Unveiling the Past

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Diane laughed. “Just when I thought you were getting all warm and mushy, you have to go and insult me.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Mother’s lips. “Being stubborn isn’t a bad thing, Margaret Diane. Stubbornness could be defined as determination on steroids. As long as it’s aimed in a God-honoring direction, being stubborn can be a gift because it gives you stick-to-itiveness.” She tapped her manicured fingernail on the cover of the book in her lap. “What was it Alice said in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? ‘I can’t go back to yesterday…’ ”

  Diane gave a slow nod. “ ‘…because I was a different person then.’ ”

  “Yes. Different.” A thoughtful frown pinched Mother’s face. “You are a different person now than you were in your rebellious college years. Christ has redeemed your heart. So you don’t need to be afraid of seeing the person who fathered your child.”

  Diane raised her eyebrows. “You think I’m afraid?”

  “I do. I think you’re afraid of revisiting your past because there’s a part of you that hasn’t forgiven it. You haven’t forgiven him for leaving you to handle the consequences of the pregnancy on your own, and—since I’m being so bold—you haven’t forgiven yourself for letting him get you pregnant.”

  Diane pulled Duchess close and rubbed the dog’s soft neck and chest while considering all that her mother had said. For years, she’d pushed aside memories of Kevin. She’d tried to bury the hurts and snubs and difficulties the unwed pregnancy had brought. As Mother claimed, she’d overcome it all. She was, by anyone’s account, a success story. But deliberately coming face to face with Kevin Harrison after all these years?

  She set the dachshund aside. “No promises, Mother, but I’ll think about it.”

  Mother planted her hands on the chair’s armrests and pushed herself to her feet. “Think about it, yes. And pray about it. While you’re praying, ask God to help you forgive Kevin and forgive yourself, because until you do, you’ll drag around an iron ball of regret.” She looked down and wriggled her bare toes. “Now, where did I leave my shoes?”

  Ten

  Carson Springs, Arkansas

  Meghan

  Meghan set the table with plates and bowls from the set they’d received as a wedding gift. Amazing how much more appealing they were than flimsy Styrofoam. Even the simple sandwich and soup looked more appetizing. She should use the real stuff more often. It might make Sean think her cooking had improved.

  She peeked around the wide doorway between the eat-in kitchen and the living room. Sean slouched at the end of the sectional, chin in hand, eyes closed, television blaring. She cleared her throat. He didn’t budge. Swallowing a chortle, she crossed the floor and tapped his knee. He awoke with a start.

  She smiled. “Sorry to disturb you. Supper’s ready.”

  “Can’t believe I fell asleep with that noise going.” He clicked the television off and stood. He stretched, groaning. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

  At least he was talking again. Maybe the nap had erased his irritation. She hoped so. “Grandma would say if you fell asleep without intending to, you needed the rest.”

  “I guess so.”

  She suspected his tiredness was for the same reason as hers. She hadn’t slept much last night, worrying about their differing views about the Menke case. She returned to the kitchen with him trailing her. He sat at the table, and she realized she’d neglected to add beverages. She hurried to the fridge and grabbed two water bottles. Then she grimaced and turned to Sean. “Do you want your water poured over ice in a glass?”

  “Why?”

  She gestured toward the dishware and reached to open the cabinet door that shielded their glasses from view. “It’ll match better.”

  He glanced at the plate and bowl in front of him, then shrugged. “Whatever you want to do.”

  She hesitated, fingers pinched on the cabinet knob.

  “Meghan, it’s okay.”

  Sighing, she joined him at the table and handed him one of the condensation-dotted bottles. “I know we don’t stand much on formality around here. I’m sorry.” The apology was meant to cover a lot more than her practice of using disposable plates, but she wasn’t sure he’d read it that way. A lump filled her throat and prevented any other words from escaping.

  He slid his hand toward her. “As long as we get fed, it’s not a big deal.”

  She took his hand while he asked a blessing on the food, and she tried to accept his statement as truth. But she knew she disappointed him far too many times when it came to her domestic insufficiencies. He’d never complained or nagged, but from remembrances he’d shared about his mother, his home, and his childhood, she’d gathered how unconventional their lives were compared to what he’d grown up with. She hated letting him down, yet she couldn’t imagine doing things any differently, given their work schedule. But if they worked from home…

  Sean dipped his sandwich in the soup and aimed the dripping corner toward his mouth.

  “Sean?”

  He paused and looked across the table at her.

  “That was Mom who called.”

  “I figured. Did you have a good chat?”

  “I told her that maybe us splitting up as partners could end up being a good thing.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He took the bite, chewed, swallowed, and dipped another corner. “How so?”

  He sounded curious, not defensive. She tore off a small piece of her sandwich and popped it into her mouth. “It could let us see how well we do as individuals. In case we ever have to, you know, handle more than one case at a time.”

  “Are you talking about if we open a private agency?”

  She preferred when instead of if, but she nodded.

  He placed his sandwich on the plate and brushed his hands together, dispelling crumbs, then rested his elbows on the table. “Have you actually researched independent investigation companies? Gathered statistics for an agent’s average caseload or income expectations? Because I’ll be honest—the idea worries me.”

