Stepping Into Sunlight

by Sharon Hinck

  I hurried up the hallway. “What’s wrong? And what did I say about your indoor voice?” I tripped over his backpack in the doorway.

  His chin quavered, and he pointed to the Habitrail complex. “Something’s wrong with Gimli.”

  It took a moment to find the curled up body in the pile of shavings. I tapped the cage lightly and Gimli lifted his little hamster head, eyes weepy and red.

  Bryan was right. Something was wrong.

  “Mom, do something!”

  Hamster CPR? I couldn’t even bring myself to touch the rodent. “I’ll call the pet store.”

  The clerk I reached was disinterested and unhelpful. Gum snapping between words, she assured me that she couldn’t imagine what was wrong, and they only sold healthy animals, and the best course of action would be to call a vet.

  I jumped online and searched for the closest veterinarians. The first three I called didn’t treat hamsters. Finally I reached a clinic that specialized in “exotic” animals. I’d never thought of a hamster as exotic, but all I cared about was that the receptionist said their vet was terrific with rodents.

  Unfortunately, they were closing in thirty minutes. Yes, they could squeeze me in if I hurried. No, she had no guesses about the problem. The vet would need to see him to figure that out.

  Bryan scooped his fuzzy friend out of the cage and into a shoebox. Shoeboxes were the classic coffin choice for small pets. I hoped carrying him in one wasn’t a bad omen.

  We raced to the car, and I followed the MapQuest directions to the Portsmouth Veterinarian Clinic twenty minutes away.

  The parking lot outside the clinic was almost empty, but thankfully the clinic door was still unlocked. We rushed into the waiting room, assaulted by the smells of cat box and wet dog and antiseptic. The receptionist looked up from her computer and gave us a perky smile. She handed me a rainbow of different colored forms. I couldn’t imagine what kind of medical history she expected me to provide for a hamster.

  “Okay, it’s thirty-five dollars for the office visit. Would you mind paying now? We normally take care of payment at the end of the visit, but I’m leaving for the day. Are you signed up for our pet-care program? It’s only twenty dollars a month and includes a discount on vitamins.”

  I shook my head and glanced at the shoebox that Bryan clutched to his chest. Gimli was awful quiet in there. “No, that’s okay.” I pulled out my checkbook. Our five-dollar pet was becoming an expensive investment. Still, you couldn’t put a price tag on little-boy love. Bryan was worried enough about death—between Tom being deployed and his mom nearly being shot. He couldn’t lose a pet right now.

  The vet was rotund and moved slowly. The various animals he cared for probably found his style nonthreatening. The molasses pace as he led us to an exam room set my teeth on edge. “So is this your first visit with us?”

  Even by southern standards, his words came out painfully slow.

  I gave short answers to his small-talk questions about weather, how many pets we had, how we liked Virginia. Finally he opened the shoebox and adjusted his glasses to study the hamster.

  “What have you been feeding him?”

  “Supreme Feed Mix, sunflower seeds for treats, and vitamins.” Bryan answered with grave maturity.

  The vet blotted his sweaty face, still moving slowly. But he won my heart when he looked Bryan in the eye and directed the rest of his questions to him instead of me. My heart swelled, and then twisted in pain as I watched my son carry the weight of parental love—even if it was for a rodent.

  After peering at Gimli from various angles the doctor returned him to the box and leaned back. “Well, the good news is that he has a small abscess under his eye. We can treat that. The bad news is that the stress has also caused some wet tail. But you caught it early. He’s not too dehydrated.” The vet stood slowly and pulled a few boxes from a nearby shelf. Then he pulled out a receipt book.

  “Okay, antibiotics.” He paused in his scribbling to glance up. “Put that in water or hand-feed him with an eyedropper twice a day.” He continued his calculations. “The eye cream is pretty expensive. You’ll want to apply that each morning, and watch him to be sure he doesn’t scratch at the sore.”

  How were we supposed to convince him not to scratch?

  But Bryan nodded earnestly.

  “Okay.” The vet stuck out his tongue as he concentrated. “That’ll be ninety-six dollars. And you already paid for the visit, right?”

