Reunion

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

  “Well, now it has to.” John’s voice was firm, but kind. “We have enough to think about.” He took in a sharp breath through his nose and shook his head. “That door’s been closed for thirty-five years.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I guess . . .” She looked at the creek, the way the waters never stopped running no matter the season. “I guess the diagnosis makes me want to take stock.”

  A long breath left him. “I understand.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Let’s focus on what’s in front of us, okay? That’s all we can do.”

  Elizabeth changed the subject, and they talked about the next few days. They’d have the kids over for dinner Sunday night and tell them the truth—that their mother’s cancer was back and she would most likely have surgery that Monday.

  “Brooke isn’t going to take it well.” Elizabeth felt the thickness in her throat again. “Not after what happened with Hayley.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised.” John took her hand again and led her toward the footbridge. “Brooke’s stronger than before. She might handle it better than the others.”

  “Maybe.” Elizabeth followed him over the bridge and across their backyard. “Let’s not tell them about the reunion just yet.”

  Once they were inside, John led her into their bedroom, closed the door, and took her in his arms. “There’s something I didn’t say out there.”

  “What?” The way he held her made her breathless, the embrace of a man who still wanted her despite time and all it had stolen from them.

  “The way I see you—” he looked beyond her heart to the center of her soul—“the way I desire you, Elizabeth, will not change, not ever. You will still be the only woman who has ever turned my head, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Of all the things he might’ve said to her right then, nothing could’ve touched her spirit the way those words did. “John . . .” She placed her hands along the sides of his face. “I love you.”

  Desire shone in his eyes. Not the passionate sparks of youth, but a longing born of years of intimacy. He kissed her, and a slow tender urgency began to fill the moment. “I’ve loved you all my life, Elizabeth. Always.”

  Their kisses continued and his hands moved along her sides, touching her in a way he wouldn’t be able to in only a few short days. Then, for the next hour—ignoring work or time or her cancer diagnosis—John showed her the kind of love she’d spent a lifetime knowing, a love that wouldn’t change ever.

  Not even when her body did.

  * * *

  John waited until Elizabeth was asleep before making his way downstairs to his chair, the one where he did most of his late-night thinking and praying.

  That he’d gotten through the day was a miracle, a testimony to God’s strength at the center of his life. Because he understood his wife’s test results better than he’d let on, better than she understood them.

  Dr. Steinman had no choice but to schedule the surgery. Elizabeth’s biopsy showed her cancer at a stage that went beyond mere mastectomy. It was very advanced. Almost every time, women with a biopsy like Elizabeth’s would have surgery only to find the cancer had spread to their lymph nodes.

  So Elizabeth was right to be thinking about dying.

  Not that he would ever tell her that. They could do the surgery and find more cancer and even give her a death sentence and never—not once—would he stop believing that God could turn the whole thing around. Not after Hayley’s miracle.

  He eased himself into the old chair and stared at the five framed photographs lining the fireplace mantel. The senior portraits for each of the kids.

  His eyes closed and he thought about the battle ahead. God . . . give us a miracle. I can’t make it without her.

  A stirring brushed across his soul, and he remembered something Pastor Mark Atteberry had said the previous Sunday. He’d been doing a sermon series on Easter, and all it meant. There in the garden the night before he was crucified, Jesus wanted to pass on what lay ahead of him. But he prayed a simple prayer, one that echoed across John’s heart now.

  “Not my will, but yours be done.”

  John let the words play in his mind a few more times. They seemed right for Jesus, but for him? John Baxter? He was merely a man, and since this morning, not a very strong man, at that. He couldn’t possibly pray the way Jesus had in the garden.

  God, I’d be lying if I prayed for your will now. Instead I’m begging you, God, make her well. Take me if you want, but make her well. She . . . she means so much to all of us, God.

  He opened his eyes and saw the pictures again, their five children. Why had Elizabeth brought it up today, after three years of forgetting? They hadn’t ever really been all together? Was that how she saw it? She found the strangest times to remember, and whenever she did, it sent him reeling for the better part of a week.

  What had they told each other back then? That they’d do what they had to do and never look back, right? Wasn’t that it? Today was a time to talk about Elizabeth and the kids and whatever time they still had left together. A time to pray that cancer would be defeated in this battle, the way it had the first go-around. This wasn’t any time to remember the hardest part of their lives, a part they were supposed to have buried long ago.

  If only every few years she wouldn’t bring it up.

  John blinked and stared at the faces of his kids once more. Maybe he was being too hard on his wife. He was no better than she, really. How many times had he sat in this chair and stared at that mantel, at the spot to the left of Brooke’s picture, and wondered what the boy would’ve looked like at seventeen? What he looked like now? How often in the moments before falling asleep had he let himself go back to everything he and Elizabeth had been through.

  He liked to think he never looked back, that he could live with their decision to keep the past hidden. Hidden from their children and from each other, and most of the time even hidden from themselves.

  They’d done what they had to do. Period.

  No options, no second thoughts, no regrets.

  But in reality, he was no better at forgetting the past than Elizabeth was.

