Where My Heart Belongs (3 page)

“Sit here with me for a minute.” Dad pulled gently on her hand.

Kathy complied, but her heart wasn’t in it. She knew he would tell her how forgiving Sunshine was the Christian thing to do. How they were really blessed because now they knew she was safe.

“I want you to know how much I appreciate your sacrifice for Mom and me,” he began. “I always regretted that you didn’t get a chance to finish college. I regretted too that you and Kyle never worked through the situation to marry.”

“I couldn’t have my focus divided,” she told her father. “I couldn’t give Mom the care she needed and also be a wife to Kyle. He made me see that when he walked away.”

“But he came back and apologized. You hardened your heart to him.”

“Never,” Kathy said sadly. “I hid my heart from him. I never hardened it—not in the way you’re suggesting. I knew I could never be the wife I should be. He needed to travel to get where he wanted to be in his career. I couldn’t leave you and Mom to be taken care of by strangers. And even if we’d married and I’d stayed here, what kind of marriage would that have been? What if we’d had children? They would have suffered, because I could never have given them the attention they’d need. They would have lived in a home without their father in residence—at least he wouldn’t have been there very often.”

“I know you’ve said that many a time. I’m not convinced it would have had to be that way, but I think I understand your choice. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you did for us. That your sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed.”

“That was never what it was about. I loved you both—I love you still.” Kathy glanced at the partially opened door. “I stayed because of that. She left because she didn’t love any of us as much as she loved herself.”

“It’s true,” her father agreed. “But now she’s back. I want you to forgive her, Kathy. I want you two to put the past behind you and start fresh.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

He smiled ever so slightly. “I think I do. But I know you’re hurting right now and that doesn’t allow you to think clearly. When I’m in a lot of pain from the cancer, I can’t think clearly either.” He gave a little chuckle. “And my mind is muddled when I’m on the pain medication too. Guess my thinking days are over.”

“Dad . . . I’m afraid. Afraid that she’s only come home to cause trouble. Afraid of what her expectations are for us.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what her expectations are. Expectations are dangerous things to have when they involve the reactions and actions of other people. I think your sister, however, has had a genuine change of heart. You need to respect that and give her a chance.”

“A chance to do what? Change her name again and run off for another twelve years?” Kathy knew her father didn’t deserve her anger and frustration, but she couldn’t seem to rein in her emotions. “I don’t see any reason to trust her.”

“I didn’t ask you to trust her. I asked you to forgive her.”

“So she gets to just waltz in here like nothing happened, and we’re supposed to be okay with it—pretend it never happened, pretend her choice was completely acceptable?”

“No,” Dad said, shaking his head. His voice was ever weakening. “She knows her choice wasn’t acceptable. She wouldn’t have asked me to forgive her if she thought otherwise. She knows we can’t forget or pretend that she hasn’t been gone for twelve years. And she knows she’s hurt us, and she’ll go on knowing it—so long as we remind her.” He looked at her and held her gaze. “Is that what you want—to make sure she hurts as much as we have?”

“She chose to hurt the people who loved her the most.

She decided to run off and never tell anyone where she was or if she was all right. Now you want to celebrate her return. You want to act as though she did nothing worse than make a bad career choice.”

“No . . . I want to remember that my choices are sometimes just as poorly made in the eyes of God. I want to remember that I haven’t always pleased the people who loved me—that my choices were not always good ones and because of that, people suffered.”

“You’ve never made poor choices like that,” Kathy protested.

“That’s not true. What about the fact that I wouldn’t go to the doctor when my symptoms first started? That I didn’t get the farm on the market sooner?”

Kathy felt as though the wind had been knocked from her. “That’s . . . different.”

“Is it? I don’t think so. You suffered because of my poor choices.” He paused and looked out across the fields. “She’s my child, Kathy. I can’t turn my back on her, even if she would turn her back on me.”

