What She Left for Me (28 page)

“For your sake?” Jana couldn’t begin to understand. “What are you saying?”

Taffy straightened. “I’m saying that forgiveness is as liberating to the one who forgives as it is for the one being forgiven. Holding someone a grudge keeps us in bondage just as it does them. It ties us to that person and the sin as we stand there guarding the grudge—keeping it in place. You can never be free as long as you hold yourself to that kind of responsibility. That’s why I think the Bible speaks to taking every thought captive. If you let yourself be controlled by your thoughts, then you will be in bondage. However, if you take your thoughts captive, you control them. You alone determine what holds merit in your life.”

She got to her feet and dusted off her backside. “Jana, I loved my husband, but my love for him wasn’t enough. He needed God. And on his deathbed, he found Him. We had been separated for nearly a year when Cal suffered a heart attack. He sent for me, and I couldn’t very well deny him.”

“Why were you separated?” Jana asked.

Taffy opened her mouth as if to reply, then closed it as she seemed to reconsider. “That isn’t important,” she finally responded. “The point is I forgave Cal, face-to-face. But more importantly for me, I’d already forgiven him, because that was the example I saw of my Lord in the Bible when people betrayed Him. It didn’t mean I approved of what Cal had done—I couldn’t. You must never confuse forgiveness for approval; it’s not the same thing at all. I simply released my right to hold it against Cal—to seek retribution.”

“But that couldn’t have been easy.”

Taffy smiled. “Good things, worthwhile things, seldom are. But I can say it was the most valuable thing I’ve ever done.”

Eleanor stood to the side of the open window, listening to Taffy tell Jana about forgiveness. She felt a longing to know the freedom and liberty Taffy spoke of, but she couldn’t bring herself to step out on the porch and ask her own questions.

People are always speaking of forgiveness,
she thought,
as though it were simple.
Just forgive and you’ll feel better. People usually gave this advice when someone lied or slandered or even cheated a person.
But what about really ugly, horrible things? What about things that forever change the lives of the people involved?

“Could you be so forgiving of Cal,” she murmured, walking away from the window, “if you knew the truth?” She looked back over her shoulder, shaking her head. “If you knew Jana was Cal’s daughter, could you forgive him then? Could you forgive me?”

Suddenly a wash of emotions swept over Eleanor. She felt as if the wind were knocked from her. She grabbed for the stair railing to steady her feet. The ugly truth that she’d fought so long to keep buried had emerged from her subconscious memories. And with it came many other memories—each more ugly, more terrifying than the first.

Eleanor sank to the floor, her vision blurring.
What’s happening to me? Am I dying?
She wanted to call out, but no words would come. Instead a cold darkness overtook her like icy fingers, choking out her breath.

Twenty-five

Eleanor celebrated her fourteenth birthday by watching her father pump her mother’s stomach. Melody had overdosed, the second time in less than a month. Eleanor was frantic. This time had been much worse than the last.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Eleanor questioned, standing at the end of the table where her father worked.

“Ellie, you can’t think like that,” her father chided. “I’m doing my best to keep that from happening, but you’re sending some pretty bad vibes my way.”

“Sorry,” she murmured and eased back away from the exam table.

She remained quiet as her father continued to work on his wife with the help of a couple of the local women. Melody moaned but remained unconscious as the contents of her stomach were brought up and expelled.

Eleanor could no longer stand the scene. She rushed from the trailer, letting the metal screen door flap in the breeze behind her. Several people were waiting outside to see how things were going. Friends, she supposed, if they could be called that. They were no doubt the same ones who’d given her mom the pills in the first place.

“Is she okay?” Ringo asked.

Eleanor shrugged. “Dad’s still working on her.”

There were other questions, but Eleanor refused to answer them. Instead she hurried away to be alone. She was thankful her brothers were with the neighbors. Cleo, a redheaded mother of four boys of her own, seemed to enjoy the Templeton children. She always said it kept her kids occupied. Eleanor didn’t care so long as they stayed out of her hair. Today especially.

“Ellie,” Sapphira called from the corner of the shack she lived in with her folks, “is your mom okay?”

“Who knows? If she dies, then she’ll get what she deserves,” Eleanor snapped.

“You don’t really mean that. You don’t want your mother to die,” Sapphira protested.

“Well, she certainly seems to want to die. So why not let her?” Eleanor turned and walked on, mindless of Sapphira.

“My mom says your mom is an addict—that she can’t help herself,” Sapphira said as she followed Eleanor.

“Well, apparently she’s getting to the point where there aren’t too many people who can. My dad is working hard to save her, and this time it isn’t going well.” Eleanor plopped down on a rock and fought back tears. “How could she do this to me on my birthday?”

Sapphira sat down on the ground beside Eleanor. “I don’t know. But I’m sure sorry. It’s not much of a birthday present for you.”

“I just don’t understand anymore. Nothing seems real. I want her to be happy like she used to be, but she never is. She’s always miserable. She’s always talking about how she became a mother too young—how she has too many responsibilities and she wants to be free. I’m afraid one of these days I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone. Either she will have run off or died.”

Sapphira said nothing. Eleanor didn’t really expect her to. After all, what could she say that could possibly make sense of this? Eleanor’s mother lay near death for the second time. Why would a person do something like that? Her father told her the first time that it was a mistake—that her mother had lost track of how many pills she’d taken—but now Eleanor wondered if that was true. What if her mother had meant to take that many pills? What if she was trying to kill herself on purpose?

The thought made Eleanor sick to her stomach.
I can’t even think about that. If she meant to do this—to kill herself—then she meant to do it on my birthday. What kind of mom does that to her kid?

