What was that word? She couldn’t remember. Broken something.
She gently touched the place over her eyebrow where she’d been cut, and traced the scar across her forehead to the place where her hair began. Forty-two stitches, the doctor said. And it still hurt to take a deep breath, but the doctor said broken ribs were like that. Sometimes it took months before you could breathe without pain.
But the happiest thing was that none of it mattered. Not the pain or the scars or the scary memory of Mrs. Graystone.
The only thing that made any difference at all was that she was back with the Garrett family. And as long as they couldn’t find a foster home for her, she’d stay right there, sleeping on the couch and doing her best not to be a nuisance.
Sometimes on nights like this, she would lie awake and thank God over and over and over again for letting her live with the Garretts.
“You love me, don’t you, God? I can tell.” The whispered words slipped out into the empty room, and Amanda smiled at the darkness. The Garretts were sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake them even if she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. Wonderful thoughts danced in her head. Maybe they’d never find another foster home for her. Maybe the Garretts would build that thing, whatever it was called, so that there’d be an extra bedroom and she could live with them forever.
She thought of Kathy Garrett, so kind and gentle and loving. Even when Kathy was busy with the other children she would draw Amanda close, stroking her hair and arms and promising her everything would turn out okay. When Amanda’s ribs hurt and she couldn’t help crying, Kathy would lie next to her and rub her back, asking Jesus to find the right home for Amanda and help her heal up real quick.
But most of all, the thought that kept Amanda awake at nights was one she hadn’t shared with anyone else. It was a crazy thought, maybe, but it was so wonderful it was worth thinking about for hours and hours. Even if it meant lying awake on the couch under a pile of blankets while everyone else was sleeping…
Amanda smiled. What if, somehow, just maybe, Kathy was actually her real mother? Amanda hugged herself and let out a soft giggle. She bet it was true. She bet, maybe, a long time ago, Kathy gave up a little girl and maybe she’d been looking secretly all these years trying to find her. Maybe she hadn’t said anything about her missing little girl because she had given up any hope of finding her.
It was possible. Maybe that’s why Kathy took in foster kids and even adopted some of them. Because she had given up Amanda and didn’t know where to find her, didn’t know that living right there on her very own sofa was the little girl she’d been searching for. After all, Kathy had said she’d known Amanda all her life. So maybe…just maybe…
“Amanda?” She heard the soft padding of Kathy’s slippered feet and watched as she came around the corner in her bathrobe, a worried look on her face.
“Hi.” Amanda remembered to whisper. It was a lot of work for Kathy when the other kids woke up too soon.
Kathy sat down on the edge of the sofa and smoothed back Amanda’s bangs. Amanda loved the way Kathy’s hand felt on her skin…cool and gentle.
“Sweetie, why’re you still awake? You went to bed five hours ago. Are you feeling okay?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Should she tell her?
Kathy ran her fingers over Amanda’s cheek. “Then what is it, honey? You need your rest, just like the other kids.”
Tell her. Go on, tell her and maybe it’ll be true after all.
Amanda squirmed under the covers and rolled partially on her side so she could see Kathy better. “I got a thought the other day and it won’t go away.”
“A thought?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You wanna tell me?”
Kathy wasn’t mad at her for still being awake. It seemed to Amanda like she never got angry not when you spilled your milk or asked too many questions or waited until morning to do your homework. Amanda wasn’t worried that her secret thoughts would make Kathy mad, just that…well, what if she said them out loud and they weren’t true?
“Amanda?” Kathy eyes got that soft look, like they did whenever she had a question. “What is it, sweetie?”
“I’m not sure I can tell you.”
Kathy smiled that favorite smile. The one that made Amanda sure she was safe and warm and loved. The one that made her think that somehow, Kathy might be her real—
“Honey, you can tell me anything. You know that. We’ve had some great talks since you’ve been here.”
Amanda bit her lower lip. Why not? If it was true, it would be the happiest day of her life. “Well, okay.” She waited, trying to think of the best words to explain. “You know how me and you have known each other ever since I was a baby?”
“Yes. Ever since you were placed with the Brownells.”
“Well, I was wondering…Kathy, did you ever give a baby up for adoption?”
Kathy’s face clouded. “Why, no, honey, I never did. What makes you ask that?”
Amanda felt her smile fade. Maybe Kathy had trouble remembering…maybe it was something she’d tried to forget, like the months Amanda had spent with Mrs. Graystone. “Think real hard, Kathy Don’t you remember?”
“Sweetheart, why do you ask?” Kathy was sitting up straighter and now she wore that confused look.
Amanda sighed. “I was thinking maybe you gave a baby up, you know, maybe seven years ago, and maybe you work with adoptions ’cause you wanted to help kids. So you wouldn’t feel so bad about the little girl you gave up. And I was thinking maybe if you did give a little girl up, then maybe that’s why God let you be in my life.”
Kathy’s eyebrows moved closer together, and her mouth opened and closed a few times. “God let me be in your life because I had a little girl I’d given up? That’s what you thought?”
