Mike kept at his work. “No problem, buddy.”
Lance peeked into the living room and gave a thumbs-up to Trey, who was steam cleaning the carpet.
In the kitchen, Darla worked to replace a few knobs and pulls that had been broken or ripped off entirely.
“I just told Kendra: God smiled on you all,” Darla announced. “They still make this style of pewter, and it was in stock.”
Kendra looked up from the kitchen table. “And I told Darla: God’s smiling on us by her being here to fix it.”
“No trouble for me at all,” Darla said. “It’s good for me to get away from the house and all of Bernie’s grousing.” She looked back at her. “I could’ve been over here all along helping with cleaning and such. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”
“Aw, thanks,” Kendra said. “Lance has actually been holding it down in the cleaning department. He may or may not be a little anal about it.”
“Who, me? Because I posted a cleaning schedule of which rooms need to be cleaned, when, and by whom?” He grinned. “With Trey, Molly, and me here, there’s no reason this house shouldn’t be spic-and-span on a daily basis.”
“That’s right,” Darla said. “Put the youngsters to work.” Her phone chirped, and she looked at it. “See, this is the problem with smartphones. Bernie can grouse over the airwaves.” She sighed. “Be right back. I’ll go see what he needs.”
“Be nice,” Kendra said, smiling. She sighed seconds later, looking at Lance. “I’m sad Molly’s leaving this week.”
“You told her she didn’t have to.” Lance got back to work on one of his own projects of the week—taking everything out of the pantry, throwing away expired goods, and wiping down the shelves.
“I know, but she thinks it’ll be awkward.” Kendra sipped some of the smoothie Lance had made for her. “And Brooklyn won’t be around while he’s here either, according to Ellen.”
“Well, what if he’s back for good?” Lance asked.
“I don’t know,” Kendra said. “But I understand Ellen’s position. She wants Dad to be the one to initiate a relationship. If Brooklyn’s over here, Ellen wants her to feel accepted and welcomed by him.”
Lance glanced at the dates on two boxes of cereal and tossed them out. “I have no idea what things will be like when your father comes, but the dynamics are about to change significantly.”
Kendra fell silent for a while. Then she said, “I almost wish my dad would stay where he is. I like the dynamics as they are.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
KENDRA HAD DONE A MENTAL SEESAW BETWEEN THE BED AND the sofa. The effects of chemo number five had kicked in with pain and fatigue and the head-to-toe discomfort that demanded all-day horizontal. Her bed was most comfortable, and given the day, preferable. She could delay the inevitable with good reason.
But she felt antsy in bed, as if she shouldn’t be there. So reluctantly, in late afternoon, she made her way to the sofa to await her father’s arrival.
“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” she asked.
Lance sat with her on the sofa. “I should’ve gone to get him.”
“He said he was fine taking a taxi.”
“I know, but still . . .”
Trey came downstairs, joining them. “Is it just me, or is it immensely quiet without Brooklyn and Molly?”
“Brooklyn is a force all by herself,” Kendra said. “It’s amazing how much life she’s added to the house in a short time.”
“I think she should be here right now,” Trey said. “Dad shouldn’t be able to act like she doesn’t exist.”
“I’m with Ellen on this,” Kendra said. “What if she’s here and doesn’t feel embraced? That would be devastating.”
“Dad wouldn’t diss her if she’s right in his face.”
“Who knows what his frame of mind—”
A key in the door made the room fall silent.
The door opened, and for a quick moment Kendra remembered the butterflies of youth, when her daddy got home from work and she’d run to the door. Now she waited, and seconds later he appeared.
He looked older, though he was only fifty-eight. Less hair on top, and more gray in what he had. At six three and over two hundred pounds, he’d always been an imposing figure, with a personality that made him gentle. But right now he just looked tired, and Kendra didn’t know if it was the long trip or the long months that had passed between them. He set down two big pieces of luggage.
