Looking into You

by Chris Fabry

  “I don’t think that will ever happen.”

  “Well, God has a way of surprising us, doesn’t he?”

  A long pause. “I don’t know if my baby will be like me.”

  I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Treha, you will be a great mother. I can tell that. Any baby would be so lucky to have you as a mother. And you shouldn’t worry about passing along something bad to your child. You have so much good to pass along.”

  Another long silence and the air conditioner clicked and moved to a lower frequency.

  “What are you afraid of?” Treha whispered.

  That question again. Before I could answer, Treha said, “Is it about losing your job? I heard you talking with Miriam about it.”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  There was a response from Treha’s side of the room, not quite a laugh or even a chuckle, but a tuft of air recognizing the irony of my words. It was a wonderful sound, especially when I’d never seen her so much as smile. It was a start. A good start.

  “My whole life has been teaching. Throwing myself into my students, into the subjects. I’ve never really known what it’s like to take time off. To slow down and think and ask questions. I had a sabbatical last year to write, but all I could think about was you and the guilt and shame I felt. And the less I wrote, the more guilt I felt. It was like a death spiral.

  “So I am worried about not teaching. But the bigger worry is missing what I’m supposed to do in the first place. You know? Missing whatever good thing God has in store for me that might feel awkward at the moment. Or hard.”

  “You mean me.”

  “You’re one of the good things I know God has in store. Which doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. I’m going to disappoint you. You’re probably going to feel like you’d rather not have a mother like me. And that’s okay. That’s understandable because we’re both human beings and we both will make mistakes . . .” I stopped, the trail of my thoughts leading to something unexpected.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking about my own mother. It’s difficult to deal with the hurt I feel toward her. The things that happened or didn’t happen between us.”

  “You have to forgive her, don’t you?”

  “I suppose so.” I sat up in bed. “I can’t believe this.”

  “What?”

  “All this time I’ve thought it was about you forgiving me. About me pursuing you and you making the decision to move toward me. Daughter forgiving the mother who abandoned her. We’re a lot more alike than you know, Treha.”

  I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and made the decision to try. Pulling back the covers, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and stood.

  “Where are you going?” Treha said.

  “Scoot over. Your mother is going to give you a good-night hug.”

  I couldn’t see Treha’s face but as soon as I put my arms around her, I could feel the resistance, the tense muscles, the rigid back. I wanted to sing, do something motherly, but my mind went blank of all those nursery songs. Besides that, my daughter was twenty-two years old.

  Instead, I kissed the top of her head and kept my arms around her. “Treha, I’m so sorry for the years we’ve missed. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language or time left in my life to tell you how sorry I feel.”

  Treha had grown slightly less rigid but still seemed uncomfortable, so I squeezed her one last time and went back to my own bed.

  “Good night, Treha.”

  I fell asleep sometime after midnight and didn’t wake until the sun peeked through the window blinds. I’d had a dream, something about David, him coming to me on the beach, holding out a hand, beckoning with a lover’s eyes.

  When I sat up, Treha’s bed was empty and the room quiet. My heart sank. I had a terrible feeling that she was gone, that I had frightened her by reaching out.

  I quickly dressed and found her in the breakfast room eating fruit and yogurt. We were back on the road by nine.

  CHAPTER 36

  Paige

  One of the great philosophers said that life can only be understood backward but it must be lived forward. It felt like the same proposition driving to Colorado. No matter how long I studied the rearview, I had a winding road with plenty of traffic before me, a daughter beside me, and a lost love ahead.

  Lost didn’t quite capture it, nor unrequited. Disinterested, perhaps. David had given up—even if my mother had discouraged him, he could have pursued me. He could have followed up a year later, two years, ten. How could a good guy go that far with a young girl and just drop her?

  Perhaps he was told I had died. Perhaps he got involved with someone else. Perhaps he never really loved me.

  These were my thoughts, aided by Treha’s silence as we drove. I learned they don’t sell Middlemarch at truck stops, so we had to wait.

  The scenery changed as we rose in elevation from New Mexico into Colorado and through Pueblo. Pikes Peak stood like a white-capped beacon in the distance, and I wondered what settlers and natives had felt when they saw the mountain. Did it inspire awe or did they become used to the view?

  The GPS took over as we hit Colorado Springs. I navigated from the interstate to a major side road with newer construction dotting the rolling, hilly landscape. We had both eaten so much at breakfast that we skipped lunch. I couldn’t have eaten anyway, this close to our destination. I wondered if Treha felt the same way.

  David now worked for a relief ministry that provided food, water, and the gospel to people who needed them. It fit with what I’d known of him years earlier—he had a heart for children and a desire to help heal the world. From what Anna had said, he held a communications position at the organization. I imagined him writing press releases, dealing with online issues and fund-raising. Maybe traveling to exotic destinations to get his hands dirty every now and then. I hadn’t seen updated pictures—I’d avoided looking for them, truthfully—but I imagined him aging gracefully, with more wrinkles when he smiled and a hint of gray. Maybe a few extra pounds. But he would have the same athletic build, the same calming, generous voice.

