Oceans Apart (38 page)

Suddenly Michele’s obsession with her looks, her weight, and the foods she was and wasn’t eating, seemed like a silly waste of time. A smoke screen. The truth presented itself, and for the first time she didn’t turn away. The real problem back when Connor had his affair was that she’d been absorbed in depression, oblivious to Connor’s trouble at work and with his father, unable to encourage him or love him or do anything but pull him down.

Yes, she’d had her reasons. But the way she’d cut herself off from Connor had been wrong. She finally saw the truth for what it was.

Her food binges had always been nothing more than a way to hide from her emotional struggles.

The knowledge of Connor’s affair had been no different.

Connor never would’ve left her because of her weight. Love wasn’t based on how a person looked. It was how the person talked and played and spent time that mattered. How they lived and loved; that’s what people remembered.

Max was saying something, and Michele focused on him once more.

“Know something else, Mrs. Evans?” Max’s words were slower than before. He yawned and found her eyes again. “That wasn’t all the reason I was crying.”

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“It wasn’t?” Michele still had hold of his hand. “What else was it?”

“Because . . .” This time Max looked straight into her soul.

“Because I don’t want to say good-bye tomorrow.” Michele reached for Max then, lifting him off the pillow and taking him in her arms. “Oh, Max . . . it’ll be okay.” His small body started shaking again. “I wanted . . . I wanted Mr.

Evans to be my pretend daddy.”

“Your pretend daddy?” Michele’s heart was racing now, the knowledge of what the child was going through almost more than she could bear.

“My mommy told me in a letter that I have a daddy somewhere out there. Only . . . only I think it might be too hard to find him because of so many dads in the world. So I asked Jesus if . . . if Mr.

Evans could be my pretend daddy.”

Michele couldn’t contain her tears another minute. They flooded her eyes and she blinked them back so Max wouldn’t see them. It took every bit of her resolve to remind herself that sending Max home was the best thing not just for their family but for Max. His school was there, and his friends. And a couple who wanted to love and care for Max forever.

“Max, it’ll all work out one day. I promise you that. Jesus has plans for you that are all good.”

“But I want to get Buddy and come back h–h–here.” He buried his head in her shoulder and wept so hard he could barely breathe.

They stayed that way until he grew calm once more. Then he pulled back some. “I wish you would’ve come camping with us, Mrs. Evans.”

They were the most pointed words he could’ve said to her.

Almost as if he knew that, had she come on the trip, she would’ve fallen in love with him, too.

With her fingertips, she wiped away his tears and said the only thing she could think to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t go, Max. I’m so sorry.” 295

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“I forgive you.” He caught her gaze once more. “And know what?”

“What?” Michele could barely speak, still strangled by the truth of how wrong she’d been that week. Wrong in every possible way.

“Love happens when people forgive.” He gave her one more sad, knowing smile. “So that means I love you.”

“I love you, too, Max.” The moment she said the words, she realized they were true. What was there not to love about this child? He was so much like Connor, and so much his own person at the same time. As she held him and stroked his back, convinc-ing him that life would turn out okay, that Jesus had a plan for his life, she thought about it again. In a just-beginning kind of way, she did love the boy.

If only she’d figured that out sooner.

Because the plan was already in motion, and deep in her soul she knew it was the right one. It had to be. Because by tomorrow at this same time, Max Riley Siefert would be back in Honolulu.

Gone from their lives forever.

296

THIRTY-ONE

Ramey sat on the sofa and stared at Max and Buddy, standing together a few feet from her. Max had been home three days, and now it was Monday. The Mollers would be there in fifteen minutes for their first meeting with Max and Buddy.

“Well, Ramey, do I look good?”

Buddy lifted his chin and made a soft whining sound.

“Not you, Buddy.” Max bent down and patted the dog’s head. “I need Ramey to tell me.”

“Yes, Max. You look very handsome.”

