In Search of Eden, page 40
“She needs you to love her,” Miranda said. “Not the way she should be. The way she is. I need to know that you will try. Or I won’t be able to let her go.”
Sarah’s heart lurched with hope. “I will,” she said. “I’ll do my best.”
Miranda said nothing back, just continued to look at her, and after a minute or two Sarah got up and walked away.
Miranda didn’t have long to wait before seeing Eden. She went to the little park to recover from the meeting with Sarah, and there was Eden sitting by the creek, dipping her feet into the water, just as Miranda liked to do.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” Eden answered, looking a little shy, definitely an unusual state for her.
“Where’s Grady?”
“He’s with Grandma,” Eden said. “And it’s a good thing, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Alone.”
Miranda’s heart beat faster. “Well,” she said, “I’m finally out of the slammer now. Let’s talk.” She sat down beside Eden. “What’s on your mind?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking,” Eden said.
Miranda felt a rumble. Eden was bright. Very bright, and no one had been able to keep a secret from her for long. Joseph knew now and so did Ruth. So did David and Sarah. And Eden, how should she put it, followed events closely. Ruth said Eden knew she was adopted. It was only Joseph they had kept the secret from. She was afraid Eden knew the truth.
She was afraid she knew the truth. And she realized it had happened again. Her heart had decided before her brain had known. For all their flaws and faults, Sarah and David were the only parents Eden had ever known. Ruth was her grandmother. Joseph was her uncle. This was her life, and to take it from her now would be cruel. This fragile family needed at least a chance before another blow crushed it lifeless. She remembered what her father said. “You’ll do what’s best for her.” She felt tears begin to rise. How easy it would be to steal her away, she realized. How very easy.
“Suppose a person knew something,” Eden began, looking at her seriously. “Supposing they knew something that would change . . . everything.”
Miranda nodded.
“What should that person do?”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Well, should they tell what they know? What they think they know?”
“Is it something bad, like what my dad did?”
Eden looked at her with scornful disbelief. “It’s a felony to knowingly conceal a crime.”
“Right.” Miranda grinned. “I forgot who I was talking to. Well, is it a secret that could hurt someone? Is somebody being hurt or abused? Is it something like that?”
“No!” Eden looked frustrated and then gave her a meaningful look. “It’s just a guess about something. Something I—something the person is not supposed to know.”
There it was. It was in her hand, and she could do whatever she wanted. Here was the power, the decision that had been taken away from her. She thought of David then, of Sarah, of Eden. She thought about families and how flawed they were and how strong. She thought, oddly, about Beck Maddux, and she knew then that she was not like him. He had taken and taken and still stayed empty. She would give and be full.
She put aside her hesitation and spoke with authority she hadn’t known she had. “Eden, sometimes we can find out things that are too big for us to carry. Is there anyone else who knows this person’s secret?”
Eden met her eyes without blinking. “I think so,” she said.
Miranda took her hand. “Then maybe she should let that person carry it for her for a while.”
Eden’s neck turned red, and before Miranda’s eyes, hives appeared. A tear escaped and rolled down Eden’s cheek. She wiped it off in obvious annoyance.
“Will she ever know?” she asked, her voice sounding tight.
“I think so,” Miranda said, her throat hurting, too, from the effort of keeping back tears. “But not for a while. Not until she grows up. Maybe then.”
Eden threw herself against Miranda’s chest, and Miranda hugged her long and fiercely.
“I love you, Miranda,” Eden said.
“I love you, too, baby. I love you, too.”
After a moment they broke away. Eden wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and Miranda knew she was angry that she had cried.
“You’d better get home,” Miranda said. “Your mom and dad are waiting for you.”
Eden gave her one last look, then got onto her bike. She rode a short way, then turned and looked back.
Miranda waved and blew her a kiss. Eden turned and rode away, and Miranda watched until she turned the corner.
She went back to the apartment and lay on the bed in the dark. She could leave now. She could leave, and no one could blame her. Ruth would take care of Grady, and then she would not have to see Joseph again or her father or anything that would remind her of what she had almost had and lost. She remembered the prayer she had prayed in the jail cell, and it seemed like months ago. She sat up and prayed again that she would know what to do. Part of her cried out to run, but another part, just as obstinate, sat down and refused to budge. It was funny what made her decide. The little spiky rock, the meteor her father had given her, was on the bedside table. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the sharp surface. She thought about a meteor, flaring swiftly across the sky, illuminating and taking the breath away for one brief moment on its journey. She set it down and went to the window and looked out at the night sky. It was full of bright stars, shining softly, giving light, and she knew then the difference between the two.
chapter 59
*
The next week went quickly for Sarah. She and David made arrangements to return to Fairfax, and on Saturday morning they were ready to leave. Ruth was in the kitchen, no doubt packing a staggering lunch for them to take on the plane. The two of them and Miranda sat on the porch waiting. Sarah felt the cool breeze on her face and realized it would be fall soon. And for the first time, perhaps in her life, she felt a sense of purpose and hope. It was tapping insistently now, like a chick on its shell, telling her that perhaps there would be good things in store, and perhaps she was worthy to receive them.
