Authors note: If you're new to Wattpad, please click on the star at the end of the chapter if you like what you read. That lets other readers and me know that you found it worth reading. You are allowed to leave comments. Authors always appreciate comments. I especially appreciate constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.
Faith Lander was engaged to a killer. A few short hours ago, she was a giddy bride-to-be whose biggest problem was finding a florist to incorporate pansies into a bridal bouquet.
Aaron King shattered that reality.
"I have a confession to make, and there's no painless way to say it," Aaron said. His teacup shook as he set it carefully in the delicate china saucer. The pleading look he shot Faith reminded her of her brothers' faces when Mama caught them with a fist full of forbidden cookies. "When I was 17, I got my girlfriend pregnant. I emptied my college car fund and paid for her to have an abortion."
"You killed your unborn child?" Faith leaned forward, her eyebrows raised, her eyes as round and conspicuous as a full moon in a black velvet sky. She separated her words, hammering each one like a nail into a coffin.
Aaron closed his eyes for a second and breathed heavily through his nose. The indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence that followed Faith's harsh question.
"Yes." The final consonant hissed like droplets of water on a hot stove. His eyes were now open and begging for mercy.
Faith's petite form slumped further into the cushions of her overstuffed chair. She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. Almost as though talking to herself, she repeated the words, her voice breaking on "unborn."
"You killed your unborn child."
She ripped herself from among the cushions and lurched to her feet. Her hands clenched into fists, and she glared at Aaron.
"You killed your unborn child! How could you even consider such a thing?"
"I was young, confused." Aaron held his hand out toward her. "I have lived with regret for years."
"And you chose now to unburden your conscience. We are three months from our wedding. The invitations are sent." Faith threw her hands out, opening the clenched fists as though flinging invitations to the winds. "Who are you? I thought I knew you, and now you take off your mask."
"I haven't changed," Aaron said, standing to face her wrath. "I'm the same person you fell in love with." He reached out and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. "Look into my eyes, Faith. Native Americans say the eyes are the windows of the soul. Look into my soul, and you will find the man you love - a man who made a terrible mistake in the past but also a repentant man who has received forgiveness from God."
"And God's forgiveness is not enough? Now you want my forgiveness, too?" Faith twisted free of his grasp. "I don't know if I can offer forgiveness, Aaron. I need time to think."
Picking up her purse from the coffee table, she snatched her keys from the front pouch. "Don't call me. I'll call you."
Faith rushed into the fading afternoon sunlight. She shivered when the February wind penetrated her cotton shirt. She had forgotten her jacket. Glancing back at her apartment, she saw Aaron framed in the doorway.
"You, idiot," she scolded aloud. "It's your apartment. Why didn't you just tell him to leave?"
But she was not willing to go back and face her fiancé. Instead, she jumped in her car. She twisted the key viciously in the ignition. The tires squealed as she wrenched her Rav4 away from the curb. She drove aimlessly, letting herself vent aloud in the privacy of her vehicle.
"Why, God, why?" Her desperate question seemed to bounce around inside the vehicle. "Why did you let me meet him? I prayed for you to lead me to the right man."
Faith pounded her hand on the steering wheel. "When he told me he was 're-virgined' after renewing his vows to God, I accepted that I wouldn't be his first. Do you remember how hard that was? I talked to You a lot about whether I wanted to get involved with a man who had already given himself to another woman. But You had forgiven him, given him another chance. I thought You wanted me to do that too."
A ragged sob filled the silence. Faith took a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose loudly. "This is different. He aborted his child, snuffed an innocent life. How could you let me get involved with someone capable of..." Faith clenched her right fist and raised it to her mouth. "Murder," she whimpered into her knuckles.
All of her raging and crying seemed to fall on deaf ears. No peace or comfort descended. Abandoning her conversation with the Almighty, Faith called Aaron despicable names that she would never say to his face. She raged and cried. Finally she pulled up in front of her mother's house. Shoving her fingers into her mass of auburn curls, she slumped over the steering wheel, her forehead resting on the cold metal. After a moment, she sat up, resolutely squared her shoulders, and swiped a tear from her eye. Mama would help her sort this out. Sydney Lander was the only one Faith could trust with the appalling truth.