Kathy knew he was right. Everyone made bad decisions. She’d made enough of those herself. She took a deep breath and patted her dad’s hand. “I’ll try for your sake to be kind, but I won’t lie. If she asks me how I feel, I can’t lie.”

“I don’t expect you to, Kathy.” He sounded so sad, as though he knew there was an irreparable hole in her heart that had been put there by Sunshine. “I would hope, however, that you’d speak the truth in love, just as the Bible says. If you tear into her just for the sake of making her feel bad, how does that make it any better than what she did all those years ago?”

Kathy thought of the way her mother had suffered, the long hours spent crying and mourning the loss of her younger child. The questions and fears and her own imagination had been harder to deal with than had her mother just known where Amy was and what she was doing.

“At least my anger—my desire to put Amy in her place—isn’t going to kill someone. She killed Mom as sure as if she’d put a gun to her head. Mom never would have suffered a heart attack and been left in such a weakened state had it not been for Sunshine’s heartless disappearing act.”

Kathy got up and paced beside the bed. “I’m glad for your sake that Sunshine has chosen to come home, but for me, I hate it. It opens up an entirely new set of problems to be dealt with, and frankly, I’m not sure I have the strength to face her antics again.”

Sunshine stood in the hallway, listening to her sister’s tirade. She had never expected to be welcomed with open arms after a twelve-year absence, but neither had she anticipated outright hatred. Kathy hated her—that much was clear. She hated her so much that she blamed Sunshine for the death of their mother.

Tears streamed down Sunshine’s face. Why had she made the choices she’d made? Why had she done so many bad things?

If only I’d come home after I ran out of money. If only I’d
realized the pain I was causing by my selfishness
.

But Sunshine had learned that life could not be based on “if onlys.” Nothing could change the past. What was done was done, and there was no way to go back—no matter the depth of regret.

She heard Kathy say something about keeping the peace for the sake of their father and cringed. Something was desperately wrong with Dad. He was nothing but skin and bones, and he’d said something about not going to the doctor when his symptoms first started. She wanted to know what had happened and what the prognosis might be, but Sunshine was fearful of asking. She wasn’t entirely sure she could handle the answer, for one thing. And for another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with Kathy’s hostility.

Sunshine moved away from the den and into the kitchen. To her surprise it looked the same. The old farmhouse hadn’t been remodeled or upgraded since she’d left. She touched the speckled countertop and thought of all the times she’d had to wipe it down. How she’d hated chores. Tall white cupboards beckoned her to explore. Sunshine remembered when she and Kathy had painted them white as a surprise for Mom. Dad had thought it the perfect way to brighten the kitchen, and Mom had loved it.

Sunshine found a startling reminder of her childhood in the Depression glass that still lined a few of the shelves. Her mother had inherited the dishes from her great-grandmother and had loved to use them. Sunshine remembered once asking if it was dangerous to use them for everyday, but her mother had laughed at this. She’d told Sunshine that they were only things and that things weren’t much good if they couldn’t be used.

Moving away from the cupboards, Sunshine went to the back door. There were still notches in the doorframe, where Dad had measured her and Kathy as they’d grown. Sunshine touched the carved wood lovingly. It was a part of her history that actually seemed viable. Here was proof that she had once existed as a child in this house. Here was proof that she had once belonged.

Beyond the door was a small mud porch at the back of the house. The porch had been screened in the year Sunshine had turned twelve. She and some of her friends then promptly had a slumber party there, but it only lasted until around midnight, when all the girls had come inside after being scared by the noises of the night. Sunshine couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Life had been so simple then. She had thought herself oppressed with rules and regulations, but if she’d only realized how protected and loved she was, things might have been different.

There it was again. If only. Oh, how she regretted the choices she’d made. Kathy no doubt thought her sister had enjoyed some magical life of prosperity and happiness, but Sunshine could set her straight on that count. There’d been streaks of both, but there had been nothing magical or overly good about the life she’d made for herself after leaving home.

