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Serena nodded and gathered all of her courage into a tight ball before tossing out, “I can’t seem to shake this depression.”
“Divorce will do that.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head so hard her neck ached. “The divorce isn’t what’s causing it, at least not all of it. My daughter’s condition is just getting to me. She has juvenile rheumatoid arthritis.” There. She’d said it. Strange how even admitting her depression aloud felt better than the guilt of keeping what she considered her selfish little problem bottled inside.
“I don’t recognize that one. Can you tell me a little about it?”
“JRA is a chronic illness where the patient’s body attacks her joints. There are three types of JRA. Only systemic-onset JRA—the rarest one and the type that Tessa has—can also affect internal organs.”
“What would that mean for her future?”
Serena leaped off into the rote speech that she used whenever anyone asked for details. If she kept it exactly the same—didn’t change a single word in her dialogue—she promised herself, it would feel no more personal than a memorized poem. Rather than a description of agony.
“In extremely rare cases, JRA can cause severe crippling and blindness, but we try not to think about those things.” She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. “With proper medication, most kids do very well. In fact, seventy percent go into permanent remission by the time they’re adults.”
“That must give you so much hope. How did you recognize that something was wrong?”
“It started about a year and a half ago when she began to have fevers every day—really high fevers that never turned to the flu or colds.” She folded her hands in her lap, trying hard not to wring them. “Whenever Tessa had them, she’d also get this rash on her hands. Fevers and rash are symptoms only seen with systemic JRA. It wasn’t until months later that she started having hot, swollen joints—the true arthritis.”
Andrew nodded. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“Not me. My little girl.” This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come here. Talking about it wasn’t helping at all. It was only making her feel worse. “The illness itself is not the half of it. There were six months where the doctors didn’t know for sure what was wrong with her.”
She waited for Andrew to speak, to ask questions, but he only nodded for her to continue.
“They tossed around words like tumor, leukemia, tuberculosis and lupus.” With each word, the memories flashed through her mind more clearly. The screams from so many needle pokes. The fear in her child’s eyes that Serena couldn’t soothe. “She went through all kinds of tests—chest X rays, a ton of blood work, ultrasounds. They even tested her bone marrow for leukemia. We didn’t know for a long time if she would…live or die.”
The last was too much for her. A sob escaped her, though she tried with all her strength to hold it in. It wasn’t like her to lose control. She was usually better at keeping it all boxed in. But this time she couldn’t stop the tears from raining down her cheeks.
Andrew pushed a box of tissues to within her reach. When she looked up at him, he shook his head slowly. “And you wonder why you’re depressed? Look at all you’ve been through—not just your daughter, but you. The fear, the pain, the frustration. Not to mention a divorce, no matter how well you’re handling it. All of that adds up to some very explainable blues.”
She crossed her arms to hug away a chill, despite the July heat pouring through Andrew’s open window. “But it doesn’t make any sense. She was diagnosed a year ago. She’s even doing a little better lately. So why am I depressed now? Why not when she was going through all of the tests, when we had no idea what was wrong? Why not right after the diagnosis?”
Andrew shrugged. “Some people operate in crisis mode. During the most difficult times of their lives they simply handle whatever is happening without really sitting back to analyze it.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his chin in the cradle of his palms. “It’s only when things are better that they can allow themselves to collapse under the weight.”
As if a lock suddenly had been fitted with a key, she felt a freeing click inside. “Maybe that’s what I’ve done.”
“Maybe. As well as all of the other changes in your life, haven’t you also just moved?” He waited for her nod. “Why did you pick Milford?”
“It’s fairly close to Ann Arbor, so I could take Tessa to C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital at the University of Michigan. There are only a few hospitals with pediatric rheumatologists on staff.” Her sacrifice had been small when she thought of the pain that Tessa faced daily.
“Did you find work here?”
“I’m a freelance writer. With a modem and my stable of regular contacts, I can live anywhere. Besides, Milford is such a quaint little village. And it’s clear across the state from my former husband and his new bride.”
He chuckled. “You’ve had so many changes in such a short period. Until now, you’ve hardly had the time to be depressed. Now that your world has slowed, you’re having these feelings, and I’m glad you’re talking about them. That will help a lot.”
