long time, but then we had to bring her inside. The sheriff called and told us to go on lockdown until we can get this thing straightened out. We’ve had contact from her uncle just a few minutes ago, and he is insisting on picking her up, as he is her next of kin. No word from Brother Baker yet on getting the grandmother to sign over temporary guardianship.”
I swallowed the rising swirl of fear in my throat. “Can we see Dell?”
Shaking her head, Twana stepped back, motioning us toward a doorway to an office. “I’m afraid not. Our policy is to keep everyone away from the child until our psychologist can talk to her. We don’t want anyone coaching the child on what to say. At Dell’s age, it’s very valuable to get her input.” She followed us into the office. “I know it’s hard, but right now we’re waiting for the psychologist and for word from Reverend Baker, and, of course, for her uncle to come and present his side of the story.”
James stood reluctantly in the office doorway. “There’s no way we can at least tell her we’re here?”
Twana shook her head. “I’m afraid not, but try not to worry. She’s watching TV in a room with a staff member. She’s fine.”
Nervously, I sat in one of the office chairs, gazing down the hall at several closed doors and a stairway to the second floor where there were more closed doors, any one of which could have been keeping Dell from us. From somewhere not far away, I heard children’s voices, but not hers. Twana offered us coffee and magazines, then left the room with an encouraging smile, closing the door behind her.
James and I sat silently in the tiny office, like patients in a doctor’s exam room, wondering if we would live or die. Fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, then a half hour. In the corridor outside, we heard muffled adult voices and doors opening and closing.
Exhausted, I let my head fall into my hands, combing my fingers into my hair. “I can’t stand this,” I said, impatience prodding me to do something, anything but sit there trying to look calm. “You’d think someone could come in and tell us what’s going on.” I imagined Uncle Bobby leading Dell away, no one telling us until it was over. “They could be letting him take her right now. Isn’t anybody going to tell us what’s going on?”
James stood up, reaching for the door handle. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to see what’s happening out there.”
“James, don’t!” I jumping out of my chair, I grabbed his arm. “We can’t afford to come across as hotheaded. We have to be perfect. Our only advantage over Dell’s uncle Bobby is that we’re not like him.”
James let out a long breath, taking his hand off the doorknob. “You’re right.” Instead of sitting down, he paced the small room, fiddling with pens and paper clips on the desk.
The doorknob finally turned, and James and I stood at attention, frozen. A man with a long gray mustache stepped in and pulled off his cowboy hat, introducing himself as Mick Sewell, the director of Debuke House. We shook his hand, then sat in the guest chairs while he moved behind the desk.
I held my breath, waiting to see what he would say, trying to read the answer on his face. “There is a man across the hall, grieving the impending death of his mother and weeping for love of his niece, and he cannot understand why anyone would contend his right to take custody of her.” He expectantly tapped his pen on the desktop, and my body went cold. He was going to take Dell from us and give her to Uncle Bobby.
“You don’t . . .” I said, but he silenced me with a wave of his hand.
“I’m not finished yet.” His tone warned me not to interrupt again. “However, Brother Baker is a longtime friend of mine, and he has helped this shelter out many a time in dozens of different ways. He is trying, so far without success, to convince Dell’s grandmother to sign over temporary guardianship. I have also talked to Dell, who seems very fond of you both, and very determined to participate in the Jumpkids play this weekend. Yet she cannot, or will not, give me any reason why I shouldn’t send her with her uncle, pending a hearing. I have only your word and Brother Baker’s that he is an unfit custodian and can’t be trusted to take her home even for the weekend, pending more formal custody arrangements next week.”
Anger flamed in my stomach and rushed hot into my throat. I answered before James had a chance to. “She’s afraid.” Lifting my hands, I pleaded for the man across the desk to understand. “Why don’t you ask Bobby Jordan what he’s done to her to make her afraid of him? Or ask him about driving to my sister’s house, stumbling drunk, to pick her up, or why he calls her his little nigger girl?” My voice reverberated through the room, and I hoped Bobby Jordan heard me across the hall.
