by Irene Hannon
The sniffles increased. Instead of answering Amy’s question, she asked one of her own. “How’s Dad?”
“He had the transplant, and he’s home now. But he’s still under close supervision.”
“When you said a lot’s been going on, I—I thought maybe Dad was worse.”
How much should she reveal about the family’s problems? Amy wondered. She didn’t want to keep her sister in the dark, but from Melissa’s tearful voice, it sounded as if she had troubles of her own. Still, her sister had a right to know at least the basics. “There have been a few other surprises. On the good side, Heather and Ethan got engaged. On the not-so-good side, we found out that Jeremy isn’t Dad’s biological son. A fact that the Observer was kind enough to broadcast to the world. Jeremy’s left town to find his father’s family, and Tim is running Hamilton Media.”
“Wow.”
That single, faintly uttered word about summed up life in the Hamilton family for the past few months, Amy acknowledged, her lips twisting into a humorless smile. “Yeah. Wow.”
“Look…the family has enough to worry about already. This probably isn’t a good time to…to talk about me. I’ll just call another—”
“Melissa, we’re already worried about you,” Amy interrupted. “Dad asks about you all the time. When are you coming home?”
“I—I’m not sure.”
“At least tell me where you are.”
“I’m in Detroit. With Dean.”
Amy already knew about Melissa’s traveling companion. It paid to have a police officer for a brother—the blue sheep of the family, as they affectionately called Chris, since he was the only sibling to stray from the Hamilton Media fold. He’d done some quiet checking and discovered that Dean Orton, Melissa’s boyfriend, had left town with no forwarding address at the same time she had disappeared. This wasn’t the first time that Melissa had run away from problems instead of facing them. That’s why the family hadn’t panicked—especially after Chris had turned up the information on Dean. Amy supposed some might find the long-haired, cowboy-boot-clad rock musician attractive, but he’d always struck her as a user. Too bad Melissa hadn’t shared that assessment. If she had, this whole mess could have been avoided.
“We know you’re with Dean, Melissa. Chris did some unofficial investigating. Look, if money’s an issue, I’ll send you enough for a plane ticket. Or I’ll even come and get you if you want.”
“I—I can’t come home, Amy.” Melissa’s voice was small—and scared.
“Of course you can, honey. Dad and Mom will welcome you back with open arms. You know that.”
“Not when they know about the…baby.”
As Melissa whispered the last word, Amy’s stomach clenched into a tight knot. Please, God, not that! How much can one family take before it starts to crumble? For a fleeting second, Amy was tempted to hang up the phone, to pretend that this call had never happened, that the youngest Hamilton was just off “finding herself” again, that she’d reappear just as suddenly as she’d disappeared and everything would return to normal. But a baby—that changed everything. Forever. Unless maybe—please, Lord, let it be so—she had come to the wrong conclusion.
The silence on the other end of the line—almost as if Melissa was holding her breath—was ominous, yet Amy forced herself to ask the question. “Are you telling me that you’re pregnant, Lissa?”
It had been years since Amy had used that affectionate childhood nickname for her sister, one she’d coined and reserved for occasions when the two of them had a heart-to-heart talk. That hadn’t happened often; most of the time Melissa had been too busy trying to compete with her popular, successful older sister. But now, calling up that endearment from the past had been the right thing to do. Amy’s gentle, sympathetic tone unleashed a torrent of tears on the other end of the phone, along with a rush of words she couldn’t begin to decipher.
Several minutes passed before Melissa could regain enough control to sound coherent. Then, at Amy’s request, she took a deep breath and started over. Even so, her words were choppy, and her voice was laced with panic. “I know what I did was…was wrong. But I felt so alone when…when Dad got sick. And s-scared. Dean said he’d take care of me, and that we’d get married. But now h-he’s having second thoughts. And he’s not happy about the baby. I want to come home, Amy, but I—I’m too ashamed. I can’t bring another scandal down on the family.”
