Dreams That Won't Let Go

by Stacy Hawkins Adams

  “I can now look back on that season without bitterness. I remember my last conversation with Farrah before she boarded the plane to leave, and how she said, with such clarity, that she was ready to do whatever God required of her. I think that took such courage. I don’t know that I had that kind of courage then, or that I do now.”

  Reuben raised his hand. “How did you find your way back to the ministry?”

  If Pastor Taylor could accomplish that feat, it gave him hope that he could find his way into his sisters’ hearts.

  Pastor Taylor took a breath and folded his arms. “That there is a whole new story, another testimony in and of itself. The short answer is that God had to get my attention, and when he did, I stopped running. I’ve never regretted turning back to him.

  “Now that you know a little more about my journey, tell me, what does the Scripture that we read this evening say to you? Name it and claim it? Be in tune with God and trust him to guide?”

  No one broke the silence.

  “You see, we bring to this passage our personal histories, our hopes, desires, and dreams, and even our wish lists. But what we need to bring to God is only this simple request: ‘Let me live for you.’ Because as another Scripture tells us, ‘To live is Christ, to die is gain.’

  “That means it’s better to take the path that Farrah took rather than live a meaningless life of going through the motions and pretending to have it all together. When we allow ourselves to be broken, as Hezekiah was, we can then be blessed. Everyone knew Hezekiah was terminally ill, so when the remedy was applied that allowed him to live, he couldn’t help but glorify God in the way he lived going forward.

  “Is your life bringing God glory? I had to ask myself that back then, and I do that on a daily basis now. Ask yourself this question, and find the courage to hear God’s answer.

  “Whew! I done preached up in here!” Pastor Taylor closed his Bible and wiped his brow.

  Indeed he had.

  Reuben would need to process all of this later, but he wondered if he had been overlooking the answers to the questions he’d been wrestling with all these years. Why did his parents have to die, and why had he survived? Why would a good God let that happen?

  He hadn’t found any great meaning yet, like Pastor Taylor had so vividly described. He’d just been a kid longing to be held by his parents again, and wondering why his pleas for God to save them had gone unanswered, when his biological mother had always read him the Scripture in Mark that said “Ask and you shall receive.”

  Tonight was the first inkling he had that maybe God had heard, and maybe their deaths were part of a bigger plan. But what did that mean for him? Was there something more he was being called to do? He didn’t think he even liked God; how effective would that make him in spreading the so-called gospel?

  24

  The call from New York came when she least expected it, and it disappointed her that it wasn’t from Yasmin.

  Indigo rummaged through her purse to find the ringing cell phone and had gasped when she saw the 212 area code. New York City.

  She didn’t recognize the number, but that could mean that Yasmin was calling from someone else’s phone.

  She winced and looked at Max. “It could have been her. I just missed it.”

  The phone chimed a second later, though, letting her know she had a new voice mail. Indigo breathlessly checked it, hoping to hear her sister’s voice.

  Her face fell as she listened. It wasn’t Yasmin, but the message still surprised her. It was from Sasha Davies, the talent scout for Ford Models who had signed Yasmin four years ago. Why would Sasha be calling her? She hadn’t hired Indigo for a fashion photo shoot since Mama and Daddy yanked Yasmin out of the business.

  “Indigo, give me a call as soon as you can. I need to talk with you about . . . an opportunity. Please call ASAP.”

  “That was strange,” Indigo told Max when the call ended.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and they were driving through some of the newer neighborhoods sprouting up in Jubilant, looking for a house they could grow into, yet comfortably afford, on their fluctuating entrepreneurial income. So far they’d stopped at two open houses for older homes that were fairly spacious, but lacked curb appeal. As visual professionals, loving the look was important to both of them.

  “Who was it?” Max asked.

  “Yasmin’s former boss, from her modeling days. She used to hire me to shoot portfolio images of some of her new recruits, and for an occasional low-profile show, but I haven’t heard from her since Yas stopped modeling. Isn’t it funny that she’d call now?”

