by Robert Elmer
“You can sit down now,” Abby told them, and they found their assigned seats according to cute name tags.
“They wouldn’t tell me what was going on,” Will said, eyeing his plate. He didn’t seem to mind the enormous pile of eggs and blackened sausages.
“It’s a cheery-up breakfast,” Abby told them.
“Cheery up…” Merit prompted.
“To cheer you two up.” Abby looked as if she had just solved all their family’s problems right there at the kitchen table. “Liwy and I thought maybe it was because you had so much work and we weren’t helping enough. So from now on, we’re going to make breakfast.”
Merit looked into the kitchen, where the smoke was finally starting to clear. It appeared the girls had used every bowl in the cupboard and every utensil in the drawer. Most were piled in the sink, others on the small counter next to the stove. Despite the mess, she couldn’t help smiling.
“That’s a very sweet offer,” she said, “and I know you want to help. We have plenty of jobs for you, but tell you what. How about you help Mommy cook during the week, and I can show you some tricks for cooking on Saturdays?”
The girls looked at each other before nodding.
“Will that make you stop crying all the time?” Olivia asked.
“Livvy!” Abby scolded. “You’re not supposed to say anything about that.”
“But I just wanted to know.”
The lump in Merit’s throat returned, along with more unwelcome tears. She couldn’t hide them any more than the girls could hide the smoke from that morning’s breakfast.
“See what you did?” Abby turned on her little sister, but Will held up his hand.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” he told them, with a quick glance at Merit. “In fact, your mom appreciates it more than you know. We both do.”
“Then why is she crying again?” Olivia asked.
At her daughters innocent misunderstanding, Merit couldn’t hold back gentle sobs. Just like she couldn’t hide the truth from her children anymore, no matter how long she wanted to pretend everything was okay.
Will was right. For their sake now, she would have to tell them.
She nodded at her husband and saw in his eyes that he understood.
“Girls…,” he took a deep breath, “there’s something we need to tell you.”
Abby and Olivia looked uncertainly from parent to parent, and Merit knew she needed to pull it together. If she fell apart here, so would the girls. She dabbed a napkin to her eye, streaking a colored heart. No telling what had just rubbed off on her cheek.
“I still don’t know what we did wrong.” Olivia bit her lip, and Merit motioned for her youngest to sit in her lap.
“Daddy already told you, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault.”
“None of what?” Abby asked, going straight to the heart of the matter. “Don’t you like the breakfast?”
“The breakfast is wonderful,” Merit began, searching for the right words to say what should never be said to a tender, trusting heart.
“Listen, girls.” Will took over. “You know your mother had to go to the doctor the other day?”
“To check the baby, you mean?” Abby asked, and Will nodded.
“Couldn’t they take pictures of the baby,” asked Olivia, “the way you said they would?”
Again Will nodded. Even at their age, his daughters never missed a beat.
“They’d wanted to take pictures,” he explained, “but they found something., wrong.”
Merit’s mind spun with second thoughts. Couldn’t they wait a little longer to dump this horrible news on their daughters? Wait until later. Wait until after. Wait.
But Will continued, and there was no stopping him now.
“They found a kind of cancer inside your mother.” Will struggled with each word, and his tears would tell the girls more than anything he said. Merit pulled Olivia closer, afraid to look in her daughter’s eyes. “You know what cancer is.”
“My friend Crystal’s dad had cancer.” Abby sounded like a grownup when she added to the conversation like that. “Remember?”
Merit and Will both nodded.
“And now he’s better,” added Abby, “since they gave him a lot of pills.” She looked straight at her mother. “You can get the same kind of pills, can’t you, Mom? They can make you better. God can make you better.”
“Of course, God can make me better, dear.” Merit nodded and rocked Olivia slightly. “I’m just not sure if that’s what He wants to do.”
“Of course it is!” Abby crossed her arms, pushed back her chair, and stood up. “We’ll pray, and that’s what’ll happen. And you can take the pills, just like Crystal’s dad.”
Merit shook her head and reached out to stroke her daughter’s long, beautiful hair.
“I can’t, Abby.” Why did she have to tell her daughters this part?
Abby looked at her with a frown. “But you have to! If you’re sick, you have to! That’s what you always tell me.”
“Maybe the pills wouldn’t work on Mom,” suggested Olivia. Wisdom from an eight-year-old.
Merit shook her head. “It’s not that,” she told them. Will started to say something, but she wouldn’t allow it. This was hers to finish. “I can’t take any strong medicines because they would hurt the baby. Do you understand?”
Most likely not, but they nodded.
“After the baby’s born, though, I promise to take all the medicine I can.”
“And then you’ll get better,” Olivia told them with the faith of a child. She looked from face to face, as if testing the truth of her theory on the emotions of her parents. Merit wasn’t sure how to send the right message. She could only look at her husband, the tears blurring her view.
“Right?” Olivia persisted, her voice quavering with doubt.
What else could they say? They sat in silence while Merit rocked Olivia in her lap, and Abby sat off by herself, looking as if she could come up with a better way to solve their dilemma, if only she thought hard enough. No one ate their eggs.
