More Than Words Volume 4

by Linda Lael Miller

  “That’s beautiful…what Hannah did. You should be so proud of her. I am.”

  “Yes,” Terri agreed. And in that instant, a certainty swept through her like a balmy summer breeze on this coldest of mornings. The answer she sought, the way to heal while honoring her daughter’s life and memory, was tied to Hannah’s loving act toward Shawn. Tied, somehow, to the bear she gave a little boy in need to bring him comfort, though she was frightened and hurting, too.

  THE APARTMENT BUILDING was old and small: ten wood-frame units, five upstairs and five below. It was still standing after the fire was out, though the smoke damage was so extensive, Kyle thought it would have to be demolished and rebuilt, anyway, if the landlord planned to continue renting the place out.

  Grimy and hot in his yellow turnout gear despite the bitter cold, Kyle lowered his mask, took off his helmet and accepted the cup of water someone handed him. He could still smell the choking stench, feel the heat on his face and back, heat so brutal in its intensity it had penetrated his gear. A small crowd had gathered on the street and their thrill over the excitement of the fire still buzzed in the smoky air as they watched the ambulances and speculated about the victims—two apartment occupants who had been trapped on the upper floor when the truck arrived on the scene. One was an elderly man confined to a wheelchair in 206, while the other in 207 was a sleeping young mother-to-be who worked nights. Cap had brought the old man down, and Kyle, the woman, while T.J., Mosely and Jimmy manned the hoses and extinguished the fire.

  A man a few years younger than Kyle pushed through the gathered group of onlookers and rushed toward him, his eyes wild and his blanched face twitching with panic. “My ex-wife—” His hand shook when he pointed to the second floor of the complex. “She lives up there.” The man’s voice rose an octave as he added, “She’s pregnant.”

  “We got her out,” Kyle hastened to assure him. He gestured to the nearest ambulance. “They’re about to take off for the hospital so a doc can check her over.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She seemed to be. Just shaken up.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “I’m not sure. If you hurry, you can catch the paramedics. They can tell you more than I can.”

  The young man turned and ran toward the ambulance.

  My ex-wife, he had said, yet the fear and love Kyle had seen on the guy’s face had seemed to be as much for her as for the baby she carried. Kyle watched him go, watched him climb into the back of the ambulance, and he wondered what happened to people. Why did couples who still cared for each other let go so easily when life got tough? When they needed most to hold on to each other?

  Kyle couldn’t erase that question from his mind on the ride back to the station. It continued to gnaw at him while he showered. By early evening, after he’d rescheduled the elementary school visit and kept his promise to Cap by making a second appointment with the grief counselor, the question had struck a nerve and made him angry. Angry at himself.

  Kyle sat back and flipped to A in the phone book. Ever since he’d met with the DePauls, then talked to Terri the other night, something else had preyed on his mind—the bears Hannah and her Brownie troop made. Kyle felt a real nudge to do something, but what? The only thing he knew for certain was that the nudge came from Hannah, and that it was a push in a positive direction. Now he wondered if that direction might lead him to a solution regarding his marriage. Lead him to that place he had been desperate to go since Hannah’s death. That elusive place where he and Terri might find joy in living again, joy in each other. Where he would see her smile and feel like smiling, too. Where he might hear her laughter—a sound he missed every single day.

  Kyle knew he not only had to do something, but had to do it soon. The young divorced couple at the fire had brought him to his senses. Terri was slipping away from him, and he wasn’t willing to let her go. Not if there was a chance he could hold on, a chance he might find a way to pull them back together. He had to at least try.

  He scanned down the list of Adamses in the book until he came to a Carl Adams on Persimmon, a street in his neighborhood. He wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but for some reason, talking to Hannah’s Brownie leader seemed like a place to start. He’d go from there. He punched in the number and, when Jana Adams answered, introduced himself.

  “Yes, Kyle. How are you? It’s been a long time.”

