“I hope to find an apartment this afternoon. If that goes well, shall we say a week from Monday?” It was all going so fast it took Debbie’s breath away. She had the sensation of being on a train speeding through a dark tunnel.
Carol glanced at her calendar. “That’s Labor Day. Let’s make it Tuesday.”
They shook hands, smiled at each other, and Debbie went out feeling as if she’d just been assigned a seat in the next tumbrel to the guillotine. Ungrateful wretch, she scolded herself all the way to the bookstore. You couldn’t ask for a better place to work. And you know it.
They were to meet Courtenay for lunch at the nearby Pasta Faire, in one of the buildings Greg had mentioned as having won a preservation award. Wide, arched windows set in brick walls and billowy white, Austrian shaded light fixtures caught Debbie’s eye, but then all her attention was taken by Greg’s energetic sister. She was tall, her honey blond hair smartly cut, her businesslike camel blazer relieved of any hint of severity by the silky softness of her ivory blouse. She hugged them both warmly.
Debbie wondered what Greg had told his sister about her. Or did Courtenay greet all her clients like this? Courtenay gave their name to the maître d’, then turned back. “Oh, I’ve longed for the beach this summer. But it was really important to Fred that we stay here just now, so—”
“You did the right thing.” Greg smiled.
“Right thing for you, apparently.” She looked at Debbie with a raised eyebrow. “And now with all the questions hanging over that Ryburg deal it looks as though the cottages might be there for us another year.”
“Oh, your agency must have handled the sale of that property.” Debbie had been so absorbed in the other things she had completely forgotten about Ryland Carlsburg and his business complications. “What’s happening now?”
“Hard to say. The Ryburg people contend everything was aboveboard and proper and there’s no reason not to proceed. All the talk of money under the table has raised some serious doubts, though.” She looked at Greg. “Must be hard for you—with Gayle having been involved.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
Courtenay looked skeptical. “Still, now that Melissa’s old enough to understand, you wouldn’t want any scandal to touch her.”
“Nothing will touch Melissa.” The harsh determination in his voice shocked Debbie.
Courtenay returned to her subject. “Anyway, last I heard Ryland Carlsburg had received all of his permits, so he’s apparently plowing ahead.”
“I suppose that’s good for you,” Debbie said.
“My commission, you mean? Well, yes. It should be the largest of my career. But money isn’t everything. If my client had it to do over again, I’m not sure he’d agree to the sale. He’s had those rentals for years and uses them for himself and his family members frequently. But then, Ryburg made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—well over a million.”
Debbie blinked. “For just the land?”
“That isn’t just land. That’s prime oceanfront property located in the fastest developing resort in the Pacific Northwest. I’d say Ryburg got a bargain.”
A red-jacketed waiter motioned that their table was ready. After they were seated at a white linen-covered table next to a pedestal topped with a large arrangement of fern and tiger lilies, Debbie surveyed her menu while brother and sister caught up on family news. “And how is Melissa?” Courtenay asked.
“A new child. You’ll have to see her to believe it.”
“That’s an answer to prayer.”
“I hope so.” The tentative tone in his voice puzzled Debbie. But then the waiter approached for their orders. Debbie chose spinach salad with smoked salmon and angel hair pasta.
While they ate Courtenay produced a notebook and ran down the list of possibilities in rental apartments. “In the price range Greg said you might want, the five at the top look the best. They all have easy access to downtown. I’ve arranged for us to see them if they sound good to you, so we’ll have a busy afternoon.”
“Thank you so much. I’d be absolutely lost without your help.” Actually, Debbie was coming to terms with her reluctance. She wasn’t feeling so much lost as carried along by events beyond her control. It was a surprisingly comfortable feeling. She had always felt she had to be in control. Control of her environment, of the people around her, of her life. The sense of being able to loosen her grip on the reins was so relaxing.
