Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  But Mrs. Cho glided into the kitchen in her slippers, and Caroline couldn’t find the words to ask a single question. Instead, she held the little boy Mrs. Cho had set gingerly in her hands.

  “You’re a chubby one, aren’t you?” Caroline crooned at Da. She’d been handling classrooms of thirty rambunctious kids or wiggling preteens for decades, but she didn’t want to admit to Mrs. Cho that her experience with infants was gravely limited. She hoped her inexperience didn’t show by the way she held Da.

  What right did a woman her age have to be uncomfortable around babies?

  “Are you ready for your food?” she asked him while Mrs. Cho opened up a cupboard in the kitchen to reveal rows of perfectly matched bottles, their lids alongside them in straight lines. Caroline watched the old woman at work, trying to figure out a way to initiate some sort of conversation.

  “How old is Da?” she finally asked.

  Mrs. Cho squinted at her scoop of formula while she leveled the powder with a silver knife small enough to belong to a child’s tea set. “Eleven months,” she answered.

  A salty, sea smell filled the kitchen when Mrs. Cho filled the bottle with water.

  “It’s a fish-based formula,” Mrs. Cho explained, simultaneously answering Caroline’s unspoken question and confirming her fears that she hadn’t done a very good job masking her curiosity at the odor.

  “More vitamins,” Mrs. Cho added with a prim nod of her head.

  The bottle was shaken carefully, wiped down with a rag embroidered with small red flowers, and placed into an electronic heater, which Mrs. Cho then proceeded to wipe down with a different rag, this one yellow with frilly edges. A timer was set, and Mrs. Cho gestured to the living room. “Shall we wait more comfortably?”

  Baby Da had discovered his finger and was sucking at it noisily. Caroline sat down on the couch, wondering what it would be like to be this woman, to be so calm and organized even with so many children to care for. A pang of envy shot through her heart as Caroline realized that all this—the children, the babies, the peaceful home, the aura of blessing and peace, the sense of family—was a life that was closed to her.

  Mrs. Cho took baby Da into her own arms when he began to fuss and crooned at him in Korean.

  “I told you he was spoiled.” She smiled at Caroline. “He won’t take his bottle cold but doesn’t like to wait for it to warm up.”

  She let out a sigh then turned her eyes away from the baby and leveled them with Caroline’s. “Now, tell me about yourself and why it is that you felt God called you here to work with these blessed children of mine.”

  “I’m so glad you could join us, Officer,” Sandy crooned, pulling the front door open and stepping aside so Drisklay could pass.

  “He’s a detective,” her husband corrected. “That’s different from just an officer.”

  “Oh.” Sandy looked at Drisklay with her mouth open in surprise. “Well, come on in. Woong, baby, put your gadgets away and come say hello to our guest.”

  Drisklay had never been good at guessing children’s ages. The Lindgren’s boy who came darting in could have been eight or thirteen. He was short, but the pimples spreading out from his nose in a kaleidoscope of acne hinted at a preteen.

  “Woong,” his mother called out, “What do you say to Officer Drisklay?”

  “Did you come here to arrest somebody?” the child exclaimed, with his eyes widening. “Because I can tell you that my parents never did anything unlawful in their entire life, except for my dad because he used to do those things where people would find restaurants who didn’t like to serve black people, and they would sit there until they got beat up and arrested. My dad even got sent to jail once for this parade he was in. Except it wasn’t a parade really, I guess you’d call it more like a march, but other than that, he and my mom haven’t done anything against the law ever in their entire life, and that’s the perfect truth.”

  Carl chuckled and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. Regardless of the child’s age, Carl was old enough to be his grandfather. Apparently, the Lindgrens were the kind of folks who weren’t content raising just their own kids, but when they got their own flesh and blood out of the home, they had to go out and find someone else’s brood to raise.

  Drisklay stared at the Korean boy and his black father. Thank God he and Caroline never wanted children of their own. What are kids other than a twenty- or thirty-year commitment? It would be like spending a couple hundred thousand dollars just to send someone out in the world to get murdered or mugged.

