“Okay.” He inhaled deeply, calming himself. “What do I pray for?”
“Pray for this moment so we can see each other.”
Michael took a few more deep breaths as his hands stopped shaking. He closed his eyes and prayed harder than he ever remembered.
The temperature rose and his fingers tingled. He finished the prayer, opened his eyes and gasped in wonder as a vision of Vicki, surrounded by the white vapor, appeared before him.
She looked like a hologram, wearing her favorite faded blue jeans and black shirt. A bright green ribbon held her hair in a long, flowing ponytail. Goosebumps scurried up his spine as a cool mist sprinkled his face.
He felt as if he were in a trance, not believing she was actually in front of him. “Are you in any pain?” he asked.
“No. There is no pain here.”
He put his hand out to touch her but his arm wouldn’t move. He tried to take a step toward her; his feet were planted to the ground. He bit his lower lip, remembering what Jesus had told him, to be happy with the things he had and not dwell on what he didn’t have. Right now, he was given the chance to speak to Vicki. He’d be happy with that for the moment.
She smiled and pushed the hair away from her eyes. “I’m glad you came when I called.”
“Called? I don’t understand.”
“I called upon you through our Father.”
“Why now?”
“I still have some remorse I can’t remove,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“A week before we got married you had gotten your tux and you hadn’t said a word about getting shoes. I knew you had a worn pair. I was afraid you’d just wear those shoes with the tux so I said something to your best man.”
“To Brian?”
“Yes,” she said, lowering her head. “I told him to make sure you get yourself a new pair of shoes that matched your tux.”
“Oh yeah, he mentioned something to me,” he said, confused. “What does that have to do with us now?”
“You were so angry at me at the time. I thought you would regret marrying me.”
“No. I could never regret marrying you. I was angry and embarrassed that you didn’t trust me enough to make such a simple decision.” He shook his head, smiling through the ache of wanting to hold her. “It’s so stupid now that I think about it. It was just a pair of shoes.”
“I was a control freak and shoes for our wedding day was serious business.” She bent her head to the side, sadness etched in her gaze. “I know that it was my need to control everything, even you and not to fully trust. I know it was a small thing but I’ve always felt terrible about it.”
“It’s nothing. Really. I never thought about it much.” He let out a short chuckle. “So you called me here to have a discussion about the shoes?”
She paused a moment. “No. There’s more.” Vicki frowned. “The shoes weren’t the only reason I asked our Father to see you.” She hesitated for a few more seconds. “I’m sorry for asking you to leave.”
Michael’s stomach lurched as deep gloom engulfed him. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“What was that?”
“That I was only coming home because of the baby. I wanted to be with you.”
“I know.”
“I was angry, Vicki. But I’m sad I didn’t tell you then that I was saying it out of anger. I was hurt.”
“I was hurt too. I was confused. It’s why I needed to talk to Sammie so often.”
“I thought so.” He swallowed back a lump of guilt. “I messed up so much.”
“We both did.”
He gazed at her, willing his expression to show how contrite he truly was. “I wasn’t mature enough to realize that I should have come to you and talk about why we were growing apart.”
“We both have regrets, Michael. I neglected our marriage and didn’t nurture our relationship.” Her eyes held a tinge of sadness. “I was so worried about my pregnancy that I shut you out.”
He held his hand up. “You were a wonderful wife. We both lost our focus and let the worries consume us.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t care about all that. I need you to come back and be with Elizabeth and me. Ask our Father to send you back.”
“That’s not possible.” Vicki smiled. “I’m so proud of Elizabeth. She’s beautiful and smart. She’s so strong and independent.”
Michael trembled. The fear of God gripped him as he formed the words. “She misses you so much. It wasn’t fair of God to take you from us.”
“God did not take me. An accident did. An accident. It can happen to anybody. Please remember that, no matter what you may find out in the future.”
“What do you mean, Vicki?”
She didn’t respond.
“It’s not fair.” He felt a rush of heat travel from his neck to his face. “You never got to hold Elizabeth in your arms. Never got to look in Elizabeth’s eyes for the first time. Seeing her first smile, her laughter, the first time she walked. Watching her blow out her birthday candles.” He bunched his fists. “Makes me so angry every time I think of how much you’ve missed.”
“Are you angry for me or for you?”
For a moment he was speechless. “For all of us.”
She held out her hands, her ring as sparkling as it was on their wedding day. “I miss you both. I’m proud of her. You are a great father.”
He stared into her eyes, hoping for a brief touch of her flesh. “I wish I could hold you in my arms.”
“Behold,” Jesus said, standing behind him. “Love her as my Father had intended. Hold her next to your heart.”
Michael’s mouth dropped. The mist evaporated and Vicki stood in the flesh before him, wearing the same black and white dress from their first date. Her hair was bouncy, curled at the ends, a little bit of makeup on her cheeks. Her long nails were painted in light green, complimenting her eyes.
