“I guess you sail with it awhile, then.”
“I guess.”
Luke, I talked to my brother. Words she should say were caught in her throat. I met my brother and he needs part of my liver and I’m so scared.
“Dez, talk to me.”
“How . . . ,” she began and then tried to stop, but the words had their way. “. . . how do you recognize a miracle?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I just want to know.”
“All we’ve seen, baby. The ocean and coastline, the desert blazing into sunset, the Cascade mountains ripping into the sky, the coyotes screeching at night, and the birds proclaiming the dawn. Open your eyes and you’re looking at a miracle.”
“I’m looking at a toilet right now, Luke. I’m talking theologically. How do you recognize a miracle?”
“Ah, I’m no expert. Maybe ask your mother?”
Destiny laughed. “I’ve got two of them, remember? And I don’t think I’ll get a straight answer from either one.”
She heard the fake clearing of his throat and the huff, huff of air through his fist as he tried not to laugh.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Dictionary definition: ‘an event attributed to a supernatural cause or as a manifestation of a work of God.’”
“What if it’s a negative thing? Something kept from happening because God somehow intervened.”
“I can’t read your mind, Dez.”
“Actually, you can,” she said with a smile. “But here’s the theoretical—let’s say an old lady is sitting in a rocking chair in her living room and she has this sudden urge to get up to get a glass of water. A split second later a car crashes through her house. It would have killed her if she hadn’t gotten up. Is that a miracle?”
“Not for whoever is driving the car. Did something happen to you?”
Destiny stared at herself in the mirror. For their differences in style and personality, she and Chloe looked like sisters. But when she looked at herself, it was Dillon she saw.
If she had been killed by carbon monoxide and Julia had found her soon enough, her liver would probably still have been usable. She was dying from carbon monoxide poisoning when out of the storm, a road sign slams through the window and brings the breath of life. A foot or two closer and that would have killed her as well. Head injury—perfect scenario for an organ donation.
The one thing that could have killed Destiny saved her from what was killing her. And she never knew. So why did she survive? Was that some curse on Dillon? Or some mind-bending trick of God to get her attention when even Luke couldn’t?
“Dez, did something happen?”
“Of course not,” she said. “We were stranded in that room for over a day. We had some whacked-out conversations. I just wondered what you thought.”
“I think you’re a miracle,” he said.
“Luke.”
“I want you to know that—”
“Destiny!” Chloe pounded on the door. “Destiny!”
“I have to go, Luke. The errant sibling demands my presence.”
“Let’s talk again, Dez. Soon. Promise?”
“Promise. I gotta run.”
And she had been running her whole life. Maybe the miracle was that she finally understood that.
Thursday, Midday
What a fool she had been. An absolute fool.
Chloe didn’t know which hurt worse—her head or her heart. If she hadn’t danced. If she hadn’t drunk the orange juice. If she hadn’t gone to the motel. If she hadn’t had all those drinks. If she hadn’t gone to Gloucester, if she hadn’t met Rob Jones, if she hadn’t gone looking for something that wasn’t her right to have.
If she hadn’t thought she needed more than Jack could give.
And now he called and called, despite her texts from the motel, and now from the Westin, to reassure him. Chloe couldn’t speak to him—he’d hear it in her voice. Instead, she had texted him an hour ago.
JD: Call me.
CMD: Can’t. I’m in a hurry to pack.
JD: Can’t we talk?
CMD: Nothing to say. I’m fine, will call when there’s something.
JD: Come home.
I can’t. Not until something washes away the filth on me.
CMD: No. I need to meet my father.
JD: Why? You had a father. One you loved. One you respected.
CMD: I need to go.
JD: Where to?
CMD: Mother has already told you, I’m sure.
JD: Where in the Springs?
CMD: Don’t know exactly. I have to go.
Andrew Hamlin’s ministry was based in Colorado Springs, but he might be at his home, address unknown, or at some conference. Julia said they’d have to get through his security staff before they got to him.
