Rain Dance (21 page)

To get my emotions back in control, I flipped through my mail. An official-looking letter from the United States military was addressed to Stephen Dunbar, Jr. I stared at it, puzzled.

There is no such person,
I thought.

My dad called to see when I’d be home.

“Later. I have a lot of reading to do first. Hey, Dad, guess what? You know how I still get mail addressed to Stacie Dunbar? Well, I guess the U.S. military is looking for me too, only they think my name is Stephen Dunbar, Jr. Talk about a glitch in the system.”

A strange silence filled the air.

“Just toss it. I have to go. Talk to you later.” His voice sounded stretched.

Huh?
After we hung up, I wondered,
So, what’s up with this?
And why the hurry? If he
keeps being
this evasive,
I’ll never get my questions answered.

The thought that maybe my dad had wanted a boy and had ended up with me skipped across my mind. For the first time I worried about my place in his heart. Then the picture of the mystery baby crept back into my mind.

I immediately called a contact in the county records department and asked him to do a search of birth records and death certificates with name Dunbar listed. Although I had no idea what the knowledge would bring, I was done waiting.

Chapter
19

Jonica

On Sunday Ben and I went to the early service. After we sat down, for some reason I looked toward the door instead of reading my bulletin.

Della and Bernice entered the sanctuary holding on to each other. Grief lines pulled down on Della’s pale skin. Her usual determined step had slowed to a clumsy shuffle, and I saw that Bernice watched her friend closely.

For the first time in a while, I felt something besides anger toward her. As they settled in front me, Della slumped into the pew, keeping her head down. The soft curls in the back of her head were uncombed, so unlike Della. Compassion moved me into action.

Leaning forward, I said, “Good morning ladies. Della, your hair is so lovely and soft.”

Even though the action seemed overly familiar, as I chattered I fluffed out the tiny sausages of hair left by her rollers.

“Thank you,” she answered, not seeming to notice my touch.

“Thank you, Jonica,” Bernice mouthed with a pointed glance at Della’s curls.

“I’m praying for you,” I told Della before sitting back.

She nodded and the ladies leaned into each other.

After church, we met Natalie, Dave, and the kids for brunch. While we visited, the boys colored and placed their stickers strategically on their placemats.

“Here, Jonica, I made this for you,” Jeremy said.

“Me too,” Kevin chimed in, offering me his.

“Won’t they look nice on Joni’s fridge?” Natalie asked, smiling at me.

Two little faces beamed at me. “Yes, they will,” I agreed. “Thank you very much.”

I glanced back at Natalie, not wanting to overstep my bounds. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” she answered. “And I need to ask you something. I have so many treasures from the kids that I don’t know what to do with them. You’re so organized. Any ideas?”

I told her how I had bought several sets of plastic drawers on sale and put them in the extra closets and how I used recipe cards to label the contents in each drawer for memory boxes, crafts, journals, and so on. She liked the idea.

The next morning I called my Mom. “I need to talk. Is this a good time?”

“It is. I just poured a fresh cup of coffee.”

“God is at work in me.”

“How?”

“He’s renewing my spirit.”

“An answer to our prayers.”

“It is. I figured when this happened I’d feel ecstatic, and I am, but I’m also worn out.”

“Tell me about it.”

I described what had happened at church Sunday morning. “Mom, I cannot tell you how the relief surged through my whole being. The anger is gone.”

“Good! You aren’t accountable for Della’s actions, and holding a grudge only impacts you.”

“God wasn’t done.” I told her about brunch. “Natalie is welcoming me back into the kids’ lives. She doesn’t seem threatened or afraid of my loving them. She asked me for advice.”

“She cares for you,” Mom said. “Your situation is so far outside her comfort zone that she doesn’t know what to do or say. I think she’s afraid she’ll hurt you again—and she might, but it won’t be on purpose.”

“I think you’re right. They shared some news with us. She’s pregnant.”

“How did you take the announcement, honey?”

“I was able to feel true joy for her. I’m happy for them. For me it’s another baby to love.”

“What did you say to Natalie?”

“Well, when she told us, she looked straight into my eyes. She saw the prick of sadness before I could hide it, but I told her I was truly happy for them, and I am. For a second I felt the sting we will always carry in our hearts. But the joy of a new niece or nephew is a sweet balm to my heart. Isn’t it strange how sometimes the very thing hurting us can be the same thing God uses to bless us if we let Him?”

“How’s she dealing with the pregnancy?”

“I think she’s feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility and work load another little one will bring. She really didn’t want to be pregnant again. Two was enough for her. I know she’s being careful around me, but I also saw a sweet joy in her eyes when she touched her tummy tenderly. I think she’s going to do just fine.”

“I’m so glad for you and proud of you. You are allowing God to work His miracle in your heart.”

When Mom said these kind words, the floodgates opened up, and I started crying. “I’m still disappointed for me.”

“Of course you are. You will always feel a pull on your heart at this kind of news. Don’t feel bad about it—your pain is nothing to be ashamed of. Just as you did this time, acknowledge it and celebrate the Lord’s goodness to those He sends children to.”

“I will. I decided I’m going to pray for the parents of the kids I love.”

“Good for you and them.”

“Their responsibilities are huge.”

“I know.” She answered with a smile in her voice.

“Was I a lot of work?”

“All kids are, but most of the time you were a joy.”

“There’s one thing that’s a little hard to think about. Ben and I are pretty sure we need to be open with others about how infertility feels. I haven’t put that part of this together in my mind yet.”

Mom sniffed and answered, “God is growing you, Jonica, and as you share with me what He is doing, He grows me too. I hurt for you and can’t imagine your pain. I only know He has a plan for you. I believe it with all my heart.”

“Me too. I know He’s not going to give us children, and I am learning to accept His answer. In the hollow place I feel Him filling me up with something wonderful.”