“What about Buddy?” Max had tied a blue scarf around the dog’s neck.

“Buddy looks handsome, too.”

The dog barked once, and Max dropped to one knee. “No barking, Buddy. The Mollers might not like dogs.” He placed his hands on either side of Buddy’s face. “Be quiet, okay?” Ramey hated that they had to do this, hated the idea of parading Max and Buddy before some strange couple, almost as if they were a set of used appliances. She was still praying for a forgiveness miracle for the boy, but it was looking less likely with every day.

No one from the Evans family had called since Max returned home.

She’d talked to Mr. Ogle and agreed to keep Max and Buddy at her apartment until the Mollers’s paperwork was completed, if they did, indeed, decide to adopt Max. If not, Max would go to live with the Ogles. But that would mean changing schools, and being fifteen miles from his old neighborhood. Better to make that type of change only once, she and Mr. Ogle had agreed.

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And so for now Max was hers.

She was glad, though she would’ve liked it best if Max had been able to stay with the Evanses. Maybe Kiahna hadn’t known the man that well, after all. From her journals, and the letter she’d written in her will, it was clear that she thought Connor Evans was the type of man who would make a good father for Max. But if the man could spend two weeks with the boy and still send him home, then maybe Kiahna was wrong.

Either way, it felt wonderful having Max back in the apartment with her. She’d missed him, and when he left—whether to the Mollers or to Mr. Ogle and his wife—she would feel his loss far more than she’d realized. The two weeks he’d been gone were the longest she’d been away from him since he was born.

Yes, having him around was more work for her. Sometimes she would get out of breath, and Max would have to get her oxygen tank before she could get up again. But Max was used to that; they made a good team. She would’ve hated to die without having this last bit of time with him.

“How much longer, Ramey?” Max was finished scolding Buddy.

He stood and faced her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to get this over with.”

Ramey stifled a smile. He’d picked up that line from her, because that’s what she’d told Mr. Ogle: “Send them by. I want to get this over with.” A needle of guilt pricked her conscience. “Max, that’s the wrong attitude, pal. Wrong for me and wrong for you.”

“But I told you, Ramey.” He dropped to the ground in a heap beside Buddy. The dog immediately lay down and rested his head on Max’s knee. “I don’t wanna be adopted. If I can’t live with the Evanses then I wanna live here with you.” He grabbed a fast breath.

“And if you get old and die, I wanna live in heaven with Mommy and you.” He paused. “Okay, Ramey? Okay?” 298

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“What’s wrong is that the Mollers are nice people. They’ve heard all about you and they think they want you to be their son.

That would be a good thing, Max. Try to see it that way.”

“Yeah, but—”

A knock sounded at the front door, and the room fell silent.

Ramey struggled to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” She guessed it was a full thirty seconds before she reached the door. And it was only twenty steps away. She opened it and sized up the people standing before her. “Hello . . . please come in.”

“Thank you.” The man spoke, and the woman offered a shy smile.

“You must be the Mollers.”

“We are.” This time the woman took a step forward and looked past Ramey. “Is Max here?”

Ramey studied them for a moment, then turned and led them into the TV room. They were older than she’d expected, in their early fifties, at least. They both had warm smiles and an anxious look, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Ramey was enough ahead of them that when she entered the room where Max and Buddy were waiting, she turned around to see the reaction from the Mollers. The woman smiled and gave Max a little wave; the man stood a foot behind her, his eyes kind and glistening. “Hello, Max. We’re the Mollers.” The woman took a few steps toward Max and held out her hand.

“We’re so glad to meet you, Max.”

Max pulled himself up to his feet. “Hello.” His chin stayed tucked close to his chest, but his eyes met the woman’s.

Ramey leaned against the nearest wall and took in the scene.
It
seems okay, God . . . I guess.
She narrowed her eyes and waited.

Mr. Moller came up alongside Max and pointed to Buddy. “Is this your dog?”

