When the mixture boiled, I poured myself a steaming cup of chai, adding a generous amount of honey, and plopped into a chair. A rodlike weight pressed into my spine. Not exactly the relaxing hour Gage had hoped to give me.
My purse lay open and I snatched the envelope that peeked out from one corner. My fingers ran across the words Heinsburgh Valley Correctional Facility, as if they could be rubbed away. I ripped open the envelope and yanked a folded page from within, harshly flattening its crease with my hand.
Dear Suz,
How have you been, honey?
I looked up from the page. Blinked twice, feeling the burn each time, before continuing to read.
First, I hope this letter finds you and Jer happy. That’s all I have ever wanted for my family—for you to be happy.
Second, and maybe this should have come first, but I should be ashamed of all I have done to make your lives so miserable. I am a wretched man and do not deserve your forgiveness. I write this in the hope you will forgive me anyway, as Christ forgives. (Knowing you, I believe that you will.)
I am a new man, Suz. A new man. The chaplain here says that my wineskins are new. (It’s from the Bible, but I have given up drinking for good!) The peace of God rules my heart now and I’ve been set free. Remember the woman I told you about? The one I was going to marry? That is over, my dear Suzanna. A terrible, awful memory from the past. I was deceived when I left you and promised myself to her. It was wrong, but I’m trying to set things right with you and with my son.
I know legally our marriage is over, but spiritually, it is not. I’m torn up inside over hurting you and our son the way I did, and my prayer is that when the parole board meets next week, they will set me free for good. My parole officer believes this will happen. When it does (not “if” because I’m believing it will happen!), I will do everything in my power to prove to you that I am a changed man.
Forever, Len
I let the letter drop from my hand and flutter onto the floor, unable to digest much of anything.
Chapter Five
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Callie curled her legs beneath her athletic body on the couch and leaned back against its cushions.
I sat erect in the recliner, clutching my empty mug. Where to start?
When the party of three had returned from their evening of corn dogs and ice cream, I managed to set aside Len’s shocking letter and paste on a smile. Jer climbed into my lap then, smelling of grease and mustard, and I knew a bath couldn’t wait. Yet as I stood and lifted my son into my arms, my brother’s firm hand squeezed my shoulder.
“I’d like to put Jer to bed tonight.” He held out open arms. “May I?”
It didn’t make sense. Gage and Callie could—finally—enjoy some quiet time in this house while I wrestled Jer clean, read him some of his favorite stories, then tucked him into bed.
I leaned my head to the side, searching my brother’s face for halfheartedness in his offer but found nothing but the brotherly affection he’d spoiled me with for much of my life. I let my suspicions go when Jer leapt into his uncle’s arms, gurgling secret messages to him, the kinds of things I supposed young boys might often share with their fathers. If that didn’t tweak my heart every time.
Now, as Callie sat across from me waiting for an answer, memories from the day tumbled through my head. After Gage headed upstairs with Jer, it didn’t take long for my future sister-in-law to realize that my usually hopeful self was less-than. I had received a harsh reality check from Seth today, and after that I’d come home to Len’s letter. Two men from my past: one unwilling to give me a second chance, and the other begging me to do just that. It’s a wonder Gage and Callie hadn’t found me coiled into the fetal position and sucking my thumb on the living room rug.
After I relayed the letter’s contents, Callie glanced often at the staircase, as if hoping Gage would show up soon and cast a level opinion on Len’s announcement.
“Do you believe he’s changed, Suz?”
I fingered the letter. “I want to believe Len’s a new man. Not for my sake.” The words tasted strange. “But for his own good . . . and for Jeremiah’s. A boy deserves a father in his life, don’t you think?”
Callie nodded. “Of course. I just meant . . .” She sighed. Callie had been burned by both a former boyfriend and several local businesspeople. She probably felt conflicted over what she had learned from Gage about my ex-husband and the heart behind what he had written in his letter. “Wow. So much to think about. This changes everything, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “Maybe . . .”
“What changes everything?” Gage appeared at the foot of the stairs, smiling in his buttondown shirt, soaked through in spots. He finished drying his hands on a towel and tossed it into an empty laundry basket near the bottom step.
I held the letter out to him and his smile faded. He took it from me and scanned it in silence. Callie and I exchanged a glance before he looked up. “He’s lying.” He handed it back to me.
“Did you even read it?”
“You saw me, and I don’t believe a word of it.”
“How can you say that? He says he’s sorry, and that he’s a new man. Did you read the part about the peace of God ruling his heart? How can I turn my back on something like that?”
Gage paced. “Don’t care. The guy’s a felon. For all we know he paid someone to write that love note for him since I doubt he’s capable of such . . .”
“Heartfelt words?”
Gage wagged his head. “He’s gotten to you. I can’t believe it. The guy who cheated on you, committed robbery—sold drugs, Suz—has with just one postage stamp convinced you he’s changed. It doesn’t work that way.”
I stuffed the page back into its envelope. I would rather crumple up that letter than have to deal with its contents. “Maybe it doesn’t, but maybe it does. Who’s to say whether or not God supernaturally heals a person anymore? Not me, that’s for sure.”
