Showers in Season (7 page)

Sylvia Bryan rubbed her aching neck as she walked through the old Nicaraguan school that Jim, their pastor, and Harry had secured to use as a storm shelter. The structure wasn’t any stronger than some of these families’ homes, but it stood at the center of Leon, away from the hills and volcano that threatened to bury them in mud slides.

Still, the tropical winds whistled and moaned against the building, warning of the hurricane that was just hours away from León. Internet news was reporting millions of dollars in damage, and hundreds of lives lost in the places already hit.

Already, dozens of families had come to spend the night, and the sound of crying babies, chattering children, and stem voices of parents echoed in the building. In one of the classrooms, Harry offered medical care to those who had been injured trying to get from their homes as flood waters rose. Other medical missionaries occupied different classrooms, but the majority of their staff had gone out to warn citizens of the coming hurricane and urge evacuation.

Despite all the activity and the worries about what they faced, Sylvia couldn’t get Tory off her mind. Something was wrong. Through e-mail, Brenda had mentioned Tory’s nausea. In another e-mail, Cathy expressed concern that Tory seemed to be avoiding them. According to Spencer and Brittany, whom Cathy had seen playing outside, their mother was still battling her illness.

Brenda had tried taking her a casserole, but Tory hadn’t answered the door. Once, Brenda had waylaid Barry when he’d driven home from work. She had written that Barry looked tired and red-eyed, and had promised her that Tory was fine.

She hated not being there. Something was definitely wrong. The worst things had been running through her mind all day. Did Tory have cancer? Was she dying? Why would she and Barry be keeping it a secret from their closest friends?

Harry met her in the hall as she came from the gym. “Have you checked the Internet news lately? The wind is getting stronger, and a family just came in talking about a tornado that hit their street. It’s getting bad out there.”

“I was going to check,” she said. “Was anyone injured in the tornado?”

“They don’t know,” Harry said. “Their house wasn’t hit, but they saw the tornado knocking down houses up the hill from them. The kids are terrified. Go check the weather, and then maybe you can come help calm these little ones down.”

She nodded and hurried into the classroom where they had set up the laptop, complete with extra batteries in case the electricity went out. She checked the location of the hurricane, saw that it was still headed this way. There were reports of five tornadoes down the coast of Nicaragua and Costa Rica already, and more were expected. Even here, they were not safe.

Her hands were shaking as she took them off the keyboard and covered her face. “Lord, I prayed for purpose,” she whispered. “I think you’re about to answer that prayer, aren’t you?” She sighed and opened her eyes and went to the window to look out. She wondered if they should board this up. In just a few hours, the winds could shatter the glass.

“Help us, Lord,” she whispered. “Go with us through this storm. Use it to draw these people to you.” Then her mind jolted back to Tory again, and she wondered if the Holy Spirit was prompting her to pray for her friend. What kind of storm was Tory riding out?

She bowed her head and prayed for her friend, then remembered the children that needed calming in the shelter. She went to turn off the computer, but before she did, checked her e-mail one more time. There was still nothing from Tory, despite all the e-mails Sylvia had sent her asking how she was.

She hit “compose,” then typed in Tory’s e-mail address.

Okay, what gives, Tory? Something’s wrong; I know it is. You can’t hide it from me. Please write back and tell me if you’re sick or your marriage is on the rocks or you’re just too busy to answer. I’m waiting for a hurricane to hit, and there are desperate, frightened people all around me, but I can’t quit thinking about you. For the sake of a nervous friend, come clean, okay?

I’ll be saying a prayer for you, honey, because whatever’s wrong, God can fix it.

Love
,

Sylvia

She hit “send,” then dropped her face into her hands and prayed once more for the safety of the people of León as this hurricane tore through their city, and for the spiritual protection of the families in Cedar Circle, where her heart longed to be.

When Barry suggested they get a babysitter and go out to dinner, Tory hadn’t been very enthusiastic. She didn’t feel they had much to celebrate, especially since Barry had been brooding worse than she. But when he had taken it on himself to ask Cathy’s daughter Annie to baby-sit, Tory felt she had to go.

