Prince Tennyson

by Jenni James

  Plus, she also forgot that when I found them, I wasn’t doing it because the Lord told me to—I was doing it for myself, and for Hannah and Cameron to know their dad. Not for my mom to have her prayers come true. So if that was the truth, if it was because I was answering her prayer—the prayer she didn’t give yet—that meant I was doing something for the future. And that didn’t make any sense at all.

  I let those thoughts roam all around my mind for a long time that night. I couldn’t sleep very well at all. It’s hard to sleep when your mom was happy that God answered prayers when He really didn’t. Instead, I woke up a lot and thought about it. And when I wasn’t waking up and thinking, I was having weird dreams that just made me wake up more. And think more.

  By the morning, I was downright exhausted. I know, because when Hannah woke up, she said, “Wow, Chelsea! You look awful. You should see yourself in the mirror because you look way more awful than I’ve ever seen you before.”

  Great. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I rolled out of bed and padded my way to the mirror.

  She was right. I looked awful. Worse than awful; I looked dreadful.

  Hannah popped up next to me. “Are you sick?”

  “No.” I tried to smile. I winced instead.

  My head hurt.

  “You look sick. Maybe you’re sick?”

  “I’m fine,” I grumbled as I ran my hand through my hair. It was sticking up everywhere. I looked like a crazy person.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you feel? I bet you have a fever.”

  “I don’t have a fever, okay?” I spun away from the mirror, grabbed my brush, and began attacking the tangled mass that was all over my head. I knew it was going be a while, so I sat down on the bed.

  Hannah was still pestering me as she changed her clothes for school, but this time I ignored her. I looked so bad, I probably could’ve told my mom I hadn’t had any sleep and that I didn’t feel good, and she’d let me stay home. But I didn’t want her to know that. I needed to go school. I needed to talk to someone who could help me, someone who had answers.

  I needed to talk to Tyler.

  I figured he was the only one who would be able to look at this whole thing with my mom and the pictures and God rationally. We hadn’t talked since Friday on the field by the playground, but I wasn’t worried. I knew he would talk to me about it. It was just one of those things. I knew he wouldn’t be able to tell me “no” if I told him I needed to talk.

  I was right.

  Tyler was on the playground waiting for me when I finally made it out of the cafeteria with Sarah and Jasmine. They took forever to eat. I didn’t want them to know I told Tyler to meet me there. I had whispered it really quick before school started and we went into our different classes. As I got closer to him, I became worried because I didn’t know how I was going to get away from Jasmine and Sarah.

  But he already had a plan. I just didn’t know it.

  “Chelsea!” he called, really mean-like. “You better run, because I’m not letting you get away with what you said on Friday. Boys’ clubs are not dumb!” Then he started to run right toward me.

  Jasmine and Sarah squealed and darted away fast.

  I smiled. It was brilliant.

  “Run!” Tyler yelled when he was just a couple of feet from me.

  Oh! Oops. I ran.

  We dodged a bunch of kids playing on the swings and we ducked behind the slides and zoomed around the tree next to the playground. No one was there, so Tyler grabbed my arm and we sat down in the back of the tree, so we couldn’t see the other kids.

  We didn’t go to the one that was off limits. I don’t think either of us was brave enough to do that again.

  After our breathing started slowing down, he turned to me and asked, “So, what? What do you need to talk about?”

  I took a couple of more breaths to buy me some time before I finally got up the guts to tell him everything.

  I told Tyler about my mom throwing away the pictures of my dad and how I had found them, and how I had kept them secret until Sunday. Then I told him how my mom didn’t believe in God when she threw the pictures away, and how now she thinks the Lord answered her prayers because I found them. I told him how I didn’t believe it was true and all the reasons why I didn’t think so. I even told him how I tried to feel God, but He never came—even though my heart hurt really, really badly.

  Once I was done, Tyler thought about it for a long time. He just sat there and picked up lots of grass and threw it front of him for what seemed like hours.

  Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and said, “Well? What do you think?”

  Tyler looked over at me and sighed. “I’m afraid to tell you what I think.”

  Uh-oh. My heart went cold. “Why?”

  He picked another piece of grass and tossed it. “Because I think you’re right. I don’t think there’s any way God could’ve worked through you before your mom had even asked Him. That’s just asking too much of the Lord, really—to know all of that stuff beforehand.”

  “See?” I turned a bit to face him. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Plus, you said you didn’t feel like God was in you when you got those pictures, right?”

  “Right.” I nodded, and yanked a clump of grass by my knees.

  “So you know what this means, don’t you?”

  “No. What?” I glanced at him.

  He leaned over and began to play with a small pebble. “If your mom got it wrong and it really wasn’t God answering her prayers, I bet a lot of other people get it wrong too. In fact—” He flung that rock way past all the grass piles we had made. “I think we have a problem.” Tyler looked right at me. “I think if she got it wrong, then how many other people are out there saying the same stuff—and believing it, too? You know, things that weren’t God at all—just luck and accidents and stuff.”

  “Wow.” I hadn’t thought of that.

  “It makes you start to wonder, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “Wonder what?”

