Everyone has a past. The same words Amy had said at Bible study. Another trail of tears made their way down her face, and she nodded, dabbing at them. What would she do without her father? She had thought her parents would be furious if the wedding appeared to be in question. So much of what they’d paid for included nonrefundable deposits. Then there was the embarrassment factor. But here … here her dad was extending grace and understanding to Brad, and to Laura — a way to survive.
“What about Mom?” Laura managed to say the words.
“I’ll talk to her. She’ll be upset, but we’ll get through this.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “We all will.”
Laura wanted to be sure he understood. “He could … go back and fall in love with her again. It’s possible.”
“I know.” Again her dad didn’t waver. “We’ll ask God to show all of us the truth — whether this wedding should go on or not. And we’ll get through it.”
She sucked in a quick breath and hugged him tight, overwhelmed by his unconditional love and understanding. Her dad was right. They would pray for Brad, for his time in North Carolina, and for wisdom — so that Laura would know whether she should marry Brad or not when he came home.
If he came home.
She buried her face into her dad’s shoulder. How could any of this be happening? Why hadn’t Brad told her sooner, and how was he going to feel when he found Emma? She squeezed her eyes shut. She was glad about one thing. Brad had gone to her father and told him the truth, which was the right thing to do. He had saved Laura from having to tell them, and for that she was grateful. She winced trying to imagine Brad going to her father, telling him the whole story about Emma and the baby. The abortion.
“You okay?” Her dad’s words soothed her jagged soul.
She nodded, but she stayed in his arms. Her heart might be broken, and the coming weeks might be the worst in her life. But she would have the love of God, and the love of her friends and family. Her father had proven that much.
Whatever happened next, that would have to be enough.
Eighteen
THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL WAS never easy. Emma dreaded it almost from the time she stepped foot into her classroom each September. Nine months together and the kids went from darling straight-backed strangers to boys and girls who would run up and hug her around the waist when they saw her. This year was worse, because Kristin was supposed to join them today.
Emma had been by to see the teenager yesterday, but she was still in intensive care, still in a coma clinging to life. Her mother mentioned once more that they were trying to be hopeful as they waited for a heart for transplant. But she admitted that even if they located a heart, the surgery would be very difficult given her failing condition.
“Her doctor asked us to be ready,” Kristin’s mom whispered as the visit came to an end. “But God can work miracles.” She gripped Emma’s arm, her desperation tangible. “As long as we have her, we have to trust in that.”
With all the grief in her heart, Emma wanted to believe for a miracle the way Kristin’s mother believed. But if God were going to rescue Kristin, why did He let her slip into cardiac arrest in the first place? The facts screamed the truth — Kristin was dying. And the possibility cast a pallor over everything about this afternoon’s last-day activities.
A few of the children asked about the gift Kristin was working on and whether she’d finished it and how Emma was going to get it now that school was out. Emma assured them Kristin would finish the project once she felt better. What else could she say?
Little Frankie came up to the front of the classroom before lunch and put her delicate hand on Emma’s arm. “Teacher … is Kristin coming to the party?”
Emma glanced to the top of her desk, to a framed wallet-size photo of Kristin. “No, sweetie.” Emma smiled and looked straight at Frankie. First graders didn’t need a lot of details. “Kristin’s still sick.”
“Oh.” Frankie’s face fell. “I wanted to give her the picture I made for her.” If anyone understood illness, she did. “I asked God to make her better.”
Emma took hold of Frankie’s hand. How long before life’s disappointments created disbelief in this little angel? Two years? Five? When it happened, Emma would only say she couldn’t blame the girl. But for now her sweet faith was so pure and innocent it brought tears to Emma’s eyes. She grabbed a sharp breath, fighting for control. “Keep asking Him, okay?”
The concern in Frankie’s face lifted and the beginning of a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Okay.”
Lunch that day was a pizza party, chaperoned by the five mothers who’d helped all year. Frankie’s mom was one of them. Emma waited until they were alone near the food table before she came up to her and lowered her voice. “I saw new bruises on her arm.” Emma gathered a few dirty cups, trying to look busy. Frankie would pick up on the seriousness of their conversation otherwise. “How’s she doing?”
A weary shadow fell over the woman’s face. “She won’t be out much this summer. But the doctor’s working with a new medication.” A tentative smile broke through. “He’s hopeful. It could help her quality of life quite a bit.”
Emma felt the slightest encouragement. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
In the final hours of the day, Emma presented the kids with the storybooks they’d been working on for the last month. A self-publishing company had bound the books and laminated the pages for the students, so this was a moment they’d been looking forward to all year.
“Mine looks cool!” A little boy waved his book at Frankie. “I drew the coolest car on the cover.”
Frankie threw back her shoulders, not to be outdone. “I have two cars on mine!”
“They all look nice!” Emma laughed, one of the first of the day. “Let’s look through our books. Then you can share them with the other boys and girls. We left blank pages at the back of each book so you can collect signatures from your classmates.”