She took special care with her looks that night, pulling her hair up and applying retouch to hide the red circles under her eyes. But she didn’t feel pretty. Her husband’s eyes were dull as he looked at her. They had been dull ever since that day they’d sat in Dr. Grent-well’s office and learned how their lives were about to change.

They got to the restaurant and were seated at a quiet table, but still, he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes, couldn’t seem to muster a smile or reach for her hand. Her heart ached for the struggle he was having with the news of their child, and she began to wonder why he had wanted to come.

Then she remembered Cathy’s story of the night her husband had asked for a divorce. She had known there were problems, had
even suspected there was another woman, but he had consistently denied it. Then the night came when he had taken her out to a nice restaurant, had held her hand and danced with her. And then he had offered the punch line.

Over candlelight and to the romantic piano music, he had asked for a divorce.

Had Barry brought her here to drop some equally explosive bomb?

They ate in silence, and finally, Tory reached for his hand across the table. His eyes met hers. “Why did you bring me here, Barry?” she asked. “Neither of us is really in the mood for this.”

He set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, still holding her hand. “We have to talk, Tory.”

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

He swallowed and looked down at his food, as if drawing his words from the peas on his plate. “I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days,” he said.

“So have I.”

“I’ve been thinking about the things the doctor said. About the options.”

She frowned, trying to chart where this was going. “There’s really only one option,” she said.

Again, his gaze drifted away. He was having trouble looking at her. She let go of his hand and leaned forward on the table. “Barry?”

Candlelight flickered between them, dancing on his face with wobbling uncertainty. He looked away, casting half of his face in shadow. “We have to talk about this,” he said again.

“About what?” she asked. “The options? What do you mean? Giving the baby up for adoption? Institutionalizing her? Abortion?”

His mouth trembled as he tried to hold back his emotions. “I’ve been through it all,” he said. “I’ve turned it all over in my mind, and I’ve thought a lot about Nathan.”

She had known his brother would play into this somehow, so she wasn’t surprised. “I knew you’d be thinking about Nathan. And you’re right to. I guess it’s a situation that’s real similar.”

“I look back sometimes and I wonder what would have been different about my family—would it have worked better, would I have been a healthier human being, would things have been different, if Nathan had never been born?”

She wanted to deny that, to tell him to stop thinking it, that Nathan
had
been born and there was no point in thinking such things, but she wanted him to talk, so she stayed quiet and listened.

“His life is one of imprisonment,” he said. “He was born in a prison and he’s in a prison today. He’s locked in the bonds of that wheelchair, and he can’t think, he can’t learn, he can’t communicate, he can’t contribute.”

She looked down at the linen tablecloth, rubbed it with the tip of her finger, and did valiant battle with the tears in her eyes.

“Yet my mother is…and has always been…a slave to him. She will be until the day she dies. And then who do you think will take over the care of Nathan?”

Her gaze came slowly up.

“Us, that’s who,” he said. “We’ll have to care for Nathan for the rest of his life, and then we’ll be the ones who are slaves to him. Or we’ll put him in an institution and deal with the guilt and the grief of letting strangers care for him. One way or another,
we’ll
be in bondage then.”

She frowned and tried to take that in. “I hadn’t ever thought of our having to take over the care of Nathan.”

“That’s because I try not to think of it,” he said. “No one has ever asked me if I would take him. But he’s family, and I’ll be the one responsible.”

“But your mother is young,” she said. “She’s healthy. She’s not going anywhere.”

His eyes were brimming, and he swallowed hard. “My point is that this is a lifelong commitment, not just for them, but for me, too. And I look at him and I search for something in his eyes, some awareness, something that tells me that his life has been worthwhile. But I don’t think it has.” His voice broke off, and he rubbed his jaw, then clenched his hand into a fist and dropped his forehead on it. She waited, giving him time to go on. After a moment,
he found his voice again. “He’s sat there in his own little world for all these years, never once knowing what it felt like to love, never knowing laughter, never thinking about the past or the future or even the present. Just sitting there in that chair, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, just staring out into space. Who knows what he sees, what he hears, what he can think?”

