“You are in control,” the congregation sang on.
To her right stood proof that God could bring good from all things. Dallas had found Christ after a decade of closing his ears to the truth they’d shared with him. Wasn’t that reason enough for hope?
But her husband wasn’t here.
She opened her eyes, lifted her head, looked at the cross behind the altar.
Jesus…
She felt a hand alight on her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Barb Dobson.
“Let’s go pray,” Barb said softly.
Erika nodded.
She allowed her friend to lead her to the altar railing where they knelt between others. Barb placed an arm around Erika’s shoulders, then leaned close and began to pray. She asked God for wisdom. She asked God to accomplish His will. She asked God to heal old wounds and to bring something new to life.
Yes, Lord, Erika’s heart cried again and again. Yes, Lord. Yes.
She felt someone else kneel at her right side and place a hand over hers. She opened her eyes to see who it was.
Ethan.
That was when she began to weep.
The demons of jealousy and resentment taunted Steven as he wandered the silent house.
“Dallas is coming to church,” Erika had told him. “You should be there.”
But he hadn’t gone. He couldn’t go. Didn’t want to go.
So he imagined them instead. Erika, Dallas, and Ethan sitting in his pew, looking like a family.
Did Erika ever wish she’d married Dallas instead of him? It was possible. After all, Dallas was successful. He was rich. He’d made something of himself. If Erika had told Dallas she was pregnant, he probably would have married her. It could have been Erika living in that large house instead of Paula. Ethan might have been Dallas’s son instead of his.
She could’ve had an easy life with him. She must have thought about it over the years. She must have wondered if she made the right choice.
He stopped his pacing in the kitchen. Evidence of preparation for the afternoon’s barbecue was everywhere. Paper plates and napkins were on the counter, along with plastic forks and knives. Outside on the patio, the table had been covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth.
Erika had arranged for Kirsten to meet her maternal grandfather and great-grandmother here today. Most significantly, she’d arranged for Kirsten to meet Dallas. Kirsten’s father. Right here in Steven’s home. Right under his nose. Whether he liked it or not.
Erika set her purse and Bible on the kitchen counter. She felt stronger than she had when she left for church. She felt bolstered by prayer and the support of her friends and her son. She knew she couldn’t pretend that things would get better between her and Steven without their facing the problem head-on. She had to make him see that, too.
She found her husband sitting on the bed, tying his shoes. He glanced up when she entered, then looked down again.
She closed the door and leaned against it. “We can’t go on like this, Steven.”
He got up and disappeared into the walk-in closet, acting as if he hadn’t heard her.
She raised her voice. “I mean it. We’ve got to talk.”
“Can’t it wait?” He stepped into the closet doorway. “I’ve got to fire up the grill. We’ve got company coming. Remember?” His voice was hard, his expression the same. “You’re the one who invited them.”
“This is more important.”
“I don’t feel like talking right now, Erika.”
“We can’t go on like this. You can’t keep treating me this way. You can’t keep treating Dallas this way either.”
“I don’t want to talk about Dallas.” He disappeared into the closet a second time.
“Well, I do!” She strode across the room. “I do want to talk about him. And about you. And about us.” Tears threatened, and she paused to fight them back. “What is it you want, Steven? Blood?”
He faced her, and for a moment, she thought he might admit blood was precisely what he wanted.
He said, “I’m doing the best I can.”
“No.” She sniffed. “No, you’re not.”
“Let it go, Erika.”
“You don’t want to touch me. You never kiss me or tell me you love me. You walk wide circles around me. Like I’m a leper or something. How long do you plan to sleep in your easy chair? The rest of our lives?” Loneliness pressed in on her, crushing her. She lifted a hand toward him. “Please—”
He swore softly. Steven never swore. Erika stepped backward as if he’d struck her.
“I can’t help what I feel,” he snapped. He exited the closet, giving her a wide berth on his way toward the door.
“Steven—”
Stopping, he swore again. “Let it go. Okay?”
“No,” she whispered.
He turned to face her. “No what?”
“No, it isn’t okay. No, I won’t let it go.”
He glowered at her.
“You’re not doing the best you can, Steven. You could change if you wanted to. You just don’t want to.”
“I haven’t left you, have I?”
The room seemed to grow smaller, the air thinner, as the two of them stared at each other.
Erika broke the silence. “Maybe you should.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I will.”
Who are you, Steven? What’s become of the man I’ve loved? Where’s he hiding?
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, the hard edge gone from his voice for the first time.
I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, up or down, in or out. All I know is that I want you to love me. I want you to touch me the way you used to. I want you to kiss me on the mouth and remember that you’re my husband. I want you to act like the man I’ve known and loved for over half of my life.
“Well, I guess I’ve got my answer.” He headed for the closet again. “I’ll pack a few things and get out of your way.”
That’s not my answer, she wanted to cry. Don’t go, Steven. Don’t leave.
But she couldn’t seem to speak.
And he couldn’t seem to stay.
Twenty-eight
No unfamiliar cars were in the driveway, Kirsten noted as she walked toward the front door. She was either the first to arrive… or no one else was coming.