“Can I touch her?” He turned to Jesus. “Kiss her?”
Jesus smiled. “It is up to you to make it happen.”
“How?” He tried to embrace Vicki but he couldn’t. “What do I do?”
“Michael,” Vicki said. “If you close your eyes and believe you can touch me, feel me and inhale my scent, then you can.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“Touch my hand,” she said.
He reached out but felt a cold mist. “I can’t feel you.”
“Do you remember the day you asked me to marry you?”
“Yes, on the ball field, in the rain.” He laughed. “We got so soaked that day.”
“It was one of the happiest days of my life,” she said. “Take me there again.”
“How?”
“Believe you can.”
He got down on one knee. “It was the happiest day of my life too.”
“Are you asking me to marry you again?”
Michael reached up with one hand. “I am. Touch me, Vicki. Touch my hand. I believe you’re real. Marry me again. Love me again. Don’t let me go again.” He opened his eyes. “I can feel you now, can you feel me?”
She quivered. “Yes.”
They embraced.
He buried his head against her neck, breathing deeply to smell her hair. “My goodness, you’re cold.” He rubbed her back hard, trying to warm her up.
They swayed back and forth as they had on the dance floor at their wedding. She tightened her hug. “This feels wonderful, Michael.”
“I can smell your shampoo, oh Lord, I’ve missed that so much.”
Vicki did the same. “Keep rubbing me. It feels so wonderful. I never thought I would get to hold you again.”
They rocked back and forth as Michael pressed his cheek against hers. He kept the tempo at a crawl, hoping it would prolong the moment. He leaned back and soaked in her beauty. “I never stopped loving you.”
He kissed her. It felt like the first kiss they shared riding up the escalator in Rock
efeller Center, the night he truly believed she would be the one he would spend the rest of his life with.
She pulled away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel sad. I wasn’t there to help you raise our daughter.”
“Can you see us? Hear us from up here?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see you or Elizabeth the way I did when I was in your world,” she said. “I can feel your love, your emotions, the love you give to each other is the strongest sensation I have. It strengthens my spirit when you both think of me.”
“What kind of sensation is it?”
“The most extraordinary one you’ll ever have.”
“She’s my greatest joy, Vicki. You gave me that. No one else could have ever given me such an incredible gift. I hope you know that.”
She nodded and then lowered her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m feeling faint. I’m tired.” She backed away a few steps. “I need to leave.”
“No,” he pleaded. “Not again. Please. Stay.”
She looked up at Jesus. “Thank you.”
Vicki reached up for Michael’s hand; a fiery flame massaged his fingers as the mist returned. “Don’t waste a moment, sweetheart,” she said. “While time is eternal in my world, it’s fleeting and fragile in yours.”
“How much time do I have with you?”
“None.”
“How much time do I have before we are joined together?”
She looked at Jesus. He shook his head. Vicki lowered hers.
“I love you,” she said. “Be strong. We all must face tragedy to truly appreciate God’s gift of time.”
Her image faded.
Michael took a heavy breath. “Did I really see my dead wife?”
“Do you believe you saw her?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Michael, do not delay any longer. Find your way home,” said Jesus, startling him out of his thoughts.
“Where there is life, there is death, and when there is death, there is life once more. Carry my cloth and use it wisely but use it with love, unselfish love. Never use it for personal gain or the hand of Satan will be satisfied.”
Michael met Yochanan at the mouth of the cave. Together they watched as Jesus joined the Apostles.
“Let’s get you home,” Michael said.
“I am glad I met you, my friend.” Yochanan’s tone held a burst of euphoria. “I hope we can become better friends. Perhaps you can bring your family to my home and we can share the holy days.”
Michael grimaced.
“Did I say something wrong? Are you not with a family?”
Michael shook his head. “For many sunsets I felt I didn’t have much of a family, but after traveling here, I realized how much I truly have. I wish I could join you. It would be an honor to share the holy days with you. But I live so far away. It would be impossible to keep this friendship.”
“I do not understand. You have traveled to my town. Why would you not come back?”
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime trip for me. It’s the only way I can explain it.”
“This saddens me, Michael. You are a good man, a true friend. I hope you can stay long enough to meet my wife.”
I’ve already met your wife. And I’ve fallen in love with her.
Dear Reader,
Over the past decade I’ve been working on a time-travel trilogy, occasionally reflecting back to my childhood and young adult experiences and incorporating it into the plot. While the hardships of spending nights riding a subway train were an emotional and sometimes physical burden for me, there’s been a wonderful conclusion to this period of time.
I’ve been able to heal while writing NECESSARY HEARTBREAK and EVERYBODY’S DAUGHTER . It’s also given me a chance to reflect upon the story and the characters and what they truly mean to me.
One of the characters the readers have asked me about in particular is George Farmer, an old man who is found on the streets of Northport by the police with a suspicious fatal wound. What was George’s background? What was his purpose to the story? Why was he found dead in that part of the book?
