Waiting for Butterflies Page 4

  Her tears swelled. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and rushed toward her car.

  “Me either.” The confession was only a whisper, but for the first time since he lost her, he allowed himself an instant to recall the genuine smile Maggie gave away so easily, the tilt of her head as she approached him with a kiss goodnight, the adoration on her face when she admired Rachel’s artwork or listened as Olivia made up one of her stories.

  “Maggie.” Her name sparked something inside him, familiar and painful, but something he could no longer suppress. He searched quickly for the girls. He needed them. He needed to be close to them, to put his arms around them, to instinctively protect them and love them as he hadn’t been able to since their nightmare began. He scanned the gravestones surrounding him. Nearly everyone had left. Only Erin, Maggie’s sister remained, standing beneath a large oak tree several feet away, hugging the girls and talking to the pastor.

  Sam approached and stretched his arms forward, inviting the girls to him. They eagerly entered his embrace. He wrapped his arms around them and squeezed, absorbing the security of holding his girls close. “I’m so sorry. I love you both so much. You know how much I love you, don’t you?”

  Rachel nodded her head into his chest. Olivia’s voice was muffled. “I love you, too, Daddy.” He fought back tears.

  “Sam, please let me know how I can help. If you need to talk anytime day or night, just call.” The pastor offered a business card and locked eyes with Sam. “I’ll be praying for you and the girls.”

  He sensed the pastor studying him like a specimen on a microscope slide, probably for a sign of softness in a weak moment, a chance to reach him when he was most vulnerable. Instead, Sam held his stare and let the card hang in the air between them.

  “Yeah? Well, while you’re praying, do me a favor. Ask God why.”

  The pastor rubbed his hand across his chin then turned his head. “Why is a question that often doesn’t have an easy answer, if it’s ever answered at all.” He hesitated before he looked back at Sam. “You could ask Him yourself, you know.”

  “If I talked to God right now, He wouldn’t like what I had to say.” Without apology, Sam turned away.

  “Girls.” Tenderness returned to his voice. “It’s time to tell Aunt Erin good-bye. She has a long drive home.”

  Rachel and Olivia clung to Erin. Sam mouthed “thank you,” but this time the words that had been automatic, surface, were genuine and deep. How would they have endured the past few days without her filling the vast void that had invaded their family?

  “Call me anytime you want.” Erin cupped Rachel’s hands in her own then crouched eye-level with Olivia. “I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can. I promise.”

  As the girls released their aunt, Sam put an arm around his daughters. “Let’s go home.”

  Pastor Rob laced his arms across his chest and leaned back into the trunk of the oak tree behind him. As the girls and their father walked toward the funeral director waiting beside a black limousine, he marveled at the mystery that was Sam Blake. Was mystery the right word? Maybe it was challenge, a challenge he seemed destined to lose. Then, perhaps impossibility was the correct term.

  He had known Sam ever since he took the church five years ago. In fact, through Maggie, Sam was one of the first people in the congregation Rob and his wife Cindy recognized by name. A deacon introduced them to his daughter, a real estate broker, to help them find a house. They quickly grew fond of Maggie as she proved not only to be a skilled broker but a dedicated member of Bethany Chapel as well, and in time a genuine friend. Rob and Cindy were at the hospital for the birth of Olivia. When Rachel accepted Christ, it was Rob’s privilege to baptize her. They grieved for Maggie as Rob buried both of her parents too soon, a year apart, her mother from ovarian cancer, her father from a heart attack. Experiencing life’s trials and triumphs with others tends to bring people closer. But not Sam. Sam held Rob at arm’s length.

  What puzzled Rob more than that, however, was how he felt about Sam. Professionally, he should be concerned about the state of Sam’s soul. His head told him he should find ways to push through barriers, to build a relationship with him, to give him spiritual guidance—and possibly to ensure Sam’s salvation, which he didn’t see much evidence of, though he tried not to judge. It seemed to him, if Sam were concerned about eternity at all, he was intent on getting in by his wife’s coat tails.

