“Let’s pray now.” It was Landon, and he looked around the room, then bowed his head. After a minute he opened his mouth and the words came. “God, you’re a miracle maker. We know that; we’ve all seen it happen right around us. Ashley, Luke, Peter . . .” His voice filled with sadness. “Even Hayley. So, God, heal Elizabeth please. She’s everything to this family, the heart and soul of who the Baxter family is. John needs her; we all need her. Please, God . . . give us a miracle.”
A chorus of amens passed around the room and over the speakerphone.
“Thanks, Landon.” John nodded to him. “We’re nothing without our faith.”
“Yes, thanks, Landon.” Elizabeth looked around. “Thanks to all of you who are praying for me. I know it’s helping; I can feel it.”
“Really?” Ashley looked up at her, her cheeks tearstained.
“Really.” Elizabeth didn’t mean it in the way they would take it, but it was true. Her physical condition wasn’t better, but mentally, spiritually, she was doing very well. Even now. And it was the most positive thing anyone had said that hour.
“Okay, I need to change the subject.” Elizabeth steadied herself, forced her lungs to remain calm despite their constant tendency to slip into a spasm. “Erin and Luke, I’m asking you to keep your plans to come here on the third of July, but we’ll have the reunion here instead of Sanibel Island, and then on the nineteenth we’ll have Ashley’s wedding. Will that work for you?”
“Of course.” Luke was quick to answer. His voice was thick and again Elizabeth’s heart hurt. She hated telling them this when they were so far away. But it was more important that Luke and Erin hear it firsthand—the way their siblings were hearing it.
Erin’s voice was muffled for a moment. “Sam can’t be gone that long, but he’ll join us on the eleventh and stay for the wedding.”
“Perfect.” The now-familiar peace from the past few days worked its way over the raw edges of Elizabeth’s heart. July would be heavenly, time for conversations and board games and walks near the backyard stream. They would get to know Erin’s new daughter and talk about the upcoming wedding and take pictures of everything. They would laugh and, yes, maybe a time or two they would cry.
But at least they would be together in the place she loved better than any other. The old Baxter house.
“I love you, Mom.” Luke’s tone was strained. “Reagan says she loves you, too. We’ll be there on Thursday, and we’ll keep praying.” He hesitated. “You can beat this, Mom. You’re strong that way.”
“He’s right.” Erin sounded more determined. “Sam and I will keep praying, but you have to believe you can survive, okay, Mom? I love you. We all love you.”
“Okay.” Elizabeth stroked her hands over the heads of her girls, still gathered around her—Kari’s and Ashley’s and Brooke’s. “I love you, too.”
John held his hand out to Ryan, who had been holding the phone. Ryan stood and handed him the receiver, and John pushed the Speaker button off. “Luke and Erin . . . you’re off speakerphone now.” He walked with the phone into the kitchen and talked in hushed tones.
Ryan leaned over and said something to Peter and Landon, something Elizabeth couldn’t quite make out. Almost at the same time, the guys all nodded, stood, and crossed the room toward her. One at a time they hugged her and uttered words of hope and quiet promises to keep praying. Then the three men went together into the foyer to wait.
Kari came closer and hugged her, keeping her face close while she said, “I love you, Mom. I’m . . . I’m sorry about all this.” She took a step back. “It’s late; Jessie needs to get home. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Brooke hugged her next, stood, and nodded. “God isn’t finished with you yet, Mom.”
“I know, honey.”
Ashley waited until Kari and Brooke were halfway up the stairs, then huddled a little closer. “Now I know why I’ve been feeling strange around you. I knew something was wrong, Mom. Something you weren’t telling us.”
Until now, none of the kids had mentioned that fact. They had looked past the idea that they’d been kept in the dark for a few weeks. But because of the wedding, because of the time they’d spent together lately, Ashley was bound to be more perceptive than the others. Elizabeth ran her fingers over Ashley’s hair. “I’m sorry. I wanted to wait until after the wedding.”
“I guessed that.” Ashley hugged her and held on for a while.
With Ashley in her arms, Elizabeth was overcome by more emotion than at any other time tonight. She would miss her children so much, miss the closeness she had with each of them. She held on tighter, longer, trying to imagine saying good-bye to Ashley for the last time this side of heaven.
It was tragic, really, that Ashley had no idea how much the two of them actually had in common, how often she looked at Cole and thought of her own firstborn, the young man who had been on her mind and in her prayers since her diagnosis.
No wonder she felt a special connection to Ashley, especially in the past few years since Landon had worked his magic on her heart. They had lost too much time after Paris, back when Ashley felt like an outcast. Maybe if she’d been honest with Ashley about her own past, they would’ve made peace years sooner.
Elizabeth cast the thought from her mind. Time was short for all of them; backtracking would never make a difference now. She pressed her cheek against Ashley’s. “I love you, honey. I always have. So much.”
“Me, too.”
They held on a while longer, and then the sound of the children—groggy and overtired—came from near the front door.
Ashley got up. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” She dabbed at the runny mascara beneath her eyes and looked more serious than before. “Don’t hide things from me, Mom. We can get through anything together, okay?”
