The Chance: A Novel (40 page)

“No.” Alan dreaded every aspect of what lay ahead. “But I’ll do it.”

“Okay, then.” Chaplain Gray folded his hands. “Let’s pray.”

T
he letter to Ellie was short and to the point. Every word ripped at another piece of Alan’s heart.

He sat at the dining room table, the one he’d been raised with. He had bought two cards for the occasion. A mountain scene for Caroline and a field of flowers for Ellie. Both of them blank on the inside. He held his pen over the middle of the flowered card.

Dear Ellie,

I should have written this years ago, and I am sure you’ll hate me forever when you hear what I’ve done. But God has changed me, and He wants me to do this. I have to do it.

He took a quick breath and then another. The walls were closing in. He kept writing.

The box you now have contains letters from your mother. Hundreds and hundreds of letters. She’s been sending them at least once a week since we left Savannah.

His words took shape slowly, the force of them more than he could take all at once.

All this time you’ve thought your mom didn’t reach out to you. But she did, Ellie. Keeping these letters from you has been one of the worst decisions of my life. I have no
excuses, none at all. I thought after her affair she might be a bad influence on you. That’s what I told myself. But even that isn’t the truth.

His heart ached, but he forced himself to move ahead.

The truth is, I felt hurt by what she’d done, and I wanted to hurt her because of it. But all I did was destroy any chance of reconciliation between us. I never took responsibility for my part in what happened, never thought about the reasons why your mother wasn’t happy. I failed her, and I failed you. God has shown me that.

His tears made it hard to see. He stopped long enough to wipe his eyes.

Forgive me, Ellie. I’ll be sorry as long as I live.

With a love I’ve never forgotten,
Dad

He put the card in the envelope, sealed it, and wrote Ellie’s name across the front. Then he opened the card with the mountain scene, the one for Caroline. This letter would be harder. The harshness of his tone, the lack of concern for her tender heart, the years of leaving her alone . . . all of it pressed around his lungs. He might not survive the next few minutes.

The silence in the house gave way to the noise of his beating heart. His pounding, anxious heart. He held the pen over the white space.

Dear Caroline,

I should’ve written this letter a long time ago. But lately . . . well, lately, God has changed me on the inside. Changed me so that now I can see what a wretched man I’ve been, how terribly I treated you, and how I pushed you away.

Honestly, I don’t know how I wound up here. When I look back, all I see is you and the joy and light in your eyes. You were so beautiful inside and out. I keep asking myself what sort of monster would berate you and control you and keep you locked away.

All at once the words came. He told her how the weeks and months had given way to years and how, over time, he didn’t recognize who he’d become or the person he’d turned her into. He talked about Ellie and how he had controlled her, too, and then he reached the part about her affair.

I knew it was happening. You were gone so often, home late at night. I figured you had friends somewhere. But by then I saw you as one of my possessions, Caroline. I never dreamed you’d really choose someone else. Now I can’t believe you didn’t leave me sooner.

He wrote about being angry and wanting to pay her back and how the Pendleton offer had been on the table for weeks before she told him about the baby. With every line, he felt a layer of brick crumble from around his heart. Caroline had been the most fragile flower, tenderhearted and kind to a fault.

I wonder who you are now, Caroline, whether you’ve
healed from the scars of my behavior. I pray that being away from me helped you find your way back to the woman you used to be. With everything in me, I want to believe you’re that girl again, the one you were before I ruined everything. I don’t expect you to care about this letter or contact me. But I’m giving you my information just in case.

The devastation of his actions, his meanness, felt like bags of rancid trash heaped around him. Alan had no idea why he was bothering with such a letter now. Like spitting at a forest fire. Still, because it was what he felt God was calling him to do, he wrote his phone number and address—the one she had been using all along to write letters to Ellie.

Alan felt every muscle in his body tighten. The worst part was coming. Once he wrote the next words, once she read them sometime in the next few days, there would be no wondering whether he might ever see Caroline again or hear from her. She would hate him. Period. He held his breath.

I have an awful confession to make, Caroline. Something I never should’ve done. Something that kills me to tell you.

He exhaled. After a few seconds, he grabbed the slightest breath.

Ellie hasn’t read any of your letters. From the first letter you sent to the last and every one in between, I set them aside in a box in my closet. I kept them from Ellie all these years.

He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. He didn’t deserve to live. He’d gone too far with his confession to stop now.

If you’re thinking I’m a horrible man for doing this, I can only say you’re right. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t write you without letting you know what I’ve done. I don’t blame you for hating me over this. But I can promise you one thing. By the time this is in your hands, Ellie will have the entire box. They belong to her. I assume the two of you haven’t connected, because your letters keep coming. I can only pray, Caroline . . . maybe this will open doors between you. If that good thing could come from this, then it’s worth having you hate me.

I’m sorry. I’m a changed man, and I have never stopped loving you. I don’t know what else to say . . .

Forever in knowledge that I was wrong,
Alan

He read it over and wondered how she would feel, the inevitable shock on her face, her anger when she realized what he’d done with Ellie’s letters. Picturing it was almost too much to take. His thoughts shifted, and he imagined Ellie’s reaction when he gave her the box.