  He heard a familiar note of apprehension tinged with pity in her voice. Even after a year, acquaintances who knew about Hannah’s death were wary of talking to him and Terri. No one knew what to say. He understood. Countless times in the past when faced with someone else’s loss, he’d experienced the same uncertainty. “I’m doing okay,” Kyle said. “I was hoping you could give me some information. Terri reminded me that you were Hannah’s Brownie leader.” He asked about the charity project the troop participated in last year.

  “The stuffed animals the girls made were donated to a charity called Bears Without Borders,” Jana told him. “It’s an organization out of Boston. They deliver the bears and other toys to orphanages and children’s hospitals all over the world.”

  “Do you happen to know where they sent the bears Hannah’s troop made?”

  “To a hospital in Rwanda.” She paused before asking, “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” For the first time in a long time, something’s right, he thought, feeling Hannah’s gentle nudge again. “I’m just curious. I guess because the project was the last thing Hannah did before the accident.”

  “Check out their Web site. It might answer your questions. Do a search for Bears Without Borders and it should pop right up.”

  “Thanks, Jana, I’ll do that.” He started to tell her goodbye, then hesitated and said, “Terri told me that making those bears meant a lot to Hannah. And the one she kept…” In the past, Kyle never would have shared something so personal with a virtual stranger, but his instincts told him to do so now, and for once, he didn’t fight them. He told Jana about Shawn and his meeting with the DePauls.

  “Hannah was always such a sweet girl. She was a good friend to Madeline. Madeline misses her. So do I.”

  “Thank you. Me, too,” Kyle murmured.

  “How’s Terri? I can’t remember the last time I saw her.”

  “She’s living in Prairieview with her parents.” Kyle took a deep breath, blew it out. “We’re separated.”

  The woman sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s okay. The separation…it’s only temporary.”

  He ended the call, surprised by what he had just told Jana Adams, clinging to the hope that it was true. And determined to make it so.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  Adrenaline hummed through Kyle as he punched in his in-laws’ number on the phone; he hadn’t felt such a sense of anticipation in a very long time. His mother was cooking him dinner tonight and he had to leave soon to go to her house.

  But first he needed to talk to Terri. Two days ago, after playing phone tag half the morning, he had finally reached a woman named Aviva Presser at Bears Without Borders. They’d had an informative conversation and had talked again this evening when Kyle had called with more questions. Ms. Presser had been nice enough to answer all he asked without asking him about the source of his curiosity. Good thing, because he wasn’t sure why, lately, stuffed bears seemed to consume his thoughts day and night. He had told her about Hannah; Kyle assumed she understood that his sudden obsession was somehow connected to his daughter.

  Only an hour ago, after they’d hung up, Kyle had suddenly figured out why he was so focused on the organization and its work—an idea had been taking shape in his subconscious. It was fully formed now, and he couldn’t wait to share it with Terri.

  After a short, somewhat awkward back-and-forth with his motherin-law, Terri got on the phone and Kyle told her about his calls to Bears Without Borders.

  “That’s funny,” she said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Hannah�
��s bear project, too. Why did you call them?”

  He looked out the back window at the swing set he’d yet to take down, and a thread of sorrow wove through him. The empty swings hung limp in the still, frigid air. “This is going to sound crazy, but ever since I met Shawn and found out about that bear, I’ve felt like I need to do something. Something related to what she did.”

  “That doesn’t sound crazy, at all. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  Kyle hoped he wasn’t imagining what he heard in her voice—a renewed sense of hope as fragile yet as pure as what he felt in his own heart.

  “What did you find out?” she asked.

  “The organization is only a few years old, but thanks to word of mouth and some good publicity, it’s really taken off. At first they had to search out places to send the toys, but now they’re getting requests from all over.”

  “How do they get the toys where they need to go?”

  “Early on, they teamed up with Massachusetts General Hospital. Some of the resident medical students go through something called a Global Health rotation, where they spend time working in other countries. They delivered the toys for them.”

  “They don’t anymore?”

