Letting Go (Healing Hearts)

by Michelle Sutton

  “What in the world?”

  She had expected little to no mail other than bills, certainly not the vast amount of envelopes and packages stuffed into her oversized mailbox. She brought everything into her kitchen and set it all down on the counter.

  Once she got comfortable, she sorted the junk mail from her personal mail. A smile tugged at her mouth. This year’s holiday had its downside, but as she reached for the first card she chose to be like Katia and Rachel and revel in the positives.

  The return address was somewhere in town, but she didn’t recognize the person’s last name. Ripping the envelope open, she pulled out the card. Inside she found a gift card for Pizza Hut. She recognized the first name of the signature. Amy. What a sweetheart.

  She chuckled to herself. “Thank God they deliver.”

  She reached for the next card. Another member of the Bible study who had also visited her in the hospital sent her a get well card. The handwritten note said she hoped to see Diane again after the holidays and had enclosed a gift certificate for a restaurant in town that also delivered.

  The rest of the cards all followed the same pattern. She’d received a shower of meals, a very practical gift she couldn’t help being thankful for.

  She had a nice stack of restaurant coupons and gift cards by the time she finished. Her heart felt strangely warmed by the gifts she’d received from women she barely knew. The final envelope had Rachel’s address on the return label.

  Opening it carefully, Diane pulled out an invitation that had been colored by a child. It read, “Since no restaurants deliver on Christmas, this card entitles you to one home-cooked meal at the home of a friend. It includes free transportation, so be ready for your ‘taxi’ to arrive no later than one o’clock on Christmas Day. Love, Rachel and family.”

  Her eyes misted. Now she wouldn’t be alone on Christmas.

  She moved to open the packages next and reached for the smallest one first. The return address said “Seattle.” She broke out in a cold sweat, wondering if she should open it. What if it had come from Randy? Could her heart take hearing from him?

  When she could stand the suspense no longer, she tore it open. Inside a small box she found the key to her front door with a folded note underneath. Her hands trembling, she opened it.

  Diane,

  I’m returning the key to your condo. I did what you said and reconciled with my wife. We now attend counseling every other week, thanks to your encouragement.

  I think my wife and I will make it, and for that I’m grateful. It was only because of your insistence that I did what I needed to do. Now I’ll get to see my daughter grow up and not just visit her on weekends. How can I ever thank you enough? I even started attending church with my wife. None of this would have happened if you had taken me back.

  You are a wonderful, beautiful lady, and I know that someday you will meet a man who will make you very happy. That man just wasn’t meant to be me.

  Merry Christmas,

  Randy

  Tears poured down her cheeks and smudged the ink at the top of the letter. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She had done the right thing. It hurt like crazy, but she’d never regret it. Someone’s marriage had been blessed because of her decision instead of ruined.

  She was glad to know things had worked out for Randy. The ache from missing him was miniscule now compared to when she’d first discovered his deception. She wished him the very best. Folding the letter with a sad smile, she reached for her purse and tucked it inside.

  Though tempted to question why people were being so nice to her, she left that alone. She was tired of questioning people’s motives. Maybe they really did care about her. And for once in her life, she believed God might actually care about her too.

  * * *

  “Mr. Passel, I hope you’ll be home for the holidays. Joey’s mother wants to have her first visit on Christmas Eve at the halfway house.”

  Dave groaned into his cell phone. “You don’t have that day off?”

  “No, I have to work.”

  “But I’ve already made plans. Can we start visits after Christmas?”

  “No, Mr. Passel, we can’t. Now if you want to bring Joey to the office and leave him with me, I’ll be happy to take him for his visit and bring him home afterward.”

  Dave gasped. “No way. Joey will flip out if I leave him with a stranger—no offense.”

  “Are you willing to go with Joey to help make it easier for him?”

  The idea of meeting Joey’s mother made him shudder. He would prefer to never meet her. What if he liked her or felt sorry for her despite her being a prostitute and an addict?

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “Then I’ll just have to take Joey by myself.” His caseworker wheezed and coughed several times. “Excuse me.”

