Halfway to Forever (4 page)

Matt let his hands rest on the edge of the guitar, and Tanner was struck by the calm in his friend’s face. A calm that was only possible by walking through the fire and coming out refined on the other side. “We’ve already talked to our social worker and she’s looking for an available child.”

“A girl, right?”

Matt nodded. “Hannah and I both want a little girl. Three or four years old, doesn’t matter what ethnic background. We would have a better choice of children if we were interested in the foster-adopt program. We’re licensed for it, but neither of us wants to risk getting a child and having her taken away.”

“So you want one who’s already legally available?”

“Right. Our social worker doesn’t think it’ll take long.”

Again Tanner was struck by Matt and Hannah’s faith. So much could go wrong with a child abandoned to the social services system. Drug abuse, bonding issues, or worse. Watching Hannah and Matt go through the adoption process was like watching a living illustration of faith. “What about that Haitian agency?”

“Heart of God? Great group of people. We filled out the paperwork and paid the program fee, but they didn’t know how long it would take until they had a girl that age. Right now, their older children are almost all boys.”

“And now Hannah wants to adopt from the U.S.?”

“At first she was afraid to. That’s why we looked at Haiti. The statistics are …” Matt’s voice drifted and he clenched his jaw. “More than ninety percent of the U.S. kids legally free for adoption have been abused. Some of them so bad it would take a miracle to make a difference.”

Tanner narrowed his eyes, barely making out a sailboat on the darkened horizon. “You’re taking a big risk.”

“Yep.” Matt didn’t sound worried, only accepting, confident. “There’s always a risk.”

An easy silence fell between them again, comfortable, meaningful, and Matt moved his fingers over the strings, blending his music with the sounds of the sea.

Muffled voices broke the reverie—Jade and Hannah were back—and Tanner looked at his watch. He swung his legs over the side of the lounge chair and patted Matt on the shoulder.
“Well, friend, I guess we’re both in need of the same thing then.”

Matt set his guitar down, stood and stretched. “What’s that?”

“A miracle. Nothing short of a miracle.”

G
race Landers lay in her sleeping bag and trembled. The voices were always loud, but tonight they were too scary to sleep, too scary not to think about.

Besides, the handcuff was hurting her wrist.

The van was small. Grace’s sleeping bag was at the very back on the floor, against the double doors. There was barely enough room to sleep there, and she’d had to fold her sleeping bag in half to make it fit.

Mommy slept on the backseat; the front part of the van was where they kept their ice chest. The living room, Mommy called it.

Grace ran her finger over the place where the cold metal scraped against her hand. She would have been a good girl. She tried to tell her mommy, but Mommy wouldn’t listen.

“I’m having a man friend over tonight. I don’t want you gettin’ in the way, ya hear?”

Her mommy locked one part of the handcuff to a pole near the bottom of the backseat and the other part to her wrist. Then mommy made a really mean face and told her to keep quiet or else.

“Not a peep, Grace. If anyone finds out about us living here, the cops will take you away again. This time forever.”

Grace was very afraid about that. If the cops took her away, she’d have to live with someone she didn’t know. Or maybe even go to jail. That would be scarier than the man her mommy was with tonight.

It was always the same when Mommy had a man friend over.
They’d talk a little and make slurping sounds, like they were drinking pop. Then her mommy’s voice would get funny, all tired and slow.

The noises would change after that, almost like Mommy was getting hurt. Then the van would start shaking … that was when Grace closed her eyes and pretended the handcuff was a good thing, that it kept her from being hurt like her mommy. She would lie there in her little bed on the floor at the back of the van and think about something else.

Flowers or butterflies or clouds. Something that helped her fall asleep.

But tonight … It was different.

Mommy’s friend yelled a lot, and no matter what Grace tried to think about she couldn’t make her arms and legs stop shaking.

“I paid ya for more than that, woman.”

There was a sharp sound, like when Mommy spanked her for being bad. Then her mommy started to cry. “You gave me dope, not money, Hank. I need
money
.”

