Hidden Blessings

by Kim Cash Tate

  The plus was that they lived only three blocks away. Cyd had kissed her toddler son good-bye, and she and Lance got to it.

  “So what are our next steps?” she said.

  “Prayer, talk to Pastor Lyles to see if he green-lights it, talk to Mr. Woods to get his okay, and more prayer.” Lance looked at what he’d written down. “I want to be sure we’re hearing from God about what to do, how to do it, and even when to start.”

  Cyd nodded. “I’m really excited about this, Lance. I’ve always had a heart for younger people, which I guess is no surprise. I think this could have a huge impact.”

  “It’s exciting to me, too,” Lance said, “mainly because I feel like it’s God, the way it came out of the blue and—”

  They both looked up as Kendra walked into the kitchen, slowly, hand to her stomach, hair unbrushed.

  She straightened when she saw Cyd. “Professor Sanders, I didn’t know you were here.”

  Cyd rose from her chair. “I didn’t know you were here either.” She hugged her. “Two things, though—it’s London now. I got married three years ago. And please call me Cyd. I’m not that much older than you.” She smiled.

  “Sorry, old habits die hard,” Kendra said. “I remember meeting you just after you became a professor at Wash U. My dad introduced us. I must’ve been about fifteen, and I totally looked up to you.” She smiled. “And congrats on getting married.”

  “Thanks,” Cyd said, “and didn’t I hear you have a wedding upcoming?”

  Lance winced a little.

  “It was supposed to be this weekend actually, but . . . it got canceled.”

  Cyd looked at her. “How are you, Kendra?”

  Kendra tightened her robe. “I’m fine.”

  “No, sweetie, really . . .” Cyd took her hand. “How are you?”

  Kendra glanced at Lance. “He told you?”

  “Lance hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Cyd said.

  “I guess you could say I’ve been better, Profess—Cyd.” Kendra stared downward several seconds, then looked at Cyd. “I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer, Stage IV.”

  Cyd’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh my Lord.” She brought Kendra close, embracing her. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I know,” Kendra said. “Can we sit down? I’m feeling tired.”

  “Absolutely.” Cyd pulled out a chair for her. “I’m glad you decided to come home. I imagine your dad’s on his way back to the States.”

  “No.” Kendra paused. “I haven’t told him. I’ve hardly told anyone.”

  Cyd leaned in. “Why, sweetheart? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t know,” Kendra said. “When the wedding was canceled, I kind of shut down. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to have to explain. Didn’t want pity . . .”

  “I can understand that,” Cyd said. “So you’ve started treatment? The cancer center at Barnes-Jewish?”

  “Yes,” Kendra said. “Right now, it’s chemo every three weeks. I had my first session last Thursday.” She attempted to smile. “Some days are better than others.”

  “Probably some moments are better than others,” Cyd said. Her eyes filled with compassion. “I don’t know you that well, Kendra, but I hope I can say this.”

  Kendra waited.

  “I’ve never walked this road personally, but I’ve walked it with others, and I know it’s a hard one.” She grabbed Kendra’s hand across the table. “You’ll have people who will sincerely want to help you through this. Please . . . let them on your team.”

  Kendra glanced at Lance. “I’m learning that.”

  “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Cyd squeezed her hand. “I’m on the team, whether you like it or not.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  July

  KENDRA STOOD IN HER SIDE YARD, HOLDING THE CAMERA STEADY, trying to remember f-stops from apertures so she could set her dials just right before the cardinal flew away. Lance had given her an assignment—and his camera—to work on depth of field. She had to photograph an object in perfect focus, with the background blurred. When a cardinal flew into the yard, it was the perfect challenge.

  “Don’t move,” she murmured.

  The bird had perched itself on a tree limb, checking out its surroundings.

  Kendra turned the lens this way and that, but everything in the picture stayed in focus. Didn’t he say something about backing up if that happened? She tried it, eyes trained on the bird. “Don’t move . . . don’t move . . .”