  “Don’t you think we’d be successful?” Meghan plopped her sandwich onto the plate, no longer hungry.

  “I think we’re successful now. We make good salaries at the bureau. I’m comfortable with our lifestyle. And I think we need to be practical. What if we go out on our own but the cases don’t come in? How will we pay for our house, utilities, and vehicles? Plus, with self-employment, there are different taxes to cover and insurance issues. There’s a lot we need to carefully consider before even thinking about opening a private agency. Most important, we need to be in prayer—individually and as a couple—and seek God’s will. I’ve never received so much as a nudge from the Holy Spirit about leaving the bureau. Have you?”

  She chewed the inside of her lower lip. She couldn’t honestly say the Holy Spirit had nudged her, but what difference did that make? “If we’re operating an honest business, using our skills as detectives to help people, isn’t that good enough?”

  Disappointment tinged his features. “Meg, anything we do—no matter how unselfish or profitable it appears from a human viewpoint—is useless if it’s outside God’s will for us. I can say with all certainty God put me at the Arkansas Cold Case Investigations Department. I’ve always believed He placed you there, too—to be my partner in both work and marriage. I love you, and I don’t want to hold you back from pursuing a God-planted dream, but I’ve got some real apprehensions about it.”

  She had always appreciated his honesty, but in that moment she wished he’d be less straightforward and more supportive. She toyed with her spoon, her gaze low.

  “We better eat before the soup gets cold. We can talk more later, okay?”

  She nodded and dipped her spoon into the soup, but he didn’t bring up the subject after supper, and neither did she. Saturday they performed the usual weekend household
and yard chores. Sean mowed the lawn and raked and bagged the cuttings while Meghan did laundry, cleaned the bathrooms, and swept and vacuumed the floors—roles traditionally assigned to their respective genders. As she pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet in their bedroom, she couldn’t help but think back to when she and Mom shared cleaning chores in their apartment.

  They hadn’t lived in squalor, but neither could she say they’d been neat freaks. Mom always complained that Grandma had kept their house so perfect a person couldn’t relax in it, and Mom wanted their apartment to feel lived in. As a kid who’d rather play than clean, Meghan was perfectly content with lived in, too. She and Sean often put up with lived in because of long workdays, but she suspected that his mother kept their home closer to what Grandma had done.

  For some reason, on this Saturday, performing the mindless and often thankless tasks so many generations of women had done before her left her lonesome for Grandma. A desire to talk to the woman who’d been her anchor throughout her childhood overwhelmed her. She turned the vacuum off and dropped onto the bed. She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, pulled up the list of names and numbers, and aimed her finger for Grandma’s contact.

  The phone rang twice, and then came a pert “Hello, Meghan.”

  Meghan smiled, memories of her grandmother rushing through her mind. “Hi, Grandma. Am I intruding on your day?”

  “As if you could ever be an intrusion.”

  Her reproving tone made Meghan grin. “That’s not what you said when I barged into your bathroom in the middle of your bath.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, there was that one time…”

  Meghan laughed. It felt good to laugh. She needed to call Grandma more often.

  “So what are you and Sean doing today? Anything exciting?”

  “Cleaning house. And grocery shopping a little later.”

  “Us, too. In fact, your mother is at the market right now stocking up on organic vegan products. I told her to be sure to buy me one thick, juicy, grass-fed T-bone.”

  “Do you think she’ll do it?”

  “If she knows what’s good for her, yes, she will.”

  Chuckling, Meghan reclined against the pillows and lifted her feet onto the bed.

  “Your mother tells me you and Sean are working on separate cases.”

  Funny how Mom talked to Grandma about everything these days. When Meghan was a kid caught between them, she wouldn’t have imagined the closeness they now shared, but their relationship rifts had all been mended. It gave her hope that she and Sean would weather their current differences. “Yeah, we are.”

  “And that you intend to connect with your father.”

  Meghan stifled a snicker. They really did discuss everything. “What do you think about that? Is it a good idea?”

  “I’ve been praying for years that God would direct you concerning a relationship with your father. If this is His timing, then I’m all for it.”

  The same uneasy feeling that had attacked when Sean asked if the Holy Spirit had prompted her to leave the cold-case department tingled through her again. “I’m not sure if God directed me on this or if it’s my own curiosity.” She shared her desire to know more about who she was, genetically and biologically, then added, “How do you know when God’s telling you to do something? I mean, in the Bible it was so obvious. A burning bush, a talking donkey, angels who showed up and delivered messages. God doesn’t do those kinds of things anymore.”

  Grandma’s chuckle rumbled. “You’re right that He doesn’t prompt donkeys to speak, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never been visited by an angel. But, honey, He does talk to us. He speaks to me every day.”

  Meghan almost dropped her phone. “He does? How?”

  “Why, through His Word. The holy Scriptures. Every part of the Bible is God speaking to His followers. And then there’s His Spirit, who resides within you. The Holy Spirit is always with us, guiding and directing us.”