They must have sat there for hours in silence. Eleanor knew the day was passing, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t go home. That’s where she’d found her mother. She’d been crumpled on the floor, unconscious, when Eleanor awoke that morning. The rest of the day had crashed down around her. Cleo had come to take the boys, and others had arrived to help get Melody to the trailer hospital.

When the commune had moved the year before, they had settled into a collection of rundown buildings that constituted something of a ghost town. The place was owned by some rock star who had great sympathy for the hippie movement and was actually the brother of one of their members. He’d encouraged the collection of homeless pilgrims with the promise they could stay there as long as they wanted—rent free. Of course, this place was only marginally better than some of the other places. It did have electricity and running water, plus there was a single phone booth at the end of the main drag. It provided access to the outside world that they’d never had.

The best part, however, was that Eleanor’s father again had the trailer for his work. Eleanor was glad of this fact. If her mother did die, she would die somewhere else—not in their home. Of course, if the commune got kicked off this property, the trailer would again be her family’s only shelter, but she couldn’t think about that right now.

Eleanor heard someone calling her and realized Ringo was approaching them. She steeled herself against the news. He looked exhausted.

“She’s gonna make it,” he told Eleanor. “Your dad wanted you to know.”

Eleanor let go the breath she’d been holding. “Is he taking her back home?”

“No. He’s gonna keep her there at the trailer. Star and some of the others are going to stay with her.”

Eleanor got to her feet. “I’d better go let the boys know.”

Sapphira joined her. “I’ll come with you.”

Eleanor informed Cleo and the gang of children that her mother had once again pulled through. “Dad’s going to keep Mom at the trailer for the night.” The boys stayed just long enough to hear the news before they ran off to play. They seemed so oblivious to the situation, and Eleanor wondered if they knew how serious it was.

“Well, why don’t you just let the boys stay here?” Cleo said. “Tell your dad they’ll be fine. If I need him, I’ll send one of them home. You can stay here, too, if you want.”

Eleanor nodded. She was relieved to know she wouldn’t have to cook and clean up after the brood of rowdies. “Thanks, Cleo. I think I’ll stay at home, though.” Eleanor felt overcome with relief. Her words choked in her throat. “I’d . . . better go.”

The woman tousled Eleanor’s hair. “Don’t you worry, baby. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah . . . until next time.”

And that was Eleanor’s biggest fear. When would it happen again? It had already happened twice, and countless other times her mother had been so stoned that she was of no use to anyone. What if no one was around next time? What if her mother took too many drugs and no one found her?

Eleanor left everyone and went to the solitude of her own house. She wanted to be alone, but the memories of what had happened that morning haunted her. She stood in the doorway for several minutes, staring at the spot where her mother had fallen. There was nothing out of place to suggest what had happened, but Eleanor could very nearly see her there—as if it had just happened.

Out of desperation to feel that things were under control, Eleanor began to clean the house. She was ruthless with disposing of things her brothers would probably protest. She washed and scrubbed at the filthy floors until she could no longer picture her mother lying on them half dead.

It was in the middle of scouring the sink that her father came home. He watched her for a moment, not saying a word. Eleanor knew he would be wondering at the clean state of things, but she couldn’t begin to explain to him how it was the only thing that had given her any peace all day. Glancing at the clock, she was stunned to realize it was already ten at night.

“Ellie? What are you doing?”

“I’m fixing things up so Mom won’t have to worry about them when she gets home.” It was true, although it wasn’t the complete truth. The fact was, Eleanor couldn’t put into words the comfort she found in setting things in order.

She continued working at a particularly stubborn stain on the white porcelain.
Why wouldn’t it come clean?

“Ellie, come here,” her father said softly.

She stopped what she was doing and did as he directed. She was afraid to look at him but needed to know the truth of how her mother was doing. “Mom?”

“She’s going to make it. She’s got some problems, though . . . the drugs. Well, you know.” He reached out and lifted Eleanor’s chin.

She met his worried expression and tears immediately flooded her eyes. “She’s just going to do this again, isn’t she?”

Her father pulled her close. “She’s not happy, Ellie. I can’t make her happy and neither can you.”

“But she’s living free. You two always told me that would make people happy.” She pulled away to look at her father again. “Was that all a lie?”

He dropped his hold. “No, it wasn’t a lie. Sometimes people just put themselves in bondage without even knowing it. Your mom isn’t free anymore. She’s in bondage to the drugs.”

“I hate drugs. I wish we could go someplace where there aren’t any drugs.”

“I know this has been hard on you.” He glanced around the room. “Where are the boys?”

“Staying the night with Cleo. She offered to do it, so I just let them stay there.”

“That’s probably good. They know their mom is okay?”

“Sure. I told them after Ringo told me.” Eleanor tried to hold on to her emotions, but it was no good. “Daddy, I don’t want Mom to die.”

He took hold of her again. “Shhh. It’s going to be all right. I’m here for you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

“But I feel so scared. She was just lying there. I thought she was dead.” Eleanor’s terrifying memories came rushing back. “It was so awful.” She sobbed against her father’s chest.

He began to massage her neck and shoulders as she cried against him. His touch was comforting, gentle. She felt soothed by it in a way she couldn’t explain and relaxed against him. Then to her surprise, without a word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.

He placed her on the bed and sat down beside her. His hands began massaging her upper arms and the front of her shoulders. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “you just need someone to show you that things will be okay.”

Eleanor felt a strange sensation creep over her as her father began unbuttoning her blouse. “I have some oils,” he said. “You get undressed, and I’ll get them. You’ll see how much better you’ll feel after I massage you.”