And he needed to give it to her.

His heart beat faster, and he felt faint. As if he might pass out and never wake up again. He had thought about giving her the box at the end of the week on his day off. He knew where she worked—at a salon not far from the naval base. It was the last step of completing all that God was asking him to do. Now that he’d written to Ellie and Caroline, he couldn’t wait. He had to give Ellie the box of letters.

That Saturday, when she got off work, he would be waiting.

Chapter
Sixteen

A
lan walked into Chaplain Gray’s office and closed the door.

He’d been looking forward to and dreading this since he made the appointment a week ago. The two men had worked together for three years, but not once had Alan allowed the chaplain, or anyone else, to see into his heart, into the ugly, lonely reality that made up his life.

“Alan.” Chaplain Gray stood and nodded. The man was military through and through, his words short and clipped despite his kind eyes. “Glad you came. Have a seat.”

“Thank you”—he sat in the leather chair across from the older man—“for making time.”

Chaplain Gray sat back in his seat, and for a long time he watched Alan, waiting. Finally, he folded his hands on the desk. “Tell me your story.”

Alan had never thought of his messy life that way, like a story. He scrambled through the bitter details and found a starting point. The only place his story could start—at the church picnic where he met Caroline twenty-eight years ago. Alan wasn’t big
on flowery explanations, and he absolutely didn’t want to break down. His tears had been close to the surface lately, but not here. He talked fast, so his emotions couldn’t catch up. If his life were a story, he would tell the condensed version.

He caught the chaplain up to the current page in about fifteen minutes.

“A lot of broken pieces.” The chaplain sat still, completely focused. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes.” Alan pictured Caroline and Ellie, wherever they might be. “Definitely a lot of broken pieces.”

“Tell me again about the letters.”

“The letters?” Alan imagined the box, the smell and heaviness in his hands. “There are hundreds.”

“And Ellie knows nothing of them?”

“No.” Shame burned his cheeks. What was the point, coming here and sharing this? vzyl Tears stung his eyes. He blinked.
Stay ahead of it, Tucker.

“Have you thought about whether that’s fair? To your daughter?”

Alan wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he couldn’t outrun his story any longer or the sound of the word “daughter”—a word he hadn’t spoken or heard mentioned in reference to Ellie in years. Whatever the reason, his tears came. They flooded his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. He tried to remember the chaplain’s question, but all he could remember was the word “daughter.” His daughter, Ellie.

How could he have done this to her?

“Here.” The chaplain’s eyes softened more. He slid a box of tissues across the desk. “Do you have an answer? Is that fair to Ellie, keeping the letters from her?”

“Of course not.” His words were small, trapped in the sea
of sorrow filling his heart. “I’m the worst father. The worst man.”

The chaplain waited a few seconds. “That’s not why you came, to tell me that you’re the worst father.” He leaned his forearms on the wooden desktop. “You want to do something about it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Alan nodded. He took a tissue from the box and ran it across his cheeks, quick and rough. He had no right to cry, no right to sympathy from himself or Chaplain Gray or anyone. Everything that had happened, all of it was his fault. He blew his nose and tried to find level ground once more. He blinked a few times and squinted. “Yes. I want to do something. I want to fix it.”

The chaplain thought about that. He pulled a well-worn leather Bible closer. “Have you read John 10:10?”

Alan searched his memory. “Not lately.”

“It reminds me of your story.” He opened the Bible and flipped to the book of John. “It says, ‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.’ ” He lifted his eyes to Alan’s. “That’s the first part.”

Steal . . . kill . . . destroy
. “The thief is the devil, clearly.”

“Yes.” Chaplain Gray frowned. “I see evidence of that throughout your story.”

Evidence?
Alan shielded his face with his right hand and closed his eyes. The awful words were written on every page of his life. The love he had for Caroline, the dreams they shared . . . his hope of being a loving, present husband and father . . . his relationship with Ellie . . . their family. All of it had been stolen, killed, and destroyed. When the parade of broken moments had finished filing across his mind, Alan looked at the chaplain.

The man seemed to be waiting. He looked at the Bible
again. “The rest of the verse says, ‘I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.’”

Alan shook his head. “It’s too late. Everything’s ruined.”

“You still have the letters.” Chaplain Gray sat back in his chair, as if he’d said all there was to say.

“I told you. Ellie doesn’t know about them.”

“Maybe she should.” He looked from the Bible back to Alan. “It’s never too late with truth. It stands outside time.”

Alan let the man’s words run through him a couple of times.
Truth stands outside of time.

Chaplain Gray seemed to see Alan’s struggle. “The promises, Alan. Jesus has come to give you life to the full now. It’s not too late if we follow His lead.” The man looked like he could see straight through Alan. “What’s God telling you to do?”

Again Alan closed his eyes. All he could see was the box of letters, the bulk of them, the enormity of them. Not telling Ellie about the letters. He wanted to think of something else God might be asking him to do. Extra prayer, maybe, or some act of service. He could join a mission trip this summer or lead a Bible study at the brig.