Under a Summer Sky, page 14
“Well, she didn’t tell anyone . . . at least I told you,” he said, putting his arm around her. “And we’re doing something about it.”
Maddie smiled. It was true. They were doing something about it, and hopefully that something would work.
Asa opened the door, and Harper greeted them happily, wiggling all around. “Hey, there, missy,” Asa said. “Why don’t you go get busy. Your mother thinks you can’t hold your water, but you and I both know she’s the one with that problem.”
Laughing at the truth of his statement, Maddie hurried down the hall.
27
The sun was streaming through the bedroom windows when Laney opened her eyes. She looked over at Noah’s side of the bed and saw the sheets strewn about. Then she looked at the clock—how had she slept so late? She remembered the pouring rain from the night before and felt the cool ocean breeze drifting in, rustling the curtains. What a difference a day makes.
She pulled on her robe and shuffled down the hall, looking in the boys’ rooms as she passed. Ben and Seth were still sound asleep in their bunk beds and Asher was in the small twin bed against the opposite wall with Halle curled up beside him, but when she saw Laney in the doorway, her tail started to thump. “Do you need to go out?” she whispered, and the puppy yawned, hopped off the bed, and padded over. “C’mon, then.” She glanced into the older boys’ room as they walked past, but then she backed up and frowned. Gabe’s bed was a mess, but E’s was still neatly made . . . which meant he was either super-organized or he hadn’t slept in it.
She heard voices and followed Halle down the stairs. Gabe was standing in front of the refrigerator with the open orange juice container in his hand and E was leaning against the counter with a large glass of water. They were both wearing running shorts and dripping with sweat. “Hi, Mom,” Gabe said with a grin as Halle started pulling on his shoelaces.
“You know,” she said, eying him, “if one of you comes down with the plague, you’re all going to get it.”
“People don’t get the plague from drinking out of the same container,” Gabe said matter-of-factly. “They get it from being bitten by insects.”
E took a long drink of his water and swallowed. “Actually, that’s not true,” he corrected. “You can also get it from being near infected people who are coughing and sneezing, so I’m sure you can get it from drinking from the same container.”
“Well, Asher won’t get it,” Gabe assured her. “He’d never drink from the container. So you’ll always have one son.”
Laney rolled her eyes and turned to E. “Well . . . ?”
“I know . . . I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I fell asleep. I already talked to Dad.”
“And he’s okay with that?”
“Yup.”
“Boy, Mom,” Gabe said. “I hope you remember this moment when I use a lame excuse like that.”
Laney eyed him. “I probably won’t remember, so don’t even try.” She looked out the kitchen window. “Is Dad here?”
“Nope. He went to the church. He said he had to finish his sermon, and it would be easier there.”
Laney looked around the kitchen. The coffeepot was clean . . . and empty, and it didn’t look like there was much hope of pancakes either. It didn’t even look like he’d had a bowl of cereal. I guess he’s not over it, she thought glumly. “C’mon, Halle,” she said. Then she looked at the boys again. “Do you know if Mennie’s been out or had breakfast?”
“I imagine Dad took care of him,” E offered, “but I’m not positive.”
“He usually leaves a note,” she said, glancing around. Then she eyed their older dog. “Have you had your breakfast yet, mister?”
Mennie thumped his tail, and Gabe chuckled. “He wouldn’t tell you if he had.”
Laney briefly considered calling Noah, but decided against it—if her husband couldn’t bother to leave a note, Mennie could have two breakfasts. “Let’s go,” she said, leading the way with the two dogs happily following her.
“So, Mom, are you making pancakes?” Gabe asked.
“Nope, that’s Dad’s job,” she said as she pushed open the screen door, “but I will make your lunch.”
“We have to be at work by nine.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back in.”
“Shotty first shower,” Gabe said.
“No,” E replied, moving toward the stairs. “You take too long and you use all the hot water.”