“Melissa, we love you. The Hamiltons are strong. We can handle this.” Amy managed a firm, reassuring tone despite the uncertainty that fluttered in her stomach.
“Dad and Mom will be s-so disappointed in me.”
Amy didn’t dispute that. Wallace and Nora had raised their children with sound values, and had instilled in them a clear understanding of right and wrong. Yet they also believed in a key tenet of their faith—forgiveness. Too bad the strength of that conviction had to be tested now, in the midst of all the other crises they faced.
“They still love you, Melissa. We all do. Please, come home. You need medical care. You shouldn’t be traipsing all over the country following some rock band around.”
“I—I can’t. Not yet, anyway. I just needed to hear a…a friendly voice. I feel so alone and so scared. I don’t know how to be a mother, and I’m not sure I even love Dean anymore. But I have to work this out myself. I’ve always relied on the family to clean up my messes, to come to my rescue. It’s time I took responsibility for my own actions. I need to deal with this problem on my own.”
Amy wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. A pregnancy wasn’t a problem; it was a child. “Is Dean pushing you to…do something about the baby?”
There was a second of shocked silence. Much to Amy’s relief, Melissa’s voice was strong—and sure—when she responded. “If you mean, did he suggest an abortion, the answer is yes. But I told him that’s out of the question. Why should an innocent child suffer because we made a mistake? I’m having the baby. I know where my child belongs. With me. I just need to figure out where I belong.”
The conviction in Melissa’s voice impressed Amy. Her baby sister seemed to be growing up, after all. Though she’d chosen the hard way, that was for sure. As for where she belonged—Amy knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t with Dean. “You belong here, with us,” she told Melissa.
“Maybe. But I need to work that out for myself. Listen, Amy, would it be okay if I call you again, just to talk? With Heather still living at home, I’m afraid Mom might answer the phone if I call there, and I don’t want to talk to her yet.”
“Of course. Anytime. I mean that, Lissa.”
The tears were back in Melissa’s voice. “I know. Thank you, Amy.”
“That’s what family’s for.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
“Can I at least tell the family you called? They’ve all been worried sick about you.”
“Yeah…I guess so. And give them my love. But don’t tell them about the baby, okay?” When Amy hesitated, Melissa pressed the issue. “Please, Amy. Promise me you’ll keep my secret.”
It was hard to ignore the pleading note in Melissa’s voice. Against her better judgment, Amy agreed. “All right. If you promise me you’ll keep in touch.”
“I will. I’ll call again as soon as I’ve decided what to do. Thanks, Amy.”
“No thanks needed. I love you, Lissa. We all do.”
“I love you guys, too.” After her whispered response, the line went dead.
For several seconds, Amy continued to hold the receiver. Then slowly she returned it to the cradle and eased back into bed, bone weary. Wallace’s health, the Hamilton family scandals, Bryan’s reappearance in her life—each of those events had chipped away at her peace of mind, leaving her tense and unsettled. Now she had Melissa’s devastating news to contend with.
As Amy closed her eyes, she yearned for the oblivion of slumber. Prayed for it, even. But in her heart she knew that it was going to be yet another long, sleepless
night.
Amy Hamilton looked tired. No, more than tired. She looked stressed-out and on edge and exhausted.
That was Bryan’s conclusion as he cast a discreet glance in her direction during the nine-o’clock Sunday morning service.
His decision to return to church had met with such a positive response from his father and Dylan that he was glad he’d decided to spend an hour a week with the Lord, even if he didn’t expect to get much out of it. At least he had been glad until he’d found out that his father planned to switch from the evening worship to the morning service. The same one the Hamilton family attended.
“I never did like going to church on Sunday night,” his father had explained. “Always seemed like an afterthought to me, and the Lord deserves better than that. But I didn’t have a choice before, not with my work schedule. Now that I do, I want to start my day with the Lord on Sunday.”