In any other circumstance, the uncharacteristic chill would have forewarned Faith as she stepped into the house. It was always warm. Mama said she refused to be tormented by cold feet. Daddy said she was cold blooded, like a snake that crawls out on a rock on a sunny day to get warm.
The cold in the room didn't echo in Faith's heart until she stood watching her mother snoozing in her beloved swing on the glassed-in back porch. Mama wasn't wearing her earrings. David Lander had given them to Sydney Rae Montgomery on their wedding day. In Faith's memory, the only time Mama removed them was for the annual cleaning. The ritual coincided with her parents' August anniversary; it was mid-February.
In her haste to reach her mother, Faith set the swing rocking as her knee collided with the cloth-encased metal frame. She rubbed her knee as she steadied herself. Mama stirred, opened kind eyes, and smiled drowsily up at her only daughter. Lifting a sheet of paper from her lap, she proffered it.
"I love you, Babe," she said breathlessly, as though she had just stepped off the treadmill sitting in the corner rather than waking from a tranquil nap. Her eyes suddenly widened, and her left hand jerked toward her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut as though in pain but then the hand dropped onto her stomach. She sagged into the cushions that were shaped like Mama, she sat there so often.
"Mama, Mama," Faith cried as she tried to shake the diminutive woman back into consciousness. "Oh, please, Mama. You have to wake up. I need to talk to you about Aaron, about the wedding."
Mama did not stir. As Faith frantically felt for a pulse, she feared the worst. Daddy's cancer had struck suddenly and fiercely. Mama couldn't die too. Not now. Who else could advise her? Aaron had confessed his ugly secret, and Faith was counting on Mama's wisdom to help put things in perspective. Now. . .
Reining in her emotions, Faith forced herself to concentrate on the steps she had learned in the CPR course she took an eternity ago. Check for signs of life. She'd done that. Ask if they want help. Shaking Mama probably counted. Call for help.
Faith's composure crumbled as she groped for her cell phone. She dissolved into tears when the instrument fell from her tremulous hands. Scrabbling for the phone on hands and knees, she felt her life spiraling further out of control. She was so befuddled that she hit the #9 fast dial for her brother instead of 9-1-1.
Josh's familiar hello brought momentary relief. Forgetting she was an adult, Faith dumped her emotions on her big brother's broad shoulders.
"Joshy," she hiccupped. "I'm at Mama's. It's cold. I should have known something was wrong. Mama's gone."
"Gone?" he asked. "As in gone to visit Aunt Joni in Alaska, or gone, as in abducted?"
"Neither. Gone as in," she sobbed the last word, "dead."
"Have you called an ambulance?" he asked, getting straight to the heart of the matter with his usual detached logic.
"No," she wailed.
"Then call 9-1-1 now. You are there and can give them the information they need. I'm on my way."
The emergency operator's calm manner was what Faith needed. As she listened to the unruffled voice and answered routine questions, she managed to regain some semblance of control.
"Assistance is on the way," the operator said. "Have you ever taken CPR?"
"Yes. I tried to wake her and checked her pulse, then I called for help, like I was supposed to."
"You're doing good. Now, get her to a firm surface," the operator advised. "Tilt her head back and make sure she's not breathing."
Faith put the open phone on the floor. She squatted in front of her mother and placed her arms under Mama's. When Faith's elbows were crooked in Mama's armpits, she tilted Mama's head onto her shoulder. As she stood from her crouch, Faith pulled Mama to her feet and then swiveled the uncooperative body to the left and carefully lowered her to the cold cement floor.
Faith flinched. "I'm sorry, Mama. I know how much you hate cold floors."
She found no evidence of breath. She forced two quick breaths into Mama's mouth and then shouted toward the phone.
"I'm starting chest compressions."
"Good," the voice from the instrument said. "Remember, it's 30 chest compressions. It used to be 15."
"One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, come on Mama. Four, come on Mama. Five, come on Mama," Faith chanted.
As she counted to 30 for the fourth time, Faith's arms screamed for relief. She broke out in a sweat. Her chant changed to, "One, you can do it. Two, you can do it." With relief, she heard the faint sound of a siren gradually growing louder.