Eventually Olivia sat up, having reached some kind of decision.
“We should tell Aunt Sydney.”
Merit wasn’t sure where that had come from, but she knew her determined daughter had reasons of her own.
twenty-two
Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.
GARTH BROOKS
well, Merit was crying and everything, but…”
Michael wasn’t sure how to explain it. He hardly knew this girl. Stephanie kept up with the traffic on 1–90, changing lanes way too often and nodding at all the right times, like she cared about him and his parents. Did she?
“I’m so sorry about your mom,” she told him. “I can’t imagine.
No, she probably couldn’t.
“Thanks.” He watched the Welcome to Washington State sign fly by as they continued west toward the Spokane airport. “Although actually, she’s not my birth mom.”
Stephanie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Almost as if she thought he might be joking.
“Is that why you sometimes call her Merit?” she asked. “I wasn’t sure if that was just a California thing, or what.”
“It’s not a California thing.” He chuckled, even though it didn’t seem funny. Nothing did anymore. “I don’t really remember my birth mom. I think she was into drugs when I was really little, and we lived in this tiny apartment. I kind of remember sleeping on a big purple couch with ripped cushions, and there were always a bunch of crazy people coming and going all the time. Lots of screaming and yelling, and nobody my age to play with, so I did my own thing, played by myself. But that’s all I really know. Merit and Will adopted me when I was five.”
“Wow.”
Maybe she hadn’t heard a sob story like this before. He’d tell her the other side of it, as well.
“Yeah,” he continued, “as I understand it, they didn’t thin
k they could have their own kids, so I was their second choice. You know, like the prize losers get? What’s that called?”
“A consolation prize? Michael—”
“That’s it. Consolation prize. Anyway, I’ve always known I was different than the girls. Sometimes I think they regret it.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure they don’t regret anything. You talk about it like you didn’t want life to happen that way”
“I didn’t say that. It’S just…sometimes it’s weird thinking you’re somebody’s second choice. Didn’t you ever get picked last when kids were choosing sides for basketball?”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s right,” Michael said. “You were homeschooled, weren’t you? I should have known. You never—”
Michael stopped and held his breath. If that sounded snarky, he hadn’t meant it to. Taking it back would only make things worse, though, and he could already feel the tension tying his neck into knots. Just like in the Middle East.
He turned his face to the window, but Stephanie apparently didn’t think the discussion was over.
“Okay so you would have rather stayed in a drug house? Sounds like your parents took you out ofthat.”
Michael turned and stared at her. Was she defending Will and Merit now? As if they needed defending.
He turned back to the window. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, I’m glad you did. It helps me understand where you’re coming from a little better. I’m really sorry, Michael.”
“I don’t think you understand.”
She didn’t answer the last jab, just drove silently while he stewed in his own words. He wondered what Will and Merit were going to do now, wondered what he was going to do now.
“You’ve never lost anybody, have you,” he said.
It was not a question; he didn’t need it to be. He would have bet his next month’s salary that Stephanie Unruh, the perfect girl from the perfect family in the perfect town, had never lost anyone she’d loved. Certainly not a mom.
And certainly not two.
“Because if you had…,” he started, but then let the words die in his throat. He didn’t want to finish that train of thought.
He turned toward Stephanie, ready to apologize, and was surprised by the dark storm in her eyes.
“Whoa, I—uh—” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I mean, she’s not your mom.”
“Apparently you don’t think she’s yours, either.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did. You said the woman who gave you up for adoption was your real mother. I guess we have different definitions of what a real mother is.”
“And what’s yours?”
He wasn’t sure why he kept provoking her, but they would be at the airport soon, and it wouldn’t matter anymore.
“I think a real mom is the one who raises you,” Stephanie said. “I think a real mom is the one who’s always been there for you. The one who would give up everything for her kids.”
Not that again. Michael rested his forehead against the window and closed his eyes. He tried to picture the woman who had given birth to him, but all he could recall now was the screaming, and he wasn’t sure if it was a bad dream or a real memory.
But his real mom? The only picture in his mind was Merit, cheering for him as he hit his first youth league home run. Merit putting a bandage on his knee when he cut it open doing a motocross flip on his bike. Merit crying when he left for the Middle East, crying even more when he got back.
‘I know what you’re saying,” he admitted. “Guess I’m just upset about Merit’s… you know. “
She looked at him with those big eyes, completely ignoring the semi in the lane ahead. Michael put his hand on the wheel, just like Merit always did when Will drove crazy.
‘Look,” he told her, “I’m sorry, but can you keep your eyes on the road? You’re making me nervous.”
She returned her gaze to the freeway, shaking her head. “I thought you were different, Michael. All the guys around Kokanee Cove were always so into themselves.” She bit her lip. “And I guess maybe you are too.”
“Excuse me?” He arched his eyebrows. “When did this turn into a beat-up-on-Michael event? I’m not even sure if—”
“I’m not even sure why I…”
Michael wondered what she’d been about to say. She could have finished that sentence a dozen ways. Instead she sniffed and pulled in front of a minivan without signaling, just as they reached downtown Spokane. Michael resisted the urge to grab the steering wheel from her. This girl was a worse driver than Will.
