My Lucky Stars (22 page)

“All of my older brothers went on missions,” Sister Henrie said. “And I always heard how great they were—the best two years of their lives. I wanted the same opportunity.”

“But what is that opportunity exactly?” Tara sat up straight, eager to hear their answers.

“
You
are.” Sister Ayer’s smile was big—and genuine. “We get to share what is most precious to us with you. What could be better?”

Tara shrugged. A flippant, “I don’t know,” was on the tip of her tongue, but she was tired of admitting that to everyone—especially herself. “I still don’t understand.”

Sister Henrie scooted forward to the edge of the couch. “Let us teach you, and you
will
.”

“All right.” Tara lifted her hands in surrender. “Teach away. I’m listening.”

“Do you believe in God?” Sister Ayer’s tone was softer when she asked the question this time. “In an exalted being who is your Heavenly Father and who created the earth and all the things on it—including you?”

“No,” Tara said. “I don’t believe in anyone or anything like that. But I
am
confident that my parents created me. You know, the whole sperm-meets-egg thing.”

A tiny sound that might have been a laugh escaped Sister Henrie’s lips before she pressed them together tightly. She pretended to cough into her hand. “Of course. Your parents
did
create your physical body. But what about your spirit? We believe that, in addition to our earthly parents, we have Heavenly Parents, a Mother and Father who are the creators of our spirits.”

“
Everyone’s
spirits?” Tara asked.

“Yes,” Sister Henrie said. “Heavenly Father is the parent of everyone who has ever lived and will ever live on earth.”

Tara gave a low whistle. “No wonder Mormons are so into big families. You have a lot to live up to.”

This time it was Sister Ayer who laughed, and she didn’t try to cover it up. “I can see we’re going to have a great time teaching you.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and . . . something else. Tara wasn’t sure what, but she could almost feel the happiness exuding from her. She really did seem to be having the time of her life.

Go figure.
Maybe New Hampshire is a really boring place.

“Of course, our earthly parents are wonderful.”

“Not mine,” Tara said then instantly wished she hadn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Both young women spoke at once, their eyes turning sympathetically toward her.

Sister Ayer gestured to one of the documents—The Family Proclamation—hanging on the wall. “The family is central to Heavenly Father’s plan, but not every earthly family functions the way Heavenly Father intended it to.”

“That is one of the reasons it’s important to know we have a Heavenly Father who loves and cares for us,” Sister Henrie said. “He knows each of us by name. He sorrows when we suffer and rejoices when we choose to do right. He is always there.”

“And while our earthly parents might let us down, Heavenly Father never will. His love is constant and unconditional. But to feel that love, you have to know Him.” Sister Ayer paused. “Would you like to get to know Him, Tara?”

“Why?” Tara asked. “I mean, why is it all up to me? He’s the parent, right? Shouldn’t the parent look out for the child regardless of whether the child is paying attention or not?” She thought of the past two weeks, the way she’d kept an eye on Maddie and her cousin. Often the girls lost track of time, and she’d have to call them in from playing outside to eat lunch. She’d held their hands when they would have run in front of cars, in the busy church parking lot. She’d given them baths and made them brush their teeth because it was good for them. And while they might have sought her out for things like ice cream cones and bedtime stories, when it came to taking care of them, she’d been the one dishing that out on her own—like any good parent would.

So
if
she had a Heavenly Father, why hadn’t He done the same and watched out for
her
?

She voiced the question. “If I’ve got a Heavenly Father, shouldn’t I
already
know Him?”

“Excellent questions.” Instead of being deflated by Tara’s response, Sister Henrie seemed excited by it. “Before we came to earth, we lived with our heavenly parents, but we were only spirits. In order to gain a body, we had to come here.”

“We also came to learn and grow,” Sister Ayer added. “To prove ourselves. So we could return to Heavenly Father’s presence and become exalted beings as He is.”

