The door was made up of geometric patterns of art glass, with thick glass-block sidelights. Light streamed through, but she couldn’t make out the person’s idenity. “Who is it? Can you come back later?”
“A hungry traveler,” the visitor answered. “Hoping you might have some peanut butter to share.”
20
Amber couldn’t get the door open fast enough. “Boyce!” She flung herself into his arms. “How did you—? When—?”
He pressed his fingers against her lips. “I’ll tell you everything. But first . . .” He held her against his chest and kissed her until her knees went weak. He tipped his head. “You ran off before I had a chance to say something to you.”
“Wh-What?”
“I love you, too.”
She almost melted, then remembered they were standing in an open doorway and she was in her bathrobe. “Come inside. Give me a minute to dress. The kitchen’s that way.” She pointed. “The peanut butter’s in the pantry, the bread’s in the bread box on the counter. I’ll be right back.”
She flew up the stairs, jerked on clothes, quickly brushed her teeth, began to brush her hair, and then, realizing she was losing valuable time with Boyce, tossed the brush aside and ran down to the kitchen.
He was sitting at the counter, smearing peanut butter on a slice of bread. “Found it,” he said.
She stood in front of him, braced her hands on the countertop, and caught her breath. “I can’t believe you came all this way just to eat my peanut butter. Why did you come?”
“My project in Uganda was finished, and I’m headed home. I routed myself through Miami so I could see you and Heather. I grabbed a cab from the airport.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I catch a plane tonight.”
“Can’t you stay longer? We have plenty of room—”
“I have finals starting Monday morning. And my family’s expecting me.”
“Oh.” She felt let down. “Did you mean what you said about loving me?”
“If you’d hadn’t taken off like a scared rabbit, I would have told you in Uganda.”
“Sorry. I—I’ve never said that to a guy before.”
“Here’s a tip: Don’t say it and then run away.” He grinned. “I’m glad I was first.”
She noticed he didn’t say, “You’re also the first for me.” “Well, at least you’re here now. Heather’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
“Tell me what’s going on with her.”
“She’s in liver failure. She’s on the transplant list, but—” Amber hated to tell him how hopeless it was. She stared down at his large rough hand covering hers and began to cry. “Sh-She’s not going to make it, Boyce.”
He was beside her in a second and holding her in his arms. “I want to tell her goodbye.”
“We’ll go to the hospital as soon as you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go.”
She told the nurses in the ICU he was a cousin, just passing through. They gave her no argument. Amber helped him put on the protective clothing and took him inside Heather’s room.
Heather’s eyes widened when she saw him. “Boyce? I—I don’t believe it.”
If he was shocked by her appearance, he didn’t show it. “I don’t know how you recognized me in this outfit.”
“I’d know those eyes anywhere.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Liar. I know how bad I look.”
“You’ll always be beautiful to me, Heather Barlow.”
“Boyce is on his way home,” Amber said. “He just came by to say . . . hello. Right, Boyce?” She’d almost slipped.
Heather’s gaze softened. “Just passing through, huh?”
“I can catch a plane from Miami just as easily as from Atlanta. Except I didn’t know anyone in Atlanta.”
“I’m glad you came. Seeing you reminds me of last summer. It was the best time, the happiest time of my whole life.”
“I think of Ian, too,” Boyce said automatically, as if he’d read her mind. “He was my friend, and I miss him.”
“I look forward to seeing him again. And I know I will. Soon.” Heather’s gaze drifted to Amber. “My family’s the only reason I’ve been holding on so hard.”
Amber felt a shiver of fear.
Boyce took Heather’s hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Look after my sister.”
“If she’ll let me.”
“She’s stubborn.”
“Hey, you two,” Amber broke in. “I’m standing right here, you know. I’m hearing every word you’re saying.”
“She’s also vocal.” Boyce winked at Heather. “What else can I do for you?”
“Pray with me.”
Still holding her hand and without hesitation, Boyce knelt on the floor and bowed his head. Self-consciously Amber dropped beside him. Certainly she’d prayed with him when they’d been on the run. They’d asked God for protection, and for deliverance, and had received both. Now she wanted Boyce to beg God for Heather’s life. Perhaps Boyce had more clout with God than she did. Instead, he asked God to give Heather peace and comfort. And he asked God to give her family courage and strength.
When he had finished, he stood. “Put in a good word for me when you meet the Big Guy.”
Heather nodded. “Only if you’ll remove that stupid mask and kiss me goodbye.”
Boyce lifted the mask and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Go with God, Heather.”
“You too.”
Amber choked back tears.
Heather looked at her and said, “Will you two please go have some fun? I need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll see you later, sis,” Amber said.
“Later,” Heather whispered, and closed her eyes.
Numbly Amber followed Boyce out of her sister’s room.
