Crossing's Redemption Read online

  “That’s quite a statement,” said Peter.

  “What do you mean?”

  Daniel let go and turned his head to look at Peter. Amber wiped around his mouth and handed him off to Peter while she adjusted her clothing. Peter placed Daniel on his shoulder to pat his back.

  “You spent six years in a family that was falling apart after the death of your sister, then ten years on the road running from the reality of that. For you to say that you don’t spend a lot of time thinking about someone dying shows God has really done a lot of healing in the past three years.”

  “Maybe.” Amber thought for a moment. “Or could it just be that I expect things to continue tomorrow as they were today?”

  “Do you?”

  Amber looked at her husband just as Daniel gave two small burps. She handed him the rag in case any milk came up with the burps.

  “Or do you expect God to work and change things according to His plan?”

  Amber sighed. “I pray for God’s best. I know He’ll take care of us and guide us. But I’m not sure I spend any time thinking about what that means, what that looks like in terms of tomorrow.”

  “All it means is that tomorrow could be different. The question you need to settle is if you’re okay with that.”

  Amber sat quiet for a minute, her thoughts circling through different arguments in her head. Finally, she said, “I guess, if I truly want God’s best and I really trust Him, then I have to be okay with whatever comes. I may be sad or I may not like it, but ultimately, I have to trust in God’s love for me.”

  Chapter 3

  JUST AFTER LUNCH THE NEXT afternoon, Amber knocked on the front door of Ryan and Brittney’s one-story log cabin. Ryan, holding a sleeping two-week-old Alaina, opened the door. Amber could see Brittney on the edge of the overstuffed leather couch, tying her shoes.

  “Please say you feel like going for a walk,” Brittney said. Her long, auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, her dark eyes pleaded with Amber for escape.

  Amber laughed. “Sure. Feeling trapped?”

  “Staying home sounds like such a luxury until you can’t do anything but stay home!” said Brittney.

  “Just take it easy, Britt,” said Ryan. “Not too fast and don’t go too far. Your body is still recovering from giving birth.” Amber looked at Alaina, her dark hair spiking out in odd directions from the top of her head.

  “Yes, doctor,” said Brittney, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Amber, before he decides I need a wheelchair!”

  Brittney gave her husband a quick kiss, and the girls headed out the door and towards a well-worn path beside the house. If they followed the path long enough, it would wind past Peter and Brittney’s parents’ home and eventually to Peter and Amber’s home.

  “Are you still feel pretty good?” said Amber.

  “Yeah,” said Brittney. “But then after almost forty-two full weeks of pregnancy, even the day after giving birth felt better!”

  Amber looked up at the tall trees around her. Even though their feet crunched leaves on the ground from the past fall, the maples and oaks were all coming to life with the spring. She reached down to grab a small dead branch from the path.

  “Tell me what happened at Daniel’s doctor appointment yesterday. Mom said it went well, but she wasn’t sure she had all the details right.”

  Amber sighed. “The physiological test on his ears still shows some abnormalities, which is why they did the tym-pan-nom-i-tree. Am I saying that right?”

  “Pretty close,” said Brittney, putting her hands in her pockets. “Tympanometry is where they test the eardrum, right? In all my nursing classes, I was always horrible at the ear, nose, and throat stuff.”

  “Yep, it tests how well the eardrum moves. And apparently Daniel’s eardrums are great. The other test also came back good,” said Amber, concentrating for a moment, “bone conduction test, I think. The one that tests the inner ear.”

  “So, now they know that the problem is definitely with his middle ears?”

  Amber began peeling back a little of the loose bark on her stick. “Yes.”

  “What’s next?”

  Amber paused in the path and looked at the trees around her. Some of them reached 200 feet over her head.

  “Britt, do you ever wonder why God chose to make the fir trees here so tall?” Amber focused for a moment on the variety of life around her. “Even the cedars and cottonwoods tower over the maples.”

  Brittney reached out and put her arm on Amber’s shoulder. “What’s that got to do with Daniel?”

