Redemption 03 - Return

by Smalley, Gary; Kingsbury, Karen

“For when you need a sanity break,” she’d explained to Ashley. “And because it makes the house look more like a home.”

  Ashley and her father sat in the swing and set it gently in motion. “Beautiful day.” Her father stared past the roses in bloom along the walkway, through the full trees to the blue sky beyond.

  “They say July is supposed to be a scorcher.”

  Her father nodded. “Makes me glad Kari and Ryan are waiting until the end of September to get married.” He tilted his head back some. “Fall looks better on Bloomington than most any other place in the country.”

  Silence fell between them, and Ashley marveled at how comfortable she felt. God had changed her, no doubt. He’d given her Sunset Hills and convinced her to share her past with Landon. Now she had no skeletons in her closet and no intention of wasting another minute of life. She and Cole were closer than ever, and even her parents seemed to have forgotten that she was the family outcast.

  A bluebird landed on the grass a few feet away. It looked at them and hopped three times before taking to the sky again. Ashley breathed in the smell of jasmine and damp grass. “Even with the humidity, I love summer.”

  “Me, too.” Her father used his feet to give the swing another push. Then he turned slightly and looked at her. His voice was casual, his expression relaxed. “Can I ask you something, Ashley?”

  “Sure.” She angled her body so she could see him better.

  “How come you didn’t say much about your time in New York?”

  “New York?” Ashley tried not to let the alarm show on her face. Had he somehow found out about Luke? If so, why had he waited until now to ask her about it? She swallowed and gripped the heavy chain that held the swing. “I thought I did.”

  Her father sucked his cheek in a little. His eyes lit up the way they did when he was teasing her. “ ‘Fine…good…fantastic.’ ” He paused. “My daughters usually have more to say than that.”

  Ashley’s shoulder muscles eased some. Good. He was looking for conversation, not a confession. “I guess I was in a hurry to get Cole home.” She uttered a laugh, but it sounded tinny, anxious. “We’re reading the Junie B. Jones books, you know. Takes about a half hour each night.”

  “I sort of thought you’d tell me about the phone call.”

  Again Ashley’s heartbeat doubled. She met her father’s eyes and tried not to sound interested. “What phone call?”

  “You know…” A breeze drifted through the trees and brushed through the spaces between them. “The one from Paris.”

  Ashley let go of one fearful possibility—that her father somehow knew about Luke’s little boy—and jerked her mind in a completely different direction. This wasn’t about Luke; it was about the strange call she’d gotten before leaving New York.

  She twisted her face up. “You mean the wrong number? The person called once when I was on my way to the airport. I heard every other word, so I figured it was a mistake.”

  Her father stared at her. His feet went still and gradually the swing slowed down. “It wasn’t a mistake, Ashley.” He leaned over his legs. “I would’ve said something sooner, but I assumed she got through to you.”

  “Who?” Ashley’s throat felt tight.

  “The woman from Paris.” He searched her face. “That’s partly why I wanted to come by—to see what she said. Why it was so critical that she find you that morning.”

  “What—” Ashley ran her tongue along her lower lip—“what did she want?”

  Her father gave a sideways shake of his head. “At first I sort of figured maybe she’d seen your Web site.” He smiled at her. “It’s beautiful, Ashley. Your work is wonderful.”

  She felt the corners of her mouth climb up her cheeks. “Thank you, Daddy.” For the briefest instant, Ashley allowed herself to bask in the sunlight of her father’s praise. Then she did the only thing she could think to do: put the Paris phone call on hold. She stood and held up a finger. “I have to check on them.” She tiptoed through the open door and glanced around. The women were still sleeping, and no sounds came from Bert’s room. She waited another few seconds, then rejoined her father.

  “So,” she caught his eyes again, “you think Paris might be interested in my work? After I’ve been gone for so long?”

  “That’s what I thought at first.” He hesitated. “I asked the woman if I could take a message, and she said no. She said it was critical that she talk to you personally. After that, I wasn’t sure what she wanted.” He reached out and patted her knee. “That’s why I’m here. I thought you could fill in the details.”