  I found the redbrick building and parked across the street from the entrance, a good way from the main parking lot. In the distance we could see the Air Force Academy and pine trees engulfing the front range.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I said.

  Treha sat forward, scanning the parking lot. “That one right there. The white one. I think that’s his car. I saw it in his pictures.”

  I pulled to a side street and parked under some trees that gave us shade and a little seclusion. “So your plan is that we wait until he comes out and spring it on him? You walk up and say, ‘Hi, Dad’?”

  “I told you, I want to see his face. I want to see how he walks. If he talks with the people he works with.”

  “And if he passes the test, then what?”

  “I don’t know yet. If you don’t want to stay, you can leave me here.”

  Both of us were getting testy under the strain. At least she was showing some kind of emotion. But I tried to calm my tone.

  “Treha, I’m in this with you. You’re not getting rid of me. I just want to be prepared in case the police come and ask us why we’re spying on a parking lot. There are stalking laws, you know.”

  “The police have better things to do.”

  We watched the building and talked about where we might stay the night, where we might eat, what we could see while we were in this part of the country. I was fatigued from the drive but more nervous than tired. What would I feel when I saw him? Did I have a right to feel anything?

  I had never been to Colorado and neither had Treha. I knew enough to tell her the skinny yellow-leaved trees were aspens, but that was about it. The sky turned from brilliant blue to slightly overcast with dark clouds rolling above us. At four thirty workers began to trickle out to the parking lot.

  “I know I have to deal with my past, but is it f
air to force someone else to deal with his?” I said. “This is a philosophical question, not an indictment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I made a big mistake with David. I’m finally working through that. But once we see him, once we confront him, we’re requiring that he face it too, ready or not. Is that fair to him?”

  “I think that’s him,” Treha said, pointing. “The one with the white shirt.”

  I wished we had stayed on the other side of the street. We were much too far away to see his face well, but I could tell from his gait that this was David. He walked in a loping, easy purchase as if the world were his personal treadmill. Long sleeves rolled up. Glasses now. I hadn’t anticipated glasses but they looked good.

  My cell phone rang and if our seat belts hadn’t been fastened, we might have both jumped from the car. With my eyes on David, I answered.

  “Paige, it’s Ron.”

  I wanted to drop the phone or maybe throw it through the windshield. Why Ron? Why now?

  “Ron.” His name came out like an accusation and a little like an admission of guilt.

  “I was worried about you after what happened at Millhaven. I just wanted to know you’re okay.”

  “Yes. I’m okay. I’m doing well . . . I mean, I appreciate you caring enough to call. Thank you.”

  “Dr. Beckwith thought you might be in Arizona.”

  As he neared the parking lot, David stopped to talk with an older gentleman. He listened to the man as he talked, gesturing with his hands. Then David put his hand on the man’s shoulder and I looked at Treha taking all of this in.

  “I’m with Treha now, Ron. Some really good things are happening. Hard things, but good.”

  A sigh of relief on the other end. “That’s what I was praying. That you two would connect, that there would be forgiveness and reconciliation.”

  “It’s going to take some time, I think, but we’re moving in the right direction.” Suddenly I almost wished I could tell him more—that we could sit down for that coffee I kept promising and I could tell him everything.

  “I’m so glad to hear that. And I’m praying about Millhaven, as well. They would be foolish to lose a great teacher like you. Someone who cares about her students.”

  David and the man stood in the shadow of the mountains, talking, the wind whipping up. He had less hair or it was cut shorter, and it was graying.

  “Paige, you have people who really care about you. I’m one of them. If you need anything at all, please call. No strings. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Ron. That’s very kind.”

  When I hung up, Treha said, “Who is Ron?”

  “He’s a professor at Bethesda.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  David moved to his car, the white one, and got in.

  “He wants to be. We’ve known each other a few years. He’s very nice.”

  “But you don’t love him.”

  “Can we talk about something else? Like what we’re going to do about your father over there?”

  Treha cocked her head toward me. “You said I could ask you anything. Talk to you about anything.”

  White lights and his car backed up.

  “You’re right. And I meant that. I’m just a little nervous about seeing him again. Apparently I don’t multitask well when I see an old flame.”

  We watched the white car pull out of the parking lot and turn in front of us.

  “Follow him,” Treha said.

  I didn’t question her. I just started the car and pulled out—to the honk of a horn. I slammed on the brakes and a red truck nearly hit us. The truck came to a full stop and I tried not to look at the driver. I lifted a hand in a mea culpa and let him pass.

  “You’re going to lose him,” Treha said.

  I pulled out, making sure I looked behind us this time, and the red truck turned the same way David had gone, intentionally slowing, it seemed, in a passive-aggressive way, preventing us from catching him.

  David drove quickly, zipping through intersections, always staying just out of reach. When the red truck finally turned, I thought we had caught him, but David accelerated through a yellow light and roared into the distance.