Although James had sounded sincere, Bryan had wondered about his motivations. Was his father playing matchmaker? Trying to arrange things so Amy and his son would cross paths?
If so, it wasn’t working today. Amy appeared to be lost in thought throughout much of the service—there in body but not spirit. She seemed unaware of her surroundings, and he doubted she’d even noticed his presence. Although Wallace was home from the hospital, he wasn’t in the family group that had gathered for worship, Bryan noted. Had he taken a turn for the worse? Was that the reason for Amy’s troubled expression?
Since he couldn’t answer that question, nor explain why her distress bothered him, he tried to focus on something else. The minister, who had led the singing with gusto, had launched into his sermon, and even though Bryan wasn’t all that interested in the message, he figured it might distract him.
As Bryan turned his attention to the sanctuary, he noted that Reverend Abernathy was nothing like the pastor he remembered from his school days—an older man with the quiet, thoughtful manner of a scholar, who had given well-written, well-researched sermons that informed, even if they didn’t inspire.
By contrast, this minister crackled with enthusiasm. His open face, bright red hair and sprinkling of freckles gave him an approachable, boy-next-door appearance. Though a big man, he looked fit and youthful—fortyish, Bryan estimated. But his appearance was more than a little misleading. As the pastor launched into his sermon, he spoke with such authority and passion that Bryan didn’t even have to try to pay attention. The man commanded it.
Although he’d missed the opening, Bryan tuned in now. Just in time to hear a message that, by odd coincidence, seemed written for him.
“…easy to get upset with those who disappoint us. Even the Lord displayed anger on occasion. Remember His visit to the temple, when He overturned the tables of the merchants and money changers? Of course, His was a righteous anger, designed to draw attention in a dramatic manner to behavior not in keeping with the principles of our faith. Such anger serves a larger purpose. It isn’t provoked by hurt pride or selfishness or ego.
“Yet so much of the anger in our lives is sourced from these less-than-admirable qualities, even though we often try to convince ourselves that it’s rooted in righteousness. We want to believe our anger is justified and that the other person is wrong. But often we mislead ourselves. As the Lord also reminds us in Matthew, it’s easy for us to see the speck in our brother’s eye, yet overlook the beam in our own. To place fault elsewhere.
“I’ll be the first to admit that anger can be hard to deal with. And I speak from experience. You may believe me when I tell you that I have the temper to go with my red hair. Taming it has been one of my great challenges. But today’s reading from Matthew has been a great inspiration for me, as I hope it is for all of you. In just a few words, it tells us the consequences of anger. ‘But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment.’ And it offers us instruction about how to deal with those we have alienated, reminding us that before seeking God, ‘go first to be reconciled to thy brother.’
“The directions are clear. Yet they aren’t always easy to follow. Anger is a powerful emotion, one that can be difficult to control. And one that can have a profound impact on our life. It can alienate us from those we love, trap us in a cage of our own making, embitter our hearts and prevent us from realizing the destiny God has offered us.
“On this beautiful late summer day, I’d like to offer a suggestion. Find a quiet spot and open your hearts and souls to the cleansing peace of the Lord. If you’re angry about anything, set it aside, if only for a moment. When you do, your heart will open and you’ll experience a preview of heaven, where harmony reigns and love rules. My guess is that you won’t want to pick up the anger again. And if you call on the Lord for help, if you rely on His strength, you might even find that you can walk away and leave it behind forever. For with God, all things are possible. Now let us pray.”
As the minister called for the Lord’s blessing on the congregation, Bryan bowed his head. He knew all about anger. For the past five-and-a-half years much of his had been directed at the Lord as he’d railed against Him for calling Darlene home and leaving him alone, mired in grief, to raise his son as a single parent. He’d always understood, on an intellectual level, that bad things could happen to good people. He’d accepted that, believing that when we don’t understand the events in our lives, we’re called upon to place our trust in the Lord and to know that even in our darkest hours, He is by our side.
