Oceans Apart (23 page)

– Oceans Apart –

and it’s long over. Everything’s been fine for years. How can I make Michele forgive?”

“Only God can do that, but I can give you a hint . . .” He settled back in his chair, his gnarled hands folded across his lap the way he might look if he were praying. “It’ll start with you.”
With me?
Anger filled Connor’s senses. He clenched his jaw and then in sudden defeat he gave up and released a soft chuckle. The pastor obviously hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “With me?” The man gave a slow nod. “Yes. With you.”

“Okay.” Connor chuckled again. “Whatever.” They exchanged a few more words, but the conversation was over. Michele didn’t understand him, and neither did the pastor.

He’d have to figure a way out of the mess he was in without anyone’s help.

As he left the church office, Connor shot a look at the scattered clouds above him. “God . . . looks like it’s You and me on this one.” The statement was only half serious, and Connor heard no audible answer, no strong sense of knowing deep within him. If God had been listening to his prayers, he never would have run across Kiahna in the first place. Connor climbed in his car and strapped on his determination.

He would get home and do what he could to convince Michele to come with them.

When he found her in their bedroom half an hour later, he reminded her that their time with Max wouldn’t be an actual trial run if she wasn’t there; and he added that Elizabeth and Susan would certainly find it strange that their mother had taken a private vacation instead of joining the family at the lake.

By Sunday night, he resorted to begging.

“Please, Michele. Come with us.” He found her standing at the rail on the balcony off their second-story bedroom, but still she kept her back to him. “I need you there.” 176

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She lifted her chin and stared at the dusky horizon, beyond the row of houses that made up their neighborhood. “I can’t.” Anger splashed itself against the moment. “I’ve never asked much of you, Michele. But just this once—”

“What?”
She spun around and faced him, her eyes wide. “
You’ve
never asked much of
me?”
She laughed in that new, acid way he’d come to expect. “You asked me to wait at home for weeks on end while you flew from Los Angeles to Honolulu . . . nine months of that, Connor. You asked me to care for our girls, keep up our home, and never stop praying that you’d get reassigned back in Florida.

On top of all that you asked me to be faithful, and guess what? I was, Connor. Sure, it was lonely, but always I knew that someday you’d be coming home for good.” She lowered her voice. “Let’s talk about what I’ve asked of you.”

He took a step backwards, knowing what was coming, knowing that listening to her spell it out was part of his punishment.

“Just be true to me, Connor. That’s all I asked. Go to work and come home still in love with only me, forever and ever.” She hesitated, seeming to gain some sort of control over her anger and hurt.

When she spoke again, her voice was a quiet kind of steel. Gentle, but utterly unbendable. “Don’t ask me to go, Connor. I can’t.” Her eyebrows relaxed some, and she turned once more toward the railing. “I won’t.”

She spent the night with one of the girls again, and made sure they were packed. He took care of himself and Max, and when it came time for bed, he tucked the boy in with a smile that took every ounce of his effort. “Excited about the trip?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy pulled the covers up to his chin. Neither his tone nor his expression gave away any of what he might be feeling.

Connor sat on the edge of the boy’s bed and pursed his lips.

“Max . . .”

“Yes, sir?”

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“You don’t have to call me
sir
anymore.” A layer of formality faded from Max’s eyes, but he said nothing.

“
Sir
is for strangers, and the two of us . . . well”—Connor cocked his head to the side and grinned at the boy—“we’re more like good friends who never got to meet until this week. Okay?” Max made a little gulping sound. He nodded his head a few times. “Okay.”

In the moonlight, the boy’s face, the angles and curves of it, were so like his own, so like his father’s. He’d been too busy handling Michele to take time simply to study the child and marvel at the fact that the boy was his.

“Mr. Evans?”

“Yes, Max.” He gave himself permission to run his fingertips along the boy’s forehead, the side of his face, the way he had always done with Elizabeth and Susan.

“Could you give me my Bible? I forgot to look at it before bedtime.”