  “If God ever really existed at all. What if He’s just something that’s been put in our minds so much that we blame God for everything—when He really didn’t have anything to do with it at all?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT Tyler had said all night. And then I thought about it all day on Tuesday, too. In fact, by Wednesday, I hated to admit it, but I had pretty much given up. I knew he was right.

  That was a hard day. But then of course, it was Wednesday, and Wednesdays were always hard. It had been exactly fifteen months since I had learned my dad wasn’t ever coming home. Fifteen months of torture and torment and misery. The worst fifteen months of my life.

  I did the math. That’s sixty-four Wednesdays. Sixty-four of the most absolute horrible days anyone can imagine. Because that’s when I was told my dad wasn’t coming home and I would never see him again. But it took until today, this Wednesday, for me to fully come to the realization how true that report really was.

  I was never, ever going to see my dad again.

  Ever.

  There was no God. Just the hope of Him. Something we all wanted so much that we tried to imagine Him next to us, and around us, and with us. But it wasn’t true, none of it.

  I drew my knees up as I sat outside on the porch in the back yard. My baby brother was playing in the sand a little ways away from me. I wrapped my arms around my knees as tight as they would go. Suddenly, the world seemed like a very lonely and cold place. All at once, I didn’t want to be outside watching my brother. I didn’t want to be alone.

  I wanted to be back in my bed snuggled up and warm, like I was a week ago. I wished I didn’t know that God wasn’t real. I wished I was back to just being a kid trying to find out if it all was true.

  But I couldn’t ever be that girl again. I couldn’t go back. I knew too much.

  Instead, I sat on that porch and rocked while I watched my brothe
r over my knees. I rocked and rocked and rocked.

  I didn’t cry.

  What was the point of crying?

  It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing at all; except keeping my brother and sister and mom happy.

  I wasn’t going to tell my mom.

  I knew that much at least. I had decided it earlier that morning while I was awake in my bed thinking it all through. There was no reason for her to know what I knew. It would just hurt her. Besides, she was happier than I’d seen her in fifteen months. I wasn’t going to be the one to ruin that for her. Mom needed this. She needed to think God was real so she could live again.

  Fine.

  I could do that. I could be strong for Mom and my family.

  But deep down, I knew the truth.

  No one would ever know.

  I was strong like that. My strength was all I had left.

  I meant it, too. I was determined to never say a word. It was my new goal. I was very good at keeping my goals. I know because my prince told me that I was the most determined girl he’d ever met.

  ***

  I love my family. I love them so much. I don’t want them to die. I don’t.

  Today, Grandma was saying how she was getting old and joked about how she would die soon. Mom and Hannah laughed when she said it. Even Grandma thought it was funny.

  It wasn’t funny. Not one bit.

  I was going to lose everyone I loved eventually. We would all die one day and then we’d be gone.

  After church, I helped Mom get my little brother undressed from the Sunday clothes Grandma bought him. My mom had decided to go to church too, so we all had to go because Mom wasn’t home to watch the kids this time.

  I couldn’t believe how happy my mom was at church. She smiled and hugged a whole lot of people and everyone was nice. It looked like she knew a lot of them from when she was small—they were all talking about knowing her years ago. Mom even smiled when people asked about her prince. I thought she would be sad then, but she wasn’t—too much.

  Church was good for her. Even if I didn’t believe it anymore, it was still good for my mom. It got her out of the house and doing things she wouldn’t normally have done. And she smiled. A lot.

  Hannah smiled a lot too. Cameron wasn’t too thrilled about having to sit still, though. After a few minutes of him squirming during the sermon, I finally picked him up and took him out of the room and down the hall to the nursery so my mom could listen to the speaker.

  She was really happy about that—that I went out of my way and took care of Cameron so she could listen. I know because she told me when we got home from church.

  Cameron wiggled and squirmed as I unbuttoned his nice new shirt. He kept trying to get away so he could play with Uncle Jeremy’s cars. He loved those cars. After a few more minutes, I just gave up trying to remove the rest of his outfit. Instead, I put a t-shirt over his head and let him keep his nice pants and shoes on so he could play. Knowing Cameron like I did, he’d probably have those shoes and pants off in a little bit, anyway. He liked running around in his diaper.

  Cameron was so cute.

  I didn’t want him to die. I was going to have to be extra careful and really watch him carefully to help him live as long as possible.

  Grandma was right—he did look like Dad. A lot like Dad.

  I wondered if people would call him a prince when he grew up, too.

  ***

  On Tuesday, Grandma let me go to Sarah’s house for a little while. She lived a couple of blocks away, so I got to ride my bike, and bring some chocolate chip cookies too. Grandma told me she used to do quilting with Sarah’s mom, so she wanted me to be good. When I got there, I was kind of excited and nervous. I hadn’t been over at a friend’s house since I was almost nine.

  “Hi, Chelsea!” Sarah smiled and opened the door wide, then yelled behind her, “Mom! Chelsea’s here!”

  “Hi,” I said as I handed over the bag that was on my handlebars. “I brought cookies to share.”

