| |
Nora
Nora plugged her phone in and then went to her bedroom to change.
The comfortable dry clothes made her feel even more exhausted, and this exhaustion made her feel guilty. Her baby was missing; she didn’t have time to be tired. Wondering how long someone could run on adrenaline alone, she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
The idea of eating made her feel nauseous, but she thought maybe eating something would give her some much-needed energy.
She was wrong. She hadn’t even finished her toast and yogurt when her eyelids started to drift shut. She nearly spilled the yogurt in her lap before she jerked awake.
She set the yogurt on the table beside her recliner and checked her phone. No useful messages. And it was now late afternoon. Where had the day gone? Was it possible that Levi wasn’t going to get home today? Was she really going to have to watch the sun go down knowing he was still out there?
She tipped her head back and wept. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She didn’t want to hold it in anymore. She wanted to cry. She needed to cry. So she cried and cried, and those tears paved the way for her to wail. She cried out like she’d never cried before—a primal cry of the utmost agony, and then she did it again. She wailed until her throat hurt, and oddly, this pain in her throat was the first thing to bring her a hint of comfort.
It wasn’t much. But it was something. So she screamed again.
Nora screamed herself to sleep.
And when she woke up, the world outside her trailer was dark. She checked her phone. Nothing.
What could she do? There was nothing to do.
Except maybe pray.
She sighed. Yes, it was time to pray. She got up from her chair and went to the bathroom. Then she started a pot of coffee and got a glass of water from the tap. She drank half the glass on her way back to the chair. She sat and tried to concentrate. God, she said in her head, I don’t really know how to do this. Immediately she thought of her father. He would know how to do this. I’m sorry I haven’t really believed in you. She’d done more than not believe. She’d actively believed that God didn’t exist. Because he hadn’t stopped her father—a man who believed with all his heart—from suffering and dying.
But I need you to be real right now because I’m desperate. And I will do anything. Seriously. Anything. You can have the rest of my life if you will just bring my baby home, safe and alive. Please, God. I know I don’t deserve it, but he does. He’s just a kid. He’s got his whole life ahead of him—
Does he, though? a foreign voice interrupted. Nora started. What? Does he have his whole life ahead of him? A life to do what? He’s a deadbeat. What’s he going to do with this life you’re begging to save?
“That’s not true!” she argued aloud. Levi was not a deadbeat. He was a teenager. He had plenty of time to straighten things out. And it wasn’t like he was a criminal. Sure, he had gotten into trouble, but he hadn’t hurt anyone. He wasn’t a bad person. He was just acting out.
His father was a deadbeat.
This wasn’t quite true either, but Nora wasn’t as confident about defending Levi’s father as she was about defending him. “That’s not true,” she said quietly.
Levi’s dead, the voice said, and now you’re better off. No more worrying. No more losing—
“Stop it!” she screamed and then stopped, concentrating on listening to her quiet trailer.
The voice stopped.
Had it left?
What was that voice?
Was she losing her mind? Had she already lost it?
“God, help me,” she prayed aloud. “Get those voices out of my head. Keep me sane until he gets home. Levi needs me to be sane.” Saying these words aloud made her feel distinctly insane.
You’re not insane, the critical voice said. No, it hadn’t left. You’re just grieving. Grieving because your son is dead.
Nora jumped out of her chair. She had to stop this. She had to get a grip. She looked around her small living space for a lifeline. Her eyes landed on Levi’s eighth grade picture, still framed on the wall. He looked so young, so innocent, so fragile. She went to it and touched his cheek, his freckles. He still had those same freckles. She was desperate to see them in person again. Tears started falling again.
You’re not going to see those freckles again. Might as well start adjusting to that idea.
She shook her head. “No!” She couldn’t be thinking like this. She needed to kick out the bad thoughts. How could she do that? She needed to replace them with good. “Levi is alive,” she said aloud. “He’s alive somewhere, and he can’t get in touch with me, but he is fine. He is healthy. He is not alone. He is not scared.” These words emboldened her, and she stood up straighter. This was working. “Levi will be home soon. The police will find him—”
The critic sniggered. Yeah right. The police aren’t even looking.
Nora closed her eyes and tried to ground herself. I need something to center on, she thought. She needed a thought, an idea, an image, something to keep herself focused on what was real. She looked back at the photo, but the critic immediately started yammering again.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Nora said, getting louder with each word until she was shouting. This made her feel even crazier. Her eyes swept past the bookshelf and then went back, stopping on the burgundy leather binding.
Her father’s Bible. He’d found religion late in life and spent hours and hours with that Bible, but then he’d died, and no one had opened that Bible since.
And now? What sense did it make to open it now?
Yet, part of her wanted to. Something made her think it might give her something to cling to, a little piece of her father, maybe even a little piece of God.
The Bible is a collection of fairy tales, the voice said.
Nora crossed the room. If nothing else, she would take the Bible off the shelf just to spite that stupid voice. She pulled it from its spot and dusted it off. Then she carried it to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Just holding the Bible in her hand gave her a small comfort. She carried her coffee back to the recliner, sat down, and opened the Bible.
But then she didn’t know what to do next. She knew she didn’t want to start at the beginning, but where did she want to start?
Too little too late, the critic said.
Nora gripped the Bible tighter. “Where do I go?” she whispered.
She remembered there was a chapter in Psalms that her father had loved. It repeated over and over again how mercy would last forever. But which psalm was that? Suddenly, she was desperate to read it. She grabbed her phone and searched for “mercy psalm.” A gazillion results popped up. Apparently there was a lot of mercy in the Bible. She looked up the first one. Nope, that wasn’t it. She looked up the second. Nope. Then the third. Still nope.
Maybe she wasn’t remembering the psalm correctly. Maybe her memory had changed over time.
And then there it was. Psalm 136. Her father had underlined the entire chapter. She ran her fingers over the pencil markings. Her father. The indentations made it feel like he’d only left her minutes ago.
She could almost hear his voice as she started to read. The first three verses told her to give thanks. She almost laughed, then stopped herself. No, she might not be feeling thankful right now, but if she wanted God to help her, shouldn’t she do as he asked? So she took a deep breath and softly said, “I do thank you, God. I’m sorry I’m not better at being grateful. But I thank you for Levi. I love him more than all the world. He’s such an awesome kid, and I’m so, so grateful you gave him to me.” Her voice cracked. “Please, please let me keep him.” Through teary eyes she continued to read. Over and over, each verse told her that God’s mercy lasts forever.
That was what she needed. Mercy. A greater portion of that same mercy she poured out every day for the patients. She needed some of that to come back to her. And she needed it to come to Levi. “Wherever he is right now, God, please soak him through with your mercy. Cover him in it. Let it keep him warm. Let him breathe it into his lungs. Your promised mercy, God. Please, right now, for my son.”
The critic had nothing to say to that.