  No, thank you.

  At least that was one thing he and Caroline had agreed on from the start. No children. Too much hassle. In a way, Caroline’s childhood car accident was a huge convenience for them both. No need to worry about birth control or any sort of unwanted surprise. The thought of himself as a father was at the same time terrifying and hilarious. What did he know about kids? When his eight-year-old niece came to spend a few weeks with them one summer, he’d asked Caroline if they needed to buy baby gates for the stairs, a faux pas she hadn’t let him forget.

  Sandy put her hand on his back and pushed him toward the dining room. “Woong’s just going to set the table for us real quick. Woong, don’t drink up all that milk now. Save it for dinner, and go set the table, and then we’ll sit down for a nice meal. I’m so glad you joined us, Officer. Do you like meatloaf? I can’t remember if you said you liked meatloaf or not. I wanted Carl to call you, but I think he forgot. Carl, did you remember to call Officer Drisklay and ask him if he likes meatloaf?”

  Carl stood behind his wife and winked at Drisklay. “Detective, do you like meatloaf?”

  “As long as you don’t make it like my mother did.” Drisklay hadn’t been trying to make a joke, but Woong laughed so hard milk sprayed out his nose.

  “Oh, honey.” Sandy knelt down and wiped up the spray with the bottom half of her apron. Drisklay cringed.

  “How was work today?” Carl asked, ignoring the grotesque scene.

  Drisklay shrugged, and Carl smiled knowingly. “Another day, another dollar?”

  Drisklay had never particularly liked that expression. “Something like that.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Woong interrupted from the kitchen where he stood stacking plates. “Want me to tell you a joke I heard at school?”

  “Woong, dear,” his mother inserted, “let’s get that table…”

  Carl plopped into a chair and interrupted. “Aww, let the kid tell a joke. Detective, have a seat.” He patted the table. “All right, son, tell us your joke.”

  Woong smiled. He was addressing his father but looking at Drisklay out of the corner of his eye.

  “All right. Here’s how it goes.” Woong cleared his throat then took in a deep breath. “Let me think. It starts in a bar, right? Yeah, it’s in a bar, and there’s these two…”

  “Honey, is this a joke you’d be comfortable sharing if Jesus were sitting around the table with us?” Sandy called out from the kitchen.

  Woong rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Mom. It’s fine. It’s just a joke.”

  “Well, I just want you to be careful when you’re poking fun at bars and drinking. It’s a very serious stumbling block for some people. You know, your sister, Blessing, she can’t even walk past a bar without getting tempted to…”

  “He’s got the point, woman,” Carl blurted out, keeping his good-natured tone. “Just let the boy finish his story.”

  Woong glanced from one parent to the other, and when neither spoke, he grinned again. “All right, so it’s at this bar, and there’s these two whales there.”

  “Sweetie pie,” Sandy piped in. “Did you remember to set an extra spot for Officer Drisklay? We’ll need four places to have enough room for everybody.”

  This time Woong didn’t respond and continued on with his story. “Okay, so there’s these two whales sitting at the bar.”

  “Wait a minute.” This time it was Woong’s father. “How does a whale sit anywhere, let alone at a bar?”

>   Woong looked flustered. “I don’t know, it’s just part of the…”

  “Honey,” Sandy admonished, “I really don’t think you should interrupt him. Just let him tell the story so we can pray and eat, all right? I’m afraid the food will get cold if he goes much longer.”

  Drisklay tried to think if any of tonight was worth the scant chance that he’d get some real insider information on Pastor Harrison that he couldn’t have gotten anywhere else.

  Carl motioned for his son to continue.

  Woong’s grin had spread even wider across his acned face. “Well, one of the whales at the bar, he looks at his friend, and he says oooooooooooooooh-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-eeeeeeyoooooouuuuu.” He made his voice rise and fall dramatically, pausing twice to refill his lungs. After this dramatic display, he glanced at his parents, then bit his lip, probably to keep from laughing too early.

  Sandy carried in a basket full of bread rolls and set it on the table. “I don’t get it,” she admitted.