Gabe started to move toward the stairs too. “No, I don’t.” He reached for his brother’s arm, trying to gain an advantage, and laughing, they tumbled over each other up the stairs.
“Someone’s going to get hurt,” Laney called, but all she heard was bumping and laughter. She shook her head as the screen door closed behind her.
The world was wet and glistening with fat, heavy raindrops hanging from every surface, but the oppressive humidity had finally pushed out to sea. Laney looked up at the blue sky and thought about Noah. And, for the millionth time, she wished she’d told him at the outset.
She watched the dogs nosing around the yard, investigating all the new scents that had been created overnight, and then Mennie stopped to stuff his nose deep into the daylilies behind the shed. She frowned. “Mennie, come away from there.” The old dog pulled his head out and gazed at her. She walked across the wet grass in her bare feet, and as she drew closer, she saw one of the phoebes snatch a moth in midair and fly up to the ledge with it. But then the little bird just perched on the edge of the nest, cocking its head. “What’s the matter?” she asked softly. She stepped closer, and it flew up to the roof. Laney looked in the nest and then covered her mouth in dismay. “Oh, no,” she cried. She gently parted the lilies and then looked all around the shed. She even looked in the shed, but there was no sign of the babies . . . anywhere—where could they be?
Laney looked up at their mother. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “What happened?” The little bird cocked its head and blinked at her, and Laney’s heart ached. The bird had been so frantic the night before. It was almost as if it had been pleading for help, but Laney hadn’t understood . . . and she hadn’t helped. She’d just gone to bed. Now the babies weren’t anywhere—what in the world could have happened to them?
With a heavy heart, Laney fed the dogs. Then she pulled out the boys’ coolers and filled them with ham and cheese sandwiches, pickles, cookies, chips, water bottles, a Coke for E, and a Sprite for Gabe. As she closed the tops, they came down the stairs wearing their red lifeguard suits and white T-shirts. “Don’t forget to wear sunscreen,” she said.
Gabe put in two Pop-Tarts. “We won’t,” he said. “Forget, that is.”
“And drink plenty of water.”
“We will,” E said, picking up the coolers. He smiled at his mom. “We didn’t just start this job yesterday, you know.”
“I know. I’m just reminding you.”
“Are you going for a run today, Mom?” Gabe asked, handing a Pop-Tart to his brother.
“Maybe,” she said with a smile.
“You don’t have any excuses today. It’s not too hot, and you don’t have to work,” E pointed out.
Laney knew her runner sons were giving her a hard time because she hadn’t run in over a week, and every time they asked her, she had some kind of excuse.
“Maybe I will,” she said with a smile. “You never know.”
“ ’K . . . we’re gonna ask you later,” they warned.
“ ’K,” she answered in the same singsong tone. And as soon as they left, she went upstairs to change into her running clothes.
28
As the congregation closed their hymnals, Laney felt jostling in the pew beside her. She looked over to see her two middle sons trying to gain possession of the only stubby pencil in the rack. She gave them a wilting look, and Ben let go, but Seth, looking vindicated and pleased, proceeded to draw on his program. She sighed. E and Gabe were both working, leaving her with only three to shepherd, but even so, two of the three couldn’t seem to behave. In fact, they were acting like two-year-olds!
Noah finished reading a passage from the New Testament about the last supper, and then invited the congregation to join him in prayer. Everyone bowed their heads, except Laney, who was lost in her own thoughts.
Noah had been quiet all day, and she looked up to watch him, standing behind the pulpit with his head bowed. His blond hair had started to come in darker underneath, and it was showing signs of silver in his sideburns. She listened to the sincerity in his solemn voice as he prayed, on behalf of the congregation, for forgiveness.
“Amen,” he said finally, looking up. He shuffled some papers and took a sip of water.