  Maggie had the girls in church nearly every Sunday, yet Sam rarely made an appearance. And for a period of time, two maybe three years ago, he never showed up at all, perhaps on Christmas, if Rob’s memory served him right. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable worshipping in a group setting. While Rob believed coming together as a body of believers was a vital part of a spiritual life, he wasn’t so closed minded to think it was a requirement of salvation. But he couldn’t figure Sam out because the man would not let him get closer than an extended handshake. He’d asked Maggie about it a time or two, but she merely made excuses about his work schedule, though her eyes revealed more.

  While Rob knew what he was supposed to do with an estranged congregation member like Sam, what confused him was how he felt about Sam. Or maybe what he didn’t feel would be a better way to explain it. Deep in his chest, where the undeniable impression of God’s guidance struck him, when it came to Sam Blake, he consistently sensed God telling him no. And to a pastor, that did not make sense. When Rob prayed for guidance, for God to take down the wall and provide an opportunity to connect with Sam, time and again Rob sensed the answer. No.

  And the strangest part of all, although Rob prayed the right things, he did so out of duty, not out of conviction. He wanted to pray out of conviction. The most important gift he had been given was compassion for people who needed God—whether for eternal life or for the walk of life. That gift tripled the membership of Bethany to three hundred, a small number in comparison to today’s mega-churches, but it was the largest congregation he could minister to in the way he was called to. But any conviction he had for Sam came from his head, not his heart, not the place where God gave him guidance. And Rob could not understand why.

  Why? The question Sam wanted answered. The question Rob had been most asked in his years as a pastor. To understand the answer required the deepest of faith, and even then he had seen a person or two shaken whose faith he thought might be stronger than his own. The faithful find it easy to say, “We may never know why, but God has an ultimate plan” or “we live in a broken world, and being a believer doesn’t give us an insurance policy to protect us from the storms of life.” That is, until one of those storms enters their life—a terminal disease, financial ruin, the loss of a child. So how could Rob begin to answer that question for Sam who, by all evidence, did not have the faith of even a mustard seed? Yet, in a feeble attempt to serve Sam as a pastor, he decided to honor Sam’s request, for himself as much as for Sam. “Lord, why? Why Maggie?”

  Sam laid on his side, staring at the picture on his night stand. The clock read 9:36. Two more minutes would mark the precise time the doorbell rang three nights ago and shifted his world into this alternate universe. He concentrated on the picture, forcing himself to remember the day it was taken. Last summer, they’d gone to the Smokey Mountains. After hiking all morning, Olivia had grown tired trying to keep up and begged Sam to carry her to the end of the trail. Maggie slowed their pace. “I wish someone could carry me, too.” His eyes lit up with mischief. “Your wish is my command.” As Sam reached toward her, Maggie protested in a wave of laughter. Olivia bounced and clapped. “Carry her, Daddy! Carry her!” In spite of Maggie’s best efforts to hold him off, in one swift motion he reached one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs and scooped her up in hero fashion. That’s when Rachel snapped the picture. Once they returned home, she enlarged it to an 8 x 10, framed it, and surprised Sam and Maggie with it for their anniversary. As he studied the picture now, he willed himself to re
vive the emotion so apparent in the shot . . . his adoring eyes, Maggie’s head thrown back in laughter. He could see it. But he could no longer feel it beneath the crushing weight in his chest.

  The numbers on the digital clock changed to 9:37. He had barely slept in the last three days. The first night he left Olivia asleep on the couch. Rachel slept beside her while Sam made phone calls. He listened as his hollow voice betrayed him by speaking words he refused to believe. The first of the calls was the most important. Erin, Maggie’s sister, promised to leave Louisville right away. She drove all night, arriving as a ribbon of light broke the horizon. Sam tried to doze in the recliner as he waited for her, but sleep eluded him. When he finally heard her car in the drive, he opened the door, waiting for her to whirl in and take command as he knew she would, and as he needed her to. Erin was the one with the explanation when Olivia awoke and asked for her mommy, the one who cried with Rachel when Sam felt like stone, the one who guided Sam’s mechanical decisions for the following days. He wished she could stay longer, but she was pressured to get back to her office to make final preparations for a jury trial scheduled to begin the next morning.