She had failed. She no longer tried to hide it, and it was odd, but there was freedom in admitting it. Who would have thought? She had always avoided looking at the ugly places inside her for fear they would overwhelm her. But somehow bringing them out into the light had drained their poison.
“May I stay?” she had asked David that night a week ago, when she’d returned from the confrontation with Miranda.
“Are you sure you want us?” he had asked, and she accepted the gentle rebuke the question contained.
“I want to want to,” she had said, and he had smiled and said that it was enough for a start.
They had even made their peace with Joseph. He had come to them last week, and they had cried and wept together. They had forgiven and asked forgiveness, and what had been festering and full now felt cleansed and empty, ready to be filled with new things. She did not feel guilty anymore. And she did not expect perfection, even from herself.
They would never be a display model of perfection, her family, but they were here. The picture might be scarred and marred, but it had not become blackened ash. Its restoration was a bigger job than she could manage. In fact, everything was bigger than she was, and with the inability to control had come a blessed sense of—dare she name it—relief? For the first time in her life she seemed to be inside her own skin instead of gazing at herself and her life as part of a critical audience. She would do what she could and walk by faith regarding the rest. She was small. She was creature, not Creator.
And her husband was not a god. He was a man. He was made of flesh, the same as she was, and now he was the one who needed her. But she loved him. She loved her husband. The truth of that settled down and stayed as all the flotsam floated away. She loved the vital who of him and not merely his physical body. She loved her husband, and she loved their daughter. It felt good and right, and she knew it was enough for now. She remembered wondering if he would ever laugh again, really send joy out as waves of sound, and even about that she felt hope.
The car was loaded with their suitcases. Eden and Grady were in earnest conversation over by the garage, even though Grady would be going to the airport with them. Eden said she needed to make sure Grady knew all the things he was supposed to do until she came back. She was handing him a stack of Wanted posters. He looked a little overwhelmed.
David reached up and took Sarah’s hand and laced his fingers through hers as they said good-bye to Miranda.
“I’ve been thinking about the last chapter to your book,” Miranda said.
“I’m all ears,” David said.
“I think I know what the ending should be.”
“Tell me.”
“You can’t go back to the garden,” Miranda said. “It’s never going to be perfect here again. And if you waste all your energy trying to make believe or to look for the perfect place or the perfect person or the perfect life, you’ll miss the good while looking for the perfect.”
Her thoughts exactly, Sarah realized, and she looked at Miranda with a tender feeling.
“There’s going to be a perfect place,” David said, smiling, “where the sick will be healed and the dead will live and the lame will walk again, but we’re not there yet.”
“Not by a long shot,” Miranda agreed. “But there are good things here.” She looked over at Eden.
Sarah was quiet, seeing the love in her eyes.
“Here,” Miranda said, reaching behind her and handing Sarah a large box wrapped in brown paper. “It’s for Eden. When and if you decide the time is right.” Her eyes glistened with tears.
Sarah received the gift for what it was, a sacrifice of love. “I will give it to her,” she said, taking it into her hands. “I promise.”
“Take good care of her,” Miranda said solemnly. “Let her run around. Let her be herself. Let her be creative and imaginative. Enjoy her.” A blessing, a benediction, a charge.
Sarah nodded, now with tears in her own eyes. “I’m going to try my best,” she said, and she meant it. She felt she had been given a great gift, that something precious and almost lost had been restored to her. She didn’t intend to make the same mistakes twice.
“I don’t suppose you have anything in that little black bag for me?” David said, a wry smile on his face.
Miranda laughed, then sobered. “Oh, how I wish I did.”
David shook his head and smiled. A real smile, Sarah could see, that began in his heart and overflowed onto his face. “I already have everything I need. Thank you for all you’ve done.”
Miranda shook her head. “To quote my little brother, ‘It weren’t nothin’.”’ By now everyone’s eyes were damp, though they were all smiling.
Sarah looked across to where Eden was talking to Grady. She was punching him on the shoulder, her sign of deepest endearment.
“Joseph already stopped in to say good-bye,” David said. “He said he was heading down to the old campground to do some repairs. Just thought you might want to know.”
“Oh,” Miranda said.
“Have you talked to him?” David pressed.
Miranda nodded and answered vaguely, “We straightened everything out.”
“Everything?” he pressed.
She shrugged. “He asked me if I was going to stay or leave and told me to let him know when I had an answer.”
David was looking at Miranda intently. “And do you have one?” he asked her.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said.
“So don’t,” David said.
“Well, it’s funny, but all these years when I’ve felt like I ought to stay someplace, all I wanted to do was leave. And now I feel like I ought to leave, but all I want to do is stay.”
“Why do you feel you ought to leave?” David asked.
She shifted uneasily and glanced toward Eden. “I just thought it would be easier for everyone.”
