“I’d see my counselor every week, but deep inside I knew I wasn’t going to make it. It was like I could hear this train in the distance coming to take me away. Every day it got a little bit closer. It was pretty close to my stop when one day this sweet girl shows up to bus tables at work. She was so young; I thought she was a child, but she acted much older than she looked. And she worked hard. I didn’t know her story, but there was a lot of talk about her among the other waitresses. I noticed that she only had a few outfits. I’m sure she sensed that something was wrong with me, but she never said anything. She would just smile, and she always had a cheerful word. She made sure my tables were watered, and got cleared first. She was a waitress’s dream.
“One night, the day before Thanksgiving, near the end of my shift, this guy came in with a little girl. She looked just like my little girl. I tried not to look at her. While they were ordering, he called her Angela. I took their order then went back to the kitchen and collapsed. I was sitting there on the floor crying. No one knew what to do. Except Macy. She got on the floor with me and put her arms around me, and even though she didn’t know why I was crying, she held me. She took the order out to the man and his daughter and took care of my tables until I was able to pull myself together.
“After my shift we went out to my car and just talked.
“I couldn’t believe the insight this young woman had. Or maybe it was just that she was willing to listen. When we finished talking, it was probably three in the morning. I knew that she usually walked home, so I asked if I could give her a ride. Even though we were in my car, she refused. She didn’t want to tell me where she lived. It took a while but I finally got her to admit that she was living at the homeless shelter about a mile down the street. I invited her to come home with me.”
The love Joette felt for Macy was evident in her eyes. “That was five years ago. I guess we just got so busy living together that the train just passed me by.” She smiled at me. “So you and I have something in common. I thought I was saving Macy when the opposite was true. You thought Macy was sent here to save you. I think it’s also the other way around.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you showed up when you did.” Then she looked into my eyes. “I’m dying, Mark.”
“What?”
“Macy told you that I had cancer.”
I nodded. “She said you had it in your eye.”
“Ocular melanoma. And she also told you that it’s in remission.”
“Right.”
“It was. But it’s come back. And it’s stage four.”
“What does that mean?”
“In my case it means the cancer has metastasized to my liver.”
I just looked at her in disbelief. “How bad is that?”
“Pretty much as bad as it gets. I’m out of options—no surgery, no chemo. They just sent me home and told me to get my affairs in order.”
I was stunned. “How long?”
“A few months. Maybe less.”
For a moment I was speechless. My mouth went dry. “But Macy thinks you’re fine.”
“Macy just thinks I’m sick and should see a doctor. She doesn’t know I’ve seen too many of them.”
“Why haven’t you told her?”
“Because I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
I looked at her quizzically. “For me?”
“I prayed that God would send someone to take my place. I think He sent you.”
I didn’t speak for a moment. Another waitress walked up carrying our orders. “There’s your Cobb, Jo. And for your cute friend, a Reuben. Can I get you anything else?”
“No. Thanks, Emily.”
“Enjoy.”
Joette turned back to me. I didn’t even look at my food. “I take it they don’t know either.”
She shook her head. “Not yet.” She leaned back. “You know, Mark, the longer I live, the more I see a pattern to our lives. The universe is a trillion, trillion threads moving in seemingly unrelated directions. Yet when you look at them together, they create a remarkable tapestry. You think she saved you. She did. But that’s so you could save her.”
I looked at my cup, unsure of what to say. Finally I asked, “When are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t wait much longer. It’s already obvious I’m not well. In another week or two I’ll have to quit work. That’s why I wanted to make sure you were still around.”
“She won’t take my calls…”
“She loves you, Mark. She’s fighting it, but she does. To get through to her it’s going to take a lot of faith on your part—enough for both of you. Macy’s greatest hurts have come from those who were closest to her. She wants to get close to you. But think of the risk that poses to her. Everything inside of her tells her to run. It’s self-preservation. And that’s a pretty powerful instinct.”
“How do you break through that?”
She looked at me for a moment and I saw the answer in her eyes. “With love. Unconditional, unrelenting love.”
I breathed in deeply. It was a few moments before I spoke. “I fly back to Alabama this Saturday.”
“Are you coming back?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t planning to. I’ve pretty much shut down my life here.”
Her face showed her disappointment. “I hope that you’ll reconsider. Macy’s worth it.”
“I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m adopting Macy on Friday. It would mean a lot to the both of us if you could be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. Now eat, before your sandwich gets cold.”
We didn’t say much as we ate. I had lost my appetite and ate more out of obligation than hunger. On a napkin she wrote out the time and place of the adoption. When I was finished, we went out to the parking lot. Joette walked me to my car. “Thank you for talking with me. And whatever you decide, I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
I unlocked my car door. “I do love her, Joette.”
“I know. And I love you for that.” We hugged.