“He doesn’t have Down’s Syndrome,” she cut in. “He’s not like our baby.”

“No, but it’s similar. His brain doesn’t function normally, and neither will this child’s.”

She still couldn’t see where he was going with this. He wasn’t just venting. He was leading up to something. Something she wouldn’t want to hear. “So what are you saying?”

His eyelashes were wet, and he rubbed his eyes harshly. “I’m thinking that I couldn’t live with myself if we institutionalized our baby.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m with you so far.”

“And I’m thinking that giving it up for adoption—”

“Her,” she said.

“What?”

“Not it. Her.”

“Oh, yeah.” He seemed to struggle with the pronoun, then started again. “Giving the baby up for adoption is something else I probably couldn’t live with. The shame of it, for one thing. Letting everyone in the world know that we didn’t have what it took to bring up our own baby. That we would give it to perfect strangers to take into their home.” He shook his head. “I just don’t think I could do that.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “That’s just not an option for me.”

He nodded in agreement, then leaned on the table, meeting her eyes. “That leaves the third option.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand what he meant. “Well, of course. Raising the baby ourselves.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not the option I meant.”

She stared at him as his words sank in. “What
did
you mean?”

He looked down at the uneaten food on his plate. She saw a tear fall into his potatoes. The realization dawned slowly over her.

“Not abortion,” she whispered.

His silence spoke volumes.

She felt her face reddening, her temples throbbing, her eyes stinging. “Barry, you don’t believe in abortion. Neither do I. Especially not our own child—”

“Just listen,” he said. “Try to put your emotions aside and just listen…”

She couldn’t believe he could sit there and bring up the subject of killing their own child, and tell her not to get emotional. But she grew quiet, hoping he would correct her, tell her that was not what he meant at all, that he could never consider that.

“I was thinking…about what I said the first day we found out about it…when I said it must be a mistake.”

She gaped at him, her mouth slightly open.

“And I started to realize that maybe sometimes God even makes a mistake.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Her face twisted as she got out the words. “God does not make mistakes, Barry. This baby I’m carrying is not a mistake.”

“He gave us the technology for a reason,” Barry said. “I don’t think it was for convenience or so that teenaged moms wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of their actions.” He leaned in, lowering his voice but intent on making his point. “Maybe he gave it to us so that people who are going to have crummy lives don’t have to be born in bondage.”

Somewhere, deep within her, she felt the pain of rejection and betrayal rising up inside her like a thick, smothering fluid designed to do her in. “You’re really suggesting…we abort this baby?” she asked through stiff lips.

His eyes were filled with tears, and his mouth still trembled. “No one has to know,” he said. “We can say it’s a miscarriage. It happens all the time with babies who have things wrong with them. The mothers miscarry, and nobody blames anybody.”

“But I haven’t miscarried.”

“Think of it as that,” he told her. “Not an abortion. I mean, we wouldn’t have to go to an abortion clinic or anything. We could just go to the hospital and take care of it…”

The horror of his suggestion pressed the breath out of her. “You
are
suggesting we abort our baby!” The words rang inside her ears, bounced and echoed through her brain.

“I’m suggesting that we love this child enough to save it from a life of misery.”

Rage gripped her heart. “Why do you keep calling her ‘it’?” she demanded. “Are you trying to convince yourself that this is a blob of tissue and not a human life?”

“No, of course not.”

She breathed in a sob and clutched her head in both hands. The waiter came to the table, saw her condition, then quickly retreated. “Then how can you justify this?” she asked. “How? I’ve been reading about children with Down’s Syndrome. They don’t have lives of misery. They may not be as aware as we are of the ugliness and the stuff that goes on from day to day. Maybe a lot goes over their heads. But they’re not miserable, not unless we make them that way.”