Gage squatted down next to the love seat. “Can we leave God out of this for a minute? Just suppose I’m right and Len has some ulterior motive.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me with a held-up palm. “Maybe the other woman dumped him. If he really is about to be paroled, he probably needs somewhere to live, so he’s turned to you—the only person who always gives him another chance. Don’t you see? He’s trying to use us.”
“Aha. So you’re afraid I’m going to bring him here, to this house. Jer and I already test the limits of your generosity and you think I’d have the audacity to inconvenience you further. I see now.”
Gage threw his hands up and looked to Callie for support. “This is crazy.”
Callie rose and slid onto the couch next to me. “Take some time, Suz. You don’t need to respond right away or make any decision of how you will eventually handle this. Think it out. Pray about it.”
Gage rose, his knees cracking. “Don’t encourage her, Callie. She needs to shut this guy down now, because if she doesn’t, he’ll take that as a sign she might actually consider taking the louse back.”
Callie put a calming hand on his folded arm. “Gage.”
He turned away from her. “I need you to support me here.”
An argument brewed between them, and it pained me to see that happening on my account. When I stood, Callie stepped back and I struggled to keep the shake out of my voice. “What happened to the compassionate man who took us in when we had nowhere else to go? What happened to him, Gage?”
My hands clenched again and again. “I’m not asking you to give Len a home or anything else. This letter, though, has given me much to think about and I cannot discard it as easily as you apparently can. I’ve been praying for Len for years to turn his life around and to know the truth of God in his life. Maybe this is a sign.”
“Do you still love him?”
My gaze dropped to the wooden floors, scarred from years of living. I raised my eyes to his. “Does that matter?”
“You let him go once,
and it broke your heart. I’ll never forget finding you in that distraught state. It broke my heart too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t allow yourself—and Jer, for that matter—to go through something so tragic again.”
My mind flashed back on agonizing moments from the not-too-distant past. Maybe my brother was right. Maybe the smartest move would be to tear up Len’s startling letter and toss it in the garbage.
Then again, when my mother died and Len rushed in to offer everything I thought I needed, I ignored a God-sized niggling in my soul, the one that cautioned me to consider the cost of my decision. If I ignored Len’s declaration of faith, if I did nothing to offer support for his newfound way of life, was I in danger of doing the same thing? Could I be ignoring God’s direction in this situation?
“I hear you, big brother. I really do. But if there’s a lesson here somewhere, something God wants me to learn through all of this, I hope he makes that clear to me.” I glanced at Callie. “Kind of like the way he taught you and Gage to put aside your differences so you could find happiness together.”
The hard line of Gage’s features softened. He caught a glimpse of Callie watching him and smiled at her, sadness tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and pulled her toward him.
Some of my brother’s resistance had worn away, but not all of it, not by the way his mouth continued to dip downward. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m being rash, Suz. We don’t even know if what he says is . . .” Heaviness weighed in his eyes. “Well, until the parole board acts, seeing Len anytime soon may not be an issue. Promise me you’ll take some time before responding. Will you do that?”
Part of me wanted to tell him that something about this moment appeared bigger than life, as if it didn’t matter what I thought or even what I did. What would be would be. When I broke it off with Seth and soon after married Len, I could never have dreamed that life would bring me here, scraping by and living under my brother’s roof.
My life hadn’t been without its blessings, though. During those years Gage and I had lived apart, except for the rare visit from him, I missed my big brother. After our parents died, Gage moved to the West Coast for work, satisfied that Len would take care of me. Jer barely knew his uncle when we arrived here, heartbroken and needing shelter from the hurricane that had torn apart my marriage.
In the past few months, I’d witnessed Gage’s career turned upside down in a good way, and I’d watched him fall in love and become engaged to a woman who started out as his chief nemesis. That alone made my relocation more palatable. And now I had been given the opportunity to restore some of the greatest art pieces in the world. How could I allow regret to suffocate my soul?
Worse yet, how could I ever believe that a new soul turned to the Savior would not be showered with equal blessings?
To soothe my brother’s worries, I nodded with deliberation. “Agreed.” Even as I said the word, though, I could not help but think that the week until the next parole board hearing would fly right on by.
Chapter Six
Some things in life remain a mystery, while others stay as sure as the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean.
As a teenager, I learned it best not to attempt to slip into a pair of jeans after applying nail polish, and that to order spaghetti on a first date (while wearing white, no less) was asking for it. Later, as an adult, I became convinced that airing out the house after making egg-salad sandwiches was always a good idea.
So when Letty showed up at work this morning at the warehouse, smelling of nutmeg and lasering me with penetrating eyes, I didn’t flinch. My new friend had a way of letting me know when she was about to pounce.
“You blew me off yesterday.” She wore layers of crushed cotton in shades of pumpkin. Coupled with the scent of her perfume, her presence reminded me of Thanksgiving, although the holiday was months away.