“I’m all right with your staying,” David said. “How about you, Sarah?”
Sarah looked at the hope on Miranda’s face and felt the seesaw of emotion. She could send her away and be safe. Or she could take a risk and love. She needed only a moment to make her decision, for the truth was, Sarah’s heart, for the first time she could remember, was full, positively overflowing, and she knew that she was safe, that she had no need to grasp and hold things so closely that they suffocated. In that moment she felt she would love nothing better than to know Miranda was close, building a life with people she loved, able to be a part of theirs someday.
“Yes, it’s absolutely all right,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do.”
David smiled sardonically. “Besides which, if you leave, I think my brother will probably grow moss waiting for you to come back.”
Miranda shook her head, and her face darkened with regret. “I think he might prefer it if I left.”
“Oh, please,” David said. “I haven’t seen him so smitten since Daisy Ferguson in the second grade.”
Sarah saw a twinkle in his eye that hadn’t been there three months ago. A smile played on his lips.
Miranda’s face lit with hope, and she looked so much like Eden that Sarah grinned with recognition.
“Do you think so?” she asked.
“I know so,” David assured her.
“Joseph has learned a lot about forgiveness,” Sarah confirmed.
Miranda looked joyous and childlike. “Well, then, maybe I’ll be seeing you,” she said.
David nodded and smiled. Sarah felt something true and right settle down into its proper place in her heart.
Eden came toward them then, sniffling furiously and looking determined not to cry. She went to Miranda. The two of them looked at each other for a moment; then Eden flung herself at Miranda, and with her arms encircling her waist, she buried her face near her heart. Miranda’s hands hesitated over Eden’s head for a minute, then finally closed over her curly dark hair. She laid her own head on top of Eden’s and rocked her softly from side to side. Both were crying. David was crying. Sarah was crying, and for a split second, Sarah wondered whose resolve would crumble first. She hesitated, vacillated. Was it wrong not to tell?
Miranda made the decision for them all.
“Good grief, Charlie Brown,” she said, giving Eden a last squeeze and a smacking kiss on the top of the head. “We’re acting like we’ll never see each other again.”
“You’re not leaving?” Eden tipped her head up and looked at Miranda with joy.
Miranda blew out a little puff of air and shook her head. “Just between you and me and the cat box, your uncle Joseph sorely needs somebody to straighten him out, and I intend to have a go at it.”
Eden grinned. David grinned. Grady grinned. Sarah felt her face lighten with her spirit.
“So you’ll be here the next time I come?”
And in that second between Eden’s question and Miranda’s answer, Sarah wondered if she would take the opportunity to give herself an emergency exit.
“I will be here,” Miranda said firmly, meeting her daughter’s eyes without a blink. “I will be here whenever you need me. You will always know where to find me.”
Eden gave her one last hug, then slung her backpack down onto the ground. She unzipped it with practiced precision and drew out her Kenwood police radio. “Here,” she said, handing it to Miranda with a mischievous smile. “You can borrow it until Thanksgiving. That way you can keep up with him better.”
Miranda laughed. She held out her hand. Eden slapped it, and then they linked fingers. “Friends forever?” she asked.
“Friends forever,” Eden answered.
Then Eden turned toward Sarah, and Sarah saw relief and peace on her face, and in that moment Sarah wondered what she knew. She wondered, for a fraction of a second, if she had known all along. She wondered until Eden came and stood quietly beside her and took her hand, then reached across and took David’s, and they were joined again, a threefold strand that would not be easily broken, no matter what came against them.
“Let’s go home,” Sarah said firmly. And they turned to leave.
After a few seconds David paused and wheeled halfway back around. “Remember,” he said, calling back to Miranda, “the luckiest people are the ones who don’t walk away.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Miranda quipped, then looked horrorstruck, realizing what she’d said.
And as Sarah watched, David stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, a sound of pure, sweet joy.
chapter 60
*
Joseph drove into Camp Berachah and parked his truck. Flick jumped out of the back and ran down toward the water. Joseph got out and walked onto the lodge’s porch, then sat down on the steps and looked around. The early morning air was moist, the grass green from last week’s rains. He could hear the breeze shushing through the leaves of the trees, and the sunlight sparkled off the waters of the lake. He remembered his boyhood, his father, and he felt a sense of connection to him that he hadn’t felt in many years. He supposed it had to do with making his peace with David, with letting go of the bitterness and coming back to God.
He felt joy that he had work to do. He had a small piece of the earth to subdue, and he would try to do it well. He thought of himself as a servant of God now, a messenger, not to put too fine a point on it. Oh, he knew he was just a creek that flowed into the ocean, but he took a clean, quiet pleasure in knowing he would do his part, sure and true. This was his post, a humble place, but his few miles of earth to tend and guard and keep, and oddly enough, sitting here on this porch that his father had built, he had the feeling that this place was where he belonged—here in this very spot—and that once again he would hear it ring with joy and laughter.
