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Maybe this is what a butterfly feels like after it comes out of its cocoon. Maybe, I think just before falling asleep, this is what free feels like.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Sierra

Kaylee's rhythmic breathing speaks of repeated patterns. Consistency. Something to count on. Those thoughts inform my prayers for this child who's become so much a part of my life—a part of me. As I hold her close, I pray that I can offer her the consistent love she so deserves. But I recognize, again, that I can't do it alone. Only Jesus' love, through me, will offer Kaylee the stability she needs.

The trauma Kaylee suffered—the horrors she dared to share with me tonight—are a chaotic backdrop to my prayers. As I pray for Kaylee, I hold my emotions at bay. But when I finally quiet before God, the images planted in my mind spring forth and anger roils to the surface with hurricane force.

How could this happen? To this child?
Why?

Just before my emotions pull me under, a voice whispers into the storm:
Peace be with you . . .

I pull the last tissue from the box and wipe my eyes and nose, trying not to disrupt Kaylee's sleep. My heartbeat begins to slow and a sense of peace that belies the circumstances settles over me. I am reminded, in that moment, that God's love for Kaylee so far exceeds my own. What anger must He feel when one of His children is so horribly abused? My skin prickles with the thought.

The peace He offers comes with the assurance that my anger and grief are the appropriate responses for what Kaylee suffered. I recall Pete's words from Matthew regarding Jesus' anger when one of His little ones is harmed. But what I do with these emotions . . . that's important.

I want revenge. Vindication for Kaylee. Yet God says vindication is His. Instead, I must leave it all in His hands.

In those moments before I, too, succumb to sleep, I surrender my emotions to God. There, under the down comforter, with Kaylee's warmth pressed against me, the fierceness of God's love ignites my soul. And I am finally free to rest in all He's done and will do for me.

And for Kaylee.

My final thought before drifting off is how much I long to share these realizations with Pete.

And?

I smile at the inner question. It sounds like Ruby, but I know it's my own heart asking. And I know the answer, which I let out on a breath as I give in to sleep.

You're right. I long to share something more with Pete.

My heart.

I pick up the towel lying on the kitchen counter and wipe frosting off my hands, then reach for the phone. "Hello . . ."

"Hi. How are the preparations coming?"

"Good. I just finished frosting the cake for tonight and cupcakes for tomorrow. Oh, Pete, I'm so excited! I don't know if Kaylee's ever had a real birthday party. Tomorrow five girls who will be in her class this spring are coming for a slumber party! Can you believe it?"

"She's doing great, Sierra. What's that in the background? 'Jingle Bells'?"

"Yeah, we've had Christmas music playing all day. 'Jingle Bells' is one of her favorites. So, what's up?"

"I wanted to check with you and see if you'd have time before the party to meet for a few minutes. I need to talk to you and would like to do it sooner rather than later. Could I come by early—say thirty minutes or so before everyone else arrives?"

My shoulders stiffen. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Just some new developments you should know about."

"Can't you tell me now?"

"What? And miss the opportunity to see your reaction—the fire flashing in those beautiful gray eyes of yours?"

"Okay, so I react sometimes . . ." Like now as my pulse races at Pete's reference to my eyes.

I hear his familiar chuckle. "Sometimes?"

"Hey! Can I help it if I have a dozen years worth of emotions stored up? It's about time they came out. Enough said! Come early. I'll be here. You can help . . ."

I hear the smile in his voice. "Great. See you soon."

I finish washing up the dishes and then wander to the living room to check the table one last time. I rented a round table and chairs, and moved the living room furniture against the walls to make room for the table. It's covered in a cherry-red tablecloth—Kaylee's favorite color. So appropriate for the season. The table is set with my china and crystal. I let Kaylee set the table. I smile as I see everything perfectly placed.

Emily Post would be proud.

In the center of the table is Ruby's gift to Kaylee. She brought it over this morning. It's a small sculpture of Kaylee sitting with her arm around Van, her face nuzzled into the fur on his neck. I've seen this pose so often in the past months—as has Ruby, obviously. The sculpture seems to depict both Kaylee's need and her great capacity for love. I glance down at my sweatshirt covered in flour and frosting and realize I'd better get myself ready. Pete will arrive in a few minutes, and the others within the hour.