His Bible? Hearing that sent a ray of guilt through Connor’s heart. His son had a Bible? One he read every night? He blinked, for the moment unable to do anything but let that single fact work its way through him. What about his own Bible, lying dusty and unread upstairs in the bookcase near his bed? How long had it been since reading it was a priority? And how many hundreds of other little details did he not know about his own son?

“Mr. Evans?”

Connor jumped a little and scanned the bureau near Max’s bed.

There, on top, was a white book with the words
My First Bible
written in yellow, kidlike lettering across the top. Even before he picked it up, he could see that letters or photographs were stuck between the pages. He was careful as he moved it from the bureau to Max.

“Thanks.”

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“You’re welcome.”

Max held the Bible to his chest and gave Connor a look. Though he had only known the boy for a few days, Connor could sense that he was asking him to be a part of this nighttime routine. At least for tonight.

Connor twisted the button on the small bedside lamp so Max could see the words. “What part are you at?” The corners of Max’s mouth rose a bit. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, then he opened the book, took a handful of things from it, and set them on his lap. “I already read about John the Baptist.” He kept his eyes on the book, studying the pages with an intensity that reminded Connor of himself.

After flipping through most of the Bible, Max stopped and pointed to one of the pages. “I’m here.” He looked up at Connor.

“The Sermon on the Mount.”

“Could you read it to me?”

“Sure.” Max pulled himself up a little straighter and brought the book closer so he could see the words. “‘Jesus knew that the people needed Him. They needed His words so that their hearts would be right. One day He went to a place in the mountains and began to talk to the people . . .’”

Max kept reading, but Connor was no longer listening. His heart was stuck back on the first part, where Jesus knew that the people needed His words so that their hearts would be right. How simple was that? Simple and sound and true beyond anything Connor had told himself in the past ten years.

When was the last time he’d had those profound truths in the forefront of his mind? Back when he met Michele and the two of them began dating, definitely. But when had he stopped? When had he chosen to get through a week or even a day without God’s words to guide him? And how come bells hadn’t gone off, alarms 179

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to signal the fact that without the wisdom Jesus gave, he was bound to fall?

If his heart had been right that summer eight years ago, he never would’ve been unfaithful, never. Tempted, maybe, but he would have seen the way out, the way promised by God Himself. But then, he wouldn’t have this wonder child sitting before him to remind him of everything he’d forgotten.

Connor let the thought pass. It was a little late to be thinking about where he’d gone wrong with God. Even if he could figure it out, he wasn’t sure where that would leave him now. He’d lied to Michele for nearly eight years. It was hardly time to pretend he could be counted among the godly.

Max was finishing up, talking about love and how it was the greatest command of all. Connor studied the boy, the way he read quickly and with voice inflection. Whatever Max had lacked growing up without a father, Kiahna had obviously done her best to make up for it.

“‘. . . And this is what I want you to do.’” Max turned the page and looked up at Connor. “This isn’t from the Sermon on the Mount, but it’s my favorite part.” His eyes fell to the book again.

“‘I want you to love Me and love each other. This is the most important thing, that you love each other.’” He let his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, then he looked up at Connor. “Then there’s a question time, but I’ll read them in the morning.”

“You read in the morning, too?” Connor shifted some. God might as well have shone a spotlight at him, searching his heart for a reaction to his son’s faithfulness. Connor crossed his arms and bit the inside of his lip. The boy’s example was more than Connor could absorb.

“Yes.” Max closed the Bible. His expression was as open and earnest as an angel’s. “Mommy says the days are better when you 180

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start them with Jesus.” A shadow fell over his face and his eyes grew damp. “She used to say that, I mean.”

The words caught Connor by surprise. His heart scraped along the ground for a few seconds and he reached for Max’s hand. He needed to take things slow with the boy, build a friendship with care, especially since chances were he was going home in two weeks. Connor searched his face, the well of sorrow and fear there, and with everything in him he wanted to take the boy in his arms and rock away the pain.

