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  Finally, she did get up and went into the kitchen, flicking on lights as she went. She poured herself a glass of cold water, then sat at the kitchen table, staring down at it.

  She recalled the Scripture about having not because you ask not, and asking with wrong motives. Did she have wrong motives? Would those hinder her prayers?

  She started to examine them, desperate to find any unrighteous reason for her prayers not to be heard. Why did she ask God to take this from her? Was it because of the inconvenience and pain and illness it would bring to her life? Was it because she loved this world more than him? Was it because she tried to hold herself out of God’s reach, refusing to trust him with her life, whatever happened?

  Was it because she wanted to see her children grow into mature adults? Wanted to attend her grandchildren’s school plays? Was it because she didn’t want her children to suffer?

  Or was it because of the children at the orphanage, who had so few people in the world who loved them? Was that a selfish motive?

  Or was it because of Harry? Didn’t she trust God with her children, her husband, her life?

  She examined those motives, wearily trying to find some fault within them. They were human, normal motives, borne of uncertainty. Didn’t God understand?

  She asked the Lord to show her what lay in her heart. She asked him to forgive her for the selfish motives, the ones that were more for her than for God’s kingdom and his plan. Then she asked him to let the tests come out negative for cancer.

  “Let it be a wake-up call,” she whispered. “I’ll get my annual mammograms from now on, and exercise and eat better and give up Nutrasweet and sugar and flour and whatever else I have to.”

  But she still prayed without confidence, because she understood God’s sovereignty, that his ways were not her ways.

  “Not my will, but thine be done,” she made herself say. Then she added quickly, “But please don’t have it in your will to do this to me.”

  She went back to bed, curled up under the covers that gave her some comfort, and tried to put these things from her mind.

  Be anxious for nothing… She knew better than to let herself wake up worrying in the wee hours of morning. But knowing better didn’t always make it so. Sometimes fear came in before the morning. It was fear of the unknown, mostly. Fear of what lay beyond the certainty.

  Finally, as daylight seeped in through the window blinds, she checked her alarm. One hour before it would go off. Slowly, she drifted back into sleep, before she had to get up and face what the day held.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  I don’t need the hand-holding, but I appreciate the company.” Sylvia smiled at Cathy as she drove. “We can have lunch afterward.”

  “Sounds good to me. And I’m not coming to hold your hand. I want you to hold mine.”

  Sylvia laughed. “You’re not worried about this, are you?”

  Cathy shrugged. “A little. What did Harry say?”

  “Oh, he wanted to drop everything and fly home. I told him not to, that there’s no reason to panic until we get the results of the biopsy. Then I’ll be flying to him.”

  Her bravado seemed to lighten Cathy’s spirits, but when they reached the doctor’s office, Sylvia’s own spirits began to flag. She looked around at the others in the waiting room, wondering who there might have a tumor, who was having a biopsy, who had already gotten the results, whose life would be forever changed. Her hands felt ice cold again, so she slipped them under her thighs.

  Cathy seemed to have thoughts of her own swirling through her mind, for she didn’t bother to pick up a magazine or strike up a conversation.

  This was craziness, her pretending not to worry, when she wasn’t fooling anyone. She needed to come clean, she thought, and be honest with Cathy. “Have I ever told you that my mother died of breast cancer when she was about my age?” she said in a low voice.

  The alarm in Cathy’s eyes was unmistakable. “No, Sylvia, you’ve never told me that.”

  “She did. I don’t bring that up because I think that it means I have it. I feel sure that my body would have told me if I had something terrible like that, but it does seem relevant, doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve told the doctor, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She breathed in a deep breath, let it out hard. “The thing is, I’ve known I was at high risk for getting it myself. I don’t know why I let it go for the past couple of years.”

  Cathy took her hand. “You’re cold.”

  “Freezing.”

  “It’s nerves, you know. You’re not as tough as you act.”

  Sylvia started to laugh, and Cathy joined her.

  Sylvia closed her other hand over Cathy’s. “Let’s talk about lunch. Something beyond this biopsy.”

  “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

  Sylvia thought for a moment, trying to picture herself and Cathy relaxing over a chef salad. “Alexander’s. I’ve been wanting to go there.”

  “Alexander’s it is. And you’ll have to have steak, you know.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, we need to build your blood back up, get some iron pumping through your veins.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  A nurse came to the door and Sylvia looked up. “Sylvia Bryan,” the woman called. Sylvia didn’t move. She looked at Cathy, and Cathy gave her a reassuring look and patted her knee. Finally, she leaned over and grabbed her purse.

  “Guess I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  “I’ll be praying.”

  A little while later, Sylvia returned to the waiting room. “That was easy,” she said.

  Cathy looked up at her. “Any results?”

  “No. They said tomorrow.”

  Cathy grabbed her purse. “Okay. How do you feel?”

  “Fine right now. The local anesthetic hasn’t worn off yet.”

  “And emotionally?”

  Sylvia examined her own heart. “Well, I can’t say I won’t think about it again until the results come…but let’s just have lunch and not talk about it.”

  “Okay,” Cathy said. “Whatever you say.”

