“I can’t believe it.” She shifted her look to Bailey. “These kids are really getting it.”
“They always do.” Bailey smiled. “That’s the fun of putting on a show. Especially so quickly like this one.”
When rehearsal was over, Connor walked Maddie to her car. He didn’t try to hug her like before. She understood. She had made herself clear, no matter how much it hurt.
Before she climbed into her car, Connor folded his arms. “You still praying for your Christmas miracle?”
Maddie hadn’t thought about that for a few weeks. “It was more for my sister than me.”
“Hmmm.” He looked into her eyes, as if he were trying to see past the mystery. “Is she sicker? You said she had health struggles.”
“No.” Maddie remembered her mother’s words. How God had already answered one prayer after another where her sister was concerned. “Actually . . . maybe Hayley has already gotten her Christmas miracle.”
“Okay.” Connor seemed to take his time. As if he appreciated this moment alone with her. “What about you, Maddie West? What about your Christmas miracle?”
“For me . . . it’s more just knowing that God’s there.” She wasn’t usually this honest. But something about Connor Flanigan’s kindness made her open up more easily. “You know?”
“Definitely.” Connor hesitated. “Tell you what. Can I pray for you now? That God will show you He’s real? Sometime between now and Christmas?”
Maddie felt his warmth to the center of her heart. “Please.”
Connor took her gloved hands in his, and for the sweetest few minutes ever, he prayed for her. That God would speak to her and that she would sense His presence in many ways. But most of all that He would make Himself real to her—sometime before Christmas.
With Connor’s prayer lingering in her soul, Maddie had expected the night to be more relaxed now. If ever there would be a time when she didn’t think about her guilt, this had to be it. But that wasn’t how it played out at all.
As soon as she was in bed with the lights out, the images came at her full force. She was running inside the house, the one where the birthday party was held, and she was asking her daddy, “Where’s Hayley? I can’t find Hayley.”
And her father was scrambling up from his chair and there on the floor was Hayley’s life jacket. The life jacket she absolutely had to wear if she was out of the house for even a minute. That’s what her mom had told them both when she left the party for work.
But now the life jacket was on the floor. And Hayley was gone.
Maddie rolled around in bed, but the memory wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t let her go.
“Hayley!” Their father screamed her name. “Hayley, where are you?”
And Maddie ran behind her dad out to the backyard and there . . . there at the bottom of the pool . . .
“No! No, God! No!” Her father’s shout echoed through Maddie’s being—then, and every day since. “Hayley!”
And her father was diving into the pool with his clothes on, diving down to the deep end and sweeping Hayley into his arms. Swimming her up to the surface and out onto the deck.
She lay in a wet heap. Her body still. “Hayley!” Everyone was screaming her name now. The adults at the party, the other children. And Maddie. Especially Maddie.
“Hayley, wake up!” Maddie rushed to her daddy’s side, but he held her back. “Go inside, Maddie. Go!”
By then sirens were screaming in the distance. Shrill and piercing, sirens that told Maddie, even at five years old, the truth. This wasn’t a dream. Hayley had fallen in the pool without her life jacket and now she wasn’t breathing.
Her dad had told her to go inside, but Maddie hadn’t obeyed him. While her father pressed Hayley’s chest over and over, Maddie found a place at the side of the pool. There, halfway hidden in the bushes, she watched and cried and prayed. Please, God . . . please bring her back to life. Please!
And then there was a rush of feet and noise as paramedics ran into the backyard and they took over, doing CPR on Hayley’s little body. That’s when Maddie caught a glimpse of her baby sister that stayed with her still.
Hayley’s mouth was open . . . her eyes, too. Her face was blue and she was dead. Hayley was dead. There was no way around it. And Maddie ran into the house and hid under her friend’s bed. She stayed there for a long time until one of the mothers found her.
And every single image from that day still lived in Maddie’s mind as vividly as if it had just happened. Torturing Maddie. Reminding her day after day, night after night, of the truth.