Amanda shook her head. “No.” Her voice got quiet, and there was a deep aching in her chest that had nothing to do with her broken ribs. “I thought if you gave up a little girl, maybe I was her. And maybe all these years you’d been searching for your own little girl and the whole time it’s been me. Right here.” Amanda felt two tears trickling down her cheeks and she wiped them with her pajama sleeve.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Kathy leaned over her and pulled her into a hug that lasted a long, long time. “I love you like you’re my own little girl. That much will always be true.”
Amanda’s tears were coming faster now, and her body trembled with sadness. “S-s-so…you never gave a little girl up for adoption?”
Kathy’s arms tightened around her. “No, sweetie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I couldn’t love you more even if you were my own little girl.”
“But you’d let me live with you forever if I was, right?”
Kathy was quiet, and Amanda pulled back enough to see that she was crying.
“Oh, Amanda, of course. I’d let you live with us now, but it isn’t up to me. You know that. The state says our house is too small for another child.”
Amanda knew. She didn’t understand, but she knew. It wasn’t like she was that big, like she took up that much space…
They both were quiet for a long time while they dried their tears and remained locked in a hug. “I have a mother somewhere, don’t I, Kathy?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Tell me about her again. Please.” Amanda lay back down on the sofa as Kathy sat up once more and sniffed back her tears.
“Your mother was very young when you were born, Amanda. Too young to take care of you or give you a nice home. So instead, because she loved you very much, she decided to give you to the Brownells. The Brownells couldn’t have their own children, so you were their little princess. They were wonderful people and would have been your forever family if it hadn’t been for the accident.”
Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. She had loved the Brownells, but they were gone and she didn’t want to talk about them. Not now, when there was nothing they could do to help her. “What about my mother? What happene
d to her?”
Kathy angled her head thoughtfully. “I imagine she returned home, wherever that was, and grew up. Probably got married, that sort of thing.”
“Do you think she misses me?”
“Sweetheart—” Kathy swallowed hard and her voice sounded funny—“I’ll bet there isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t think of you.”
Amanda thought about that. Her mother was out there somewhere, and wherever she was, she spent time each day thinking about the little girl she gave away. If that was true, then there was a chance her mother might actually try to find her. And if she did, then it was possible that one day—maybe even one day soon—her mother would show up and take her home forever.
The ache in her chest faded a bit. “Really, Kathy? You really think she remembers me like that?”
Kathy bent down and kissed Amanda’s cheek. “Really and honestly and truly. For all we know, she might be thinking about you right now.”
With a soft good night Kathy stood and left Amanda to fall asleep. And as Kathy—who wasn’t her real mother after all—padded up the stairs, Amanda prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before that God might move mountains or send angels or do whatever He needed to do.
As long as He helped her find her mommy.
Twenty-two
IT WAS TIME TO TELL THE GROUP.
After that first session the previous week, Maggie had taken to coming twenty minutes early every day. Combined with her time with Dr. Camas, Maggie was finally able to move beyond the past and begin unraveling her current thoughts and emotions. The conversations with Dr. Baker had helped Maggie feel more comfortable with the group as a whole.
In the past week she had learned all of their names. She had listened while—one at a time—they each had bared their hearts to the others. There was the bone-thin man who had trouble making eye contact. Harold was his name, and six months ago his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident. He had stopped eating. That was his way of checking out, of expressing his lack of will to live. In group discussion he realized that his depression centered around a very real feeling of abandonment. Not only by his family, but by God, as well.
The well-dressed woman in her late forties was Betty, a homemaker whose husband had left her ten years earlier. Now her children were raised and gone and she was desperately afraid of being alone. Her fears had built over the previous year so that now she was battling anxiety so great she was terrified of leaving her house. Being homebound had left her with little to do but eat and now, in addition to her fears, she was fifty pounds overweight and suffering from clinical depression. After much discussion it seemed clear both to Betty and the others that she had developed a dependence on everything but the Lord she claimed to serve. First her husband, then her children, and now her fleeting image.
Sarah, the sweet young girl who had been through three abortions, began to recognize the consequences of living for self, with no regard for others. Although her missing babies still left a deep ache in her heart, her depression seemed to have lifted.
And there were others who Maggie thought were smiling more, talking more easily, making eye contact where once they could only hang their heads. The solution seemed to have everything to do with honesty. As they each were able to share more of their heart, the desperation faded. In fact, the darkness that initially seemed to cloak all of them seemed to be lifting for almost everyone.
Everyone, Maggie thought, but her.
She considered this as she made her way to the group session room. Is it my pride, Lord? Is that the problem? Is it because I haven’t been honest with them? The group was still unaware of Maggie’s professional identity, but was that the only reason she’d kept silent every day while one group member or another bared his or her soul?
Maggie had no answers, only a realization: If she was going to get better, she needed to talk about what was in her heart. And that meant finding the strength—somehow—to tell the group about her past. She rounded a corner and opened the first door on the left.
“Hi, Maggie.” Dr. Baker smiled up from a small stack of papers.