  In fact, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to thinking about it at least every now and then. Maybe more often than that.

  Not because he’d known what she was talking about almost as soon as she’d mentioned the fact that they’d never really all been together. But because he’d known instantly how long it had been since that awful time in their lives.

  He looked at the calendar on his wristwatch. Thirty-five years, seven months, two days.

  Exactly.

  Chapter Three

  By Friday night, Erin had figured out a way to get the money, and an hour later Sam was convinced, too.

  They’d sell his little Ford Contour, and until they could afford a second car again, Sam would drop Erin off at school each morning on the way to his computer job. He’d skip lunch so he could leave an hour early and swing by to pick up Erin sometime around five o’clock.

  By the time they had the For Sale signs made, Erin had talked herself into believing the arrangement was actually a good thing. They’d save on insurance and gas, and she’d have a reason to stay and correct papers until Sam picked her up each day.

  “You really think this’ll work?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “We oughta call the attorney and tell him what Candy and Dave are up to. They’d never get away with it.”

  “And we’d never get the baby.” Erin took hold of Sam’s arm, her tone full of quiet desperation. “Please, Sam. Just pray someone buys the car.”

  He looked at the sign. “Five thousand dollars for a car that’s not even two years old?” A sad chuckle slipped from his mouth. “It’s worth more than twice that. Someone better buy it.”

  The next morning Erin followed Sam to the busiest supermarket in Austin, especially on a Saturday. He parked the car at the front of the lot—in an area set apart by the market for indi
vidual car sellers. Erin noticed her hands were shaking as she stepped out of the van and headed toward Sam’s car.

  God . . . let this work, please. That baby is ours, not hers.

  My grace is sufficient for you, daughter.

  The response came so quick, so certain that Erin froze in place, right in the middle of the supermarket parking lot.

  “Erin, look out!” Sam shouted at her from where he’d parked the Contour.

  She jumped and ran lightly to Sam, her head spinning. “I . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t think for a minute.”

  “Okay.” Sam put his hand on her shoulder and stared at her. “Listen.” His expression told her he was more scared than angry, but his tone was sharp. “Don’t panic on me, Erin. God’s in control, remember? Wasn’t that what you kept telling me when we started this idea?”

  Erin’s heart was racing, her forehead damp with sweat. What had happened back there? The words had come to her as certainly as if someone had shouted them at her from across the parking lot. But they didn’t come at her through her ears, the way it usually worked. Rather they came straight into her heart, through her heart, maybe.

  What was it she’d heard?

  My grace is sufficient for you. Wasn’t that it?

  She clenched her fists and dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Breathe out, she told herself. Breathe out and say something. She looked at Sam and forced a weak smile. “You’re right. I—” she shook her head—“I’m sorry. I guess I’m worried it won’t sell.”

  “It’ll sell.”

  “But what if it doesn’t sell this weekend?” They had convinced the baby’s birth parents to give them two days—the entire weekend—to come up with the money. But the tattooed man had been adamant about having the money by Sunday night. “You heard what he said.”

  “It’ll sell, Erin.”

  “But if it doesn’t, how can—”

  Sam put his finger to her lips. His expression softened and he pulled her into his arms. They stayed that way while passersby and car shoppers milled around them, as other prospective car sellers moved their vehicles into the parking area and left.

  Finally, Sam spoke. “It’s hard on me, too.” He pressed his cheek against her hair. “I keep asking God what’s going on, what he’s doing, letting that woman work us over like this. Why does having a baby have to be so hard?”

  Erin’s anxiety faded and she drew back, studying the man she loved. This was new for Sam, this allowing her to see a glimpse of his true feelings. No matter what he said or how stoic his composure, he was every bit as scared as she. He was looking at her, and she searched his eyes until she could feel a connection deeper than ever before. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Yes.” She motioned to their little car. “Thank you for coming here, for loving me enough to sell the car and tell me the truth about how you feel. It means a lot.”

  “Well . . .” His chin quivered but he coughed twice and shook his head, the way Erin had seen him steady himself a few other times in their marriage. “I want that little girl, Erin. I want her as badly as you do.” He sucked in a hard breath and dug his hands into his pockets. “Let’s pray God feels the same way.”

  They left the car and drove home together in her van. Two hours later they were having lunch when the phone rang. Sam took it and moved into the next room. After only a few minutes he hung up and found her again.

  “So?” Erin tried to read his face, but she couldn’t.

  “It sold.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The man has cash; he’ll meet us at the car in an hour.”

  Erin raised her fists in the air, stared at the ceiling, and shouted out loud. “Yes!” She looked at Sam again. “Everything’s going to be okay—I can feel it.”

  He nodded, but what remained of his smile faded.

  “Sam?” Her excitement dissolved like sand in an ocean wave. “What’s wrong?”

  Air filled his cheeks and he pursed his lips, releasing his breath slowly the way he did when he was frustrated. “I’m not sure this is the right thing.”

  Her world tilted and she stared at him. “Which part? Selling the car?”