But he forced himself to hold back. Neither of them would benefit by making that kind of connection, only to lose it.

Instead he nodded to the few things on Max’s lap. “What do you have there?”

The sorrow faded and the boy’s eyes held a sparkle Connor hadn’t seen yet. “My special things.”

“I see.” Connor resisted the urge to stare at them, figure out what might be so special to his son. “Special things are good.” Max picked them up and held them with a care that went beyond his seven years. “Want to see?”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Max shrugged. “Special things are okay to share.” He picked up the first item, a dog-eared Polaroid photo, and held it out for Connor to see. “This is my bestest friend, Buddy.” Again the child’s words were like a sucker punch to the center of his conscience. His friend, Buddy. The dog Connor had refused to allow to come. One more reason for the sorrow that came and went in Max’s eyes. Connor exhaled through his teeth. “He looks like a great dog.”

“He is.” Max gave the photo a sad smile. “The best.” Connor’s throat was too tight to speak. Seeing Max’s special things was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. Because with each one, Max was giving him a glimpse of his heart, his little 181

– Oceans Apart –

world. A part that would stay with Connor forever, even if the child sitting across from him had to go.

Max placed the photo of Buddy at the bottom of the small stack and picked up the next item. “This is from Ramey. It’s a letter telling me to be good and remember the things my mommy told me. Especially our song.”

Connor couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Your song?”

“Yes.” Max looked up again.

This time the protective layers he’d come with were gone, and Connor could see straight to the boy’s soul. “Did your mom make it up?” Connor’s voice fell some, respectful in a way that seemed appropriate given the level of importance Max’s special song clearly held for him.

“Mm-hmm.” Max looked back at the envelope from Ramey. For a moment he seemed to consider whether he might sing the song for Connor, but then he sifted the smudged white envelope to the bottom and took hold of the third and final item. “This is a picture of my mommy.” He studied it before lifting it up to Connor.

“You’re her friend, so you already know what she looks like, but you can see it anyway.”

Connor wanted to close his eyes, but it was too late. It hadn’t occurred to him that one of the special things would be a picture of Kiahna. And now . . . now his eyes fell on her image and in a rush every memory of her came back. She looked the way he remembered her. But the picture brought into focus the tiny details he’d forgotten over time. The way her green eyes took up half her face, and her striking figure.

The picture showed her sitting on a log in some kind of forest setting, but as Connor looked at it he could see her at the airport restaurant, the way she’d looked when the two of them first met, the way she’d looked when they left together looking for a place to talk and—

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He swallowed and directed his gaze back at Max. “She’s very pretty.”

“I know.” Max looked at the photo again. “I think she’ll be pretty in heaven, too.” He lifted his eyes to Connor. “Don’t you?” Connor was grateful Michele was nowhere nearby. “Yes, Max.” He patted the boy’s hand. “I’m sure she’ll be very pretty in heaven.” Max made a neat stack of his three special things and stuck them back in his Bible. Then he handed the book back to Connor.

“Thanks for letting me look at it. I know it’s late.” A Bible from his mother, two photos, and a letter reminding him what was important. The most precious things his son owned.

Again Connor couldn’t make his throat squeeze out the words. He took the book, set it back, and turned off the light.

Max yawned as he slid back beneath the covers. “When do we leave tomorrow?”

“Early.” Connor took Max’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll wake you and the girls in time to eat breakfast.” He gave the boy another smile. “A good breakfast is the first part of taking a camping trip to the lake.”

“Then what?”

“You mean, what happens after we get to camp?”

“Yeah, do we build a tent?”

Connor searched the boy’s face. “You’ve never camped before, have you?”

“No.” His eyes fell. “Mommy said we’d go, but we . . . we ran out of time.” He looked up again. “What do we do when we get there?”

“First . . .” Connor coughed to clear the emotions from his throat. “We’ll set up camp. The tents are already made, but they need poles so they can stand up. Then we’ll make up our beds, and put the food away, and probably do some fishing.”