Before Kirsten could ring the bell, the door opened, revealing Erika.
“Hi.” Erika’s smile was more nervous than happy. “Glad you could come.”
Kirsten nodded, wondering when—or if—this awkwardness between them would go away.
“I hope you’re hungry. I’ve fixed four different salads, and we’ve got steaks ready to go on the grill.”
She’s my mom, and she’s doing all of this for me.
Kirsten felt an odd pleasure at the thought, followed by a sting of guilt. From the beginning of her search, she’d been determined not to dishonor the mother who’d raised her by sharing that title with Erika Welby.
And yet…
“Come in.” Erika stepped back into the house. “I hope you remembered the photos. Did you?”
“Yes. I found a few.” She pulled a small envelope from the side pocket of her purse.
“May I?” Erika held out a hand.
With a nod, Kirsten passed them to her.
Erika opened the envelope and withdrew the photos. She looked at the first one, staring at it for a long time before asking, “How old were you here?”
“Six. It’s my first-grade school picture.”
“You look a little like Ethan did at the same age.”
“Really?” Kirsten stepped to Erika’s side and studied the photograph.
“Look at your cowlick. Ethan’s got one in the exact same spot.”
“I never noticed his.”
“Well, it was more obvious before he cut his hair so short.” She smiled. “You both inherited it from me.”
Kirsten raised her eyes to Erik
a’s hairline. “I always hated it.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
But Erika laughed softly. “Me, too.” As naturally as if she’d been doing it for years, she hooked her arm through Kirsten’s. “Let’s look at the rest in the kitchen where the light’s better.”
The sound of a closing car door stopped them before they took their first step. Kirsten’s heart seemed to stop, too. Then it raced like an engine with the throttle stuck at full bore.
Erika released Kirsten’s arm and moved to the door, opening it again.
Kirsten saw the car, a pale gold Lexus convertible—the kind that cost more than she made in an entire year, maybe two. The dark-haired man standing beside it was good-looking, well dressed, and… and her father. She recognized him from the snapshots she’d seen in Erika’s album.
“He came,” she whispered.
Erika placed her arm around Kirsten’s shoulders. “He came.” She gently guided Kirsten onto the front porch.
A second car pulled into the drive, this one a long, four-door “boat” with fins instead of fenders. Straight out of the sixties, the automobile’s burgundy paint was faded, the white vinyl top cracked and peeling.
“That’s your grandfather and your great-grandmother. My mother’s mother.”
Kirsten’s heart was pounding so hard she almost couldn’t hear what Erika said.
Dallas Hurst had obviously noticed the new arrivals, too. With a long, easy stride, he moved to the passenger side of the Olds and opened the door, then leaned forward and assisted an elderly woman from the car.
Louisa Scott had a short cap of silver hair. She was tiny—no more than five-two and a hundred pounds—and her smile was made more obvious by the bright lipstick she wore. She reached up and patted Dallas’s cheek, as if he were a schoolboy rather than a man in his forties.
Kirsten shifted her gaze toward the driver’s side of the automobile where her maternal grandfather now stood.
Trevor James was a tall, slender man but somewhat stooped in the shoulders. His hair, what he had of it, was stone gray. And he was definitely not smiling as he stared toward the front porch.
“Hi, Dad,” Erika called. “Grams.” She hesitated another moment before adding, “Hi, Dallas.”
The newly arrived trio walked toward the house, Louisa Scott between the two men.
“I hope you brought good appetites,” Erika said, “because we’ve got lots of food.”
Kirsten’s nerves screeched as she waited for the moment of introduction. She wasn’t sure where to look. At her father? her grandfather? her great-grandmother? the ground? the sky?
From the doorway behind her, there came a most welcome voice. “They’re all here.” A moment later, Ethan stepped to her other side. Kirsten looked at her half brother. He grinned back at her, a twinkle of encouragement in his dark blue eyes. “They won’t bite,” he whispered. “Not even Grandpa.”
Amazingly enough, she believed him.
She does look like me.
Any lingering doubt in Dallas’s mind about the girl’s parentage vanished the instant he laid eyes on her.
“Everybody,” Erika said, a slight quaver in her voice, “this is Kirsten. Kirsten,” Erika continued, “this is… your grandfather, Trevor James.”
If Trevor said one unkind word, Dallas would flatten him, old man or not. So help him, he would.
A hesitant smile curved the corners of Kirsten’s mouth as she nodded toward the older man.
“And this is Grams.”
Kirsten repeated the nod, but that wasn’t good enough for Louisa Scott. She moved up the steps, unaided by either of the men, and embraced the girl.
“Praise the Lord.” Louisa didn’t let her diminutive height stop her. With hands on Kirsten’s shoulders, she pulled her great-granddaughter down so she could kiss her cheek. “How glad I am you’re here.” She kissed Kirsten’s other cheek. “You’re the picture of loveliness, my dear. The very picture of loveliness.”
“Thank you.”
Erika motioned toward Dallas. “And this… is your father.”
He hadn’t anticipated the lump in his throat or the heaviness in his chest. He couldn’t have spoken, not if his life depended on it.