  “He’s not done,” Carl whispered, a slightly prideful grin on his face.

  Now Woong really did start to laugh and had to take another sip of milk to try to regain his composure. Drisklay was glad he was on the opposite side of the table in case any more launched out of the child’s nose.

  “Well then,” Woong snorted, “the other whale looked over at his friend, and he said, ‘Go home, Bill. You’re drunk.’”

  Carl burst out laughing, slapping his knee and then his son’s back. Woong took another sip of milk, hiding his blushing face behind his glass.

  Sandy sat down at the table with a pout.

  “Didn’t you like his joke?” Carl asked.

  Sandy adjusted her apron; the same one she’d used to clean up after her son earlier. “You told it quite well,” she told Woong primly. “You really did sound like a whale at one point.”

  “Wasn’t he great, though?” Carl pressed, looking to Drisklay for confirmation. “I mean, what a great delivery.”

  Sandy set her napkin on her lap, sitting with her spine so straight she might have been suspended from the ceiling by invisible threads. “Seeing as how members of our own family have battled the demon of alcoholism, I’m just not sure his joke was in the best of taste, that’s all.”

  Woong looked deflated until his father leaned over and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “That was hilarious, son. Good job.” He glanced up at his wife, who had already folded her hands. Carl turned to Drisklay then smiled and said, “All right. Well, let’s pray for this food and dig in, shall we?”

  Caroline had been talking for so long, she’d lost all sense of time. She couldn’t guess how long they’d spent talking about her conversion, couldn’t recall the series of questions Mrs. Cho had asked to get Caroline spilling out her entire life story. She felt like she’d been talking for hours already and was surprised at how freely her words started to flow once she began.

  “I had a student in one of my classes, a little boy named Woong. His mother and I became close. She’s a pastor’s wife and still one of my closest friends. Their family invited me to Easter service at their church. At first, I didn’t want to go. I knew my…” She paused, surprised at the heat she felt creeping up to her cheeks. “I knew my husband wouldn’t agree to it. Not that he wouldn’t let me go,” she hurried to add. “It wasn’t like that. I just knew… Well, Calvin wasn’t happy about it. Let’s just leave it at that. But I went anyway. I told him it would be a nice way for me to support one of my students because his dad was the pastor there, and Calvin was busy working that weekend anyway so it wasn’t like I was taking time away from our relationship or anything like that.”

  She cleared her throat, aware and again ashamed when she recognized the bitterness behind her words.

  “Well, the sermon was different than anything I was expecting. I hadn’t gone to church growing up, and I had this feeling that pastors spent their entire time preaching about why you shouldn’t drink or do drugs or stuff like that, but Pastor Carl wasn’t like that. He was…” She paused, searching for the right word. “He was inspiring. Instead of preaching at us about all the things we were doing wrong, all the reasons God had to be mad at us, he talked about God’s love. It was the first time I heard the full gospel message. I knew the Bible talked about the cross and the resurrection, but it wasn’t until I heard Pastor Carl’s sermon that I understood why Jesus had to do those things. That it was to take the punishment for my sins.”

  She paused, thinking that Mrs. Cho might want to add something, but the old woman remained silent. Listening. Waiting for Caroline to finish her testimony.

  “There wasn’t an altar call or anything. And I wasn’t saved that day, but it made me start to wonder. What if everything I’d thought about God and the Bible were wrong? What if the gospel really was true? What if this man called Jesus really was the Son of God, and what if he really did love me so much that he was willing to die on a cross to take the punishment for my sins? I still had a lot of questions, and Sandy—that’s my student’s mom I was telling you about—she and I would get together at her house for tea, and we’d talk. It wasn’t an official Bible study or anything. But she was patient with all my questions, and then over the summer, when I had more time, we started reading the book of John together. I didn’t want to take a Bible home with me. I knew that would cause problems with my husband, so I just read it there with Sandy. We went through the whole book, and by the time we got to the end of it, I realized that I believed everything it said.