  A hollow feeling inched through Meghan’s center. She gripped the phone tighter. “Sean and I read some verses together every morning at breakfast, we go to Bible study at church, and I read the Bible on my own, too.” When she carved out the time. “But the Bible was written for so many people. How can it speak to just me?”

  “What I’ve discovered”—Grandma’s voice quavered, as if she battled emotion—“is that the Spirit brings a scripture to mind or brings a new understanding of a scripture when I’m seeking. When my heart is open and His timing is in place, then I know it’s His voice.”

  Meghan’s chest went tight with a longing she couldn’t define. “I still don’t understand. How do you know?”

  “It’s hard to explain. But I…I know. I experience a peacefulness. Or a settledness. Or a new resolve.” She fell silent for a few moments, and Meghan listened to her own pulse throb in her ears. Finally Grandma’s sigh carried through the connection. “Proverbs 19:21 says it well. ‘Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.’ Following God’s will should always be first and foremost in our lives. We can’t be at peace when we’re outside His will. Not if we’re truly His children. So, honey, if you aren’t absolutely certain that God’s leading you to seek a relationship with your biological father, then maybe you should wait until you receive His confirmation.”

  A lump filled Meghan’s throat, making it hurt to talk. “But I want a father, Grandma. I think I always have.”

  “And you’ve always had one, dear girl.” Even though Meghan couldn’t see her grandmother’s face, she could tell by her voice that she was smiling. “You’ve had your heavenly Father. God is Father to the fatherless. He’s the best Father because He never leaves us or forsakes us. You aren’t fatherless, Meghan. Remember that.”

  Grandma’s words seemed to reiterate what Sean had said about her needing to honor God with her life and follow His direction. She nodded. “I’ll try to remember. Thank you.”

  “I’ll pray for God to speak clearly and for your heart to be open to His voice so you know what you’re to do. And speaking of hearing…I hear your mother in the kitchen. I should go help her put the groceries away and make sure she brought my steak.”

  Laughter bubbled and spilled from Meghan, chasing away the melancholy pall that had fallen. “You do that. Thanks for talking to me, and thanks for praying. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, honey. Goodbye.”

  Meghan tucked the phone in her pocket and returned to vacuuming. She replayed her conversation with Grandma while she cleaned the carpet, and by the time she was finished, she’d decided maybe it was best that her father wouldn’t be in Fort Smith while she was there. She needed to do more thinking—and praying—before meeting him.

  The problem was, she’d already set a ball in motion. And it was rolling straight for Mom.

  Eleven

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Kevin

  Kevin set his suitcase on the folding stand in the corner of his hotel suite. The metal frame and sagging woven straps seemed rickety and out of place in the otherwise plush surroundings. He shrugged out of his summer-weight dove-gray suit coat, which he’d worn over a plain white T-shirt and jeans Miami Vice style, and hung it on a hanger in the closet. He’d need it again for his meeting with the Realtor tomorrow, but for now there wasn’t any reason to keep even that small bit of formality in place. Tonight’s agenda included ordering room service and watching television.

  Because he’d made reservations for an eight-day stay, he unzipped his suitcase and spent several minutes transferring everything to drawers in the low, sleek dresser that stood sentry on the wall opposite the king-sized bed. Socks and underwear in a top drawer, T-shirts and polos in the second-row drawers, and jeans, khakis, and athletic shorts at the bottom. The same way Mom had organized his clothes at home. He had no idea why she’d ordered the clothing articles that
way, but it made it easy for him to find what he needed. Especially on those mornings when his brain was sizzling from too much imbibing the night before.

  One more top drawer remained. He could store his wallet and wristwatch in there. He yanked the drawer open, and several items slid to the back of it at the force of his tug. He glanced in and grimaced. He had no use for the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Teaching of Buddha, or the hotel-provided notepad and pen. He bumped the drawer closed with his hip, then returned to the closet and kicked off his leather sneakers.

  His shaving kit and a pair of tasseled loafers remained in his suitcase. He plopped the loafers on the closet floor, then placed his shaving kit in the bathroom, pausing for a moment to admire the floating marble slab centered with a glass bowl sink—classy. He’d chosen well, considering he made the reservation online. But a person couldn’t go too wrong when booking on the Strip in Vegas. Or purchasing property on the Strip. Too bad Dad wasn’t alive to see this deal go down. He might actually be impressed.

  As abruptly as he’d closed the dresser drawer on the stack of religious books, he closed down all thoughts of his father. On the desk near the window, a folder with the hotel’s insignia imprinted in gold foil caught his attention. The restaurant menu should be inside. His growling stomach propelled him across the thick carpet. He flopped the folder open and chose the tab marked Room Service. Within minutes he’d made a selection, and he called the kitchen and requested garlic shrimp and roasted Roma tomatoes over angel-hair pasta, as well as a bottle of their best rosé.

  Kevin hung up the phone, then sat on the edge of the bed. Tomorrow was Sunday—a whole day of settling in before his Monday-morning meeting with the Realtor. He should find a grocery store and stock some basics for the week, make good use of his kitchenette. Room service was convenient, and he could afford to order every meal if he wanted to, but his waistline would take a direct hit if he went a full week eating rich foods.