I head down the hallway and tap on Kaylee's door and then open it. "Hey, kiddo, what're you doing?"

"Making place cards for the table."

"Place cards? Oh, of course. When you're finished, you better change."

"I will."

Though it's been months now since I heard her first spoken words, I still warm to her voice. "Pete's coming early to talk through a few things. If you need anything, feel free to interrupt."

"Okay." Engrossed in her project, she never even looks up. She is content, enjoying this day. Actually I'm not sure which of us is enjoying it more.

Just as I touch some gloss to my lips, I hear Pete's knock on the front door. I try to ignore the flutter in my stomach as I steal a last glance in the mirror. I let my eyes linger on my reflection for just a moment. Pete knocks again and the flutter moves from my stomach to my chest. Patience, Dr. Langstrom, I'm coming.

When I reach the front door and open it, Pete thrusts a bouquet of red roses toward me. Under his arm he holds a box wrapped in pink paper.

"Flowers for Kaylee?"

"Uh, no . . . they're . . ."

At Pete's uncharacteristic stammer, I look up—and see what I think is a blush color his features.

He clears his throat and begins again. "They're for you."

"Oh . . . um . . . thank you." I hold the bouquet to my nose and breathe deep, letting the scent of the roses and pine in the bouquet wash over me. And taking the moment to hide my own blush.

"Come in." I take the wrapped box from Pete and place it on the coffee table with the other gifts for Kaylee, then head to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. "Have a seat." I motion to a chair at the kitchen table and turn to look for a vase.

"Sierra . . ."

The depth of his voice, his serious tone, cause me to turn back to him. He's still standing. He's followed me into the kitchen rather than sitting at the table where we have our usual meetings.

"Kathryn released Kaylee for adoption today." He pauses, waiting for a response. "Sierra? Did you hear me?"

I heard him, but I can't seem to process his words. They hold too much meaning, too much potential—too much hope. And what about Kaylee? What will this news do to her? How will she feel, in years to come, knowing her mother not only abandoned her, but even gave up her rights to her?

As Pete's news sinks in, emotions swell like a tidal wave—hope, fear, joy, concern, wonder, and then rage.

"Ah . . . right on cue." He smiles.

"What?"

"The fire in your eyes."

"Pete! This isn't funny! You mean to tell me after all she's put her through—the abuse, the lies, the fight to get her back. After we . . . after . . ." My words come through a choke of anger and tears. "After we made her talk about . . . about . . . After we had her testify. After all that, her mother's just giving her up? She's just walking away?! How can she—"

Pete reaches out and puts his hand on my arm. "Sierra, listen. Kathryn was arrested today. Charged with child endangerment, among other things. A direct result of Kaylee's testimony. She knows she has a long road ahead of her. Prison, likely. And her own continued recovery. She's letting Kaylee go for Kaylee's sake. It may be the one positive parenting decision she's made in Kaylee's life. I believe it was a decision made out of Kathryn's love for her daughter. She's requesting an open adoption. She hopes to remain a part of Kaylee's life, if Kaylee wants that."

Pete reaches for the bouquet I'm still holding, takes it from me, and places it on the counter. Then he puts both hands on my arms. "Sierra, the door to adopt Kaylee just swung wide open and I want you to consider walking through it. I want you to think about adopting her."

My breath catches as hope soars. But dare I hope for so much?

"Pete, what will this do to her? It's just one more strike against her—the knowledge that her mother willingly gave her up."

"It may wound her."

His statement is matter of fact, but his tone and expression are laced with compassion. I am taken again by the depth of his care for the kids he works with—his care for Kaylee. This isn't just a job to him.

"But potentially she will be stronger because of it. Adversity, brokenness, suffering—these things strengthen us if we allow them to, and they make our hearts tender toward others who suffer. I can't think of anyone better suited to live that example for Kaylee than you, Sierra. Or to live that example for Kathryn. You're the perfect person to be in both their lives. This is where God's placed you. I hope you will think about—pray about—adopting Kaylee."

