Letting Go (Healing Hearts) (27 page)

Chapter 22

J
eanine opened the door to Diane’s office. “This way, ma’am.”

“Why, thank you.”

An elderly woman in her mid to late sixties stepped into Diane’s office. She wore a tailor-made, muted red business suit with white trim around the seams. Her pumps matched perfectly. The outfit really suited her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Moriarty.”

“My name used to be Mrs. Mackey. I remarried in 2003.”

Diane recognized her immediately. “Mrs. Mackey from Orange County, California? I can’t believe it.”

The woman grinned. “So you do remember me? I’d hoped you would.”

“I certainly do. You lived next door. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you.”

Silence lingered between them, then Mrs. Moriarity asked, “So how are you, Diane? Tell me.”

“Good. As you can see I graduated from law school and joined a good law firm.”

“You’re not married?”

Diane’s chest tightened. “No. Is it that obvious?”

Mrs. Moriarty glanced at Diane’s hand. “No ring, same last name. It wasn’t hard.”

“What brings you to Idaho?”

“My husband is here on business, and I came with him. I scheduled this appointment because I have something for you, but I’d like to talk for a few minutes first.”

Diane motioned her to a chair in front of her desk. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Moriarty looked around. “You have a very nice office. And what a wonderful view you have! I’m impressed.”

Diane sat down and leaned back in her chair. “Thanks. It’ll do for now.”

“For now? Do you have bigger plans for yourself?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always thought about being a judge.”

“That sounds like a great plan.” Mrs. Moriarty shifted in her seat, clutching her purse on her lap. “Have you thought about settling down and starting a family?”

Diane’s cheeks burned. “I can’t have children.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay. You’re not the first person to ask. I might as well get used to the question.” Diane reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a roll of cherry antacid tablets, and popped two into her mouth.

Mrs. Moriarty gave Diane a questioning look.

Diane shrugged. “I chew antacids when my stomach starts to ache.”

The elderly woman’s mouth went slack. “You know, I remember that.”

Diane’s eyes narrowed. “You remember what?”

Mrs. Moriarty smiled wistfully. “I remember your frequent stomachaches. You used to ask me for antacids when you ran out of them.”

“I did?”

“Yes, I remember that very well.”

The memories made Diane’s stomach burn, and she changed the subject. “You never said what brought you to me.”

“I didn’t? I thought I did. I looked you up in the phone book when I found out we’d be traveling here. When I sold my house in California after I married Joe, I found this photo album you gave me as a gift when you were about twelve. I thought you might want it back.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small album decorated with a yellow smiley face and the words “Don’t worry, be happy, Mrs. Mackey” written on the front cover with permanent marker.

Diane gasped and reached for the small book. “I remember this. I gave it to you when you were in the hospital and you were sad about your operation.” Tears filled her eyes. “That’s when you had your hysterectomy, wasn’t it?”

Mrs. Moriarty pulled a tissue from her purse. She dabbed the corners of her eyes.

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“You said you couldn’t have children, and you wanted one so much. I felt sorry that you couldn’t have kids of your own, so I gave you pictures of me.” Diane ran her trembling fingers over the smiley face, afraid to open the book and look inside.

Mrs. Moriarty smiled. “You were such a sweet girl. I felt like you were my daughter in so many ways.”

“I’ve had a hysterectomy too,” Diane whispered.

The elderly woman’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Diane. Was it recent? The surgery, I mean?”

Diane nodded. “Right before Christmas.”

“How awful. Did your mother visit you?”

Diane’s head snapped up. “Mother? She was too busy doing her own thing to worry about me. She hasn’t changed much.”

Mrs. Moriarty leaned forward and placed her hand over Diane’s. “How’s your father doing? You look so much like him.”

“You haven’t heard? He died when I was sixteen.”

“No, I hadn’t heard. Remember? I moved and rented the house out. I’m sorry I failed to keep in touch with you. It would’ve been so nice.”

“It’s okay.” Diane glanced at her nails. “I survived.”

“You remind me so much of your father.” The old woman chuckled. “He was such a handsome man.”

The blood drained from Diane’s face and her stomach cramped. She leaned on her elbows to steady herself.

“Are you okay? You look as if you don’t feel well.”

“Just give me a minute.” Diane took slow breaths, trying to achieve a sense of balance. She took a small sip of water from the cup on her desk.

Mrs. Moriarty remained seated with her hands folded in her lap. She watched Diane with concern.