  “Cool!” Sarah giggled, then grabbed my hand and took me to the kitchen. Her mom was there chopping up some carrots and putting them in a pot. There was a baby girl, younger than Cameron, sitting in a high chair. “Look, Mom! Chelsea brought us cookies. Can we eat them? Please? Please? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?”

  Sarah’s mom laughed. “Yes, you can each have two.” She set the knife down and walked over to the counter where Sarah put the bag. “But be sure to eat them at the table.”

  “Yay!” I watched Sarah jump all over the place. She was so excited and happy.

  “Don’t forget to use plates and napkins,” Sarah’s mom reminded her.

  My crazy friend bounced to the cupboard and pulled down some plates. Then she skipped to the pantry and came back with two napkins. I turned when I heard the baby laugh. She was clapping and watching her big sister. For a minute, I just watched Sarah and her mom and their baby. They were different. Smiling and silly and . . . free.

  I wanted to live like that again.

  Walking slowly to the table, I sat down at my place. Sarah chattered away to her mom while I munched on my cookie. I thought about the last time I saw my dad in the kitchen and my family was silly and happy and free.

  Dad had just come home and gave Mom a kiss on her cheek and wrapped his arms around her. I was at the table doing my homework. He kissed her neck and rubbed her shoulder with one hand while he stole some cheese she’d shredded for dinner with his other hand. Mom closed her eyes and made a funny noise and turned around in my dad’s arms to see his mouth full.

  I smiled when I remembered her laughing at him. “Ryan! You’re just as bad as the kids. Do you know that?”

  “Of course. It’s why you love me so much.” He winked at me and swooped Mom up and twirled her around the kitchen until she squealed. “Ryan! Stop. The meat will burn!” She tried to scold him, but she was laughing too much.

  Dad and I both knew she loved being held by her prince more than anything. Even more than if she was scared the food burnt or not.

  “I’ll just have to take us all out to eat then,” he said, then kissed her on the mouth and chin and cheeks and eyes until she laughed some more.

  We went out to eat that night.

  I grinned as I nibbled my cookie. Mom needed to laugh. I thought about church and all the smiles she had for the people there, and I wondered if the next Sunday would be just as good.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE NEXT SUNDAY WAS good. Mom was smiling again when we came out of the chapel, and this time she was chattering nonstop. She liked seeing her old friends and hearing about God. She said it made her happy.

  I let her talk and tell me about it the whole time we walked to the car. She had her arm on my shoulder and Cameron on her hip. But she hardly noticed Cameron at all—instead, she was talking about the Bible. She couldn’t wait to read more. Mom loved reading the Bible all the time now.

  I remembered my promise, so I read with her, which made her happy. Even now she was saying, “Chelsea, after dessert tonight, we’re going to look that part up, aren’t we? I know you would like to see what the preacher was saying about those verses in James.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I nodded and smiled when Mom tucked me closer to her. It felt nice to have Mom so close to me so much now.

  When we got to the car, we waited for Grandma Haney and Hannah to come over and unlock the door.

  Hannah was skipping and holding Grandma’s hand at the same time. My grandma was really happy, laughing at Hannah. I liked to see grandma and Hannah having such a good time, it made my heart warm.

  We needed this. We needed to have something that brought us together like this. Church was good, even if it wasn’t true. It still made us happy.

  ***

  After we got home and changed out of our church clothes and had dinner and dessert, Mom took me back to her frilly pink bedroom from when she was a girl and we opened the Bible to James. She was really excited about the James chapte
rs, and she was saying how they had the answers she had been hoping for.

  I just looked around her room and let her talk. Her walls were pink and her pictures were of lots and lots of ballerinas. My mom used to want to be a ballerina when she was little. Not anymore. Mom didn’t dance at all anymore.

  I walked over to the little dresser. It had a shelf above it, and on that shelf there were a bunch of pretty ballerina figurines. One of them was broken. She was wearing a purple tutu and both of her arms were off and lying next to her.

  I picked her up. She was so tiny and so fragile, but she was smiling. Her hair was pretty, with a purple bow on the side of her bun. I touched her tutu with very careful fingers. There were a couple of chips missing where they had broken off from the tutu, as well. The ballerina had been through a whole lot and she looked funny, but she was still smiling.

  My fingers touched that smile. Her mouth was wide and beautiful. Even without arms, she was the most beautiful ballerina I had ever seen. I smiled too. I wanted to be like that. Broken, beautiful, but still smiling.

  “Oh, here it is!”

  Mom’s voice almost caused me to drop the ballerina. I quickly stood the figurine up next to her two broken arms and came across the room to Mom’s bed, where she was sitting.

  “See?” My mom pointed to the open Bible. “It’s under Epistle of James. I thought I was going crazy when I couldn’t find it at first. I had to look for Epistle, not James.”

  I smiled. I wasn’t sure what to say, because I wasn’t really sure what she was talking about. Instead, I sat down on the bed with her.

  Mom grinned over at me and then started to read.

  I watched her lips move as she read the words out loud, but never really heard any of them. Her lips were pretty, like the ballerina’s. They were red like hers, too. Mom’s lips stopped talking. They smiled, and for a moment, they really did look just like the ballerina’s wide smile.

  My eyes flew to hers. The spark was there, way in the very back. It was there.