  Click. Click. Click.

  She checked the shots right away on the back of the camera. “Yes!” The bright red cardinal was in the foreground, focused beautifully, and the trees in the background were blurred.

  She couldn’t wait to show Lance and to see it more fully on his big computer screen.

  The sound of a car got her attention. It was Trey, by himself for once, at midmorning. As he parked, she headed inside the garage entrance. She’d been waiting for this opportunity.

  They hadn’t had a real conversation since the blow-up last week. Well, no. She didn’t know when they’d last had a real conversation, if ever. He was eight years old when she left for college, and their interactions since then were best characterized as brief. Shallow. How’s it going? How’s school? You playing a sport?

  She was hard-pressed to think of a single conversation they’d had about their mom’s illness. Maybe she’d asked him how Mom was doing. But an actual conversation about the illness or the dynamics of the situation or, “Trey, how are you weathering all of this?” No. Until he brought it up last week, she hadn’t given it a thought.

  They hadn’t talked about their dad either, not in any depth.

  Kendra set the camera on the kitchen counter and got a bottled water from the refrigerator. She needed to be doing something, holding something. How weird to be nervous with her own brother. But Trey had been so hostile, so different, she didn’t know what to expect.

  The front door opened and closed. Kendra expected the footsteps to go up, since he came through the front, but they moved toward the kitchen. She moved into his line of vision as he was about to open the door to the lower level.

  “Trey, hey, you got a minute?”

  His hand stayed on the knob. “I came to talk to Lance real quick, then I’m heading back out.”

  Something about him right now, in his camouflage shorts and T-shirt and Miami Heat hat, touched her heart. This was her little brother.

  “Just a few minutes, Trey? We haven’t had any time to talk.”

  “Talk?” He said it as if he’d never heard the word. “When do we ever talk?”

  “That’s part of what I wanted to talk about,” Kendra said. “I wanted to apologize.”

  He looked skeptical, but his hand came off the knob. “All right, I can take a sec.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.

  Kendra sat at the table and swigged her water, feeling drained from the heat.

  Trey cut a slice of chocolate silk pie—a treat Lance had brought home after she’d said chocolate was the one thing she didn’t seem to gag over. Trey poured a glass of milk and brought his slice to the table.

  He forked up a bite. “So what’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right.” Kendra’s hands rested on the bottle in front of her. “I was in a busy season at work, and to be honest, it seemed like Mom’s illness took a nosedive at the worst possible time.” The irony. Was illness ever timely? “I offered to come home and help care for her, but frankly I was relieved when she said there was no need. I figured you were here. Dad was here. I could do what I needed to do at work.”

  He stared at her while he took his next bite.

  “But I should’ve asked you how it was going. I should’ve scheduled more visits, just to be here. For support. Because we’re family. When your nose is to the grind, it seems like it’s the most important thing.
” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Trey. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for Mom, for you, for the family.”

  He ate the last piece and tipped the glass to his mouth, taking a long drink. “That’s what you wanted to say?”

  Kendra looked at him, ready to take it all back. But she had to keep going. “Not all of it, no.” She gathered her words. “I just feel like I haven’t been the sister I should’ve been. I haven’t taken the time to call and talk to you. I mean, really talk. I don’t know you like I’d like to, and that saddens me. Trey, I’m sorry for the kind of sister I’ve been. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Where is all this coming from?” He finished the glass and wiped a milk stain from his lip. “I mean, for real, you act like you’re on your death bed or something.”

  Kendra stared at him. “And you wouldn’t care if I was.” She pushed back and got up from the table, apparently too fast, because at once she felt woozy and dropped back down, half missing the chair.

  Trey came around to her side. “Ken, are you okay?”

  “Keep your fake concern, Trey. Just . . . go talk to Lance.”

