Finally My Forever (2 page)

"You must be Carly," she said.

I gave a slight nod. "Yes ma'am."

"Carlyyyy!" the guy said, throwing his arms in the air as if we'd won some sort of championship together.

Something about having someone get so excited when they say your name makes you feel good. My gaze shifted downward with an uncontrollable grin.

Mrs. Bennett put her hand on my shoulder to encourage me to come inside, and I glanced at her as I followed to see that she was smiling warmly. "I'm Claire," she said as I crossed the threshold, "and this is my son Thomas."

Chapter 2

Thomas Bennett put his arm over my shoulders as we made our way into their beautiful home. "We're building a house where all my friends can come play video games, and eat cupcakes, and make crafts… and there's gonna be a ton of books. Do you like to read books?"

Mrs. Bennett had gone ahead of us into the kitchen while Thomas and I lagged behind in the living room. It was a huge, open space, and I could see her at the edge of the counter, gathering some last minute things. I looked back at Thomas, who was anxiously awaiting my answer to his question.

"I do like books," I said.

"What's you're favorite book?" he asked excitedly.

I assumed he had Down Syndrome. I'd seen people with it, but never actually been in a conversation with any of them. The first thing that struck me was how sweet and sincere he seemed. It seemed like he was thrilled beyond words at the prospect of learning about my favorite book.

"I don't read as much as I should, but when I do, I like romance or adventure best, I guess."

"Awww!" Thomas said, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Are you talking about kissing books?"

I stared at him for a second, not really sure how to answer.

"Are you talking about the books where they kiss each other?" he repeated, definitely loud enough for his mom to hear.

"Yeah, but I'm a girl," I whispered. "Girls like that sort of thing."

He slapped his hand to his forehead again and shook his head as he laughed. "Girls are so silly!"

"What's your favorite book?" I asked.

His face instantly shifted to one of great sincerity. He was about the same height as me, and we stood eye to eye as he stared at me and said, "Definitely the Bible."

I nodded and smiled. "Oh, yeah, the Bible," I said even though I'd never read it. "I guess I didn't realize that was a choice."

He nodded. "It's a choice," he said. "Do you want to change your favorite book now?"

He was so sweet and sincere that I had to agree. "For sure," I said.

He patted me on the shoulder. "That's good. That's a good choice. It's the best book there is. It's got love in it, you know. It's got everything. It's a whole bunch of books all wrapped up into one." He paused and stared at me intently. "It's the only book in the world like it. You did the right thing changing your choice." He smiled and patted my shoulder again. "I'll bet you just forgot."

"I did," I said.

His mom interrupted us. She was wearing a bright smile and carrying a few bags of supplies along with her oversized purse. "Are you two ready?" she asked.

"Can I help you with any of that?" I asked.

"I think I got it," she said. She extended the arm that was holding the purse. "Thomas, dig in there for my keys, please baby. I'll need you to lock up."

He did as she asked and we made our way to the huge SUV that was parked in the garage. Thomas offered me the front seat, but I told him I was content to ride in the back. The ride to the construction site only took us a few minutes, and Thomas talked the whole time about how cool the house would be and how many great things he and his friends would be able to do there. I assumed by his descriptions that there would be quite a few people helping out today, and I dreaded being the only one there who didn’t know anybody.

Mrs. Bennett agreed to let me carry one of the bags inside when we arrived. I was greatly relieved to help since it gave me something to do with my hands. It was heavy and I couldn't believe she had carried that and the others by herself. I looked inside to find two 6-packs of Powerade.

"That's for my baby brother," Thomas said, seeing me glance inside. "He likes the white ones. And Mom likes the white ones because they don’t make a mess if you spill."

"I guess everybody likes the white ones," I said. At least I started to say it.

Thomas, catching a glimpse of someone he recognized, cut me off in midsentence. He threw his arms up in the same way he had done for me when we first met. "Valerieeee!" he said.

The girl, who was beautiful and seemed to be in her twenties, made the same gesture with her arms. "Thomasssss!" she yelled. She greeted Mrs. Bennett with a kiss on the cheek. "We're already getting a lot done in there," she said.

"Oh, good," Mrs. Bennett replied, "Thank you for being here."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Plus, you get that cool t-shirt," Thomas said, proudly. He looked at me with a wide-eyed, serious expression. "You need a shirt too."

"Oh, I'm okay," I said. I was tempted for a split second to add that my dad's company was the one who printed them, but I opted to stay quiet.

Valerie and Mrs. Bennett were talking about all the work that was going on, and I followed them into the house, content with holding my bag of sports drinks and blending into the background.

There were several volunteers visible when we walked in. Two men were laying tile around the fireplace, two were in the kitchen doing something with power tools that required them to wear goggles, and a few more were spread around looking busy. I followed Mrs. Bennett into the kitchen where she commented on how nice the new refrigerator looked and began putting the bottles into it. Thomas and Valerie disappeared down the hall to go inspect the rest of the house.

"How can I help?" I asked.

"How do you feel about painting?" a man's voice said from behind me. I turned to find a man about my dad's age staring at me with a big smile. He had mostly black hair with some gray on the sides and his eyes were the type that squinted when he smiled.

"Honey, this is Carly," Mrs. Bennett said.

"Mike's daughter!" he said, smiling.

I was his stepdaughter but I didn't correct him. I assumed he must be Mr. Bennett. He stuck out his hand, and kept right on with that squinty-eyed smile. Something about it seemed warm and welcoming. I was glad for it at a time when I felt nervous and out of place. I shook his hand and smiled back.

"I don't know much about painting, "I said, getting back to this question, "but I'd be happy to give it a try."

"It's just a matter of rolling paint on the walls," he said. "We'll come behind you and do the trim. I don't think you can really mess anything up."