Trey walked over to him, and without a word they embraced. Marlon lingered there. “It’s good to see you, son.”
“It’s good to see you too, Dad,” Trey said.
“Sir, welcome home,” Lance said, shaking his hand. “I’m glad you made it safely.”
“Lance, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Marlon said. “You’ve blessed this home tremendously.”
“The blessing has been mine,” Lance said. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness in allowing me to stay here.”
Lance stepped aside, and Marlon set his gaze on his daughter. He came slowly toward her, his eyes taking in the whole of her.
Kendra moved to sit up.
“No,” Marlon said. “Stay where you are.” He came to his knees beside the couch and brought Kendra gently to himself—and wept. “I’ve been asking God over and over—why? When I heard you were sick . . .”
Kendra didn’t know all that had been bottled up until now, as she wept with him. She’d missed her dad. Really missed him.
“How’d you know I was sick?” she whispered on his neck.
“Pastor Lyles thought I should know.” He looked at her. “It grieved me that we had grown so distant that you hadn’t told me. It grieved me that I’d made such a mess of my life and of relationships that mean the world to me.” He was filled with emotion still. “I had to come home.”
Trey moved the piano bench so their dad could sit beside Kendra.
“Thank you, son,” Marlon said.
Trey took the floor beside her. Kendra heard the door close to the lower level and realized Lance had left them alone.
“I don’t know where we start.” Forearms on his thighs, Marlon looked with pained eyes from one of his children to the other. “I asked God the entire flight—Where do we start? Where do we begin to bridge this gap? There’s so much ground to cover.”
“Some of it has been bridged already,” Trey said.
“How so, son?”
“We’ve gotten to know Brooklyn very well . . . and as a result, we interact with Ellen on a regular basis.”
Marlon sat back, stunned. “How?” he asked. “How did that happen?”
“Trey was moved to find our sister and meet her,” Kendra said, “and when we met her, a relationship was inevitable. She’s infectious.” Kendra paused. “And, Dad, I talked to Ellen about what happened between you.”
Marlon hesitated. “She told you everything?”
“She told me her side of things.”
“I think . . . I might’ve stumbled on another piece of the puzzle this week,” Trey said.
Kendra frowned. “You didn’t tell me that. What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t know what to make of it,” Trey said, “and I knew Dad was coming. So I thought we’d find out together.”
“What do you mean, Trey?” Marlon said.
Trey was slow to begin. “I can count the number of times I’ve been in your room since Mom died,” he said. “Only if I need something . . . in and out. But I steam cleaned the carpet in there this week, and under the bed . . .”
“What is it?” Kendra asked.
“I found a letter Mom wrote. Probably shouldn’t have read it, but . . . finding anything of Mom’s . . .” He sighed. “It was dated shortly before she died, written to another man.”
Kendra felt a jolt inside. “What?”
“I’ll just read it,” Trey said. “It’s short.” He pulled it out of his pocket and opened it.
Lloyd,
I apprecia
te your concern, but I can’t see you. When we went our separate ways, I had to commit in my heart that I would never see you again. My illness doesn’t change that. Part of me will always love you too. But that love was born out of a sinful relationship. I have to be true to God, even now.
His,
Cynthia
Trey folded it. “I guess she never sent it.”
“She didn’t have to,” Marlon said. “Lloyd called, and I was with her when she said essentially the same over the phone.”
“What are you saying?” Kendra grasped for the truth, but this truth was too foreign. “Mom had an affair too? What, as payback for yours? This is crazy.”
Marlon exhaled. “I really wish you hadn’t found that, Trey,” he said, “but maybe this bridge is from the Lord.” He stared down a moment. “The truth is . . . your mother’s affair was before mine. I discovered an e-mail in which they spoke about a trip they’d taken together. When I approached her, she didn’t deny it. She said she loved him.”
Kendra felt her world slipping a little more out of orbit. If Trey hadn’t found the letter, she never would have believed it.