  She put the bottle to her lips, but when the water hit her mouth . . . Don’t. Don’t. She dry heaved twice, then ran into the first-floor bathroom and vomited. Thankfully, it wasn’t a lot.

  Kendra flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and splashed water on her face.

  Trey appeared in the bathroom mirror. “What’s going on? Are you pregnant?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach working its way up again. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

  “Are you sick? The flu or something?”

  “Yeah. Or something.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “Well, what is it?”

  She turned to face him. “I was planning to tell you, but when you didn’t care one iota about anything I was saying, I said forget it.”

  He spread his hands in defense. “I only asked where it was coming from.”

  “You know what? I’m done.” Nausea was rising, and she needed to make it upstairs so she could get sick in private. “Do what you came to do. I need to lie down.”

  Kendra brushed past him and started up the stairs, making it a third of the way—and lost total strength. Her legs gave way and she missed a step, stumbling partway down.

  She heard Trey shouting for Lance as he came to her, lifting her up. Seconds later, Lance had bounded up and met them on the stairs as Trey helped her to her room.

  “What happened?” Lance said.

  Trey lowered her to the bed. “That’s what I’m wondering,” he said. “Kendra got faint and vomited downstairs, then got weak on the stairs. Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

  Lance looked to Kendra.

  “You can tell him,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “Trey, Kendra was diagnosed with something called inflammatory breast cancer,” Lance said. “It’s already spread to her neck. The doctors say it’s terminal, and she’s started chemo.”

  Seconds passed, and Trey hadn’t responded, so Kendra opened her eyes. He’d fallen to a crouch against the wall, his head buried in his arms.

  “Why is life such a freaking joke?” His shoulders shook with tears. “It’s a joke. You know?” He looked up at them, wiping his nose. “First God takes my mom. Then my dad is gone, and was never who we thought he was anyway. And now my sister is dying?”

  He stood suddenly. “This is how much of a joke life is.” He laughed his pain. “My sister is dying, and I’m the one who wants to die.” He looked up. “You got it backwards, God! I’m the one who’s supposed to have the terminal diagnosis. Just take it from her and give it to me!”

  “Come here.” Kendra reached her hand to him.

  Trey came and hugged her so tight she could barely breathe. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Ken. I’m so sorry. If I could switch places with you, I would.”

  “Shh.” She rubbed his back. “Stop saying that, Trey.”

  His tears wet her face, and he held her in his arms until she drifted to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “TREY.”

  Trey looked toward the doorway, where Lance stood. He’d left Trey and Kendra alone, but now he was back and Trey knew why. It was time to talk.

  He eased his arms from Kendra, laying her head on the bed, and met Lance in the hall. “We can talk in here,” he said, “in my room.”

  Trey motioned for Lance to take the desk chair, and he sat on the bed, pushing aside dirty and clean clothes. His eyes floated past the shelves—Awana trophies, Bibles in different translations, journals. They reminded him why he spent little time here.

  “I was glad to get your text this morning.” Lance leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “You said you wanted to talk.”

  “I’ll be straight with you,” Trey said. “I only came because I made a deal with Molly. But after that”—he pointed to Kendra’s room, shaking his head—“I don’t even see the point. Everything is just crazy.”

  Lance’s gaze penetrated. “You said some things in Kendra’s room that were troubling.”

  “What, that I want to die? That’s nothing new.”

  “How long have you felt that way?”

  “Eight, nine years.”

  Lance seemed taken aback by that. “Why, Trey?”

  “Why not? Life is too hard. I figured it was easier to just go be with Jesus.”

  “But you looked so . . . I don’t know, happy when you were younger.”

  “I was naive,” Trey said. “I believed what I was taught, that God loved me, that He cared. I had hope. I really thought God answered prayer.”

  “You don’t think so anymore?”

  “Not mine,” Trey said. “And what more could I do?” He gestured at the shelves. “I was going hard after God—reading my Bible, trying to fill myself with it, to push out everything else. Man, I memorized whole books of the Bible.” He threw up his hands. “It’s like I’ve been at war, by myself. I’m not doing it anymore.”

