by Irene Hannon
“Only ones you and I would notice.”
“You sounded great, Steven.” Karen touched his arm as she added her reassurance. “It’s nice to have a piano solo in the program.”
Scott glanced at his watch, then back at her. “I promised Steven a ride home. Try to get some rest before the show.”
“Not likely. I have a full day scheduled, including my last Saturday afternoon coffee with Val—and I’m not going to skip that.” As her sister started to run through her comments, Karen motioned toward the stage. “Speaking of Val . . .”
“I know. Duty calls.” Scott entwined her fingers with his and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “See you tomorrow.”
She watched the two of them move toward the door, then rejoined Melanie in front as Val began breezing through her remarks.
“What did you think?” Melanie motioned to the sheet of paper in Karen’s hand.
“Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.” She dropped into the empty chair beside the Hope House director and skimmed through the typewritten document. “Wow! You’re right. This is powerful stuff. It would be a great wrap-up for the evening. Where did you get it?”
“From the director of a similar program in Kansas City. It was sent to them by a former client who ended up choosing another option. She wanted the staff to know she was sorry she’d given in to the pressure to end her pregnancy, and she sent along a donation to support their work.”
“I’ll ask Val to read through it as soon as she finishes.”
Setting the sheet in her lap, she listened as her sister ran through the emcee remarks. As she’d expected, Val’s poise and confidence would put a polish on the evening.
And with her professional training, she’d be able to do justice to the compelling testimonial Melanie had brought with her.
Val closed her folder, shaded her eyes, and looked out at Karen. “How was that?”
“Perfect. The consummate pro.” Karen rose and walked toward the stage. “The director of Hope House thought it might be effective if you read this at the end of the evening, as part of your closing remarks. Sorry to dump it on you cold, but she just gave it to me. Could you give it a try? We’ll write a short intro for it before tomorrow night.”
“Sure.” Val took the sheet Karen handed her and moved back behind the microphone. This whole emcee gig was going a lot more smoothly than she’d anticipated. “We’ve got one more brief piece, David.”
“No problem.” His voice echoed from the back. “I won’t turn anything off until you’re finished.”
Val set the paper on the podium, glanced at the heading—and stopped breathing.
“A Letter to My Unborn Child.”
Seconds ticked by as she stared at the words. What was this all about? She was only supposed to say hi, good-bye, and do a few intros. No one had said a thing about reading a personal document like this.
“Val? Whenever you’re ready.”
At Karen’s prompt, she sucked in a breath. Fought for control.
Pretend it’s a script. Pretend this is a play, with no basis in reality and no connection to your life. Stay objective. Be professional. You’re an actress. This is just another role.
Summoning up every vestige of her training, she began to read.
“My dearest child: I wish I could tell you all the things that are in my heart today. To cuddle you gently in my arms, to whisper in your ear, to stroke your soft, silky hair and feel the steady beat of your heart as I hold you close to my breast.
“But that is never to be. You are gone now, and all that remains is regret and guilt and pain. Not a day goes by that you are far from my thoughts. Each morning, I awaken to the vain hope that the empty place in my heart will be filled once more. And each evening, I go to bed with a prayer on my lips for mercy and forgiveness.”
Her voice caught on the last word, and she cleared her throat. “Today is especially hard. It’s the fourth anniversary of your due date, and I’m wondering what we would have done to celebrate your birthday, had I not robbed you of the gift of life our Creator gave you. I’d have baked a cake, of course, with five candles. Four for your age, and one to grow on. There would have been presents to open too, wrapped in colorful paper and decorated with shiny bows.
“After that, the two of us would have gone on a picnic. Chased a butterfly or two. Picked some flowers. Lain on our backs in the grass and looked for cloud pictures. Simple things. But precious things. Things I would have remembered all my life as I watched you grow into a fine young man or woman and as you began to make your own unique contributions to the world.”
As she finished, Val gripped the edges of the podium. She’d made it through—but she felt as if someone had delved into her heart and written down the emotions and thoughts she’d carried there for nearly eighteen years.
“Val? There’s more on the back.”
More?
Please, God, no!
Fingers shaking, Val turned the page over. The words blurred, and she had to blink several times before they came into focus.
She couldn’t do this.
“Val?”
Another prompt from her sister.
She gritted her teeth.
Just do it! Keep going! You’ll be better prepared tomorrow. You’re only having trouble now because this is unexpected.
In a halting cadence, she started to read again.
“But there were never any birthday parties. Or candles. Especially ones to grow on. I took away the future God had planned for you. I stole your life almost before it began. But not quite. Even though I couldn’t see you or hold you or stroke your cheek, you were with me, nestled near my heart, growing and developing and waiting for the birth day that never came.
“Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry. If I had it to do over again, I’d . . .”
Her voice broke, and the words blurred again as silent tears spilled out of her eyes.
She made one more valiant effort to regain control—but it was no use. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in two, and she was out of pep talks.
Jerking back from the mike, she stumbled toward the steps that led down from the stage. She tripped on the first one but somehow regained her balance and clambered down, blinded by the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks.
She had to get out of here.
Fast.
She was halfway across the auditorium when Karen grabbed her arm.
“Val, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She lurched to a stop. “I . . . I can’t do this.”
Pulling her arm free, she turned to flee . . . only to find David blocking her escape route.
“What’s going on?” He sent Karen an alarmed look, then turned his attention back to her and gripped her shoulders. “Val, what is it?”
“I . . . I don’t feel well.” She shrugged free of his touch. “I need to go home.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No!” She shook her head and eyed the door. “I’ll be fine.”
And with that lie vibrating in the air, she pulled away from David and ran from the building.
David dimmed his car lights and pulled to a stop in the park by the river. Not the one where he and Victoria had shared their lunch with Val the day she’d emerged, shaken, from the woods. Instead, she’d led him to the main park in town. The one with benches close to the river’s edge.
Too close, considering that was where she was headed.
After Val’s frantic flight from the rehearsal, he hadn’t needed Karen’s panicked plea to convince him to follow her. You didn’t desert someone you cared about in their darkest hour.
Killing the engine, he turned off the dome light and opened his door as she approached the water, prepared to bolt from the car at the slightest indication she was going to do anything but sit on a bench. And she might, given the anguish and utter desolation and desperation he’d glimpsed in her eyes.
To his relief, she dropped onto a bench, shoulders hunched, head
bowed. But he kept his door open, just in case. Besides, he intended to join her soon.
First, though, he needed a few minutes to sort through his own emotions.
Gripping the wheel, he faced the truth.
Val had had an abortion.
The woman who was stealing his heart had found herself in trouble and taken the easy way out. Chosen convenience over conscience.
The stark, ugly reality twisted his gut.
There was no way he could condone her choice, no matter how much he’d come to care for her. It went against everything he believed about the sanctity of life.
Yet as another image of eyes filled with abject misery and pain and soul-stirring regret flashed through his mind, he reconsidered.
Maybe her way hadn’t been so easy after all.
Maybe it had extracted its pound of flesh in unremitting torment and guilt and grief.
Suddenly Val stood, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him. When she took a step toward the river, he vaulted from the car, sprinting toward her until he was grasping distance away.
“Val?” He tried for a calm tone, but her name came out hoarse and uneven.
She jerked toward him, her whole body trembling. Her eyes were less wild and frenetic now, the earlier agitation replaced by bleak emptiness and dull resignation, but her mascara-streaked cheeks were pale as death.
David held out his hand. “Sit with me a while.”
She looked at his outstretched hand but didn’t move.
“Come on, Val.”
“You don’t want to . . . to sit with me.” Her response came out in a broken whisper.
“Yes, I do.”
She shook her head, and the wretched sadness on her face pierced him. “Trust me. You don’t. It would be better if you left and forgot all about me.”
He kept his hand extended. “Forgetting about you isn’t an option. And I can’t walk away when someone I care about is hurting. Take my hand. Please.”
She regarded his outstretched hand. Hesitated.
Please, Lord, let her trust me on this. Give her the courage to share what’s in her heart, and give me the courage to listen without reproach—and to put judgment in your hands.
Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to him.
Twining his fingers with hers, he led her to the bench. As they sat, he switched hands and draped his arm around her hunched shoulders.
Several minutes passed, the silence broken only by the distant, plaintive whistle of a train.
When at last she spoke, she kept her gaze on the restless river below. “I guess you’re wondering what that was all about tonight.”
He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You had an abortion.” He did his best to banish censure from his tone. “A long time ago, I suspect.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear slipped out and rolled down her cheek.
David wiped the trail of moisture away with a gentle finger.
“If you figured it out, why did you follow me?”
“I care about you.”
“In spite of what I did?”
It was a simple question—but the answer was complicated.
“If you’re asking me whether I approve of abortion, the answer is no. My position on that was formed long ago, after my five-year-old sister died of leukemia. I was eight, and I can still remember how devastated we all were. My parents wanted more children, but none ever came. They looked into adopting, but the cost was out of reach for our blue-collar family. Yet more than a million babies are aborted each year in this country.”
He swallowed past the bad taste that statistic always left in his mouth. “Anyway, as I got older, I became active in the pro-life movement. I still do whatever I can to protect the unborn. That’s why I agreed to help with the Hope House benefit.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.
“Val, look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Please.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, and slowly she turned her head.