  Ninety-six American dollars? He had to be joking. “Um, yeah. I gave the receptionist a check for thirty-five.”

  “Okay.” He tore the receipt from the book. “I can take your check for the rest. Now, Bryan, there’s one more thing that Gimli needs.”

  I held my breath, wondering how else this animal doctor planned to bankrupt me.

  “They should have told you at the pet store. Most hamsters get lonely easily. You know, Gimli had Legolas as a friend.” The vet gave a wide smile. “You might want to get Gimli a companion. Just be sure it’s another female.”

  Bryan gasped. “Gimli’s a girl?”

  “How can you tell?” I peered into the box.

  The vet scooped Gimli up again and gave us a quick education—more than I ever cared to know about the nether parts of rodents. Then I wrote another check and thanked the vet for staying late.

  Reassured that Gimli would most likely recover, Bryan bounced along beside me as we left the building. “Know what? We should go to the pet store right away. Gimli could help us pick a friend for him. Her. Whatever.”

  “Maybe we better wait until Gimli is over this infection. Besides, you can keep her from being lonely. Only one more day of school and then you have the whole weekend to play with her.”

  He gave a dramatic sigh. “I s’pose. But you have to promise to play with him . . . her . . . when I’m at school tomorrow.”

  Great. My assignment tomorrow—get antibiotics into a transgender hamster and cheer her up. Not to mention revise our budget and find an area to cut to compensate for the vet bill.

  Antibiotics: sixty-five dollars. Hamster eye cream: thirty-one dollars. Office visit: thirty-five dollars. Hopeful smile on Bryan’s face—priceless.

  chapter

  26

  FRIDAY MORNING, BRYAN AND Jim-Bob fidgeted on the top step near the front door. Cold, damp air made me shiver. The temperature was far milder than Wisconsin in late October, but the humidity seemed to soak the cold into my bones. I blew on my hands, then rested them on the ski-capped heads of the boys. “Heavenly Father, thank you for keeping us safe all night. Be with Bryan and Jim-Bob today at school. Thank you for who you are. For never forgetting us. For watching over the people who are precious to us even when we can’t.” A tear escaped one of my eyes, and I sniffled as I said, “Amen.”

  The boys stared at me. Jim-Bob shifted and gave Bryan a little kick.

  Bryan rolled his eyes. “Mom, we’re only going to school.”

  I smiled as another tear escaped. “I know. I just love you.”

  Both boys groaned and gave each other a very male look of disgust for weepy women, then galloped away.

  I laughed and swiped away more moisture from my face.

  After the bus came and went, I hurried to the computer. The emotions so close to the surface were more about Tom than Bryan. I’d still had no word. I tried to ration myself to checking e-mails three times a day, but self-control grew harder as each hour passed.

  While the screen booted up, I grabbed a cup of coffee and swept cereal bowls into the sink. I wiped down the counters, then hurried back to the living room.

  My fingers shook as I hit the icon to take me to our e-mail program. As the computer whirled and labored to collect e-mails, I cupped my coffee in both hands and took a slow breath in. “Lord, you love Tom even more than I do. You are able to protect him. You are perfect love and perfect strength.”

  This practice of adoring God still felt a little awkward, but I was determined to work on it. Lydia was ri
ght. I’d focused on serving, on trusting, on thanking, on listening. All good. But I often forgot how to simply love God. Or maybe I hadn’t forgotten, but had been too angry and confused to try.

  E-mails appeared on the screen. Forwarded jokes from a few friends, spam offering to introduce me to male enhancement products, a note from Cindy, and—

  My coffee splashed as I thumped the mug down on the small table. I moved my mouse to open the e-mail and accidentally hit Delete. Then I rescued the e-mail from the deleted file and tried again. This time my nervous fingers managed to open it.

  Hi, my million-dollar Penny,

  Sorry about the communications blackout. Hope you didn’t worry. I miss you a ton. I’ll try calling soon. Although I think Chaplain Mordai was right. Remember he said that he didn’t call home very often when he was on deployment, because it made the homesickness worse? Somehow, e-mails don’t rip out my innards quite as much as hearing your voice.

