I leaned forward to kiss her again. The patio light began flashing on and off like a strobe light. Macy pulled back. “I told you.”
“Is she serious?”
“No. She’s just teasing. It’s like an inside joke.”
“This happens often?”
Macy smiled coyly. “Now and then.”
“So what about you? Where’s your boyfriend?”
“I’ve been on a hiatus from boys.”
“For how long?”
“Since summer. Ever since I broke up with my last boyfriend.”
“Were you serious?”
“Not as serious as he was.” The lights began flashing again and she shook her head slowly. “She drives me crazy,” she said happily. “I better go.” She leaned forward and we kissed again, and again. Finally she whispered, “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She climbed out of the car and bounded up the walk. When she was inside, I started my car and drove home. I definitely could see myself getting too serious.
Somewhere between the main course and coffee, Mrs. Foster served up a new paradigm.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
We arrived at Bonnie’s house a few minutes before one. We rang the bell and she hollered to us to let ourselves in. We found her in the kitchen, rushing from pot to pot. Macy stepped in to help. Bonnie assigned me to set the table, then take Fred, her dog, out for a “constitutional,” which I did. All of us, dog included, finished our assignments about the same time. We gathered in the kitchen and sat down to eat.
Bonnie had cooked a pot roast along with fresh green beans, mashed potatoes and hot butter flake rolls. I hadn’t eaten a meal like that since I left home. Halfway through the meal Bonnie asked, “How long have you been in Utah, Mark?”
My mouth was full, and I had to finish chewing and swallow before I could answer…“I came here about a year and a half ago.”
“How often do you go back home?”
“I haven’t been back since I came.”
“I bet your parents miss you.”
“Mark just lost his mother,” Macy said.
She looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry. That’s a hard thing. How’s your father holding up?”
“I think he’s okay.”
“I’m sure he misses you. Especially at a time like this.” She turned to Macy. “Would you pass the beans, dear?”
“Sure.”
Bonnie took the bowl, and as she spooned green beans onto her plate, she said casually to Macy, “Speaking of fathers, I found yours.”
Both of our heads swiveled toward her. “You found him?” Macy asked.
“I was going to call you last night but it was so late. It was past nine.”
Considering that neither of us got off work before eleven, I found this amusing.
“How did you find him?” Macy asked.
“I remembered that about six months after you were taken away, your father remarried. It didn’t last long; I don’t think it was more than a few months. But I found the invitation.” She turned to me. “I never throw those things out. The woman he married still lives in Kearns. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of calling her. She said he’s been living at a friend’s house. That’s probably why you couldn’t find him listed anywhere.”
“Did she give you his address?” Macy asked.
“No. Just her own. She says she wants to meet you. Anyway I wrote her address down. It’s on the fridge. I’ll get it.”
She pushed back from the table and went to the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding a sticky note.
“Her name is Barbara Norris, and she lives at 500 Altura Road in Kearns. She said that’s about 616 West. She’s in Apartment 321.”
She handed the paper to Macy.
“Bonnie, thank you.”
“You’ll have to let me know how everything turns out. Now let’s get on with our dinner before everything gets cold.”
Our journey feels like a board game where each throw of the dice lands us on some new square. What a peculiar square we landed on today.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
I noticed that Macy hadn’t eaten much since Bonnie’s announcement. I’m sure it was all she could do to not jump up from the table and race over to the woman’s house. Over Bonnie’s objections we did the dishes, then went into the living room for dessert and coffee. Bonnie took out some music rolls and fired up the player piano. When I saw that Bonnie would probably keep us all night, I apologetically told her that I had to get home. Macy knew I had no place to be and she looked at me gratefully. Macy promised to return next Sunday and we said goodbye. When we got in the car, Macy turned to me and said, “Thank you.” Then she handed me the paper with the woman’s address.
In ten minutes we were standing at the doorstep of the third-story apartment. Macy pressed the doorbell. Then she looked down at the welcome mat, shifting nervously from foot to foot. We heard approaching steps, and the door opened until the chain caught, revealing half of a woman’s face. “Yes?”
“We’re looking for Barbara Norris,” I said.
“I’m Barbara Norris.”
“I’m Macy Wood,” Macy said.
It took a moment for the name to register. “Ah.” She shut the door to unlatch the chain then swung the door open. “My gosh, I didn’t expect you to be so old.” She glanced at me. “And this is?”
“This is my friend, Mark.”
“Hi,” I said.
She waved dramatically. “Come in. Come in, both of you.”
Macy walked in first and Barbara wrapped her arms around her. “Welcome back, honey. Welcome, welcome, welcome.” Macy just kind of absorbed the greeting. I shut the door and stood a few feet back, watching. When she had released Macy, she went for me. “I don’t know you, but if you’re with our baby, you’re family.”