“As I was dealing with the pain of that,” Marlon said, “I’d talk to Ellen. Classic mistake, but for more than a year, Ellen and I were just friends as I walked through this.” He paused. “When your mom said she wanted to be with him—that she wanted a divorce—I lost it. And I turned to Ellen in the wake of that.”
“But you and Mom obviously stayed together,” Trey said. “What happened?”
“You know that Mason—Pastor Lyles—and I are friends. He had been praying for us and began counseling us. It was extremely rocky at first. We laid everything on the table, everything we’d done . . . And surprisingly, when I thought we were too far gone, somehow God took the tiny spark that was left and rekindled it.”
“But wait a minute . . .” Kendra put on her attorney cap. “You said you laid everything on the table. This was years before Mom got sick, right?”
“That’s right,” Marlon said.
“But she didn’t know about your affair until she got sick, when Ellen came over and talked to her.”
“Mom knew about Ellen years before that,” Marlon said. “What she didn’t know was that Ellen had gotten pregnant. I didn’t know, either, at the time of our counseling sessions.” He looked at them both. “When I found out, we’d just gotten to a point where it looked like our marriage could work again. I was so afraid that it would be the last straw, that your mom would walk away, go straight to Lloyd, if she knew about this baby.” He sighed. “I’m ashamed to admit that, out of fear, I wanted Ellen to abort that baby. I would’ve never thought I could sink that low . . . I kept it secret for the same reason.”
Kendra and Trey sat in silence, processing, both no doubt grieving the pain their parents experienced . . . the pain their own kids never knew about.
“Dad,” Trey said finally, “why didn’t you tell us about Mom’s affair? Clearly, you knew we were angry with you and blamed you for everything.”
“I didn’t want that to be your memory of your mother,” Marlon said. “I was fine letting it go to the grave with her.”
“But what about Brooklyn, Dad?” Kendra said. “Why did you cut off communication with her?”
He took time to respond. “When things are done in the dark, there’s always a cloud. I lived with the fear that your mom would find out. I’d sneak to visit, sneak to call . . . and yet, this was my daughter. So I began looking for the right time to tell your mother—then she got sick.” He sighed. “It was no longer just a matter of protecting our marriage. It was also protecting her health, wanting her remaining days—our remaining days—to be joyful, stress-free. And as you know, cancer is time-intensive. I needed to be with her. All of this meant I pulled away from Brooklyn.”
“What about after Mom died?” Trey said.
“By then I was so upset with Ellen for telling your mom that I’d stopped communicating with her.” Marlon seemed bothered by it even now. “She took our last few months together, and she knew Cynthia was sick.”
“Dad . . .” Kendra had more emotions than she could manage right now. “As upset as I’ve been with Ellen for doing that, she shared something with me that altered my view.”
Marlon looked surprised. “What was that?”
“She was coming to talk to you, and only because Brooklyn had been crying for ten nights straight, asking why her daddy didn’t love her anymore.”
Marlon stared at Kendra, then at the ground.
Kendra closed her eyes. Of all she’d heard today, the thing that probably grieved her most was that little Brooklyn had gotten hit in the crossfire.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
LANCE HAD SET A TABLE FOR FOUR IN THE DINING ROOM AND prepared a special meal. After the heavy conversation earlier, which Kendra had told him about, dinner talk seemed purposefully light, mostly about Marlon’s time at the University of Ghana and venturing around the country itself. But even those stories carried the undertone that he’d gone to escape the heartache and the scandal.
Marlon was eyeing his daughter. “Ken, I have to tell you: it’s a blessing to see you in such good spirits. I didn’t expect that.”
“Oh, I’ve been a yo-yo, trust me.” Kendra ate lemon sherbet while the others had chocolate cake. “You should’ve been here two weeks ago.”
“She’s not lying either,” Trey said.
Kendra made a face at him, then touched Lance’s shoulder. “The blessing has been this man’s effect on my life.”
