A Mother's Choice

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  “Angela was my oldest daughter,” Nadine continued. “She’d just graduated from high school, and her death nearly broke me.”

  “I can only imagine. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Her chest clenched, and a moment of awkward silence followed as it usually did whenever someone found out about the horrible car accident that stole the lives of Angela and Jude. Nadine inhaled deeply, wondering how something that happened so long ago could still hurt.

  “Of course one child can never replace another, but having my other children was a huge help in being able to move forward. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them. They saved me.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “And my grandchildren are amazing.”

  “I imagine they are.”

  The checkout line grew, and Nadine felt guilty for taking up so much of the doctor’s time. She placed a hand on his forearm and smiled. “You should give your wife another baby, Dr. Henry. You won’t regret it.”

  He grinned and placed a hand on top of hers. “I think you’re right. My wife will be grateful you talked some sense into me.”

  “Glad I could help. I’ll send you my bill.”

  He laughed and Nadine sailed out the door with her groceries, feeling years younger. If only she could deal with her own issues so easily.

  In his letter, Tim said he was certain Ruby’s daughter would find her. Nadine suspected the unidentified number on her cell phone was Faith, even though the woman hadn’t left a message. And for that reason, Nadine had written her own letter explaining what happened all those years ago. Oh, she hadn’t mailed it, but maybe when she found the courage, she’d do that. Or maybe not.

  Late this afternoon, she’d finished writing her life story in the journal. It had been cathartic to get it all down on paper. Then, she’d ripped out the last few pages and included them in Faith’s letter. If she wanted to confront the truth, all she had to do was mail that letter.

  Distracted, she walked to the end of the parking lot without seeing her car. Where was it? Had she completely lost her mind? One of Dan’s boys had told her about a parking lot app, and even though Nadine had a smart phone, she wasn’t going to depend on technology for something she was capable of remembering.

  Lost in her own frustration, she spun around and headed in the opposite direction. A massive diesel-powered truck with enormous wheels backed out of a parking space toward her. She crinkled her nose at both the acrid smell and distasteful female silhouette decal on the rear bumper.

  To Nadine’s horror and confusion, the truck’s red taillights bolted toward her. She sucked in a sharp breath. Didn’t the driver see her?

  She tried to move out of the way, but shock and fear paralyzed her, nailing her feet to the asphalt. “He’s going to hit me!” Instinctively, she raised her hands as though she could stop such a substantial vehicle.

  Seconds later, cold, hard metal rammed into Nadine, lifting her body in the air. Time slowed, then her head smashed into the windshield of another car. Shards of glass ripped through her skull and someone screamed. Indescribable pain overtook her. Her head spun, and she tasted blood.

  Was this it? Was this how it was going to end? Would she never have the chance to explain and make things right?

  Lord God, save me!

  Chapter 10

  After dragging Logan and Zane out of Eleanor’s pool to admire Dan and Darlene’s new car, I drove to my mom’s house. Both boys were hyped up from playing with their cousins, and just as I managed to get them settled down for bed, Kyle called.

  “It’s Daddy!” Logan screamed, grabbing my phone. He talked animatedly to Kyle about swimming in the heated pool and how Grandma had cheated at Marco Polo, but it was okay because she let Zane win since he was the youngest.

  Zane grumbled about always being the youngest and having to wear his life jacket even though Grandma said he swam like a fish.

  When it was my turn to talk, I forced myself to sound cheerful. “How’s everything going down there?”

  Kyle hesitated, and I worried he was going to tell me he loved it and wanted to stay even longer. “It’s wonderful, but I’m incredibly lonely.”

  The honest emotion in my husband’s deep voice softened my heart, but my verbal response was mean and sarcastic. “Are you saying you miss us?”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course I miss you, Autumn. I hate being away.”

  “Then why do you want to sign up for another year of living like this? Why is this fellowship so important to you?”

  He groaned impatiently. “I thought we weren’t going to fight about this until I got back.”