I continued wiping down the long table that would serve as my workplace today. Fred said he had a surprise for me and to prep the work surface, so I scrubbed it beyond clean and avoided Letty’s imploring expression in the meantime.
“Well?”
“Well . . . what?”
She plopped onto the stool across from me and dropped her faux-leather bag onto the concrete floor. “You may think I didn’t notice how you skirted my question yesterday—the one about the envelope sticking out of your purse—but I only let you off the hook for twenty-four hours.”
I raised my brows. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You received mail from prison.”
The technician behind her, a scruffy artist named Timo, dropped a metal scraper and it clattered to the floor. He reached for it, red faced and avoiding my eyes, which told me he heard Letty’s question clear as the view of the castle after a rain.
I frowned, flashed my eyes at him, then turned back and found Letty watching me. “Like you never have.” I managed to keep my voice level.
Timo snorted and made a rawr sound. I wadded up the rag in my hand and pitched it at his head, causing him to yelp.
Letty laughed, then slapped him on one side of his head. “You are a wicked boy. Acting like you have a front-row seat at a cat fight!”
He scowled and rubbed his skull.
I motioned for Letty to follow me outside. The crisp air awoke a plethora of thoughts from the night before. I didn’t know what to make of the emotions ricocheting through my heart and mind like some old-time pinball machine at the penny arcade. One minute my mood felt light and ready for what life would bring, and the next? It felt like a cloud laden with the threat of a storm hovering over me.
I hadn’t wanted to tell Letty anything about the envelope, but maybe a third party could help sort it all out. Gage and Callie lived too close to the situation to give unbiased opinions. And Seth knew all about my early relationship with Len, so he—
Seth! I shook my head. How I could allow myself to go there for even an instant?
“Looks like you’re having a conversation with a ghost.” Letty laughed, a surprising ripple in her voice. “What can you say to someone invisible that you won’t tell me?”
“I could use some impartial advice.” I let my gaze catch hers. “Are you up for it?”
She crossed her arms. “Try me.”
We climbed a short way up the hill and found a weathered log on which to settle. I told her my story, how my ex-husband was about to be released from prison. I told her how I’d married Len and soon after become pregnant with Jeremiah. How it didn’t take long for me to realize that Len, the man with great ideas, had zero plans to implement them. He had wooed me with diamonds and dinners out, with trips to the shore and shopping binges in New York City. After we married, I hadn’t noticed, at least not at first, how often he changed jobs or shot off on some grand scheme, nor how he whipped out his Visa for purchases made on a whim.
Or maybe I just ignored the red flags.
The first time it happened, Jeremiah’s warm body, swathed in a baby carrier, snuggled against my chest. I’d managed to fill my cart, place my groceries on the conveyor belt, and watch the order being rung up without a peep from my months-old son. Victory!
The cashier looked up from her register. “Do you have another card?”
I frowned.
She slid a look toward her growing line of customers. “The machine can’t read this one. Do you have another you could try?”
My face grew hot. I dug through my wallet and pulled out a credit card, trying not to wake my sleeping baby. The first had been my debit card, and I remember thinking that I was going to have a serious talk with my bank. This was unacceptable.
I swiped the second card.
After a few seconds, the cashier turned to me, a gentle smile on her face. “I’m sorry. This won’t do either.”
My lungs seized, constricting my breathing. I cradled Jeremiah’s head with one hand, while trying to keep my voice calm. “What do you mean? Is the machine broken? Because I don’t have anothe
r card with me today.”
“It’s not the machine, honey.” She leaned toward me, attempting to save me from imminent embarrassment, an elusive endeavor at best. “Both cards were declined.”
When I arrived home red faced and without even the barest bones of a meal, Len exploded. “We won’t be letting those losers manage our money anymore. We’ll change banks tomorrow!”
He took us out to dinner that night—Jeremiah still groggy in the carrier—and the next morning brought me cash. So I chalked the whole mess up to an error.
Our debt mounted, but somehow, even with “in-between” jobs, we managed to make the minimum payments. I should have questioned that. Then he started working evenings and later, the night shifts—at least that’s what he told me. My mother died just before Len and I married, and a year later my father followed her. Between grieving and caring for Jeremiah, maybe I didn’t have time to think about Len’s deeds.
Or maybe I just didn’t care to know.
“So he’s in prison now for credit-card debt?”
I glanced at Letty, shading my eyes from the sun’s light. “Stealing drugs and then selling them.” I didn’t mention that there had been a concealed-weapon charge too.
She nodded. Her question had been her way of helping me spit out the truth. “And he’ll be out of prison this quickly for that?”
“That’s what his letter said—that he’s up for parole.”
“My, my. And what else did the letter say?”
Should I tell her more? Len’s profession of faith should be something shouted from every high hill in sight, right? His accompanying plea, however, the one about setting things right with me and with Jer . . . I wasn’t ready to share that yet. My own reactions were a mystery to me.
“Not much. He did say he was sorry for what he had done and that he wanted to see Jer.”
“And that is what has got you all twisted up?”
I shrugged. “A boy should have a father, don’t you think? Even one who’s made some . . . mistakes?”
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