“Recently,” he began, “I came across a story about a young mother who was tucking her six-year-old son into bed, and as she did, she asked him, ‘Do you know what it means to be a Christian?’ The boy looked up at her, and with all the innocence of a child, answered, ‘Of course. You look at the cross, you think about what Jesus did, and then you become one of God’s guys.’ In that little fellow’s mind, it couldn’t have been simpler.
“Oftentimes, though, being one of ‘God’s guys’ means stepping out of one’s comfort zone, crossing that boundary, and sharing a bit of oneself. Today is one of those times . . .”
Laney’s heart pounded. Was her husband’s sermon going to be reflective of the personal struggles they’d experienced over the last few days? Was he going to talk about trust and honesty? Surely, these subjects had been foremost on his mind as he wrote his sermon this week. She looked in her bulletin for the title of the sermon. It said “The Last Time.”
Noah looked up and smiled. “Of late, I’ve found myself wondering about the passage of time. In fact, for weeks now, I’ve been wondering where spring went. Woefully, we humans overschedule our lives . . . and the lives of our families. Our days become filled with activities, and the weeks and months become a blur, until finally, we pause, shake our heads, and wonder, ‘Where did the time go?’ ”
As he spoke, Laney became captivated by his words, and her racing heart slowed.
“It is a blessing that we humans are, for the most part, blissfully unaware when some task or daily ritual occurs for the very last time. When our boys were younger, we read countless books together at bedtime. Fortunately, we still have one little one who enjoys listening to stories, although he’s growing up much too fast.” Noah looked at Asher as he said this, and Asher grinned and blushed. Hearing their father’s reference to their little brother, Ben sat up from his slouch and stopped scowling, and Seth looked up from his drawing. “But all our boys have had their favorites: Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, The Biggest Bear, Tractor Mac, Rugby and Rosie, and the perennial classic, Goodnight Moon. We know some of these books by heart, and I can still smell that sweet little boy scent and see their little index fingers pointing to the mouse on each page.” He paused. “But . . . when was it? When was the moment when we closed Goodnight Moon for the last time? If I had known it was the last time, I probably would’ve cried.
“Reading books before bed was only part of the nighttime ritual in our house, because reading was always followed by ‘running hugs.’ Laney and I would sit on the floor at the far end of our bedroom, safely clear of furniture, and brace ourselves while pajama-clad bundles of energy stood at the other end . . . waiting. Then, laughing and giggling all the way, the boys would run full tilt at us . . . into our arms and push us right over onto the floor in a hug.” He smiled wistfully. “Now, even Asher is too big to give us a running hug—because one of us might get hurt!” Everyone laughed when he said this.
“Every night . . . night after night . . . reading . . . running hugs . . . and flying like airplanes into bed—I remember it all as if it were yesterday.” His voice was choked with emotion, and Laney felt tears welling up in her eyes. “But then, a night must’ve come . . . when I wasn’t paying attention . . . when we didn’t do it. What night was it? It’s a good thing I didn’t realize, at the time, that it was the last time . . . because it would have broken my heart.” He paused.
“But God’s grace is with us every step of the way. As each chapter of our lives ends, as every door closes, He is standing right there. Whether we are innocently unaware of the preciousness of a moment or if we are all too well aware that it is the last time, God is with us.
“Anyone who has ever sold a home knows the keen sadness of walking through empty rooms one last time, gazing at the familiar way the sunlight falls through a window and realizing that it will still shine through even after we are no longer there to see it; or we picture the Christmas tree that always glittered festively in the corner and remember all the happy memories that were made beneath it; and then we turn to look in a different corner—where our favorite chair was and the side table where we kept our Bible—and we think of the many whispered prayers we prayed while sitting there. We move from room to room, and we can almost hear the laughter and the lovely voices, and we wonder how we can bear to leave such a sacred place.
“But with tears in our eyes, we eventually close the door for the last time; and God is there, waiting for us, waiting to ease our pain and guide us.
