Rain Dance (24 page)

Della gripped my arm. “Let’s go.”

I made arrangements for Cliff to deliver the almost five-foot-tall tool locker to Della’s house. She held on to the Bible with all her fragile might.

Back at her house, she sat and stared at the envelope with her name on it. Then she reached for the letter opener.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked.

“No. I need you here. Could you call Bernice and ask her to come over too? Her number is on the list by the phone in the kitchen.”

I dialed Bernice’s number. “I’ll be right over,” she assured me.

As I hung up, Della hollered, “Praise the Lord!”

I hurried around the corner and saw her standing with the letter to her clasped heart. “Thank You, Father!” she shouted.

“Della?”

“He found Christ! My son is with the Father and Marty. I will see him again. He wrote in his letter to me that the ledger tells about his journey to God.”

We hugged.

I helped her fix tea and put cookies on a plate. When Bernice walked in through the kitchen door, Della shuffled over to her friend in Marty’s slippers with his Bible in her arms.

“Our prayers were answered,” she told her friend. “Don came to Christ and is in heaven. You know how quiet he was and always keeping some kind of journal or telling me things in letters. He left us a gold mine—a letter to each of us sharing his faith, and this ledger that was his diary.”

Bernice held Della as tears slipped silently down their crinkled cheeks. Their quiet rejoicing mingled with their deep sorrow.

We sat at the dining room table and sipped sweetened tea from bone china teacups with lilacs on them. The conversation eventually turned to me.

“Are you going to adopt?” Bernice asked.

For the first time, the question didn’t push any buttons. “No. Ben and I are committed to the children God is sending into our lives. We hope to pray for, share our faith with, and love these kids.”

Bernice nodded and took another sip of tea. “That’s good.”

“You’ll be a blessing to them,” Della approved.

In the silence that followed, they granted me a precious gift—acceptance.

The old friends held hands. “Let’s pray,” Della said and held out her hand for mine. Bernice did the same, and I gladly joined their sweet circle of friendship.

Later, I left them to a second pot of tea, rereading Don’s letter, with the ledger nearby waiting to divulge its wonderful secrets to a mother’s aching heart.

At home, I walked out to my garden with an iced grape juice, my journal, and our cordless phone. The breeze carried the soft scent of roses, and the sun warmed me. Cheeps, chirps, and melodious songs filled the air.

My thoughts turned to Stacie. I glanced at my watch. An urgency to pray sprang up from the center of my being.
Please be with her when
she confronts her dad.
Give her wisdom and comfort
and,
Lord, a little compassion would be nice.
She’s so hurt.

Confidence replaced concern. God heard my prayer.

I smiled at a bumblebee working his way in and out the flower petals. I set my juice on the arm of my bench and picked up my journal, never taking my eyes off the bee as he hovered in the flower next to me. Translucent wings hummed while he worked the pollen-laden stamens. With a full load, he emerged from the blossom slowly, turned around, and buzzed off.

A verse I’d memorized long ago, came to mind, “Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones.”

Lord, give me encouraging words when Stacie calls. Help me to lift her up. Be with her as only You can. Help the truth
to
set this family free.

I jumped when the phone beside me jangled. Stacie’s cell phone showed on the ID.

“Can I come over?” Stacie asked.

“Sure. Where are you?”

“In your driveway.”

Stacie

For weeks I avoided my dad, and he returned the favor. After her surgery, he spent extra time with Eve while she completed a regimen of radiation and chemotherapy. She wanted total privacy.

I knew Eve didn’t want me to see her sick. I used being busy and tired as my reasons for not talking to either parent. Mike saw them as excuses.

“Talk to him, Stacie. He’ll be honest. Besides, you need to know how Eve is doing.”

Instead, I reorganized my files and cleaned drawers and closets. Jonica was planning a rummage sale to benefit the women’s shelter, so I cleaned out my stuff and left a message for Eve, just in case she had some good junk she wanted to get rid of. Her housekeeper dropped off Eve’s donations.

I also whined, cried, and threw hissy fits resembling the tantrums I’d seen toddlers throw. I believed my behavior was justified.

Every single day I missed my dad and every single day the roots of my anger embedded deeper into my heart. I knew I might never let him off the hook. Things between us were changed forever.

