The Shadow of Your Smile (27 page)

After she’d visited the chapel, left her prayers there, Noelle found herself in the maternity ward, staring at the babies.

Little packages of joy. She watched their eyes blink, their little mouths curve open in a yawn, before they settled back into the embrace of sleep.

She’d wanted one—or more—of these. Had dreamed about holding a baby, smelling innocence on his or her skin, curling the child to her breast.

She’d dreamed about watching that child grow up, fling his or her tiny body into her embrace, curl chubby arms around her neck. She pressed her hand to the glass.
God, I wanted this.

After two hours on her knees praying for Eli, her sons, for their lives, for their pasts, it seemed natural that the Almighty might appear, breathe truth into her.

You had this.

Yes. She had. But she couldn’t remember it.

Or . . .

She closed her eyes and something fleeting appeared, like a child playing hide-and-seek behind a curtain. She saw it, and then it vanished. A smile. A tiny hand wrapped around hers. A smell. Powder and a fresh bath. She heard a giggle. High-pitched. Joyous.

She opened her eyes. Around her, the bustle of the maternity ward told her that nothing had changed, but she felt different.

Less alone.

As she was leaving the ward, she spotted a plaque by the door. A photograph of a tiny hand, that of a preemie, wrapped around a finger. The words at the bottom threaded through her.

“Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.”

She stared at the photo, repeating the words, wanting to fit her hand around the finger.

Kelsey was written on her heart; she knew it. And God knew it. Noelle would just have to trust Him to bring her back.

She exited the maternity ward and found her way to the surgical waiting room. The nurses at the desk had given her a pager, and of course she had her phone, but Kyle hadn’t called.

She’d changed, finding one of Eli’s shirts in the tangle of clothes she’d thrown into the suitcase in her dash from their house. There had been so much blood.

Why hadn’t she simply believed in him, waited for him?

Instead she’d run off to Duluth to find a piece of her that didn’t seem to fit anymore. Or maybe it did, just not the way she’d intended before her accident. The entire meeting with Eric made her feel as if she might have been running away.

She should have been running toward.

She should have never hidden her desire to attend school. She shouldn’t have let Eli hide out at that ice house or lose himself in his garage. At the very least, she should have gone with him.

Instead of caving in on herself. By herself.

How had they expected to survive grief alone when they were supposed to bear it together? No wonder they’d been frail, their marriage breakable.

She bore half the blame for letting it become fragile in the first place.

Not anymore. She intended to enlarge the picture she’d painted of their hands, to put it in their family room. The Hueston five, one member already home.

She clasped Eli’s shirt around her, breathing in his musky smell as she headed down the hall to the waiting room. Music, a sweet voice, lifted, ribboning down the hall.

“There are broken rainbow moments,

And dandelion wishes that don’t come true . . .”

The voice sounded familiar. Not Kelsey, or maybe . . .

Another memory brushed her, this one clearer, fresh, as if it had just happened. The hallway around her flickered away and she saw in her mind’s eye a young woman sitting on the beach, her guitar on her knee.

“There are wishes on shooting stars that finally come true . . .

For you.”

The waves of the lake caressing the shore. It shimmered, deep blue in the sunlight, turning her hair to gold.

“Don’t let the night leave you blind.

Leave it all behind . . .

He’s there for you.”

She looked up, eyes so blue-green they took Noelle’s breath.

“The star will come in the morning.

Believe it’s true . . .”

She wanted to reach out, touch her, wrap her in her arms, hold her. The girl looked at her and smiled.

“’Cause I’ll be waiting there . . .

For you.”

She let the last notes linger, staring at Noelle, nodding as the music faded.

Kelsey, don’t go—

Noelle was standing in the hallway still, tears running down her face.

“Mom?”

Kyle appeared. Blessed Kyle. He’d looked triumphant, albeit rough around the edges, when he showed up at the hospital. “Did you remember something?”

She stood there, breathed in the fragrance around her. Cottony, with a hint of lilac. Just like Kelsey’s blanket. Perhaps . . .

“Yes. I think I did.”

“I knew you would.” He took a step toward her. “Mom, I want you to meet my friend Emma.”

The pretty girl holding Kyle’s hand, petite, with brown hair under a blue beret and shining eyes—this girl she didn’t know. But she wanted to. In fact, even as she held out her hand, smiled at her, a warmth filled Noelle’s chest—a peace, a familiarity, a joy.

“Emma Nelson. I . . . I was friends with Kelsey.”

Noelle glanced at Kyle’s hand, woven into Emma’s. “And my son, I see.”

Kyle grinned at her. Then at Emma. There was something in his grin, the way he looked at this girl, that seemed so . . . right.

“The nurse just came out, told us Dad was out of surgery. The doctor is on his way.”

Oh, thank You, Lord.

Kyle looked past her then, and she turned. The gray-haired doctor introduced himself as “Robert Mitchell, chief of surgery.” He wore blue scrubs, a puffy blue hat. “Eli is stubborn, and although his heart tried to give out, he fought back. We had him out in recovery earlier, but we had to take him back in, so we monitored him for a bit and now he’s awake. And he’s asking for his wife.”

“That’s me,” Noelle said, glancing at Kyle. She took his free hand, then reached for Kirby’s. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She met their eyes, squeezing their hands. “Together, boys. We’ll get through this together.”

She followed Dr. Mitchell down the hallway into a recovery room filled with beds, pink and blue curtains hanging between them.

Eli lay on a bed, slightly propped up, tubes running from his chest, his arms, an oxygen mask over his mouth.

He saw her and smiled.