“There are also times when we have no way of knowing that the moment at hand is the last time. We see images of military families that are facing separation. Through tearful eyes they hug and whisper good-bye, and we imagine their silent prayer, ‘Dear God, don’t let this be the last time....’ Or sometimes, it is our turn to face the mortality of a loved one. We linger at their bedside after being beside them all day. We hold tightly to their hand; we are so weary. And we know we must go home, but we continue to hold on, wanting to never let go. And we silently pray, ‘Please don’t let this be the last time.’
“God is here most of all.
“Today’s New Testament passage tells us about one of the last moments that Jesus shares with his disciples. He is well aware that it’s the last time he will have supper with them, and even though they don’t seem to fully understand what is about to happen, Jesus reassures them that he will always be with them. He tells them, ‘I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you. Yet a little while, and the world will see me no more, but you will see me; because I live, you will live also.’ His words are enough to sustain them but he continues, ‘Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.’ These timeless words of reassurance that Jesus gave his twelve disciples so long ago are still the cherished words that we, as God’s guys, have the honor of carrying in our hearts today.
“So this morning we’ve paused to reflect on the treasured moments that make up our days. And now, as we leave this sacred place and rush back to our hectic lives, perhaps we will remember to notice each moment . . . each of the ordinary, simple, mundane moments that make up our lives. We can never have them back, so we must try to squeeze in as many running hugs as we can. And as each chapter of our lives comes to a close, we must also remember that God is there at every turn . . . waiting to ease our way.
“In closing, there’s a country song that is known—in our house—to make my eyes mist over. But don’t worry, I’m not going to sing it.” He smiled as he said this, and everyone laughed.
“It’s called, ‘Remember When,’ and throughout the song, the singer reminisces about the different stages of life until he finally gets to the part about getting older and turning gray and the kids moving away; but he goes on to sing that they won’t be sad. They’ll just be thankful for all the good times.”
Noah looked up. “So no matter how busy I am today, or how tired I am tonight, my boys and I are going to sit together . . . because we have a book to read . . . and maybe it won’t even be the last time.”
Laney looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes, and he looked back at her . . . and smiled.
29
“Hurry up, Ash,” Laney called up the stairs, “or you’re going to miss the bus.”
“Mom, can’t you drive me? It’s the last day, and everyone’s gonna have water guns. I’m gonna get soaked.”
“No, hon. I need to be at school early,” she called back as she rinsed the breakfast dishes and put them in the dishwasher. “Besides, you need to give Mr. Anderson his gift.” The phone started ringing, and Laney dried her hands and hurried to answer it. “Hello?” she said, wondering who could be calling so early.
Asher appeared at the bottom of the stairs dragging his backpack. He saw his mom on the phone and frowned. Then he went over to the counter, peered inside his lunch pack, zipped it up, and pushed it into his backpack. “Mom, we gotta go,” he whispered, but Laney didn’t hear him.
“Yes. Hi, Dr. Jamison,” she said.
Overhearing his mom’s greeting, Asher groaned and plopped down on the floor next to Halle. “Maybe I’ll get a ride after all,” he whispered softly, and Halle thumped her tail and climbed on his lap. He stroked her soft ears, watched the second hand on the kitchen clock ticking steadily, and listened to his mom’s side of the conversation. “Yes . . . yes . . . it was?” Long pause. “Okay . . . yes . . . mm-hmm.” Long pause. “I understand . . . I will . . . okay.” Long pause. “Thank you so much, Dr. Jamison. Yes, you too . . . enjoy the summer.”
She hung the phone back up and leaned against the doorway.
“That phone call took four minutes and thirty-two seconds,” Asher announced cheerfully.
Laney quickly brushed away her tears and turned around.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” he asked in alarm, scrambling to his feet. “Why are you crying?”
Laney pulled him into her arms. “Nothing’s wrong, honey. Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered. “Everything’s okay.”
Asher pulled back and searched her face. “Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’m happy.”
He looked puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried because I was happy.”