He gestured for me to follow him, but then looked over his shoulder at his wife. "Unless you needed her for something," he said. I glanced back to see her smiling and shaking her head.

Mr. Bennett brought me to one of the bedrooms and explained that it would be the arts and crafts room. The walls were being painted a neutral gray so all of their art projects would stand out when hung. There was another volunteer already working. It was an older lady who Mr. Bennett introduced as Joan. We greeted each other with a wave before Mr. Bennett gave me a three-minute explanation about how to get paint onto the wall without drips and other unwanted things happening.

He didn't question me about my sudden urge to volunteer or imply that he knew anything about me being in trouble. I had been afraid of this sort of confrontation and was happy to avoid it.

For the next little while it was just me and the grey paint. I could hear a radio in the distance along with the sounds of other volunteers talking and banging on things, but mostly, I was alone with my thoughts. Joan asked me a couple of questions at first, but otherwise she didn't say much. She left the room for a few minutes at a time but would always come back and pick up where she left off. We both seemed content to work quietly. I didn't regret being there and helping out with something that seemed to be a good cause, but I still felt like my parents had been a little harsh with the punishment, and I was in a fairly bad mood because of it.

I'd been painting for what must have been over an hour when my neck began to get stiff. I sighed and set the roller down in the pan before stretching my arms upward.

"Joannnn! Carlyyyy!" Thomas said coming into the room right at that moment. His eyes instantly went up to the area where the wall met the ceiling, and his smile changed to a look of concern. He pointed at the area he was staring at. "Are you gonna leave it like that?" he said, his face crumpling into a look of wary confusion.

Joan answered before I could. "Of course we're not, Thomas," she said patiently. "Your dad's gonna come behind us and make it nice and straight with a paint brush."

Thomas sighed and laughed thankfully. He giggled for a few seconds before his face turned serious again. He looked at Joan. "Did you know the Bible is Carly's favorite book?"

"No I didn't!" she said sweetly. She smiled at me and I smiled back a little stiffly. Joan still had her roller in her hand, so she turned her attention back to the wall.

"What's your favorite Bible verse?" Thomas asked with a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the blood rising to my cheeks the second he said it. I'd been to vacation Bible school a couple of times when I was a kid, but otherwise didn't know much about the Bible at all. I knew there was a very famous verse about God so loving the world, and I racked my brain trying to think of it. It took me a second, but I thought I had it right. I smiled as I said, "For God so loved the world that he gave his son—"

"John 3:16!" Thomas said, with his hands in the air.

"That's one of my most favorite verses, isn't it, Ms. Joan?"

"Yep, you love that one, Thomas," she said without turning around.

"It's not my most very favorite one, though," he assured me.

What was there for me to do but ask, "What's your favorite?"

He put his hand back on my shoulder and stared at me with an earnest expression like what he was about to say was a matter of national security. "John 1:29," he said. He cleared his throat in preparation to recite it. "The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him, and said…" Thomas stopped talking and out of nowhere sunk his crumpled face into his hand. He stayed that way for several long seconds.

I glanced around, not knowing what to do.

Joan kept right on working.

I thought Thomas just had his head down, so it startled me when he started making a high-pitched wheezing sound as he breathed out. It took me a second to realize he was crying. He made this sound as he breathed out and then he took a shaky breath in. Once again, a long, wheezing cry came out with his face still covered by his hand.

I glanced at Joan desperate for some help, but she kept right on painting. Thomas let out a few more high-pitched wails before wiping his eyes and trying to compose himself.

He regarded me with a pitiful, tear-soaked face.

"Behold…" he said. Another long, wheezing wail. "John said, Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." His face was contorted with the effort to hold back tears and his voice was much higher than normal as he said the last part of that verse. He regarded me afterward as if he was gauging how affected I was.

"Is that the whole verse?" I asked. I didn't know what else to say. It seemed really short, and I honestly didn't understand how he was so touched by the simple line he'd just recited.

"Didn't you hear it?" he asked, looking at me as if he was wondering why I wasn't crying.

"Was it just that John saw Jesus and said, Behold, the—"

Thomas cut in, "The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the…" He lowered his head and breathed out a wheezing cry again. "The world," he concluded after that cry was out of his system.

I glanced at Joan, who still had her back to us being no help whatsoever.

"That's pretty cool," I said.

"It's the most beautiful Bible verse ever," he said. "It's the only thing we need to believe—the one truth we need most of all." He stared at me as if trying to see if I suddenly understood. "God could have been born a big tough guy like with muscles like Micah. He coulda come to earth and punched everybody out who didn't listen to Him." He paused, but continued, "But instead he chose to be born a lamb—" And there it went again. He sank his face into his hand and let out that high-pitched wail.

Joan was still no help, and I looked around wondering what in the world I could do or say.

"Was Micah another person in the Bible?" I asked, in an attempt to distract him. I knew there was a guy in the Bible who was known for his strength, and I assumed after what Thomas said, that he was talking about Micah, which sounded like a Bible name. It was my best bet for trying to distract him from this Lamb verse that made him cry so much.

He had tears streaming down his face, but he looked at me with a big smile. "Micah's in the Bible, but I was talking about my baby brother."

"Oh, you have a baby brother named Micah?" I asked. He smiled and nodded, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face. I had a towel hanging from my back pocket that Mr. Bennett had given me for drips. I hadn't used it for paint, so I took it out and used it to dry Thomas' cheeks. I sort of expected him to take it from me and do it himself, but he just waited while I patted the tears from his face.

"I wouldn't call Micah a baby," Joan chimed in, finally.

Thomas glanced her way. "He's fifteen months younger than me," he said. "He's nineteen and I'm twenty."

"Yeah but that doesn't make him a baby," she said.