Crossing Oceans (33 page)
As you reviewed novels and talked to a lot of novelists who have had varying degrees of commercial success, was there ever a “dark night of the soul” where you decided this wasn’t what you thought it was going to be, wasn’t worth pursuing?
Not worth pursuing? No way! There are so many worthy stories to tell, and it’s my burning desire to do that. Not to say that I didn’t have fleeting moments of despair along the way, particularly when I came close to getting a contract only to see it fall through at the last minute. But those moments really were fleeting, and I knew God’s timing would be perfect . . . and it was.
King Solomon wrote, “My child, let me give you some further advice: Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out” (Ecclesiastes 12:12). What’s your perspective on the flood of new books you see each season?
Honestly, I’d rather see two books released that are fantastic than a hundred that are just okay. There are great books that often don’t get the attention they deserve because they’re buried in an avalanche of new releases. Of course, tastes in literature are as different as in clothing, food, and anything else. One of my dearest friends has raved about books I thought were just okay and vice versa. So who’s to say which two books are the great ones?
Do you ever find your Christian worldview a challenge to convey in your writing or as you communicate with other novelists in the industry?
It’s not difficult to convey in my writing, I don’t think. At least not today. Hey, I’m a sinner. I wish I wasn’t and I try not to be, but I always seem to fall short. It’s the same for my characters. The thing with me and them is we get back up, dust ourselves off, and try to do better next time. My faith, in all its imperfection, isn’t lip service. It’s who I am. What I believe. That comes out in my conversations, my choice of clothing, music, friends, and in my writing. It’s very natural for me.
As far as other novelists go, I guess it’s not a challenge. I’m a Christian and not everyone’s going to agree with what I do, what I write, or what I believe, and that doesn’t matter. My mother said when I turned forty, I would stop caring so much what people thought and really start being who I am. I’m almost there, and as usual, she was right. I would say that in my personal life, everyone who truly knows me is well aware that I’m a Christian. I don’t hide it in my professional life either.
Finish this sentence: “I will know that I have totally arrived as a novelist when . . .”
I don’t think any of us ever “totally arrive” at anything. I’m a good mom, but have I arrived as a mother? No, I’m still learning and growing and trying to do better. It’s the same with being a novelist. If I win a Pulitzer, that would be great—okay, really, really,
really
great!—but that still won’t mean I’ve arrived. I’d still need to be learning and trying my best to improve with each book. I think once people start telling themselves they’ve “arrived,” they start getting lazy and proud. Ultimately they become less than what they could have been had they remained hungry to improve. Only when I’m entering heaven’s gates will I finally allow myself to say, “Now, I’ve arrived!”
1. At the beginning of the book, everyone in Jenny’s family is hurting. What are some of the things that have happened to bring them to this state? In what ways have they brought about their own suffering or made it worse than it had to be?
2. How does Jenny’s return home change the family dynamics? She didn’t really want to go home, but she felt she had no other options. Do you agree? What would you have done in her situation?
3. Was Jenny right to keep Isabella’s existence a secret from David? How might things have been different if David had known about Isabella from the start?
4. After making a snide remark to her father, Jenny wonders, “Why was I waving a red cape before this bull instead of the white flag I’d intended?” Why is it so hard to break long-standing relational habits, even when we realize they are hurting us or someone we love? Have you faced a similar situation with a family member or a close friend? How did you handle it, or how do you wish you had handled it?
5. Jenny’s father has held Dr. Preston responsible for his wife’s death for years. Is his anger justified? Have you or someone in your family experienced something similar to this? How did you or they respond?
6. While standing in David’s yard preparing to tell him about Isabella, Jenny puts her hand out to catch flowers fluttering to the ground. Not one lands on her open palm. Instead they land on David. What do you think the author might have been trying to symbolize here?
7. After Jenny tells her father she is dying, she reflects, “For the first time in my life I knew—really knew—that my father loved me.” Why is Jenny unconvinced before this of her father’s love? Is there someone you love who, like Jenny, might not be aware of your love? What might you do to change that perception?
8. Despite her father’s desperation, Jenny makes the difficult decision not to seek treatment for her cancer. Do you think that was the right thing for her to do? What factored into her decision? Have you ever known anyone who had to make a similar decision?
9. Do you think the loss of Jenny’s mother made Jenny’s diagnosis easier or more difficult for Jenny to handle? for her father to handle?
10. When David comes to pick up Isabella, he stops in the driveway and honks as he used to when he and Jenny were dating. Jenny tells us, “For the first time, I understood why the gesture used to infuriate my father.” What are some things you see differently as a parent, or simply as an adult, than you did as a child?
11. Describe the way Jenny’s feelings for David change. Do you think she was ever really in love with him?
12. If you were in Lindsey’s position, how would you have reacted to Jenny’s return? What would have been the most difficult thing for you to come to terms with?
13. Craig is a true friend to Jenny and wishes to be more. Do you think he was right to ask Jenny to marry him? Should she have said yes even sooner than she did, or was she right to put him off?
14. Jenny’s mother’s epitaph is a far cry from that of the woman who lost four children. How do you suppose these differing views manifested themselves in each woman’s life? Have you ever considered what you’d want your epitaph to say?
15. Have you ever had to communicate something life-altering to a child Isabella’s age? What did you find was the best way to do that?
16. Jenny ultimately decides to move in with David and Lindsey, against her own wishes, because she sees it as a chance to be a hero to her little girl. Was she right? Would you have made the same decision? What are some of the things to consider when weighing our own needs and desires against those of the people we love, especially those who are dependent on us?
17. Jenny is predisposed to dislike Lindsey because of her jealousy. When does Jenny’s impression of Lindsey begin to change? What causes the change? What relationships do you have in which your initial impression of someone gradually changed for the better? Why did it change? Do you have any relationships in which you are letting jealousy or other negative feelings prevent you from seeing the person’s true worth?