“Exalted?” Tara asked. “And we were alive before we were born?” Not only had they
not
answered her question, but they’d confused her more.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Sister Henrie said. “The important thing here is that we are spirit children of Heavenly Father. We came to earth to get a body and to be tested and to learn about Him and His gospel. For us to do that, there had to be a veil between this life and our premortal life with God. We had to forget.”

Tara’s forehead wrinkled as she tried to follow their logic. “Forget what?”

“Think about it for a minute,” Sister Ayer said. “If we remembered God and knew all that was to happen on earth and afterward, it wouldn’t take any faith to get back to Him.”

“And faith is what He requires,” Sister Henrie said. “He wants us to pray and read and study and believe.”

“And then the miracle happens.” Jane stood in the doorway. Tara thought her eyes looked sad.

“Are you all right?” Tara asked, worried that Jane wasn’t feeling well or that she’d just heard bad news from Peter.

“I’m fine,” Jane assured her. “No. Actually, I’m not. I am sorry. Very, very sorry.” She came into the room and sat carefully in Peter’s recliner. When she’d eased her awkward body into the chair and raised her feet a little, she turned to Tara.

“You
should
know your Heavenly Father already. Because
I
should have introduced Him to you years ago.”

“No, Jane.” Tara shook her head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that He—
if
He’s really there—should have let me know it.”

“How do you think He does that?” Jane asked. “With lightning bolts and messages written across the sky?” She shook her head and gave a short, false laugh. “It doesn’t work that way. He asks
us
—people like me who were fortunate enough to have been blessed with parents who taught me about God—to tell you, to share the gospel.”

“But you didn’t,” Tara said, more than a little taken aback at seeing Jane so distraught over this.

“I didn’t,” Jane said. “I’m so sorry. When we worked together I had every opportunity—”

“I wouldn’t have listened.” Tara cut her off. “I had no need or desire for something like that, like this—” she gestured to the missionaries “—in my life.”

“How about now, Tara?” Sister Ayer sat back a little, looking like she had all the time in the world to wait for her answer.

The room went silent, as if they were all holding one, collective breath. Tara closed her eyes, wishing herself away from there, from them, from their questions, so she could think.

Do I want this? Do I want to find out if God is real? And if He is, do I want Him in my life?

A yearning, keener than the one she’d felt all the years she’d wanted to know who her father was, began deep inside. She felt it building, filling, warming, and comforting her in a way she’d never experienced. It was almost as if a kindling of desire had lit in her heart.
I
am
ready. I do want to know
, she was about to say, when a sudden memory halted her.

The closest thing I’ve felt to this warmth was the time Danny Iggleton poured whiskey down my throat when he wanted me to be friendly with him behind the portables after school.
She hadn’t thought of that in years and wondered why such a painful image had to flash into her mind just when she’d been feeling something new and profound—and
good.

A dozen more memories followed, her worst episodes of misery and shame. The time she’d done more than just dress seductively to make a big sale . . . The time she’d pinned losing an account on a coworker, when she’d known the fault was hers . . . The way she’d railed at Ben last December, when he’d called her out for swearing with Ellen’s kids nearby. All the many times when she’d been less than nice yet somehow justified her temperamental, impatient behavior.

You’re not worthy to know God. You don’t deserve a father. He doesn’t love you
. The thoughts screamed through her mind, and the gentle warmth of seconds before slipped away.

Tears burned behind her eyes, and she ached with inexplicable loss. It wasn’t as if she’d had anything—or anyone—in the first place, so why did she feel such a void now?

“I . . .” Tara tried to speak but couldn’t express her desire, and she couldn’t make the wretched feelings consuming her go away. Through hazy vision, she saw Sister Ayer flipping through her scriptures. Jane was trying to get up. Sister Henrie had gone as pale as her light blonde hair and was giving her a look of genuine concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara said. She gripped the arms of the rocking chair, as if hanging on for life—or her sanity, at the least. “I feel so awful. I don’t think I can do this. I
am
awful.”

