Never Tomorrow Read online

  She dropped to the floor and began her stretching exercises, not because she wanted to, but her back would be screaming from all her sitting if she didn’t limber it.

  Maybe she needed to talk to a professional as Father Jensen had suggested. All through Blaine’s searching for answers during Cindy’s illness, he’d helped her with assurances—God didn’t make Cindy ill. He wasn’t responsible for all the evil and sickness in the world.

  Father had helped her deepen her faith and find comfort when Larry left. She’d read the Bible years ago as literature—the book of Job and Psalms—but since Cindy’s illness, the words became personal to her. If this experience was a faith test, she and Cindy had passed—she knew that.

  Blaine couldn’t change the fact that Larry had refused to discuss anything beyond surface issues relating to Cindy’s illness. Or that Sunday mornings he chose to run to the factory to “check on things,” while she and Cindy went to church.

  “It’s your choice,” she’d remind him over and over. “But you could share our spiritual life in Christ, too.”

  Don’t think about this now. But her mind rebelled and went into its familiar pattern. How it hurt to see Larry with his new wife, Althea, at the funeral. If Blaine closed her eyes and squinted just right, she could pretend Althea didn’t exist. How could he choose this spacy, shallow woman over her?

  Jesus, help me remove my lingering unforgiveness toward Larry.

  She put away the laundry that had been piled on the counter for two days. Her hands moved automatically. Her mind recalled the two times she’d tried the community support group Dr. Karen Trindle led for divorced women. It had been pure agony hearing of other women’s pain added to hers. And Blaine hadn’t cared for the self-focused, victim mentality of wallowing in past hurts. When she’d told her pastor she didn’t like it, he had recommended individual Christian counseling. “Just make sure the counselor works within your Christian belief system.” He’d suggested several names. She’d dutifully taken the list but misplaced it.

  Blaine prayed for guidance as she shuffled into the kitchen. She fumbled in a drawer for the phone book and reviewed the listings from bottom to top. She moved up the alphabet to Dr. Sarah Stevens. She thought she recalled that name from the list Pastor Jensen had given her. Blaine made herself call before she changed her mind.

  “We’ve had a cancellation at four today,” the receptionist announced, her voice kind. “Dr. Stevens can see you then, otherwise I’m afraid there’d be a two-week wait.”

  “Four is fine.” Blaine set down the phone, inhaled deeply, and headed for the shower. Lord, I hope I don’t regret this.

  ELEVEN

  The waiting room of Dr. Sarah Stevens’s rehabbed Victorian office building was filled with wicker furniture—old, sturdy pieces in a caramel color that shone against forest green and deep peach chintz plaid. Blaine was surprisingly at ease. This setting reminded her of her grandparents’ living room, except for the glass-top wicker table holding brochures on every mental health subject imaginable.

  Once Blaine had made her decision, she’d looked forward to coming like a drowning woman seeks air. Even the March gale stinging her face and bending the willow trees around her condo couldn’t keep her away.

  Dr. Stevens ushered Blaine into her inner office promptly at four.

  Blaine settled into a chair while sizing up this five-foot-five woman with brownish-blonde hair and clear olive skin.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Blaine. Tell me what brings you here, and I’ll try to be of help.” While she spoke, Dr. Stevens skimmed the intake information Blaine had completed.

  “Two words say it all—grief and depression.”

  “I can understand why.” Sarah leaned forward. “You’ve gone through some very difficult experiences recently. I’m very sorry about the death of your daughter.”

  Blaine soaked in the sensation of genuine caring that glowed through Sarah’s eyes when she spoke. Blaine recalled last experiencing instant warmth like this from Cindy’s primary care physician. “Doctor Stevens, I…”

  “Please call me Sarah.”

  Blaine nodded as her words and teardrops tumbled forth together. Some part of her had subconsciously chosen to release the guard she kept on her feelings, at least for this hour. “Our daughter, Cindy, lived only six months after my husband, Larry—her dad—left us.”