A round of cheers rose from the students, and even as they read the books, they talked and giggled and shared their stories with their neighbors. Emma savored the sound, her students no longer the timid children who had walked through the door of her classroom the first day of school. They were friends now, a family of sorts. Together they’d shared reading groups and making feathers for their Thanksgiving turkeys. They’d found friendships as they sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem” in the Christmas concert, and they worked side by side decorating Valentine’s shoe boxes. Recently they could barely contain their excitement over the secret ceramic Mother’s Day gifts they finished a month ago.
Now all they could think about was summer. They would move on with a quick hug and a happy wave, and that would be that. Only Emma would know the ache of saying good-bye, the certain knowledge that years from now, she would only be a slight mention in a conversation about elementary school. Remember first grade? Who was our teacher?
She looked from one face to the next, holding onto the moment. Every year on this day it was like saying good-bye to her own children. If she’d had children. I might’ve been a good mother, she thought. But as soon as the idea flitted through her mind, she quickly dismissed it. She didn’t deserve to be a mother, not now or ever. What mother could walk through the doors of an abortion clinic and —
“Teacher,” Frankie stood beside Emma’s desk again. She lifted a small flowered gift bag and handed it over. “This is for you. ’Cause it’s the last day.”
Emma took the bag, her heart full. “Thank you, Frankie. That’s very kind.”
“You can open it.” She grabbed a quick breath, too excited to slow down. “It’s not like Christmas … when you have to wait.”
Frankie’s mom watched from a short distance away, giving the moment to her daughter. Everything about the child was endearing. Emma pulled the tissue paper out of the bag. Inside was a CD titled Restored by Jeremy Camp, a singer Emma had only vaguely heard about from Kristin Palazzo.
Frankie was
bouncing up and down next to her. “My mom picked it out! Do you like it?” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “You got a card too. Inside the bag.” She leaned in close, her head on Emma’s shoulder. “The CD has a pretty picture on the front, right, Teacher?”
“Yes, it’s so pretty! Thank you, honey.” Emma stared at the CD cover. The title was intriguing. She opened the card and pulled the note from inside. On the left Frankie had written, I love you, Teacher. On the right, Frankie’s mother wrote, Your special class-helper Kristin once told me that this was her favorite CD. We’re all praying for her recovery, but I thought this might help you feel closer to her.
Emma blinked back tears and gave Frankie’s mom a long smile. The woman’s eyes were damp as well. Emma sighed and tucked the card and CD back into the bag. “This is very special.” She hugged Frankie. “It’s the best gift ever.”
“That’s what I said!” Frankie’s eyes shone with limitless joy. She gave Emma a final hug and returned to her table where she sat down, careful not to bump her leg on the table. After years of bruising, Frankie knew her limitations.
The last hour flew by and a few times Emma caught herself watching the clock, willing it to slow down or fly in reverse. Willing the school year to include one more day with this class of kids. Ten minutes before it was time to go, Emma had the kids come to the front of the room and sit cross-legged on the floor. She found the box of last-day surprises at the side of her desk and she set it next to her as she stood and faced them.
“I always like to take a few minutes at the end of the last day to say good-bye,” she smiled at each of them, moving her gaze slowly from one child to the next. A few of the girls already looked teary. “You have been a wonderful class. I’ve watched you learn and grow and become friends with each other. Even as you move on, you are always welcome here. You can come back anytime and tell me hello.” She touched her hand to her chest. “In my heart, I know you’ll have a wonderful summer, and I know you’ll do very well next year in second grade.” Her own eyes were brimming now. “But I hope you remember your time here, your days together in our first grade class.”
She lifted the box and tucked it beneath her arm. “I have a gift for each of you. But please don’t open it until you get home.” Then she passed out the gifts — one for each child. They were small, stapled-shut party bags containing a few pieces of candy, a colorful pencil, and an eraser. But the best item in the bag was a custom bookmark Emma had made for each boy and girl. The bookmark was laminated with a photo of Emma and that particular student.
“Okay.” She looked briefly at the clock. Two minutes. She motioned for the children to stand. “Everyone get in a circle.”
The boys and girls did as she said. They were more subdued now, happy about summer but aware as best they could be that something special had come to an end. Frankie gave her an extra-sweet smile and so did several others. Emma sniffed, struggling for control. “Alright. Group hug!”
Emma had done group hugs with the class before, so they knew the drill. Everyone put their arms around the shoulders of the student next to them, and together they moved in to the center of the circle, giggling over this one last favorite routine.
“Here we go.” Emma savored the moment. “One … two … three …”
Then together the children and Emma shouted one final word. “Hug!”
With that, the bell rang and Emma asked the children to line up at the back door, the one that led outside. One at a time, the boys and girls filed by her, some stopping to hug her, and others giving her a grin or a high five. When it was Frankie’s turn, she held onto Emma longer than the others. “I’ll come visit you next year, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie.” Emma wiped discretely at her cheeks, smiling big to hide her sorrow.
Finally they were gone and Emma sat back at her desk. The silence surrounding her was deafening, very different from the silence at this time on other days. This was the sound of summer and second grade and the sadness of knowing another year was behind her.