Was there some neat little order that these feelings could fall into, like dividers that create order in a junk drawer? Somehow she doubted it. No, for once she was positive about something. It would never be that simple.
“I just feel so guilty.” She buried her face in her hands, allowing the blame to cover her like a dark, scratchy blanket. Seconds ticked by as she tried to tuck the feelings back into compartments where she could face them again. “For not being a stronger parent, for not being able stop Tessa’s pain, but, most of all, for mourning the loss of my perfect daughter—our perfect life.”
Andrew planted both hands on the desk, then lowered them and rocked in the chair. His actions confused her.
“What do you mean, perfect?” He pressed a crooked index finger to his lips.
She chuckled at both herself and his counselor’s pose. “I know it sounds silly, but I used to believe I led a charmed life. I had a good home, a nice family—everything anyone could ask for. And then the whole thing fell apart. Tessa got sick, and Trent cheated on me and left me for someone else. No more charmed life.”
He studied her for several seconds. “I wish I had met you several years ago.”
To her humiliation, the skin on her arms began to tingle. She couldn’t allow herself to consider how meeting a nice guy like him years earlier might have changed her life. She rubbed her damp palms down her skirt, resisting the urge to smooth her blouse, as well.
“Why is that?” She choked out the words.
“Because this is what I would have said to you then—‘You believe your life is charmed? Just wait, because nobody gets out of here free.”’
Serena chuckled. How right he was. “And I wouldn’t have bought a bit of it back then. It’s only now that I would have realized you were a genius.”
“If we’ve just met and you think I’m a genius, then we’d better avoid getting to know each other better. I’d hate to see my I.Q. plummet in your mind.”
She laughed again, a real, honest laugh that felt wonderful. And to think that lately she’d wondered if she would ever laugh again. He was so easy to talk to. And he made her feel as if everything was going to be all right—for the low, low price of free.
Andrew tapped his fingers on his desk a few times until she finally looked back at him. “It’s okay to feel sad, you know. About Tessa’s illness. About the divorce. Even about the loss of your charmed life.”
“Then, why do I feel so guilty about being sad?”
“This is just a guess, but I think you’re used to being in control. You haven’t been able to control any of these things, and it’s making you crazy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Crazy? Is that a word a counselor should be using?”
“I’m a youth minister these days. I’ve forgotten all of those rules.”
“So I’m supposing you’ll be recommending me to real counselors now?” She’d done it—used a sentence as a question. Great, now she was talking like him.
He shook his head. “So you’re having a bit of a pity party after a really rough year and a half. Who could blame you? I’m not saying never to seek professional help, but you probably could wait for a while. Treat yourself really well and wait to see if the blues subside. If not, then seek further help.”
“Is that your professional advice, Mr. Westin?” She stood to indicate she was ready to leave.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Jacobs.” He followed her to the door. “Now let’s discuss that little matter of payment.”
Serena looked over her shoulder at him and chuckled. “I gave at the office—I mean, in the offering plate.”
“Oh, well then. See you Sunday.”
Andrew closed the door on his most nerve-racking day since starting his fellowship at Hickory Ridge Community Church six months earlier. Had she noticed that he’d swallowed hard every time she pushed her shiny, dark hair behind her ears, letting the sun dance on its auburn highlights? He’d thought she was beautiful, having only seen her from across the church. But up close, she was amazing.
At least he’d known enough the past few Sundays to be glad it was Reverend Bob’s job to deliver the sermon and not his. Otherwise, he was sure Paul’s admonishment to the church at Corinth would have been full of warnings about long, wavy hair and full lips.
Now that he’d had a good look at her, the image in his head this Sunday would be more vivid. He would see eyes that were a combination of delicacies—shaped like almonds and the hue of dark chocolate. He would know that her face was a little too square, her nose too straight, to earn her the title of classic beauty, but that somehow made her more appealing. He couldn’t allow himself to think about the way she looked in her prim white blouse and that skirt/shorts thing, even now, without breaking a sweat.
It would surely require a prayer for forgiveness, but he’d been thankful when he’d learned she was divorced. It should have made him want to step back from her, but it didn’t.
Pushing those dangerous thoughts away, Andrew pulled the monthly youth calendar up on his computer screen. Immediately, he felt tired. In theory, it was great to keep the youth too occupied in the summer to get into trouble, but all of those activities required chaperoning. The finger for that job pointed right back at him.