When we parted, I said, “I’m sorry that you’re sick.”
Her eyes filled. “Me too.”
On the drive home I turned on the radio to an FM station that played all Christmas music. A saxophone played Silent Night. As I listened, I began to cry for a good woman I had just met and was about to lose.
The attorney handling Macy’s adoption asked if she wanted copies of the final adoption papers sent to Irene Hummel. Macy didn’t see the point in it. Revenge is only for those still chained.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
Friday morning I woke with a headache. I think my body was reacting to the stress of seeing Macy and the truth be known, I didn’t want to go through that again. It didn’t matter. I had already made a commitment to Joette and nothing short of being in a coma would keep me from going.
Even though Macy was an adult, the women still needed to hire an attorney and go through the regular adoption process. The only thing not required was a permission form from the Hummels and home study—something experience had given Macy very little confidence in anyway. Joette knew several attorneys who were among her regulars at Denny’s, and one of them offered to do the legal work for her pro bono.
The adoption was set for noon at the Salt Lake County Courthouse—the courthouse where Macy had been adopted by the Hummels thirteen years earlier. When I arrived, Macy, Joette and their attorney were already there, reading through the paperwork.
A police officer stood near the vacant judge’s bench, and there were a dozen or so other people in the courtroom who looked to be friends of Macy and Joette’s. I walked in and sat down near the back of the room. Joette noticed me and waved. Macy turned and looked at me and she also waved, though there was sadness in her eyes. I mouthed, “Good luck,” and she mouthed back,
“Thank you.”
The judge arrived a few minutes later and everyone in the room rose. Macy and Joette were asked to approach the bench and sit on the side that defendants would normally sit on. Then, at the judge’s beckoning, Macy and Joette entered through a swinging gate and sat down in front of the judge’s desk. He was an older man, bald and wearing a smile nearly as wide as his face.
“Well, young ladies, I thought I’d seen everything in this courtroom, but I’ve never before had the pleasure of presiding over a proceeding such as this one. Under the circumstances, I think it would be appropriate for the two of you to give testimony as to why, at this later age of life, you want to have this adoption take place.”
Neither of the women was expecting to speak, but Joette quickly raised her hand.
“Your honor, I’d like to speak first.”
“By all means.”
As she stood, she suddenly teared up. Macy rubbed her back. Joette raised her hand to her breast and took a deep breath. “When I lost my only child, I was sure no one could ever take her place or heal my heart. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling joy again.
“I was partially right. No one could take her place. But someone did heal my heart. This beautiful young lady seated next to me. I believe that God sent this angel to me. She has given me a reason to live. When she asked if I would be willing to adopt her, I think that hole in my heart was finally filled. Your honor, in my heart Macy is already my daughter. But it would be a great privilege to have the world recognize her as my daughter as well. Thank you.”
Joette sat down next to Macy and they hugged. Everyone else in the room was smiling or crying. The judge beamed.
Then Macy stood, wiping tears back from her eyes. “Thirteen years ago I was brought to this very building to be adopted by a family that didn’t love me and I didn’t want to be a part of. I think it’s appropriate that the room I was adopted in is right behind this one. Because as of today it is all behind me. Today I come of my own choice to be legally bound as a daughter to a woman I love and want to belong to. This woman has done more than give me a place to live; she has taught me the meaning of love and family and home.” She turned to Joette. “I guess it’s never too late to find a home.”
For a moment the two women just looked at each other. Then Macy turned back to the judge. “Thank you, your honor.” She sat down next to Joette and held her. I knew Macy still didn’t know how ill Joette really was, and it was hard to control my emotions. The judge was obviously touched by the women’s words. “Are there any objections to this proceeding?” he asked, though I was pretty sure he’d toss his gavel at anyone who did. The only responses were a few random headshakes, whispered “nos” and one loud “Heck no”.
“Very well, by the authority vested in me by the state of Utah, I hereby grant this adoption. Congratulations to both of you, and may God bless.”
Macy and Joette rose and the whole of the spectators descended upon them. I walked up as well, straggling a bit behind the others. When I got near to Joette, she threw her arms around me.
“Thank you so much for coming.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “You have a new girl.”
Joette just beamed. Macy was talking to someone else and I turned to go, when she excused herself and ran to me. She took my hand and I turned around to face her.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“You’re welcome. Congratulations.”
For a moment we just looked at each other. She looked down and swallowed. “I don’t want you to leave.”
I looked down, avoiding her eyes.
“There’s nothing here for me,” I said.
She looked back up, and I could see the pain my statement caused her. She bowed her head and lifted her hand to cover her eyes. I put my arms around her and pulled her into my chest, and she began to sob. It was painful seeing her hurt. It was also painful being this close to someone I loved and couldn’t have. Still, in a twisted sort of way, something inside of me was glad. After a week of solitary suffering, I was tired of being the only one hurting over all this. But in the end I couldn’t enjoy whatever perverse pleasure I was feeling, because I didn’t want to see her in pain. More proof that I really did love her. After a few minutes I kissed the top of her head.
