Letting Go (Healing Hearts) (9 page)

She could see why Ken loved Katia so much. She deserved a good man. A faithful man.

Diane felt like a giant as she hugged her tiny friend. She rested her chin on Katia’s head. How could Katia comfort her when she had done something so obviously wrong? What did Katia have in her life that made her so secure?

When her breathing relaxed, she gently pushed away. “I would hate me if I were you. I don’t understand how you can just let it all go.”

“Jesus forgave me. He wants me to forgive you. I can love you because He first loved me. It’s only because of Jesus. Without Him in my life none of this would be possible.”

“Jesus? I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“I know it seems weird. I used to hate Him.”

“Hate Him? Why would you hate Him?”

“My parents were killed for being Christians. I was only seven, and I was hiding under the bed. I saw it all happen.” She shuddered. “We lived in East Berlin. My parents had emigrated from Russia with their families when they were children. When the Berlin Wall went up, my parents were living on the wrong side. At least it seemed so to me.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t get out?”

“Not without the risk of being shot and killed. We had nothing and lived in a tiny flat. The food coupons my parents received for our family didn’t go very far and what they did receive they often gave away. But my parents were always happy. I remember them telling me that doing the Lord’s work gave them hope and peace. I never understood it. Then again, I was only a child at the time.”

“Do you remember what your parents looked like?”

“Only my mother, and that’s because when I was smuggled out of East Berlin and brought to the United States, my aunt still had several pictures of my mother when they were young. I can’t remember my father’s face at all, though my aunt has told me that I look like him. I do remember sitting on his lap while he read me stories from the Bible before bedtime at night. But he had to do it in secret.”

Diane frowned. “Why? I mean, I know from history about communism, but it just seems so unreal that the government would arrest people for something like that.”

“People also turned up missing, never to be seen again. Since it was illegal to own a Bible, if you were caught reading one, you could be imprisoned, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yes. My parents believed that every person should have a Bible. They worked hard, smuggling them into the city from West Berlin to see that happen. But we had neighbors who spied on our family. I’m sure they are the ones who turned my parents in.”

“You said your parents were killed. Were they caught?”

“They were followed, yes. Then one night the German police stormed our flat. I hid under the bed because my mother made me. I could see the boots of the soldiers. One soldier stomped his cigarette out on the floor right near me. I almost started coughing. A few men started hurting my mother and my dad tried to protect her. They were both shot and left for dead. My mother was . . . pregnant.”

Diane gasped. “Oh, how awful.”

Katia nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. “The baby died too, of course. I was so terrified I couldn’t move. When people finally came and found the bodies, they found me too. I couldn’t talk or even cry for almost a year. I suppose the trauma put me in a state of shock. I remember praying to Jesus for help when I hid under the bed. I prayed, begging Him to protect my parents. And they still died.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

“At the time I was so angry because God didn’t protect them. He let them die. Then my aunt died. Then my husband, and most recently my son’s nanny. So that’s why I hated Jesus. It seemed like everyone I ever loved was stolen from me. I blamed God for years and years. With each loss, I became more angry. I only recently asked Him to forgive me of my sins.”

Diane swallowed hard. “What happened to change your mind?”

Katia chuckled. “Ken happened. God used him and a bunch of very bad circumstances to wake me up so I’d see my need for Him, like losing my son. I was so hard, so bitter. God pursued me with His love until I had no choice but to respond. I got tired of running from God. I know Rachel and Ken both prayed for me. They loved me in spite of my attitude.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“I need someone to love me like that before I can understand what you experienced. My parents sure didn’t give a rip about me, at least not the way they should have.”

Katia stared at her with a puzzled expression.

“Forget I said that.” Diane sighed.

“All right. Consider it forgotten.” Katia smiled. “Will you come to my friend’s house Wednesday night?”

“Um, sure. I’ll try. Give me the address and I’ll be there.”

Terror suddenly struck Diane’s heart, but she determined to at least try to make it. She needed to do this for Katia.

*   *   *

Joey’s new case manager, Mrs. Hortencia Vela, introduced herself as she eyed Dave with suspicion from her perch on his leather couch. She handed him her card.

“How did Joey get that nasty bruise on his forehead?”

Dave swallowed hard. Did she think he hurt Joey on purpose?

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t know or that it’s not a bruise. Just because it’s faded doesn’t mean I don’t see it. It looks about a week or two old.”

“Yeah, it’s a little over a week old.” Dave eyed her card, and then slipped it into his jean pocket, trying to appear calm. “I accidentally hit Joey’s head with the door because he tried to run out of the room while I was in the middle of changing his diaper. I only meant to keep him in the room, not clock him in the head. I took him to the doctor right away, and they said he was fine. He’ll have that little scab under the skin for a while, but it’s nothing serious.”

Observing her cynical expression, he clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails bit into his palm.