The woman left me breathless. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now sit, both of you. Not there, over on the couch.” She pushed me toward the ugliest piece of furniture I’d ever seen—a gaudy green, red and gold patterned sofa-sleeper. She sat down on the only other piece of furniture in the room—a wooden chair from the kitchen dinette set. For a moment she just looked at Macy. “You know, your father talks about you all the time. He carries a picture of you in his wallet. But you were just a child. My gosh.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Macy said.
“Of course you didn’t. And here you are. I’ve wanted to meet you since the first time your daddy told me about you.” She looked at me. “Do miracles ever cease?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she expected an answer but she looked like she did.
“They don’t, believe me, they don’t.”
“You were married to my father?” Macy asked.
“If you can call it that. I’ve had colds that lasted longer.” She looked at Macy and her voice dropped an octave. “I don’t know how much you know about your father. But he’s a drug addict.”
“Yes, I know,” Macy said. “Did you?”
“Not at first. But by the time I found out, I was already in love with the man.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “You know, love conquers all.” She laughed dramatically. “Yeah, right. He was just another in a long line of fixeruppers.”
“Mrs. Foster said that you know where my father is,” Macy said.
“Yes, we still talk all the time. We’re much better friends now that we’re divorced.”
“Does he live far from here?”
“I don’t think your dad’s ever ventured far from here. You know your dad.”
Macy just frowned. “No. I really don’t.”
“Right. I’ll stop saying that. I’m sure you’re just poppin’ to see him. I just want you to be prepared. He’s pretty sick.”
“From the drugs?”
“And everything else he’s abused his body with. God knows what’s keeping him alive. He needs a liver transplant, but he’s so high-risk that the doctors denied him.
I think the hospital sent him home to die. He’s been living over at a buddy’s place.” She looked into Macy’s eyes. “He is very excited about seeing you.”
“He knows I’m looking for him?”
“I told him last night after that woman called. He asked me to put you on the line the minute you arrived.” She bent over and lifted a portable phone from the floor next to her chair. “Are you ready?”
Macy glanced at me and took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Barbara dialed the number from memory, then handed the receiver to Macy. Macy held it up to her ear as Barbara and I watched.
“Hello. Is Marshall Wood there?”
There was a pause.
“Daddy? This is Macy.”
We found Macy’s father. I learned something valuable today. Oftentimes the greatest hurts of our lives come from running from the smaller ones.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
Macy’s father lived less than three miles from his ex-wife’s home, on the south end of the Kearns city line. The area wasn’t exactly the high-rent district, and the homes were all cracker boxes neatly built along narrow streets lined with older cars.
As I pulled in to the crumbling cement driveway, my car bottomed out loudly on the gutter, alerting the home’s residents of our arrival. I noticed someone brush back the front curtains and then disappear.
I shut off the car and then looked over at Macy. This was the third time I’d sat with her anticipating a meeting that could change her life. Only this time we knew whom we’d find. Macy looked very tense, and she was fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “What are you thinking?” I asked.
“A million different things. It’s weird, I’ve anticipated this moment my entire life, but I still don’t know how I’m supposed to act. What if I lose it? What if I totally freak out and scream at him for what he did to us?”
“Then he deserves it.” I reached over and took her hand. “Just do what comes naturally. Whatever that is, it will be the right thing.”
She looked at me soulfully, and I realized how vulnerable and afraid she was. I couldn’t help but think how beautiful her eyes were. “Thank you for being here,” she said.
I looked at her and grinned. “How did I get in the middle of all this?”
“You asked to use my phone.”
“I really need to get me one of those portable phones,” I said.
“You need to get a phone—period,” she said.
“That Barbara woman was… interesting.”
Macy suddenly grinned. “Interesting as in fascinating or interesting as in a nightmare?”
I smiled back. “Yes.”
“Maybe my father’s the same way.”
“That would explain a lot about you.”
“You’re so mean,” she laughed, and it was good to see her relax. She squeezed my hand. “All right, let’s go.”
We climbed out of the car and walked up to the door. The front porch was supported by two painted wood beams, both chipped and scarred. A wind chime made from flattened tin forks and spoons hung from the portico. There was no doorbell, so I knocked. Almost immediately a man opened the door. He was bald and short, maybe in his late fifties, and with a belly that hung over the waist of his pants. He glanced over me, then his eyes settled on Macy. She looked at him, unsure if this was her father or not.
I sensed her confusion. “Mr. Wood?” I asked.
“No, I’m Ken. Marshall’s in bed.” He turned to Macy. “Your dad’s waiting for you.”
I put my hand on her back. “Go ahead.”
She stepped inside, and we followed Ken to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. Macy stepped into the open doorway and stopped. Then she raised both hands together, cupping them over her mouth. I stepped up behind her and looked over her shoulder. Her father lay in bed propped up by pillows, the sheets pulled up to his waist. I’d never seen a grown man that thin. He had an oxygen tube curled around his ears to his nostrils. His eyes were sunken and full of tears.
“Baby!” he called.
Macy couldn’t talk.
“Come here, baby.”
She went to him and she fell forward into his embrace. They were both weeping.