  He wondered if she was ill and for a moment wished it would get bad enough that she couldn’t do the visit. Then he chided himself for being so mean. Maybe he should go for Joey’s sake. He didn’t want Joey getting sick if she had a cold.

  “No, I’ll be there. If Joey is willing to go to visit his birth mother with you, I’ll just stay outside and wait in the car. If he fights going with you, then I’ll take him in myself and try to relax him so he’ll have a good visit.”

  “That sounds like the perfect plan, Mr. Passel. I’ll see you then.”

  Her cheerfulness surprised him. Maybe she wasn’t against him after all. Maybe she just took her job too seriously.

  As he buckled Joey into his car seat the next morning, a wave of nausea washed over him. He’d dressed Joey up to meet his birth mom for the first time since she abandoned him. His innocent little boy—Little J, as his birth mother had strangely named him—was about to be forever changed. And not in a good way either. How Dave wished he could fix that.

  His chest tightened at the idea of his son being jerked around in some heated custody suit. But what hurt worse was picturing Joey being raised by a drug-abusing prostitute. How would he turn out if living on the streets was all he knew? God wouldn’t give Dave such a wonderful son only to take him away, would He?

  Dave removed his Levi jacket, got into the driver’s seat, and started his black BMW. He’d chosen loose fitting jeans and a matching blue shirt for this meeting. He sure the heck wasn’t going to take Joey to visit his prostitute mother in a bad neighborhood while wearing a suit.

  He turned the radio down so as not to disturb Joey. The loud sucking sound told him his child slept soundly, a short reprieve from his fussiness only an hour before. It seemed as if Joey knew his daddy felt anxious about something and reacted to it.

  Dave listened to a song about there being a light at the end of the tunnel and wondered if that would happen in his case. How would God get him out of this mess?

  A strange coldness settled in his chest. God had sacrificed His only Son. He had not spared Jesus. What if God required Dave to give up his only son, even though he could never have a biological child of his own? Would God do that?

  “Please, God. Please don’t take Joey from me. You know how much I’ve wanted to be a father. At first I understood Your reasoning, Lord. You knew that I would only consider adoption because of my sterility. That made sense because then I wouldn’t have taken Joey into my family. But now that Marilee is gone I feel so trapped, so lost. Why did she have to die? I don’t think I can fight this and win without a wife to support me.”

  The thought kept coming to mind: God gave His only Son.

  He pulled in front of the halfway house and parked behind Mrs. Vela’s white Jeep Cherokee with the State of Idaho seal on the side door. Swiping the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand, he put on a smile for his son’s sake. As he glanced at Joey in the back seat, another wave of sadness washed over him at the possibility of losing him. It pounded his thoughts and his aching heart until they bruised.

  Joey slept soundly, totally unaware of what was about to happen. His sweaty forehead was now w
et from his fitful nap, and the brown waves of baby-fine hair had plastered to his skin. Joey’s mouth moved over his thumb in his sleep, pausing every few seconds, and starting up again. He looked so content.

  Dave exhaled and prayed for strength, then stepped out of the car and walked around to the passenger’s side, hoping he could remove Joey from the seat without waking him. As he fumbled with the safety strap the sour scent of Joey’s caseworker, thinly veiled by a hint of vanilla, announced her arrival.

  He turned to face her. “Joey’s sleeping.”

  “Let me get him out.” Mrs. Vela nudged past Dave and bent over Joey to lift him from his seat.

  Dave backed away, stunned at her boldness. He didn’t want to make things any worse, given how much the woman already disliked him.

  A shriek echoed from the back seat. Dave’s heart leaped into his throat at the pitiful sound. His son sounded hurt, as if someone had pinched him.

  Mrs. Vela straightened suddenly and clunked her head on the doorframe. “Ouch!” She rubbed her head and moved out of the way. “I only tried to lift him out of his seat.” Her blowfish cheeks puffed, and she wheezed and scowled at Dave as if blaming him that she’d hit her head.