Hayley had drowned at that long-ago birthday party because of her.
Because she hadn’t kept an eye on her little sister.
That’s why Maddie didn’t dare let herself fall in love. Because Hayley might’ve been given a miracle, a second chance at life. But that didn’t mean Hayley’s life would truly ever be the way it should’ve been. She would never experience love or independence the way she should have.
When Maddie woke up the next morning, exhausted from the memories of the night, she was convinced all over again. If Hayley couldn’t live a normal life, she wouldn’t either.
Period.
CHAPTER NINE
December fifteenth was Erin’s birthday.
Every year, without fail, John Baxter had brought flowers to his daughters on their birthdays. Even Erin. Even now. He got up early, went to the florist, and chose a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses. Erin’s favorites.
Then he took a drive that was too familiar. A drive to the local cemetery. John parked and trudged through the snow to the series of gravestones. Elizabeth. Little Sarah. Sam and Clarissa, Chloe and Heidi Jo. And there next to her mother—John’s youngest daughter, Erin.
As John leaned down, as he anchored the bouquet of yellow roses deep into the icy snow, he saw something. An envelope in a plastic Ziploc bag. Proof that he wasn’t the first one here this morning.
And he wasn’t the only one thinking of Erin today.
John picked up the bag and removed the letter from inside. It was from Ashley and it simply read: Happy Birthday, Erin. I know you’re happy in Heaven. I’m sure of it. But down here we still miss you. Especially today. I love you, Ashley.
The cold air stung John’s eyes as he blinked away a layer of tears. Beneath her name, Ashley had written one more thing:
P.S.—I’m sorry about Christmas Eve. I just don’t know that I can do it. Dad’s right. It’s probably what you would do. But then . . . you always were stronger than me.
“Ah, Ashley . . .” He folded the note, put it back in the plastic bag and slid it beneath the yellow roses. “My poor girl.”
Her note made him think. He needed to make sure Ashley knew it was okay. Okay that she missed the Christmas Eve with Kendra Bryant. Because Ashley was right. Not all of them could handle such a meeting.
Especially so soon after Erin’s birthday.
Later John and Elaine drove to Indianapolis to finish their Christmas shopping. He told Elaine about Ashley’s note, how she had basically apologized for not being able to participate in Christmas Eve dinner.
“You need to talk to her.” Elaine looked like she could cry. “It’s one thing to meet with the woman. But if Ashley feels like that, how does Luke feel? The two of them need to hear from you, John.”
He agreed, so on the way home that day—with their car full of Christmas gifts—John called Luke first, and then Ashley. He told both of them he was okay with the fact that they weren’t joining in for the Christmas Eve dinner. And that he was sorry for putting them in the situation to begin with. “You’re right to listen to your heart in this,” he told each of them separately. “I wouldn’t want you to feel like you were disappointing me. Or like Erin would be disappointed.”
Luke’s response came easily. “I get it, Dad. It’s just not how I want to spend Christmas Eve.” He still sounded somewhat tense about the situation. But John understood. He knew Luke would be fine come Christma
s morning.
The call with Ashley wasn’t as simple. Her tone was sharp from the beginning. “Dad, you don’t understand. I guess I figured you’d care more about what I want than what some stranger wants.”
“I care deeply about you, Ash.” John cast Elaine a frustrated look. “You can’t really mean that.”
“I do mean it. You chose her over us.”
“I didn’t choose her over . . .” John released a shaky breath. “I only wanted to reach out to her. Please . . . try to understand.”
Ashley was quiet for a few seconds. “What about Amy? How could you be okay with bringing this woman into our family when you know it’s going to hurt her? And me and Luke? At least the three of us.”
John thought about disagreeing. They still didn’t know for sure about how Amy would feel. She might be glad to meet Kendra. Now they’d never know. He kept his thoughts to himself. “I don’t want to fight about it.”
