Providence (32 page)

“She … Erin’s married, Jack. She lives in Virginia now. We still exchange Christmas cards, and she’s doing great. But I don’t know how she’d feel hearing from you. For the longest time, the only way she could deal with Mitch’s death was by blaming you for everything.”

“Do you blame me, Mrs. McDaniels?”

A long pause. Another sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I do, Jack. I know you’ve suffered all these years too, but you were a very stupid young man. But it’s all over, Jack. You can’t bring Mitch back, and neither can we. If you’re asking me if I blame you, the answer is yes. If you’re asking me if I forgive you, that’s a different question. But yes, I do.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Something had been unlocked in my soul. Those words, simple words.
“If you’re asking me if I forgive you … yes, I do.
I didn’t know how much I wanted to hear them until they’d already been said.

I let out the uncontrollable cry of a man freed from a prison of his own making—a prison he’d been locked up in for twenty years.

“I’m so sorry …” I said after a minute or more of crying. “I’ve felt so much heavy guilt.”

“Jack, you loved Mitchell, and he loved you. I don’t think he would want you to suffer anymore.”

“He was coming there to help me.” I cried again. Another strongbox opened, another razor-sharp piece of the black puzzle was tossed into the fire.

“What if it would have been you?”

“I wished it would have been,” I said, sobbing like a baby, saying things I wished I would have said years ago. “I wish it would’ve been me.”

“If the roles had been reversed, what would you have wanted Mitchell to do with the rest of his life?”

I thought for a moment, the cries ceasing like the break in a rain shower.

“I’d want him to get on with it,” I said.

“Even if it was his fault.” It wasn’t a question. She already knew my answer.

“Yes.” I knew what she’d say next. If that’s what I’d want for him, it was probably what he’d want for me. Freedom
was
possible. It opened before me like a thick curtain.

“Jack, there’s been enough suffering. We miss Mitchell every day, but he’s in the hands of the Lord. You’re still entangled in grief, and I think it’s time for you to let go.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still here.”

“You’re still here because God wants you here. Don’t you think some good has come out of your life, Jack? With the books you’ve written and the people God’s touched through the work you do? The whole country’s more aware of the needs of the poor because of the way God has used you. Maybe the grief you experienced was what prepared you to do this work. But, Jack, no matter what good you’ve done, it isn’t good works that set you free. It’s forgiveness. Forgiveness frees us, Jack. And Hank and I forgive you.”

I felt suddenly calm. It was as if the spirit of guilt had left me.

“I still wish I could take it all back, Mrs. McDaniels. I’d do it all differently.”

“You can’t, Jack.” Her words reminded me of something Howard had said. Perhaps I just had to hear them a dozen times before they would stick.

“I’ve done what I thought the Lord wanted me to do, day by day, step after step.”

“And He made a way for healing, Jack—day by day, footstep after footstep.”

I thanked Mrs. McDaniels for her kindness and asked again for Erin’s number. A minute later she returned to the phone.

“Erin’s husband is Donald Harrimore, and they live in Virginia.” She gave me their number. “Tell Erin I gave it to you, Jack, but please use wisdom, and don’t push things if she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I won’t, and thank you.”

“Jack, I’m glad you called. There’s a part of us, Hank and I, that’s proud of you. In some ways we feel like part of Mitchell lives on in your work. There are traces of the past still present.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We lost two sons that day, Jack. Getting one back wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“I’m trying,” I said.

“Keep trying, Jack.”

I lay prostrate on the floor crying out to God in deep resolute worship. Mitch’s parents had forgiven me a long time ago, but I needed to hear it again. I needed to hear it so I could take yet another step toward forgiving myself.

~
T
HIRTY-SIX
~

Bring me a higher love
Where’s that higher love I keep thinking of?

—Steve Winwood

“Higher Love”

The liberating conversation with Mrs. McDaniels stuck with me for days, two days to be exact. That’s the amount of time it takes to drive from Chicago, Illinois, to Annandale, Virginia, following the speed limit and piloting for long hours with the radio off. I’d given the operator Erin’s number and asked her what city I was calling. “Annandale,” she said. “Outside Alexandria.”

When I arrived in Alexandria, I checked in at the Holiday Inn and moved my things into the hotel from the trunk of the rental car (the Jeep would never have made it). I hadn’t yet called Erin. If she would see me, I wanted that meeting to be in person. If she refused, I was prepared to turn around and go back.

The next morning I called Erin’s number. It was a Friday. I wondered if she’d be working, or even if she was home at all between holidays. I hadn’t thought very far ahead. I didn’t know what sort of message I’d leave on the machine.

“Hello.”

It took me a moment to respond. It had been a lifetime since I’d heard her dulcet voice.

“Hi, Erin … It’s Jack Clayton,” I said.

“Jack, hello,” she said, giving away nothing.

“Hi. I didn’t know if I’d find you home.”

“Are you in Alexandria? The caller ID says Holiday Inn.”

“Yes, I am. Got here yesterday. Mrs. McDaniels gave me your number. I came down hoping we could have coffee together or something.”

“Is that why you’re calling?”

“Yeah.”