  “We’re not fighting; I’m just trying to make a point. Eleanor said fellowship is harder than internship year. Is that true?”

  “Some people say that.”

  I’d desperately missed Kyle all evening, but now that we were talking, I was suddenly mad. My hand tightened around the phone, and I said nothing, determined not to lose my temper.

  Kyle yawned. “I love you. I really do, but I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I have an early morning meeting. Can we talk about this later? Please?”

  Tears stung my eyes. I hated myself for being so emotional and needy. “Sure. I’ll talk to you later. Love you. Bye.”

  He was silent and I wondered if he’d hung up, but then he spoke. “I love you, too, Autumn. More than you could ever imagine.”

  Then why are you constantly pushing me away? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I know you do.”

  We said goodnight and ended the call, then I went to find Zane and Logan playing Hot Lava in the Grandkids’ Bedroom. I scolded them for jumping on the furniture, even though I completely understood the temptation. Between the four twin beds and dresser stuffed with toys, the Grandkids’ Bedroom was the perfect place to play Hot Lava.

  Sitting first on Logan’s bed, then on Zane’s, I read several books before tucking the boys in and kissing them goodnight.

  “Don’t forget to set out the pennies,” Zane said.

  “I won’t.” I grabbed four pennies from the plastic baggie in the overnight duffle and set them on the dresser. In order to encourage the boys to stay in their bedroom at night, we had a system where they could earn two pennies. If they came out of the room one time, they lost a penny. If they came out a second time, they lost both pennies. But if they spent all night in their room, they were rewarded by two pennies in the morning.

  Zane still couldn’t make it through the night without crawling into our bed. Logan, on the other hand, was slowly becoming a rich kid.

  “You’re going to be in the bedroom next door, right, Mom?” Zane asked.

  “That’s right. Now go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning with your two pennies.”

  Logan chuckled, disbelieving his little brother could ever achieve such an amazing feat.

  “Hey,” Zane said, offended. “I’m going do it tonight. You’ll see.”

  I stood at the door and turned off the light. “Of course you are. We believe in you, right, Logan?”

  Logan giggled. “Yep, we sure do.”

  I walked down the hallway to my old room and got ready for bed. Realizing I’d left my book at home, I went to the bookshelf in my mom’s bedroom.

  I perused the titles, wishing she would get home so she could suggest something I might enjoy. Maybe a juicy romance or an intriguing biography? I was so grateful she’d passed on her love of reading to me because it was honestly one of my favorite things to do.

  On the bottom shelf, I spotted Eleanor’s book Training Your Child to Sleep Through the Night. How appropriate. I’d never actually read one of my sister’s books, but I imagined Aubrey devoured all of them in utero, since she emerged from Eleanor’s womb as the perfect child. In fact, the only time my niece defied her parents was when it came to sundresses. Even in the middle of winter, Aubrey insisted on wearing a sundress no matter how many times my sister said no.

  Wonderi
ng what my mother was reading these days, I walked over to her nightstand and found the latest Steena Holmes book. Too bad I already read it because it was a fantastic story by a fantastic author. A piece of paper tucked between the pages caught my eye. I didn’t consider myself a snoop, but the words “My Darling Nadine” leapt off the page, demanding my attention.

  Whoa! Who in the world was writing to my mom and calling her “My Darling Nadine?” Did she have a secret admirer? A boyfriend, maybe?

  My hand reached out and touched the paper, which had been crumpled and smoothed back out. I’d done that with an old boyfriend’s letter in high school. Crumpled it into a ball, then dug it out of the trash hours later.

  I was dying to read the letter, but I reminded myself I was almost thirty, not thirteen. Old enough to respect my mother’s privacy. Despite my raging curiosity, I would act my age. I would exercise some self-control, grab Eleanor’s parenting book, and crawl into my own bed where I wouldn’t think about the letter.

  I turned to leave, but just as I did, Zane startled me by appearing in the doorway and screaming, “Mommy!”