After a while, she stood and walked the perimeter of her room, looking intently at the walls of her classroom, walls decorated with the efforts and achievements of an entire school year. All of it would have to come down, but not now. She could come back after Memorial Day weekend and spend a few days clearing out the room, cleaning it and readying it for the coming fall. For now, she would go home, change into her shorts and a T-shirt, and take Riley for a run. Then she’d try to imagine how on earth she was going to spend the next few months.
Emma stood slowly, gathered her purse and a file with paperwork she needed to fill out on behalf of each child. A supplementation to their report cards, with data from standardized tests and various writing assignments they’d finished that year. Then, without looking back, she stepped out into the playground area and locked her classroom door behind her.
The children had been gone for twenty minutes, so the parking lot was empty except for a dozen teachers’ cars. The familiar path felt longer this time, the one that ran along the side of the school and toward the parking lot. She was halfway to her car when she saw a blue Jeep parked near her own. Leaning against the front grill was a guy who seemed to be watching her, staring at her. He had his hands in his pockets, one foot up on the bumper.
Emma slowed her pace. Was he a husband or boyfriend of one of the teachers? Maybe, because there was something familiar about him. His build or the way he held himself. Something. She looked behind her and to the left, at the school’s main entrance. She was the only one leaving, and still his attention seemed completely on her.
She kept walking, and as she got closer, she shaded her eyes and squinted in his direction. He straightened and took a few steps closer, away from the Jeep. Only then, as she came near enough to make out his face, did she stop, unable to breathe or move or do anything but stare because … because this wasn’t possible. He had moved on after college, wasn’t that what she’d heard? That he was working for some big firm in New York City, right?
So how in the world was Brad Cutler standing thirty yards away?
She felt herself start to shake and she wasn’t sure whether to turn around and run or keep walking. She half hoped he was nothing more than a product of her overactive imagination, and that maybe if she blinked hard enough he would disappear. But another part of her wanted to run to him before he did. Slowly, almost robotically, she kept walking.
He took another step toward her, and he shaded his eyes. She was close enough now that she could see his expression, his eyes, and how not once did they ever leave hers. No matter how many years had passed, she could read his look. Without saying a word he was telling her the same thing her eyes had to be telling him. That seeing each other now was proof they had not forgotten — not each other or the time they’d shared, or what it felt like to be in a moment like this.
She set her things down near her car and continued toward him, until she was just a few feet away. For a long time she didn’t say anything. It was enough just to convince herself this was really happening, that Brad Cutler was really standing in front of her, his eyes as blue as ever, his look still enough to take her breath. Emma had no idea why he was here, but she could do nothing to stop the attraction she still felt for him.
Brad took another step closer. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
He didn’t blink. “It’s been … awhile.
A breathless laugh came from her. “Yeah.” She looked away, but only for a few seconds. “You could say that.”
There was an awkward few seconds, where Emma thought maybe Brad was going to hug her, but he stayed his ground. “I drove over from my parents’ house. Flew in yesterday.”
A terrible thought hit her. “Your parents …?”
“They’re fine. It’s not that.”
She felt a puzzled look come over her. “So …?”
He let out a frustrated breath and turned away, searching the area almost as if he were looking for answers. Fina
lly he turned back at her, and the sadness in his eyes was so rich and deep, it colored his expression. “I need to talk to you, Emma.”
Her knees shook and again she felt the warring impulses — to run the other way or to run into his arms. He wasn’t making sense. He’d flown in without calling, without warning, so that he could talk to her? “I … don’t understand.”
“It could take awhile.” He raked his fingers through his still-blond hair. “Have dinner with me tonight?”
Emma had no plans, but in some ways she wanted to tell him no. She was busy now and she’d be busy the rest of her life where he was concerned. He couldn’t break her heart and leave it for dead, then walk back into her life without warning. Whatever his reason. But this close, her senses were consumed by him. It was all she could do to hold her ground. She angled her head, looking past his eyes and straight to his heart. “Why?”
“I told you.” His tone was thick with compassion. “I need to talk.”
She hesitated, but her decision was already made. How could she tell him no? “I have to go home and feed my dog.”
An intrigue passed over his expression, as if he wanted more information about her dog and her life and who she was now. But the moment passed and he crossed his arms, his legs anchored shoulder width. “Meet me?” A plea filled his voice. “Paradise Café on the beach? Five o’clock?”
That gave Emma an hour. She was curious now, wondering what was so important he would fly to North Carolina and drive here to ask her to dinner. Or maybe she’d passed out leaving her classroom and this was some strange, delusional dream. She blinked, but Brad was still standing there. “Okay. Five o’clock.”
The awkwardness was there again. “Emma …” Brad uncrossed his arms, and once more it seemed like maybe he was going to hug her.
But before he could move a step closer, she backed away and held up her hand in a brief wave. “See ya.” Then she turned and walked to her car. She opened the back door, set her things inside, and climbed behind the wheel. His eyes were still on her … she could feel them. But she wouldn’t look as she started her engine and drove off. She needed time to sort through her frantic emotions, time to collect herself before she did something she never expected to do again in her life.