Any Minute (37 page)

“Your nanny has one new post,” the screen announced after completing its search. Sarah clicked and found the message. It surprised her that this one came with a phone number attached. She read through it. And read through it again.

“Your nanny is doing a terrific job,” the post said. “You should know that your baby appears totally happy. She eats well, and it’s no wonder that she appears quite chubby. She loves to watch the polar bears. If you decide you don’t need your nanny anymore, I’d like to have him. And actually, I don’t even have a child. But this guy is just so cute with the baby.”

That’s when Sarah remembered Joe had closed the shop for the day. He’d regally invited Kate to accompany him on a father/ daughter date to the Lincoln Park Zoo to celebrate the completion of his latest engine transplant in his latest Miata. And Kate, in her fist-chewing, toothless way, had shot him a grin that meant she, as princess of the household, royally accepted.

Sarah glanced at the time on her real-time commodities tracker. She could either panic and partake in a mad dash to the trading floor, or she could take a deep breath and realize how well Leo had it covered here. She grinned. Just let them do without her for five minutes. They were talented people and knew how to do a great job.

Sarah perched on the edge of her fancy swivel office chair and placed her calves side by side, her feet flat on the floor in the desk’s kneehole. She retrieved a pile of financial reports and tamped their edges even.

Since she was about to pay homage to Joe’s role as husband and father, she wanted everything strictly in order. She aligned the pencils and pens inside the trough of her drawer. She swept rubber bands together in the corner so none of them could escape. Then she began typing on her computer keyboard with the same finesse a pianist would use in Orchestra Hall.

“Thank you so much for your thorough report on my nanny,” she pounded out. She leaned back, surveyed her work from a distance, and liked what she saw. Her fingers tripped over the keys again. “I am pleased to hear of his exemplary performance.” Then, “My nanny is wearing a wedding ring, in case you hadn’t noticed. He is married to me, and I wouldn’t give him up for anything in the world.”

She left the cursor there for a time, just watching it blink before she signed her name. She typed
Sarah Harper
with a flourish and then printed a copy.

Joe was going to love this.

She swiveled in the chair, just thinking about it. She couldn’t help it; she laughed herself silly.

Sarah sat on the edge of her mother’s table, watching Jane peel apples. Harold told her that Jane was making jelly, so Sarah had stopped over to help.

The recipe in Annie’s handwriting, faded and spotted, stood propped against the sugar bowl. Jane was peeling apples in the same round curls Annie had made.

“Mama,” Sarah said. “We have to talk.”

Jane dropped apple slices into the kettle with a soft
kerplunk
. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Mama, we do.”

And even though Jane stood as stiff as a rake handle, even though her jaw stayed set in a stubborn square, Sarah knew she had to try to make a start somewhere. She knew telling Jane her whole experience with Annie and Wingtip would be too much for her right now. So she simply and softly said, “Mother, I know that somewhere in your life you were terribly hurt and disappointed. Someone stole your dreams, and I am sorry about that.”

Jane stared at her.

“I am really sorry, but it wasn’t my fault, and it’s time you stopped blaming me. God loves you, Mama, and he wants you to be happy and enjoy the rest of your life.” Sarah waited in silence, hoping her mother would say something. “I’ve been praying for you, Mama, and I know that God is going to change your heart.”

She waited for a reaction, but Jane didn’t respond.

“You were hurt, and you hurt me because of it. I want you to know that I forgive you, and if you ever need me, all you have to do is call.”

Sarah was prepared to leave and just trust that God would someday make things right. She headed for the door. She stopped, though, when she heard footsteps behind her.

She turned to look. Even though Jane’s jaw was still set with stubbornness, she managed to say, “Sarah, thank you for coming today,” and they both knew that was a beginning.

Sarah knew her own heart when it came to her mother. Someday she would have the joy of seeing Jane completely healed from her past. She knew that God wanted to do that. And if the Heavenly Father wanted to use her in the process, Sarah prayed for the grace to be whatever he needed her to be, ready to do Jesus’ bidding, so she could help Jane make her own journey toward understanding how much she was worth.

The best thing about having a broken arm, Mitchell told his dad, was how everyone in Mrs. Georges’s class at school (Kyle, Ryan, even Lydia—
especially
Lydia) used the coolest Sharpie colors they could find to decorate his cast. “2 nice 2 B 4gotten,” Mrs. Georges had written with a shy smile. “Way to go, dude!!!!” wrote Kyle Grimes, and beside that he drew a picture of a swimming shark. Ryan had added in green marker, “Don’t ever break your arm.” Add to that, people everywhere he went, even in the aisles at the grocery store, stopped him, gave him sympathy, and asked how he’d done it. When he told them he’d done it trying to climb inside the scoreboard at Wrigley, that an angel he’d once met had rescued him, that everything had ended up just the way it was supposed to end up, they usually set the jar of mayo or the bag of chips—whatever they happened to be holding at the time—inside their basket and glanced over his head at his mother with an
Ah, the imagination of a child
look, expecting to see a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye. But his mother would nod her agreement every time and shoot them a small tilt of a smile.

“That’s the story, just the way Mitchell tells it. What do you think? We’re so grateful.” Which would make them look a little askance at him and find something fascinating to read about on a cereal box before they wished him well, gave him one more dubious glance, and pushed their carts along up the aisle.