The sharp sound came again. “Dope
is
money, idiot. Now lay down.”

The man shouted at her mommy for a long time and used words Grace wasn’t allowed to say. Over and over the sharp sound filled the van, and Grace began to cry.
Be quiet
, she told herself, and she held her breath so Mommy and the man wouldn’t hear her crying. She couldn’t let the cops take her away. Never, never.

If only she could get her hand free. Then she could roll under the backseat and sleep there. Maybe the noises wouldn’t be so loud, maybe—

There was a loud smack, and her mommy screamed. The noises grew louder and louder, and Grace was too afraid to breathe.

“Help me,” she whispered.

Her mother’s screams kept coming, but suddenly they were quieter than before. Grace could feel invisible, warm, Daddy hands soothing out the shakes in her arms and legs and heart, making her feel hugged and happy.

She stared around in the dark, but there was no one there. No one at all.

Then she remembered who it was. It was the invisible Daddy, the one Grandma had told her about before she died. Her mouth formed the word
Hi
, but no sound came out. Still she smiled in the darkness, safe and secure in His presence.

Whoever He was, He’d come to her before.

Whenever she thought she might die from being sad and afraid, He’d come with warm hands and a safe feeling. Almost like a daddy taking care of her, the way she pictured a daddy might if she’d had one. He made her feel safe and sleepy and little. Even littler than four years old. And even though she couldn’t see Him, He didn’t scare her.

She stopped crying, and her mother and the man grew very quiet. Not far away there were sirens, but even though they got louder and louder, Grace wasn’t afraid.
I’m okay … I’m okay …
The handcuff still cut at her wrist, but her hand relaxed and she closed her eyes. In a few minutes she drifted off to sleep.

Thinking about flowers and butterflies and clouds.

And an invisible Daddy who loved her even if no one else did.

T
he headaches were getting worse.

Jade’s hands trembled as she took two painkillers from the bottle in her purse and downed them with a glass of water. As she swallowed she glanced around the hospital cafeteria & The edges of the room were blurred.

She squinted. In fact, the edges of everything were fuzzy. Not enough to trigger panic, but enough to frustrate her. Was this all the faith she could muster? An unshakeable sadness over losing a baby? Discouragement at not being able to get pregnant? Depression strong enough to affect her vision and give her headaches?

She sighed. Not much of an example of faith, especially when she had the miracle of Ty and Tanner at home to remind her daily of God’s amazing power.

The medicine started working, and the lines became crisper. Jade took another drink of water, then smoothed out the wrinkles in her nurse’s uniform. She walked to the closest table, steadying herself on an occasional chair along the way, and sat down. The nausea was back … Maybe it was from the medication.

Or from the one thing she dared dream.

Either way, in seven hours she’d have the results. Her period hadn’t been regular for a while, but the past cycle had been completely absent. Susan at the lab had been more than happy to process the pregnancy test. But Jade needed to work her shift before she might know the answer. No matter how she was feeling.

Help me get through the day, Lord …

Jade stood and glanced at her watch. One o’clock. Time for Brandy Almond’s chemotherapy.

Jade’s head still pounded with every heartbeat as she made her way down the hallway to the children’s cancer ward. There were times when she questioned her sanity. It was one thing to work in the general children’s ward as she’d done when she was just out of high school. Kids with kidney problems or bad cases of tonsillitis.

Cancer was something altogether different.

Still, there was nothing more rewarding than giving sick children the gift of hope, and Jade seemed to be able to do that better than anyone at Mount Sinai Children’s Hospital. Because every now and then, children survived cancer’s attack. They grew stronger and healthier, and their hair grew back.

And once in a while those children would go home to live normal lives.

As far as Jade was concerned,
every
child had a chance to go home. Brandy Almond was no exception.

It was nap time at Mount Sinai, so the hallway was quiet. None of the children were touring the ward in wheelchairs or sitting around the schoolroom table or building castles with wooden blocks in the playroom.