Ashley didn’t respond at first. When she finally did, she sounded like she was crying. “I don’t want to fight either. I’m sorry for getting so upset.”
“No. Don’t be sorry. The whole thing is my fault.” John gripped the steering wheel. There was no way to make things right without letting Kendra down. And what sort of Christian example would that be? “Forgive me, Ashley. I really thought you’d want to be there.”
“No way.” She hesitated. “I’m curious. But, Dad, on Christmas Eve? I think I’d cry for a week.”
When the call was over, just as they reached Bloomington again, John turned to Elaine. “I wish I could undo the whole thing. Like Luke said, we could’ve planned to meet her after the new year.”
Elaine took hold of his hand. “But for some reason God led you to make the plans now. At Christmastime.” She settled back into her seat. “You did the right thing by calling them. You need to pray that God will show you why it was important to meet Kendra now.”
“True.”
“My guess is . . . this has a lot more to do with her than with any of the rest of us, John. Even you.”
They were the exact words John needed to hear. God called His people to think of others first. That’s all John had been trying to do by inviting Kendra over. Now they’d all have to find a way to get through the next few weeks.
Even if Christmas wasn’t going to be the same because of it.
Kendra had received the package in the mail a week ago. An early Christmas present, from John Baxter and his wife, Elaine. The gift was a Bible study about the family of Jesus. In his card, John explained that there was no time like Christmas to get to know Jesus and His family.
Even for someone who had never believed in God before.
This Saturday morning, days before Christmas, Kendra was snuggled under a blanket a few feet from the tree, completely caught up in the book. Moe was downstairs cleaning the garage.
Kendra ran her thumb over the cover of the book. Funny, how she had never thought about the family of Jesus. Probably because she had never thought much about Jesus, Himself. But in the last few days, she was touched at the possibility of Mary being visited by an angel and being told she was going to give birth to the Savior of the world. God in the flesh, wrapped in a blanket, safe in her arms.
With her heart defect, Kendra had long since given up the idea of having a baby—though at one time it had been her lifelong dream. But if she could have a child, if she gave birth to a son, she could hardly imagine seeing him born—only to be chased by wicked kings and discredited by a band of religious leaders and then finally, as a young man, to die on a cross.
As she read, Kendra could feel herself opening up a little more to the possibility. She couldn’t help but think her mother would’ve liked the book. What if the Christmas story was more than a nice fable? More than a reason to decorate a tree and sing pretty songs and wrap presents?
Kendra wasn’t finished yet but every page captivated her. Especially the story of Joseph. The Bible wasn’t something Kendra had ever read, of course. But she knew enough about Joseph that his story spoke to her. Here was this guy who never expected any of the craziness that came with being engaged to Mary. He had to believe that his fiancée hadn’t cheated on him, had to stand up to public ridicule. Then once baby Jesus was born, Joseph had to keep him safe by fleeing with his family again and again.
Joseph must’ve loved Mary more than life itself. That’s what Kendra had always wanted from Moe. A devotion that would go the distance when life got tough.
When the book first arrived, Moe had spotted it on the kitchen counter. “What’s this?” He’d held it up, his brow wrinkled.
“A gift. From John Baxter.”
“Kendra.” Moe had released a ten-ton sigh. “It’s not normal. Your friendship with that family.”
“Of course it’s not normal.” Kendra had refrained from raising her voice. “I’m alive because of their loss. But maybe I’m supposed to get more than a heart from them.”
Moe had given her a look that was more sympathetic than understanding. “Like what? A new understanding of life? Some kind of faith in God?”
“Maybe.” Kendra had held her ground. “Things happen for a reason. I’ve always believed that.”
Moe had flipped through the pages and then after a few seconds tossed the book back onto the kitchen counter. “They should’ve told you the heart came with strings attached.”
“Moe!” Kendra still remembered the sting of his comment. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
He had rolled his eyes and stormed out of the room. In the moments that followed—for the first time in her life—Kendra did something she had never done before.