  Max looked at her pointedly. “Maybe not, babe. She may know something.”

  Indigo frowned. “Think so? I don’t recall her and Yasmin being particularly tight. But you know what? You’re right—you never know how things work out.”

  She dialed Sasha back and got her voice mail.

  “Sasha—great to hear from you. This is Indigo Burns, returning your call. Please call me back at your convenience. I’m looking forward to talking with you.”

  Indigo sighed and placed the phone on top of her bag, so if it rang again, she could easily grab it. On impulse, she picked it up again and dialed Yasmin’s cell number. As it had been doing since the girl’s birthday a month ago, the call went straight to voice mail. Yasmin was smart: if she had a phone now, it must be one of the pay-as-you-go kind, that you could cheaply add minutes to, without being traced.

  But for her not to have contacted anyone was alarming. And unfair. She knew Mama and Daddy were older, and that Daddy had high blood pressure. The stress of worrying about her wasn’t good for either of them. They didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

  Indigo laid the phone down again and picked up the newspaper’s real estate section.

  “Make a left here,” she told Max.

  They turned onto a tree-lined street with wide sidewalks and lush lawns. The two-story brick homes weren’t all cookie-cutter designs. Moms were pushing babies in strollers and kids wore helmets and raced on their bikes in a couple of the cul-de-sacs they passed. When they pulled in front of the house listed for sale, Indigo was smitten.

  She looked at Max with wide eyes.

  He smirked. “Don’t fall in love curbside. Let’s look inside first.”

  Indigo wasn’t disappointed. The first floor featured wood floors, a large kitchen with a bar and island, surround sound already installed, and a sliding glass door that led to a backyard stone patio. Upstairs, there were four bedrooms, a theater room, and a walk-up attic with a small bonus room.

  Indigo and Max nodded in unison.

  “Big enough for an on-site office,” he said.

  There was nothing to dislike, as far as Indigo was concerned. This house was beautiful from the inside out and gave them plenty of room to grow. They could use one of the second-floor bedrooms as an additional office until they added to their family. The neighborhood schools were fantastic, which would keep the property value elevated, and it was just fifteen or so minutes from Max’s studio in one direction and her parents’ home in the other.

  They stood on the second-floor landing, peering past the elaborate chandelier at the cherrywood floor below. The realtor who was based in the neighborhood to show this home and others had stepped outside to take a call.

  Max grasped Indigo by the waist and twirled her around several times. She leaned in for a kiss.

  “What do you think?” she whispered as she nuzzled his neck with her nose.

  “It’s off the chain, but it’s over our budget,” he whispered back and kissed her chin.

  Indigo pulled away from him and peered into his eyes. “How do you know? Did you get the asking price?”

  Max shook his head. “No, but I’m guessing it’s way up there.”

  Indigo wasn’t going to argue with him. She didn’t want to make him feel bad if he were right and they were out of their league. But she also didn’t want to give up without trying. She felt at home here, a
nd she believed he did too.

  When the realtor returned and climbed the steps to join them, Max popped the question.

  “What’s the asking price?”

  Ms. Jaynes quoted a figure well above what Indigo and Max considered comfortable, given their current income.

  Her heart fell, but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “What kind of programs do you have for first-time home buyers?”

  Max chimed in too. “Actually, she’s a first-time buyer, but I’d be willing to sell my current house and put those proceeds toward this down payment.”

  Ms. Jaynes motioned for them to follow her. “Let’s go to my office down the block. We’ll see what’s doable through a variety of options.”

  Max and Indigo looked at each other and smiled. She decided in that instant that whatever was wisest would be okay, even if it meant crossing this fabulous home off her list. They were just starting out and didn’t have to have it right away; what was more important was being together, wherever they lived.

  Max’s cell phone rang when they hopped into his SUV to follow the realtor to her office.

