family photo album.
Turning from the window, Maurene gasped as Anne stepped from the shadows.
“Anne?”
The girl’s dark eyes fixed on her mother. “Who is he?”
“I … I thought you were still out, Anne.”
Anne demanded, “The guy who was just here. Who is he?”
“No one, sweetie. Some boy I knew in high school.”
Anne gazed coldly at Maurene, then headed for her room.
“Anne?”
Maurene followed Anne, then grasped her arms, one at a time. Pushing up her sleeves, she caressed Anne’s forearms, inspecting the blotches and scars of self-inflicted wounds that were still healing.
“What?” Anne pulled away.
“Your poem, Anne. I just hope you know how much having you means to me.”
“What about Adam?”
“Your father loves you very—”
“Did Adam know that man in high school?”
“They played varsity basketball together.”
Anne started as the kitchen door opened and closed. Adam called, “Maurene?”
Anne’s expression closed down. “‘Night, Mom.” She went into her room and closed the door.
Maurene returned to the living room as Adam sank onto the sofa. “I’d forgotten how much that bugged me in high school. You cheering. Me sitting on the bench ‘cause I spent my summers on mission trips in Mexico instead of basketball camp fixing a wayward jump shot.”
Maurene joined him. Reaching far back into memories of grade school. “Do you remember Miss Moore’s Tom Thumb wedding, Adam?” She smiled and turned to him. “We were … second grade. How Miss Moore picked you and me to be husband and wife. And how while everybody else was giggling and gagging, you and I were so serious. Just like grown-ups. Even when the other boys teased you, Adam, you never stopped acting the part.”
She spoke in a quiet voice as other memories flooded in. “That was the year my father left my mother, and I remember thinking … I mean, it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy.’ Just that if my own father would’ve acted a little more like this boy in my class …”
She squeezed his hand. “And that’s when I knew I wanted to be married to you.”
“In second grade?”
She smiled gently and continued with the revelation. “Couldn’t multiply or divide, but there I was in Mom’s garden after school, up to my nose in her ‘teacups of sunshine,’ informing her that we played a game in school and I already knew the boy I was gonna marry.”
Her smile faded. “But I was wrong, Adam—and selfish—to think just ‘cause it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy’ didn’t mean it didn’t matter.”
Adam tossed the religious tie onto the table. “We’ll need to talk with Anne, Maurene. She’ll have to be told the truth.”
Maurene nodded and put her hand to her head. “Oh, Adam.”
He pursed his lips, then said thoughtfully, “It would have to have been dropped … his e-mail. The e-mail Calvin insists he sent. I know you were online this morning, and there wouldn’t be any reason for you to …”
Maurene could not look at him. “Yes. It would have to have been dropped. Don’t be up late.”
She felt Adam’s suspicious gaze hot upon her back as she retreated to the bedroom.
Anne sat on her bed in the dark, absently flicking her lighter over and over. She heard her mother approach and stopped as the shadow of Maurene’s feet appeared and then lingered in the light under the door.
She had heard every word they said. It had drifted down the hallway and lodged in her throat. So, what was the truth they would have to tell her?
Anne didn’t know why she had said what she said to Stephen about the stars. She had never really thought about the stars and definitely not what was beyond the farthest one. But the minute she said it, the truth was that she thought about it all the time. And that she didn’t know which was worse: not knowing what was beyond the farthest star or having this sinking feeling inside that never
Turning from the window, Maurene gasped as Anne stepped from the shadows.
“Anne?”
The girl’s dark eyes fixed on her mother. “Who is he?”
“I … I thought you were still out, Anne.”
Anne demanded, “The guy who was just here. Who is he?”
“No one, sweetie. Some boy I knew in high school.”
Anne gazed coldly at Maurene, then headed for her room.
“Anne?”
Maurene followed Anne, then grasped her arms, one at a time. Pushing up her sleeves, she caressed Anne’s forearms, inspecting the blotches and scars of self-inflicted wounds that were still healing.
“What?” Anne pulled away.
“Your poem, Anne. I just hope you know how much having you means to me.”
“What about Adam?”
“Your father loves you very—”
“Did Adam know that man in high school?”
“They played varsity basketball together.”
Anne started as the kitchen door opened and closed. Adam called, “Maurene?”
Anne’s expression closed down. “‘Night, Mom.” She went into her room and closed the door.
Maurene returned to the living room as Adam sank onto the sofa. “I’d forgotten how much that bugged me in high school. You cheering. Me sitting on the bench ‘cause I spent my summers on mission trips in Mexico instead of basketball camp fixing a wayward jump shot.”
Maurene joined him. Reaching far back into memories of grade school. “Do you remember Miss Moore’s Tom Thumb wedding, Adam?” She smiled and turned to him. “We were … second grade. How Miss Moore picked you and me to be husband and wife. And how while everybody else was giggling and gagging, you and I were so serious. Just like grown-ups. Even when the other boys teased you, Adam, you never stopped acting the part.”
She spoke in a quiet voice as other memories flooded in. “That was the year my father left my mother, and I remember thinking … I mean, it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy.’ Just that if my own father would’ve acted a little more like this boy in my class …”
She squeezed his hand. “And that’s when I knew I wanted to be married to you.”
“In second grade?”
She smiled gently and continued with the revelation. “Couldn’t multiply or divide, but there I was in Mom’s garden after school, up to my nose in her ‘teacups of sunshine,’ informing her that we played a game in school and I already knew the boy I was gonna marry.”
Her smile faded. “But I was wrong, Adam—and selfish—to think just ‘cause it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy’ didn’t mean it didn’t matter.”
Adam tossed the religious tie onto the table. “We’ll need to talk with Anne, Maurene. She’ll have to be told the truth.”
Maurene nodded and put her hand to her head. “Oh, Adam.”
He pursed his lips, then said thoughtfully, “It would have to have been dropped … his e-mail. The e-mail Calvin insists he sent. I know you were online this morning, and there wouldn’t be any reason for you to …”
Maurene could not look at him. “Yes. It would have to have been dropped. Don’t be up late.”
She felt Adam’s suspicious gaze hot upon her back as she retreated to the bedroom.
Anne sat on her bed in the dark, absently flicking her lighter over and over. She heard her mother approach and stopped as the shadow of Maurene’s feet appeared and then lingered in the light under the door.
She had heard every word they said. It had drifted down the hallway and lodged in her throat. So, what was the truth they would have to tell her?
Anne didn’t know why she had said what she said to Stephen about the stars. She had never really thought about the stars and definitely not what was beyond the farthest one. But the minute she said it, the truth was that she thought about it all the time. And that she didn’t know which was worse: not knowing what was beyond the farthest star or having this sinking feeling inside that never
Similar Books