She fixed him with an incredulous gaze. “Mr. Passel, why didn’t you report this to the State? You should always report significant injuries to the child’s case manager. Foster children must have documentation when they are hurt in any way. Even if it’s an accident.”

“Please, call me Dave. I don’t like being called Mr. Passel.” He managed a weak smile. “I apologize. I wasn’t sure who to call since Joey’s former case manager moved away. Sometimes I forget he’s still a foster child because he’s been with me so long.”

“He’s the responsibility of the State, and you are the custodian. You need to know what your responsibilities are—”

“I do now.”

Failing to return his smile, she harrumphed and twitched her nose. “And follow the rules.”

“I certainly intend to.”

They had met for the first time today, and already her attitude made him think she didn’t have a good first impression of him. What else could he assume when her round cheeks puffed up like a blowfish and her brows knit together in a scowl?

At that moment he missed Nancy and her professionalism terribly. This new lady even looked mean, giving him the impression she had judged him and he’d come up severely wanting.

Short, round, and unhappy-looking with her bow-shaped mouth pulled into a pout, his surly case manager seemed to suffer from ill health as well. She’d puffed and wheezed when she ascended the steps to his front door, then complained about the length of his driveway and the numerous steps to climb when he welcomed her inside.

She got up with an effort, continuing to huff and grunt while she walked around the front end of his home, examining the portraits on the walls and checking the furnishings as if inspecting for dust. He worried that she’d pull out a white glove at any moment.

The glasses she wore slid down her nose when she looked up. “Nice artwork, Dave.”

Her compliment caught him off guard. “Thanks.”

“Show me Joey’s room, please.”

She preceded him through the entryway toward the long, spiral staircase. Dave scooped Joey into his arms and hurried past her, leading the way up the stairs while she trailed behind.

Mrs. Vela stopped several times on the way up. “Too bad you don’t have an elevator.”

Dave smirked. “You know, I’ve actually thought about having one installed.”

She scowled and glanced over at him. “Really?”

He stopped in front of the first door and smiled sheepishly. “Um, no. I was kidding.”

She ignored his comment and pointed. “So this is Joey’s room?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Vela pushed open the door and snorted. “Whoa. Your son’s room is bigger than my entire house.” She turned to him with brows raised. “Is there a toy that Joey doesn’t have?”

“Well . . . ”

Mrs. Vela rolled her eyes and headed toward Dave’s bedroom. He jumped in front of the door and steered her in the other direction.

“Why can’t I go in there? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing. I just haven’t picked up my room or made my bed. Why don’t I just give you a tour of the rest of the house?”

He reminded himself that acting nasty toward Joey’s new case manager wouldn’t help his case, and he loved Joey more than life. He refused to jeopardize his relationship with his son over a minor issue with his caseworker.

She nodded her agreement, and he let her lead the way. He thought she’d never finish her inspection. He was startled when she went so far as to flip up the toilet lid and check underneath. Nancy had never scoured through his home with this much precision.

Trailing several steps behind, he noticed that the clothes she wore looked as if she had slept in them. Dave groaned inwardly. If she kept her cases in the same shape as her wardrobe, then he could be in big trouble.

She smelled less than shower fresh too. He held his breath when she came close to him. Several times he kissed Joey’s sleepy head and inhaled the scent of his baby shampoo to block out the odor.

Grunting, she adjusted her glasses and leaned over to inspect the cherry wood curio cabinet near the bottom of the stairs.

“That’s a Stickley original,” he said quickly. “Do you like antiques?”

“I’m not impressed with your wealth, Mr. Passel.” She looked at him over her glasses.

His mouth went dry. “I wasn’t trying to impress you with anything.”

She sniffed. “The purpose of my visit today is to see how child friendly your home is. Joey doesn’t need to live in a placement where he has to worry about breaking a Ming vase. In some ways it would make it easier for me if you didn’t have all these fancy, expensive things. When I first walked into your home, I couldn’t even tell a child lived here.”

“That’s because I have a housekeeper.”

If the situation weren’t so horrible, he might have found her comment about the vase funny. However, nothing about possibly losing Joey amused him. Instead, the thought raised his blood pressure and sent adrenaline pumping through his veins.

No doubt his autonomic nervous system perceived Mrs. Vela as a threat he needed to conquer. He ruffled his bangs and debated what to do. First, he needed to hire a lawyer, or at least call her boss and ask for a different caseworker. He had to do something, and soon.

No way would he risk losing Joey just because his caseworker didn’t like him.

Chapter 8

D
iane stood on the porch of a large, white house with pillars surrounding the door. She’d seen plenty of wealthy people’s homes in her life, but this place was truly impressive. Perfectly manicured landscaping, a long, winding driveway, and a beautiful rose garden set it apart from all the other homes in the area.

What if the owner was a lawyer? Her stomach knotted. What if she knew them and didn’t like them? What if she’d battled them recently in court?