  I got your e-mail about Alex. Wow. I wish I were there for you. I know it has to be hard. And Bryan must be learning so many new things. I worry that he’ll be driving and holding down a job by the time I get home. I miss you both.

  A hundred and one kisses. Your lonely hubby.

  Tears ran down my face, and I touched the screen with one finger, as if Tom’s love and tenderness could seep from his e-mail and into my bloodstream. As I reread the words, a smile tugged my lips. He had a gift for understatement. Hard? Hard was seeing an old boyfriend at a high-school reunion. Hard was a tax audit. Hard was rubbing cream on a hamster’s eye. Alex’s upcoming visit was beyond hard.

  Still, Tom’s concern strengthened me.

  His e-mail was too short. Of course, he’d never been garrulous, and out of concern for the men he served, he didn’t share details of his conversations or experiences. He also couldn’t say too much about where he would be heading next. All around, a frustrating situation.

  Don’t be greedy, Penny. At least you know he’s alive.

  I blotted up the splashes of coffee with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and hunkered down to write him a long e-mail. For those minutes, I could pause with my fingers over the keys and my eyes closed and pretend he was sitting inches away from me.

  Hi, hunky husband,

  Of course I worried. You’d have hurt feelings if I didn’t worry a teensy bit. Bryan talked me into a hamster that he named Gimli. It got sick and we found out Gimli is a girl and needs a roommate, so this weekend we’ll head back to the pet store.

  I went to the police station to ID a photo. I guess they caught the guy and he pled guilty, so there won’t be a trial. Don’t worry. Dr. Marci from the victim center went with me. She’s been a big help.

  I found a little ministry place within walking distance, and I really admire the woman who runs it. I think I’ll start helping out once in a while.

  Yeah, having Alex reappear after all these years has me feeling all mixed up.

  I paused. There were a hundred things I wanted to talk to him about. That mental illness might run in our family. That one day I’d have a breakdown and drop out of sight like Alex had. That I wouldn’t be the woman he expected when he got home. Instead, I decided to sign off.

  I’m so proud of the work you’re doing. Bryan and I are praying for you all the time. One hundred and two kisses. Your favorite wife.

  I sent the e-mail and sat back with a happy sigh. Even distant communication was better than none. Knowing Tom was within reach through my computer again gave me the courage to face Alex’s upcoming visit.

  Saturday, my brother called from a friend’s house in Washington, D.C.

  “I could drive down tonight, or should I come over Sunday?”

  “Um, how about Monday?” I wanted to meet the first time while Bryan was at school. After that I could make a decision about introducing my son to his uncle.

  “Sounds good. For you, I’ll even get up before noon. Do you have a Starbucks near your house? I’ll spring for some coffee.”

  I laughed. He sounded so normal. “Don’t tell me you’re a Starbucks addict.”

  Silence muted him for a moment. Then he sighed, and his easygoing façade slipped. “The least of my addictions.” Dark currents swirled beneath his quiet words.

  I shivered. I really didn’t know him anymore. I knew the warm-spirited older brother from my childhood. I knew the angry, despairing man battling serious illness from my teen years. I knew a dozen years of cruel, uncaring silence. Who was he now?

  Then again, who was I now? Months ago I’d been confident, together, and blissfully unaware of how painful each day could be. Now I knew how it felt to be broken. I was best friends with brokenness. She wasn’t a friend I’d wanted to make, but she brought some gifts along. She crumbled prideful independence. She had the power to stir compassion. Everyone suffered. Everyone made some bad choices. Everyone caught in the darkness held out a palm hoping for a touch of grace to light the next step.

  Warmth pushed away my unease. “It’ll be wonderful to see you, Alex. I’ve missed you. We have a lot to catch up on. And get me their breakfast blend with cream and sugar—the biggest they’ve got.”

  He chuckled. “It’s a deal. I’ll be there by ten.”

  “That’s your idea of early?”

  “Yeah, yeah. You and Mom both. Up at the crack of dawn, kids to feed, floors to polish, committees to organize.”