Marlon held them both in his gaze. “As a father, it pains me beyond belief to see my daughter suffering this way, and yet my heart soars knowing she has you, Lance.” He drank his ice water. “That was one of the sweetest surprises ever.”
Kendra’s brown eyes narrowed a little at Lance. “I still can’t believe my dad knew you were proposing before I did.”
“That’s kind of how it’s supposed to work,” Lance said.
“But he was all the way in Africa, and let’s be real . . . Dad and I weren’t exactly speaking.”
“That had nothing to do with me,” Lance said. “Mr. Woods has been nothing but kind to me, and out of sheer respect, I wouldn’t ask to marry you apart from his blessing.”
“And it took all of two seconds to think about it. And please, call me Marlon.”
Lance smiled. “I appreciate that.”
“So, Dad, are you here for good, or are you going back to Ghana?” Trey asked. “I thought your sabbatical was until the end of this semester.”
“It is, officially,” Marlon said, “but there was no way I could stay overseas once I got the news about Kendra. I’m here for good, but still praying about what I’ll do.”
“You’re still on the faculty at Wash U, aren’t you, Daddy?” Kendra said.
“Yes, but I’m not sure if I’ll return to campus this semester, do research at home, or what.”
“Mr. Woods . . .” Lance paused. “It’ll take me awhile to get used to not calling you that . . . Now that you’re back, I don’t want to assume that I can continue to stay—”
Marlon held up a hand, shaking his head. “Nonsense, young man. You’re about to be family, which is all the more reason to stay . . . unless you and Kendra want to move out and give your money away to a landlord.”
“I’m thankful,” Lance said. “It’ll be easier on Kendra if she doesn’t have to uproot and move somewhere else.”
“Hmm,” Kendra said, “then I guess the only question is whether I’m moving to the lower level or Lance is moving upstairs with me.” She leaned over and winced. “At the moment though, I think I do need to uproot and move somewhere else to lie down.”
Trey stood with his cake. “Let’s all move to the living room.”
When they’d settled there, Marlon looked long at his daughter. “Ken, you said you have one more chemo session. What happens after that?”
“Testing,” Kendra said. “MRIs, cat scans . .
. They have to see how effective the chemo has been and whether I can be cleared for surgery.”
“This is surgery for a mastectomy?”
“Right. And even though cancer was found in one breast, I’m having a double mastectomy, just in case.”
“Okay, so you recover from the surgery . . . Then what?”
“Then I start radiation,” Kendra said, “then more chemo.”
“And . . . because it’s already spread . . .” Marlon couldn’t finish his thought.
Kendra nodded. “You already know from walking this out with Mom. Even with all of that, they’re not trying to cure me. They don’t have a cure. That would take a miracle. They’re just trying to prolong my life.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Marlon said. “How long . . . Is there a time frame . . .”
“What’s the life expectancy?” Kendra asked.
“Yes, that’s what I’m wondering,” Marlon said, “taken totally with a grain of salt. I know God is ultimately in control.”
“Amen,” Lance said.
“The thing about inflammatory breast cancer,” Kendra began, “is that it’s aggressive. It grows quickly, and it’s likely to come back after treatment.”
Lance found it interesting how Kendra could spew the facts from her head with ease at times, but it could turn on a dime.
“The official stats say that 60 to 70 percent of women with the disease don’t live five years beyond the diagnosis.” Kendra stared away for a moment. “But I’ve been following this one particular blog, and the woman died this week after . . . after being diagnosed just last year.”
“Each case is different,” Marlon said.
“I know, but . . .” Kendra took a moment. “She was Stage IV like me, and it was in her neck at diagnosis, like mine.”
Lance felt the tears just beneath the surface. He did whenever he thought of losing Kendra, but that it could be as soon as next year was almost unbearable. He had to stay strong for her, had to inject optimism and hope—and it was real. He was hopeful. How could they not have hope in Christ? But he loved this woman with every fiber of his being.
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