Greg glanced at his watch and asked for the check. “I’ve got to run. Hugh Parkinson does not like to be kept waiting. Debbie,” he turned to her. “I’ve got someplace really special I want to show you this evening. Something important. Courtenay will take you, and I’ll meet you there.”
“OK.” She didn’t even ask him what or where.
The first apartment was large with a cathedral ceiling in the living room and the bedroom in a loft. The building offered a swimming pool and recreation room. Debbie shook her head. “This would definitely stretch the budget past the breaking point.”
The next offering had a lot of genteel, shabby charm and definite possibilities for being fixed up. Unfortunately, the neighborhood was not one in which Debbie felt comfortable.
The third was attractively priced, but Debbie was chilled by the ice blue interior and northern exposure. “Brr, it’s bad enough on a sunny afternoon. Can you imagine it on a rainy winter day?” Debbie’s sense of relaxation was turning to plain old fatigue. And even the indefatigable Courtenay walked a bit slower.
They drove out Barber Boulevard toward the university. “This is a beautiful area.” Debbie looked at the banks of ivy tangling up the hillside beneath dark green Douglas firs.
“Wait till we get up here a bit further. On a clear day like this we should have a spectacular view of Mount Hood.”
Courtenay had no more than finished speaking when she turned down a drive and Mount Hood rose in the distance, proud and solitary, the sun shining on the pristine whiteness of her peak. The hillside Debbie stood on when she got out of the car was a tangled mass of bank upon bank of verdant greenery, fresh from its recent watering by a gentle Portland rain. “You can’t imagine how good all this green looks to a girl raised in the desert,” she said.
“It is beautiful. But it won’t take you long to figure out why they call the Oregon football team the Ducks.” Courtenay laughed and led the way into a small apartment that looked out on the view they were just admiring.
Debbie looked around at the soft lemon walls and serviceable brown furniture. Hmm, unbleached muslin curtains, hunter green and cranberry accents—that was what it needed. “Surely nothing with a view like this could be in my price range.”
“It’s a sublease. A definite bargain, but only available for nine months. That’s why I didn’t bring you here sooner. I didn’t think you’d want anything so temporary.”
Debbie shrugged. “It’s the right place. I’ll worry about the next step when I get there.” Her own words shocked her. Since when had Deborah Jensen been willing to take things one step at a time? What had happened to her desperate need to control everything?
Courtenay looked at her watch. “Good thing we don’t need to look at that last one. I’ve just got time to deliver you to Gregory.” She led the way to the car.
“What is this place Greg was so mysterious about?”
“The Grotto? It’s a really special garden. I don’t know why the mystery, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
They turned off Sandy Boulevard by a large white sign that said Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother. As soon as they pulled into the parking lot Debbie saw Greg get out of his car and walk toward them. They told Courtenay goodbye and turned toward the sanctuary. Just inside the tall white fence they found a bench under a wide-spreading tree. “Let me explain.” Greg sat at the far end of the bench, not touching her. “But first, tell me how you’re feeling about things.”
Debbie considered. “Better. Amazingly better. But—” She paused. “I guess I’d say no
t finished. I’ve done everything I can think of: prayed, mailed the letter to Shawn, called Dad and the twins …” She shrugged. “But it just feels like there should be something more.”
He nodded. “That’s what I thought. That’s why I wanted you to come here. You never really grieved for your mother or for your child.”
Debbie shook her head. “I’ve cried more these past six days than in the whole six years before. And it has helped. It’s an amazing release. Relaxing.”
“That’s right. That’s what grieving is all about. God made us that way. Short-circuiting that part of our nature will be as disastrous as ignoring any of God’s other principles. But I think you’ve left out one part of the process.”
“What’s that?” Just the suggestion that there was something more she could do was wonderful news. Now that she had begun to recover, Debbie didn’t want to stop anywhere short of complete wellness.
“You need to say good-bye.”
“I don’t understand.”