  Lance was quiet a moment. “What made you want to talk? Why today?”

  “Friends in Atlanta called,” Trey said. “They’ve been trying to get me to come down, and the timing seems perfect. I’m moving next week.” He paused. “But I told Molly a year ago that if I ever planned to move, to make sure I talk to someone first.” He shrugged. “I was trying to put accountability in place, back when I cared about it.”

  “I’m confused,” Lance said. “Why would you need accountability regarding a move?”

  Trey sifted his words . . . It was about to get real. “Being here, being with Molly . . . It’s been a form of protection for me.” He shifted his gaze downward. “But for a long time I’ve felt this temptation to leave. Like, if I got away from everything I’ve known, it would be easier to embrace who I really am.”

  “What are you saying, Trey? Who are you?”

  Trey’s heart began pounding in his chest. He was suddenly afraid. Of rejection. Condemnation. Of every painful thing he’d ever read or heard about people like himself. He got up, paced a little. Why did he have to be different? Why did he have to be the outcast? All he ever wanted was to feel loved by God. Accepted. To not feel like a reject. He’d pleaded with God for years, his journal filled with one request—Lord, change me.

  Why wouldn’t He?

  He looked up. Why wouldn’t You answer that one prayer, God?

  Stop pleading with Him. You already know He doesn’t care.

  Trey closed his eyes, hands fisted in frustration. But I want Him to care. It hurts that He doesn’t care.

  “Trey.” Lance turned him around. “Whatever it is, I love you, man. I love you.”

  Trey broke down in his arms. Years of pain, years of guilt, years of silence . . . all of it washed up on Lance’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Trey said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Lance stepped back, held his shoulders. “Trey, what is it?”

  “I’m . . .” He sw
iped the tears. “I’m gay.”

  Lance kept looking at him. “Okay.”

  “What do you mean okay?” Trey looked dumbfounded. “You’re a pastor. Now’s when you say I’m going to hell.”

  “I said okay because I’m still listening.”

  “Listening to hear what?” Trey said.

  “I don’t even know what you mean by gay.”

  Now Trey was exasperated. “You don’t know what it means?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Are you referring to an inclination? An attraction? Or have you entered into it and acted on it?”

  “I haven’t acted on anything,” Trey said. “That’s what I’ve been fighting. That’s what my prayers have been about.”

  “Okay,” Lance said again, sitting back down. “Do you mind telling me what you’ve been praying?”

  Trey took a breath, sitting as well, thinking back to those first prayers. “From the time I hit puberty”—he couldn’t believe he was sharing this—“it was clear I had no interest in girls. Other guys, that’s all they talked about. I wanted to be like them. Thought I would grow into it, but it didn’t happen.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, I start seeing what the Bible says about it, and I’m saying, ‘Lord, I don’t want to be this way, but I know I can’t change myself. I see all these miracles you’ve done from Genesis to Revelation. This is nothing for You. Please, change me. Make me heterosexual.” He looked at Lance. “That’s been my ceaseless prayer.”

  “So in your mind, if God doesn’t give you a desire for women, He hasn’t answered your prayer. And if He doesn’t answer that prayer, your only other option is to embrace the gay lifestyle.”

  Trey gave him a look that said it was evident. “Right.”

  “And temptation gets crazy overwhelming because you’re trying to suppress this urge that’s in you, and you get these thoughts that say, ‘It’s not worth the fight. Just do it.’ ”

  Trey’s eyes got a little wider. “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m single, Trey. Temptation comes hard at me, too, toward women. I’ve prayed for God to take away the desire for sex outside of marriage. It gets overwhelming at times. I’ve had women at church invite me over, and it’s clear what they have in mind—and I want to go. I think to myself sometimes that if I never get married, this will be a lifelong struggle.”