“My mother was born there.” She pointed to a tall building looming on the left. “Deaconess Hospital.”
Michael blinked at the building, then at Stephanie. “Why did you just tell me that?”
“Habit.” She shrugged. “Every time we drove by here when I was a kid, my mom pointed it out to me. I guess it was important for her to know where she came from. And that big church over there?” She pointed at a tall spire to the right. “That’s where my folks were married. They were raised here in Spokane, met at Whitworth College, and then Dad got called to the pastorate out at the lake.”
He let the tour guide comments go, then took a breath.
“Look, Stephanie, I’m really sorry. It’s good of you to drive me to the airport like this, and all I can do is spout off like an idiot.”
“I had to pick up those books for my dad, anyway,” she said.
“I know, but it was still nice of you. And I’m sorry. I have a big mouth sometimes.”
“So do I.” She paused as they neared the airport, then veered toward the terminal. “I hope your boss isn’t too upset with you for taking this many days off.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already hired somebody to replace me, just for being gone so long. The war hero thing probably won’t get me out of this.”
Stephanie veered across several lanes of traffic to bring them into the curbside loading zone. Michael dug his fingernails into the dash, bracing for impact.
“You said United?” she asked, pulling to a halt. When he opened his eyes, he noticed they had almost run into a young couple standing in the drop-off area ahead of them, locked in a passionate kiss.
Michael choked on his saliva.
“Are you all right?” She patted him on the back, which was nice but really not necessary. He held up his hand and tried to breathe.
“Uh.” More coughing and gasping. “Yeah, I’m fine. And really, thanks again for the ride.”
He grabbed his bag from the backseat and hurried away, slamming the car door behind him. He caught her reflection in the plate-glass windows of the terminal and watched as she followed his progress…just a little too long.
“Please, Will? I just can’t tonight.” Merit had already closed her eyes. “Will you tell them goodnight for me? They don’t have anything clean to wear tomorrow. There’s a load of dirty clothes next to the washer. And the dishes…”
Will rested his head against the bedroom doorjamb and checked his watch. Eight fifteen.
“I’ll take care of it, babe. You just rest. Do you put the whites in cold water or hot?”
But Merit didn’t answer, didn’t move, only rested her head with a backward tilt on the pile of pillows she’d collected.
Will stepped forward and leaned over her. She didn’t look right. Her cheek? too pale, her lips too blue…
“Merit?” He tried not to panic but couldn’t help leaning closer. “Are you asleep, or—?”
He tried to tell if the covers moved over her chest but couldn’t. Tried to hear if she was breathing, leaned so close he should have been able to feel her breath on his ear, but still couldn’t tell. Surely—
She gasped and he jumped, nearly falling over backward. But she had breathed. Thank God. And now he recognized her light, regular breathing. He waited for his heart to settle down before he stepped back up to the bed and pulled a lig
ht blanket over her shoulders. He kissed her cheek.
“Sleep is good,” he whispered. “Just sleep, Merit. That’s all you need. And when you wake up, you’ll have your old energy again, and you won’t be throwing up all the time. Right?”
She sniffed and rubbed her nose.
“Sleep,” he told her again. “You’ll prove those doctors wrong. You can do it, Merit. I know you can do it.”
She stirred again, and he straightened and wiped his eye—too late.
“I’m sorry.” He hoped the tear that dribbled off his cheek onto hers like a raindrop under a darkening thundercloud would not startle her awake. She whimpered softly but did not open her eyes, as if a bad dream had already taken hold. Now she moaned, a little more loudly, her lower lip quivering, and her eyelids flickered. This time he reached down to wake her, then thought better of it.
“No,” he decided. “You go ahead and dream too.”
He watched her for a few minutes, quiet now. He thought of praying but didn’t know what to say that God didn’t already know or that hadn’t already been begged for. Why couldn’t God just hear him the first time, instead of making him grovel?
Of course, if that’s what God wanted, he wasn’t above that. He would climb the mountain on his knees, if that’s what it took. He tried to imagine what kind of deal they could strike.
What do You want, God?
No answer. He could have put his fist through the wall. Instead, when he heard soft giggles from down the hall, he turned away to pad down to the girls’ room.
“Where’s Mommy?” Olivia asked. She held her pony under the covers. “She always—”
“Mommy went to bed early again tonight. She’s feeling tired.”
Olivia groaned. “She’s always feeling tired. She slept all afternoon and all day yesterday too.”
“That’s how she’s going to be for a while.”
“Because of the baby? Or because of…the other thing?”
Will hesitated. “I don’t know, Liv. Maybe both.”
“Then I’m going to pray.” Without warning, Olivia launched into her nighttime prayers. Her pony with the red and green hair still hid under the covers because she was a big girl now, and according to Abby, big girls didn’t sleep with dolls or horses anymore. Abby eyed her sister from her own bed, then obligingly bowed her head and folded her hands.