  “It probably scared him when he opened his eyes and saw someone he doesn’t know in his face. That would scare anyone, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.” Her scowl eased a bit.

  “Allow me.” Dave slipped past her and leaned over Joey, now sucking his thumb ferociously. “It’s okay, little guy. I’ll get you out. We’re about to meet a lady today and say Merry Christmas to her. Okay?”

  Joey’s cherub cheeks dimpled, and he nodded, his thumb still firmly planted in his mouth. His index finger curled over his nose, and he rubbed the tip. He’d been doing that since he came to live with Dave. Someday he’d break the habit, but if it brought him comfort right now Dave wasn’t going to stop him.

  The sad thing was he always tweaked his nose when he was upset. Did he sense his daddy’s tension?

  Dave said a quick prayer, determined to make this visit as easy on Joey as possible. He swung Joey up and set him down on the ground next to him.

  “Here we go.”

  Mrs. Vela winced as she hunched over to take Joey’s hand. “My head is still throbbing. I’ll need you to take him to the house. We don’t have to mention who you are if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

  “No, that’s all right. If she asks, I’ll tell her.”

  Perspiration trickled down the sides of Dave’s face. No matter how hard he tried to remain calm, his body acknowledged the truth. He was scared.

  “Come on, Joey. We’re going inside that house over there, see?”

  He pointed to an old concrete block building with peeling white paint on the trim. Five connected apartments made up the one story complex. Each front door had its own rickety porch.

  Joey nodded silently and toddled forward, clutching Dave’s hand. Before they reached apartment five, the door swung open, and a thin young woman with straggly brown hair and several colorful tattoos on her legs ran out to greet them. The stairs creaked as she pounded down them and raced across the weedy, run-down lawn toward their small group. Joey froze at the sight of her.

  “Little J! How nice to see you, baby.”

  She ignored Dave and bent down, scooping Joey into her skinny arms. Joey stiffened and shrieked, raising the hair on the back of Dave’s neck. The woman nearly dropped Joey in her effort to set him back down. She backed off as if burned.

  “What’s the deal with my son?”

  “He doesn’t know you.”

  The young woman glared at Dave. She looked much older than her probable age.

  Out of the side of her mouth she asked Mrs. Vela, “Who is this smart aleck?”

  “This is Mr. Passel. Your child lives with him.”

  “Are you going to introduce us?”

  “Mr. Passel, this is Leanne.”

  She sized him up, her hands resting on the waist of her too-short skirt, her gaze lingering on his chest. As she tapped her foot, the muscles of her calf flexed, making the butterfly tattoo on her shin appear to flap its wings. Behind her, curious residents peeked through windows or stood on their porches, staring.

  Dave waited calmly while she scrutinized him. Little Joey clung to his legs and buried his face against Dave’s knee. He reached down and rubbed his son’s head.

  “It’s okay, Joey. No one is going to hurt you.”

  “Up, Daddy, up!” Joey wailed.

  Dave scooped Joey into his arms

  “You’re not his daddy!” Leanne screeched. “How dare you have him calling you that?” She turned and yelled at the curious spectators, “Quit gawking at me!”

  Dave cringed as the onlookers ducked back inside their apartments.

  Joey touched the side of Dave’s face, his lower lip trembling and hurt registering in his eyes. They seemed to cry, “Daddy, get me out of here.” Dave stared back, his heart filled with compassion. He couldn’t leave. At least, not yet.

  A protective surge of energy jolted through him. “Who is his father?”

  Leanne clamped her lips together, refusing to speak.

  He lowered his voice. “You don’t know, do you? So what can it hurt if he calls me Daddy? Every little boy needs a father.”

  The young woman backed up as if he’d slapped her. “I guess you’re right,” she grunted. “But don’t get his hopes up thinking you’ll be around forever, because you won’t be.”

  “Please—”

  She smiled provocatively, her eyes sparking as if she had a grand idea. “Unless you want to take on his mother too. You know, I kinda like you. You’re pretty hot.”