The worst thing about having a broken arm, Mitchell told his dad, was trying to get the sleeve of his Cubs jacket over his cast. Which is the reason he stood at the door this minute with his cap sideways on his head and his jacket dangling halfway off his shoulder.

“Let’s see what we can do about this,” Joe said. And as Sarah watched him kneel in front of their son, as she rested in the peace and joy she had, she knew she wanted to spend the remainder of her life helping others find what she had found through Jesus. She and Joe had already agreed that they, along with Mitchell and Kate, would spend one evening a week visiting homeless shelters and helping in whatever way they could.

Forehead to forehead, Joe helped Mitchell slip his arm through the sleeve and do up his coat. “How’s that?” Joe fastened a few snaps. “You okay?”

Never mind Mitchell’s blond hair and Joe’s dark locks. Never mind one being young and the other, well, middle-aged. As Mitchell nodded, the eyes, the jaw, the jut of noses, gave perfect reflections of each other.

“Honey?” Joe called. “You two ready?”

Sarah slung the diaper bag over a shoulder, lifted Kate from her high chair, and held her overhead. “Hello,” she said to the clear, sun-struck blue eyes of her daughter as Kate thrust a drool-covered fist toward Sarah’s nose. “What are you thinking?” For a moment, the tiny, open face was the only thing in Sarah’s range of vision. When she kissed the baby’s cheek, smelled the milk on her breath, the entire world paused, became beautiful. “Are you ready for this?”

She would have taken Kate to the Cubs game tonight even if Mrs. Pavik had been available for babysitting. The last pitch of the regular season had been thrown. It just seemed like something the Harpers needed to do, being there together for a post-season play-off in honor of Wingtip, as the Cubbies contended for a shot at the series.

Sarah had encouraged Mrs. Pavik to take time off. She and Joe wanted to pay for her trip home to Poland so she could drink in the details of her own daughter’s face and hopefully jump-start proceedings to bring her child to America. Even though Sarah and Kate would make do with someone else for a while, the nanny position would be available when Mrs. Pavik returned. Sarah promised. And Sarah also offered to accompany Sophia to the imposing glass tower of the Federal Building when it came time to file Elena’s visa petition, not because Sarah had pull at government offices but because her presence could offer a healthy dose of moral support. She and Joe would also point Mrs. Pavik to a social-service agency that could help with the little girl’s medical expenses.

It was a new way of living for Sarah Harper. Offering to help people. Encouraging them and offering what she knew could assist them or make them feel better about things. She noticed that finding opportunities to give joy away was the main thing that released joy into her own life. It still amazed her… this principle of sowing and reaping that she had discovered in the Bible. It absolutely worked. When she had sown misery into the lives of others, she was miserable herself. Now that she was sowing joy, she was joyful.

Joe and Mitchell wanted to ride the “L” train to the game. So they wouldn’t have to worry about parking, Joe urged. So they loaded the car with the foldable stroller and other baby paraphernalia, drove the new hybrid to the Park & Ride lot, and boarded the Purple Line at Linden, headed south.

By the time they made the connection to the Red Line at Howard, the train was standing room only. Everyone wore red and pinstripe blue. They were all in this together. Fraternity brothers heading in from Loyola struck up baseball chatter with families from Wilmette and businessmen from Bryn Mawr. “Think Zambrano can pitch another no-hitter?” “Think Aramis Ramirez can tag another pinch runner?” “Think Cedeno’s batting average stands a chance?”

The elevated train ground to a stop with a shrill screech of brakes, propelling everyone forward. Sarah and Joe, Mitchell and Kate spilled out the sliding doors with the crowd. In the distance they could see the familiar red marquee. WRIGLEY FIELD. HOME OF CHICAGO CUBS.

Hot-dog stands and pizza parlors did a brisk business. Hawkers held up unofficial programs for an exorbitant price. On the corner of Waveland, an elderly lady sold necklaces she’d strung by hand, made of red and blue beads. Directly beside the entrance, a harried clerk sold Cubs jerseys, pencils, pennants, and bobblehead dolls.

Mitchell led the way with his foam claw while Joe pushed the stroller. Sarah followed with one finger crooked through the belt loop of Joe’s jeans. When they wove their way through the throngs and stepped through the tunnel and came out beneath the banks of spotlights, Joe heard Sarah’s breath catch.

“Dad,” Mitchell whispered, “there it is.”

“I know, son.” Joe rumpled his son’s hair. He slid his arm around Sarah’s shoulders and pulled his wife tightly against him.

There were the endless stretch of emerald grass and the rumpled curtains of ivy and the red brick wall. Joe said, “There are plenty of nice houses here in Chicago, but nothing that makes so many people feel at home as Wrigley.”

Sarah laid her head against his shoulder. She wiped her eyes behind her sunglasses. He knew she was starting to cry.

On the opposite side of the field, the scoreboard gleamed. Its gigantic clock, which read 6:55, smiled down at them like an old friend. The team-standings pennants, strung in order along a sturdy rope, clanged and snapped against the flagpole. The name of each team playing tonight had already been set in slots facing the field. Soon the scoreboard would be posting the triple-crown stats of each batter. For now, each game—including this one—sported a long string of empty panels. A few tiny squares stood open, through which you could see the movement of someone sorting numbers, getting panels ready to set in place after a big play. But no matter that the regular scoreboard manager had been doing this job for years now, no matter that he’d been trained by another guy who’d worked forty years before
him
.