“I care about you. A lot.” He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “Because of that, I want to be honest. The truth is, I’ll never change my opinion about abortion. But people are human. They make mistakes. They yield to pressure. It’s not my place to judge anyone’s actions. What you did is between you and God. All I know is you paid a high price for the decision you made. I can see it in your regret and your pain and your sorrow.”
A flicker of hope ignited in her eyes. “Does that mean . . . you don’t hate me?”
“Not even close.”
She searched his face. “I never e-expected this. Do you want . . .” Her breath hitched, and she tried again. “Do you want to hear what happened?”
“Very much—if you want to share it.”
With a nod, she once more looked toward the dark river.
He listened in silence as she relayed her story in a halting voice. It played out as he expected.
Near the end, she dropped her voice. He had to lean close to hear her final words.
“I still have the ultrasound printout, showing a perfect baby. My son or daughter, who would have been seventeen this year. The same age I was when I . . . took that tiny life.”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as the pieces began to fall into place. “That’s why you came back this summer, isn’t it? To try and make peace with what happened.”
“That was part of the reason.”
She told him all the steps she’d taken—the visits to the river, the health center, the back-alley clinic.
No wonder her eyes had often seemed haunted. She’d been living a nightmare. Facing the demons of her past.
Alone.
“That took a lot of guts, Val.”
“No.” Her response was immediate, her tone firm. “Everything I did was motivated more by desperation than courage. But nothing worked. I even tried going back to church. That was a bust too.” She choked back a sob. “At least someone healed this summer. Mom’s doing great.”
“Maybe you need to give yourself more time.”
“I’ve had eighteen years.” Her shoulders crumpled. “This trip was my last hope. I guess I’ll just have to live alone with the guilt, like I always have.”
All at once, the truth hit David like a punch in the midsection.
Val didn’t think she deserved a husband. Or children. She was atoning for her mistake by consigning herself to a solitary life, depriving herself of the very things her heart most desired. That explained the sadness behind the yearning in her eyes when she looked at him and Victoria. She wouldn’t commit to staying in Washington, to checking out the teaching job, because she was serving a self-inflicted life sentence. Her decision had nothing to do with her career being more important to her than creating a family.
David stroked her cheek, wishing he could ease her pain. “Whatever happened to forgiveness?”
At his quiet question, she looked at him and furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you’ve suffered enough for your choice. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself—and let God forgive you as well.”
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness isn’t about merit. It’s about repentance and God’s unconditional love.”
Her expression grew skeptical. “I don’t know if I believe in unconditional love.”
He locked gazes with her, letting her see what was in his heart. “Believe in it. It might be rare, but it’s real. May I make a suggestion?”
She gulped in some air. Swiped at a stray tear. Nodded.
“Why don’t you talk to Reverend Richards?”
“I doubt that will help at this point.” Her voice broke on the last word.
He angled his body toward her and took both her hands in his. “I wish you’d give it a try. Because, to be honest, I want you to find redemption, to be able to move on wit
h your life, as much as you do. For selfish reasons.” He gave her a moment to process that. “Besides, running back to Chicago isn’t going to solve anything. And that teaching job at the high school is still open.”
Watching her face, he held his breath and prayed she’d have the courage to take this one last step.
Finally, she gave a slow nod. “All right. I’ll talk to Reverend Richards.”
Thank you, God!
“I don’t think you’ll be sorry.” He checked his watch, wishing for this one evening he didn’t have any other obligations. But his daughter needed him too. “I have to pick up Victoria. Will you be okay driving?”
“Yes.”
Would she?
Maybe. Her voice was stronger now, and she seemed steadier. She could probably handle the trip home.
But she didn’t have to make it alone.
“I’ll follow you.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”
“Humor me, okay? I’ll sleep better if I know you’re safe and sound. Besides, I promised your sister I’d make sure you were all right, and I can’t do that if I don’t see you pull into your driveway.”
He rose and extended his hand. She took it.
They walked in silence to her car, and once there he followed his heart. Drawing her into his arms, he wrapped her in a gentle, comforting embrace.
For a full minute they stayed that way, her cheek nestled on his shoulder, his chin resting on her soft hair. She felt good in his arms. As if she was meant to be there. For always.
And when she at last stepped back and he returned to his car, he resolved that always was a goal worth pursuing.
Whatever it took.
23
“Good morning, Val. Would you like some coffee?” Reverend Richards lifted his own mug in invitation as he entered his office.
Val dredged up an answering smile. “No, thanks. I’ve already exceeded my caffeine allotment for the day.”
He took the seat beside her. “I should cut back myself, but I got into the caffeine habit in my previous corporate life and haven’t been able to shake it.”