  “What a tragic double loss. How terrible—Cindy’s final illness was?” Dr. Stevens asked.

  “Pneumonia, actually a complication from cystic fibrosis.” Blaine rubbed her hands together, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Larry, my ex-husband, had already gone through the hardest part of Cindy’s illness. If only he could have stayed. She needed him desperately at the end. So did I. He came to the funeral, out of duty, I suppose, but it made me want to scream. Where was the decency to stay with us?”

  “I can only imagine how awful that must have been…”

  Blaine continued to release pent-up emotion. “Dr. Stevens, Sarah, the physical care for Cindy wasn’t easy, but don’t get me wrong. There were blessings along the way. The last year of her life, I home-schooled Cindy, because it was too difficult for her to attend school. She’d missed so much that she was beyond catching up anyway.”

  A moment of silence followed. Blaine swallowed the lump in her throat. “A gracious, older woman from church named Ruth stayed with Cindy while I taught my night class, and she helped instruct her, too. Cindy loved learning. The final weeks when she was too weak to even hold a book, Ruth or I would read to her for hours at a time. Ruth sobbed almost as hard as I did the night of Cindy’s death. She’s become a dear friend.”

  The moistness in Sarah’s eyes surprised Blaine. Evidently counselors didn’t become immune to pain.

  “I’m here now because of this inner sadness that I can’t shake. I feel like I’m processing Larry’s abandonment all over again now, even though the marriage ended long ago.”

  “I understand. With Cindy needing you like she did, you couldn’t deal with your own emotional pain at the time of his leaving.”

  Blaine nodded. “Thank you. That makes sense. I get so annoyed with myself for still struggling with all this when I think I should have put it to rest.”

  “You’re coping with a tragic double loss.” Sarah snapped her ballpoint pen shut. “Don’t be hard on yourself.”

  “I did try one—no, two—meetings of a support group for divorced women led by a Dr. Karen Trindle. Do you know her?”

  Sarah nodded. “We run some workshops together. Did the sessions help?”

  “She seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t get into it. And I hated leaving Cindy another night. Our time together was, well, sacred—especially near the end.”

  Suddenly, recalling those cold, bleak evenings alone with her dying child was more than Blaine could bear. She did what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t—broke down completely. It was several minutes before she could stop sobbing. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t be.” Sarah’s voice was soothing. “Tears are a natural part of healing. Your anguish will ease but most likely never dissipate entirely.”

  When Blaine had composed herself, Sarah urged, “Tell me about your life now.” She looked down at Blaine’s intake form. “You’re a teacher?”

  Blaine nodded. “An adjunct professor of English and would-be writer, although I’ve never sold anything. I get by on my salary, barely, but will probably never be out of debt. My love for my subject keeps me teaching.”

  “Enjoying work is a blessing. How’s your health? Have you had a physical lately?”

  Blaine laughed self-consciously. “Since Larry left, I’m thirty pounds lighter. Being thin has always been a dream of mine. But it’s causing problems too. Back pain. My teeth are separating from my gums, because my mouth is shrinking. I need a new wardrobe, and I can’t afford one. Tonight my former husband and his bride may dine at a restaurant like the Chez Robert, while I choke down another TV dinner.”


  Sarah shook her head.

  “I expect you’ve often heard similar stories. Sadly, my standard of living plummeted after the divorce.” Blaine averted her eyes and sat up a bit straighter in an effort to recover her composure. “Seriously, I’m glad you mentioned this. I will schedule a check-up. I should take better care of myself.” Blaine paused then added, “Sarah, does it ever stop? My heart feels like a rock I carry around inside my chest. Larry’s betrayal is almost harder to accept than Cindy’s death.”

  “That’s very common. The loss of a husband to death is easier than surviving adultery. Death has to happen to all of us, divorce doesn’t. Yet clients tell me losing a child is hardest of all.”