At least he’d believed that until his convictions had been put to the test. Then his once-strong faith had faltered. He was still a believer, but anger had gotten in the way of his relationship with God. He’d turned away, closing off communication, hardening his heart against any overtures God might be making to him. Although he’d sought comfort elsewhere, even dabbling in New Age philosophy, the quest had been futile. Deep inside, he knew that the true source of consolation lay only in one place. Maybe, as the minister had said, it was time to lay aside his anger and open his heart to God’s message.
And maybe it was time to open his heart to other messages, as well. In the past twenty-four hours many of his long-held convictions about Amy had been shaken. He’d already begun to suspect that she’d changed. That had been confirmed in the parking lot yesterday. Then his brother had hinted that she still cared for him. His dad had suggested he consider her as a new partner. He wasn’t sure about any of that. But perhaps it was time to set his anger aside and think long and hard about his feelings for the woman he’d once loved.
Ten years ago, when she’d asked for space, he’d interpreted that as a rejection, assumed she didn’t love him. But perhaps, as Kevin had suggested, she hadn’t meant that at all. Maybe her feelings had been stronger than he realized; strong enough that they’d scared her because she wasn’t yet ready to make the kind of commitment Bryan wanted. Perhaps, if he’d been more patient, if he’d tried to understand how her perspective had been shaped by a far different upbringing than his, their story might have had a happy ending. Instead, feeling rejected, his pride bruised, he’d backed off. And in time, he’d loved another.
Bryan had no regrets about his marriage to Darlene. She’d been a wonderful wife, and she’d given him a son who was the light of his life. But suddenly he did have regrets about the way his relationship with Amy had ended. And for the first time, he wondered if the fault might be as much his as it was hers.
As the congregation rose and began to sing the final hymn, Bryan’s thoughts drifted back to his senior year in high school. When he and Amy had first begun to date on a steady basis, it had seemed like a dream come true to him. After admiring her from afar for three years, he’d found it difficult to believe that someone like her—outgoing, smart, pretty, socially prominent—would ever fall for a quiet, introspective guy like him, from the other side of the river. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, he’d been waiting all along for the proverbial ax to fall. Expecting it, even. So in their first year of college, when she’d said, “I need som
e space,” he’d heard I don’t love you anymore. He’d been hurt and angry, but more resigned than surprised. She was a Hamilton, after all. To think that anything serious could ever develop between them was…well, it was just a fairy tale.
In truth, perhaps it had been, back in those days, before they’d both had a chance to grow up a little more. But Kevin didn’t seem to think it was now. Nor did his father. And if he looked deep in his soul, if he put aside his anger and wounded pride, Bryan didn’t, either. Kevin was right. There was something in Amy’s eyes when she looked at him that suggested her feelings still ran deep. Perhaps they’d been subdued through the years. Buried in the ashes of their youthful parting. Yet it was possible that beneath the ashes, embers still glowed, waiting to be fanned back to life, as his father had hinted. In her heart—as well as his.
It was too soon to consider testing that theory, of course. Despite his new insights, despite the minister’s sermon, Bryan still had issues to deal with. He couldn’t just dismiss the feelings he’d harbored in his heart for such a long time. All these years he’d thought he had been the wronged party in their breakup. That if Amy could put him off with such ease, she mustn’t love him. That she’d put a higher priority on career than on family. The notion that he might have been wrong rattled him. As did the possibilities that suddenly seemed to open before him if he was at fault, if she did still care for him. In fact, he wasn’t only rattled, but scared. He felt lost, and clueless about how to proceed in this uncharted territory.
Then the words of the song being sung by the congregation penetrated his consciousness, and he knew, deep in his soul, that he didn’t have to face his dilemma alone. Help was available. He had only to ask. As those seated around him launched into the final line of the hymn, he added his voice to theirs.
“‘Help of the helpless, Lord abide with me.’”