Divine (35 page)

Genuine shock played on her daughter's face. "He does?" She walked back to the sofa with measured steps, almost
trancelike. "I never allowed myself to see him that way. He was my friend, nothing more."

"I think—" Grace's voice was tentative—"he always had a bit of a crush on you."

Emma blinked. "Really?" "Yes, I think so."

The grin still played at the corners of Emma's mouth. But her tone was serious. "Mary told me all I need is Jesus now. It's true,- I know because I've seen it to be true in Mary's life." She hesitated and sat down again. "But I think I would like it very much—" her smile grew—"if Terrence came over today." Her eyes sparkled, even against the backdrop of regret that was still there. "Maybe the three of us can pray together. Mary would like that."

"Mary?" Grace forced herself to be patient. There was so much she didn't know about this new Emma, the changes she'd been through.

"Mary Madison." Emma gave her a quick, tight hug. "I'll tell you all about her."

"You mean
. . . the
Mary Madison? the woman they feature on the news, the one with the shelters in the city?"

"Yes." Emma's expression deepened. "That Mary."

"Well, honey . . . everyone knows the story of Mary Madison."

"No, Mom." A sadness crossed Emma's face. "Not the way I know it."

Grace couldn't believe it. The famous Mary Madison had counseled Emma? No wonder her change was so dramatic. She touched her daughter's shoulder. "I want to hear every detail."

"Later, okay?" Emma took a long breath and stood. "Right now I want to clean up." Something soft and tender filled her eyes. "Terrence will be here soon."

***

The shower felt wonderful. Emma wrapped her casted arm in a plastic bag and let the hot water run over her, taking with it the pain and regret of every yesterday, every missed opportunity and bad decision since she first rebelled against her mother as a teenager.

She was home! Joy filled her and made her feel like a child again. She replayed in her mind the reunion with her mother, the look on her beautiful brown face as she and the girls climbed out of the cab and walked up the sidewalk. The warm and wonderful way it had felt to be in her arms, making peace with the mother she had never stopped loving.

The years with Charlie had left their mark. The broken bones would heal and the bruises would fade, but she would keep her promise to Mary. Counseling was a must. Otherwise she would never learn how to function in a healthy relationship.

Terrence's face came to mind. Kind and conscientious Terrence, devoted to God all the while, even now praying for her. It was another part of the miracle. She remembered her mother's words:
"He always had a hit of a crush on you."
She closed her eyes and let the shampoo run down her face. Why hadn't she seen the good in Terrence before? How could she have walked away from a man like him and run to someone like Charlie? Seconds passed, and like a sudden storm the guilt and doubt and regret nearly suffocated her.

But then she remembered what Mary had told her the day before. Jesus died to take all the pain from
yesterday,
to offer people a new life, a new start
today. A
start that would build one tomorrow on top of another until change in that life became obvious to everyone. It was true. The power of Christ wasn't a one-time fix. It would keep working in her life today and tomorrow and every day that she woke up believing the truth.

As she dressed, applied makeup to the bruises on her cheeks and around her eyes, and straightened her hair, she reveled in that very truth.

And when the doorbell rang, she could feel God whispering to her.
Today, precious daughter, is only the beginning. . . .

Three Months Later

Mary Madison took the call on the way to the cemetery.

"Mary, it's Joe." The caller didn't need to say more than that. He was Joe Keane, Senate Majority Leader, and he contacted Mary often. "I'm sorry,- this isn't the best time to be calling."

"That's okay." She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel and braced herself. The abstinence bill had been up for debate that morning. "Give me the news."

"We took the vote." Subdued victory rang in his tone. Joe Keane was a moderate by all standards, but he believed in every cause Mary supported. By Joe's thinking, faith-based or faith-inspired teen centers and shelters and abstinence programs had a beneficial place in the landscape of government funding.

"Well
...?"
Mary held her breath.

"It passed! The margin wasn't big, but it passed." He exhaled, relieved. "You were the one, Mary. Your statistics, your testimony. They bought it all."

Mary allowed a smile, one of the few that week. "I had a feeling."

"This is huge. I set up a press conference for you and the supporters for four o'clock on the Capitol steps." He paused. "Will that work?"

"Definitely." Mary pursed her lips. The day would be a roller coaster for sure. "Good work, Joe. We'll catch up later."

"Okay." He sighed. "I'm sorry about your grandma."

"Thanks." Tears stung her eyes. "Me too."

The call ended, and Mary inhaled as deeply as she could. She blinked back tears so she could see the road.
Jesus. . . how
am I supposed to do this without her? Please let me feel Your arms today. I miss her so much already.

The reality was still sinking in. Grandma Peggy was gone. She died in her sleep three days ago, hours after Mary's morning visit. The traffic light ahead turned red, and Mary could envision clearly every moment of their last morning together. . . .

***

She and her grandma had held hands and talked about how well Emma was doing, how close the vote on the abstinence bill could be, and how much they needed to pray for a victory.

Before their visit ended, Grandma Peggy had looked at Mary with tender eyes. "I'm tired. Very tired."

Mary stood and hugged her. "I'll leave then ... let you take a nap."

"No . . ." Her grandma didn't sound anxious or afraid. More like she must've somehow known what was coming. "Not that kind of tired. The kind that has me longing for Jesus." She smiled, and the twinkle in her eyes was bright even through the milky haze of the years. "I'm ready, Mary."

"Grandma, don't talk like that." She reached for her frail fingers. "I still need you."