“Hi.” She made her way across the room and sat down next to the doctor. “Today’s the day.”
Dr. Baker raised an eyebrow. “Revelation time?”
Maggie nodded. “I’ve waited long enough.”
There was silence. That was something Maggie had grown to enjoy about Orchards Psychiatric Hospital. The silence. None of the people who worked here seemed to feel the need to fill holes in the conversation with meaningless chatter. Instead it was almost as though they encouraged moments of reflection. “I see they’ve decreased your medication again.”
“Yes, but…”
“That worries you?”
Maggie nodded. “I…I’m still having the nightmares, still feel the darkness dragging me down at different times throughout the day.”
Dr. Baker flipped through a few sheets of paper and paused as she studied what was written there. “Dr. Camas hasn’t reduced the Prozac, Maggie. Just the antianxiety medication.” She looked up. “Are you still feeling anxiety?”
Maggie sighed. “I’m a believer trapped in a fog of darkness, Dr. Baker. I’m a conservative, God-fearing woman about to divorce my husband after seven years of lying to him about a child he knows nothing about. On top of that, I’m a columnist who writes about the need for morality and returning to godly standards in our world.” Maggie planted her elbows into her knees and let her head fall into her hands. “Yes. I still feel anxious.”
“Try to understand, Maggie. The medication you were on was very strong. And now that you’re not—”
She raised her head and stared sadly at the doctor. “Now that I’m not suicidal? Is that what you mean?” Her gaze fell to the floor. “Maybe I still am.”
Dr. Baker leaned back in her chair and set her clipboard and paperwork down beside her. “Okay, Maggie. Tell me the truth then. Do you still want to die?”
Maggie closed her eyes and there, standing before her, was the little girl. Seven, almost eight years old, dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, her blond hair pulled into a simple ponytail. She was waving sweetly, mouthing the same words she mouthed every time she appeared this way: Mommy? Where’s my mommy? Do you know where my mommy is?
Maggie reached out for the girl but suddenly, in her place, there was nothing but a wisp of fog that evaporated without a trace.
“I have to find her.” Maggie’s voice sounded desperately sad, even to her.
“Your daughter?”
Maggie nodded. “I can see her, hear her, imagine her in my arms. But when I reach out for her, she…”
“She isn’t there, is that right? Like it always happens?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess your answer is simple, isn’t it?”
Maggie looked up and saw a holy glow in Dr. Baker’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you can’t possibly be suicidal. You don’t want your life to end, Maggie. You just want to find your daughter.”
Tears spilled from Maggie’s eyes onto her cheeks and she nodded again and again. “She already has a home, of course. A mother and father and people who love her. But…”
Dr. Baker waited until Maggie could find her voice and the strength to continue.
She sniffled loudly and reached for the tissue box at the center of the circle. Blowing her nose, she turned once more to Dr. Baker. “No matter who has her, she’s still my baby and nothing will be right, nothing…until I can see for myself that she’s okay. Maybe then I can tell her I’m so—” Maggie’s voice halted.
No, Lord, don’t take me down that path. It isn’t my fault. I never would have given her up if it weren’t for Ben. It’s his fault, God. Don’t make me tell her I’m sorry…
“Tell her what, Maggie?”
“Nothing.”
Dr. Baker hesitated, but when the silence remained, she stood and stretched. “The group will be here any minute. I’ll let you decid
e if you’re ready to talk. If you are, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Okay.” A heavy feeling settled over her shoulders and Maggie moved them up and down, trying to rid herself of the oppressive weight. When it would not leave, she went to pour herself a cup of herbal tea, found her regular seat, and nervously waited for the others.
Sarah opened up revelation time by announcing that she had received her discharge orders.
“Next Monday I’ll be going home with my parents.” She smiled, and Maggie noticed that the bruises on her cheeks were gone now. Sarah had explained to the group several sessions ago that her last boyfriend had beaten her regularly. Her breakdown had come when she feared she was pregnant for a fourth time and had suffered the worst blows of all when she’d told him the news. She had been considering suicide, but went home instead and shared everything with her parents. With their help, she’d gotten through her time at Orchards more quickly than many people. She would be expected to continue treatment on an outpatient basis for the next three months.
“How do you feel?” Dr. Baker leaned back in her seat and focused her attention on Sarah.
“Most of the time great, like a truck has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Most of the time?”
Sarah’s face clouded. “There’re still times when I think of my babies, Dr. Baker. But I’ve learned something here at Orchards.” She looked at the others and for a moment her eyes caught Maggie’s and held them. There was compassion there, and Maggie wished she had taken the time to get to know Sarah better. “I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do to change the past, but I can take responsibility for today. By doing so, I can grasp onto tomorrow, too. My babies are safe in the arms of Jesus. When I think of them now, I think of them that way. And I look forward to the day—in God’s timing—when I’ll join them there.”
Dr. Baker smiled at Sarah and looked around the room. Maggie had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at her, that they were all thinking how she was the only one in their midst who hadn’t shared yet. “Anyone else?”