While writing EVERYBODY’S DAUGHTER I thought often about whether to expand George’s role. But I was satisfied enough that the plotline was intriguing and the story moved in a consistent pace.
Of course, once the book was published, it continued to bother me that I didn’t fill in the blanks enough for the reader. So I decided to write a prequel to EVERYBODY’S DAUGHTER, a novelette. I felt it important that the reader should know who George Farmer was in more detail and to bridge the gap between the two books.
There’s a twist, too, in showing the relationship between Pastor Dennis, Michael Stewart, and George Farmer. George was a man of strength, love, faith and hope. Perhaps someday you’ll run into someone like him. Or better yet, you already have.
Michael John Sullivan
Here’s an excerpt from An Angel Comes Home:
I wonder what century I’m in now?
Cold, tired, confused and out of breath from running, he crouched behind a thick bush and listened to the sounds of heavy footsteps approaching.
I am getting too old for this.
He touched the cross around his neck, ensuring it was secure, and squinted, trying to adjust to the darkness.
He waited, straining to listen to the conversation of the two strangers standing a few feet away. Clutching the tall stick he’d taken from a tree he eased himself up and peered around the bush.
“Are we resting here for the night?” a thin man asked his traveling partner with the long beard.
The bearded man gathered twigs, placing them on the ground. “We do not have enough silver to find a suitable place to rest. I am tired of sleeping in these foul conditions,” he said, adding thicker pieces of branches onto the pile of twigs.
“We have no choice,” the thin man said as he rubbed two sticks together. “We are here for our brother.”
Unsure of who the men were, he wondered if he could trust them as he continued to listen to their conversation. He let his body relax for a brief moment while welcoming the warmth emanating from the fire the men had managed to start. Is this the place and time where he would be? It looks familiar but I am not sure. If I do approach them and ask about him, what would the reaction be? He was popular among many but a threat to others. Heck, look what the public did to the disciples after he left.
He took a few steps closer.
“When do we ask our brother to lead us into battle?” the bearded man asked.
The thin man gave him a look of astonishment. “What battle are we talking about?”
“Fighting the Romans.”
The thin man shook his head. “Our brother is a man of peace, not of confrontation. He talks to us about love, not war. He encourages all to love each other, not kill one other.”
The bearded man scowled. “We have lived far too long as sheep. He is the one. We have seen his work, his miracles, his power. We will not be peasants under the Romans no more. He is our King. He should lead us into battle.”
That has to be Judas. He was the apostle that believed in taking on the Romans. He was the rebel in the group, anxious for war. I know this has to be true. It is him.
“No. This is not what our brother wants. I will not be part of this,” protested the thin man. “You will be removed by our brother if he discovers what you want. This is not what he wants.”
The bearded man paced back and forth. He picked up a stick from the fire, its flame piercing the darkness of the night. He waved it around. “What he wants may not be what he finds is possible. The great men of this world have spilled their blood into battle many times more than our brother, risked far more men. No. It will not be possible for our brother.”
“Our brother has talked about spilling his blood, not our blood to save others,” the thin man said, showing a deeper lo
ok of concern. “Has there not been enough blood spilled in our world during our time?”
The bearded man waved the stick toward the thin man. “One must spill your blood to have any gain in this world. Have you not learned this?”
It is Judas. He was the power hungry apostle. He fingered the cloth in his pocket. I cannot let him get this. I cannot let him even think I have something like this. He would use it for his own power.
“I have,” said the thin man, who turned his back. “I have learned as well that it does not stop more to be spilled later.”
“Cowards do not become heroes and forge history,” said the bearded man. “Have you forgotten?”
The thin man approached his friend and tugged at his arm. “Put the stick down. I have not. I have not forgotten why we walk many steps with our brother, face the wrath of so many, yet speak about peace and love and walking into his father’s kingdom some day. Have you forgotten?”
The bearded man pulled his arm away in disgust and threw the stick back into the fire. “I have not forgotten my brothers and sisters being attacked, maimed, and killed. I have not forgotten their blood spilling into my hands from the Romans’ spears and swords. You have forgotten, not me.” He walked away, taking a few steps up the hill.
Maybe now I can take a chance with this apostle. I do not know who he is but it isn’t Judas.
“Where are you going?” the thin man asked.
“To rest. I have many ideas to think over. It is best I do it without having to listen to a sheep.”
“So be it, my friend.”
The bearded man turned around. “We may walk with our brother side by side. We are not friends.”
He disappeared into the darkness. The thin man stood watching, not moving, only turning his head around as a howl echoed in the distance.
He will not trust me. He pushed the cloth deeper into his pocket and tightened his grip on his makeshift cane. I am old but I can strike him if necessary. What am I thinking? Striking an apostle? I will go to hell for sure. No. I will approach him with caution, tell him I am lost but looking for a preacher so I can give him my respects. Yes. That’s a good plan.
The Greatest Gift Page 33