The Desire
© 2014 by Dan Walsh and Gary Smalley
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Ebook edition created 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1958-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
About that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?” Jesus called a little child to him and put the child among them. . . . “Anyone who becomes as humble as this little child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me.”
âMatthew 18:1â2, 4â5
M
ichele didn't know why she'd come here, why she tortured herself this way. The place stirred all kinds of emotions inside her. None of them good.
They were just children playing on a playground. They were just moms chatting on a bench under a tree.
“Watch, Mommy, watch!”
Michele walked along the sidewalk in one of the many shaded playgrounds in River Oaks. It was Friday afternoon. A little boy, maybe three years old, stood at the top of a yellow kiddy slide, facing the moms on the bench. But Mommy didn't watch. None of the women did. They just kept yakking away.
“Mommy, watch me!” He stood there a few moments more.
One of the women glanced his way. Long enough to say, “Great, Sammy,” then back to her little group.
Sammy looked at her, waited, then went down the slide.
How could she do that? What could she possibly be talking about that mattered more than her son? Some new sale at the mall? Some new coupon deal on the internet? Michele watched Sammy land softly on his rear end, stand up, and brush the sand off his pants, then run around to the ladder again. Sure enough, when he got to the top: “Mommy, watch!”
This time, his mother only looked, then offered a dismissive wave. Back to her friends, who received the fullest measure of her attention.
I would watch
you
.
If you were mine, I would watch every single
time. And listen to every word you said, whether it
mattered or made no sense at all
.
As Michele reached a picnic table at the other end of the playground, the little boy went down the slide again and looked over at his mom when he stood. He registered no disappointment, none that she could see. It was amazing how resilient and forgiving children were at that age, and even older. At the school where she taught kindergarten and first grade, she saw that resilience all the time. Due to cutbacks and having almost no seniority, she could only work part-time, which left her afternoons free.
She counted five children on the playground. Three boys, two girls. All preschool age. Two babies in strollers over by the moms. So many kids for three ladies.
Aren't they the lucky
ones?
They looked to be her age, maybe a few years older. Must have married young like she had. Probably waited a year then started popping babies out at will, one right after the other.
How nice for them.
And look, they brought them to the playground to play. Such good mothers. But how good were they really if they could blot their kids out of their consciousness so completely?
Her anger stirred.
That's what happens when things come
too easily. They don't mean as much.
Like the way her younger brother Doug treated his little red Mazda, the car her parents had bought for him when he got his license. He'd been back from college this past weekend, and the car, as usual, was a mess. And Doug, as usual, was oblivious to it. She and Tom,
her older brother, never had a car handed to them like that. They had to work for their beat-up used cars all through high school, come up with the money for their gas and insurance by themselves.
“Mommy, come push me.” Another little boy stood on a tire swing, trying to shift his body weight back and forth. He didn't weigh enough to generate any motion. “Mommy?” he cried out again.
“I can't right now, honey,” one of the other women said. “Ask your sister.”
“She's not big enough.”
Michele waited for the mother's reply, as did the little boy on the swing. She didn't answer. She did laugh extra hard at something the woman at the far end of the bench said. Michele wanted to scream, or at least say something. Really, she wanted to walk out to the playground and push the little boy herself.
Wouldn't that get their attention?
Her cell phone rang. She lifted it out of her purse. It was her mom. Should she answer it? Generally, she enjoyed talking with her mom, but they weren't on the same page about this issue. Her mom tended to side with Michele's husband, Allan. Their opinion was simple: not getting pregnant after a year of trying wasn't that big of a deal.
But it was a big deal to Michele, a very big deal.
What if her mom asked Michele where she was or what she was doing? Should she lie? That wouldn't be right. She answered on the third ring. “Hi, Mom, what are you up to?”
“Hey, Michele, I'm just doing some shopping for our big Sunday dinner. Doug will be coming back from school, and of courseâ”
“Two weekends in a row? Isn't that some kind of record?”
“I know,” her mom said. “Of course, Tom and Jean and the kids will be here, and so will Charlotte. Even Audrey Windsor is coming.”
“Mrs. Windsor? Haven't seen her in a little while. How is she doing?”