  “I know nothing.” Ashley sat a little straighter and gave the swing a small push with her feet. Why in the world would someone from Paris call? And what critical thing could the woman—whoever she was—possibly have to talk about?

  Ashley realized her father was watching her, catching every emotion as it filtered across her face. She laughed softly. “If it’s that critical, I’m sure she’ll call back.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” He paused, searching her eyes. “It just seemed strange. I…I didn’t want it to be about Cole.”

  There it was, out in the open.

  The dots Ashley had refused to consider, let alone connect—that somehow someone from Paris knew about Cole. With the frightening possibilities suddenly as clear as a summer morning, she could do nothing but let the questions come.

  Had Jean-Claude Pierre changed his mind? The artist had sneered at her the last time they spoke, suggesting she get an abortion, telling her he wanted nothing to do with her child. Cole couldn’t have been the only illegitimate child he’d fathered, not when he looked at sex as merely an artistic form of exercise.

  So what had he done now, hired an attorney? Had the woman called in an effort to find her and track down Jean-Claude’s son? Ashley wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think he’d be entitled to visitation rights after being out of the boy’s life for so long. Of course, he had plenty of money if he wanted a legal battle. So was that it? Had he changed his mind, and now he wanted a son?

  The idea terrified Ashley like nothing ever had.

  “Maybe—” her father’s voice brought her back from the edge of a cliff, a canyon of fear that knew no bottom—“it’s about some bookkeeping detail, something you could help them with. That could be it, couldn’t it?”

  Hope gave her a burst of air and helped her catch her breath.

  “Yes.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. “Yes, that could be it.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of that before? In fact, that’s exactly what it had to be. She’d been privy to dozens of office books, especially where the English-speaking customers were concerned.

  Her father stood and stretched. “That makes sense.” He held his hand out and helped Ashley to her feet. “They probably have a new bookkeeper, someone who wants to know how you handled things, something like that.”

  “Probably.” Ashley gave her father’s hand a squeeze. She put the call from Paris out of her mind.

  “How are things with Landon?”

  Ashley’s heart melted. “Good.” She dropped her chin and felt her eyes sparkle as they hadn’t yet that day. “Very good, really.”

  “I miss seeing him around.” Her father’s smile was kind, and he gave Ashley a hug.

  “Me, too.” She stepped toward the front door of the house.

  “You’re talking more these days?” He didn’t know the details that she’d shared with her mother, but obviously he knew more than he usually let on.

  “Yes.” Ashley’s cheeks grew hot. “Much more.”

  Time was when conversation about her and Landon would frustrate her, make her feel as though everyone in her family was trying to plan her life. But now, mention of Landon and the relationship they were building warmed her heart.

  “Well—” he headed down the sidewalk toward his car—“tell him we said hi.”

  “I will.”

  Her father stopped and turned then, halfway dow
n the walk. “Does he ever see Reagan?”

  Ashley’s heart flew to her throat, and she put her fingers near her neck so she might find her voice. “Um…I’m not sure.” She shrugged, hating the lie. “Manhattan’s a big place.”

  “Yes.” Her father nodded, his eyes wistful. “Well, ask him sometime.” He gave her a lopsided grin, one that didn’t disguise the sadness in his expression. “I still think things would be different for Luke if he and Reagan would…” His voice drifted. “Just ask him sometime, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Her father waved again and went to his car. He was a tall man—tall and proud, with the gait of a thirty-five-year-old. At least that was how he used to look. All his life he’d been the strong one, especially when things didn’t turn out the way they’d planned. When she came home from Paris pregnant with Cole…when Kari’s husband left her…and when Tim was murdered by that crazy college kid.

  But this—the loss of Luke from his life—was sapping the strength from him, a little more each day.

  Throughout the afternoon, as Ashley finished her shift at Sunset Hills, she hurt at the burden her father bore, how he missed Luke all these months. But that didn’t hurt as much as the fact that she held the information that might make everything right again—and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE FEVERS WERE BACK, and Brooke had never felt more helpless in all her life.