“Hello,” Kirsten said, her voice scarcely audible.
This was his daughter. She was a part of him, a part of his blood. There was something primal in the way that made him feel. There was a sense of pride, too, as if he’d done something unique in helping to give her life. But there was something more besides. Something…
“For cryin’ out loud,” Trevor James snapped, “are we going to stand out here all day or can we go in?”
Dallas was almost grateful for the interruption. He needed a bit of time to sort through these foreign emotions.
As Erika motioned her guests inside, she fought hard to maintain her thin veneer of control.
A few hours. I’ll be okay for a few hours. Then I can fall apart.
“Mom, where’s Dad?” Ethan asked softly.
“He had to leave.” She met her son’s gaze and forced a smile. “I’ll need you to grill the steaks. Okay?”
“Sure, but—”
“We’d better hurry. You know how your grandfather gets when he’s hungry.” She followed after the others.
If I stay busy, I’ll be okay. I won’t think about Steven. I won’t think about it yet. Not yet.
But of course she did think about it. Her husband of eighteen years had left her. The man she’d loved since she was fifteen had walked out of her life. How could she not think about it?
God, how did we come to this?
Her guests moved outside onto the patio. Fortunately, the temperature was cooler than it had been in recent weeks, and there was a pleasant breeze coming from the west. While Erika watched from the kitchen window, ostensibly getting things ready for their meal, she observed Grams sit down beside Kirsten on the picnic-table bench. She immediately took hold of the girl’s hand and patted it affectionately. Erika’s father sat on the opposite side of the patio. Dallas went to stand with Ethan at the grill.
Was it worth it? Was having them all here worth losing her husband?
She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands against the edge of the sink, supporting herself, her knees weak.
Father, what shall I do? I’m frightened. Was it wrong to want to know my daughter? Was it too much to ask of Steven?
“Erika? Are you all right?”
She straightened and looked toward Dallas, standing in the doorway. “Yes,” she lied, “I’m fine.”
“Ethan said Steve had to go out.”
She nodded.
Dallas entered the kitchen. “It’s because I’m here, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, then nodded.
“I shouldn’t have come.” He glanced outside, his gaze settling on Kirsten. His voice dropped. “She’s beautiful, Erika.”
“Yes, she is.”
He was silent for several moments before he said, “Paula wouldn’t come because she still thinks Kirsten’s after our money or something.”
Maybe Paula’s absence had to do with Kirsten, but Erika doubted it. She thought it had more to do with Warren Carmichael and knowing that Erika had seen them together. She turned and walked to the refrigerator, afraid her face would give something away. She couldn’t deal with another crisis right now.
“Can I help you with anything?” Dallas asked.
She took the platter of meat from the refrigerator. “You can take these to Ethan. Then you can go over and talk to Kirsten. That’s why you’re here. To get to know your daughter.”
He gave her a guilty smile, took the platter, and left the kitchen.
Don’t think about anything. Don’t think about Steven or Paula. I can get through this. I can. I can. I can.
Dallas was a master at small talk, of putting people at ease in awkward situations, of knowing just the right thing to say at just the right moment. But for some
reason, that talent failed him today. He didn’t know what to say to this young woman who was his daughter. Thank goodness for Ethan.
With everyone seated around the table, the blessing spoken, Ethan said, “Tell us about your trip across the country. Anything exciting happen?”
Kirsten shook her head. “Not really, although I did begin to feel a kinship with burly truckers in T-shirts and baseball caps. It seemed like I ate every meal with them.”
“And your new job?” Louisa asked. “How do you like it?”
“I think I’m going to like it a lot.” Kirsten smiled at her great-grandmother. “But I’m still feeling a bit lost and out of place.”
Louisa nodded. “God does His best work in us when we’re feeling out of place. I’m sure He has something wonderful in store for you, dearest.”
“I suppose,” Kirsten replied, her gaze lowering to the food on her plate.
“Isn’t Steven going to join us?” Trevor demanded abruptly.
Dallas glanced toward Erika and thought she looked unusually pale.
“I…I told you, Dad. He had to go out.”
“Well, where would he have to go on a Sunday afternoon, for pete’s sake?”
“I’m not sure. It was… he had to leave rather suddenly.” She grabbed the bowl on the table in front of her and offered it to Dallas. “More potato salad?”
“Thanks,” he answered, taking it, even though he hadn’t yet touched the salad already on his plate.
Dallas could see Erika was trying hard not to show how upset she was by Steven’s absence. He was pretty sure nobody at the table was fooled by her efforts.
Once again, it was Ethan who came to the rescue. “Tell us about Philadelphia. What was it like growing up there? I mean, think of it. That’s where the Liberty Bell is. All that history. It must be great getting to see those places where our nation got its start.”
For the remainder of the meal, Kirsten politely answered the questions that were posed to her. Dallas thought he might have learned as much about her life by what she didn’t say as by what she did. More than once he wondered what might have been if he’d had the chance to raise her. And several times he felt a strange sense of awe at the recurrent thought: I’m her father. I’m a dad.
Firstborn Page 16