“I upset you, didn’t I?”

Diane offered a shaky smile. “I get dizzy every once in awhile. It’s nothing.”

“You looked fine before I mentioned how much you looked like your father.”

Diane cringed. “You don’t want to know.”

The elderly woman scanned Diane’s face. “I think I might know.”

Diane’s breath caught.

“I always suspected something wasn’t right, but never quite figured it out. I asked you several times if your father had hurt you, but you wouldn’t say much. Same with your mother.”

Diane tucked her hair behind her ear, her hand shaking. “Why would you think that he hurt me?”

“Oh, I saw the way he looked at you as you grew older. It bothered me and I tried to tell your mother, but she refused to listen. The other thing that concerned me was that you seemed happy when your parents broke up. Especially when your father left the house. Most kids aren’t happy when their parents split up, but you were.”

Diane shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs that fuzzed her thinking. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember much.”

“Oh, but I do, honey. When they were together your parents had a lot of pool parties. They invited my husband and me over several times. I recall your father following you around with his eyes. You would smile at him and giggle, but it was a nervous kind of giggle. Know what I mean?”

“I . . . I guess. I honestly don’t remember much.”

“It’s probably just as well. I remember the time you confided in me, when you asked me to pray for you. Remember when I taught you how to pray?”

“What did I say?”

“You said your father always wanted to kiss you and you didn’t like it. You were afraid to ask him to stop.”

“I told you that?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” Mrs. Moriarity frowned. “At the time, I didn’t think much about it. Lots of parents kiss their children.”

Diane touched her fingers to her lips. A memory flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. The world started spinning.

“Remember how we prayed together and asked God to help you be brave enough to ask him to stop?”

“How old was I?”

“I think you were twelve. You were very developed for your age, but you still looked like an angel to me.”

Diane started to cry, and Mrs. Moriarty gave her a tissue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll change the subject.”

“No, we need to discuss this. I think maybe God sent you here to tell me that I need to deal with this. I need to forgive my parents.”

“Forgive them?”

She glanced up and said in a rush of words, “My father molested me. I think my mother knew about it, and she let it happen.”

“Oh, honey. I didn’t know it was that bad, but I suspected something was going on. I wish I’d prayed for you more or at least done something to help you.” Her voice cracked. “I should have paid more attention and asked more questions.”

“Maybe God answered my prayer, and I didn’t realize it at the time. My father wasn’t home for very long before he left us again. The last time he came home he had a heart attack and died. He was home for maybe six months.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear about what happened to you. I meant it when I said I apologize for not helping you more.” Mrs. Moriarty stood. “But you seem to have done well for yourself regardless.”

Diane rose and offered her hand. “Thanks for coming to see me. What you shared really helped with some things I’ve been struggling with.”

Mrs. Moriarty bypassed her hand and enveloped Diane in a warm embrace. “If you have questions, just ask. I’ve told you all I can remember right now, but I may have forgotten some things.”

“That’s okay. You told me enough.”

“Here’s my card in case you want to get in touch.”

Diane accepted it with a smile. “Thanks again.”

After her former neighbor left, Diane called her receptionist and asked to not be disturbed unless it was an emergency. She had totally forgotten about the photo album. Her hands trembled as she considered opening it. Several times she started to, but then set it on the table and eased onto the couch beside it.

Lord, did You send her as a messenger for me? Was I wrong to assume what my mother said about me was true?

She recalled the discussion Wednesday night at women’s group. They talked about how God was true and every man a liar. Diane figured they meant only God could always be truthful, and that she could trust Him. Not what her mother said about her, not what Dave thought, or even how she saw herself. Only God remained true. She’d have to think about that some more.

Glancing over at the book on the table, she decided to look inside.
Lord, give me some answers. Help me to understand.

She held her breath and reached for the album. The first page contained a picture of her at about three years old. Her eyes shone bright as she held her favorite stuffed bear, Muffy. How she had loved that thing. Her eyes looked so happy. Where did that innocent little girl go? Wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand, she turned the page.

In the next picture, Diane looked older. She wore a shiny satin dress and a crown made with rhinestones. The first pageant she had won. The year of the competition was posted on a banner in the picture. She had an enchanting smile for a six-year-old. Her makeup looked a bit overdone, but otherwise she resembled a princess. Diane smiled and ran her finger over the picture. She had been a pretty child.