  I looked at Treha and her face showed the pain of the near miss. What followed was the longest red light of my life. I accelerated through the green but there was no sign of the little white car. We drove through subdivisions, past parks and strip malls, to no avail.

  “Are you hungry?” I said.

  Treha stared into the distance and nodded. We were ordering sandwiches when I got an idea. We took our food to the car and I dialed Ron.

  I asked if he was near a computer and gave him David’s name and the information I had. “Could you see if you could find a home address, a phone number?”

  “Sure.”

  Treha ate while I listened to Ron’s fingers on the keyboard.

  “You’re in Colorado?” Ron said.

  “Yes, we just drove up today.”

  “And who is this David you’re searching for?”

  It occurred to me then that I should’ve called someone else—anyone else—to help me. But my only choice now was to tell the truth. “Ron, I don’t know how to tell you this. Treha’s father wasn’t deceased like I thought. David is Treha’s father.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t lying to you. I really believed he was dead.”

  “And you’re just dropping by to say hello?” There was hurt in his voice.

  “No—well, I’m not sure.” Suddenly the food we’d ordered didn’t look appetizing. “If you’d rather not do this . . .”

  “No, it’s fine.” His voice had grown a little colder, but he said the name of the ministry where David worked. “His address is not listed. But I used to know someone who worked with that organization. Let me call you back.”

  We ate in silence watching the traffic and the sun’s golden glow on the mountains. I suddenly got the reference to “purple mountain majesties” just looking at the surroundings.

  Twenty minutes later the phone rang and Ron gave me an address. I punched it into the GPS as we talked. “It looks like we’re about ten minutes from his house.”

  “Paige . . . I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re just doing the best you can for Treha. Call me with anything you need. I’ll be praying for you two.”

  “Better make it all three of us,” I said. “And, Ron? Thank you.”

  We followed the directions and came to a nice subdivision with houses not too close together and signs that said Neighborhood Watch every few streets. Two-story homes with backyards filled with trampolines and playground equipment. Well-kept front lawns and lampposts near the mailboxes that I could imagine with red bows at Christmas. He lived on a wide street with sidewalks that looked like they stretched to Denver.

  When the GPS informed us that we’d reached the destination, Treha leaned forward and studied the home. The two-car garage was closed and the driveway empty.

  “I hope this is it,” I said. “You want to go in?”

  “Look at the mailbox,” Treha said. Above it was the name Weber. “No. Let’s wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Let’s just wait.”

  I pulled into a nearby cul-de-sac where we had a good view of the house but were more inconspicuous. Treha finished her sandwich and watched the house. It felt like I was looking at the life I could have had if he had come back for me. There would have been no depression, no need for drugs. Treha wouldn’t be damaged. With a sweep of the wand of time, all things could become new; everything could be made right in that alternate universe. But there is no magic wand that can change the past.

  The sun continued its descent and still we saw no movement in the house. The car had developed that stale, we’ve-been-sitting-here-all-day-and-now-there’s-food smell.

  “Think I’ll take a walk,” I said.

  I took the trash and Treha followed me around the corner and down the street toward a small par
k. She kept looking over her shoulder. I tossed the trash in a can, feeling freer than I had all day. Treha sat on a swing and I sat beside her.

  “Why don’t you like Ron?”

  “I do. But I’m conflicted.”

  “Does he read books?”

  “Lots of them. And he’s conversant about great literature, which is a plus.”

  “Then why are you conflicted?”

  “It’s hard to explain. And if I did, I would sound like a heel.”

  “A heel?”

  “Uncaring. Too caught up in my own life. Persnickety, too. Picky. The truth is, I’m not sure there’s any spark between us. No fireworks go off when I’m around him. That’s not his fault, it’s just the chemistry isn’t there.”

  “Has he kissed you?”

  I blushed and I’m not sure why; her question was as sincere and innocent as they come. “No.”

  “Then how do you know there are no fireworks?”

  “He’s not like that. He’s not . . .”

  “Like you felt with David?”

  “I’m not comparing . . . at least not consciously. I thought David was dead, so there was no need to . . . no reason to wait for him.”

  “But with David there were fireworks. There was chemistry.”

  A mother walked up beside a young girl on a bike with training wheels. The girl got off the bike, removed her helmet, and began to run toward the swings but stopped when she saw us.

  “It’s all right, Valerie. We can go on the slide,” her mother said.

  “No, you can have my seat,” I said, jumping up. Treha followed and we moved to a bench. The mother pushed the girl until she went higher and higher, squealing and giggling.

  “I never got to do that with you,” I said. “I never got to push you on a swing set or give you a birthday party.”

  “Go back to my father. There were fireworks. You loved him.”

  “Yes. As much as I knew about love back then.” Finally I realized there was more here from Treha than simply interest in my sexual past. “Why are you asking?”

  “I’ve always wondered if my mother and father loved each other. I used to think you got rid of me because you didn’t love me. You didn’t want me. Now I know that’s not true. But if he had known about me, do you think he would have wanted me?”