Oceans Apart

  The things he was begging Him for.

  First on the list was that somehow, someday, he and his son might find a way to bridge the ocean that lay between them. And now, after years of not seeing Connor or his wife, Michele had called and wanted to visit. Loren studied his handwriting, the way he'd carefully written out the request:

  Span the bridge, God. Bring me and my boy back together.

  Yes, this visit from Michele had to be part of the answer, he had no doubt. The thing he wasn't sure about was exactly what part her visit would play. After all, seeing her couldn't possibly remove the thing that stood largest in the way of bringing the two of them together.

  Because that thing was pride. A pilot's pride. After twenty-five years in the skies, Loren Evans knew a thing or two about pilot's pride. A pilot couldn't afford to be wrong, not ever. Not that pilots didn't make mistakes; that wasn't it. But when a pilot erred, he didn't view his actions as a mistake. He viewed it as a change in plans, something to be battled and dealt with.

  Wrong was almost never admitted, at least not among the more talented pilots.

  It had been that way for Loren, and he was certain it was that way for his son. That type of pride didn't always fall away when a pilot stepped out of his uniform at the end of a day.

  The very thing that made Connor and him strong as pilots was the reason the two of them hadn't spoken in nearly eight years.

  For most of that time, Loren had been content to wait. His decision not to give Connor the money for the airport was the right one. He stood by it even now. The boy had no idea what it took to run an airport. His only reason for wanting to buy the property was so he could run from the FAA investigation.

  Loren understood. No pilot liked being scrutinized by the FAA. But Loren had followed the case from a distance, talking to pilots in the know and getting the rest of the details when Michele called each Christmas. Connor's case had been dropped, just the way Loren knew it would be. Connor was most certainly a stronger pilot for the trials he'd gone through that year.

  So through the first six years, Loren waited for Connor's call.

  Once, halfway through that period, Michele asked him the obvious. “Don't wait for him to call you, Loren. Call him. That would solve everything.”

  Ah, but that's where she was wrong. It was where she was still wrong.

  A year ago Christmas, Michele called and conversation turned to Connor. “Does he forgive me yet?”

  She made a tired sound. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “No, Loren. He's holding onto it like his life depends on it.” Her voice had filled with tears. “I'm sorry. It's Christmastime, and I wish … I wish more than anything that he'd call you.”

  The brokenness of her voice that year stayed with him for days. Later that week, his doctor expressed concern about his blood pressure.

  “People don't live forever, Mr. Evans,” the doctor had said. “You're on as much medication as we can give you. If the pressure keeps going up, it'll only be a matter of time.”

  Combined with Michele's sorrow, the events of that December caused him to do something he hadn't done since his beloved Laurel was alive. He went to church and prayed for his son. But he realized a truth that stood to this day. A hundred phone calls from him wouldn't help bridge the distance between them.

  Not as long as Connor thought he was right.

  No, it would take a change on Connor's part. A realization that he no longer had a need to stay angry about the money Loren hadn't lent him. An understanding that he was wrong to walk out that day, wrong to make a declaration that their relationship was over. And until he could admit that much, Loren was helpless to make a move.

  Still, he prayed about it.

  And since that Christmas, he hadn't missed a week at church. The new awareness of God and His workings in Loren's life had caused some changes in him, made him a little less rough around the edges, a bit more quick to recognize his faults.

  He saw less of Connor's sisters these days; the girls were busy with their children, caught up in their own lives. The extra time allowed him more golf games with his friends from church, more time to play croquet with a few of the guys from the local school board he'd been appointed to.

  But most important, it gave him more time to pray for Connor.

  And for the next thirty minutes, until he heard Michele's car pull up in the driveway, he did just that.

  Michele's palms were sweaty as she headed up the walkway and knocked on Loren Evans's door. She wore a pair of beige slacks and a navy blazer, and she pressed the wrinkles out of it as she waited. Maybe he wouldn't notice the weight she'd gained.

  The moment he opened the door she chided herself for worrying about her looks. Loren lit into a smile that filled his entire face. He was out on the porch hugging her before she had time even to say hello. “Michele, my girl, you look gorgeous!”

  Connor's father had always been like this. Gregarious and outgoing, friendly in a way that made people want to come back soon for another visit. He'd only been reserved around one person—his son. Connor explained it was because his father expected more from him than from other people. Either way, Michele always found it sad that she could hug Loren more easily than his own son could.

  Loren still had his arms around her as she leaned back and took in the sight of him. His hair was whiter than before, thinning some. But otherwise he looked the same. Tall and robust, the same way Connor would no doubt look when he was in his sixties. There was something different about his eyes, but Michele couldn't quite place it. Maybe it was just old age. She kissed his cheek. “How are you, Loren?”

  “I'm good, but I've missed you.” He removed one arm and pointed the way into the house. “And how about those grandbabies of mine?”

  “They're not babies anymore.” Michele followed him into the house and onto a sofa in the front room. Loren sat in an adjacent recliner. “Elizabeth's ten and Susan's eight. They're getting taller every day.”