"Of course. I just . . . I mean . . . I just can't believe it. Oh Pete, you know how much I love her. I want what's best for her. I don't need to think about it. God's placed me in Kaylee's life. I just never thought . . . I didn't expect so much."

"You're best for her. I believe that, Sierra. She needs you." Pete's hands still hold onto me. Linger there. His eyes hold mine and when he leans toward me for just a moment I think, I hope . . . but then he pulls away and guides me to the table. "Here, have a seat. I need to tell you one more thing."

I sit down and look up at Pete, who is still standing. He shifts from one foot to the other and then clears his throat. "Uh . . . I—"

"If you have something to say, you'll have to sit. I can't see you from down here." I realize how much I want him next to me.

"Oh, right." He turns to pull out a chair and takes the seat next to me. As he looks at me, I notice his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Pete, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just need you to know something . . . I . . . uh . . . yesterday, I resigned my position with CWS. I gave six weeks' notice."

"What? Why? How will I . . . I mean . . . how will we . . ." The thought of losing Pete, not having him to walk this journey with me, with Kaylee, pierces my soul.

"Don't worry, another social worker will be assigned to your case."

I shake my head. Why hadn't I simply listened? Pete always listened to me, I should have done the same for him. I wave my hand—trying, really, to wave away the feelings surging within. "No, I know. That's fine. I'm just wondering about you. What led to your decision? Are you okay?"

Pete runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. "It's something I've thought about for a couple of years, actually. I want to begin my own practice, to hang up my shingle, as they say." He hesitates. "And I guess I've finally found a good reason to make the change."

"Really, what would motivate a change like that?" I watch him smile and again I think I see the beginnings of a blush. He shrugs his shoulders.

"A woman, of course." He chuckles. "I think I've finally found the one. But there's a conflict of interest . . . she's someone I work with."

I look down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes lest he see the crushing disappointment I feel. "I see. Well, congratu—" I stop when I feel his hand cup my chin. He raises my face until our eyes meet. The tenderness I see in his eyes is almost my undoing.

"No, actually, I don't think you do see. It's you, Sierra. You're the one."

"Oh . . ."

He leans in again, and this time, the brush of his lips against mine renders me speechless. When he settles back, his laughter fills my kitchen. "Not exactly the response I was looking for. Should I rescind my resignation?" The ease of his shoulders and the smile on his face let me know he's teasing. He's read my face—the love I can no longer conceal.

Before I have a chance to respond, Kaylee comes around the corner. "Hi, Pete."

Pete reaches for my hand and holds it tight. "Hey, missy. How's the birthday girl?"

Then I hear a knock on the door and soon the bungalow is filled with voices and laughter and music. Kaylee's favorite bell songs ring throughout the bungalow.

Eventually we gather around the table in the living room—Ruby and Michael, Mother and Daddy, who flew in last night, Pete, Kaylee, and myself. The room is lit by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the corner and the crackling fire in the fireplace. Warmth and love circle the table.

"Daddy, will you say grace?"

"You bet." He holds out his hands and we all reach for the hands of the person next to us. I hold Kaylee's little hand in my right hand, and my left hand is enwrapped in the warmth of Pete's grasp. Just before I bow my head, I glance at the picture hanging above the mantle—the abstract of Kaylee's redwood that I finished this fall. I look around the table and see a family circle—my family circle. Our roots are intertwined, supporting one another. Whatever comes in the days, weeks, years ahead, none of us stands alone—we are connected—living and thriving together.

As my daddy prays, I think back to the morning of the day I first met Kaylee—the anniversary of Annie's death. I think of my journal and the snippets of feelings I'd recorded there. I'd so suppressed my emotions—so afraid to feel the pain of loss and my own mistakes. But in so doing I'd also missed the love and grace those who loved me wished to impart. And I'd missed the merciful love of my heavenly Father.

Kaylee, I realize, was God's healing balm for my suffering soul. Through her He showed me the truth of Himself, His unconditional love and forgiveness. Christ is my Savior, but He used Kaylee to save me. To show me the extent of His mercy and grace.