Trips to the Detroit Zoo and Michigan’s Adventure Park in Muskegon, plus pizza night—that would be enough without tonight’s youth lock-in. That was all he needed—spending twelve hours in a house full of adolescents. Eating too much junk food. Getting no sleep. Even with reliable fellow chaperones Robert and Diana Lidstrom and Charlene Lowe, it would be a harrowing night.
He walked to the window and stared out across the field to the older farmhouse that served as both his home and the temporary Family Life Center. The deacons had been fortunate that the prior owner had been ready to retire to Florida when they’d searched for property on which to build a new center.
Architects were already planning the shiny, modern structure that would stand there after the house was razed, but as he looked at the existing building—majestic in its own utilitarian way—he wished they’d just leave it alone. It had such character. Such history. The house spoke to a time when Milford had been a farming area instead of a bedroom community for Detroit.
Twirling the blind control, Andrew darkened the room and returned to his desk, wondering why the old house was so important to him. No one had promised him a permanent job in Milford. He was still only in the “hope” phase. But if he could prove himself indispensable to the deacons here, maybe he could finally convince the naysayers in his life that he was at least a little worthwhile.
And maybe he could convince himself.
Another image of that willowy brunette became a castaway in his thoughts, making him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Even if this wasn’t a true doctor-patient situation where he needed to avoid personal involvement. Obviously, it had been too long since he’d had a real date, if he was allowing their conversation to take on this much significance. He had to get out more. But a feeling deep in his gut made him wonder if he’d still be having these same unsettling feelings even if he’d had a month’s worth of interesting dates.
The phone rang and saved him from the uncertain implications of his thoughts. He didn’t need or want the complications of an involvement now. Especially not with a troubled woman. She had as many problems as he did.
“Hickory Ridge Church, this is Andrew Westin. May I help you?”
“Andrew, this is Charlene.” She spoke in that heavy New Jersey accent that made her identification unnecessary. “Got bad news. My mom’s having emergency gall bladder surgery. I hate to bail out on you, but…”
“Of course, Char, you have to be with your mom. Don’t worry a bit about us. I’ll find someone else to fill in. Let your mother know we’ll be praying for her.”
He lowered the phone to the receiver, feeling a new weight on his shoulders. Did he know anyone who was crazy enough—or naive enough, to agree to chaperone a youth all-nighter with less than eight hours’ notice? A few faces flickered in his mind and disappeared, but one unlikely image showed up and refused to fade.
Chapter Two
Still digesting that unsettling meeting with Andrew Westin, Serena pulled her Ford Taurus station wagon to the curb. Their conversation wasn’t going down easily. She needed more time to ponder it, but, as always, other needs came first.
“Hi Mommy,” Tessa chimed, stepping cautiously down the front steps of their next-door neighbor’s home with Mrs. Nelson at her heels. “We made chocolate chip cookies.”
As if that wasn’t obvious from the ingredients pasted to the front of her formerly pink T-shirt. “I bet that was a lot of fun. Thank you, Mrs. Nelson. For everything.”
The feisty retiree rolled her lips inward to stifle a laugh. Despite the added laundry challenge, Serena was grateful her neighbor with an overbooked social calendar had been available to sit. Her appointment, and the resulting panicked search for child care, had reminded her how important it was to find a regular sitter.
“Can we go to the park, Mommy? Please?”
That pleading head tilt was the one that often worked on Serena. She was being played like a song, and she didn’t mind the melody. A glance at her watch told her there was enough time to play awhile and have lunch before Tessa’s nap.
“Okay, but let’s change your shirt first.”
Only fifteen minutes after their arrival at Central Park and its special playground, River Bend Playscape, Serena wondered why she’d even changed Tessa’s clothes. She looked as if she’d lost a fight with a dust storm, but that impish grin showed she was an excellent loser. She sat wide-legged in the sandbox, having traded the cleaner play of digging with the permanent bulldozer contraption for the joy of sinking her bare feet in the sand.
Serena felt as happy as her daughter looked, here in this moment of no sickness, no visible pain. If she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d felt lighter ever since leaving Andrew’s office—even if she was having a difficult time figuring out what to do with that weightlessness. His words had shown her a flash of light at the end of the dark tunnel that was her life.