  I jumped in surprise and knocked over the nightstand lamp. The sound of the light bulb shattering shook my nerves, and I pressed a hand to my temple. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  “My dinosaur egg! I left it at Aunt Eleanor’s house!”

  I sighed. He’d been carrying around a smooth, round rock he’d found in our back yard that he swore was a real dinosaur egg. “We’ll get it tomorrow, okay? Go back to bed.”

  His eyes filled, and he blinked several times. “Does this mean I lose one of my pennies? I was just trying to be responsible.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “If you’re back in bed by the time I count to three, you can have a do-over. But this is your only chance tonight.”

  He high tailed it down the hall, his bare feet making a thrumming sound on the wood floor. Squatting, I picked up the lamp. Part of the shade had been dented but thankfully, the base was still intact.

  The book had also fallen, so now more of the letter was visible. It would be so easy to read it, but I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d be an adult and wouldn’t let my curiosity violate my morals.

  Averting my eyes, I picked up the letter and shoved it back into the book. Unfortunately, I accidentally read the last two lines. “All my love, Tim.”

  Quickly, I placed the book and lamp back on the nightstand. I picked up the broken light bulb and threw it away.

  Tim.

  Did I know anyone named Tim? Was my mother in love with this Tim? My resolve weakened, but before I could give into temptation, I ran out of the room.

  “Mom,” Zane called as I flew down the hall, past the Grandkids’ room. “Come here. I have to tell you something.”

  Did Zane know about Grandma’s boyfriend? I crossed the room and sat on the bed beside him. “What is it?”

  He gave a deep sigh. “I’m just really worried about my dinosaur egg.”

  I brushed the hair off his face, loving how much he looked like his daddy. “It’ll be okay. I’ll call Aunt Eleanor in the morning. You go to sleep now.”

  I stood to leave, but he grabbed my arm with both hands and pulled me down beside him. “Now you’re my prisoner, so you have to sleep with me,” he said, victorious.

  I laughed at my little manipulator who just wanted his mom to stay until he fell asleep. “Just for a few minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We lay there in the dark, and soon his breathing grew slow and rhythmic. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he jerked and slapped his palm to his head. “Oh, no!”

  “What?” I asked, worried he’d wet the bed or something.

  He placed both hands on my face. Even in the dim light, I could tell his eyes were bulging with fear. “What if my dinosaur egg hatches tonight?”

  I shook my head and hugged my little guy tight. “Oh, Zane. I don’t think that’s going to happen. But as soon as you go to sleep, I’ll send Aunt Eleanor a text to be on the lookout.”

  “Okay, Mommy. But if he does hatch tonight, Aunt Eleanor won’t be pleased.”

  “No, probably not.”

  *

  I fell asleep next to Zane and awoke several hours later to the sound of my phone ringing in the other room. My first dream-like thought was that Zane’s egg had hatched, and Eleanor couldn’t get the baby dinosaur out of the pool.

  Half asleep, I stumbled down the hall, found my phone, and glanced at the caller ID.

  Eleanor.

  My blood ran cold because it was past midnight, and Eleanor never called after nine. Was something wrong? Was she having the baby? I hadn’t heard my mom come in last night. Had she made it home?

  “We’re at the hospital,” my sister said as soon as I answered. “You need to come immediately. Mother’s been in an accident.”

  Chapter 11

  After writing to Jude, I tried not to think about his response but waiting was excruciating. Every time I checked the mail, I was disappointed he hadn’t written.

  The Kingsley house sold quickly, and Jude’s parents moved, giving him no reason to come back to Seattle.

  With no choice but to live my life, I threw myself into studying and practicing the piano. I finished my junior year with straight A’s and made the Honor Roll. It seemed that a broken heart was good for me, academically speaking.

  In June, my parents sent me to summer camp with Ruby. We had a fabulous time swimming, canoeing, and hiking, but Jude was never far from my thoughts. What if he wrote while I was gone and my parents discovered the letter? Would they allow me to read it, or would they hide it, thinking it was for the best?