  I giggled. “Not lately.” For some reason, that admission didn’t bring the swoop of shame and depression I’d grown to expect whenever I glanced at how my life was looking. “I spend the days hiding so my next-door neighbor doesn’t accuse me of voodoo or make me wallpaper her house, tricking the hamster into swallowing her antibiotics, checking for e-mails from Tom, getting pulled over by the police for crying while driving, and hanging out at a storefront mission with Popeye and Condoleezza.”

  Another silence from Alex. Then he cleared his throat. “Except for the hamster, I’m right with you. Sounds like a typical day in the life of a Norton.”

  “Except Cindy.”

  We snickered as only siblings could. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s got her life a little too organized for anything interesting to happen.”

  “Sometimes I wish I could go back to when things weren’t interesting.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  I was still smiling when Bryan and I ventured to the pet store to find a friend for Gimli. The teenage clerk had no idea which hamsters were females, so Bryan and I grabbed likely candidates and upended them to check. Frankly, I couldn’t tell the difference, so we made a best guess and bought Legolas.

  When I started the car up, the warning light flashed. Almost out of gas. My skin felt prickly with heat, then cold. I’d sailed through this errand, but at the thought of buying gas, panic throttled me. I glanced at Bryan. I could park near a gas station and sit there until Bryan turned sixteen. Then he could fill the car.

  Or I’d just drive the car until it ran out and then leave it at the side of the road until Tom got back from sea. He could take care of it then. A much saner notion.

  I pulled out of the parking lot. At least I didn’t have many places to drive in the next few days. That gave me a little reprieve.

  I even managed to get us to church Sunday morning and lasted through the service without rushing out in panic. The lector read strong, true words. I could read the same words in my Bible at home, but absorbing them along with a few hundred other people touched me with more power. The congregation spoke the creed with conviction. The pastor dug into the book of Galatians and explained how God creates fruit in our lives. Best of all, I shuffled my way to the altar for communion. Kneeling at the railing, hearing the words “The body of Christ, broken for you,” I felt God’s embrace. He understood brokenness. I suspected many of the others kneeling beside me understood it, too. I feasted on faith in ways I had missed by being home alone for so long. It’s as if I’d been standing alone by the kitchen sink eating stale potato chips. Now I gathered with family
and savored the banquet of grace.

  Dr. Marci had told our group that growth isn’t a steady consistent road. Two steps forward, one step back. I’d seen the pattern of improvements and setbacks in my own life. So the flare of horrible nightmares Sunday night wasn’t too much of a surprise.

  My dark imagination painted vivid scenes of mental hospitals. I wrestled against orderlies who dragged me toward the room where they gave electric shocks. I fought and screamed and tangled in my blankets. When I clawed my way to consciousness, I woke with a throbbing headache and stumbled to the bathroom for aspirin.

  I must have been more worried about the visit with Alex than I’d realized. I’d talked myself out of my fear of descending into madness, but my sleeping mind hadn’t gotten the message.

  Alex hadn’t sounded irrational when we’d talked. Why was I so afraid?

  I crawled back into bed, but Bryan bounded into my room and leapt onto the mattress. “So will Uncle Alex be here when I get home from school?”

  “I’m not sure what his plans are.”

  He trampolined on the bed, forcing a groan from my chest. I closed my eyes “Bryan, I’ve got a headache.”

  He flopped down alongside me. When a long silence stretched taut, I opened my eyes.

  Bryan’s bright hazel stare hovered inches from my face. As soon as he saw the whites of my eyes he laughed. “Cool. That always works.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “What does?”

  “If I get real close and watch you long enough, you open your eyes.”

  I pounced and tickled him, even though his giggles shot pain through my head. “Okay, buster. Now make your bed. I’ll get your Cheerios ready. If you hurry, you can send a message for Dad before school.”

  He tumbled over me and skidded from the room in his stocking feet.

  “Bryan, wait! How’s Gimli?”

  He slid back into the doorway. “She’s happier. Legolas likes her new house, too.” He gave me an assessing look. “Maybe you should try some of Gimli’s medicine. Works really good.”