Elizabeth nodded. She was exhausted, too tired to move. She stayed seated, watched John follow Ashley into the foyer, listened while they spoke with him in hushed voices. When he returned he held up the receiver and put it back on its base. “They said they’ll call you later.”
She looked up, worried. “Are they okay?”
John stopped, and his frame seemed to wither some. His expression told her he couldn’t answer the question. “Of course not,” he whispered. “None of us are. We can’t lose you, Elizabeth.”
She held out her arms to him. “John . . .”
Looking beyond weary, he worked his way closer and sat on the arm of her chair. “It’s true.” His chin quivered. “We’ll never be okay again.”
“Yes, you will, too.” She kissed his cheek and brushed a piece of his hair off his forehead. “You know why?”
He exhaled and seemed to summon a bit of strength he hadn’t had before. “Why?”
“Because God loves you even more than I do.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Erin cradled Heidi in her arms and stared at the stacks of clothes on her bed. It was Tuesday, July 1, and she’d kept as busy as possible since the phone call with her family. She shopped for the trip one day, bought a bigger suitcase and ran errands another, and spent an entire afternoon at the park with other moms from church.
Not once did she talk about her mother to anyone.
It was simply more than she could believe, more than she could take in. The last time she’d seen her mother, she’d been fine. The picture of health. Slim and fit and cancer-free. Now she had three or four months to live.
No, Erin wouldn’t believe it.
All her life she’d wanted children, and more than that, time to share them with her mother. She was the youngest daughter, the one who had stayed at home longer than any of the other Baxter girls. Now that she was grown up and married, nothing had changed at all. She still called her mother when she was upset, still spent hours on the phone with her, asking her for advice about diaper rash and formula and the merits of various baby toys.
Since her mother’s surgery, Erin had called less often. She worried that her mo
ther needed her sleep, her time to recuperate.
But never did she worry that her mother was dying.
Heidi squirmed and began to cry. She was a quiet baby, with none of the health problems that can accompany a child who hasn’t had prenatal care. The only time she cried was when she wanted a bottle or a nap. At the moment, it was the bottle.
The crying became more incessant.
Erin gave one last look at the stacks of clothes, then turned and headed for the kitchen. “Okay, sweetie, just a minute.”
She started preparing the bottle, thinking the whole time not of her mother and the cancer and the death sentence she’d been given, but rather about what she was going to pack.
She and Heidi would be gone three weeks, at least. They would need summer clothes, warmer outfits for the sometimes-cool nights, and church clothes. Heidi would need her car seat and her swing and a bag of squeaky toys and rattles. She’d have to pack several bottles and burp rags and blankets.
The list seemed never-ending.
With the bottle warm and ready to go, Erin sat down at the table, cradled Heidi close, and began to feed her. At the same instant, a few feet away the phone rang. Erin stared at it for a moment, not wanting any more bad news. Finally, she slid her chair closer and without disturbing the baby, she balanced the bottle until she had the phone on her shoulder.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello, Erin.” It was the social worker. “I have some interesting news for you.”
Erin’s heartbeat stuttered. She stood and walked to the nursery. “Yes?”
“Candy Santana is in jail in Dallas facing a life sentence.”
“What?” A burst of adrenaline rushed through her. She sat in the old rocker, the phone pinned between her shoulder and her cheek. Heidi was content, taking the bottle as fast as she could.
The social worker released a deep sigh. “Apparently she ran out of drugs. She left her baby with a neighbor woman and took a bus to the house of some drug dealer in Dallas. The two of them dealt together and did drugs for the past few weeks. Then late one night the guy she was with took her to a rival drug dealer’s house. I guess the rival owed him money. Anyway, he gave her a gun and told her to wave it around so the other drug dealer would take them seriously.”
Erin could hardly believe what she was hearing. She closed her eyes, anxious for the social worker to get to the point of the story.
“So Candy was high on drugs, waving a gun around, and somehow it went off. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling and hit the man she was with, hit him right in the chest.” The social worker paused. “The man bled to death before help could arrive, and Candy’s facing half a dozen charges.”
She went on to list the things Candy faced: manslaughter, certainly; reckless use of a handgun; intent to deal, since police found bags of marijuana and vials of cocaine in her purse. The list went on, and in addition to everything else, she was being charged with abandonment of her children.
“Abandonment?”
“Yes. The neighbor woman had the baby all this time. We didn’t find out about Candy’s arrest until the neighbor finally called our department and wanted to know what to do with the baby.”
Erin held Heidi close, trying to imagine Candy’s baby left behind like an old sweater. But her sinking feeling gave way to a burst of sudden joy, a feeling that maybe there was another reason why the woman had called. Maybe she and Sam were going to have a second chance at the baby, but if so, how would they handle two newborns at the same time?
The questions pelted Erin’s heart like hail, but only one found its way to her lips. “What are you doing with the baby?”
“Well . . .” The woman’s voice fell a notch. “That’s why I’m calling. Here’s the situation. . . .”
* * *
It was Luke’s last day of work before summer.