  Blaine’s eyes refilled with tears. “I truly believe Cindy’s with God, and her suffering has ended. I wouldn’t wish her back, although I miss her desperately and hate being totally alone in the world. There’s also part of me that feels guilty about letting go of my thoughts about Cindy and enjoying life again. It’s like if I do, I’m not honoring her memory.”

  “That’s a commonly held deception. Part of what I do is help people separate truth from falsehood. In your heart, Cindy will always be treasured whether she’s in the forefront of your mind or not.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Blaine dropped her head into her hands. “At least I used to have Cindy to live for. With her gone, I question the purpose of my life.”

  Sarah stiffened. “Are you saying you’re considering suicide?”

  “No.” Blaine thrust out her chin. “I’m a Christian. I’m not going to kill myself. I know in my mind God has a plan for my life, although it’s hard to imagine what that could be now.”

  Sarah relaxed visibly in her chair. “Hope is God’s legacy to each of us. You may want to meditate on God’s words in the verse Jeremiah 29:11: ‘I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you a future and a life.’ I truly believe this or I couldn’t counsel people who experience disaster and excruciating emotional pain. Satan would like you to think you’re isolated, but you always have the presence and comfort of Christ. Hopefully Christian community too.”

  Blaine brightened. “Sometimes I hear an inner voice saying ‘I love you. You’ll be okay.’ It’s strange but wonderful. Still I question if I deserve God’s love because I have these ugly feelings toward Larry and his new wife.”

  “Your wound is still raw. It’s okay to feel this hurt deeply before releasing it, but eventually, the sooner the better of course, you’ll need to give up bitterness. We’ll work on that together.”

  Blaine’s mouth went dry. “It sounds impossible.”

  “You’ll see. The grace of God will help you.”

  Blaine lifted her head and smiled for the first time in ages.

  For the next fifteen minutes they discussed her unresolved feelings of anger and loss. Blaine shifted in her chair frequently but remained attentive.

  Sarah shut her notepad. Her face brightened. “There’s one more area I’d like to have you consider before our next session. It would be nice for you to have something new to look forward to and fill some of the free time created by Cindy’s death. A part-time job, travel, new personal relationships. Are there any prospects you can think of along these lines?”

  Blaine stared out the window before replying. “This morning I saw a Help Wanted ad in the local paper for a freelance writer. I’ve always wanted to try professional writing, but I have no experience, so I talked myself out of it.”

  “Why not reconsider applying?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Good, pray about it and let me know on your next visit what you decide. Speaking of prayer, let’s end with one now.”

  Blaine listened to Sarah’s simple conversation with God and wished she could express her needs as beautifully as Sarah did on her behalf.

  Blaine sailed out the door more hopeful than she’d been in months, although nothing in her circumstances had changed.

  Or had it?

  TWELVE

  Dr. Karen Trindle patiently tolerated her office manager, Peg. Her interactions with clients sparkled, although she sometimes chatted too much.

  Peg handed over Karen’s next client’s paperwork and lingered with small talk about the weather. “Sorry if I’m extra chatty today. You know it’s the Irish in me when I’m upset.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Peg swung her chin-length black hair forward. It brushed her cheekbones and hid a hearing aid in her right ear. A new hairstyle would have improved her looks, but her flip appeared here to stay. “That nephew of mine is in trouble with the police again for loitering and missing curfew. Enough of this ‘boys will be boys,’ I told him.”

  Karen studied Peg. Her five-foot-six inches and fast metabolism kept her thin. This made her the envy of some of Karen’s heavier clients who came for weight loss counseling. A few made snide comments. To her credit, Peg appeared not to notice.

  All Peg’s clothes, which she made herself, were full and flouncy like today’s yellow polka dot shirtwaist with dots the size of baseballs. Karen winced, recalling Peg’s outfit the previous day—full-skirted, orange poppies with huge black centers and leaves the size of cantaloupes. No dainty petunia petals for Peg. Karen considered her office manager’s choice in fabric a plus for the morale of her clients. Anything to brighten someone’s day is fine by me.