“I'm not sure. I think she's okay. Your father talked to her. She called a few days ago saying she had something important to talk to him about, so he invited her to the dinner.”
“I wonder what it is,” Michele said.
“I have no idea. I'm just calling to make sure you're still coming.”
“I am. But remember, Allan's not home yet from his mission trip to Africa.”
“When does he get home?”
“Tuesday night. He's flying in to the Orlando airport.”
“We'll miss him. We'll have you guys over some night soon after he settles in to hear all about it.”
“That sounds good. So should I come right after church on Sunday?”
“About an hour after. But not much later than that. You know how your father is. He wants to eat as soon as we sing the closing song.”
Michele laughed.
“Well, I better go. Talk to you soon.”
Michele put her phone back in her purse and turned to face the children on the playground again. The situation was the same. The children playing and laughing, occasionally calling out to their moms for attention; the moms' attention still mostly focused on each other.
It was sad.
But as upsetting as it was seeing these children taken for granted, Michele was aware of a peculiar conflict inside. An
other part of her longed to be sitting right there under that tree with the moms, chatting away.
A few minutes later, when tears welled up in her eyes, she knew she had to move, to do something else, anything. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes, then gathered her things. As she did, she noticed a slim, brown-haired girl a few yards away, standing by a tree, looking right at her. She wore jeans and a baggy pullover sweatshirt, which seemed odd to Michele. It was quite warm out. As Michele looked closer, she understood why. The baggy sweatshirt did a poor job of hiding the fact that the girl was pregnant. When she saw Michele noticing, she looked away.
Michele pulled out her keys, but she did it too fast, and they fell to the pavement. Bending down to pick them up, she heard footsteps behind her and turned. It was the girl who had been standing by the tree.
“I couldn't help but notice you looking at the kids on the playground.” She had a slight accent, maybe New York. “And how it made you cry.” She hesitated a moment. “I've seen you here a few times. I've been coming too. But I don't think for the same reason. Mind if I ask you a question?”
Michele restrained a sigh. Had she not dropped her keys, she'd be on her way to the car right now.
I
was just getting ready to go,” Michele said.
The girl sat down. “I can see that. This won't take long. You don't even have to tell me your name.”
That sounded odd. But Michele couldn't just get up and walk away. It would be too rude. She relaxed her grip on her purse. “What do you want to know?”
“I guess . . . well, maybe two things. Why were you crying? And why do you come here to watch little children play?”
Michele didn't want to answer either question. Not with a complete stranger. But the girl looked right into her eyes. She seemed totally sincere. “Why do you want to know?”
The girl paused. “I get it . . . Answer a question with a question. You don't want to tell me. It's okay. You don't know me.”
Tears welled up in the young girl's eyes. She blinked them back, turned her attention to the kids on the playground.
“I'm sorry,” Michele said. “I just wasn't prepared to talk about what you want to know. It's deeply personal. You know that, right?”
The girl looked at her again. “I know. I forget sometimes, not everyone says what's on their minds like me. It's just . . . I have a big decision to make pretty soon, and I'm looking
for answers.” She looked back at the children. “They're really cute at that age. Not a care in the world.”
“I know,” Michele said. “Is your big decision about . . . the baby?”
The girl smiled. “Now look who's getting personal.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't meanâ”
“It's all right. Yeah, it's about the baby. I'm actually past due.” She looked down at her belly. “I don't mean with the baby, with this decision. The baby's not due for two more months.”
Michele could hardly believe the girl was seven months pregnant. She would've guessed five. “You don't look like you've gained a pound over what the baby weighs.”
“The doc agrees. He'd like me a little fatter. Not fatter, but you know what I mean. Guess it's my genes. My girlfriends back in high school used to hate me, 'cause I never gained any weight.”
“Where are you from?”
“Long Island.”
“I guess your genes also affect your looks. You don't look old enough to be out of high school to me.”
The girl smiled. “Just graduated last year. Came down to Florida a little after that. Long story. Not a happy one.” The smile disappeared.
She had a cute face. She looked even prettier when she smiled.
“So what did you want to ask me?”
“It's just, I've been coming here off and on the last month. I've seen you here quite a few times.”