JD: Chloe, ple—
She closed the window before he could finish his plea.
Now Destiny knocked at her bedroom door. When Chloe opened it, her sister shoved her phone at her.
“Your husband is calling me. Why is he calling me?”
Chloe smothered the phone with her hand. “Answer it and tell him I’m fine.”
“You’re about three light-years from being fine. Talk to him. You’ll have to deal with him sometime.”
“Not now.” And not ever. Julia had found a way to keep Andrew Hamlin’s paternity secret for all these years. Maybe the WaveRunner episode would be just something dirty in the bottom of her spiritual hamper that would eventually get pressed down and long forgotten.
“Please, Dez. Not now.”
Destiny gave her a dirty look, then answered the phone. “Whassup, birth-bro?”
She listened, rolled her eyes, and said, “Yeah, we’re packing to get out of here. Not answering her phone? Maybe because she doesn’t want—”
Chloe pressed her hand to her sister’s mouth. “No.”
“She doesn’t want to delay us any further. She’s downstairs, buying . . . ah . . . what was it she said? Shampoo.”
Chloe watched with dark fascination as Destiny spun out a bizarre story.
“Yes, Jack. I suppose she brought some with her, but who knows where it went. Maybe the maid took it. Yes, the Westin provides shampoo in its suites . . .” She shook her fist at Chloe. “She said something about taking those to a food pantry Julia told her about, a couple blocks over.” More glaring. “Yes, this is in a beautiful part of the city. I don’t know, you moron. I’m sure she’d love to tell you.”
Destiny pushed the phone at Chloe. She waved her hands no no no. She wouldn’t stand up under another round of Jack’s questions. Time and distance were needed to pave this over.
Her sister gave her another eye roll—ridiculously exaggerated—and then put the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ll tell her you called and I’m sure she’ll call back if she has time before we leave, and if not, when we arrive.”
Destiny knocked on the bathroom door. “Oh, I have to run. Someone’s knocking. No, not Chloe. It’s Julia. Hold on.”
Destiny put the phone against her chest and said in a theatrical voice, “Is Chloe back yet?” She paused, then said, “Oh, Jack’s been calling,” and then said into the phone, “Julia says she’s already downstairs. We’ve got to run. Hey, Jack? I just wanted you to know”—Destiny stared at Chloe—“that we’ll take good care of her. Bye now.”
She clicked off the call and handed the phone to Chloe.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t make me do your dirty work again.”
“Destiny . . .” Chloe grabbed her arm.
Her sister shook her off. “Grow up,” she said and stormed out of the room.
Twelve
Colorado Springs
Thursday, 3:35 p.m.
Julia couldn’t stand it any longer. Despite the warnings to leave the cast in place, she unwrapped the packing and washed her broken hand. She hated the dried blood and faded iodine on the surgical sites. She hated the tight, black
stitches and the puffy knuckles.
She hated that she had brought this on herself.
And maybe just for this moment, she wanted to take another swing at God because they were five days into this journey, five days closer to losing Dillon, and still Chloe and Destiny had not agreed to be tested.
Everyone she knew, including Matt, had read Andy’s megaselling book When God Is Not Easy. Their church had done the full-year program with videos and workbooks. Julia had used her frequent travel as an excuse not to participate. Andy’s ministry had brought comfort to so many. If she had told him about the pregnancy twenty-two years ago and let him take Hope, Julia would have blown up the marriage—freeing Andy for herself?
The water softened the scabs and Julia picked at them, drawing blood on her ring finger. Which was worse—an open wound or crust on your soul?
Someone knocked on the door. That must be one of the girls, ready for dinner. Julia wrapped her right hand in a towel and then opened the door.
Matt.
Julia was in his arms without a single heartbeat passing. He held her, gently walked her into the room, and closed the door behind them. She sobbed and laughed and still wouldn’t part her body from his because—for all her stupidity, for all her sins—God had still given her this man. He knew the worst now and he came to her and claimed her love, and poured his into her in a simple embrace.