She touched the doorbell with a trembling finger. The tones it produced came from a Mozart concerto. As she mentally rehearsed the tune, a smile spread across her face. Anyone who liked Mozart couldn’t be that bad, regardless of their profession. She’d have to ask Katia’s friend where she had purchased it because she wanted to get one for her condo.

A pregnant woman with long, strawberry-blonde hair and silver-gray eyes opened the door with a gracious smile. “Hello. It’s so nice of you to join us. Please come in.” After closing the door behind her, she extended her hand. “My name is Rachel.”

The tone of the woman’s voice put Diane at ease. Her breathing relaxed along with the death grip she had on her purse.

“I’m Diane, Katia’s friend.” She clasped Rachel’s hand and shook it.

“You must be the lawyer she told me about. I’m glad you’re considering joining our group. Just follow me.”

A strange sensation, like a physical presence, descended upon Diane the moment she stepped across the threshold. It reminded her of the warm, peaceful feeling she got from soaking in a hot bath, only better. She marveled at the home’s inexplicable calming atmosphere.

Glancing across the room, she observed a circle of women holding hands with their heads bowed as if they were praying. An attractive African American woman in the group opened her eyes and said, “Amen.”

“Ladies. This is Katia’s friend Diane, and she’s joining us today,” Rachel announced.

Several women welcomed Diane. She nodded at each member of the group, her cheeks warm. She’d never been the center of attention at a meeting that consisted of only women, and her heart pounded.

“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” She was surprised to realize she meant it.

The positive attention these women gave her made her stomach flutter. No one looked at her as if she was a husband stealer or with the jealousy she often felt from women who were plain looking. In past situations with other women, she’d felt sized up, as if they considered her to be competition. With pageants that had always been the case.

Even Diane’s mother subjected her to intense scrutiny, examining her regularly for flaws. If it hadn’t been for the unexpected feeling of goodwill and peace these ladies conveyed, Diane’s nerves might have sent her sprinting for the door.

They all took their seats, and Diane looked around, trying to decide where to sit. Katia patted the chair next to her in invitation. Diane eased onto it, unsure of what to say other than a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Several ladies had Bibles open on their laps. Katia leaned toward her and whispered, “You can share with me.”

“Let’s introduce ourselves,” Rachel said. “I’ll go first. My name is Rachel, and this is my house. My husband’s name is Scott and his son is Junior.” She patted her stomach. “And our baby is due next month. The doctor said we’re having a little girl.”

After the women offered their congratulations, Katia introduced herself. Next was an attractive, Hispanic woman.

“I’m Rosa. I work full-time as a nurse. I’m not married, and I don’t have children yet.”

A young African American woman with beautiful white teeth and long braids grinned. “Nice to meet you. I’m Angelica. My husband is in the Air Force, currently stationed overseas. I have a five-year-old son and a three-year-old daughter. They’re at their gram’s getting spoiled right now.” Her chuckle brought a smile to Diane’s face.

The redhead on Diane’s other side smiled. “My name is Amy, and I just graduated from Boise State last May. I live with my parents and haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life yet. I don’t even have a boyfriend. Definitely no kids.”

Now it was Diane’s turn. She took a steadying breath and spoke the way she had while competing in pageants, but toned down so she didn’t sound like an idiot or a cheerleader. “I’m Diane. I work in Caldwell in a small law office I share with two other lawyers. Most of my clients are from Nampa and Caldwell. I moved to Idaho three years ago, and I own a condo in Boise. I don’t have a husband or kids. I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

Amy grinned. “Glad I’m not the only one. You know I’ve been thinking . . . you look sort of familiar. Were you ever in the Miss Teen USA competition?”

Diane’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t been recognized in years.

“Yeah. But that was a very long time ago.”

Amy gasped. “I think I remember seeing you when I was in grade school. I’m a really huge pageant buff. You took first runner-up, right?”

Diane nodded. It was the only time she hadn’t won . . . and the same year her father died. She wondered how to change the subject.

She was relieved when Rachel said, “Well, that’s it for introductions. Does anyone have a prayer request before we start reading?”

Diane hesitated and looked around. She started to open her mouth, but lost her courage.

Katia tapped her arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Do you want me to tell them about your upcoming surgery and ask them to pray for you? I won’t tell them what it’s for if you don’t want me to.”

Diane shook her head and whispered, “No thanks.” Feeling uncomfortable, she folded her hands and listened, not wanting to sound dumb.

When the women finished praying and started their study, several began referring to God as their Father and said He disciplined His children in love. She could no longer remain silent. She wanted to ask them the troubling question she had carried in her heart for so long.

She raised her hand. “I have a question.”

She had been silent up to that point, and the other women turned a surprised look toward her.