“‘Nobody gets out of here free.”’ She repeated his words under her breath and grinned. If he’d said that to her two years ago, she would have laughed out loud at his bleak predictions. How had he come to know so much? He looked to be only a few years older than she was.
But somehow, talking to him had made her feel less alone in her misery. Did the comfort come from realizing everyone had pain, or from knowing that Andrew cared about hers? Answering that question would force her to analyze several of today’s wayward thoughts, so she drew no conclusion.
Even if she were ready to consider a relationship again—which she wasn’t—Andrew wouldn’t have been her choice. He was a youth minister. In her wildest imaginings for the future, she’d never once pictured herself as a minister’s wife. Those women wore buns in their hair and played church organs.
“What’s so funny, Mommy?”
Serena looked at her sand sculpture of a daughter, embarrassed to have been caught in her musings. “I remembered a funny joke, honey.”
Tessa raised a quizzical eyebrow in an expression destined in her teen years to be perfected into a smirk. “Can I play on the slides?”
Swallowing the knot of anxiety in her throat, Serena reminded herself that the doctors wanted Tessa to remain active. They promised Tessa would set her own limits, based on the pain, and Serena hoped they were right. “Which one do you want to try first?”
She need not have worried. Tessa was timid enough for the both of them. Serena took her position at the bottom of the play structure, watching her child amble instead of run across the polyvinyl-coated bridge toward the curly tube slide.
Serena caught her at the bottom. “Here, jump to the ground.”
Tessa shook her head and lifted her arms. Serena’s throat felt dry, and her eyes burned. But she would not cry. She couldn’t allow that. She lifted her frail child, wondering if that fearless toddler, the one who had once scaled monkey bars and jumped off front porch steps instead of walking down, still existed. She had to be hidden in there somewhere. The same way Tessa’s puffy cheeks and swollen belly—side effects of her steroid medications—merely covered the healthy child beneath.
Serena shook away her sadness over their losses. Mourning didn’t do a bit of good. Besides, there was so much to be thankful for. Tessa’s skin no longer carried that ghostly pallor of anemia, meaning the medication was doing something. And the new medicine had helped so many other children. Hopefully it would have the same success with Tessa’s condition.
When her child crawled up in her lap as she sat on the bench, Serena knew it was time to go home. Exhaustion often hit hard, making daily naps necessary. She fastened Tessa into her car seat and drove home for what was always the hardest part of the day. “Quiet time” left Serena with too many minutes alone with her thoughts. Like usual, she’d spend most of it feeling sorry for herself.
She barely had time to tuck Tessa into bed and kiss her the pre-ordered three times, before the phone rang. A freelance career wasn’t always what it was marketed to be. What sounded like freedom often turned into career captivity when your home was your office. Sometimes she wished she could turn off the phone and hide until she was ready to do business again, but she couldn’t afford to lose any clients, especially now that she was a single parent. Her freelance income paid the rent.
“Serena Jacobs. May I help you?” It was a funny way to answer her home phone, but lately, her calls were more often business than personal.
“Hi, Serena. It’s Andrew Westin.”
She swallowed hard. What if he’d reconsidered his advice this morning and wanted to suggest that she seek counseling as soon as possible? “Hello, Andrew…” Not sure what to say, she hoped he would fill in the gap.
“It was good meeting you today.”
“Nice meeting you, too,” she mumbled, her nervousness growing exponentially.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about your situation, being down in the dumps.”
She took a deep breath. Here it comes. Maybe he was going to suggest something even worse, like she wasn’t stable enough to care for Tessa. When he hesitated longer than she could handle, she prompted, “Yes?”
“One way to get out of depression is to get involved in helping someone else.”
She smiled into the receiver, feeling silly over her worries. “And just who did you have in mind?”
“Me.” Andrew paused. “And about thirty of my closest friends.”
Trying hard not to be flattered, she waded through his words, searching for some deeper meaning. Was this his roundabout way of asking her out? If it were, what would she answer?
“Are you still there? I just asked if you’d ever worked with kids.”
Serena brushed her hand back through her wind-tangled hair and blushed, glad he couldn’t see her. Obviously, she was letting her imagination get the best of her.
“I taught toddler Sunday School for about a year after I graduated.” Why did she feel like she was being hooked here like a bad act in a variety show—only she was being dragged out onto the stage, not off.