Sunshine opened the porch’s screen door and gazed across the backyard. Everything was just as she remembered it: her mother’s clothesline, the chicken coop and yard, the barn and the storm cave. How she had hated that storm cave as a child. Most of her friends had basements in their houses, but not the Halbert home. This place had been built shortly before the First World War, and apparently basements hadn’t been all that fashionable in Kansas prairie farmsteads. Nothing was ever so terrifying as having to leave the seeming safety of the house to venture into the storm itself in order to get to the cave.

She remembered crying in fear as a little girl. Storms had terrified her, but the cave was equally frightening. Nothing more than a hole dug into the ground and firmed up with a structure of corrugated tin and lumber, the cave was musty and dark, with a dirt floor. Bugs—especially spiders—had seemed to like to make their homes under the crude wooden benches where the family would sit out the weather. Sunshine always worried about what might crawl out from under the bench and would plead to sit on her father’s lap. As the years went by their father made updates to the cave, but it was never a place Sunshine wanted to stay for long. Even now, the sight of the door peering out from the mounded ground gave her the shivers.

Turning back to the house, Sunshine made her way to the kitchen table. Twelve years ago this had been the scene of her departure. She remembered her arrogance . . . her lack of love . . . her bitter hatred.

My dreams had seemed so important then. I thought I knew
best—thought I knew it all. But I hurt so many people with my
selfishness
.

She sighed and rubbed her hand atop the smooth, but dulled, wood. Sunshine sat back and looked around the room. Kathy had changed very little. Of course, Sunshine had no way of knowing when their mother had passed away, but she was glad Kathy had left things much as they had been. There was a palpable sense of her mother in the room, in the furnishings she had chosen, in the colors she’d painted the walls.

Mom, if I’d only known . . .
She forced the thought away.
I cannot do this. Lana said it would serve no purpose. I cannot
make up for my deeds or change the choices I made in the past.
I can only work on the present
.

Kathy stood in silence outside her father’s room. She knew she needed to go find her sister and prepare the sofa bed, but in her heart she wrestled with the need to be kind for her father’s sake and the need to guard her heart—for her own sake.

Her chest still ached from the emotion of seeing her sister standing there when she opened the door. The first year after Sunshine had gone, Kathy fully expected to open the door to just such an event. Then another year passed and then three and five and ten. Kathy had stopped believing Sunshine would ever return when the tenth year passed. That was the year she’d started using Sunshine’s bedroom for storage.

It had started out innocently enough. Her father had wanted Kathy to locate some old photographs in the attic, and the heat of summer had made it impossible to work in the cramped, sweltering place. Her father had suggested they bring down everything in the attic and put it in Sunshine’s room to make it easier and cooler for Kathy to process. The boxes of memories and old tidbits from the past were still taking up space in her sister’s room. Kathy had meant to deal with them—especially since the farm was to be sold. Of course, so far, there’d been no buyers. At least none who were willing to take the farm as a complete package. Kathy pushed aside her concerns. She couldn’t fret about the sale of the farm and deal with Sunshine at the same time.

“I suppose now I have to deal with her room,” she murmured. After all, if Sunshine planned to stay very long, she’d need a proper bed and privacy.

Pushing off from the wall, Kathy decided it was time to deal with the situation at hand. She went upstairs to the linen closet and pulled down fresh bedding. As an afterthought, Kathy also grabbed an extra fan, remembering how Amy . . . Sunshine . . . had liked to have a fan running while she slept. The house had never been equipped with air-conditioning, and the nights were very warm during the long humid summers.

She thought of having to face her sister and momentarily panicked. A kind of war raged inside with a bitter, angry woman who seemed years beyond her age on one side, and a frightened—no, terrified—girl who had been forced to assume too much responsibility, too soon, on the other. Neither one offered Kathy much hope or comfort.

Her arms began to ache from holding all the stuff. There was no sense putting off the inevitable.

T
HREE

“SUNSHINE?” KATHY PEERED IN from the kitchen door.

“Call me Sunny. Everybody does these days.”