“Finally home,” he said, crushing her hair with his fingers. “Finally home.” Ken and I stepped into the room and watched the reunion.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“I’ve missed you too,” Macy said.
“Look, Ken. Look how beautiful my little girl is.”
“I can see.”
He looked at me. “This your boyfriend?”
Without looking, Macy said, “Yes.”
“I’m Mark,” I said.
“Nice to know you,” he said.
“Nice to know you, sir.”
He said to Macy, “How long has it been?”
“Fourteen years, one month, two weeks, three days.”
He shook his head. “Do you remember our last day together?”
“We did all the seasons.”
“That’s right. I thought I might not ever see you again. So I wanted to get in all the memories I could. Easter. Halloween. Christmas. Do you still have that ornament from your mother?”
“Yes. I’ve carried it every place I’ve gone.”
“Those ornaments were so important to your mother. She even spoke of them as she was dying. Your sister Noel has one just like it.”
Macy reacted to hearing Noel’s name, almost as if it was delivered with a low-voltage shock. She moved back from him. “Tell me about Noel. Do you still see her?”
He was quiet for a moment, then he burst out in a fit of coughing. “No. I haven’t seen her since they took her from me.” He saw the disappointment in Macy’s face. “That’s what I regret most of all—apart from losing the both of you—was separating the two of you. It never should have happened. I promised your mother that I wouldn’t let it happen.” He suddenly choked up. “But I did.”
Macy rubbed his arm. “I remember so little about her. It’s like she’s there, in my head somewhere, but just out of reach.” She looked at him somberly. “Tell me about her.”
“Do you remember what your ornament said on it?”
“Noel. December 25.”
“That was Noel’s first Christmas. She was born Christmas Day. I wanted to name her Holly. But with the last name of Wood, your mama wouldn’t go for that. So we named her Christina Noel. Your mama wanted Christine for the Christ child.”
“I couldn’t remember her name…” Macy confessed.
“Losing her was traumatic for you, baby. You probably don’t remember, but you were her mother. You’d fix her breakfast, dress her, bathe her. A counselor at the rehab told me that when parents aren’t there, the oldest kid often takes over. He said they found out about me because every day you brought potato chip sandwiches to school.” He exhaled loudly. “I wasn’t much good before your mother died. But after…” He looked at her sadly.
“I was only five when mom died.”
He nodded, ashamed. “Yeah, you were.”
“Do you know where Noel is?”
“No. They first took her to a foster home, then another family adopted her. I had to sign away my rights. I was in rehab then, and now my head’s full of sawdust. I don’t remember things too well. But I’m sure someone at the state knows.”
Macy frowned. “The state won’t tell me. Her file was sealed.”
For a moment the energy drained from the room. Then her father’s face lit up. “I know someone who’d know.”
“Who?” Macy asked eagerly
“That woman who adopted you. Hummel.”
Macy’s face flashed with pain. “Why would she know?”
“The caseworker told me that the family that took Noel had problems. She cried for you for weeks. Finally the family tried to find you. Don’t you remember?”
“I saw her once. It was at our adoption hearing. I remember Mrs. Hummel getting into a fight with the woman who was with Noel. Then I nev
er saw her again.”
He frowned. “That’s a shame.” There was silence. “How long have you been looking for me?” her father asked.
“Not too long. But I’ve thought about seeing you my whole life—wondering what would happen if I were to bump into you at a gas station or at the supermarket.”
He nodded at this. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“Why didn’t you come to find me?”
“I was afraid. I was sure you’d hate me.”
Macy didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t hate you.”
“You should hate me, sister. I let you down. I let the whole family down.”
“You couldn’t help it…”
“Macy, don’t make excuses for me. There’s no excuse for what I did. Was there ever a good enough excuse for a father to abandon his children?”
“I don’t know,” Macy said.
For a moment they both just stared into each other’s eyes. “You should know there’s a reason. Not an excuse, but a reason. I know it don’t hardly matter now, you can’t change the past, but I never set out to be the failure I am. When I was seven, I got polio. They gave me pain medications by the bucketful. I never stopped using them. I couldn’t stop. Looking back…” He shook his head. “If I’d known what it would cost me, I would’ve chosen the pain. The greatest hurts of our lives come from running from the smaller hurts.”
Macy stepped back and for a moment she just looked at him. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but I saw something in her I had never seen before—someone much older than the young woman I had met just a few weeks earlier. She touched the corner of her eye, then said softly, “I’ve suffered, Dad. Far more than anyone knows. I was sexually abused in the drug treatment center they sent you to. I was beaten almost every week by the evil woman who adopted me. I lived on the street for three months. For six weeks I slept behind a dumpster at a Wal-Mart. You’d be surprised what you’d do for a cheese sandwich when you haven’t eaten in four days. You’re right. I should hate you. But I don’t. I pity you. No matter what I’ve been through, I’ve never given away anything I should have kept. And I’ve never betrayed anyone I’ve ever loved. Nothing could be worse than that.”