  It was Monday morning, just twelve hours after the family had gathered at the Baxter house for little Hayley’s third birthday. Maddie was fine at the party, riding her tricycle up and down the long driveway, calling out to Cole to catch her as she pedaled.

  Now she lay beneath her bedsheet burning up. It was her moaning that had awakened Brooke sometime before five that morning and brought her to Maddie’s side. She’d been sitting by her, patting her head with a cool cloth and praying ever since.

  Brooke sat on the edge of her daughter’s mattress and glanced across the room at Hayley. Their younger daughter was sitting cross-legged, watching the scene through wide, worried eyes. “Mommy, is Maddie sick again?”

  “Yes, honey.” Brooke clenched her teeth. “She has a fever.”

  Hayley tilted her blonde head and bit her lip. “God’s going to make her better, Mommy, right?”

  “Yes, sweet girl.” Brooke refused to hold the question up and analyze it. “God’s going to make her better.”

  Hayley slipped out of bed and padded over to Brooke’s knee. “Can I get dressed?”

  “Sure.” Brooke led the way to the girls’ closet. She pulled out a short-sleeved pink pullover and found a pair of light denim shorts in one of the dresser drawers. Hayley had changed much in the past year. Where Maddie was quiet and conservative, Hayley was the adventurer, their independent daughter. It wasn’t enough to keep up with Maddie; she wanted to do everything faster, better, more completely than Maddie.

  Even if she was nearly two years younger.

  Brooke helped her into the clothes and ran a brush through her hair. Fine, golden hair, just like Maddie’s. She was tying Hayley’s Cinderella tennis shoes when Peter stuck his head into the room.

  “How is she?”

  “Hot.” Brooke wasn’t sure why, but her husband’s attitude irritated her. If he cared so much, why hadn’t he been in here for the past two hours, holding vigil by their daughter’s bed, praying for her? The way Brooke had been.

  “How hot?” He entered the room and stood near Maddie. He studied her for a few seconds, and then looked at Brooke again. “Did you take it?”

  “No.” Brooke straightened and patted Hayley on the back. “Go on, honey. You can stay in the playroom until breakfast, okay?”

  “Okay.” Hayley flashed her a carefree grin and then grabbed hold of Peter’s legs on her way out of the room. “Maddie’s sick.” She craned her head back so she could see Peter’s eyes. “Make her better, okay, Daddy?”

  “Okay, pumpkin.” He gave Hayley a smile that Brooke recognized as decidedly plastic. “Go play now, all right?”

  Hayley skipped from the room, humming a happy song. When she was gone, Peter looked at Brooke. “Why didn’t you take her temperature? A detail like that could help us figure out what’s wrong; you know that.”

  “Listen—” Brooke felt the hair on the back of her neck rise—“I don’t need you telling me what do to, Peter. I’m a doctor, too.” She lowered her voice so the anger in her tone wouldn’t wake Maddie. “I can tell a child’s temperature within half a degree.” She planted her hands on her hips. “She has about a hundred and three, okay? How’s that going to help us figure out what’s happening to her?”

  Peter’s hard breath fell just short of a huff. He sat next to Maddie and touched her forehead with the back of his fingers. “She’s hotter than that now.”

  “Okay, so if you’re so worried, tell me this.” Brooke took a few steps closer. “How come you weren’t in here sitting beside her all morning?”

  “Because you were.” His answer came sharp and fast. “And if you’re such a good doctor, you should’ve been able to handle it without me. That way at least one of us can go to work today.”

  Brooke wanted to scream at him. Was that all he cared about, that one of them made it to work? She was about to open her mouth, about to shoot something quick and mean back at him, when she caught herself.

  Just yesterday Pastor Mark preached on love. The type of love Christ had for his people. Patient and kind, gentle and not easily angered. The way she and Peter always loved before they started attending church. So why were they arguing more in the past few months? And how come they hadn’t made love or even kissed in more than a week? With Maddie sick, they needed each other more than ever, but instead of drawing close they’d allowed a tension to build between them. Sometimes Brooke felt she was living with a stranger.