Let the sun stand still, she prayed, because she couldn’t bear to leave the heat of his body and the strength of his arms.
Thursday, 4:45 p.m.
Hamlin Ministries was headquartered in a two-story building two miles from the Air Force Academy. Julia and Matt waited in the reception area, pretending to drink water that a bright-eyed volunteer had poured for them.
“Are you sure Dillon is all right?” she said.
“Julia, you’ve asked me that five times. At least. Dr. Annie checked him yesterday, Jeanne is with him today. He’s tired, cranky, and he’s . . .”
“. . . he’s sliding away.” Julia clutched his hand. Not long was a steady drumbeat. Matt heard it too. She could tell by the new worry line to the side of his left eye. “Maybe if I make this thing right with Andy, maybe God . . .”
“Shush. You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“I have to believe it does, Matt. Because I have to believe there’s some way to make God relent and heal him.”
“The girls.”
“I’ve ruined Chloe’s life.”
“Ah, I see Destiny has given you a lesson in melodrama.”
Julia shook her head. “If I hadn’t dropped in out of the blue—complete with fun sister and a private jet—Chloe would be in class or at a med school interview and none the wiser. Instead, I gave her the opportunity to leave her husband and the means to seek out this other guy.”
Matt brought her hand to his lips. “She would have found a way. Maybe not with this guy but with someone, somewhere. Imagine if this was ten years down the road and she had children or a busy medical practice, and she felt the pressure on every side with no way out? This thing could be a tremendous opportunity for redemption.”
“I don’t see how. Jack Deschene is . . . hard is not the right word. Upright.”
Matt smiled. “Uptight, I expect you mean. Like the poor bean counter whose heart you stole.”
“No, sir. He’s not like you. He’s like the young ruler in the gospel and Chloe is like his wealth. I don’t think he can bear a blow to his worldview.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Whittaker?” An older man with wispy straw hair and watery hazel eyes stared down at them.
Matt stood, offered his hand. “I’m Matt Whittaker. And this is my wife, Julia.”
“I’m Pastor Hamlin’s public liaison, Rick Stanley.” He shook Matt’s hand, reached for Julia’s. She held up the cast, gave him a weak smile. “I understand you requested some time with the pastor.”
Julia couldn’t catch her breath to respond.
“It’s a personal matter,” Matt said. “Between my wife and Mr. Hamlin.”
“I see.” Stanley didn’t even blink.
“If we could speak in private,” Matt said.
“Please,” Julia whispered. “It’s really a situation of life and death.”
“If you need someone to pray with you, we’re always happy to do that.”
“No.” Julia grabbed his arm. “I need to see Andy.”
“He’s not available right now. He travels—”
“Tell me where, then. I’ll go to him.”
“He’s not available to the public at this moment. Much of what the pastor and his wife do requires quiet time, apart from the ministry. I’m sure you understand that, and why I can’t give you that information. Can you help me understand what you need?” Stanley said. “I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Julia, give me your license,” Matt said.
She raised her eyebrows at her husband, did what he asked. He handed it to Rick Stanley. “Take this and show it to Mr. Hamlin or scan it and e-mail it or text it, or whatever it takes for him to lay eyes on my wife’s photo in the next five minutes. As soon as he sees her, trust me—he is going to want to meet with us.”
Stanley stared at them for a long moment. Julia’s pulse raced and her knees wobbled. Finally, the man took her license and said, “Yours too, Mr. Whittaker.”
“Why?” Julia asked. “Why his?”
Matt handed his over. “It’s okay, Julia.”
“No, it’s not. This is between me and Andy.”