  With slow steps he crossed the kitchen and sat down at the table. “All of it.” He reached across and took her hands. His were ice-cold. “We just lost our car, Erin. So we give Candy and Dave the money and then what? The next day they ask for another five thousand and where does that leave us?” He lowered his brow. “Haven’t you thought of that?”

  Fear danced in circles around her, laughing, mocking her.

  Of course she’d thought of it, but only for the briefest partial seconds. This was the possibility she hadn’t allowed herself to consider: that somehow the scary-looking man Candy claimed was the baby’s father might be playing games, taking them for a ride without ever intending to give the baby up.

  She bit her lower lip. Her voice was pinched, racked with an unimaginable fear. “What choice do we have?”

  “That’s just it.” He paused. “There is no choice.”

  His answer told her that regardless of where the journey took them, he was as committed as she to the outcome.

  An hour later they sold the car, collected the money, and left the parking lot with a sense of doom. Erin used Sam’s cell phone to call Candy. “We have the money.”

  The woman’s voice was instantly cheerful. “Really? Five thousand dollars?”

  “Yes. Like you asked.”

  “Okay—” Candy hesitated—“meet at the park again.”

  Erin’s body ached. The conversation was making her feel tired. “When?”

  “In an hour.”

  Erin and Sam parked their van not far from the grassy border of the park and waited. Even with the engine off, Sam held tight to the steering wheel and stared straight out the windshield. Beside him on the console was a manila envelope with five thousand dollars cash inside.

  He tapped his fingers on his knee and looked at Erin. “Why doesn’t this feel right?”

  A sigh slipped from Erin’s lips, and she folded her hands on her lap. “I know.” She looked out the window and shook her head. “Sitting here like criminals waiting to make some under-the-table deal.”

  “I keep asking myself why I feel guilty, like maybe we’re supposed to call the social worker or the attorney.”

  A beat-up car pulled into the parking lot, different from what Candy had driven the last time. As it came closer, Erin squinted. Candy was in the backseat. Dave—the man who claimed to be the baby’s father—was in the passenger seat, and behind the wheel was an older, bearded man with dark drifter eyes.

  Erin leaned toward Sam. “Great.”

  “Right.” Sam rolled down the van window, his eyes on the people in the car, his voice barely a whisper. “Now I feel much better.”

  Dave climbed out, gave a shady glance over one shoulder then the other, and looped around the front of the car to Sam’s window. “Candy says you got the cash.”

  “I have it.” Contempt filled his voice. Sam’s expression was frozen, his lips a thin angry line.

  Erin watched her husband take the envelope, hesitate a second or two, and then hand it to Dave through the window. Sam was an even-tempered man, but one time when Erin had seen him really angry, he’d put his fist through a wall. Now he looked about ready to do the same thing to Dave’s mouth. She held her breath. God . . . help Sam. Don’t let him say anything that’ll make this worse.

  At first Dave looked like he might turn around and leave as soon as the envelope was in his hands. Instead he opened it, pulled out the bundle of hundred-dollar bills, tucked the envelope under his arm, and began counting. The man was shaking so badly, the envelope made a loud rustling sound.

  Drugs, Erin thought. He’ll use every dime for drugs. She looked past Dave at the car and saw the driver pass what looked like a marijuana joint back to Candy. The two laughed about something and Candy passed it back to the driver.

  An aching sta
rted in Erin’s stomach. Everything felt crazy and out of control. Adoption wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? Hadn’t they only been following their pastor’s advice, adopting a child who wasn’t wanted? So how had everything become sordid? This is so dirty, God, so wrong. What’re we supposed to do? Please . . . please show us.

  Dave must’ve been satisfied with his count because he stuffed the cash back into the envelope and said something that drove a knife through what was left of Erin’s sanity.

  “You still want the baby, right?”

  “Listen.” Sam clenched his teeth and made a sharp inhale through his nose. “Don’t mess with us.”

  “Ooooh.” Dave chuckled and looked over his shoulder at his friends, as if they might understand something funny had just happened. With his mouth open it was easier to see just how many teeth he was missing. He looked back at Sam, held out his hand, palm down, and gave it a series of dramatic shakes. “You scare me, man.”

  “I’m serious.” Sam sat a little straighter. “We did what you asked. Now get Candy home and take care of her.” He started the engine. “We’ll see you at the hospital.”

  Dave cocked his head, the smile suddenly gone. “I asked you a question, man. You still want the baby or not?”

  Erin couldn’t make out her husband’s expression, but she could see by the tension in his posture how close he was to losing control. Please, God . . .

  Sam turned slightly so he was facing the man. “If we didn’t want the baby, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Okay.” Dave’s expression eased and he chuckled again. “Stay by the phone.” He winked as he took a few steps backward. “I’ll be calling.”

  And in that instant, Erin felt her hopes crash against the rocks of reality and splinter into a million pieces. The bribes were not over, and they were quite simply out of money.

  When Dave was gone, Sam turned to her. The knowing in his face told her that he, too, was aware of the situation they were in. If Dave asked for more money, they would have just one choice.

  Call the attorney and tell him the truth, even if they lost the baby daughter in the process.