  The clock read 9:38. As Sam studied the numbers, he knew they would never again be just numbers. Twice a day the time would appear on his watch. Perhaps a lunch bill would ring up $9.38. He might see the number combination on a car’s license plate. And each time, he would remember 9:38 and wish he could turn the numbers back to 8:01, the time on Maggie’s last text saved on his phone. Cross your fingers. On my way home. How ironic it seemed now. Oh how Sam wished he had texted back. “Come straight home. You said you would be home to put the girls to bed. I need you. Please.” What was Maggie doing on Route 40 anyway? She must have decided to stop by the office. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?

  He had so many questions but no answers, and the weariness of it was unlike any he’d ever experienced, even as a cadet during his first night of police academy. After being physically and verbally stressed until midnight, the cadets were awakened at 3:00 a.m. to watch videos of gruesome crime scenes for two hours, and then struggled through a full day of class and P.T. before they were finally allowed to collapse in their dorms. That exhaustion was nothing compared to what Sam experienced now. That was physical. This was emotional. This was everything.

  He had fought and suppressed and denied the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, pain that reached a depth within him he never knew existed. He feared letting it surface, feared letting go. But it was there, rising a little more each moment, a massive, heavy thing, strangling and void of oxygen. It moved into his chest, and he no longer possessed the strength to push it back down. He started to panic. Olivia lay in fitful sleep beside him; Rachel was curled up on Maggie’s side of the bed. He choked back a sob, afraid to wake them.

  With a final glance at the picture on his night stand, Sam knew the fight was over. He laid the frame face down, unable to bear the agony of remembering, and rushed to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepped into the steamy spray and let the sobs rise up, one after another, releasing all the anguish, the tears, the fear, the anger, he had locked inside. Maggie was gone. In an instant it was over. For better, for worse, until death they parted. And Sam had done nothing to stop it. He hadn’t protected her. He hadn’t saved her. He jerked the shower handle to the left and let the water scald him. “Maggie.” He sobbed, pounding his fist on the tiled wall. He raised his face into the steam, the water mixing with his tears until finally no more tears remained, only gasping breaths that rhythmically rocked his body. He leaned back against the shower wall until the hot water ran out and let the coldness numb him.

  And then physical exhaustion came. Sam doubted he had the strength to walk from the shower to his bed where all he wanted to do was disappear in a deep sleep. But when he turned off the shower, Olivia cried out. He waited to see if it was isolated, as her nighttime cries sometimes were, or if it would be followed by more, even though she still lie asleep. Sam listened. When the next one came, he grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist, dripping a trail as he hurried to the bedside. As he sat down, Olivia clasped his hand and whispered,“Daddy.”

  At first he thought she was still asleep, but her eyes were fixed on him. “Are you okay, honey?” Sam pulled her into his lap and brushed her curls away from her face.

  Olivia snuggled into his arms. “She heard me cry and she came.”

  She came? He must not have heard correctly. Or maybe Olivia wasn’t really awake after all. He looked at Rachel, sound asleep. “Who came? Rachel?”

  “Mommy came. She came and sang to me.”

  Instantly, the door to Sam’s cell clanged shut. He wanted to retreat inside, behind the walls he’d constructed to keep the pain out. He had no idea how to respond. Of course, Olivia had been dreaming, but still, he wanted to yell, he wanted to cry, he wanted to comfort her. But mostly he wanted it to be true.

  “Daddy?”

  “Um, yeah, okay, honey.” He helped her lie back on the pillow and tucked the covers around her. “Try to go back to sleep. It’s really late.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and lingered a moment.

  As he turned to stand, he noticed the picture on his nightstand. “Olivia, did you fix the picture?” He pointed to the upright frame he had lain face down before escaping to the shower.