  Amber looked at the maple tree nearby, her eyes brimming with tears. “I feel so inadequate.” She looked at Brittney, the tears beginning to overflow. “We have a beautiful baby boy. I know that. I should be thankful.” Amber wiped away a tear running down her cheek, swallowing and trying to get some control over her emotions. “I’m thankful. I am. But everything the doctors talk about, sign language and hearing aids and directional microphones and . . . I just don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Oh, girl,” said Brittney, her eyes feeling with tears of empathy for her sister-in-law.

  “Why did God give Daniel to us? Why not to you and Ryan? You guys are the ones with medical training. This would be so much easier for you.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why.” Brittney grabbed both of Amber’s hands and squeezed tight. “Because God knows that you will rely on Him to get you through this. Ryan and I would keep defaulting to our medical training and connections.”

  Brittney took one of her hands and motioned to all the trees around them. “All these grand and glorious trees. Each one unique and each one serves a great purpose, even the maple. Don’t wish your purpose away just because another one looks easier.”

  Amber hugged Brittney tight. God, help me, she prayed.

  The next Wednesday, Patricia sat in a white wicker camel back rocking chair on her front porch enjoying the sunshine and warmer temperatures. The afternoon was coming alive with children playing outside after school; she loved listening to the laughter and screams of delight.

  Her mind was just beginning to wander back in time when a familiar rumble pulled in front of her house. Ryan stepped out of his Mustang and walked towards her.

  “You ever gonna get that hair cut?”

  Ryan leaned on the railing along the steps and smirked at her. “You don’t like the curls?”

  “They’re better suited on a girl. I like that spikey style you wore over the winter.”

  Ryan laughed. “Yeah, well, to be honest, I do too. I’m heading to the barber shop after I talk with you.”

  “Get on with it, then. Guessing you got test results to give me.”

  Ryan sat in a wicker chair beside her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I do have results, and they are all looking good. You know your blood pressure is okay, and your blood sugar levels are within acceptable levels.”

  She leaned in, anxious for the bottom line.

  “Your thyroid is fine, and your heart is great for a sixty-six-year old woman.”

  “If everything is so good, then what is causing the pain, Ryan?”

  Ryan looked at her for a moment. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me by only my first name.”

  Patricia sat back and tried to dismiss the moment. “Don’t go reading nuthin’ into that.”

  Ryan leaned back in his chair, bringing one leg up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee. “Mrs. Guire, I don’t think anything is seriously wrong with you.”

  Patricia looked at him, confused about the symptoms that had been plaguing her for months. “Then why the pain?”

  Ryan sat quiet for a moment, like he was uncertain how to proceed.

  “Spit it out, boy.”

  “I think you are having panic attacks.”

  “Panic attacks? Why on earth would I panic while tending my garden?”

  “The symptoms all fit: sweating, trembling, shortness of breath, chest pain, dizziness. Even the tingling
in your fingers. They usually last ten minutes or less and tend to take a toll on your body so you feel wiped out afterwards.”

  “But what would cause me to panic? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Sometimes panic attacks start over real fears, life-and-death situations, or circumstances where we truly believe that we are in danger of some sort.”

  Patricia motioned toward her flower garden. “There is nothing dangerous in that garden.”

  She watched Ryan’s jaw tighten. “Just because we believe we are in danger doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.”

  Patricia thought about his statement for a moment. His facial expressions were masking something. “You sayin’ that this is all in my head?”

  “I’m just . . .”

  “You listen to me, boy,” said Patricia as she stood from her chair, “although I’ve accused you of it a time or two, I don’t believe for one moment that you are dense.” She pointed her finger in his face. “A bug or two in that garden hadn’t ever sent me running before. So please tell me what exactly you think has got me all terrified without me knowin’ it.”

  Ryan stood, forcing Patricia to take a step back. “Mrs. Guire, let me be clear. I don’t think these panic attacks have anything to do with your garden.”

  “What then?”