18. Jenny seems to have a peace about dying. Would you have the same peace? Why or why not?
19. Jenny has an advantage over most in that she has time to spiritually prepare for her impending death. How would you minister to someone in the same situation?
20. If you knew you had only a few months to live, what would you most want to accomplish?
“Kyra . . . may I call you Kyra?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you understand why you’re here?” After casting her a sideways glance, he walked to the window and yanked on the end of a yellowed shade.
Kyra took a deep breath. “I guess someone thinks I’m crazy.”
He took a seat across from her, retrieved a small bottle from his shirt pocket, and unscrewed the tiny cap. “Around here,
crazy
is a four-letter word.” He tilted his head back and squeezed several drops into each eye.
She waited for him to recap the bottle and slide it back into his pocket before answering. “I’m not . . . you know, cra—insane, I mean.”
His tearing, gray eyes reminded her of two frozen ponds just beginning to thaw. “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I need to assess your current state of mind. Please tell me what happened to bring you here.”
And just like that, she found herself once again broken and bleeding in the emotional holocaust of yesterday. The crash. Flashing lights from an ambulance. Uncontrollable sobs. “Please, I just want to go home.”
Interlocking his hands, he leaned his elbows on his knees, causing his tie to fall forward. He grabbed the end of it and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’m sure our staff has explained that we need to hold you at least forty-eight hours to determine your competency.”
The oddness of the way he now wore the tie unsettled her. “Have I been committed?”
He pressed his lips together in a pause that seemed deliberately dramatic. “Not yet.”
Not
yet
? Kyra buried her face in her hands. They still smelled of the orange she’d been peeling when Benjamin had called. She grimaced and pulled away.
“Kyra. I need you to focus on me.”
She alternated her tired gaze between him and her wringing hands. Her nails wore a coat of pink that couldn’t more than a few days old. When in her grief had she had the wherewithal to do that? Who dealt with her husband’s death by getting a manicure? Shaking her head, she snapped herself out of it. Now wasn’t the time to zone out.
Sitting up, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and squarely met his gaze. “It’s only been a few days, Doctor . . .”
“Hershing.”
She nodded acknowledgment of his name. A perfectly sane response. “. . . since my husband died. Then my son leaves home to join this godforsaken war. Of course I was hysterical. How do grieving widows normally act?”
His neutral expression flashed with surprise. “You think your husband’s dead.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
He didn’t know. She slumped back in her chair and let her hands fall to her side. No wonder he pegged her for nuts. “Yes, he passed away.” She tried to remember precisely how long it had been. Two days? A week? The fog inside her head wouldn’t clear long enough to recall.
Dr. Hershing waited for her to sort her thoughts. After a moment, he licked his thin lips. “Tell me about Benjamin. He’s just gone off to boot camp, I hear.”
Her heart ached at the mention of his name. Having her baby leave her to join the Marines hurt every bit, and in some ways more, than the news Eric had died. Though she would never admit that to anyone but herself.
She reached to her neck, tracing her fingers over the bare skin where her pearls often hung. The pearls Eric had bought her their last anniversary, practically throwing the fancy box at her as he ran off to meet an unhappy client.
“Don’t try them on yet,” he said as he flipped his cell phone closed. “I’ll put them on you when I get home.” By the time he returned, she was sound asleep. Or so she let him believe.
“I know you want to go home.” The doctor’s voice jarred her. “In order for that to occur, I have to be sure you’re not a threat to yourself or others. That you’re
well
.”
Forget the past. Concentrate on now. That’s what a
well
person would do.
“Before I can ascertain your current frame of mind, I have to know what’s going on. I need to know why you ran your car off the road and why you kept repeating that you wanted to die.”
She had nothing to hide. She’d lost it. So what? Once he knew why, he’d understand. She ran her tongue over her teeth, tasting the chalky toothpaste the nurse had given her to use that morning. “First Eric, then Benjamin. I thought I was prepared for him to join the Marines. He wanted it so badly. And I wanted it for him.”
Her gaze darted to the watercolor hanging askew behind his desk. “Well, I thought I wanted it. I wanted to want it, I guess.”
“Go on.”
“But when I got that phone call—” she drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning in her chest—“I felt as though I’d been punched.” She shook her head. “No, not punched—gutted.”
His eyes widened at her word choice, and she realized that although it was exactly the right description of how she’d felt, it was the wrong one to free her.
“He was a great son,” she added.
“Was?”
Exasperation spilled from her in the form of a sigh. This constant monitoring of every word and deed was already getting old. “
Is
. I mean is. Handsome. Popular. The rare combination of homecoming king and valedictorian.”
“You have much to be proud of.”
“Yes, I’m very proud of my son. We were,
are
, very close.”
“The phone call you mentioned—tell me about it.”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever heard.”
His eyes encouraged her to continue.
How desperately she’d needed to hear from Benji, one more time. Instead, it was Private Yoshida who’d contacted her. She sat up straight as steel and repeated his words verbatim. How could she ever forget them?
“‘This is Private Yoshida. I have arrived safely at Parris Island. Please do not send food or bulky items. Do not call me. I’ll mail you a postcard with my new mailing address. Thank you for your support. Good-bye.’ I begged him to tell me he would be okay, that he’d call again soon, that he knew I loved him. But he wouldn’t deviate from the script.”
He handed her a tissue. “That would be a tough call to get.”
She dabbed at her eyes, then wiped her nose. “There’s a war going on. He could die.”
“Is that why you drove your car into a signpost?
“Even if I had wanted to die, which I didn’t, I wouldn’t kill myself.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s a sin.”
“According to?”
“We’re God’s temple. We’re not to destroy it.”
He nodded. “I see.”