  “Yes, but the organization has outgrown the resident program as their only shipping method, so they’re trying to find more ways to get the toys delivered.”

  “Sounds like a huge undertaking.”

  “With some pretty high hurdles along the way, what with Customs regulations in developing countries and a lot of other red tape. But they haven’t turned down a request yet. With Aviva Presser’s level of enthusiasm, I’m sure she’ll find a way to keep up with the growth.”

  “Where are you headed with this?” Terri asked, a surprising hint of playful distrust coloring her voice.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  She made a huffing sound. “I know that tone. You’re preparing me for something.”

  “Man. I never could fool you.” At that moment, Kyle physically ached to close the distance between them. He imagined the squint of her sky-blue eyes, the tilt of her head, golden hair draping over her shoulder. He wanted to tease her face-to-face like he used to, wanted to touch the little crease that always formed between her brows whenever she was suspicious. Taking a breath, he said, “Ms. Presser…the woman I spoke with…she said they’ve had a couple of people volunteer to make overseas deliveries for them.”

  “And?”

  “I was thinking I might offer.”

  “To deliver stuffed bears to some developing country? Are you kidding? How? What about work? And the expense? Will they pay for the trip?”

  “I don’t know if they’d pay or not. But if I offer to do this, I’d want it to be my gift. They need all the help they can get, financially and otherwise.”

  “But—”

  “Cap’s been hinting I should take a leave of absence. I only missed a few days of work after Hannah’s death, and he thinks I need it. You know, to get my head straight again. And we still have the money we saved for Hannah’s college. If you’re okay with it, I could use my part to finance the trip.” His chest tightened as he added, “I’d make the delivery in honor of Hannah.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Terri murmured. “That’s perfect. I’ve been wondering for days how I could keep her memory alive and honor her.” She sighed, then asked him, “When would you go?”

  “I don’t know yet. I didn’t even come up with the idea until less than an hour ago. I’ll have to call Bears Without Borders again tomorrow and see what they think.” He paused, then asked quietly, “What do you think?”

  “I think it would be a beautiful tribute to Hannah. Use all the money in the account, Kyle. My part, too. She would’ve wanted it to help other kids.” Terri’s voice wavered. “You’d be reaching out to comfort someone in need, like she did. She never lost sight of what was important. Even when she was going through such a tough time.”

  “No,” Kyle murmured. But they had—he and Terri; he sensed she was thinking the same thing. Living life to the fullest was important. Their marriage was important. They had let grief overshadow those realities. At six years of age, their daughter had possessed more wisdom and strength than either of them.

  “That little boy’s comfort meant more to Hannah than her own,” Terri said.

  Too emotional to speak, Kyle trained his focus on the swing set outside. When he could talk again he said, “I think giving Shawn that bear did comfort Hannah.”

  “I wish I had half her courage. I wish—”

  “Come with me.” Before she could say no, he continued, “Hannah sent us a message through Shawn and that bear. I want you along if I get to make this trip. But with or without you, it’s something I have to try to make happen.” For Hannah, Kyle thought. For us. “If the organization is okay with it, will you go?”

  “I need some time—”

  “Think it over. I’ll e-mail you the link to the Bears Without Borders Web site. Take a look at it. I’ll call you back after I talk to them.” A flutter of white at the window caught Kyle’s attention. “It’s snowing here again,” he said.

  “Here, too,” Terri murmured.

  “I bet you’re tired of it. I know how much you hate snow.”

  “I don’t so much anymore.” Her voice sounded so far away, and again Kyle wished her into the room. “It reminds me of her,” Terri said. “Such a miracle…so magical.”

  “I said that to her once. That snow was magical.”

  “I know. She told me. Hannah loved you like crazy, Kyle. You were a good father. The best.”

  “I hope so. I loved her, too. So much.” And you, he thought. I still do. But he couldn’t manage to squeeze the words from his throat.