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“Yes, sir.” Max pulled himself up some. “That’s my dog, Buddy.

He wants to come, too.”

“Uh . . .” The man looked up at Ramey and gave a slight shake of his head. “Well, Max . . .”

Ramey shrugged at Mr. Moller’s distressed look and mouthed the words to him, “Good luck.”

Mr. Moller patted Buddy’s head. “Max, we can’t have dogs.” He put his arm on his wife’s shoulder. “Mrs. Moller is allergic.” Max’s eyes got wide. “But, sir, Buddy’s . . . he’s my bestest friend.” Mrs. Moller stooped down to Max’s level. “Maybe we can get a goldfish, or a turtle. Something in an aquarium.” She put her hand along the side of Max’s face. “How would that be?” Ramey winced at what was bound to come next.

“Buddy stays with me.” The utter defiance in Max’s tone was underlined by his loud, panic-stricken voice. His breathing was hard and fast, causing his small chest to jump as if he’d just run up a flight of stairs. He took hold of the pretty blue scarf on his dog’s neck. “Come on, Buddy. They don’t want us.” Before he pulled Buddy out onto the patio, he turned and shot one more line at the Mollers. “If he stays, I stay.”

When the glass door was shut, Mr. Moller looked at Ramey and gave a polite nod. “Thank you for your time.”

“I take it you’re no longer interested.” Ramey settled back on her heels.

“Oh, no. We’re very interested. Children can deal with loss better than adults. He’ll miss the dog for a while, but he’ll be okay eventually.” Mrs. Moller cast a sad look back at Max. “He’s probably upset about the whole situation.”

“That’s exactly it.” Ramey liked the woman.

The man held his hand out to Ramey and gave her another smile. “We’ll let him take a few days to get used to the idea, and then we’ll contact Mr. Ogle.”

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“Yes.” The woman clutched her purse to her midsection. “We’re hoping to bring him home soon.” She tilted her head. “He’s a beautiful child. I’m sorry he’s hurting.”

Her husband put his hand at the small of Mrs. Moller’s back and gave her a slight hug. Over his shoulder he gave Ramey one final look. “We’ll be in touch.”

For ten minutes after they left, Ramey was still exhaling hard, coaxing her heartbeat back to some kind of normal. Pain radiated from her chest, and for a moment she thought maybe this was it.

The heart attack her doctors had been saying could happen at any time.

She shuffled into the kitchen, snatched her nitroglycerin pills from the cupboard next to the sink, and put two of them under her tongue. There. That would help. With slow steps, determined not to die with Max and Buddy on the back patio, Ramey crossed the apartment and sat in her favorite chair.

The couple was nice, kind. But how could she let her Max live with anyone who couldn’t take Buddy?

Her heartbeat slowed some, and the pain in her chest eased. She huffed hard through her nose and glanced at Kiahna’s journal, still on the lamp stand table beside her chair. Kiahna believed in second chances and forgiveness, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what she’d prayed for all her life?

Okay, God, so I prayed for it, too
. She looked up at the ceiling, because God had to be somewhere beyond the plaster and wood boards.
I asked You specifically for a forgiveness miracle, and
this
is what
You give me?
She pursed her lips.
I have to be honest, God, I’m thinking about forgetting the whole prayer thing altogether. If You’re there,
I’m not sure You like me enough to listen. Because as nice as they are, let
me tell You, God, the Mollers aren’t the answer I was expecting.

She crossed her arms over her round abdomen.

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Then she remembered something else Kiahna had written in her journal. Though her life hadn’t turned out anything like she’d planned, she knew that in the darkest times God was always working. Always.

Ramey stared out the patio door at Max, lying on the ground alongside Buddy and probably crying his eyes out. She shot another quick look at the ceiling.
Times don’t get much darker than
this, God.
Her gaze shifted to Max again. But what if Kiahna was right? What if somehow God was working out His best miracles even now, when life looked beyond hopeless?