  At the restaurant, Cathy accommodated Sylvia’s wish to avoid the subject of cancer, and told her instead of the fight she and Steve had had last night. “It’s not like the marriage is going badly.” She stirred more butter into her potato. “I’m really happy with Steve. I love him and I love Tracy, and I think things are going well…basically…but I can’t help wishing that he’d go easier on Mark. He’s trying to be Mark’s father, but Mark doesn’t appreciate it much. He’s having trouble adjusting to coming home to a different family, and all of a sudden having to do what Steve says. I’m in the middle, you know, like I’m being torn in two.”

  “Nobody said it was going to be easy.” Sylvia set her fork down. “Marriage never is. And a blended family is a lot harder than a normal marriage.”

  “Tell me about it.” Cathy took a bite, shaking her head. “The thing is, Steve expects me to make my kids act just the way he wants them to, but then he overlooks the things that Tracy does. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not bad. But occasionally he needs to call her down, or punish her even. But he doesn’t even notice it. It goes right past him. Yet he notices everything my kids do. He knows how Mark has changed and he knows what a struggle he’s going through since he got out of jail. He knows that Mark is trying to decide exactly where he fits back into this world. It’s not easy for him. But he just doesn’t seem to understand that I need to give Mark a little more time. And he got his feelings hurt last night when I asked him to go a little easier. I don’t know why it has to be so hard. Why can’t we just love each other’s kids the same?”

  “Because you’re not really Tracy’s mother and he’s not really your kids’ father.”

  Cathy studied her potato. “I wish there was some magic key to having a happy second marriage, but if there is, I don’t know what it is.”

  “Oh, there is one.” Sylvia dug into her sal
ad. “It’s the same key to having a successful first marriage.”

  Cathy set her fork down and leaned back. “Okay, hit me with it.”

  Sylvia smiled. “It’s easy. Die to yourself.”

  Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “Die to myself?”

  “That’s right. Die to yourself. As soon as you and Steve each figure that out, your marriage will be a success.”

  “Well, what does that mean?” Cathy asked. “How do you die to yourself?”

  “You decide that the other person’s needs are more important than your own. If there’s ever a question between your doing what you want and your doing what he wants, you do what he wants.”

  “Wait a minute. That doesn’t sound like happiness. It just sounds like a lot of sacrifice.”

  “Well, sure, it’s sacrifice. That’s what marriage is about.”

  Cathy opened a pack of butter and dropped the square onto her plate.

  “All right, sacrifice, maybe. But it’s not supposed to be martyrdom. I mean, how far do you go in fulfilling his needs? Do you not eat or sleep or buy anything for yourself?”

  Sylvia dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Cathy, you know better than that. I’m not talking about lying down like a doormat and inviting him to walk all over you. The fact is, you married a man who is not going to do that anyway. But he is the head of your household, biblically speaking, and when there’s a question of your will against his will, you need to let him win.”

  “What if he’s wrong?”

  “Well, you pray for him every day,” Sylvia said. “You pray that God will guide him, that he’ll have a heart that’s fertile and teachable, and that he’ll listen to God’s prompting.”

  Cathy crossed her arms and tipped her head. “That didn’t answer my question. I asked you what if he’s wrong? How do I submit to him…” Her voice was rising, and she looked around, wondering if anyone had heard. Quickly, she lowered it. “How do I submit to him if he’s flat wrong?”

  “Easy.” Sylvia took a drink of her iced tea and brought her eyes back to Cathy. “Watch Brenda. She’s been submitting to David for years, and he’s often wrong. Most of the time she lets him lead. But when it comes down to doing his will or God’s will, she goes with God. It’s really simple.”

  “But I can’t say that Steve’s going against God. He’s just mistaken. Misguided. Wrong.” She took a few more bites, as she thought through what Sylvia was telling her. “That dying to yourself stuff is hard, Sylvia. Who wants to die?”

  “No one does,” Sylvia said, “but I’m telling you, that’s the key. You have to die to yourself if you want to be happy in a marriage. Period.”

  The advice only frustrated Cathy more. She tried to visualize what the advice meant, but it evaded her. She told herself it didn’t matter.

  The important thing was that she had gotten Sylvia’s mind off of her biopsy, at least for a little while.

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  The night of the church program came with a flurry of activity at the Dodd house. Brenda lined Joseph, Leah, and Rachel up in her bathroom, and applied the heavy makeup that would make their fair skin look less pale under the harsh lights.

  Joseph had a strange look on his face. “I’m nervous. I might throw up.”

  “You’re not going to throw up.” Brenda wiped her makeup sponge under his eyes. “You’re going to do it just like you’ve done at rehearsal, and you’ll be wonderful.”

  Leah stood in front of the mirror, spraying her spiked hair. “This is so embarrassing,” she said.

  David stood, grinning, in the doorway. “What is?”

  “That Rachel and I have to be Spencer’s entourage. Like we’d really follow around some eight-year-old kid like we were in love with him.”

  “He’s dressing like Elvis,” Brenda told David. “He’s so cute. And Leah and Rachel have to follow him around like groupies.”