Rachel nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I . . . I’d like to know how you deal with the concept of God as a father compared to your real father. I mean, what if your dad wasn’t such a great guy? Can anyone explain how they would handle this?”

“That’s an insightful question,” Rachel answered. “We’ve discussed the topic several times before. In fact, I’m still dealing with that issue. When negative feelings stir up in my heart regarding my father, I always take them to the Lord. I haven’t seen my dad in eleven years. Not since he left my mother for another woman. He hasn’t tried to contact me, so I don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”

Rosa
shifted on her chair. “My father died when I was very young, so my uncles helped my mother raise me. I don’t remember much of anything about my father. So I have no example to pull from. God is the only Father I have.”

“Many of you have heard this before, so I’ll be brief,” Katia said. “Communists killed my father when he tried to protect my mother from their abuse. I was only seven. Mom died that day too. From the little bit I remember of my father, I can say that he loved Jesus, he was kind, and I know for sure that he loved me.”

She scanned each member of the group before her gaze fell on Diane. “Many of us have had negative experiences with earthly fathers who can’t or won’t follow God’s perfect example. So we look to our heavenly Father for the unconditional love our fathers couldn’t give us.”

Diane’s lungs squeezed. Katia’s humble attitude impressed her. She used her negative experiences to make her stronger, something Diane wished she could do.

“My dad is a really great guy,” Amy piped up. “I was raised in a Christian home. I haven’t had to deal with the things some of you guys have experienced. I can’t even begin to imagine how you cope.”

Diane took a shaky breath. “What if your father only loved you when you did what he wanted? What if you always felt like you had to earn his love? What if you were always waiting for his approval and wondering if he’d ever stop—”

She choked on tears. Hunching over, she covered her face with her hands.

A hush fell over the group. The atmosphere grew thick around her, almost deafeningly quiet. Her experience was such a stark contrast to the other women. The peace that had enveloped her when she first arrived now evaporated like an elusive mist.

Her father’s silky voice penetrated her thoughts.
Sometimes I wish you weren’t my daughter, Di. You’re so beautiful
.

Diane’s heart pounded. Revulsion at the memory made her stomach lurch. She forcibly shut her father’s words out of her mind and glanced up. None of these women would understand her past. They would think it had been her fault.

Maybe it was my fault. I didn’t stop him. I always did what he wanted.

She shook off the twisted thought. “I’m sorry. I thought I . . . I don’t think I can do this. I have to go. Please excuse me for being rude.” Before anyone could protest, she grabbed her purse, got up, and ran to the front door.

Katia followed and tugged at her sleeve. “Wait, Diane. Don’t go. We can help. It’s obvious you’re hurting. Please let us help you. That’s what friends are for.”

Diane stared, her eyes not focusing as she looked beyond Katia. Rachel suddenly appeared next to Katia with the other women standing behind her. It was too much.

A lump grew in Diane’s throat. “I can’t stay. I’m not ready for this.”

Katia offer her a hug. “Consider coming back, then?”

Diane nodded, but didn’t respond. Negative thoughts invaded her mind and crowded out everything else.

You don’t belong with them. They’re a bunch of hypocrites, you’ll see. Besides, nobody understands your pain. Don’t talk to them. They’ll just blame you.

She ran down the driveway to where she’d parked her Mercedes. The moment she buckled in she reached for the car stereo, blasting classical music to drown out her thoughts. When the thoughts continued, she hummed a different tune. She even covered her ears, but nothing worked. They seemed to get louder.

Go buy yourself a drink. Drown your fears until you pass out. That’ll feel so much better than talking about your father.

For several minutes Diane debated driving to the liquor store. In the end, common sense won out and she drove home. She had to go to work in the morning. If she showed up hung over, she’d face questions, and gossip would spread. And that was the last thing she needed now.

*   *   *

Dave almost shouted into his cell phone as he paced across his living room. “No, Pastor Lane! I’m not kidding! She looked at me as if I was a freaking nut case when I told her I didn’t intend to decorate for Christmas this year and that I wasn’t planning to teach Joey about Santa Claus. Oh, and get this.” His voice was rising in pitch, so he took a slow breath and forced himself to relax.

“I’m listening.”

Dave sat in a chair, fighting tears. “When I mentioned that I wanted Joey to learn the true meaning of Christmas—about the birth of Christ and all—she looked at me like I was a religious fanatic and would somehow corrupt Joey because of my beliefs.”

He could hear Pastor Lane exhale. “That’s not good. Why aren’t you decorating this year?”

“It’s just so hard right now—celebrating the holidays alone, without my wife, you know? It’ll be the first Christmas for Joey and me since Merilee passed away that I won't be walking around in a fog. Last Christmas was too soon after her death and Joey was so young he didn't know the difference. I don’t have an issue with Santa Claus. I just don’t plan to focus on him and detract from the birth of Christ and the real meaning of Christmas. You hear what I’m saying?”