The disembodied voice of encouragement called, "I hear the siren, but don't stop. You must keep working until they get to you. I told them you are in the back."
Beginning the fifth cycle, Faith's mantra was now, "One, just hold on. Two, just hold on."
The fast-approaching dark was interrupted by an undulating red glow that illuminated the glossy leaves of the holly tree in the back yard.
"Three, a flashing light. Four, help is here. Five, it's almost over. Six, hold on Mama."
As a man ran around the corner of the house, a security light that was set to come on when dark descended flickered and then glowed steadily. Faith blinked as the unexpected brilliance momentarily obscured her focus.
"I see her. Bring the stretcher," the human shape called.
A uniformed man with a case slung over his shoulder clattered up the steps.
"Thank God," Faith said, as the paramedic stepped through the glass door.
As the EMTs took over, Faith stumbled to the nearby swing. When she flopped down in fatigue, she heard the crinkle of paper. Absently, she retrieved the sheet Mama had offered and stuck it in her pocket.
As one EMT continued chest compressions, another set up the portable defibrillator. A third called the hospital to provide a link with a doctor.
"Oh, please, God," Faith said. "Let the machine work. I need her."
When the EMT tore Mama's shirt open, Faith twisted her face away from her mother's exposed indignity. Shuddering she looked back to find electrodes attached, making Mama look like some bionic woman wired for a diagnostic. The illusion collapsed as a shock was administered, and Mama's body jerked. A robotic voice informed the paramedic that there was still no heart activity and instructed him to try again. The second EMT resumed chest compressions.
"Clear," came the command that signaled it was time to administer another shock.
"Please, please, please," Faith begged.
Mama flopped again, and the same metallic voice spoke its negative message. As the waiting EMT resumed chess compressions, Faith heard a car door slam, followed by the crash of the front door and the sound of running feet. She turned in time to see Josh hurry through the door. His jacket bunched absurdly where he had forced the wrong button into a buttonhole. His eyes flashed to the EMT holding the defibrillator paddles and then swung left to where Faith sat on the swing.
Josh reached the swing in a few steps. He sank down and gripped Faith's hand, his eyes riveted on Mama.
"Clear."
Mama's body jumped.
"How many times?"
"Three."
Before she could say more, one medic turned off the machine while another continued compressions.
"Ma'am," the medic said, "there's no response. It's been too long. I'm a paramedic trained to make this assessment. The emergency doctor concurs, but if you want we can continue CPR and transport her to the hospital."
"You can stop," Josh answered for Faith.
She snatched her hand from Josh's grip.
"You can't just give up." She jumped to her feet. "Tell them to keep trying, Josh. Mama's not a quitter. She's a fighter."
He shook his head at the paramedic, who was still counting while he watched the disagreement.
"She's the one who called us," the paramedic said. "She's been here the whole time. I need her permission to stop."
"Faith, listen to me," Josh said. He took her by the chin, like Mama had done when she was obstinate as a youngster, and forced her to look at him. "She had an aneurysm inside her heart. She suspected her time was short. She told me about it a few weeks ago and let me read her medical file. She said, 'When my time comes, let me go peacefully.'"
He breathed in raggedly.
"We have to let her go, Faith. It's what she wants."
Tears spilled onto Josh's hand. Faith squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head back and forth rapidly. Finally she drew in a deep breath: once, twice, a third time. Opening her eyes, she clenched her teeth and glared at Josh while she breathed out heavily through her nose. Finally she spoke, enunciating each word.
"You can stop."
When Josh dropped his hand, Faith turned her back to him and walked over to the glass wall that faced Mama's lovingly tended yard. As she stared blankly into the night, she heard the sounds of a medic putting away equipment.
"In cases like this, we have to call the coroner," an EMT said apologetically.
"It's okay," Josh said. "Her medical file is here. I'll go get it to show the coroner. I'm sure with that evidence, he'll waive an autopsy."
Faith heard Josh's footsteps retreating. She turned. Mama's shirt had been clumsily closed. A paramedic was about to cover her.
"No, don't," she said. "I need to say goodbye."