  Though Kyle didn’t speak for a long stretch of time, couldn’t speak, Terri remained on the line, the soft sound of her breathing a comfort as he watched lacy flakes drift down around the swaying swings outside their living room window.

  AFTER DINNER, TERRI EXCUSED herself, then went to her parents’ home office and logged onto the computer. She pulled up her e-mail account, and as she expected, Kyle had already sent her the link to the Bears Without Borders Web site. She clicked on it, and a little of the same energy and anticipation she had heard in Kyle’s voice skimmed beneath her skin. Anticipation and hope. Hope for a future she’d thought was lost to her. A future in which she might embrace life again, even while missing Hannah.

  If she and Kyle followed through with his idea, they would carry forward in Hannah’s memory the act of comfort and caring she had started with Shawn. At the thought, a drop of pure happiness squeezed through a place inside her that Terri believed she had sealed off tight. The drop trickled through her, startling her as the Web site appeared on the monitor. She sat back to catch her breath, stunned by the tiny unexpected spread of warmth that filled her body like sunshine. Real happiness had not been present in her world since that moment after Hannah’s first surgery when she’d been told her child would recover.

  Terri mentally plugged the leak in her heart so no more drops could fall. How could she feel any happiness, any joy at all, when her daughter was dead? She didn’t deserve to. Not when Hannah would never experience such an emotion again.

  Tense with guilt and shame, Terri sat forward and moved the mouse to the top of the screen with a shaking hand. The words “Bringing toys and smiles to children who need them…” were printed above another link for a photo slide show. She clicked on it, and the wide, dark eyes of a child gazed into hers. A child at a hospital in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. The girl seemed to look straight into Terri’s soul and see the raw wound there. Something shifted inside of Terri. The slide changed, and then there were more sick children, a group of them, all holding a bear, all smiling, some more weakly than others.

  The dam inside Terri broke and peace spilled out, drowning her tension and shame, her guilt, as the water moved faster, grew wider. She stared at one child, then another, and heard Hannah’s laughter
deep within her core, felt it race through her, carried along by the rippling stream, cleansing her, releasing her. And she sensed that her daughter would not want her to shut off happiness or try to hold it at bay; Hannah would be thrilled that her mother’s heart was beating a little faster, that Terri’s brain was swirling with possibilities. If only she could find a way to move forward.

  “Such magnificent eyes,” Terri murmured through tears that felt like fresh rain on her face. Someone gave you something to hug. What could be more important?

  She drank in the sight of each child, quenching her thirsty soul, adding more water to the stream, turning it into a river.

  “DON’T FORGET TO CALL Donna to tell her I won’t be in today,” Terri reminded her mom and dad at sunrise. The three of them stood in the entry hall, her parents in their pajamas, Terri dressed, with her purse slung over one shoulder.

  “Take my cell phone and you can call her,” Terri’s dad grumbled. “I still don’t know why you gave yours up.” He turned and headed for the kitchen to get it.

  Terri didn’t make any explanations. She had told him numerous times that the cell phone seemed too extravagant an expense after she and Kyle split. Though Kyle tried to send her money all the time, she refused it. She was pinching pennies these days.

  “I wish you’d let Daddy take you.” Pulling her robe sash tighter, Terri’s mother frowned. “The roads are icy.”

  “I called DPS about the highway. They said it’s clear. It’s supposed to get above freezing this morning and stay that way through the evening.”

  “Why do you need to leave so early?”

  Because I couldn’t sleep…I’m too wound up and excited, Terri thought, but didn’t say so. She hadn’t experienced excitement in so long, she was almost afraid to admit to the feeling, afraid someone would tell her she was mistaken, that something else caused her pulse to race—too much sugar or caffeine, not enough exercise.

  She placed a hand on her mom’s arm, hoping to reassure her, understanding all too well the misery of worrying about your child. Terri reminded herself that even though she was an adult, she would always be her parents’ little girl. “I promise I won’t take any chances, Mom. I’ll drive slowly. It’s only forty miles.”