James laid a calming hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Sewell, we’re very concerned that if Mr. Jordan is allowed to leave with Dell tonight, he’ll take her out of state and won’t bring her back for formal custody arrangements. If she goes with us this weekend, she will definitely still be here next week, and then the courts can decide what’s best in the long run.” He looked the older man in the eye—the confident, logical, determined pilot about to smoothly lift a 747 into the air. “We’re just asking you to err on the side of caution, that’s all.”
The director gave James a nod of respect, then focused on me again. “I’m going to my office to check with Brother Baker again. Please wait here.” He was gone from the room before we could get any indication of his thoughts.
James slid his hand down my arm, giving my fingers a squeeze and holding on. “I think that went well.” He gave me a wry smile. “At this point, he ought to be afraid to tell you no.”
I covered my face with my hands, feeling stupid. “I lost it, didn’t I? You think I scared him?”
“You scared me.”
Leaning over, I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes. Getting Dell wasn’t going to be as easy as just wanting it to happen. “It’s such a long way from here to permanent custody. What if they don’t even let her come with us temporarily? What if they let Uncle Bobby take her, or what if they keep her here? Sherita said this isn’t a good place to be. Dell is so fragile already. . . .”
James stroked dark strands of hair from my face. “One thing at a time, Karen. Just relax.”
I sat there watching the minutes tick by on the clock, counting them as the long hand passed eight thirty and started toward nine. Back in Hindsville, the performance, the after party, and the cleanup would be done. The Jumpkids would be heading home.
The clock was nearing nine when the door opened and Mr. Sewell stepped in again. He remained with his hand on the doorknob, even after it was closed. I wondered what that meant. “Things have changed just a bit. After your comment, I put a call in to the DMV, and it does turn out that Bobby Jordan has a record of drunk-driving offenses. And in fact, there is an outstanding warrant for his arrest in Missouri for failure to appear in court, and a parole violation in Oklahoma. The sheriff just came to take him into custody.” He looked down at his notepad, concealing his feelings about the news. “In short, he is in quite a bit of trouble, and certainly in no position to assume custody of a minor child, even for the weekend. Brother Baker has conveyed this information to Dell’s grandmother, and she has consented under the witness of her doctor.” He glanced up, the corners of his mustache twitching as if he couldn’t maintain his stern countenance any longer. “Now, if you’ll step into the hall, I believe the young lady is more than ready to leave.”
Letting out a gasp of jo
y, I jumped from my chair, hugged James, then hurried with him into the hall.
Dell was standing with Twana Stevens at the foot of the stairs.
“This girl’s ready to go home and go to bed,” Twana said, fondly laying a hand atop Dell’s head. “She’s a very lucky girl to have people who love her so much.”
“We do.” I opened my arms, hoping.
Twana urged Dell forward, and she came, a tentative step at first, as if she were afraid we would disappear like a mirage. Three quick steps, and she was part of our family. Somewhere inside, I knew it wouldn’t be just for the weekend. It would be forever.
Chapter 22
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. I woke in the predawn hush and couldn’t remember where I was. In my dream, I’d been in a boardroom in Boston, the new Geo team on one side of the table, Vandever and the Lansing brass on the other. Tempers were high, and my heart was hammering in my throat.
Looking at Vandever I wanted to strangle him, wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the pasty flesh. . . .
He turned to me and smiled—not his usual false, detached smile, but a real smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Blue eyes, like Grandma Rose’s. “I heard a whisper in the sycamores,” he said, but the voice wasn’t his; it was Grandma Rose’s. No one else in the room seemed to hear it. I blinked, and she was standing at the head of the table, smiling, her arms stretched out to me.
Jerking awake, I sat up in bed, looking around, trying to establish where I was and what was real. James stirred next to me, looping an arm over my waist, and everything came back, filling me with contentment. I wasn’t in a boardroom in Boston. I was at the farm with James and Dell.