  “Okay, you’ve got to videotape this for me,” David said.

  Brenda shook her head and went for the blush. “David, I can’t. I’m helping backstage.”

  “Then let Daniel do it.”

  “He’s working the lights. I’m sorry, honey, but if you want to see it, you’ll have to come.” She brought the blush brush to Joseph’s cheeks, but he jerked away.

  “Huh-uh, Mama! You can’t put that on me!”

  “Why not? I’m just trying to give you a little color.”

  “I’ll look like a girl!”

  “Joseph, all actors wear makeup.”

  “Not me,” he said. “This mud all over my face is bad enough, but I do not want all that pink stuff on my cheeks.”

  Rachel gave Joseph an assessing look. “Mama’s right. You need contour, Joseph. Here, let me do it.”

  Joseph grabbed the brush out of his mother’s hand so Rachel couldn’t get it. “I’m finished, Mama. I have all the makeup I need. Please don’t let her touch me.”

  Brenda laughed and took the brush back. “All right, Joseph. Go put on your suit, and be careful not to get the makeup on your white shirt.”

  She left the girls primping in the bathroom and grinned up at David. “This is going to be some kind of night.”

  “I can’t believe there’s no one who can tape this. What about Tory and Barry? If Spencer and Brittany are in it, surely they’ll be videotaping.”

  “They might. But Tory’s helping backstage, too. And I think Barry is helping with the props.”

  She stuck her head in Joseph’s room and saw him carefully unbuttoning the white shirt on its hanger. He already had his pants and shoes on, and she saw the thick scars from his heart transplant on his chest. Stepping into the room, she helped him get the shirt on without getting makeup on his collar.

  “I can’t wait to get this stuff off my face.”

  “You can go right from your curtain call to the sink,” Brenda said.

  David grew quiet as the activity grew more frenzied, and by the time she had loaded everyone into the van, she could see the dejection creeping over him.

  He’d made his choice not to come, she thought, and as she backed out of the driveway and left him standing alone on the porch, she tried to silence the yearning in her heart. He was missing some of the major moments in his children’s lives. Their baptisms, their choir solos, their testimonies, their Bible drills, their plays…All because they happened within the walls of a church. In the interest of upholding his principle not to participate in church events at all, he had violated his principle to support his children in the most meaningful events of their lives.

  But he didn’t see it that way.

  As she drove the chattering children to church, she prayed that the Lord would work in David’s heart tonight, and help him to realize what he was missing.

  David made himself a sandwich and tried to watch a ball game, but his mind kept drifting to his children.

  The blueprint of the limousine lay on the coffee table, and he picked it up and wondered how it would work. Would it roll the way it was supposed to? Would it hold together? Would it add to the program, or detract from it?

  He set the picture down and thought how excited the kids would be when they came home tonight. Daniel’s pride at a job well done, Leah and Rachel’s giggles at the way the congregation would probably respond to Spencer’s Elvis impersonation, Joseph’s funny stories about everything that went wrong on stage. They would remember this night for decades. When they came home years from now, with their spouses and children, they would sit around the table talking about tonight’s event with fond memories.

  One of those memories would be that their father hadn’t been there.

  He hated being a disappointment to them, and he hated even worse disappointing his wife. But he was an honest man, and he didn’t believe in pretending to be something he was not. For him to walk through the doors of a church, when he’d vowed years ago never to do it again, would be like betraying himself.

  He thought of how cruelly his own church had treated hi
s mother and him, when his father, the pastor, had run off with the organist. Instead of loving them through it, helping them, and praying for them in their grief, the church had treated his mother like she had somehow caused her husband’s infidelity. They had asked them to leave the parsonage to make room for a new pastor.

  He and his mother had taken a garage apartment, and his mother had gone back to work. He’d spent many long, angry hours alone in a stuffy apartment, praying for his father to come back. But those prayers had never been answered.

  When his mourning played out in anger and childish rage, the church had proclaimed him “possessed.” They’d insisted on casting the demons out of him. That, too, had failed according to them.

  He remembered those tragic, mixed feelings of fear that they were right, that hateful demons occupied his mind and heart, that God had turned away from him for some unknown reason, just as his father had abandoned him.

  Those feelings fed him for the next couple of years, until he finally reached the point of not believing anymore. The God of his father, his mother, and his church did not exist, he had decided. And if he didn’t believe in God, then he didn’t have to believe in the demons, either. In some ways his atheism had set him free from the burden the church had placed upon him. But he’d never been able to fill the void left in his soul.

  He’d vowed never to return to church—any church—and when Brenda became a Christian, he held to his vow. When she’d convinced him to let her raise their children in the church, he’d remained faithful to that vow.

  Now he wondered if keeping that promise was such a noble thing after all.

  He hated being left out. He wanted to see his son star as the Good Samaritan. He wanted to see Leah and Rachel following Elvis across the stage. He wanted to see Daniel doing magic with the lights.

  He wanted to be a part of this memory.

  He took his plate to the sink, set it down, then headed back to the bedroom. Quickly, he changed his clothes, then got his keys.