be . . . gone. The trees would bear witness, but never evidence.
Frowning, I questioned where those thoughts had come from. I wasn’t suicidal. I didn’t have any intention of ending my life. I just wanted the past to die once and for all. Was that really too much to ask?
I climbed the steps to the deck and plopped down on a cushioned chair near the rail. Gazing heavenward, I shook my head. “What am I supposed to do?”
Only the sounds of the night echoed back. I hugged my arms to my chest and felt overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Tears came unbidden, and though I wanted nothing more than to buck up and be strong, I had no strength left.
I mourned my lost childhood and the mother I might have known. I thought of girls I’d gone to school with and how much I’d envied their lives. Their mothers took them on shopping trips and weekend lunch dates. Their mothers showed up for school functions and shared in their daughter’s accomplishments. More important—they wanted their mothers to be there.
Anger replaced my sorrow. I thought of Piper’s accusation that I could have put an end to it. I gazed upward. “God, you could have stopped it from happening, but you didn’t.”
This time, instead of the silence, I heard an audible voice. “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t. What will you do with me now?”
I jumped up and looked around me. The voice had been so startlingly clear—so real. Yet there was no one there. The idea struck me that someone might be playing a trick on me. Someone might have been walking on the beach just like I had been. They might have heard me talking to myself.
But I wasn’t talking to myself. I had actually uttered a sort of prayer. Had God answered me?
I reconsidered my words. God could have stopped the hideousness that was my childhood. He could have given me a normal life, with a mother who wasn’t crazy. But He didn’t. He let it happen. He didn’t intervene and He didn’t heal.
“What will you do with me now?” the voice had asked.
Was it really possible that God had spoken to me? Did He do that? Talk to everyday people who were accusing Him? To a woman who had given up on Him years ago? Or was I crazy too?
I thought of my father and Mark. They both claimed a life that now included time spent with God. Mark talked about God like He was a personal friend—someone who might answer the phone anytime I called. How could that be? Why would the God of the universe even want to take time for me and my questions?
What will you do with me now?
The question whispered in my heart. I hesitantly retook my seat and looked up once again. “Are you really there?”
I shook my head and stared at the water again. “I suppose that was a stupid question.”
“There are no stupid questions when they are about me.”
Again the voice seemed so real I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard it. Was I losing my mind? Was this a sign that I had inherited my mother’s schizophrenia?
Fear gripped me. I had always told myself that if I made it to thirty without any signs of mental illness, I would probably be safe. Now I was hearing voices.
“Hey, Bailee,” Mark announced on the other end of the phone. I struggled to wake up as he continued. “I have a new project for you if you’re still interested.” I yawned and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight. I should have been up an hour ago, but then again I hadn’t gotten to sleep until nearly five.
“Of course I’m interested.”
“You sound tired. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I was awake until . . . well . . . I was restless.”
“Wanna talk about it?” His voice soothed me.
“First tell me about the project.”
“I emailed it to you already. I knew you’d say yes. It’s nothing difficult—one of those tell-alls by the former nanny of the latest Hollywood ‘It’ couple. Nothing but a straightforward copy edit.”
I suppressed another yawn and got out of bed. “When’s it
Frowning, I questioned where those thoughts had come from. I wasn’t suicidal. I didn’t have any intention of ending my life. I just wanted the past to die once and for all. Was that really too much to ask?
I climbed the steps to the deck and plopped down on a cushioned chair near the rail. Gazing heavenward, I shook my head. “What am I supposed to do?”
Only the sounds of the night echoed back. I hugged my arms to my chest and felt overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Tears came unbidden, and though I wanted nothing more than to buck up and be strong, I had no strength left.
I mourned my lost childhood and the mother I might have known. I thought of girls I’d gone to school with and how much I’d envied their lives. Their mothers took them on shopping trips and weekend lunch dates. Their mothers showed up for school functions and shared in their daughter’s accomplishments. More important—they wanted their mothers to be there.
Anger replaced my sorrow. I thought of Piper’s accusation that I could have put an end to it. I gazed upward. “God, you could have stopped it from happening, but you didn’t.”
This time, instead of the silence, I heard an audible voice. “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t. What will you do with me now?”
I jumped up and looked around me. The voice had been so startlingly clear—so real. Yet there was no one there. The idea struck me that someone might be playing a trick on me. Someone might have been walking on the beach just like I had been. They might have heard me talking to myself.
But I wasn’t talking to myself. I had actually uttered a sort of prayer. Had God answered me?
I reconsidered my words. God could have stopped the hideousness that was my childhood. He could have given me a normal life, with a mother who wasn’t crazy. But He didn’t. He let it happen. He didn’t intervene and He didn’t heal.
“What will you do with me now?” the voice had asked.
Was it really possible that God had spoken to me? Did He do that? Talk to everyday people who were accusing Him? To a woman who had given up on Him years ago? Or was I crazy too?
I thought of my father and Mark. They both claimed a life that now included time spent with God. Mark talked about God like He was a personal friend—someone who might answer the phone anytime I called. How could that be? Why would the God of the universe even want to take time for me and my questions?
What will you do with me now?
The question whispered in my heart. I hesitantly retook my seat and looked up once again. “Are you really there?”
I shook my head and stared at the water again. “I suppose that was a stupid question.”
“There are no stupid questions when they are about me.”
Again the voice seemed so real I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard it. Was I losing my mind? Was this a sign that I had inherited my mother’s schizophrenia?
Fear gripped me. I had always told myself that if I made it to thirty without any signs of mental illness, I would probably be safe. Now I was hearing voices.
“Hey, Bailee,” Mark announced on the other end of the phone. I struggled to wake up as he continued. “I have a new project for you if you’re still interested.” I yawned and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight. I should have been up an hour ago, but then again I hadn’t gotten to sleep until nearly five.
“Of course I’m interested.”
“You sound tired. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I was awake until . . . well . . . I was restless.”
“Wanna talk about it?” His voice soothed me.
“First tell me about the project.”
“I emailed it to you already. I knew you’d say yes. It’s nothing difficult—one of those tell-alls by the former nanny of the latest Hollywood ‘It’ couple. Nothing but a straightforward copy edit.”
I suppressed another yawn and got out of bed. “When’s it
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