She prayed. Or at least she talked to God. For the first time it occurred to her that the two were one and the same.
Not quite sure to Whom she was talking, Kendra had looked out the window and whispered her prayer out loud. “God, if You’re real . . . if You’re listening . . . could You soften Moe’s heart, please? Our marriage is a mess right now, and truthfully . . . I don’t think we’re going to make it. But if You’re there, and if You’re real . . . then You can do anything. Even this.” She had paused. “Anyway, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Sincerely, Kendra Bryant.”
At first, Kendra didn’t notice anything different. If anything, she felt a little foolish. Because what good could come from talking to the air?
But then . . . a few hours later, after she’d long forgotten her prayer, the wildest thing happened. Out of the blue, Moe came home between tax planning appointments and found her reading the book. He helped her gently to her feet, took the book and set it down on the couch. “I’m sorry, Kendra. My attitude earlier, it was completely uncalled for.”
Kendra had practically fallen back to her seat. She had wanted to tell him she agreed, that his words had hurt her and made her feel distant and alone. But she was so surprised—and so thankful—she could only listen.
Then, Moe had looked straight at her. The way he used to . . . like he still loved her. What he said next had stayed with her to this day. “Your surgery was like a turning point for us. The worst kind, and I can’t figure out why.” He ran his hand over her dark hair. “You came home from the hospital and ever since it seems all we do is fight.”
“I know.” She had looked down at the place where their feet came together, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I hate it.”
“I hate it, too.” With the softest touch, Moe had lifted her chin so their eyes met again. “It’s my fault. All of it.”
“Work’s been hard for you.” Kendra had felt the stirrings of compassion toward him. “This time of year is always rough.” The love in his eyes had felt wonderful. “And you’ve been worried about me. That’s part of it.”
“No. There’s no excuse.” His eyes had held hers. “Anyway, I’m sorry. You deserve better.”
“Thank you.”
He had picked up her book and handed it to her. “God isn’t real. We both know that. But if you want to read the book, that
’s fine. It was a thoughtful gift. And Christmastime is for sharing nice thoughts.” Then he’d kissed her lips, tenderly, in a way that took her breath. “No matter what you believe about God.”
Every day since then, Moe had been kinder. More willing to talk about Kendra’s feelings, her interest in Jesus and His family. Her curiosity about John Baxter and Erin’s siblings. Like he’d undergone a different sort of heart transplant.
The memory lifted. Kendra closed the book and set it on the floor. She stretched her legs out on the sofa and propped her head on the arm. The tree was more beautiful this year. Or maybe Christmas was more beautiful. She put her hand on her chest and felt the steady beat. The pulsing rhythm that kept her alive and whole.
The heart that had once beat in the chest of Erin Baxter Hogan.
What had she been like?
Kendra replayed the details she knew. She’d looked her up on Facebook when she first found out the young woman’s name. Her family had left her page up. Forever frozen in time the day before the accident.
Erin had been a wonderful mother and a happy wife. She and her husband were killed in the wreck, along with three of their four daughters. The one who survived now lived with her aunt and uncle in Bloomington. Part of John Baxter’s extended Baxter family.
But beyond that, Kendra knew nothing. She could only wonder.
Something she didn’t talk about with Moe or her doctor or anyone else was the fact that she felt different since the surgery. Kinder. More calm. More aware of relationships at a deeper level. She closed her eyes. Was that possible? Had she gotten more than a piece of flesh and blood when she got Erin Baxter Hogan’s heart? Was there some other aspect of Erin’s soul that had crossed over, also?
Kendra breathed deep and sat up. She needed to finish the dishes and wrap a few gifts. Presents she had bought for John Baxter, and Erin’s siblings. And little Amy. Erin’s surviving daughter. Moe didn’t know she’d spent money on the gifts yet. But she had a feeling he wouldn’t be angry with her. Even though finances were tight.