  “I’d like for you to trust me enough to tell me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ryan put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the porch railing. He took a deep breath and then turned to face her. “These panic attacks started about three years ago, about the time Dr. Williams came to town.”

  Ryan’s words exploded in Patricia’s head. Dr. Williams! Could it be true? Is that what this is all about? She turned and walked a couple steps away from Ryan.

  “I know there’s a history there, and whatever it is has caused you to disappear from anyplace he likes to go. You never come to lunch at the diner anymore. Robert at the General Store asked about you last month because he hasn’t seen you much . . .”

  She heard Ryan walk up behind her.

  “And you slip in and out of church, coming in late, sitting near the back, and leaving before the final prayer is finished.”

  This cannot be happening. Patricia reached out to find the railing in front her, looking for some support before she fell to her knees. Weakness seemed to be taking over. Lord, why? After all these years? I thought this was in the past.

  Ryan moved around in front of her, placing one hand on her upper arm. “Mrs. Guire?”

  She swallowed, trying to regain control of her voice. Her eyes burned, and she feared tears would soon come. She had to get inside, figure this out. “Thank you, Ryan. I won’t keep you further.”

  Patricia turned with as much dignity as she could muster and walked inside her house, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 4

  “RYAN,” SAID AMBER.

  “Hmmm,” said Ryan, turning his head to look at his sister.

  “It’s your turn, dude,” said Peter.

  Peter, Amber, Ryan, and Brittney sat around the dining table at Peter and Amber’s home Friday evening, a card game of Spades half-played before them. Daniel sat in a jungle-themed exersaucer near Peter, happily bouncing and chewing on plastic keys while Alaina lay sleeping in a bouncer near Brittney.

  “Sorry,” said Ryan. “My mind just isn’t into cards tonight.”

  “Really?” said Brittney sarcastically.

  “What’s up?” said Peter.

  “Nothing I can talk about,” said Ryan. “Just a difficult patient.”

  “Has to be Mrs. Guire,” said Amber, grabbing her glass and walking to the open kitchen to get herself more iced tea.

  “You know I can’t say anything, Sis,” said Ryan.

  Amber took a sip of her tea and leaned against the black-engineered stone countertop closest to the table. “Well, how about this? As a friend, should I be concerned enough to check on her, see how she’s doing?”

  Ryan looked at his sister, thankful for the relationship God had restored between them. But he needed to proceed cautiously so he wouldn’t damage his professional integrity. “As your brother, I would encourage you to check on any friend that you found largely unresponsive on her front porch within the last week or so.”

  Amber nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll call her tomorrow and set up a time for us to have lunch next week.” She walked back to the table. “Now, can we get back to cards? I think Britt and I can win this hand.”

  “Ooh!” said Brittney. “If your hand is that good, we got this!”

  “You girls have to be bluffing,” said Peter, looking at his cards.

  Saturday morning, Patricia saw the bank on the corner and made her left turn onto East Powell Boulevard in Portland, Oregon. She settled back, letting traffic flow around her 2008 Ford Escape. Although it would be good to see Jake and his kids again, she was in no hurry.

  When she’d called him earlier in the week, he’d decided to take part of the day off from working in the garage they owned together so they could enjoy lunch. She’d missed her normal end-of-month appointment with him in April, and she could hear the concern in his voice.

  She turned onto Southeast 62nd Avenue and soon saw his old Nissan Quest minivan beside the little white house. Seven-year-old Andrew sat on the front porch step, his blond hair almost sticking up more than it was lying down.

  As soon as he saw her, he jumped up and ran inside. Before she had the engine turned off, both he and five-year-old Emma were running toward her.

  Andrew opened her door. “I thought you’d never get here!” He beamed at her, bouncing as he waited for her to get out of the vehicle.

  “Well, here I am,” said Patricia, grinning at the enthusiastic greeting.

  “We’ve been waiting simply forever!” said Emma, one front tooth conspicuously missing in her smile. “But now you’re here, and we can have fun!”

  Patricia got out of the car and retrieved a bag from the back seat. “Were you not having fun before I got here?”