  “Hey, man,” he said and mouthed to Indigo that it was Reuben. It intrigued her to see them bonding, but she hadn’t balked. After their dinner a couple of weeks ago, she had realized that God was going to reveal everything she needed to know about Reuben’s long absence, to give her some resolution. It would happen in God’s timing, not hers. She just had to wait and be obedient.

  Maybe that was why Reuben called at this precise moment; to remind her about that instruction even as she was house hunting.

  Max made plans to get together with Reuben later that evening, to shoot pool. She made a mental note to give Peyton a call. Maybe they could hang out too.

  25

  Peyton answered Indigo’s call through the voice-automated speakerphone in her family room and agreed to visit with Indigo while the men played pool.

  She also offered to bring dinner.

  Indigo dismissed the idea. “I invite you over and make you do the work? I don’t think so, lady.”

  “It won’t take but a minute to whip up my chicken tetrazzini. You’ll love it. You helped cook last time, remember?”

  “That was at Max’s place,” Indigo said and laughed.

  “Counts as yours informally,” Peyton said. “It won’t be long ’til that ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ stuff officially becomes ‘ours.’”

  Indigo shook her head. “It’s sneaking up on me. I can’t believe it.”

  “Have you mailed your invitations yet?”

  “They’ll go out in two more weeks.”

  The women chatted a few minutes more before Peyton ended the call so she could wake Charles David from his nap to get him ready for the visit.

  Indigo began tidying up her townhouse, but soon stopped in her tracks and laughed out loud. Peyton was blind; girlfriend couldn’t see dust and piles of books and photography magazines. She resumed the task, though, because Charles David could. Plus, she knew Peyton could feel and sense her way around a space. Somehow she’d know if the rooms were cluttered.

  Half an hour later, Reuben called to tell her they were pulling into the driveway. Peyton used her cane to approach the front door, and Indigo greeted her from her townhouse’s tiny porch landing. She leaned down to hug Peyton and peered around her.

  “Someone’s missing. Where’s Charles David?”

  “He wanted to go over to Irene’s and play on his swing set. I think your mother bribed him with ice cream too,” Peyton shook her head. “She is spoiling that boy rotten and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Indigo knew Mama was trying to fill the void left by Yasmin’s absence. Despite her efforts to replace her fretting for Yas with adoration for Charles David, she was suffering. She seemed to have aged at least five years, and her spirits were as low as Daddy’s. They were becoming two hermits who came to life only when Charles David was around to help take their minds off their woes. Mama seemed to have completely forgotten about the wedding, and Indigo hadn’t had the heart to bother her. It hurt, though, to lose her sister and her mother in one fell swoop.

  The journaling that Rachelle had recommended was helping. Pouring out her thoughts and feelings on paper every night, especially after a trying day at work or an emotionally draining one with the family, was helping her keep her equilibrium.

  She didn’t spend as much time crying about her problems to God, either. He already knew about them. Her time with him these days was mostly spent in meditation, listening for direction on the path he wanted her to take.

  Peyton made her way into Indigo’s living room and tucked her cane into her purse before settling on the sofa. “Mind if I take off my shoes? This sofa is comfortable, and I just might curl up on it for a while, since I’m on my own little ‘play date’ of sorts, away from the men in my life.”

  Indigo laughed. She loved this girl’s spirit. She curled up on the opposite end of the couch and the two of them chitchatted about whatever crossed their minds—the lack of social outlets for women their age in Jubilant, the latest dramas among the Hollywood elite, and who should have won last season’s American Idol competition.

  Eventually they grew hungry and moved to the table to feast on Peyton’s tetrazzini, which included spaghetti pasta, shredded chicken, and mozzarella cheese.

  “This is sinful!” Indigo said as she dished up her second serving. “How did you learn how to throw down like this?”

  Peyton laughed. “I don’t have to be a girl raised in the South to know how to cook. I’ve been burnin’ forever. That’s how I got your brother.”