It was the smile that undid her. He looked at her the way Kyle had just looked at Emma. Like she gave him a reason to live.

And that too felt familiar.

She moved toward him, took his hand. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

He pulled his oxygen mask to the side, his eyes tired but teasing. “Who are you?”

“You’re real cute.”

His smile dimmed. “Are you okay?”

“Are you serious? You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Eli. You saved me.”

“Of course I did. I’m your husband.”

Oh. Yes, he was. She didn’t need a declaration of love yet, but—

“I love you, Noelle. I’ve always loved you, but . . . I know I blew it. If you’ll let me, I’ll try to help you remember our life and why it worked, and fix the things that didn’t. Marry me again, and let me be the husband you deserve.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.” She heard surprise, even disappointment, in his tone.

Noelle leaned close to him. “I’m already married to this guy I’m crazy about. He’s a little old for me, but I think he’s exactly the guy I’ve always wanted to be married to. So, you see, I’m taken.”

She touched his hand to her face. He opened it, pressed it against her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the art institute.”

“I’m sorry you had to hide it from me.”

“I think we were hiding a lot from each other.”

He drew in a breath.

“Like ourselves,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I forgive you for Lee.”

“Thank you.”

“If you forgive me for . . . Eric.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . well, I don’t think another man should know more about my life and my dreams than my husband.”

He nodded. “Your husband is going to start listening to them. Noelle, if you want to go to art school, I’m right behind you. We can sell the house, move to Duluth. I’ll figure out something to do.”

“I was thinking you might teach me how to fish.”

“You don’t like fishing.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.” She winked at him. “Nor do I remember how to cut hair, but I am not married to a hippie. We’re tackling your curls the moment we get home.”

“You’re frightening me a little,” he said as he drew her hand to his chest. His smile dimmed. “Do you think you’ll ever really remember me? Or our family? Kelsey?”

“I know I will. I already have, I think. But you know, Eli, I never did forget you.” She leaned close to him, her lips a breath from his face, kissing him in his favorite spot, in the pocket right below his eye. “In the back of my mind, I always remembered—and always loved—the shadow of your smile.”

A Note from the Author

Ever look back on your life and think,
What happened?
I know I do. Where is the woman who wanted to work in a New York ad agency? Where is the runner, the outdoor enthusiast, the girl who wanted to own a ranch in Colorado? (I clearly had mixed goals!) Oh, wait, she married this cute guy who wooed her from the back of his motorcycle and whisked her off to be a missionary in Russia. Then she had these four kids. And then she started writing books (and spending a lot of time in her office rather than outside!). I’m not complaining—I love my life. But looking back, twenty-two years ago I couldn’t have imagined being where I am today.

What if you could reset your life? Would you do the same things? And what parts of your life would you keep . . . or cut out? These were the questions that hounded me as I began to write
The Shadow of Your Smile.
I read an article about a man who had fallen and lost his memory of the past twenty-five years, and from his story I launched my own exploration into the what-ifs of starting over. It also happened to be my daughter’s senior year of high school, and watching her prepare to be on her own, while exciting, also strummed sorrow in my heart. I will miss her. I let my imagination wander into dark places a bit and wondered how, if anything should happen to her, I might go on without her. I’ve met women who have lost their children, and their wounds are deep and abiding. I myself have lost four children to miscarriage. That dark place of grief made me wonder—would it be better to start over, or would the joy of the memories be worth the pain?

Maybe our grief comes not from the loss of a child, but from a different loss, a regret, a mistake . . . anything that has wounded us so deeply we long to erase it all. But we can’t erase it, so what do we do?

That question drove me to Psalm 13: “How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day? . . . But I trust in your unfailing love. I will rejoice because you have rescued me. I will sing to the Lord because he is good to me.”

What does it mean to have the Lord be good to us—especially with our open wounds? I think the answer lies in this passage also: because of God’s unfailing love for us, because He has rescued us from death, we have hope.

One of my favorite verses is Romans 15:13: “I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.” Our job is to trust. God’s job is to overflow us with joy.

That’s hard to imagine when we’re sitting in dark places. I know—I’ve been there. If you’ve read any of my other books, you’ll find some of my stories in the author’s notes. But even in those dark places, I think hope is found in something Noelle discovered: “Maybe the key to going forward with her life was simply being grateful for it.” Being grateful for all we have, grateful for all we will have, grateful for the unfailing love of God—this is the foundation of hope.

Psalm 16 says, “Apart from you, I have no good thing.” This is the one thing I hope to never forget. This is the one thing that I take with me into the future. I have God. I have good things.

I hope you’ve been encouraged by the power of love through Noelle and Eli’s story. There are new beginnings even for “worn-out” marriages. There is hope because of God’s unfailing love.

In His grace,

Susan May Warren

About the Author

Susan May Warren is the RITA Award–winning author of more than thirty novels whose compelling plots and unforgettable characters have won acclaim with readers and reviewers alike. She served with her husband and four children as a missionary in Russia for eight years before she and her family returned home to the States. She now writes full-time as her husband runs a lodge on Lake Superior in northern Minnesota, where many of her books are set. She and her family enjoy hiking, canoeing, and being involved in their local church.

Susan holds a BA in mass communications from the University of Minnesota. Several of her critically acclaimed novels have been chosen as Top Picks by
Romantic Times
and won the RWA’s Inspirational Reader’s Choice contest and the American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year award. Four of her books have been Christy Award finalists. In addition to her writing, Susan loves to teach and speak at women’s events about God’s amazing grace in our lives.

For exciting updates on her new releases, previous books, and more, visit her website at www.susanmaywarren.com.