by Chris Fabry
“Yes.” She sat back, her eyes dropping to the table. “In the last few months of the pregnancy I became depressed. It was overwhelming. I believed what he said, that the medication wouldn’t affect you. And I was in so much pain . . . If only I hadn’t taken that. Your life would have been different.”
“He felt guilty too,” Treha said. “We looked through his files after he died. I thought maybe we would find a clue about you, but we didn’t. The pastor who worked on the adoption had died. I gave up on ever finding you.”
“Then you came here.”
“Because of Elsie. She’s the one who suggested Bethesda.”
“Thank God for Elsie,” Ms. Redwine said. “You could have gone anywhere in the country. But you came here. Can you believe it, Treha? That we’re together?”
The butter had melted into the pancakes, wet and glistening yellow. Treha poured a dribble of syrup and let it soak. “Why did you wait so long?”
Ms. Redwine took a deep breath. “I wish I hadn’t. I was . . . stuck. Have you ever felt that way? That you simply can’t move?”
Treha nodded.
“I hope you can forgive me.”
Treha looked down. “I don’t know you,” she muttered.
The woman cradled her coffee mug with both hands. “Treha, I made a good choice in having you. I believed you would be raised in a loving home and that the only person who would hurt was me. I prayed for you and believed the best. Every year when your birthday rolled around, I would imagine cake and presents, friends coming to your house. I envied your teachers. I wondered what you were reading.”
Another buzz in her purse.
“Do you want to answer that?”
“I suppose I should make sure it’s not my mother. . . .” Ms. Redwine picked up the phone. “No, it’s . . . not.” She turned the phone off and put it back in her purse.
“Who was it?”
“Another professor. I’ll call him back later.”
“Is he your friend?”
“Ron is . . . yes, he’s a friend,” she said, her lips tightening. “Treha, I don’t ask you to understand. I don’t even know that it’s fair to ask your forgiveness for not reaching out sooner. I think all I’m asking you is that you give me a chance.”
“To make it up to me?”
“No. To be your mother. To be something I wanted to be but couldn’t.”
Treha took a small bite of the darkened part of her pancakes and then a sip of orange juice.
“I want to help you through this situation, your roommate’s accusations. I want to help you be everything God wants you to be. I have so much hope for your future. For us.”
“Are you sure that you want me? Even though I’m like this?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe that’s the reason you didn’t find me. Maybe you don’t want someone with my problems.”
“Everyone has problems. The bigger question is whether you’ll want me. And I will understand if you say no.”
Treha took another bite of pancake. She chewed slowly, swallowed, then said, “I’m ready to hear about him.”
“Him?”
“My father.”
A deep breath and the woman sat back. “Your father. All right, what would you like to know?”
“Did you get married?”
A shadow passed over Ms. Redwine’s face and Treha couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“No. I would have liked that.”
“Did he ask you?”
“We were young. We made promises we couldn’t keep. We pledged to always love each other. He said he would return with a ring. He didn’t.”
“Where is he?”
She shifted in her seat. “He died, Treha. Shortly after he returned to school, a few months later. My parents got word of a car accident. Icy Colorado roads. It was tragic.”
Treha felt as though a door had slammed shut in the corridor of her life, one she’d never really known was open. She had always wondered about her mother. Her mother was the one she had longed for, searched for. But now that she had found her, she wanted to meet him, as well. And now she would never see him or hear his voice . . . “Were you sad?”
“I was numb for a while. It felt like it was happening to someone else. And the secrecy—we kept my pregnancy from everyone at the mission. Pretended I was just going away to school.”
“What was he like?”
Ms. Redwine smiled. “Handsome. Athletic. Intelligent. I loved his voice. It was like listening to a direct link to his soul when he talked.”
“Did you love him?”
“I thought I did. I thought we were made for each other. But I was seventeen. Almost eighteen. I didn’t know anything, really.
“We met early in the summer the year before you were born. He came to work with the mission on a short-term trip. He was with a group working in the village, doing building projects and vacation Bible school. They played sports with the kids on the beach, but they needed an interpreter. I grew up there and knew the language. That’s how we met. I was infatuated immediately. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. But I was naive and so inexperienced at love. I knew if my parents found out, they’d put a stop to it, so I kept it a secret.”
“Was he in love with you?”
“I thought so. Maybe he just saw me as exotic, growing up in the jungle. He really had a heart to serve God; we talked about that a lot.”
“But he wasn’t telling the truth?”
“I think he was sincere. Our passion just got out of hand.”
Treha put her fork down. “What was it like? To kiss a boy?”
“You do have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Ms. Redwine stifled a laugh. “I think it was better than I imagined. It felt forbidden and yet natural. I hadn’t watched lots of movies or read romance novels, so I didn’t have a lot of preconceived notions. And I learned that once the engine of passion starts, it’s hard not to rev it. Does that make sense?”
Treha nodded.
“Well, I begged God to forgive me. I promised I wouldn’t let it happen again. But we kept meeting. He felt ashamed and guilty like I did. But then it would happen again.”