“One of the reasons you feel so abandoned by your mother is that you didn’t see her in the hospital.”
“I abandoned her.” Debbie choked. The tears were coming again.
“The whole experience gets jumbled up inside. It comes to the same thing. If you could have been with her when she died, you would have felt much better. Families who lose loved ones in wars or airplane crashes where the bodies aren’t recovered have a much harder time grieving than those who can go to a mortuary with an open casket.”
Debbie shook her head. “I didn’t look in the casket. I went to the funeral, but I shut my eyes and my mind.”
Greg nodded. “And, of course, there was no funeral for your baby.”
“They told me it was just a cell mass. Like having my tonsils out. You don’t have a funeral for your tonsils. I didn’t really believe them, but I tried to.”
“Come on.” Greg stood and held out his hand. “This is an international shrine to motherhood. I can’t think of a better place to say your good-byes.”
They walked slowly, hand-in-hand, down a wooded path. Debbie felt the peaceful solitude of the natural beauty permeate her soul. Even the birdsongs seemed hushed. She was thankful for a companion who understood the beauty of silence. Beneath the tall, straight pines and filigree birch trees, banks of fern, ivy, and flowering shrubs grew in profusion. Tucked in among the plants and mossy rocks, looking as natural as if they had grown there, were pieces of religious art to help the viewer focus on the Creator of all the surrounding beauty.
As they approached the Grotto, soft organ strains floated on the air. At the base of a sheer rock cliff a cave with a gothic-arched opening formed a natural altar. Inside the cave stood a white marble replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà. Debbie let go of Greg’s hand and walked forward toward the altar. She felt drawn to kneel. Love engulfed her.
Flickering candles amid the ferns and the soft evening light made Mary’s face glow with a mother’s love and sorrow as she held her Son on her lap. Debbie could think only of her own mother holding her, looking at her with a similar love. And her arms ached to so hold the child she never knew.
Even as her pain to be embraced by her mother and to give a mother’s embrace grew she found a satisfaction in experiencing the pain. It was a good ache. Normal. Healthy. And she could sense a healing in the process of closing her eyes and imagining herself on her mother’s lap, feeling her mother’s arms holding her. She once again experienced her dream of her mother coming to her. She could experience being a child again in her mother’s arms, warmed after being out in the rain.
And even as she felt her mother’s arms around her, she felt the tiny sweet baby in her own arms. As her tears fell on her empty lap her aching arms felt comforted, almost—almost holy as she offered her baby to God’s care.
She was hardly aware of Greg leading her to a small garden beyond the Grotto. High hedges enclosed it like a tiny chapel. The air smelled of roses. A statue stood in the center. Mary holding the Christ child. Banks of flowers behind her.
And then the scene shifted in Debbie’s mind. Her mother stood there. She smiled and held out her arms. Debbie walked to her, aware of the tender, warm weight in her own arms. Debbie placed the precious life she carried in her mother’s arms.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there. She couldn’t remember whether she had stood or knelt. The experience of being there with her mother and her baby were a foretaste of heaven. She had the comfort of knowing her two dear ones were together now. And she would be with them one day.
When she returned to Greg it was sunset. He led the way to an elevator that took them to the top of a cliff. In the soft dusk they strolled through the monastery rose garden, the scent of beauty heavy on the evening air. Peace roses grew in exotic profusion. Debbie cupped a blossom so large it filled both her hands. A golden glow came from the depths of the flower, as if it contained its own light, then shaded to a delicate ivory, turning to a blush of pink edging. The petals felt baby-skin velvet to her fingers. Peace. I give you my peace.
She hadn’t thought such serenity could be possible for her.
She offered her hand to Greg. They walked to the edge of the garden. The view was magnificent, a panoramic scope across the wide Columbia River. The sky reflected the same glowing gold, delicate ivory, and blush pink as the rose petals. The evening breeze swept across her with a sense of freshness and newness. The world was a perfect reflection of what she felt inside. Clean. Refreshed. Renewed. Old things passed away. All things become new.