“Good luck, Mace. You take care of yourself.”
She stepped back from me and looked me in the eyes. I have never had anyone look deeper into my soul. Still, as difficult as it was, I took a deep breath and turned from her. She was quickly surrounded by people who were happy for her and who thought they knew why she was crying.
I have learned first hand that one well-placed truth can counter a lifetime of ignorance.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
Saturday morning as the sun peeked over the Wasatch Range, I picked Victor up and we drove to the airport. Even though I pushed thoughts of Macy from my mind, there were reminders everywhere I looked. How could we have created so much history in such a brief time? I wondered. For the first time since I met him, Victor’s conversation actually concerned something pertinent to the real world. He wanted to know why I was going back to Alabama. I couldn’t really answer him. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. “It’s just time,” I said.
He had already paid me for my car, and he dropped me off curbside at the Delta terminal. I pulled my two bags from the trunk. We said goodbye and he drove off in my Malibu. I curb-checked my bags, shoved my boarding pass into my shirt pocket and went inside the terminal to wait.
My flight took me from Salt Lake City International through Atlanta’s Hartsfield with a three-hour layover. I had plenty of time to think. Macy was right about one thing: in the last four weeks I had thought little about my mother. It was not that she was forgettable; it was rather that I was afraid of where those thoughts might take me. Now, as I prepared to face my loss head-on, I realized how distant I really was from home. I didn’t even know where my mother was buried. I called my Aunt Marge from the Atlanta airport and told her that I was coming home. She was elated at the news and offered to pick me up at the airport, but I turned her down. I needed time alone. I did accept her offer to stay at her house. That way my father would never even know I was in town. Not that he’d care.
I landed in Huntsville around 6 P.M. Maybe sixteen minutes past. I carried my bags, then walked directly out of the terminal and hailed a cab. The driver seemed a little perplexed by my destination.
“I’m taking you to the city cemetery?”
“Yes, sir.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
The cab dropped me and my luggage off and, at my request, left. My aunt had told me the approximate location of my mother’s grave in the cemetery. I wasn’t really sure how I’d get to my aunt’s house; I just knew I didn’t want anyone around.
It was snowing lightly, and there was more snow on the ground than I ever remembered having in Huntsville—nothing compared to Salt Lake City—but enough to make walking difficult. I hid my bags behind a hedge, then trudged in ankle-deep snow between the stones, scanning the names. I searched for nearly twenty minutes without luck and began to wonder if I had misunderstood the directions my aunt had given me. I was walking back toward my bags when I found these words carved into rose granite:
Alice Liddel Smart
Beloved Wife and Mother
June 16, 1946—October 23, 1988
Only at that moment did my mother’s death become fully real to me. I fell to my knees and began to cry. Then, in anguish, I shouted, “Mom,” the word muffled in the quiet, snow-draped setting. I fell forward to my hands, and my body heaved while the snow collected on and around me. I didn’t brush it away. I wanted it to cover me, to bury me with her—“Why did you leave, Mom?”
The winter sun was beginning to wane, leaving the cemetery chill and in shadows. I knelt there motionless and cold as the stone in front of me.
I don’t know how long I’d been there before I heard the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. I
looked to see who it was. It was Stu. I stood up and he stopped walking. We just stared at each other. He stood about twenty feet from me wearing his oil-stained navy blue mechanic’s jacket, the one with the patch with his name sewed on it. I was angry at him for trespassing on my grief.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Marge told me.”
Now I was angry at her as well.
“How you been?” he asked.
“Since when do you care how I’ve been?”
He just looked at me with a hollow stare. There was no anger in his gaze—at that moment I had a monopoly on anger. “I’ll tell you how I’m doing. I lost my mother, two girls and my scholarship to school. I’ve been cleaning toilets to get by. But I’m sure that makes you happy.”
He rubbed his face. “No. It don’t.”
As much as I wanted to leave, I suppose, in my own way, I was finally standing my ground. “Why did you come?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
He couldn’t answer. He sniffed and looked around. Then he looked down at his feet. After a while he said, “I was afraid I might never see you again.”
He was right. I hadn’t intended on ever seeing him again. Still his reply surprised me. “You spent your whole life chasing me away, and now you’re afraid I might not come back?”
“I guess so.”
I didn’t know what was going through his mind, but I knew that this was likely my only chance to say what needed to be said.
“So why did you have to make everything so hard? Why couldn’t you have been a real father?”
I expected him to lash out at me, but he just stood there looking at me sadly. He took a deep breath. “Alright. Come with me. It’s time you knew.”