Michele had never noticed her until today.
“Each time I come, you're staring at the kids, watching them play. Not in a creepy way. You always look so sad. Most
of the time, I see tears in your eyes before you leave. Guess it just made me curious. I keep trying to figure out what your story is.”
Michele sighed. Strong emotions began to stir. She turned to face the kids again. “I want to be . . . like you.”
“Like me?”
Michele looked back at her. “Pregnant. I want to have a baby. But I can't. At least not so far.”
“How long have you been trying?”
“We've been trying a little over a year. My husband and I. His name is Allan.” Why did she say that? They weren't using names.
“A year's not very long, is it?”
Michele could tell by the tone of her voice, she was trying to sound comforting. But it wasn't comforting. Almost everyone said that. Couldn't they see it was an annoying thing to say to someone in her situation? “It's a long time when you want it more than anything else in the world. It's a long time when you're doing everything you can to get pregnant, and it doesn't happen. When nothing you try works. Then you see it happening to everybody else but you. Even to women who don't want to get pregnant.” Immediately, Michele regretted that. “I'm sorry. I really wasn't thinking about you.” She actually had Jean, her sister-in-law, in mind. She'd gotten pregnant with their last baby while she was still on birth control, when Tom was still out of work.
“That's okay. I certainly wasn't planning on this. I was just being stupid.”
“See, that's what I mean,” Michele said. “It's not fair. God allows girls who don't even want babies to get pregnant, then says no to people like me.” She couldn't help it; the tears wouldn't stop.
The girl pulled out some tissues from her sweatshirt pocket and handed them to Michele. “I never used them. I just brought them in case my allergies acted up.”
Michele wiped her eyes. “Thanks.”
“You're right. It doesn't seem fair. I don't know what God's thing is when it comes to babies and who gets them. Well, I mean, who gets pregnant. Who gets them is another matter. That's kind of my problem, where I'm stuck at the moment.”
Michele suddenly wondered, was that what this girl was getting at? Was she looking for someone to adopt her baby? “I'm not really interested in adopting a baby right now.”
“What?” the girl said, looking confused.
“You said you were stuck, about who gets babies. And you said you were making a big decision. I just thoughtâ”
“That I was asking you?”
“I guess.”
The girl smiled.
Once again, Michele was struck with how pretty she was when she smiled. With a new hairstyle and some makeup, she might even be called beautiful.
“No,” the girl said, “I wasn't hinting at you taking my baby. My big decision is whether to become a single parent or give my baby to this adoption agency, one I found out about at this clinic that's helping me. They gave me all these assignments to help me sort it out, and I think I know which way I'm leaning, but I'm still not 100 percent sure. It's such a big deal. It's my baby's life, where she's gonna spend the rest of it.”
Now Michele understood. “I guess the answer to your question is . . . I come here to dream. I'm dreaming of the day when I'll have my own baby and I can bring him or her to a playground like this.” She looked back toward the children.
“But I can promise you, when that day comes, I won't be sitting on a bench ignoring them, chatting with my friends. I'm going to be right out there with them every single minute.” Michele needed to stop. She could feel a rant coming on. “So why do you come here?”
Tears appeared again in the girl's eyes. She quickly looked away. “I guess to help me convince myself, to help me close the gap on those few remaining doubts about what to do with my baby.”
“You're leaning toward adoption then?”
The girl nodded. “I could never give her this, a life like this. A neighborhood like this. A playground like this. Have you seen the cars in the parking lot? I parked mine in the street two blocks away. It's complete crap. I'm not even married. I've got a terrible job and no future. They could film episodes of
Cops
in my apartment complex. A lady from the adoption agency told me that almost all of their couples have nice cars, nice houses. They're married, and they have good jobs. They check all this out before they approve them. And they're all Christians. They've all been praying, sometimes for years, for a baby just like mine, because they can't have one on their own.”
She released a heavy sigh. “That's what I want for my baby. What she deserves. It's not her fault God stuck her with me.” This time, there were too many tears to blink back.
Michele reached out her hand. “What's your name?”
The girl pulled out another tissue and dabbed her eyes. “Christina. My name's Christina.”