“You came all this way just to have coffee?”

“Yes. I’ve been working on this new book—it’s sort of a memoir—and I’ve been thinking a lot about the past. I wanted a chance for the two of us to talk.”

I heard a blast of nervous laughter from the other end of the line. Erin covered the phone for a moment to muffle the sound. “I’m sorry I’m laughing, Jack. It’s just that this is what I’ve been praying for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me, either, but are you free today?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not usually home during the week, but with the holidays, Donald and I have family here, so I took a few days off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. If you have guests, we can make it another time. I have a habit of showing up unexpectedly.”

“No, it’s okay. Why don’t you come over here? Let me give you directions. Do you have paper?”

I jotted the directions on the Holiday Inn pad by the phone.

“It’s a large brick two-story with a small fountain and garden in front. Just pull in the horseshoe drive.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“We like it. Can you be here for lunch around eleven thirty?”

“Yes. Are you sure it’s all right? I don’t want to intrude on you and your family.”

“You won’t. I’ll see you ’round eleven thirty.”

“Erin,” I said. “Thanks for seeing me. I guess I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“Well, Jack, this certainly is a surprise, but life is full of surprises, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it certainly is.” I said and hung up the phone. Life had been full of surprises, she was right about that.

I pulled in the drive at 2816 Bellpark Lane a few minutes early. The house was a beautiful two-story French Colonial with a large fountain surrounded by a colorful landscape of shrubs and flowers and stone. It brandished regal-looking brass light fixtures on either side of the front door, and clinging trumpet vines climbed up the brick exterior. It reminded me of a scaled-down version of Lillian Hall.

A silver Mercedes with Virginia tags and a blue Pontiac with an Enterprise rental sticker were parked in the driveway. I got out of the car and crunched over the pebble drive, listening to the pleasant gurgling sounds of water from the fountain. The glass storm door opened, and Erin peeked out, her eyes smiling, her face framed in blond hair.

“Welcome to Virginia, Jack.”

I didn’t respond to her right away, just content to see her again. I felt like crying and laughing at the same time. So many memories.

Time had been kind to her. She looked just like the young woman my best friend was going to marry all those years ago. She came down the steps, and we embraced, a grasp that started as a friendly hug between old friends but switched quickly into an “I’m sorry; it’s been too long” hold.

“It’s good to see you.”

“I’m sorry, Erin. I’m so sorry.” It didn’t feel right to wait any longer to say those words.

“I know, Jack. You don’t have to apologize anymore,” she said. Her eyes expressed an understanding of suffering and an ability to recognize it in others. “It’s time to put it in the past.”

A healing rain poured down along with a flood of memories. We shared a love for the same person, and a similar sense of loss.

“I don’t know where to begin,” I said.

“Jack, it’s okay … Really, it is.” She gave my arms an amiable tug. “Whatever you came here to say, consider it said and done.”

I smiled, and for the first time comprehended how the past can be folded away. Not stuffed into slivery crates and nailed shut. But washed over in a cool sea of forgiveness, or the softened eyes of an old friend. I took another giant step toward forgiving myself.

“Your home is beautiful, Erin. You know, in a weird way it reminds me of Lillian Hall. The way it’s designed, the fountain, the front doors.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” she said. “But I guess you’re right.” Erin laughed, like she did the first time in the apartment. Probably just after Mitchell had said something funny.

“It reminds me of the day we all met in front of Lillian. Do you remember that?”

“When you and Mitch were jogging?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. It was nice to remember with someone who’d been there.

“Mitch and I had already known each other for a while. But I met you for the first time that day. And that’s when you met Jenny.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember what it felt like when you first saw her?”

“Yeah, it’s burned into my memory.”

“Did it feel anything like this?”

I turned and saw Jenny standing in the doorway.

I had no words.

She walked outside, a slow, purposeful gait. I met her on the stairs, and without thinking, picked her up in my arms, holding her for what might have been a minute but felt like an eternity. I thought I heard the cheering of unseen angels and the sounds of workmen wheeling out the last of the scattered boards from old, busted memory crates. Or maybe it was the sound of the Spirit, whirling freely like the wind through uncluttered chambers of the heart.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m back from England. We decided to fly into DC first and see Erin before we return to Indiana.”

“But I saw your dad. He said you wouldn’t arrive until February.”

“We sold the house before Christmas, and the woman who’s stepping in knows more about mission work than I do. The boys and I decided to start the new year in America.”

Jenny wore a pair of blue jeans and an English-style white wool sweater. Her hair was redder than I’d seen before, highlighting her natural brown.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, laughing. “I sure didn’t have any idea you’d be here.”

“You mean you just happened to pick today to come to Annandale for the first time in your life to see a friend you haven’t spoken to in twenty years?”

“Something like that.”

Erin’s Christmas tree was trimmed with strings of popcorn on its evergreen limbs, and a young child’s painting of the nativity decorated the refrigerator. While she prepared chicken salad, we stood in the kitchen talking about everything and nothing, and I found myself lost in this moment. Every word Jenny and Erin spoke was music. Every gesture as fresh as it was familiar. The scene was sublime.