On the nurse’s station, there was a tray stenciled with Brandy’s name. On it were three pills and a bag of liquid poison that would kill the leukemia cells—along with the cells Brandy needed for eating and breathing and living. Jade took the tray and set her sights on a room four doors down the hall. The girl was a high-school track star and the oldest child in the children’s cancer wing, and she regularly complained about the fact.

Without making a sound, Jade let herself into Brandy’s room. A rerun of
I Love Lucy
whispered from the television. Brandy
looked up, her eyes dark and sunken, then shifted her gaze back to the TV.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Jade smiled and set the tray down.

“I’m not three.”

“No, but you’re sick and your body needs rest.” The bag hanging over the girl’s bed was empty. Jade replaced it with the full one from her tray and crossed her arms. “How are you feeling?”

Brandy’s eyes welled up and she looked out the window. “Fine.”

Jade’s heart went out to her. It was prom week at Thousand Oaks High School where Brandy was a junior. She ran track and had been a state contender with one of the fastest miles of any girl her age.

Then she started bruising.

When she was first diagnosed back in February, dozens of teens from the track team frequented Brandy’s hospital room. It was all Jade could do to maneuver her way through the maze of visitors to administer the chemo treatments. But over the weeks, as Brandy’s long blonde hair fell out and her muscled legs atrophied beneath the sheets, her friends stopped coming. It was track season after all, and Brandy’s teammates were busy.

This week especially.

Before Brandy got sick, there had been a boy—a quiet, dark-haired long jumper on the track team. The two of them had planned since September to attend prom together. He’d come by earlier and hemmed and hawed for fifteen minutes before stating the real reason for his visit.

He was taking someone else. He wanted Brandy to hear it from him first.

Jade prepared a needle with anti-nausea medication and injected it in the least bruised area she could find on the girl’s arm.
Then she sat on the edge of Brandy’s bed and patted her frail hand. “How are you really?”

Brandy clenched her teeth. “It doesn’t matter. The whole year’s a waste.”

“Okay. So start working toward next year.” Jade kept her voice quiet, calm … subdued enough that Brandy took her seriously and upbeat enough to do the one thing she believed in, the thing that kept her working in this department: to infuse hope and life and love right alongside the chemotherapy. Drop for drop.

Tears welled up in Brandy’s eyes again and she gazed at Jade. “What if there isn’t a next year?”

Jade’s heart sank as she layered the girl’s hand between her own. “There will be. You need to believe that.”

Brandy blinked and tears forged their way down either side of her face. “I don’t have faith like you, Jade.” Her fragile body heaved twice as a series of sobs broke through. “It’s hard … to believe anything good will ever happen again.”

The moment called for more than a hand hold, and Jade leaned down and hugged Brandy, letting her sob. “Shhh … it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

“I’m … I’m afraid.” The girl clung to Jade as though she’d never admitted her fears before. “What if I don’t make it?”

“Oh, honey, look at you.” Jade smoothed the girl’s hair. “You’re getting better all the time.”

“But … but I’m still here. I’m still sick.”

Since the day she was diagnosed, Brandy had acted as though her illness were nothing more than a serious inconvenience, a speed bump in what would otherwise have been a wonderful year. She complained about being in the children’s ward, complained about the food, and rolled her eyes when she got word that she needed to stay another week. But never for a moment had she acknowledged any fear about the cancer.

Her parents were no different. They were certain that the cancer would go away and their daughter’s hair would grow back in time for her senior portrait. That next year at this time she’d be competing at state.

With all her heart, Jade prayed they were right.

Both Brandy’s refusal to talk about her cancer and her parents’ eternal optimism were normal, but they’d left Brandy nowhere to voice her questions, no one with whom to share her deepest fears.

Until now.

Jade stayed in Brandy’s room for half an hour, simply listening. When she left, she hugged the girl and promised to pray.

Brandy sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yes.” Jade angled her head and smiled. “In every way that matters.”

Brandy nodded, and though she stopped short of agreeing, her expression softened.