by Gary Smalley
“Well, here’s one thing,” she said. “The apartment over the garage really is self-contained. It’s totally separated from the main house. It even has its own kitchen. I’d be able to look after her better, with her living there, but it’s not like she’d actually be living with us.”
“That’s true.” Jim’s face lightened up slightly. “I suppose it would be more like renting the place out.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“But I’d hate to do anything Doug would interpret as us pushing him away. I did my best at lunch to really appeal to him to keep coming home on weekends as often as possible.”
“Were you careful about the guilt thing?” Marilyn asked. “You know I don’t want him coming home just because he feels guilty.”
“No, I was careful. I just made it about how much we enjoy seeing him, how much we miss him when he’s not there.” He thought about this. “Well, guess I got a little guilt in there.”
“Just a little.” Marilyn smiled.
“So, I’d really like to talk with him first.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m having lunch with her on Wednesday.”
“I’m sure I can talk this over with Doug before then. And I really am open to this, Marilyn. I mean that. It’s just . . . it’s such a big thing.”
13
Michele had been nervous standing in the main lobby of the Orlando International Airport, staring down the hallway as incoming passengers came through the gate area. It was Tuesday, late in the afternoon. Allan’s return route from Africa had been such a hodgepodge of different flights, even different airlines, with long layovers in large airports; she was afraid he wouldn’t show up on time.
But her fears had quickly dissipated when she saw his beautiful smile peeking out from behind a small crowd of women dressed in business attire. He looked exhausted, more so than he usually did coming home from these trips. They hugged and kissed, then hugged and kissed some more. She couldn’t help it; she started to cry. It just felt so good being back where she belonged, standing inside his strong arms.
They had gotten through the baggage claim process with little trouble. Miraculously, all of his bags had made it intact and were all there to greet them on the baggage conveyor belt.
Now they were almost home. They had just driven through the main entrance to River Oaks. Allan was in the passenger seat. She had kept the conversation mostly light, considering the almost dazed expression on his face. She was somewhat used to this from his previous trips. The jet lag was significant. It was four in the afternoon here. For Allan, it was one in the morning. The biggest jet lag she had ever experienced was three hours coming back from California.
Beyond this, she suspected his fatigue had more to do with culture shock. She watched his eyes as they drove home from the airport. She remembered that look from previous trips. It was as if he was seeing these very familiar buildings and places for the first time.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Just tired,” he said. “I’m sure that’s it.”
“Are you sure? You’re always tired when you come home from one of these trips. But you seem . . . different. Did anything happen since we talked the other night?”
He looked at her, then reached out his hand and stroked her cheek softly. “Not especially. Some things definitely happened. But not bad things. We went back out to that place I was telling you about.”
“Korah?”
“Yeah. Spent the whole last day there.” He shook his head, as if not believing the memories he was obviously reliving. “You can’t imagine it, Michele. I want to tell you about it, all about it. I might just need a few days to catch my breath.”
“That’s okay.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll still be here in a few days. What was the first thing you ate when you got back on American soil?” Maybe changing the subject would help.
He seemed to think a moment. “I don’t remember. A sandwich, I think. Yeah, turkey and swiss cheese. It wasn’t very good, or maybe I just wasn’t that hungry. I still have half of it in my brief bag.”
This was different. Normally, he would get all animated talking about how wonderful it was to finally be able to eat a decent meal again. He wouldn’t even care that it was airport food.
“These places,” he said as they drove through the first big neighborhood in River Oaks, “they’re like castles. It’s like a fairyland. Like that place right there on the corner.” He pointed to a house not much different than the family house on Elderberry Lane. “After what I’ve been seeing in Korah, I can’t get my mind around the idea that one family lives there.” He almost sounded like he had a slight tone of disgust in his voice. He looked at her. “I saw places, little one-room shacks, where nine people lived. At night, they were packed in like sardines. Dirt floor, rusty tin roof. No streets, just mud.”
She didn’t know what to say. What should she say? Should she apologize? It felt almost appropriate. They continued driving through street after street of the most gorgeous homes and yards America could produce. River Oaks. Home sweet home. “Do you think . . . this is wrong? That people shouldn’t live in places this nice?”
“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t think it is, anyway. It’s just so hard seeing these people—not the people here—in Korah, I mean, living with nothing. Absolutely nothing. And there’s not even the hope that someday their situation will improve. I talked with one old man. I thought he must be seventy or eighty. It turned out he was fifty-three. He’d lived his entire life there. I don’t think he could even conceive of the possibility of life on any street here in River Oaks. I couldn’t even find the words to describe it to him. He’d have no reference point.”
Allan paused, looking at Michele as she drove. “But the hardest part were all the kids. Hundreds of them. Most of them orphans. Just scrounging around every day, rummaging through dirty, filthy garbage, looking for anything they could eat. The smell was horrendous, Michele. Beyond belief. We not only lost our appetites, most of us felt like we would lose our breakfast any minute. I can’t even imagine being hungry enough to eat something I picked out of there.”