“He lied to me.” I dumped a box of coats from Eve on the bed. “I trusted him with everything—my whole life—and he lied to me.”

“He didn’t lie,” Mike countered. “He just didn’t tell you. He has a reason. You need to ask him what it is.”

“He can come to me.”

“Don’t you think he’d have told you if he felt he could?”

“Not anymore.”

“When has he ever given you a reason to doubt him?”

“Now. Big time.”

“Come on, Stacie. You haven’t given him a chance to explain.”

“So what?”

I reached deep into coat pockets and pulled out anything I found inside. On the bed lay a pair of Eve’s dress pearl earrings, a single key, and a pile of old receipts.

I motioned toward one of the coats. “Why’d she send this? It’s Dad’s favorite.”

Mike scanned the items on the bed. “Maybe the new housekeeper made a mistake. I don’t think your mom would get rid of this stuff.”

“How do you know the housekeeper is new?” I demanded.

“I was here when she brought the box over.” Mike faced me, arms crossed. “I am not the enemy. And neither is your dad.”

“Yeah, right.”

The inside pocket of the coat bulged partly open as I lifted it. “What’s this?”

I looked across the bed at Mike as I pulled out a picture wallet. Sinking down on the pile of wool and cashmere, I made an executive decision.

Mike came around the bed. “What are you thinking?”

“Eve evidently meant for all of this to go to the sale. I’m just making sure nothing of value goes with it.” My justification came easily.

Opening the soft, faded calfskin, I caught a scent of Dad’s aftershave mixed with leather. Eve’s and Dad’s faces beamed at me from the first photo. On the white edge in Dad’s handwriting it read, “My bride.”

“Mike, look.”

He bent over my shoulder, head tilted to the side. “She’s beautiful. You look like her in our wedding pictures. Even your dresses are similar. Did you notice that before?”

“Not until I found the pictures in the box. When I was a kid, I’d ask to see her wedding photos from time to time, but she always had an excuse. And she didn’t mention anything about the similarity when she saw my dress. I was just relieved she didn’t disapprove.”

The next two pages held photos of Dad and his children. In one, Dad held a tiny pink bundle. “Stacie and Daddy” was printed on the photo edge in Eve’s handwriting. Dad’s eyes shimmered into the camera, and his smile reached from cheek to cheek.

In the other, he held me on his knee and clutched the blue-blanketed bundle close to his chest. “My Kids” this one read in Dad’s precise print. My hand rested on the baby’s blanket and I smiled at the camera. Dad looked down at his son.

“I always wanted a brother. Why did they keep him from me? After I found the picture I wondered if the baby had died and they didn’t know how to tell a little girl. I told myself that as time went on it was easier for them not to talk about it, and maybe it still hurt too much. And then later, there was never a right time.”

I looked up at Mike, tears burning my eyes. “But he’s alive! And while I’m pretty sure I’m going to be glad about that, I am not sure I can forgive them for never telling me.” My voice reached a desperate pitch, and I felt my vocal cords straining over each word. “Why Mike? Why?”

Mike shrugged. “You’ve got to ask them.”

I chose not to respond and turned the page. Next were two pictures of me. One showed me curled up asleep on the couch surrounded by coloring books, popcorn kernels, and my teddy bear named Honey. “Date night with Dad” it read in Eve’s handwriting.

“Huh. She knew about our messes and didn’t say a word.”

“Honey, your dad let Eve do the work she wanted to do, but I don’t think he ever let her decide what he did with you.”

“You don’t think she wore the pants in the family?’

“No. They have a partnership not all that different from my folks.”

“You think?”

“I’d bet on it.”

“You don’t gamble.”

“With your parents, it would be a sure deal.”

Then came a wedding picture of Mike and me smiling at each other like no one else existed. I remembered how for that moment they hadn’t.

I turned the page. Two photos of a boy. The first, of a baby in Dad’s arms, was titled, “Stephen Dunbar, Jr.” The second was fairly recent. A stocky blond boy stood holding dad’s hand and a kite. Dad’s smile warmed my heart like sunshine on a chilly morning run.

I missed my brother’s whole life. What were they thinking?