  “My sister’s sending him to live with me for a bit.”

  Peg’s sister lived in Ireland. Peg traveled there several times a year and spent much of her salary helping support her two nephews. Karen understood. She had a soft spot, because she doted on her own nephew, Jordan.

  “That will be quite a responsibility.”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t interfere none with my job.”

  Peg’s professional telephone voice and flawless bookkeeping were admirable. Peg had access to every client’s life through the files she pulled and refiled.

  Karen sometimes wondered if she should be concerned about Peg’s access to their personal data. She knew all the clientele who flowed in and out of the office but never gave Karen any reason to distrust her.

  “One other thing. I was wondering if I might ask about a slight pay raise. Mind you, I don’t dislike my work as office manager, even though my sister teases me the title is a fancy term for secretary. And I like being receptionist and bookkeeper. My biggest concern is I’ll never be more. I learned a lot about counseling from overhearing your conversations and visiting with clients when they wait. I’m thinking of going back to school someday to become a counselor. It will take time to save up, especially now with my nephew living with me and all. I hope my asking don’t make you mad.”

  “I think it’s admirable to want to improve your position. I’ll give a pay raise some consideration.” Karen didn’t want to lose her. Peg was valuable. Karen resolved to praise her more often. Peg ate up affirmations.

  At the same time, Karen decided to observe Peg more closely. A woman in need of money could be tempted to act unethically regarding clients’ privacy. Karen wouldn’t tolerate a breach of confidentiality.

  Apart from work, Peg’s life appeared to be boring. Karen was aware she submerged herself in romance novels and couldn’t fault her for that. Living vicariously through others was easier than experiencing personal relational issues. She’d had no idea Peg was ambitious.

  What other secrets might Peg be harboring?

  THIRTEEN

  Blaine hurried into the Cortland Courier newspaper office building and shivered. Beyond the front counter two women and one man sat in individual gray cubicles. Down the hall were several offices partitioned by walls glassed halfway up.

  All the office staff wore heavy sweaters. “Better keep your jacket on,” the gray-haired receptionist at the counter warned with a grin. “Our heating system isn’t working today.”

  “Thanks, I will. I need to see Donald Hawk, Ms. Barnes’ assistant. I’m a few minutes early.”

  The receptionist glanced
behind her. “No problem. He’s free.” She directed Blaine to Don Hawk’s cubicle.

  Mr. Hawk sat transfixed before a MAC, fingers poised over the keyboard. Perched on the edge of an old office chair, he looked like a character out of a 1930’s movie with a mustache wide as a butter knife. He wore a gray-striped shirt and pants that appeared not to have been pressed. After a superficial hello and barely a flick of eye contact, he handed Blaine preliminary forms on a clipboard to fill out before resuming his work.

  Blaine finished the forms while standing and handed him the papers. He grunted and escorted her to the door of the Editor’s office. Before leaving he stipulated, “Ms. Barnes has fifteen minutes to see you. Knock first.”

  Blaine smiled her thank you. Unfortunately, no apparent social graces flourished in the vicinity of Don Hawk, but she liked his absorption in work.

  She dutifully knocked and detected a muffled, “C’mon in.”

  Blaine took a deep breath and entered. “Good morning, Ms. Barnes.” To her dismay, her voice came out thin and scratchy. Blaine mentally ordered her emotions to settle down and stated her business as succinctly as she could.

  Ms. Barnes cleared a stack of files off the nearest chair. “Please, sit and do call me Whitney. You’ve brought your resume?”

  “Yes. And in this portfolio I included samples of my work, as Mr. Hawk requested on the phone.” Blaine reached the packet across the desk.

  Whitney accepted the folder and flattened it on her desk. “Tell me about your writing experience.”