  God, where are you in all this?

  Love one another, my daughter. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

  A chill ran over Brooke’s arms. This was her favorite part about her new relationship with God. Sometimes when she’d utter a prayer, she’d feel an answer whisper across the plains of her heart. It wasn’t an actual answer, audible words from God like Moses heard at the burning bush. But a feeling, a thought. A timely Scripture that reassured her God was right there beside her. Within her soul, in a place where she would never be alone.

  The verse that filled her heart now was the one Pastor Mark talked about just twenty-four hours earlier. He’d started his sermon with the idea that God asked just one thing of his people: that they love each other. Then Pastor had gone on to describe love—love the way God designed it.

  She felt the fight leave her. “I’m sorry.” Tears stung her eyes. She lifted her hands and let them fall to her sides. “Go get ready for work, Peter.” She crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll stay with Maddie.”

  “She has an appointment at ten o’clock with Dr. Ruiz.” Peter’s voice was more controlled, and he kept his eyes on Maddie. “I called a few minutes ago.”

  Dr. Ruiz? “Why him?”

  “Because he handles internal medicine, and he’s the best in the state. I want a closer look at her blood count. Maybe we’ve overlooked something.”

  “She’s been well for months, Peter.” Brooke stared at him. “Maybe she has the flu.”

  “We’ll let Dr. Ruiz decide.”

  Brooke wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Peter could’ve asked her first, could’ve made a plan that they would follow together. Instead he’d booked the appointment without discussing it with her, and that lit the fires of her anger again. They ran tests on Maddie early last spring, when her fevers came in a cluster. Blood panels and lung X rays and throat cultures. Always the results were the same. Her white count was elevated, but nothing more. Of course Brooke understood the potential danger. She was a doctor. She knew that fevers of unknown origin combined with a high white count were often the first symptoms of
leukemia.

  But this was Maddie’s first day sick in months. So why would Peter make the appointment with Dr. Ruiz? Didn’t he trust the care the two of them could give her? Was that it? He figured they didn’t know what to do about their sick little girl so they needed Dr. Ruiz?

  When she didn’t say anything, Peter cleared his throat and turned to look at her. “I’m not waiting this time, Brooke.” His eyes were more lined than before, and he looked as if he’d aged five years in the past one.

  “I don’t want to wait either, Peter, but infectious diseases? We don’t even know if her count’s high.”

  “Ruiz can tell us. And he’ll check for things we never looked for: intestinal anomalies, parasites, and—” he paused, and when he spoke again he said the one word they’d refused to say, the one they’d kept from their vocabulary since Maddie had started getting fevers—“cancer.”

  “She doesn’t have cancer.” Brooke had to fight to keep the frustration from her voice, battle to make herself treat her husband with love.

  “Okay, but it can’t hurt to run some tests. As a precaution.” Peter held his hand up to her. “I’m sorry, Brooke. I hate this as much as you do.”

  She sniffed and wiped at a tear on her right cheek. She’d wanted desperately to believe in God, to live her life knowing that he was in control, watching out for them, loving them. But if Maddie had cancer…

  Peter stood and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll call your mom and see if I can drop Hayley off at her house on my way in.” He kissed her once on the forehead. “Then I’ll meet you at Ruiz’s office.”

  She lowered her gaze to the floor and gave a slight nod. “Okay.”

  “Hey—” he lifted her chin until their eyes met again—“if the fevers are back, we have to get this figured out. It’s what we would do if she were anyone else’s little girl.”

  Brooke’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t deny that. “You’re right.” She pulled away from him. “Go get ready for work.”

  When he was gone, Brooke went back to Maddie. She could hear Hayley in the next room, still humming and talking to her baby dolls. Peter’s words ran through her mind again. He was right. If Maddie had been any other child, they would’ve recommended her to a specialist months ago, when the fevers were practically constant.