Night fell like a purple veil, and Amber drove Boyce to the airport. Once he had checked in, she waited with him inside a restaurant for his flight to be called. They were tucked back in a corner booth that overlooked the tarmac, and she could see jets taking off in the distance. They reminded her of lumbering cows as they gathered speed, of svelte giant birds once they freed themselves from the bonds of Earth and rose skyward. Boyce ordered coffee for them both.
“I’m glad you stopped off,” she said. “I’m glad you talked to Heather. I could see it meant a lot to her. And it meant a lot to me, too.”
“I know it’s hard to lose her. She’s lucky to have such a good family around her during all this.”
“If I could stop time, I would.”
Boyce stirred his coffee. “Amber, stopping time would only prolong her suffering. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head, struggling to control her emotions.
“I’ve seen people die in Africa. In Kenya we buried a baby that was only days old. If that baby had gotten sick in this country, a pediatrician could have saved her with a phone call to a drugstore. That’s not the way things are over there. I think that’s why people like Paul and Jodene work so hard to spread the Gospel, so that the people have some kind of comfort when they face death day after day. Knowing that heaven is waiting makes it easier on everyone, especially on those left behind.”
He paused, stared pensively out the window. Out on the tarmac, a jumbo jet coasted toward a docking gate. “Amber, the worst thing that can happen to a person isn’t dying. Everybody dies. The worst thing is to be separated from the love of God.”
“I know I’m being selfish,” Amber confessed. “But I look at the future and I can’t imagine it without her. I don’t know what I’m going to do when she’s gone.”
“You’ll find your way through it because you’re strong. I know that because of the time we spent together in the bush. You showed a lot of determination, a lot of grit. You’re smart, too.”
“So smart that I ran from our rescuers and almost got shot.”
“You had no way of kn
owing who those men were. And when they talked about it later, they said you ran in the opposite direction from where we were located. That’s loyalty, Amber.”
“I—I didn’t want you all to get hurt.”
He reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. “It took courage.”
“So what do I do after Heather’s gone? Do you have any answers for me? Because I don’t think loyalty, courage, and determination are worth much if there’s nothing to focus them on.”
“When you go to college, something will grab your attention and you’ll go after it with the same kind of single-mindedness that you showed in Africa. It’s out there waiting for you to discover.”
She blew her nose on a paper napkin. “Are you telling me we won’t see each other again?”
“I’m telling you that as much as I’d like that right now, I’ll only be in your way. I’d be a distraction. You have to work out your future for yourself. You’re right on the edge, Amber. It’s there. You’re here.” He drew imaginary lines on the table. “Go get it.”
His green eyes bore into hers, challenging her to reach for something she still couldn’t visualize. Her future might look shining to him, but she saw only a dark pit. She had no plans. She had no dreams. She didn’t know where to find them. “Will you wait for me?”
He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. “I’ll wait.”
She felt as if her heart was breaking. She was losing her sister, losing him, too, in a way. He knew the path he was walking. She still had to find hers. What if it took too long? What if someone else came along he liked better? What if he got tired of waiting for her?
“It’s time for me to go,” Boyce said after glancing at his watch.
“I’ll walk you to your gate.”
“No. Go back to the hospital. You’ve got to finish this chapter of your life before you can move on to the next.”
He stood, scooped up his backpack, and kissed her mouth. “Remember, I love you. I would have told you that in Uganda, but you beat me to it.”
She followed him to the restaurant entrance, watched him step into the passing crowd. She watched until he melted into the flow of fellow travelers heading for the rest of their lives.
Twenty-four hours later, Heather slipped into a coma, where she lived for another day before God called her home and the doctor turned off her life support.
That afternoon Amber sent an old-fashioned telegram to Paul and Jodene in Uganda, since they had no fax, no phone, no Internet service. The message read:
Heather went to be with the Lord this morning, 10 AM STOP She hurts no more STOP She is with Ian now STOP I miss her STOP Forever END
21
Amber leaned out over the ship’s railing and watched the bow of the great white ship cut through the water like a giant steel blade. The ship had been under way all day, leaving London in fog and drizzle. Out here on the high seas, the overcast skies were finally breaking up and sun was streaking through the billowing gray clouds like fingers raking through soil.
“Careful. It’s a long way down.”
Amber turned and saw a brown-eyed girl about her age. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a grip on the rail.”
The girl rested her elbows beside Amber’s hands and lifted her face to the breeze. Her brown hair tumbled away from her face. “Don’t you just love the smell of the sea? I think I’ve been looking forward to this more than actually getting to Africa.” She turned toward Amber and smiled. “I’m Sherri Dicker-son, from Greenbrier, Arkansas. I’d never seen the ocean until I got on this ship. I can’t believe there’s so much water! Just sky and water . . . everywhere you look.”
Amber introduced herself. She didn’t want to be impolite, but she wished Sherri would go away. She wanted to be alone.
“This is my first time on a Mercy Ship. How about you?” Sherri asked.
“First time for me, too.”
“I’ve been wanting to travel to Africa all my life, and when the youth pastor at my church started telling us about how he went on this ship when he was a teenager, well, I knew that was just what I wanted to do.” Sherri slapped the rail for emphasis. “You too?”