She made a few more turns. The townhome village where they lived was just a few minutes away. Their neighborhood was still gorgeous, but the homes were much smaller. Maybe seeing them would be easier for him to bear. “Well, are you still glad you went?”
“Yeah, I’m still glad. All in all, it was a fruitful trip. I’m sure we’ll be going back there. Maybe just back to Korah. Ray said he believes that discovering that place was the whole purpose of our trip.”
“What do you think?” She tried not to sound too enthusiastic. She was actually a little discouraged to hear him already talking about wanting to go back.
“I totally agree. As hard as it was. Nothing else we did on that trip even comes close to the significance of those last few days in Korah.” He turned toward her in his seat. Not just his head but his whole body, a new look of excitement on his face. “The guys . . . well, the guys and I . . . we decided we have to do something. None of us felt right seeing all of that and just walking away. We couldn’t live with ourselves if we did.”
She didn’t like the sound of this. “Like what?” She turned left down the little driveway that ran behind their section of townhomes. She could see their place just up ahead.
“Michele, we’re going to help this man we met build an orphanage there.”
“What?”
“An orphanage. Just a small one at first. But we spent most of the plane ride home figuring it out. It can work, Michele. It really can.”
“You’re saying we here. Who’s we?”
“Me and the rest of the guys.”
“What’s your role in this supposed to be?”
“Ray’s going to be the point man, in charge of all the fund-raising and kind of be the spokesman. He’s asked me to take care of all the logistics here at home. The administrative stuff.”
She pulled
into the driveway. His face was all lit up.
Her heart was filled with dread.
14
Later that afternoon, Allan lay down for a nap. He had hoped to stay awake through the evening then go to bed early, around nine. His body wouldn’t cooperate; it thought it was two in the morning. Before he conked out, he had asked Michele to please get him up in an hour, two at the most. He wanted to get over this jet lag in the next day or two before he had to go back to work.
They didn’t talk anymore about his Africa trip or this new orphanage plan, but it was all Michele could think about. He had never come home from any of the other trips in this condition. She didn’t know what to call it, but it made her uneasy. He’d been this tired before but never this excited about going back. Usually when he got home, he focused on her, how much he missed her, how much he hated being apart this long. Even how grateful he was to live in America.
There was a gentle knock at the door. Must be Jean, she thought. Tom and Jean were still living with her folks, so she only lived a few blocks away. She and Jean had become close over the past year. Michele had invited her over for a cup of coffee.
Well, for coffee and to talk.
Michele opened the door. “Hi, Jean. The kids aren’t with you?”
Jean stepped through the doorway and gave Michele a hug. “No, Mom is watching them. When you said Allan had gone down for a nap, I knew that wouldn’t last long if I brought the kids. I can’t stay long. Maybe just long enough for one cup. Your parents asked us to eat dinner with them tonight.”
They walked through the hallway and into the kitchen. “You guys eat together quite a bit, don’t you?”
“We do, but your mom hinted that tonight was going to be very special. Some kind of surprise.”
Michele fixed their coffee. “Well, thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Don’t need to thank me. I love coming here, especially without the kids. Can we sit outside on the patio? There’s a beautiful breeze blowing through.”
“Sure, I was thinking the same thing.”
As they carried their coffee past the stairway, Jean said, “Probably better to meet out there too, so we don’t wake Allan up. Especially if you wind up saying something funny. You know how ridiculously loud my laugh can be.”
“I don’t think even your laugh would make any difference right now. A wrecking ball could hit this place and he’d still stay asleep. I also don’t think there’s much chance of me making you laugh in this conversation.” She opened the patio door.
“Uh-oh,” Jean said.
“It’s not that bad. It’s just not that funny, either.” She walked around the table and sat in the shade.
“Did something happen on Allan’s trip? Because other than how lonely you normally get when he’s gone, you seemed fine on Sunday.” Jean sat down next to her.
“I don’t know,” Michele said. “It’s probably just me being moody. This whole thing about not getting pregnant.”
“So I guess that was a false alarm last week when you were a few days late?”
“As always.”
Jean reached her hand across the glass table and patted Michele’s forearm. “I’m sorry. One of these times it won’t be.”
“I guess,” Michele said. “You’d think I’d stop getting my hopes up so easily after a year.”
“Good luck finding that switch.”
“What switch?”
“The hope switch. I’ve never known anyone who could turn that off and on. I think you’re being too hard on yourself. This is a big deal. And you’re not alone, Michele. I was reading in a women’s magazine the other day. One in eight couples deal with infertility. One in eight. That’s a lot of people. Millions.”
Michele sipped her coffee. “Doesn’t feel like millions. Doesn’t feel like anybody knows what it feels like. No one ever talks about it, even at church. There’s so many kids, and so many moms. So many strollers. Seems like that’s all we ever talk about: the children’s ministry, what to do with all the kids for this event or that event. The pastor’s wife keeps dragging me in deeper, because I’m a schoolteacher. Guess I’m supposed to be great with kids. Even yesterday, she called saying she wanted to meet with me soon to help her evaluate some new children’s program.”