Since the job was an internship, he’d arranged with his boss to take off all of July and part of August. When he started back up before the fall session at school, his position would no longer be connected with the university but rather a part-time job. One Luke hoped would turn into something full time as soon as he had his law degree.
“Take a break, Baxter.” His boss stuck his head in the conference room and grinned. “You work too hard.”
“Okay.” He’d been comparing contracts ever since he came in, just before lunch. But that was a good thing. Busy meant he wasn’t thinking about his mother, about the fact that she might be dead by Christmas. Even sooner.
He stretched, grabbed a bottle of water from the office lunchroom, picked up a stack of documents from the secretary’s desk, and headed for his office. He had a few phone calls to make before he started on the next contract. Odds and ends his boss liked him to take care of.
But once the door was closed behind him, Luke sat at his desk, caught a glimpse of their family photo, and suddenly it hit him.
His mother was dying.
As healthy and vibrant as she looked in the picture, her body was not healthy anymore. It was riddled with cancer. The trip he and Reagan and Tommy were about to take wasn’t a reunion at all; it was a farewell tour. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine all of them gathered around the Baxter house, finding separate ways to tell their mother good-bye.
Prayer, right? Wasn’t that their only hope? Luke swallowed, nodding to himself. Of course it was. They would all pray until God answered them. Beg God night and day, if they had to. That was the answer, wasn’t it?
Luke stared out the window at the building across the courtyard. What about the last time he’d begged God for something? It had been September 11, almost two years ago. Reagan’s father, Tom Decker, had been working near the top of the twin towers when the terrorist attacks happened, and Luke had begged—absolutely begged—God that somehow Mr. Decker would live.
But that didn’t happen.
Reagan’s father died along with three thousand other people, and the reality had shaken Luke to the core. He’d made so many bad decisions since that awful time; every one of his rebellious choices had come after that.
In some ways, Luke wanted to warn himself now, that begging God for a miracle would only set him up to fall again, to spiral into another dark chasm of unbelief and bad choices. How was this time of desperately begging God any different from that time?
A sense of peace washed over him.
It was entirely different. God had taught him so much since September 11, so much about the hard truths of life. That it was a fallen world, that terrorists had free will the same way any believer in Christ had free will, that death happened even to nice guys like Tom Decker.
Maybe even to his mother.
But still he would pray, because otherwise he had no hope at all. He would ask, because God loved him, and God heard his prayers. In the end, God would decide the number of days his mom had left. But no matter the outcome, Luke would never again lose faith in God. Never.
He shifted his gaze to his desk and the ten or so pictures he kept there. His father had been nothing but strong on the phone, but he had to be struggling. Short of a miracle, his wife of thirty-five years was about to leave him alone. And then what? Would his father stay in the big house by himself? Sell it and take an apartment in Bloomington?
Luke shuddered.
It was impossible to think of his parents separated, one without the other. Yet that was the way of life, wasn’t it? One day, decades down the road, he and Reagan would have to face that type of loss the same way any couple who stayed together faced it.
Time was a thief; that much was certain.
He let his eyes skim over the photographs, taking in the pictures one at a time. It took a while, but eventually he realized something wasn’t right. The black-and-white picture of his parents was missing, the one taken back when they first met. Maybe it fell off his desk and got stuck along the wall.
He stood and pulled the desk out a few inches, but it wasn’t there. The drawers, maybe? Sometimes things fell off his desk a
nd into his drawers. He sat back down, pulled open the top drawer, and searched inside. Nothing. The second and third drawers turned up nothing either.
Luke lowered his brow. Why in the world would one photo of his parents be missing? And who would’ve come into his temporary office and taken it?
The answer was obvious.
No one. No one would go to his desk, sort through his pictures, and take just the black-and-white photo of his parents. Obviously it had fallen or gotten knocked over. He slid his chair back. The picture had to be somewhere.
Dropping to his hands and knees, he scanned the floor beneath his desk, and even the narrow bit beneath the bookcase. The picture was nowhere.
Slowly he lifted himself to the chair again and looked once more around the office. Only then did he notice the trash can. It sat just beneath his desk, directly below the place where his photos were arranged. Suddenly it was clear what had happened. The night cleaning crew must’ve been dusting his desk and knocked the picture into the trash can. Then, when it came time to change trash bags, they must’ve wrapped it up with the garbage without ever realizing that the photograph had fallen inside.
A sick feeling came over Luke.
The photo wasn’t a copy; it was the real thing. A keepsake his mother had given to him when he moved to New York. She had told him that she wanted the picture to remind him that his parents had loved each other a long time. And that in some ways as a young couple they were very much like Luke and Reagan.
The picture was gone, lost in the trash, probably in a landfill by now.
Luke opened the bottle of water and drank half of it down. He needed to make the phone calls and get home. That way he could pack and start counting down the hours until their flight back to Indiana. He could hardly wait to see his mother, to know for himself that most of what he’d already heard was exaggeration, the way a house full of women often exaggerate.
He could go through his parents’ photo albums, find another photo like the one his mother had given him, and make a copy. The picture could be replaced; at least he hoped so. Time with his mother, that was priceless.
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