"You need Jesus, only Jesus." Her tone held a kindhearted scold.

Panic breathed down her neck. "But Jesus gave me you." Mary leaned in and kissed her grandma's brow. "Now get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

Not for one minute had it felt like a final good-bye, like her grandma would be gone in a few hours.

***

Mary took a tissue from the console next to the front seat. She didn't know it was possible to cry so much, but she had no closure, no way to have that last conversation with her grandma—the one where she would tell her how, if not for her, Mary might not have survived.

She would've hugged Grandma Peggy longer and stayed until her heart stopped beating. She would've begged her—if it were possible—to hold on, to not give up. To stay another week or another day. Another hour. It was wrong that she hadn't been there in her grandma's final moments, not there to hold her hand or pray with her or bid her good-bye.

There was still so much to say.

Mary dried her eyes and turned her car into the parking lot of the cemetery.

That's when she saw him.

Her heart skipped a beat, and without meaning to she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. He had come, he really had.

Nigel was here, and now she wouldn't have to get through this saddest day alone.

She squinted in the glare of the sun. Nigel was leaning against the hood of his rental car, his back to her as he stared at the sea of tombstones. Mary took the first parking spot. Her eyes never left him.

Nigel.

She had called him the hour after she got the news. It had been early evening in Portugal, and his response had been immediate. He would be there for her, no questions. His flight had landed at Dulles Airport a few hours ago.

She studied him, and her heart hurt for all the years of missing him. More than a decade had passed, but he had the same broad shoulders, the same proud stance.

She cut the engine, and he turned around. Their eyes met and held while she stepped out of her car and as she closed the distance between them. He took her hands in his, and they came together in a hug that bridged the years in a handful of heartbeats.

His embrace told her what his words did not, what they could not. He had never stopped caring for her—not for a week or a day or even an hour. But it also told her that the decision they'd made had been the right one, that devoting their lives to Jesus was more than enough. The love they shared was God's love, a deeper love than anything they might've found otherwise. Even if time hadn't dimmed their feelings for each other.

Nigel drew back and searched her eyes. "How are you?"

Mary tilted her head, holding his gaze. When her emotions gave her permission to speak, she managed the slightest whisper. "Sad, Nigel. So sad."

"I know." He brought his hand to the back of her head and stroked her hair. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded. "Walk with me." She led the way through the small Virginia cemetery. The sun shone brightly that day, warm against her face, and Mary found it strangely fitting. No matter how many tears she'd cried or how much she'd grieved for Grandma Peggy, the despair she expected to feel never came. Sadness, yes. Longing and a desire to have one more day, one more conversation. One more hug.

But not despair.

The greatest tragedy wasn't her grandma's death. It was the years they had missed together. Years when Mary had suffered horrors no little girl could ever overcome without Jesus.

Mary looked over her shoulder at Nigel, the way his broad shoulders filled out his suit coat. She pointed toward a clump of trees. "It's this way."

Nigel nodded. He wore sunglasses, so it was impossible to see his eyes. But the muscles in his jaw flexed often, and Mary figured he was fighting tears. Tears on a lot of levels maybe. Her grandmother had been special to both of them.

They moved past various-sized tombstones beyond a small hedge. On the other side, Mary stopped. Two rows of chairs were set up, and her grandmother's pastor stood in hushed conversation with the cemetery caretaker.

Mary felt her heart sink. It was really happening. She was going to bury Grandma Peggy, even if all she wanted to do was turn and run back to Orchard Gardens, back to her grandma's cozy room and big bed and Grandma Peggy there waiting for her.

She stopped, and Nigel did the same. "Here it is."

The casket sat above a hole in the ground. The freshly turned dirt to the side was covered with dozens of flower arrangements—gifts sent from people across Washington, DC—both on Capitol Hill and from the shelters. One bouquet was even from the group of older kids who hung out on the street and came to the teen center for the weekly Bible study Mary led there.

A few blades of grass poked through the brown dirt, proof that life would always have the last word—at least for people who chose to accept Christ's offer.

Side by side, she and Nigel looked down and read the words on the temporary grave marker, the one propped up near the front of the casket:
Peggy Madison, beloved grandmother.
Then it gave the dates that showed she'd been just sixty-seven. Too young. The last line read simply this:
She loved Jesus.

"That says it." Nigel knelt and brushed the dirt and grass clippings off the stone.

Mary folded her arms and clutched her sides. She hated being here, hated saying good-bye. A dozen times since she'd gotten the news she had reached for the phone, anxious to share details of a political battle or another victim with her grandma. There would always be more to say. The loss cut her to the core, made her wonder if she'd walk the rest of her life with a limp.

Nigel seemed to sense her struggle. He reached out and took her hand. He said nothing, but no words were needed. His touch, his comfort were the same as they had been so many years earlier. As if Jesus Himself were standing beside her, helping her through, reminding her that somehow . . . some way she would survive this loss.

She didn't want to think about the obvious—that soon she would have to say good-bye to Nigel too.

"I miss her so much." Mary squeezed Nigel's hand. Sobs overtook her, and for a long time she couldn't speak.

She had missed so many years with Grandma Peggy, and now . . . what family did she have? Who would be there to know the truth—that Mary Madison—strong and successful, educated and powerful—was really just a girl who sometimes got lonely and tired, a girl who would go to sleep crying on the nights when there would be no one to talk to and when missing her grandma was a physical ache?

Finally she blinked back the tears and looked at Nigel. "You know what I realized today?"