“I’m speaking from experience,” Barry said, getting as angry as she. “You don’t know. To you, this is a challenge, and you think you’re up for it, but you’re not. I’ve been there, Tory. I’ve been where Brittany and Spencer are. I’ve been the neglected one because my brother needed more attention than I did. I’ve been the one who looked for my parents at ball games and they didn’t show up because Nathan was having a bad day. I’ve been the one who was humiliated at a school play because Nathan chose that moment to start moaning in the middle of the auditorium. I never went on a family vacation because we couldn’t leave Nathan with anybody, and we certainly couldn’t take him with us.”

“But a child with Down’s Syndrome won’t necessarily be confined to a wheelchair. Most of them aren’t. They can walk; they can learn. But even if they couldn’t, even if we had one like Nathan, I still couldn’t consider the possibility—”

“You
have
to consider it,” Barry said, slamming his fist into his hand. “I’m one of the parents. This is not just your decision. It’s mine, too. It affects the rest of my life. You have to consider our other two children.”

“And you have to consider our third one,” she said through her teeth. “Our little girl, who hasn’t done anything to deserve this.”

“You’re right,” Barry cut in. “She didn’t ask to be born. That’s what they all say. ‘I didn’t ask to be born.’ So she doesn’t have to be.”

Tory gaped at him, incredulous. “What was all that pro-life stuff about? You sent letters to Congress when they were voting on the partial birth abortion ban. You go to pro-life rallies every year. Who
are
you?”

That seemed to break him. He set his elbows on the table and covered his face with both hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his despair. Finally, he moved his hands. “This decision…is…
unspeakable
to me. It’s one of the worst things I can think of doing.” He covered his mouth and looked at his plate again. “But I’ve got to tell you, Tory, there is something worse, and that something worse is allowing another baby like Nathan to come into the world and be trapped in bondage, and never be able to contribute one thing to this world.”

She thought of blowing out the candle so the diners around them wouldn’t see their tears. But she couldn’t move, except to shake her head.

“Tory, listen to me. I know this is hard for you. But it’s just a miscarriage. Nothing but a miscarriage. We’ll grieve our baby’s loss, we’ll be sad, we may never get over it, but it’s a whole lot better than being trapped for the rest of our lives.”

“God doesn’t create life that isn’t supposed to be here,” she said again. “I believe that.”

“Tory, this isn’t something that can be patched up, that a mother’s kiss can fix.”

“I won’t do it,” she said through stiff lips. “I’m sorry, Barry, but I will not do it.”

Angrily, he swiped the tears from his own face. “You won’t even consider it? What about my wishes, Tory? What about my say in all of this?”

“If you want to kill our baby,” she said, “then you don’t get a say.” With that, she shoved back her chair and headed out of the restaurant. She reached the parking lot and looked around for their car, not knowing whether to call a cab or get in the car and drive home without Barry.

He caught up to her in seconds. “Tory, don’t you walk out on me!”

“I’m going home, Barry.” The tears wouldn’t stop coming.

Barry got ahead of her and opened her door.

He got in on the other side, started the car, but couldn’t drive. He began to weep over the steering wheel. “We’ve already lost our baby, Tory,” he cried. “The baby that we thought was coming, the baby we expected…It’s gone. And instead, we have this choice.”

“My baby is not a choice,” she bit out. “It’s not a right, and it’s not a blob. This is a
child.
”

“Tory, all we have is a bunch of horrible choices, and I’m just trying to choose the one that is least bad. Abortion is the least of the evils I have to choose from.”

“The birth of this baby will not be an evil,” she yelled. “She’s a human being. She may not be as smart as you, she may not be as productive…” Contempt rolled off her tongue with the word. “Barry, I hate this, too! But when you can’t figure things out for yourself, you don’t choose between evils! You go back to God and you let him tell you what to do. If God wants us to lose this baby, then I
will
have a miscarriage, but if he doesn’t, then this baby was meant to be in our family. My child…”