God's Gift. Dee Henderson
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and James knew his mom didn’t just offer lessons to anyone.
He tugged a chair out at the table and turned it so he could stretch his legs out and greet his dog. The Labrador was straining to push his way into his lap, his tail beating against the table leg. “Easy, Jed, yes, it’s me,” James told the animal, stroking his gleaming coat, glad to see at fifteen years that Jedikiah appeared to still be in good health.
Rae leaned over to look past him. “Patricia, he’s not nearly as tall as you claimed,” she said in a mock whisper.
Patricia laughed as she pulled out the chair between them. “Now that he’s here, he’s not nearly as perfect as we remember.”
“Rae, I think the problem is he’s been gone long enough I’ve forgotten all the mischief he used to get into,” his mom said with a twinkle in her eye as she brought over a glass of iced tea for him. She lightly squeezed his shoulder. “It’s good to have you home, James.”
“It’s mutual, Mom,” he said softly, smiling at her, relaxing back in the chair. His journey was over for now.
It felt good to be home.
“Rae, you mean to tell me you actually volunteered for the junior high lock-in?” James teased.
They were stretched out in the living room enjoying the fire and relaxing after a wonderful dinner. His mom was beside him on the couch and his sister was sitting in the wing-back chair to his left. His dog was curled up at his feet. Rae was wrestling with the two puppies over ownership of a stretched-out sock.
“Staying up all night was no big deal. Patricia just forgot to tell me I would also be fixing breakfast for twenty junior high kids. Your niece, Emily, saved me. She’s great at making pancakes.”
“Let me guess…you taught her, Mom?”
“She’s a natural,” his mom replied, smiling.
A pager going off broke into the conversation. Rae glanced at the device clipped on her jeans. “Excuse me.” She reached across the puppies to retrieve her purse and a cellular phone.
“Hi, Scott.”
She listened for a few moments, the animation in her face changing to a more distant, focused expression. “How many yen? Okay. Yeah, I’m on my way in. See you in about twenty minutes.”
She closed the phone, got to her feet. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the baking lesson and dinner, Mary.”
“Any time, Rae. I enjoyed having you here.”
“Call me about this weekend, Rae, maybe we can do lunch after church,” Patricia asked.
Rae nodded. “Let me see what is on my schedule.”
James saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she pulled on her jacket, glanced at him. “I’m sure we’ll being seeing each other again,” he commented with a smile. If he had anything to say about it, they would be….
She gave a slight smile. “Probably. Good night, James.”
“Good night, Rachel.”
The drizzling rain made the road black and the street-lights shimmer as she drove to the office. Rae’s hands were tense around the wheel, for the night reminded her too much of the one on which her partner Leo had died.
She had been in New York when their mutual friend Dave called, pulled her out of a pleasant dream and abruptly flung her into the harsh reality of Leo’s death. Dave had chartered a plane to get her back without delay, and her girlfriend Lace had been waiting at O’Hare to meet her.
There hadn’t even been time to grieve during the following ten days. Days after Leo’s death, the markets began a ten percent fall. Rae, trying to learn to trade with Leo’s skills overnight, felt crushed under the stress. Yet, it had been good, that crushing weight of work; it had insured she had a reason to get up each morning, a reason to block out the pain and focus on something else.
Her friends were good and loyal and there for her. She had survived. Part of her anyway. Part of her had died along with Leo that cold, wet, October night.
The mourning had started a few weeks later, the blackness blinking out her laughter for over a year.
She had promised Dave and Lace she would start getting out more. She knew they were worried about her; it had been eighteen months since Leo’s death, but it still felt like yesterday. She wondered at times if the pain was ever going to leave.
In some respects, she knew the pain was a blessing. She had been to the bottom, the pain could not get worse. No matter what the future held for her, there was a certain comfort in knowing she had touched the bottom and she had survived. Life could offer her nothing worse than what she had already tasted.
She was picking up her life again, resuming activities she had enjoyed before Leo’s death. She had begun to bowl on a league again, was back as a sponsor with the youth programs at her church, had decided to try once again to learn how to cook. She pursued the activities though the enjoyment was still hollow.
Tonight had been nice, relaxing, if a little intimidating to meet the man everyone spoke of so highly.
James Graham had been in pain tonight. He had downplayed his answers to his mother’s questions, but Rae had observed and drawn her own conclusions. He had moved with caution, as if expecting the pain.
She had seen Leo through too many broken bones and pulled muscles; she knew how unconscious movement was, how easily you moved first without thinking and then were caught by surprise. James had been living with pain so long, he had relearned how to move.
He was worried. She had seen it in his face when he thought no one was watching. It had made her wish she could do something, anything to help. She hated to see someone suffer.
He had the guest room on the east side of the house. The shadows of the oak tree outside his window danced across the ceiling as cars passed by on the street below. The bed was comfortable, more comfortable than any he had slept in for the past six years.
He couldn’t sleep.
His body was too exhausted, his muscles too sore.
James watched the play of shadows across the ceiling, absently flexing his right wrist where the pain was unusually intense. He had learned many weeks ago that it did no good to try to fight the fatigue. Eventually, sleep would come. Still, he knew he would feel exhausted when he woke, no matter how many hours his body slept.
It had been a good evening. He couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed an evening or someone’s company more.
Rachel the Angel. His crew in Africa had given her the name because of the packages she sent twice a month via Patricia. It had taken James almost four months to get an answer from Patricia on who was taping the Chicago Bulls basketball games for them. They had rigged up a battery-powered TV/VCR to travel with them so they could enjoy the games.
Those tapes had been like water to his thirsty men. His crew had been mostly short-term help—college graduates and missionary interns there only for a specific building project. They had all been homesick for something familiar. Rachel had no idea how important those gifts had been to him and his men.
He owed her a sincere thank-you.
He had watched her over dinner and as she had played with the puppies later. He had watched her when her face was relaxed and when she smiled.
She wasn’t all she appeared to be on the surface.
Rae had been friendly, polite, and slightly flustered at the idea of interrupting a family reunion by staying for dinner. But the lightness and the laughter and the smile she had shown this evening had seemed forced. When she laughed, it didn’t reach her eyes.
James had seen grief tempered by time before. He knew he was seeing it again.
The picture on the nightstand was the last thing Rae saw before she turned off the