  The last thing Dave wanted for a wife was someone as hardened as this troubled young woman obviously was. “Um, no thanks.”

  “Then get away from me,” she sneered. Turning to Mrs. Vela, she ground through clenched teeth, “I don’t want to see that man when Little J visits me.”

  His mouth gaping, Dave set Joey back down. Had he just ruined his chance to protect Joey during visits? What would this do to him?

  Leanne squeezed her eyes shut and pointed at Dave. “Make him leave.”

  Before Mrs. Vela had a chance to respond, Dave said angrily, “Fine. I’m leaving. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Good riddance.”

  He turned to leave, but curiosity forced him to ask as nicely as he could, “What does the “J” in Joey’s name stand for?”

  Joey latched on to Dave’s thighs, smashing his face against his father’s legs.

  “Jerk. Because all men are jerks.” Leanne snickered. “So I named him after his dad, whoever he is. But you can call him Joey if you want. It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t think they would actually put it on his birth certificate. Stupid idiots don’t know a snarky comment when they hear one.”

  This was worse than he had imagined. His former caseworker, Nancy, had warned him that contact with Joey’s birth mother might be challenging. He remembered her saying CPS had to give her a chance to prove herself, regardless of how awful she seemed.

  “I can’t guarantee he’ll be okay with me leaving, but we can give it a try.”

  Dave bent down and pried Joey’s arms off of his legs. He squatted down on his haunches to look Joey in the eyes.

  “I want you to be nice to these ladies while Daddy goes to the store, okay? I’ll be back real soon. Behave, okay?”

  “O-tay, Daddy.” Joey pushed his thumb back in his mouth as he gazed warily up at the women standing next to him.

  Leanne plucked Joey’s thumb out of his mouth. “No son of mine is going to suck his thumb. That’s for babies.”

  Joey wailed.

  Dave stepped forward to intervene, but Mrs. Vela held her hand out to stop him. “Step back. I can handle this. I’ll see you in an hour. Go, or the next time you won’t come at all.”

  Dave backed off, his heart breaking, and hurried to his car. Joey’s pitiful cries cu
t him to the quick. A sharp pain stabbed his heart as if someone had ripped it from his chest. Opening the driver’s door, he hopped into his vehicle before he broke down and cried or assaulted someone. When he drove off he refused to look back.

  He didn’t make it far. He circled the block and started to drive back to the halfway house, but then turned down a different street, worried he’d be seen and get in more trouble. Frustration made him want to say every foul word he could think of.

  When he stopped at the first traffic light, he hit the steering wheel with his palm several times. The pain of having to leave Joey with strangers hurt worse than the day he’d found out Merilee had died. He had to protect his son, but it seemed impossible.

  He needed to find someone to talk to right away before he snapped. Saying a quick prayer, he headed straight for the church office, hoping that Pastor Lane would still be there. As he approached the parking lot he saw his pastor’s minivan parked near the office, and his heart lifted. But as he got closer, the minivan started backing out of the parking space. Dave cut it off at the entrance to the parking lot and hopped out, leaving his car running.

  Pastor Lane got out of his van. “What’s going on? You look upset.”

  “It was awful.” Dave choked on tears, trying hard not to cry. “What am I going to do?”

  Pastor Lane pulled him into a crushing hug. Dave clung to him, weeping for the first time since Merilee passed away. He poured out his heart and the pastor wept with him. That meant more to Dave than any advice or an attempt to cheer him with false hope. His pastor prayed from his heart, and despite how hard some of it was to hear, Dave agreed with everything.

  “You’re right. Thank you for reminding me that God is in control. I just wish He would fill me in on the details of His plan,” Dave said wistfully as he patted Pastor Lane’s arm. “Keep praying for Joey. I have a feeling this will be harder on him than it is on me.”

  He got back into his BMW. Pastor Lane waved as Dave drove out of the church parking lot and onto the main road. The pastor’s encouragement and prayer had given him greater assurance that he could handle this challenge, but his confidence deflated when he arrived at the halfway house and heard Joey wailing.