  “I bet they're beautiful. Just like their mother.”

  There it was again, and this time Michele was certain. It wasn't old age or her imagination. Connor's father had a softness in his eyes that couldn't be explained by something as simple as the passing of time.

  She searched his face, looking for clues. “What's new with you, Loren? You look different somehow.”

  He cocked his head and winked at her. “Evans men age well, that's all.”

  “You've been keeping busy, then?”

  “Actually … I've been hanging out with the church crowd.” He gave her a smile that warmed the room. “Going to service each week, reading the Bible, walking with the Lord.” The smile faded. “Praying for Connor.”

  Michele was glad she was sitting down. She had always liked Connor's father. But even when his wife was alive, he'd only gone to church once in a while to please her. Before their fallout, Loren's lack of faith was one of Connor's gravest concerns.

  And now—despite the season of pain and separation between father and son—God had brought Loren into a place of believing. The reality of what had happened shot a thrill through her, one she had hardly expected from their visit.

  “So how is he, Michele?” Loren settled back into his recliner and lifted the footrest. “Any closer to breaking?”

  Michele folded her hands and looked to the deeper places of Loren's heart. “I think he might be further than ever.” She bit her lip, warding off the tears that already threatened her voice. “Things aren't so good, Loren.”

  He pursed his lips and gave a single nod. “I didn't think so. Something in your voice yesterday.”

  “He and the kids are camping this week. Our annual trip to the lake.”

  “And you're here with your sister?” A shadow fell across his expression. “Then it's worse than I thought.”

  “Yes.”

  Loren returned the footrest to its normal position and slid to the edge of his chair. “Tell me about it, Michele. I want to kn
ow.”

  She hated telling the story, hated the way it drained her and confirmed her new reality all at the same time. Her eyes held his until she found the courage to speak. “Connor had an affair.”

  Loren's reaction played across his eyes like one of those animated billboard signs. Shock, then hurt, then anger. Proof that Loren still had a tough attitude reserved for Connor. “Whatever was the boy thinking?”

  “It was eight years ago, right after the two of you, well, after the two of you stopped talking.”

  Connor's father closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he looked as if he'd aged two years in as many seconds. “Has it happened since?”

  “No. Connor says it hasn't, and I believe him, crazy as that sounds.”

  Loren made a fist with one hand and covered it with the other. He exhaled hard. “So, he kept it from you all these years?”

  “Yes.” Michele blinked so she could see through the wetness that had gathered in her eyes. “He wouldn't have told me at all, but we got a phone call a few weeks ago from an attorney in Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii?”

  “That's where he had the affair.” Michele rattled off the details as she knew them, up to and including Kiahna's death in the plane crash. After a few minutes she came to the point. “Connor has a son, Loren. A boy named Max Riley. He's seven years old, and he's with Connor and the girls right now.”

  Loren's face grew several shades paler. “He got the girl pregnant?”

  “Yes.” Michele used the sleeve of her blazer to dab at her tears. “He didn't know until now.”

  “Connor always wanted a son.” The man's words sounded like he was in a trance, the facts not even close to settling in yet. “And now … is he … is he going to live with you?”

  “Connor wants that, I know he does.” Michele felt her chin quiver. “But I don't think I can do it, Loren. Every time I see the boy I think of his mother.”

  “He looks like her?” Connor's father was spellbound, as shocked by the news as Margie had been.

  “No.” She sniffed. “He looks like Connor.” Her eyes held his. “Actually he looks a lot like you, Loren. But his eyes are green like hers, and … I don't know what to do.”

  “Does Connor know how you feel?”

  “Of course.” She lifted her hands and let them fall again. “Honestly … I don't know if we're going to make it.”

  “Hmm.” He stood, crossed the room, and sat down beside her. “I'm sorry, Michele. So sorry. For all of Connor's stubborn pilot personality, I never thought he'd be unfaithful. He was never that kind of man.”

  “I didn't think so, either.”

  He patted her knee. “I guess I have something else to pray about, don't I?”

  “Yes.” She peered up at him through fresh tears. “Pray for Connor to change his mind about the boy. And pray for me. That I'll hear what God's trying to tell me, okay, Loren?”

  For a long time he looked at her. Then he stroked his chin and his eyes grew thoughtful. “Sometimes the thing He's telling us is not what we expect.”

  The man's words settled like rocks in Michele's heart. If he meant that maybe God wanted her to keep the boy, she wanted to tell him he was wrong. But before she could answer back, Loren smiled and patted her knee again. “I didn't even offer you something to eat.”

  The moment Michele pulled out of the driveway, Loren knew.

  Eighteen months of praying about his relationship with Connor convinced him that what had happened in the past few weeks, the revelation of his son's affair, the reality of the little boy, were not mere random events. Rather they were part of an intricate plan God was working in Connor's life.

  Perhaps in all their lives.

  His first instinct was to work on Michele, wear down her bitterness, convince her that perhaps the little boy should be part of their lives after all. But after sharing a cup of coffee with her, he recognized something about that option. It was self-serving. Because deep in his heart he loved the picture of one day—before his own death—reconciling with Connor and meeting his grandson. The only boy to carry on the Evans name.