“What?”

“Hope.”

Stacie

Sitting our couch, I felt my toes curl and my shoulders tighten as I read the caller ID. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Eve.”

“How are you?”

“Growing bigger every day and feeling great.”

“Are you watching your weight? You’ll want to be back in your regular clothes soon after the delivery.”

“I’ve gained a few pounds less than the doctor thinks I should. I have so much energy and feel absolutely wonderful. Did you feel this way with me?”

“I’m sure I must have. How many clients are you working with right now?”

“One—a mentally challenged girl who lost her parents in a fire. She was so traumatized she stopped speaking and needs an advocate.”

I took the silence on the other end of the line as interest and began telling Eve about my hopes for success. “I feel like this is what I was born to do. Right now my client needs a voice. I’m it. This is a win-win for the court and for the client.”

As I talked about my work, my body relaxed and my excitement about the case grew. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I propped my feet up on the glass-topped coffee table. I savored a moment of intentional disobedience. Eve couldn’t see me breaking one of her rules: No feet on the furniture.

“Are you sure it’s healthy for you to focus so much attention on one person?”

I pulled my legs under me again as the tension crawled back into my neck and across my shoulders.

“And what about income? Can you make ends meet? Being an advocate doesn’t pay much. Many times it’s little better than social work.”

“I had enough in a savings account to pay the office rent and insurance for a year. Chandler Daniels took care of the redecorating. You and Dad bought the furniture. Besides, there is more to this than financial considerations.”

“For example?”

“Personal satisfaction. My client is coming out of a shell of sorrow and starting to live again.”

“Live? How much living can a severely handicapped person do?”

The ice in Eve’s voice shocked me. This was cold even for her. Sitting no longer comfortable, I wandered around the room dusting the edges of picture frames and the leaves on the plants with my fingers.

“My client is a person with feelings that include the ability to love and be loved.”

“So how long will you have only one client?”

“Until after the baby is born and I go back to work. Even then, my load will be light. I want to focus on giving him my time and care. And by handling only a few clients, I can serve them better.”

“I suppose you resent me working instead of caring for you.”

“No, I don’t. Your work and time away from home was our way of life. I don’t resent it or blame you. You had a calling and answered it. You left me in the care of the best. No one molested or abused me. While I missed you, I’m proud of you and grateful for a good life.”

“I assume a nanny is out of the picture financially. Have you found qualified daycare?”

Had she missed my compliment,
or was she avoiding it?

“Jonica’s sister-in-law is a licensed day care provider. She’s willing to take our little guy part time.”

“I hope you won’t waste the benefits the women’s movement worked so hard to get for you.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” I protested. “This is an opportunity to answer a call to help society, use my education, and give my best to my family. I’m thinking of specializing in advocating for special-needs kids. I’m so drawn to them.”

“Why?” her voice rasped with surprise.

“What’s wrong with wanting to help, Eve?”

“It’s fine. I just don’t understand. Can’t you leave the flawed to their trained caretakers?”

“You make it sound like my client is not worth the effort—as if we should shelve those who have a disability. We’re all broken in one way or another. Handicapped people have so much to offer anyone interested in working with them. This client is free of any agendas and is incapable of manipulating people. The vulnerability I see in her life is a strength. I’m legal counsel to the voiceless. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“How will you afford it?”

“Mike’s advancing in his job, and his pay increases are generous.”

“Well, good.”

I wanted to tell her that representing disabled children felt like more than a job or even a passion. I believed I’d discovered my professional purpose. I felt like I was on the brink of something far bigger than myself. I gave her the abbreviated version.

“Eve, being an advocate gives me something I haven’t had in a long time. Something I need and want to pass along to everyone.”

“What?”

“Hope.”

Chapter
20

Jonica

I parked my car in the grocery store lot and hurried toward the door. I met Norma, our church secretary, coming out.

“Jonica! Did Della get hold of you?”

“No. Why?”

“She called the office this morning needing a few things from the store, and you’re next on our list of folks to call when a shut-in needs help. I gave her your number. She listed only a few items.” She handed me the list. “Folger’s coffee, Earl Grey tea, sugar cubes, white bread, strawberry jam, a half gallon of whole milk, and a few cans of tuna.”

“I’ll pick them up and take them to her today. If she called someone else, I can use them anyway.”

“Thanks. Della’s always been independent, and it’s incredibly difficult for her right now. Depending on Don to run her errands was one thing. Having to ask for help is harder for some than others.”

We parted, and I pushed my cart around the store, picking up the things Norma mentioned. My own list would keep for later.

The guy at the checkout was in a chatty mood. “I overheard you talking to Norma. I’m not much on organized religion myself, but I’ve always admired the way you do things for each other. Almost makes me wish I was one of you.”

I smiled and kept my response to myself.
Yeah, yeah I know. You’re always watching for us to mess up. Thank goodness you can’t read minds. If you knew how I used to feel about Della,
it would justify your opinions about religion. Today I could prove to you that Pharisees are alive and well.

Second thoughts hit as I pulled up in front of Della’s house.
What am I doing here Lord? We went to the funeral—wasn’t that enough? And why would You send me?

“In honor prefer one another.”

I get it.

The soft tan stucco and dark brown trim made the house unique on a street of white-sided homes. The grass needed mowing and the red geraniums in the window boxes needed a drink. I stepped into the screened porch and knocked.

Della came to the door. “Jonica. What are you doing here?”

I tried not to notice her curls mashed from sleep and her wrinkled dress. I also chose to ignore her rude greeting.

“Norma told me you needed a few things from the store.” I held out the plastic bags.

“Come in.” She shuffled through the living room to a tiny kitchen in oversized plaid men’s slippers, threadbare in places. “Put them here. What do I owe you?”