Faith forced her feet into action. A few steps brought her to her mother's side. She knelt and smoothed back Mama's hair. She straightened the skewed blouse. Finally, she plopped to the floor beside Mama and spread her legs like a little girl. She took her mother's cold hand in hers and straightened the rings. She rubbed the star sapphire in the engagement ring with her thumb. Finally she leaned forward and kissed Mama on the tip of her nose.
"I wish you had told me, Mama," she said, fresh tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "We could have done some fun things instead of obsessing over wedding plans." Faith licked salty tears from where they pooled in the creases of her mouth. She sniffed. "There are so many things I didn't get to ask you. If you're hovering nearby before going to Heaven," Faith looked up towards the ceiling as though expecting Mama's spirit to set the ceiling fan spinning. After a few seconds, she looked back down at her mother. "Just know I love you."
Hours later, after Mama had been taken away by the funeral director, Faith dragged her tired body into her apartment. She heated a cup of tea and sank into her easy chair. The smell of Earl Grey caused tears to flow yet again. Mama had taught her to love the English tea, which was also the Lander comfort tonic. This time, though, the smell only brought added pain. Faith reached into her pocket for a Kleenex. She pulled out the forgotten sheet of paper her mother had offered and smoothed out the crumpled missive. She read:
#
My dear Faith:
I hoped to make it to your wedding day, but I feel that hope no more. Until recently, I kept from you and your brothers the fact that I have an inoperable aneurysm inside the heart. I went alone for the tests; I let you kids think I was off on a writing assignment. I couldn't bear to put you through another stressful period of anxiety only six years after your father's tragic bout with cancer.
While the doctors say I could live for years, they also admit the ballooning artery is a time bomb waiting to explode. I finally told Josh a couple of weeks ago and let him see my medical files, but I told him not to share the information with you and Zach. I didn't want dreary days filled with tears or silent dread. I didn't want to dampen your wedding plans, and I didn't want Zach to rush home from his nurse's post in Brazil.
With my increasing fatigue and shortness of breath, I suspect my time is near. If you are reading this, then I am right. There is something I want you to have. You can wear them at your wedding, or not. The decision is yours. You will find my earrings in a box on my desk, along with my journals.
#
Faith gasped, her right hand flying to her mouth. The hand holding the letter trembled, and she lowered the paper into her lap. She squeezed her eyes shut. It felt like her heart was in a vise. One screw was her mother's death, the other Aaron's admission. Was it possible for grief to crush her heart?
"There may not even be a wedding," Faith said aloud. "Maybe I should just take your earrings to the funeral home. You will look lost without them."
Even as she formed the words, Faith knew she wouldn't follow through. She couldn't disregard Mama's bequest, even if hurt and anger washed over her every time she thought of the wedding. Faith dropped her hand to her chest and massaged where the ache lodged. Eventually, she raised the letter and resumed reading.
#
When you gave me a journal and fancy fountain pen, encouraging me to write my life experiences so that the family thread would not be lost, I was reluctant to desert my ever-present laptop and return to the Ink Age. Since you wanted words in my script, I gave it a try, expecting it to be a chore. Instead, the experience proved cathartic. Something about putting pen to paper ignited healing memories, helping me through the grief of your father's passing.
The journals with my memoirs are yours now. I'm not sure it is the family thread you desired, but I hope they will help you understand love.
Too many of your generation view love as only an emotion. When the emotion fails, the relationship follows. True love is more; it is an emotion strengthened by commitment. When emotion falters, commitment holds the relationship together until the feeling is reborn.
I have always been a fanciful woman, and so I named my memoirs. I call them 'The Earrings,' because I offer you life lessons from my jeweled roses. My David gave them to me on our wedding day, and I have worn them almost every day since. The earrings rode the roller coaster of love through thirty years of marriage. Those are the years included in the journals.
Some of my weekly columns are interspersed. More often than not, David found his way into my writing, just as I found my way into his sermons. We enjoyed ribbing each other but always with love, never with malice.
I pray that you can read with an open heart. Afterwards, you will know whether you want the earrings to be part of the tradition you will build with your Aaron or whether their heritage is too weighty to carry into a new relationship. Whatever you decide, you have my blessing. I love you, Babe, and I know that you will choose wisely.
Mama