  Emma crossed her arms. “No! We had to do chores—”

  “All morning—” said Andrew.

  “And they took forever—” said Emma.

  “But Daddy said that when you got here—” said Andrew.

  “We could play!” said Emma.

  As they slowly made their way to the front door, Patricia dutifully listened as the children excitedly told her all the things they’d done that morning to prepare for her visit. Patricia looked up to see Jake and nine-year-old Taylor waiting for her on the front step.

  Patricia took both hands and pushed Emma’s light brown bangs from her eyes. Moving in close, Patricia said, “So now must be time for fun.”

  Emma’s smile lit up her entire face.

  “Me too!” said Andrew, jumping up and down.

  “You too,” said Patricia, smiling while she tousled his hair. “Presents for all!” she announced, holding up a large bag hanging off her arm.

  Jake shook his balding head, grinning. “You spoil them.”

  “A grandmother’s prerogative,” she said seriously.

  “One I won’t deny you,” said Jake, taking his arm from around Taylor’s slight frame to give Patricia a hug. “I appreciate you stepping in to be a grandmother since their own are so distant.”

  “It is my pleasure,” said Patricia as she touched Taylor’s cheek. “Now, come inside, everyone, so I can sit down.”

  Jake held the door while Andrew and Emma rushed into the small living room and Taylor wrapped her arm around Patricia’s waist to walk beside her.

  “I see you have new glasses, child,” said Patricia.

  “Yeah, the other ones were getting old,” said Taylor, pushing the small metal frames farther up her nose.

  “I like the purple color,” said Patricia. “It suits you.”

  Taylor smiled.

  Patricia sat on a worn blue couch just inside the door, the large picture window b
ehind her. Taylor sat beside her, and Andrew and Emma sat on the hardwood floor at her feet. Jake took a seat in a teal-colored chair on the adjacent wall. Patricia opened up her bag and pulled out the first box. “For my little Emma.”

  Patricia handed over a brightly wrapped box. Emma tore open the paper, pieces flying everywhere. She looked at the box, uncertain. She tried to sound out the words. “A – s – t – r – o . . .”

  “Very good,” said Patricia. “It says astrolamp. It shines stars on your wall at night.”

  Emma’s eyes lit up. “My very own stars? In my very own room? Daddy!! Do you see? I simply can’t wait! How long until dark?”

  Her chatter faded slightly as Patricia pulled out another box. “For my Andrew.”

  He barely tore the paper off one side before he stopped and looked at the box. He jumped up, shouting, “Woo hoo!! A rocket! Yes! Look, Dad!”

  “A rocket?” Jake looked suspiciously at Patricia as he took the box from his son.

  “Just a stomp rocket,” she defended herself. “I remembered my promise after the science kit that I wouldn’t bring anymore exploding or volcano-like substances into the house.”

  “Or things that stain,” added Taylor. “It took Megan a week to get all that blue out of her hair.”

  “Megan?” said Patricia.

  “A girl at school,” said Taylor. “Somehow Andrew put the blue dye from that science kit into a cup of water without the teacher seeing. Then as they sat at their desks, he took Megan’s braid and dipped it in the cup. She didn’t know what he was doing until the tips of her hair were dyed blue.”

  “It was so cool,” said Andrew. “Her hair soaked it up just like the celery stalk did when we put it in red water!”

  “That was science class,” said Jake sternly to his son.

  Andrew quickly sat down, subdued for the moment. “Yes, Dad.”

  “No more dye for Andrew,” said Patricia, winking at the boy. He smiled back at her. “Now, for my Taylor,” she said, pulling out a small box from her bag.

  Taylor carefully pulled at the paper until she came to a small jewelry box. She opened the box and gasped. “Oh, Nanna!” Inside was a small dolphin pendant with a matching silver chain. She pulled it out to put it around her neck. Fastened, the dolphin fell to where her heart was. Taylor put her hand over the dolphin and looked at Patricia. “I will treasure it. Thank you.”