  “I guess it’s weird because I don’t have an exact day I remember coming to Christ. I think it was one of those things that happened when I wasn’t really thinking about it, but we got to the end of John, and I realized I believed, and I said something to Sandy like, ‘So I guess I should probably get baptized now?’ That was a problem because up until then my husband didn’t know how serious I’d gotten about my faith. He knew I went to church, but he’s been antagonistic to the gospel for his whole life, and I kept telling him I was doing it because Sandy and I were friends and it was one of the only times during the week that we could get together.

  “Well, when I decided to get baptized, I knew I had to tell Calvin everything, that I’d converted and I was a Christian now.” Caroline forced out a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as unnatural as it felt. “It didn’t go over too well. To this day, I swear Calvin thinks I’m brainwashed or something.” She shrugged. “But what can you do?” She smiled, waiting through the awkward silence.

  Mrs. Cho stared at her intently before finally stating, “I believe God is working in your husband’s life for a purpose. And I’m praying for his heart to be softened so that the truth of God’s love will break through to his soul.”

  Caroline wished she could sense some of that same hope and conviction she heard in Mrs. Cho’s voice. She forced another smile. “That would be nice.”

  Mrs. Cho held her gaze, and Caroline couldn’t maintain her fake grin. She let out her breath, feeling her shoulders slouch in defeat. “That would be nice,” she repeated, her voice quiet and far less certain than she liked.

  Drisklay didn’t realize how hungry he was until Sandy served dinner.

  “Would you like some more cornbread, Officer Drisklay?” she asked. “Or another bread roll? We have plenty, and Carl can’t have them anymore because of his diabetes, so eat up. In fact, when it’s time for you to go home, I’ll pack you up some leftovers. That way Caroline won’t have to worry about you eating so unhealthy when she’s gone. Woong, sweetie, don’t have your cup so close to the edge of the table. Remember what happened when your dad’s friend from seminary came over, and you spilled it on that little girl’s lap? What was her name, by the way? She was awful pretty, wasn’t she?”

  Woong shrugged and took a noisy gulp of milk. “I didn’t like that big wart on her nose.”

  “That wasn’t a wart, pumpkin.” Sandy’s tone didn’t change as she poured her son another glass. “It’s a birthmark. Her mother sai
d she was born with it. Some people call it an angel kiss. I think that’s an awful sweet name, don’t you?”

  Woong shrugged again, and Sandy sighed noisily. “Well, it’s not what’s on the outside that matters anyway. You know that, right? And I think she’s a very sweet girl. You know, you’re getting to the age where you’ll start noticing girls before long…”

  “Mom,” Woong exclaimed in a whiny voice.

  Carl rubbed his wife’s back. “Let’s let the boy finish his food, all right?”

  She scooped more meatloaf onto her son’s plate. “Well, I’m just saying that I think he’s going to start puberty pretty soon. Officer Drisklay, don’t you think he looks quite a bit taller than he did last time you saw him? And he’s sleeping in every single day. I declare, we’re going to have to get him a second alarm or something because I can’t wake him up for school no matter how hard I try. And that can be a sign of a growth spurt too, you know, which is why I’m against these schools starting so early. It’s not right for kids to miss out on that much sleep. Not good for their brains, I mean. I was reading a report that Mrs. Linklater brought up at the recent PTA meeting, and she’s going to take it all the way to the school board, you know. I guess one state, I forget where just now, but they recently passed a law where the high school can’t start before nine o’clock in the morning. And I know some parents got upset by that, but I’ll tell you what, if this boy is so hard to wake up now and he’s still only in junior high, I don’t even want to guess what it’ll be like when he really is starting puberty. Do you remember when Justice was that age, Carl, how much sleep he needed? I declare it was probably twelve or thirteen hours a day, and even more on the weekends. Now Woong, what did I tell you about slouching at the table? It’s not good for your back. Remember when we went to that nice chiropractor lady, and she told you it was better to sit up taller? That’s going to help you your whole life, you know. Some people have back problems all the way into their old age just because they slouched when they were growing up, isn’t that right Officer Drisklay?”