Chapter 17
Debbie slept late that morning with the peace of a newborn baby and awoke with the feeling that this was the first day of the rest of her life. She sang as she stirred orange juice and toasted a muffin, thinking about the two next door who were so very dear to her. What were they doing? Were they still asleep? She couldn’t wait to finish breakfast and run see them. She wanted to hold Melissa. Take her on her lap and enfold her in her arms, just as in all the tangled mother-child images she had worked through yesterday. Only today it would be a real, live child filling the void in her arms.
And Greg. He could take her in his arms. Not as a replacement of her mother or anything she had lost in the past but as a promise for the future. And then she thought. Greg had been so very quiet last night. He had said hardly a word on the whole drive from Portland. Of course it had been late. An incredibly long day. And she had thought he had just been respecting her feelings, giving her time to continue working through the miracle of newness in her life.
But now she wondered.
No, don’t be silly. Greg was always undemanding, never pushing. Today they could spend hours talking about it all. And about the future if he chose to. She wouldn’t push, either. But now she was free to think ahead. For once in her life she left the dirty dishes in the sink and ran out, letting the screen door slam behind her.
At first she didn’t see the note stuck in the doorframe. Then she almost didn’t look at it. How could it be for her? Why would Greg be leaving her a note? She looked at her name on the envelope a second time to be sure, a cold feeling creeping over her. The cottage was too quiet. She looked around. His car wasn’t in the parking lot. She ripped the envelope open.
Debbie gripped the rail and sank to the top step, clutching the two sheets of paper. What did the words mean? Gone to Portland. Emergency. Hope you understand. Will see you when you move to your apartment. I can get the address from Courtenay.
She blinked and looked again. Emergency. Melissa? Was Melissa suddenly taken ill? Complications with the appendectomy? But no, Melissa had drawn her a happy picture of herself standing under a rainbow, waving, with a row of pink flowers across the front and a bright yellow sunshine in the corner. Melissa was fine.
Hope you understand. Understand what? How could she possibly understand when he had told her nothing?
See you when you move? Not till then? He won’t call?
Address from Courtenay. Don’t try to contact me.
I’ll contact you. If I decide to. She let the papers fall to the ground. Maybe she did understand. She had been a case study. A medical challenge, so to speak. And he had won. Case closed.
She should have realized … She did realize all along, didn’t she? It was easy enough for him to accept her as a therapy patient. But accepting her as a wife and mother—after he knew the full story—was quite a different matter.
He had been absolutely right in all his counseling. And she was grateful. She would always be grateful. And she had always known, hadn’t she? She had always known, but tried to convince herself otherwise, that she wasn’t good enough for Gregory Masefield. Now he realized it too. She could see that at first he might think her the perfect woman: she had all the homemaking skills that Gayle had so despised; she adored Melissa and Melissa adored her; and she and Greg had become so close—so very close—as he metaphorically held her hand while she worked through all her trauma.
But now the counseling was over. Now he could look at her as a woman, not a patient, and he saw how far his perfect woman was from being all he had thought. Could she expect any man of character to accept an aborted woman as a mother for his own child? If he took her in his arms, would Shawn be between them?
He had done all he could to help her. Now she had to face the question of going forward. Alone. And the fear almost overwhelmed her. The fear that losing Greg—and Melissa—was going to be as major a trauma in her life as her past mistakes had been. How could she go on?
“Yo, Deb!” Byrl stuck her head out the kitchen door and waved. “Telephone.”
She jumped up so fast she almost fell down the steps. He did call! Of course he would. How could she have doubted him? Greg wouldn’t just go off like that. That was why he didn’t explain, because he was planning to call. He probably thought he would talk to her before she even saw that silly note. She was so relieved she laughed out loud.
“Hello!”
All Things New (Virtuous Heart) Page 18