Rick Stanley touched her forearm. “Mrs. Whittaker, please understand. Someone in Pastor Hamlin’s position is subject to all sorts of scams and scurrilous claims. Sometimes people come here and they’re horribly unbalanced. We had a man here a couple weeks ago who came with a gun. He’d never met either of the Hamlins, just got it into his head that they were tools of Satan. Before I arrange to let the pastor know that you’re requesting to meet with him, I need to confirm you are who you say. If you’ll agree.”
“It’s okay. Give us whatever we need to sign,” Matt told Stanley. “I’ll give you some people to call who can vouch for who we are. But please, quickly. This is urgent.”
They gave Stanley their cell phone numbers, hotel information, and a list of references to call.
God told Abraham that he would make his descendants as numerous as sand. Julia felt time—and Dillon—slipping away like that same sand. As she and Matt returned to the rental car, she stared at the line of mountains that bordered Colorado Springs to the west. I lift up my eyes to the hills, then slammed her left hand on the hood of the car.
“Too long,” she said. “It’s all taking too long.”
Matt took her hand and pressed her palm to his mouth. “Be patient,” he said. “We’ll keep praying. And no more punching.”
“No.” Julia tore her hand away. “What if we’ve already gotten the answer? What if God is saying no? What if this journey with Destiny and Chloe, this hunting down the men I slept with, what if it’s all chasing after the wind?”
“You can’t call reconnecting with two biological children ‘wind.’ You’ve now laid eyes on the two girls who emerged from your own body . . . given them a glimpse into their own history. That’s a priceless gift, Julia. You think you’re doing this all to ask them for something, but you’ve also given them something very precious in the process. You’ve given them you.”
“Yeah, and I bet they’re wondering where to go to return damaged goods.”
“You’re not damaged goods, Julia. You’re a beautiful broken vessel.”
She forced a laugh. “More like a crackpot chasing old ghosts.”
“No, I mean a broken vessel—the only kind God can use. The Lord is using you, Julia . . . in their lives . . . in Dillon’s life . . . in my life. I can’t imagine my world without you.” He held her close, moving his fingertips up and down her spine to relax her frazzled nerves. “No matter how all of this turns out, we’ve still got each other.”
“Bu
t will we still have Dillon? I can’t bear that answer if it’s no.”
“We have him today. As long as he’s still breathing, there’s room for God to move. And He’s done bigger miracles than this. This is small potatoes for Him.”
Julia clung to him, feeling the rise of his chest, praying that her heart would still to his. “But such an immovable mountain for us.”
“Hold on, Julia. Just hold on.”
Thursday, 5:01 p.m.
Mother had booked them in the Broadmoor, a lavish hotel at the foot of the Rockies. Her act of kindness provided another suite for her and Destiny. Was it anger or fear that led her to reserve a separate room for Julia?
Susan Middlebrooks was a caring, giving woman, yet this trip had to be eating at her. And now she was calling to check up on her. Chloe tried to keep her end of the conversation short so she wouldn’t give anything away.
“Jack is concerned,” Mother said. “Please call him. He feels shut out.”
“He wants to know what is going on every minute. It’s tiresome.”
“If he were there with you, he wouldn’t be such a pest.”
Chloe laughed. “Really?”
“He wants to make sure Mrs. Whittaker isn’t pressuring you. She’s not, is she?”
Images crept through her mind. Julia in the cold motel room, asking over and over—What happened? What did you do? Why did you do it? What can I do to help?
The only pressure Julia exerted was the same Chloe put on herself, and it had nothing to do with a liver for her son.
What—why—help. Please, God, help me.
“No. She’s doing what she promised. Destiny met her birth father and liked him. Now it’s my turn.”
“Can you tell me about him?”
“Not yet, Mother. I promised not to reveal his identity unless he agrees to meet with me. Julia and her husband are there now.”
“I envision some drug addict or someone reckless. Please tell me he’s not been in prison.”
Chloe laughed. “No. Quite the opposite. If this all comes about, I’ll make sure you know everything. Until then . . .”
“Can’t you tell me anything?”
To Know You (9781401688684) Page 23