“What was his name?”
“David. David Weber.”
Treha rolled the name around in her mind. David. Her father’s name was David. “What did he say when he found out you were pregnant?”
“He never found out.”
Treha’s mouth dropped. “What? He didn’t know about me?”
Another pained look from Ms. Redwine. “He left late in the summer and promised to write, to come back soon. But my parents discovered the pregnancy and felt it best to keep it to ourselves, have the baby, and move on with life.”
“And you agreed.”
The woman’s cheeks flushed. “I was mortified. I felt so guilty. I didn’t want to hurt them any more than I already had.”
“In your letter, you said you trusted someone with your heart, and he wasn’t trustworthy.”
Ms. Redwine looked down at her hands. “I did say that. Looking back, it probably wasn’t fair. I was so young. . . . He did write to me like he promised. I received two letters. My parents read both of them, then gave them to me. He told me he loved me, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, and he hoped we would eventually get married. But I could tell with the second letter that something had changed, like he was having second thoughts. Then came the news that he had been killed.”
“Did you ever visit his grave? Go see his parents?”
“No. The last twenty years have been a long climb up a hill of regret and shame. I’ve tried to forget, but the past returns like a boomerang. A good boomerang, Treha. I’m so glad to have found you. I know this is not going to be easy, moving forward. I know you’re going to have questions and it will be hard, but I also think it’s going to be good. For both of us.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
Ms. Redwine’s chin puckered a little and she nodded. �
��I have one I saved in a memory book. I’ll get it down and show you.”
“Tomorrow?” Treha said.
“Sure.”
Treha paused, trying to sort through the jumble of questions in her mind. “What do I call you?”
“That’s a good question. What do you want to call me?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to call you Ms. Redwine, but it doesn’t feel right to call you Mother or Mom either.”
The woman nodded. “You can call me Paige, if that’s easier. But let’s take our time. When the moment is right, you’ll know what to call me.”
Treha pushed the syrup around on her pancakes. This was the moment she had waited for all her life. To sit with her mother and talk. To learn the truth. To be with her mother. She couldn’t figure out why she had a bad feeling. Or maybe why she had no feeling at all.
CHAPTER 24
Paige
I dropped Treha off at her dorm just before curfew, got out, and hugged her. She did not return the hug, per se, but I felt a slight movement of her hands toward my back. I gave her my cell number and asked her to call me in the morning.
Once she’d disappeared inside, the clunk of the electronic lock securing her, I sat in the parking lot in the aftermath. Everything had changed in one evening. Everything had come into the open, and what should have been the greatest feeling of relief felt more like a new cloud.
When I was pregnant, when I had a more romanticized view of life, I had dreamed of this moment, dreamed of what we would talk about, where we might go and how the story might spill out. The look in her eyes as I told her. I could have taken her back to my home, and we could have stayed up all night looking at pictures and laughing, filling the blank spaces of her history, but this was not Treha’s way. I sensed we needed to ease into things.
How was I to go about this? I had no earthly idea how to be a mother, no pattern set before me other than my own mother and the mothers whose stories I had read. Ma Ingalls and Marmee March and the weak, feckless mothers of Dickens or conniving and conflicted mothers like Hamlet’s Gertrude. Maybe I could become more like Marilla to Anne?
I checked my phone and saw that Ron Gleason had left a text. And a voice mail. The text said, Please call me. He had sent an e-mail while I had visited my mother and father, detailing the things he was praying for me and how much he hoped God would sustain me. I’d written a brief response, telling him I appreciated his kindness. I did appreciate it, but I hoped the brevity of the e-mail would communicate that I still needed space.
I retrieved my messages and listened to the slight rasp in his voice, a little strained from the usual composed, self-assured tone.
“Paige, I just saw a video post from a Bethesda student on Facebook. I’m stunned. Is this true? Can you call me?” He took a breath and in my mind I could see him searching for words. “I suppose if it is, you’re probably speaking with her right now, your daughter. Wow. That’s hard to imagine. For me. And for you, probably. Sorry. It must be amazing for you to find her. For both of you. So I guess I’ll try not to bother you. But I . . . I wanted you to know—”
I hit Pause on the message. What was he talking about? What video?
I let the message play again.
“I wanted you to know this doesn’t change anything . . . for me. We all have things in the past. Regrets. Mistakes. I have those. A trunkful. I can handle anything else that’s in there. I’m a little shocked, I guess, but if it’s true, I want you to know I’m here. If you need someone to talk with . . . please call.”
My heart raced, my breath short. If Ron had seen this video online, which somehow told him Treha was my daughter, who else had seen it? It was hard enough to deal with my revelation and how Treha would react without worrying about social media backlash. And then I thought of Ron. He must have wondered why I hadn’t shared this dark secret. He was not part of my inner circle of confidants.