  “Mommy doesn’t like the picture down. She wants you to leave it like that.”

  “Honey, you had a dream.” He said it to himself as much as to her.

  “No, Daddy,” Olivia insisted. “She said that picture is one of her favorite things, you know, like the song she sang me.”

  Sam was worn thin. He couldn’t deal with this now. He would wait until morning, and it was likely Olivia wouldn’t even remember it then anyway. “Go to sleep, Olivia.” The command came out harsher than he intended.

  He returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. With a final check to make sure both girls slept soundly, Sam grabbed his pillow and headed for the recliner, certain sleep would no longer come as easily as he had hoped.

  CHAPTER 6

  At the moment Maggie recognized the little girl’s cry, she instantly called out. “Olivia!” It wasn’t the cry that meant Olivia had awakened and simply wanted tucked in nor the cry of fitful sleep because bedtime had come much too late. It was the cry that could startle Maggie from a coma and propel her ten steps across her bedroom carpet before her eyes were open, acutely aware of her duty. It signaled that Olivia was clutched by terror and would have Maggie calling the little girl’s name as she raced to her bedroom, scooping Olivia up, and rocking her back forth to pull her out of a nightmare.

  Maggie’s heart alternately fluttered and pounded as her attempts to breathe were shallow, suffocating. “Olivia!” She called out again, but she had no direction. “Where are you?”

  When she started to her left, the cry seemed to lessen. Yet, when she stepped to her right, the cry seemed stronger from the opposite direction. She turned in a frantic circle, drowning in the lavender sea.

  “I’m coming, Olivia!” Desperation filled her, and she panicked as Olivia’s cry grew louder. She strained to see beyond the falling diamonds, but it was useless. “I can’t find you, Olivia! I can’t find you!” Maggie closed her eyes to listen as intently as she could, but still, no direction.

  “Please, God. Help me.”

  And then there was silence.

  As Maggie listened in the emptiness, her panic grew stronger. She would never find Olivia now! With urgency she opened her eyes, prepared to search in every direction. But confusion interrupted her mission. She was no longer in that place with Nate.

  As her spinning mind began to slow, she realized she was in her own bedroom, and so was Olivia—asleep in her bed. A river of relief rushed through Maggie as her daughter quietly rested in surroundings so familiar, yet not quite the same.

  This room was her refuge, her escape after putting the girls to b
ed at the end of a long day. In the corner was her chair where she had relaxed with a good book, tired feet propped on the ottoman, or her “prayer chair” as she had secretly nicknamed it, her retreat for quiet moments. And one of her favorite escapes was her bed, especially when Sam worked into the evening, and a romantic comedy was in the DVD player.

  But now Maggie felt oddly out of place, a visitor, as Olivia tossed fitfully with Rachel asleep next to her, clutching Maggie’s pillow. Sam’s place was empty, but the way the covers were thrown back suggested he had been lying there, too. She tuned into the sounds around her. Sam was in the shower. A sudden whimper from Olivia put Maggie into motion.

  “Olivia, Mommy’s here.” Maggie sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Olivia’s hair away from her face. She rubbed her forehead, trying to relax her eyebrows. “Ssshhh. I’m here. You’re safe, baby. Everything’s okay. Shh.”

  Still sleeping, Olivia sighed deeply. Maggie caressed her hair until her breathing settled into a hypnotic pattern, signaling she had once again found peaceful sleep. She studied the little girl’s face, the long blonde lashes, the small round nose, the flush of pink on her full cheeks, still the face of a baby.

  A sharp longing rose within her. Just as she innately understood the place she had been with Nate, she realized the here and now. This was her home, her family. But they were different. She was different. She did not belong in Nate’s world, yet she knew she was no longer a part of her own. Agony, as deep as a fault beneath the earth’s crust, shifted viciously, fragmenting her core, forcing its way to the surface. A deep chasm separated Maggie from her children, unnaturally, painfully, too soon. And yet, she was here. Suddenly, her anguish dimmed into a lingering shadow, and a growing sense of purpose consumed her.