“‘But when Jesus heard
that
, he said unto them,’” Sister Ayer began reading in a strong, sure voice, “‘They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. But go ye and learn what
that
meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’”

The Sunday School scripture.
That one had been part of the lesson today. Tara had liked it then, and now . . . Peace began edging its way into her heart, pushing aside the awful memories, the feelings of worthlessness.

Sister Ayer looked up from her scriptures. “Tara, we’ve all made mistakes, but Heavenly Father and His Son love us just the same. They
want
us to know them. It’s Satan who makes us feel unworthy.”

“They do love us—
all
of us.
You
,” Sister Henrie said. “‘As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.’ What you felt a minute ago—and we all felt it with you—was Heavenly Father’s love. But the adversary, Satan, doesn’t want you to know that love. He wants you to be miserable like him.”

“He’s real
too
?” Tara wasn’t surprised that she sounded hoarse—and afraid. Whatever it was that had just happened to her, the two forces she’d just felt—and
adversary
seemed an appropriate term—had been real.
So very real
. She suppressed a shudder and swallowed. Her throat hurt, as if she’d crammed all of the emotions of the past few minutes roughly down it.

“I’ve been miserable for as long as I can remember,” she said and strangely felt as if a burden lifted from her shoulders with that admission. “I’m not happy. I—I don’t know how to fix it, how to have peace.”

Both missionaries leaned back against the couch cushions, as if limp with exhaustion. Happy relief lit their faces. Jane had finally managed to get out of Peter’s chair. She waddled over to Tara, reached down, and took her hand.

“You’ve already started,” she said. “Recognizing that you’re not happy, that things could be better, is the first step.”

What are the other steps?
Tara wondered. She wanted that warmth and comfort back. And she
never
wanted to feel the fear and despair that had overpowered her moments before. But still, she was leery of what she was committing to. “What does getting to know God involve?”

“Some reading.” Sister Henrie rose from the couch, crossed the room, and handed her one of the books of scripture she’d been holding. “And prayer.”

“Do you think that over the next week you could read some scriptures we’ve marked for you?” Sister Ayer asked. “And then pray about what you read?”

Tara looked down at the blue copy of the Book of Mormon
.
She liked to read, and the book wasn’t overly thick.
And if it might lead me to that feeling again . . .

“Sure,” she said at last.

I always wanted a father. I guess one up in heaven is better than not having one at all.

Twenty-Six

Allison appeared in the doorway of Tara’s room, thumb in her mouth and a much-loved doll in her other hand. Tara adjusted the magazine she was reading so that it covered her entire face and pretended she hadn’t noticed the little girl.

“Tra,” Allison gurgled.

Tar-a. How hard can it be, kid? But I’m not here, anyway. Not here. Not here. Not—
A tiny hand patted her arm, making Tara start and drop the magazine.

“Tra.” Allison repeated. Grabbing Tara’s arm—and the hairs attached to it—she pulled herself up onto the bed.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Tara sat up and gathered the little girl in her arms. “You nap in
your
bed, missy, not mine.” She trudged down the hall, returning Allison to Maddie’s room, where she was supposed to be sleeping. Maddie, too old for naps now, was in the other room watching a movie. Jane was at a doctor’s appointment.

How did it come to this? Me, alone with two kids? Jane so owes me.

She deposited Allison on the bed then turned to go back to her room. She looked forward to this hour of peace every day, and no one was going to take it from her.

“Tra.” Allison’s little fingers clutched at Tara’s legs before she’d even made it halfway down the hall.

“Listen, kid.” Tara removed them, along with what felt like a chunk of her skin. “It’s naptime. You need a nap;
I
need a nap. So—”

“Trrrrrraaaaaaa,” Allison wailed, sliding to the floor, going into meltdown mode. Maddie arrived a second later, apparently having decided the scene in the hall was better than her movie.

“Can you tell what she wants?” Tara asked, her voice a mixture of irritation and panic.