Poor Ron. How could anyone compare with a memory that only enhances with years? I had held David in my mind. He was forever young, stuck at the same age, with strength in his body and no flab. His hair would never recede. His smile would always be the same, locked in the prison of my memory.
I drove too fast, and once home, I checked Facebook but couldn’t find anything about Treha and me. How had Ron discovered it? I dialed his number but got his voice mail. I hung up before leaving a message.
I went to my closet and pulled down the albums, the dusty past, and turned the browned and weathered pages until I came to the one that took my breath away. My mother had taken the photos. The two of us had been working with the children that day, and she wanted to get us in action for the next prayer letter. One shot was of the team playing on the beach—but the one I treasured was David with his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, smiling. Both of us smiling so wide, unable to help it.
I pulled the photo from behind the plastic cover and held it there. Such a long time ago. Such a different life, a different world. I placed the photo in my purse and left the albums on the floor.
I tried Ron again, but there was no answer. “Ron, it’s Paige. Thanks for your message—please call me when you get this.”
I changed for bed and pulled my well-worn journal from the nightstand. I wrote in it infrequently, making a halfhearted attempt to record my life, to chronicle milestones and observations. But tonight words poured out about Treha, my fears, my questions about the future. I was lost in writing until a knock at the front door shocked me. I put on my robe, tied it, and walked barefoot across the hardwood. The security light had come on outside and I saw the outline of a man. Ron.
I unlocked the door and he smiled and nodded, ducking his head apologetically.
“Ron . . . what are you doing here?”
“Paige, I’m sorry it’s late. I just had the sense that I needed to come over.”
He held out a hand, asking permission to enter, and I opened the door wider. “Sure. Did you get my message?”
“No. I left the house without my phone.”
He stood in the entry until I ushered him inside.
“Can you show me where you saw the video?”
“Get your computer.”
He navigated to Facebook and played the video of my conversation with Treha in the Bethesda commons. I remembered the whispers in the booth behind us, my concern about being overheard, but it never occurred to me that they might’ve thought our conversation worth recording. It was like watching the most intimate moment of your life from a slightly different angle. So violating and invasive.
“Do you know the student who posted this?” I said.
“I don’t, but if you don’t want this displayed, I’ll send a message now. And one to the student development office. We should be able to get it pulled pretty quickly.”
“Yes, please.”
Ron wrote a message from his own account to the student, then called the dean and spoke with him. My heart began to calm a little, believing someone was putting out the fire.
“He’s going to handle it now—and said he would go to the dorm if he has to,” Ron said, returning to the living room sofa.
I sat across from him on the love seat. “Thank you for this. I’m so glad you saw it.”
“Paige, I can’t imagine what it’s been like, with what you’ve kept hidden, kept inside all these years. I don’t know the particulars and I don’t have to, but I assume this young lady really is your daughter.”
“It’s true.”
His face was serious, lines of consternation in his forehead like he was in mental anguish. “Right.”
“Okay, well . . . thank you,” I said as compassionately as I could through my bewilderment.
“Doggone it, Paige, I want a relationship with you. I do.” He said it quickly like he had finally decided on his drink order at Starbucks.
I didn’t know how to respond. He seemed nervous, but I was just as undone. I tried to bring some levity to the situation. “I’ve never heard you say �
�doggone it.’ I didn’t know it was in your vocabulary.”
That got a small chuckle. “It’s a minced oath. But it’s true.” He rubbed his hands together and sat forward, elbows on knees. “This other guy, is he the reason you’re not sure about us? The reason you’re not as sure as I am? Is he still in the picture?”
I stifled a smile. For as awkward as the whole thing was, it was equally sweet. “Ron, Treha’s father died a long time ago.”
He looked down. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I mean . . . I’m glad in one sense, from a selfish perspective, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was many years ago.”
“And you weren’t married?”
“No. I was a teenager. It was a very painful thing for my family and part of the reason I waited so long to find her. It’s complicated, as all of my life seems to be now.”
“And I don’t need to hear it to say what I need to say to you. It’s late and I’ve overstepped my boundaries, coming here and intruding. I just felt like . . .”
“Go ahead, Ron, you can speak freely.”
“All right. Here’s the thing, Paige. I know you have to figure things out with this young lady. But I want to be with you. I know it won’t be easy. I know we have hurdles, but I believe we could be a really great team. Maybe even become a family.”
My heart picked up speed and I struggled to keep my voice even and unemotional. I wanted to be in control of what I said. “That’s kind of you, Ron. And thoughtful. I’m blown away that you were concerned for me . . . But I can’t move in that direction yet. I honestly don’t know if I can at all. This has nothing to do with you. . . . You’re wonderful. And I would hate for any of this to interrupt our friendship. I think you can be a great role model for Treha, for example.”
He nodded and winced like something had pierced his gut. Then he slapped his hands against his knees and said, “Fair enough. Well, I’ve taken up enough time.” He stood and moved toward the door. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”
I followed him to the door, searching desperately for something to say, something that would convey my heart. All I could come up with was, “I’m glad you came over, Ron.”