  Toward the end of his visit with his daughter-in-law, he silently asked God about it. Tell me, Lord, what do I say to make her change her mind?

  Son … be still and know that I am God. My ways are not your ways.

  Often since that amazing Christmas, Loren had sensed God putting a knowing in his spirit, his soul. Not audible words or even a direct voice, really, but an understanding that the thought currently on the stage of his mind had been sent straight from heaven.

  But this time … this time the words were so clear, Loren couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder. At almost the same time he realized what had happened. No one behind him had spoken, but rather God was determined to make His point.

  Be still and know that I am God … My ways are not your ways …

  Both Bible verses had come up in his reading over the past two months, but now, put together, they formed a message that stopped Loren in his tracks. No question what God wanted him to glean from the words. Though with all his being he wanted to be in control here, help Michele accept Connor's son and find a way to make everyone come together, God wanted him to let that idea go and instead to consider what was best.

  For heaven's sake, not his own.

  And so for the rest of Michele's visit, up to and including the moment when she pulled out of the driveway, Loren thought through the scenario. Michele wasn't being selfish, not really. On a practical note, she and Connor had decided long ago that two children were enough. She ran her own business and would hardly have time for one more set of homework papers, one more load of laundry.

  And this wasn't any other child. It was—as Michele had said—a boy with his mother's eyes, one who would be a constant reminder of Connor's unfaithfulness. Maybe it was Connor who was being selfish in wanting to keep the child. Maybe the greatest way he could show his love for Michele and the girls would be to give the boy up.

  Then there was the boy.

  At first Loren thought that having him stay with Connor and Michele was the best situation for him. But was it?

  The child had spent all his life in Hawaii. He had friends there, and—in the attorney and his wife, and the older baby-sitter—the boy had adults who cared a great deal for him. The sum of it made up his home, the place where he would best remember his mother and feel connected to his past.

  These thoughts, all of them, came as Loren allowed God to bring them. Not as some sort of wishful thinking or attempt to manipulate the outcome, but quiet and slow and true. The way God often brought His ways into focus.

  As Michele left that afternoon, Loren's understanding of what God wanted from them was not only clear, it was urgent. Urgent enough that as he caught his reflection in the entryway mirror, he felt a sureness well up inside him, a prodding of what he had to do next.

  It was something drastic, something he wouldn't have considered doing earlier that day or any other time in the past eight years. He would have to wait until Monday, of course, until the camping trip was over and his son was back home with his three children. But then he would do it, because if God wanted him to, then even a pilot's pride couldn't stop him.

  Come Monday afternoon he would do the one thing that—in light of the recent events—truly could change all their lives forever.

  He would call his son.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Max liked fishing, but he liked sitting beside Mr. Evans even better.

  It was the last day of their camping trip, and he and Mommy's friend had an idea that they wouldn't fish in their chairs. 'Lizabeth and Susan found some friends and so they were swimming. Susan said it was 'cause sometimes even tomboy girls got tired of putting worms on a hook.

  But Max wasn't tired at all. His mommy always said she would teach him to fish. She said it when he was five and when he was six and later when it turned to summer. But she didn't. Mr. Evans said because she ran out of time, that's why.
And now that the camping trip was almost up, Max and Mr. Evans were running out of time, too.

  So that morning Mr. Evans smiled at him and roughed up his hair. “What about something different today, Max?”

  Max wasn't sure what that meant, but he shrugged his shoulders very big and said, “Sure.” Because he trusted Mommy's friend about everything.

  The different thing was that today he and Mr. Evans took their fishing stuff down the beach to the big rock, the one he'd found a few days ago when he wanted to talk to God about his mommy. The rock was tall and warm and just enough bumpy so that they could sit on it side by side and do their fishing.

  Catching fish was really cool, cooler than he ever thought it would be. But sitting beside Mr. Evans was better because they could talk about lots of things. Things like Ramey and Buddy and the stuff he would miss most about his mommy. Mr. Evans didn't treat him like a kid, because guess what? He really listened! His eyes and face told Max that he wanted to know the things Max was saying.

  And that felt better than catching fish.

  Another thing was that his arm was up against Mr. Evans's arm ever since they climbed up and sat on the rock. Mommy's friend had big arms with strong muscles in them. Next to him, Max felt safe.

  Sometimes he even pretended Mr. Evans was his daddy.

  That's the thing he was thinking about right now. Because maybe he would never find his own daddy, but if Mr. Evans would let him get Buddy and come back to Florida, maybe he could stay there and pretend forever that Mr. Evans was his daddy. 'Lizabeth and Susan liked him better now, and maybe Mrs. Evans wouldn't be mad at him when they got back from the trip. So maybe it could work out.

  At breakfast that morning he made a secret plan about that idea. A secret plan was when you had a thing in your head but didn't tell anyone else, not even grown-ups.

  His secret plan was to talk to Mr. Evans that day and ask him if he was really good and if Buddy didn't bark very much, could they come and live there forever.