  They both had a good laugh.

  “Seriously, though,” Peyton said. “I’m the youngest of three girls, and when I was born with limited vision and eventually became blind, my parents decided they were going to raise me as much like they had raised my sisters as they could.

  “Phaedra and Paula learned to ride their bikes when they were six, so when I turned ten and my legs were long enough, my parents bought a two-seater bike that allowed me to learn to ride as the ‘passenger.’ My sisters sorted their laundry to be washed starting at age ten and then folded it afterward, and I did the same. Both of them learned to cook at age twelve, so when I turned twelve, Mom got whatever adaptive equipment she needed so she could teach me too. It turns out that I’m the best cook of the three.”

  Indigo was floored. “Is there anybody else in your immediate family who’s blind?”

  “No. Both of my parents carry the recessive gene for this condition, but it’s fairly rare. One of my father’s aunts was born with LCA, but because of her age and the era in which she lived, she had a limited life and was mostly confined to a home. My dad was determined to help me become independent, so that when he and Mom were gone, I wouldn’t be left at anyone else’s mercy. I thank God that he and Mom were so focused on helping me be strong.”

  “They sound amazing,” Indigo said. “You are amazing, and I guess it stems from having their support. I really admire you.”

  “Please, Indigo, no fan-club fawning, okay?” Peyton reached for her hand. Indigo rested her palm inside of Peyton’s open one. “Let’s keep it real, okay? I haven’t always been this strong or this accepting of my condition. I had a really rough time when I was a teenager, because I couldn’t understand why I was ‘marked,’ why I had to be the ‘black sheep’ of the family. I thought about suicide.”

  Indigo gasped. Looking at Peyton, watching her in action with Reuben and Charles David, and seeing that bright, cheerful smile, one never would have guessed.

  “I did,” Peyton nodded. “But I had a really good girlfriend who accepted me unconditionally and loved me for me. She always took me to church with her family, and one Sunday, there was a guest minister, a college student, who preached about taking the blinders off, about the importance of taking the scales off our eyes so we could really see what God wanted us to see.

  “That helped me so much. I realized that ju
st because I couldn’t see with my physical eyes didn’t mean I couldn’t see spiritually, with the heart of God. The only thing that was crippled was my mind. I gave my life to Christ that day, and even though I occasionally struggled with self-pity and depression for a few more years, God kept making me stronger, until I woke up one day and realized that there was a whole lot more of me to love than there was to hate.”

  Indigo wrapped her fingers around Peyton’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She thought about her own pity party over her glaucoma diagnosis and how Daddy had nudged her out of her self-absorption by directing her to run Melba’s hair salon, until Aunt Melba recovered from her stroke. By taking her eyes off of herself, she had wound up receiving everything she needed to thrive, including winning a photography award and meeting Max. In her own way, Peyton had traveled a similar path.

  “I’m so glad you finally saw the truth,” Indigo told her. “I’m thankful that you’re my sister-in-law.”

  “Even though you don’t like your brother?”

  Peyton reminded Indigo of Aunt Melba; she wasn’t one to dillydally around the elephant in the room. Indigo wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Peyton nodded. “I know. It’s been hard. I heard you at dinner a couple of weeks ago, when you vented your frustrations. Just know that Reuben hasn’t been as self-absorbed as you think. He’s been wrestling with his own demons from the past.”

  Indigo frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Peyton pursed her lips. “It’s not my place to share that. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. I’ve been praying for God to get him there, and he will.”

  Indigo’s curiosity was piqued. It was clear that she’d been assessing her brother on partial information, but Peyton wasn’t going to talk.

  “Well, tell me this,” Indigo said, changing courses. “How is it that someone so deeply connected to her faith fell in love with a man who barely knows how to say grace? You’ve met Mama and Daddy, so you know Reuben grew up in church. But it’s been clear since he came back home that he’d rather run through fire than call on the Lord.”