“I’ve been to Africa before.”
“You have?” Sherri looked impressed. “When?”
“Last year. I went with my mother to Uganda. She’s a doctor. I stayed for almost eight weeks. And I never thought I’d ever go back.”
“Uganda! That’s where I’m going as part of Dr. Henry’s team.” Sherri’s smile widened.
Amber was part of the same team, but she didn’t tell Sherri. The girl would find out soon enough when they had their first shipboard meeting as a group the next morning.
A year had passed since Heather’s death. A tough year for Amber. She’d kept her promise to her father and enrolled in the local junior college in September because the freshman class was full at the University of Miami, her first choice. She hadn’t minded. She lived at home, went to classes, worked part-time in a shoe store, saw a few high-school friends who had opted to remain in Miami.
“What’s Uganda like?” Sherri asked. “I’ve read about it, but you’re the first person I’ve actually talked to who’s gone there.”
“Uganda’s beautiful. Lots of wide-open spaces. Except in Kampala. It’s a big city with a million people and one traffic light.”
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”
Amber wasn’t, but she didn’t want a long, drawn-out conversation with this girl, so she shrugged. “You’ll see.”
“How about the people? Did you like the people? Mama says I’m a people person, but I’m really sort of shy. I mean, what do you talk about with people who live so different from us?”
“The people are the best part,” Amber said, thinking about Ruth and Patrick. “You’ll never meet better people anyplace.” She’d written them after Heather’s funeral, telling them about her sorrow, that she felt like crying all the time. Ruth had responded, “God uses the tears of suffering to cause growth in the gardens of our lives. This is a strange thing, but it is true. I would not be the woman I am today if not for what I suffered in my past. God will be with you, rafiki. He will cause you to grow in your season.”
“So why are you going back? Is it because you met someone over there?” Sherri brushed away the hair that blew into her eyes.
“I met lots of people. So will you, and you’ll care about them even if you don’t think you will.”
Boyce had called Amber and sent numerous e-mails. He was doing well in school and expected to graduate at the end of the summer term. She would be in Uganda when he did. He would start work for his father immediately. His name would go on the door of the firm in gold letters. She was proud of him. Proud to know him. Proud to have loved him. She did still.
“Is that why you’re going back? To be with the people you met before?”
Along with the other members of Dr. Henry’s team, Amber would stay with Paul and Jodene. She was pleased about that part. And they were really looking forward to her coming. But that wasn’t why she was returning. “No,” she told Sherri. “I’m going because I must.”
Sherri looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. Why must you?”
Her parents had asked the same question. They had begged her to rethink her decision. She was their only child. What if something happened to her? What about college? Was she just dropping out? She was only eighteen. What was she thinking?
She’d tried to explain to them how she’d been adrift for months and just going through the motions of living, of belonging. She loved them, but she wanted to fulfill her destiny. And somehow she knew it lay not in living in her sister’s shadow, but in following in her footsteps and finding a path that belonged only to Amber.
She looked into Sherri’s eyes. “My sister once told me, ‘Sometimes you have to do it before you feel it.’ That’s why I went to Africa the first time—just to do it. Now I’m going because I feel it. More than anything, I want t
o go.”
“Oh,” Sherri said, her expression one of confusion. She brightened. “Well, I hope we can be friends.”
“Rafiki. That’s ‘friend’ in Swahili.”
Sherri repeated the word. “Cool . . . now I know some Swahili.” A bell sounded. “Dinner.” Sherri stepped away from the rail. “You coming?”
“In a minute. Will you save me a seat?”
“Will do.”
She left, and Amber turned back to the open sea. This dark blue water was much different from the pale green surf along the shores of Miami’s beaches, but they were one and the same ocean. She breathed in the salty, briny scent and turned her face skyward, toward the lead-colored clouds shot through with shafts of sunlight.
All at once the clouds divided and, like stars falling from space, two gulls swooped downward. Amber thought it odd that the birds should be so far from land, but she watched them soar and dip and glide like graceful ballerinas, untethered to the earth as she was. And she envied them. They seemed so joyous as they danced with the wind, these feathered wind sprites, these wayward vagabonds. They were together, yet separate, a pair dancing in perfect unison to the music of a song only they knew.
Perhaps Heather and Ian were together in the same way in heaven, soaring with the angels. The thought gave Amber great comfort.
The gulls dipped low across the bow of the ship, so close she could almost reach out and touch them. Then their graceful wings began to flap and they rose through a shaft of sunlight into the bank of clouds and disappeared. She stared at the sky for a long time, but they did not reappear.
But their wind dance had moved something inside her heart. Like the lid of a hinged box, her heart seemed to open, and the heaviness that had weighed her down for months lifted. Surely the gulls had been an omen, a sign from God that she was not alone. The birds were free, just as she was free. Her childhood was over, but she was beginning the greatest adventure known to her kind—an adventure called life.