The last photo was even more recent. Eve stood next to Dad dressed in an elegant black velvet gown, her arm tucked into Dad’s. Dad and Eve smiled at each other. “Off her guard” was written on the back in Dad’s writing.

“Mike, look! They still love each other!”

“We knew that already.”

“I know, but I don’t get to see her this way.”

In the coat pocket I found a piece of paper. “You’re not going to read that are you?” Mike asked.

“It could be a grocery list—something I can toss.”

It wasn’t.

Dear Stephen,

When we said for better or worse, who’d have thought it would include
breast cancer?”

I stopped reading but did glance to the end.

You are the love of my life, Darling.

Eve

“My mother writes love letters?” I said, incredulous.

“Looks like it.” Mike responded.

The doorbell rang, and he moved toward the living room. “I’ll get it.” I heard him greet someone, then call, “Stacie, it’s your dad.”

“Be right there.”

I hope you’re up for this Dad. I’ve been preparing for
your
cross-examination for days.

I got off the pile of clothes in a series of not-so-smooth grunts and heaves, hindered by pregnancy and anger. I stuck the small album into my back pocket and walked into our living room.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Mike said and escaped to the kitchen.

“Stacie, you look beautiful.”

“Hi, Dad. How’s Eve?”

The ice-princess had arrived. I sat on the couch, careful not to bend the album.

He joined me. “The radiation was rough, and she reacted pretty strongly to the chemo. It’s been a hard few weeks. I left her at her office drafting her farewell speech.”

“She’s not running again?” I should have been shocked and even worried, but I was just plain mad.

“No.”

“Is she dying?”

It was a mean question and intended to inflict pain. Like Mother, like daughter.

“I hope not,” he said, his voice muffled.

“So who does she recommend to fill her shoes?”

“She’s leaving that up to the party.”

“Huh.”

“Stacie, we have to talk.”

“How about we start with this?”

I pulled out the photo wallet. His eyes widened.

“Where did you get that?”

“In the pocket of a coat Eve’s housekeeper sent over for Jonica’s rummage sale.”

He leaned back against the cushions and studied me. “I see.”

I handed it to him and watched his slender fingers as they closed around his secret treasure. He kept his head bowed.

“How could you do this to me, Dad?”

Each word came out like a perfect little sound bite. He seemed to sink into himself.

“I have to know why you lied to me all these years.”

For a long moment neither of us spoke. Finally he said, “I wondered if I would ever be able to share this with you. Please don’t think badly of your mother as I tell you these things. She loves you very much. Promise?”

“I can’t promise that. She’s not the only one hurting here. You have to consider Stevie’s and my rights and feelings. It’s not all about Eve.”

He nodded and rubbed the leather rectangle in his hand. “You’re right. The deception stops here.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I met Eve when we both taught college. When she entered the lecture hall on teacher orientation day, her beauty captured my attention, like it did every other man in the room. The sound of her voice seemed to beckon me. She smiled all the way to her eyes—not like now—and I know it sounds like a cliché, but I felt myself get lost in them. I didn’t hear the dean introduce me, even though he was using a microphone. Everybody laughed, but I only heard the sound of hers. It reminded me of water bubbling in a brook.”

He stopped, then continued as though speaking to himself. “I didn’t retain a thing I heard at the orientation. All I could think about was finding this lovely woman later and asking her out. When she said yes, I started plotting how to get her to give the same answer to a marriage proposal. I knew I was in love for the first time in my life—and we were still strangers.”

I’d never heard Dad talk like that. It was so intimate I felt like an intruder. And I didn’t want him to stop.

“Imagine my delight when after a year of courtship, I found out she loved me too,” he went on, a smile lighting his face at the memory. “Our wedding, honeymoon, and first baby were perfect. But Eve’s second pregnancy was different. Morning sickness plagued her the full nine months. Her labor and delivery took much longer than it had with you, and the doctor feared for the baby. Like she had with you, your mother insisted I stay with her in the delivery room, so I watched our son’s birth. His skin was so blue it startled me, and they rushed to get him breathing. You came out with a wail loud enough to be heard in the next county. He was barely breathing. I knew something was terribly wrong with our boy.”