“Wow,” Jean said.
“What?”
“You really are in a pit.”
“No, I’m not. It’s just—”
“Yeah, you really are.”
Michele knew she was right.
“All this time, I thought you liked children,” Jean said.
“I do . . . mostly. It’s just . . .” She didn’t know what to say, what she was really feeling. She had hoped to be having this conversation with Allan. He was normally pretty good at hearing her out, helping her sort through conflicting emotions. But he’d come home preoccupied with his new orphanage plan.
“You’re just hurting inside,” Jean said. “And that’s okay. It’s a painful thing. You’ve wanted to be a mom as long as I’ve known you. And for some reason, for right now God is saying no. We don’t know why. It’s only—”
“Don’t say ‘it’s only been a year.’”
“I wasn’t going to,” Jean said. “I was going to say . . . it’s only a matter of time. Just because God is saying no now, doesn’t mean he’s gonna keep saying no forever.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
They sat in silence a few moments, sipping coffee, enjoying the breeze.
“I really do like kids,” Michele said.
“I know.”
“Especially your kids.”
“I know that too. And I also know you like the kids you teach at school.”
“Some of them.”
“And the kids at the church.”
“A few of them. Most of them.” She smiled.
“See, you’re already coming around. Have you talked about all this with Allan?”
“He just got home.”
“I don’t mean in the last hour or so, I mean recently. Does he know how you’re really doing with this infertility thing?”
She hated the sound of that . . . her “infertility thing.” But it was a good question. Did Allan know? She thought he knew. But did he really? They’d talked about it before. Several times, in fact.
“When was the last time you guys talked about it?” Jean asked.
“A little while ago.”
“Like what, a week before he left? A month ago? Does he know about you driving to the playground to watch the kids play?”
“I haven’t been doing that very long.”
“So, he doesn’t know.”
“No, he doesn’t know.”
“How many times have you done that?”
“Just a few.” Maybe three or four.
“Are you hiding it from him?”
“What? What a thing to say. Of course I’m not hiding it from him.”
“Then why haven’t you told him? Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this conversation we’re having.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? A year ago you were challenging me for not sharing everything with Tom. Remember? When I thought I was pregnant?”
She did remember. Here she was, doing the very same thing. But why? Why was she holding back from telling Allan all the things she felt inside? She wanted to. A part of her did, anyway. But another part of her was convinced he didn’t want to hear it. He’d already made it clear. He’d agreed with her mother.
“What’s the matter, Michele? You look as if you’re going to cry.”
“I just realized why I’m not sharing all these things with Allan. It was a conversation at the house about a month ago, after a Sunday dinner. Everyone else had left. You and Tom had taken the kids upstairs. Allan and I were helping my mom put the kitchen back together. I don’t know how we got into it, but my mom was trying to comfort me about this not-getting-pregnant thing. And she brought up that �
�it’s only been a year’ argument, so I shouldn’t be that concerned. Allan jumped right in there with her, saying we had all kinds of time, and that maybe I shouldn’t be focusing on it so much.”
She inhaled deeply and said, “I have such a strong need to hold a child in my arms. My child. I want to press her soft little face next to mine.” Her words began to falter. “It’s all I think about, Jean. They don’t seem to understand how much this matters to me. No one does.”
15
An old-fashioned spaghetti-and-meatball dinner, that’s what Marilyn had decided to make tonight. She had done all the cooking, but the recipe for the sauce was her daughter-in-law’s. That had been a hard concession to make when Tom and Jean had first moved in a year ago. Tom had let it be known, as tactfully as he dared, that Marilyn should let Jean make the spaghetti and meatballs sometime, because her sauce was “out of this world good.”
So she did, and it was.
Jean’s spaghetti sauce had now become the official Anderson family recipe. And since tonight was their special night, Marilyn had decided to make Tom’s favorite dinner the way he liked it best.
It had been challenging at times, but throughout the dinner Jim had stuck to his decision to put off unveiling the big surprise. Earlier, when he’d shared his idea with Marilyn, she absolutely loved it. It would make the whole thing so much more fun.
“It looks like everyone’s finished eating,” Marilyn said. “Did anyone leave room for dessert?”
Only the kids said they had. Everyone else moaned and groaned and rubbed their stomachs.
“I’ve got an idea,” Jim said. “Why don’t we all help Grandma get these dishes out to the kitchen, then go take a walk. It’s really nice out. When we get back, we’ll be ready to eat that dessert.”
Everyone agreed it was a great idea. Ten minutes later, they were walking down Elderberry Lane with Jim subtly leading the way. Marilyn was pretty sure she knew where this walk would take them. Audrey’s house was only about six blocks away. The bungalow-style homes were considerably smaller than the homes in their neighborhood, but they made up for it in total cuteness. She and Jim had toured several of them when they first moved to River Oaks. She would’ve been perfectly happy with several models, but Jim insisted on a much bigger home.