  I returned home to no letter, but later that week, the phone rang while I was helping my mother prepare dinner. I went to the hallway to answer it and couldn’t believe when a deep voice on the other end said, “I was beginning to think you weren’t allowed to answer the phone.”

  My heart exploded. “Jude!”

  “Shush. Pretend I’m a friend from camp. Pretend I’m Judy, your friend from Canada.”

  I stifled a giggle just as my mother poked her head out of the kitchen. “Who’s on the phone, dear?”

  For the first time in my entire life, I told a bold-faced lie. “It’s a friend from camp.”

  She raised a questioning brow, but she returned to the kitchen without another word.

  I cupped the phone with my hand. “Did you get my letter?”

  “Yes, just yesterday. The school’s mail delivery service is notorious for misplacing letters, but I’ve been assigned to the mail room now, so you can write me every day.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said.

  There was an awkward silence, and I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Jude spoke. “So … in your letter, you said you still care about me?” His voice faltered.

  “I do,” I answered, winding the cord around my arm. “For me, nothing’s changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed for me, either.”

  My soul soared. Jude loved me! “When will I see you again?”

  “Soon. I’m sending you a postcard I made myself. Use a magnifying glass and read it carefully for a hidden message.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got to go.” Someone in the background called Jude’s name. “But I love you, Nadine. I do. I love you.”

  I started to say I loved him too, but my father appeared at the top of the stairs. He glared down at me, and my legs shook. The line went dead, leaving me empty. Hanging up the phone, I watched my father slowly descend the staircase.

  “Who were you talking to?” he asked.

  “Just a friend from camp.” I looked away, afraid he’d be able to tell I was lying.

  My mother called us to dinner, and we went into the dining room. As we sat at the table, both my parents grilled me endlessly about this “Judy from Canada.”

  My father swirled his meatloaf through a pool of ketchup. “Why didn’t you mention her before?”


  “I did. Her father’s a doctor, remember?”

  “Judy Jones,” my father said, repeating the name of my fictitious friend.

  The next few days passed slowly as I tried not to be too anxious or obvious about checking the mail. I must’ve failed miserably, because my mother asked if I was expecting something.

  “Just a letter from my friend from camp.”

  “From Judy?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “Of course.”

  On Friday afternoon, I came home late from my job at a small clothing boutique downtown to discover my father’s car already in the driveway and the mailbox empty. A sickening feeling rolled through me.

  Inside the house, I found my father sitting in his office, looking through the mail. “What are you doing home so early?” I asked, hoping I sounded pleased and not disappointed.

  He folded his hands and set them on the desk. “I finished early and wanted to help Mr. Tanaka trim the roses.”

  By “help,” he meant “tell our gardener what to do.” Because of my father’s poor health, he hired help for yard work, but he didn’t trust anybody when it came to his prized roses.

  I glanced at the mail. Was Jude’s letter buried somewhere in there?

  Mr. Tanaka’s truck pulled up to the house, and my father stood. “He’s here, sweetheart. I better go change.”

  I nodded and left the office with the intention of returning for the mail as soon as my father went outside. Before I reached the door, however, he called my name. “Your friend from camp sent you a postcard. I hope you don’t mind that I read it, but I got a laugh out of the cartoon.”

  Fear wrapped around my throat, and my knees trembled. Bracing myself for the worst, I turned to see my father holding an ink drawn postcard. “She’s a very good artist.”

  “She is,” I said, hearing the wobble in my voice.

  He glanced one last time at the postcard, chuckled, and handed it to me. I looked at it and smiled, pretending it was from Judy Jones, and not Jude Kingsley. With all my restraint, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Once I was alone, I held the postcard to my nose, hoping it smelled like Jude. It didn’t of course, but I imagined his scent. Imagined the pen in his strong hands, imagined the way he tilted his head to the side when deep in concentration.