Looking into You by Chris Fabry

Looking into You by Chris Fabry

Author:Chris Fabry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Contemporary Women, FICTION / Christian / General
ISBN: 9781496406828
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2017-01-01T05:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 24

Paige

I dropped Treha off at her dorm just before curfew, got out, and hugged her. She did not return the hug, per se, but I felt a slight movement of her hands toward my back. I gave her my cell number and asked her to call me in the morning.

Once she’d disappeared inside, the clunk of the electronic lock securing her, I sat in the parking lot in the aftermath. Everything had changed in one evening. Everything had come into the open, and what should have been the greatest feeling of relief felt more like a new cloud.

When I was pregnant, when I had a more romanticized view of life, I had dreamed of this moment, dreamed of what we would talk about, where we might go and how the story might spill out. The look in her eyes as I told her. I could have taken her back to my home, and we could have stayed up all night looking at pictures and laughing, filling the blank spaces of her history, but this was not Treha’s way. I sensed we needed to ease into things.

How was I to go about this? I had no earthly idea how to be a mother, no pattern set before me other than my own mother and the mothers whose stories I had read. Ma Ingalls and Marmee March and the weak, feckless mothers of Dickens or conniving and conflicted mothers like Hamlet’s Gertrude. Maybe I could become more like Marilla to Anne?

I checked my phone and saw that Ron Gleason had left a text. And a voice mail. The text said, Please call me. He had sent an e-mail while I had visited my mother and father, detailing the things he was praying for me and how much he hoped God would sustain me. I’d written a brief response, telling him I appreciated his kindness. I did appreciate it, but I hoped the brevity of the e-mail would communicate that I still needed space.

I retrieved my messages and listened to the slight rasp in his voice, a little strained from the usual composed, self-assured tone.

“Paige, I just saw a video post from a Bethesda student on Facebook. I’m stunned. Is this true? Can you call me?” He took a breath and in my mind I could see him searching for words. “I suppose if it is, you’re probably speaking with her right now, your daughter. Wow. That’s hard to imagine. For me. And for you, probably. Sorry. It must be amazing for you to find her. For both of you. So I guess I’ll try not to bother you. But I . . . I wanted you to know—”

I hit Pause on the message. What was he talking about? What video?

I let the message play again.

“I wanted you to know this doesn’t change anything . . . for me. We all have things in the past. Regrets. Mistakes. I have those. A trunkful. I can handle anything else that’s in there. I’m a little shocked, I guess, but if it’s true, I want you to know I’m here.



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