Prince Tennyson (7 page)

I'd seen a lot of trees and water, and I was pretty sure I'd never seen God in them. The whole thing just didn't make sense. I didn't understand how reading the Bible, crying in your room, or looking at trees and water all connected together. It had to though, right? I mean, everyone said it came to the same point, that those things would help me know God. Except, except…it was just confusing and hard and something I really couldn't wrap my mind around. I was only a kid, for crying out loud. I didn't understand rocket science. So why did the Lord make it so hard to find Him, then? Especially if He wanted people to know him.

After dinner, I went to my room and locked the door so Hannah wouldn't come in and bug me. Then I sat on my bed for a long time and just thought and thought about everything. When my brain started to hurt, I decided it might be better if I wrote it down. So I crawled off the bed over to where I had put my backpack and pulled out my notebook. I opened it clear to the back and ripped out a page, and then I started to make a list:

Ways to know that God is real:

• If you read the Bible, it will tell you
  
• If you're sad, you will get all tingly and warm and feel Him in you
  
• If you look closely at trees and water, you will see God
  
• If you go to church
  

Uhh…

Okay, so I couldn't come up with a number five. Instead, I started to make another list.

Reasons why I should even be trying to find out if God is real:

• So I know what happened to my dad
  
• To help my mom be happy
  
• I need to know for myself and not just because people tell me
  
• I want to
  

Okay, so the last one surprised me. I didn't realize that I wanted to. I thought I was doing this because I had to. Usually when you think of wanting something, you think of good stuff, like Christmas presents and ice cream cones and hugs from your dad.

Oh, yeah. I forgot.

That's what started this whole thing to begin with. I wanted a hug from my dad. And I knew that if God wasn't real, I would never get another one.

My heart began to hurt again.

It seemed like the most hopeless, hardest thing I'd ever done before. And sometimes at night when I woke up from a dream and got a drink of water from the bathroom, I would lay awake on my bed and think about it.

It was too hard.

Way too hard. I just wanted to give up, because frankly it's easier to believe He wasn't real. A whole lot easier.

I put my head down on my knees like I did on the playground and tried not to think about not hugging my prince anymore. I tried not to think about it really, really hard, but I couldn't make the picture in my head go away. I just wanted to hug my dad so much and have him twirl me around so my feet came off the ground. Just one more time.

Sometimes I wished I couldn't remember my dad so much.

It made my heart hurt and made me cry.

Wednesday, on my bed, I cried really bad. The most I had cried in a long time. I cried so much I had a crying headache. Mom gets those a lot, but not me.

It had been a pretty bad day. Grandma Haney was mad at me and two kids from school were mad at me and even Mrs. Sheridan was mad at me. All because of an accident. A big, horrible accident.

I didn't mean to trip over Jasmine's shoe, or land on Bryson's desk with both his and Chad's projects on it. Who knew they still had all that stuff on there, anyway? We were supposed to be done with our projects. Mrs. Sheridan had asked us to clean up a whole ten minutes before I came back to my desk. Besides, I definitely hadn't meant to crumble Bryson's craft and tear Chad's, too. Now everyone was mad at me again. Everyone. For something I didn't even mean to do.

Except no one believed me. No one. They all thought I did it on purpose.

The only person who ever believed me was gone, and he wasn't ever coming back. I wasn't sure I'd ever see him again. And it hurt. The whole day hurt, but missing my dad hurt worse. I knew if he were there, he would smile and give me a big hug, and then he would make Grandma Haney and Mrs. Sheridan smile.

I threw myself on the bed and cried and cried. All I wanted was my dad back. Why couldn't I have him? Why?

I'd even become so sad, I wondered if God would come into my heart, but He didn't come. I just sat on that bed and waited and waited and cried and cried, but God never came at all. My heart stayed hurting and sad the whole time, and the only one who was there was my dad, and all sorts of memories surrounding him. It was so hard to think of him.

I just wanted my dad to go away and leave me alone for a while so I wouldn't cry so much. I just wanted him to be gone from my mind. But he wouldn't leave. He just stayed right there in my mind, all happy and fun and everything. Even when I said, “Go away and leave me alone!”

Instead, I remembered him more. I remembered how much fun he was to play with and how we made pancakes together. He always made those special Mickey Mouse pancakes, with ears and everything. I could even taste the chocolate chips he'd put in the batter.

“You're giving me a headache. I don't want a headache. Go away, Dad!”

It wasn't fair.

I was never going to see my dad again, and he still wouldn't leave me alone. Nothing I ever wanted was right, or easy, or fun. Nothing. Not anymore. Proving that God was real was going to hurt me much, much more than thinking that He wasn't real, because it made me think of my dad again and again and again. And I couldn't do that.

I just couldn't.

I needed a break.

My shoulders and heart were breaking so much, I couldn't take it. I had never felt so much heaviness on me before. And it was the worst feeling in the whole world.

All at once, I jumped off my bed and crawled underneath and dragged out the secret box. I knew why my mom had thrown away the pictures. I wanted them gone. All of them. They were bad and stupid and useless.

Why should I try to remember something I'd never see again, anyway?

With a hefty lunge, I hurled that box against the bedroom wall. Pictures of my smiling, happy prince danced and floated all around the room, causing the biggest mess I had ever seen.

I didn't care. I was mad. I was so mad.

I just ran and kicked and yelled and scattered those happy pictures everywhere.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Chapter Thirteen

“CHELSEA? CHELSEA?”

It was my mom, knocking on my door. I didn't care. I just kept kicking pictures of my dad everywhere, all over my room.

“Open up, Chelsea. Open this door, please.”

I picked up the emptied box and threw it at the door. “Go away!”

I heard scratching at the lock and I knew my mom was using the key to come in. I dove under my bed and hid. I didn't want to see her.

I heard the lock click and saw Mom's feet come in the room and I heard her gasp. Her feet froze. I knew she could see her Prince Charming all over the place. I watched her feet take a step, and then pause again.

“Chelsea, where did you— How did you—”

Then Mom's knees joined her feet on the floor and I saw her hands scooping up the pictures. Then I watched as she lay them out in a semicircle in front of her. Her fingers trailed the pictures slowly, settling on my dad's smiles, and then his hair, and then his chest.

“Ryan?” I heard her whisper. “I never thought I'd ever see you again.” Mom's hands scooped the pictures up and I peeked from under the bed a bit to see what she was doing. The pictures were smushed against her chest. I couldn't see what her face was doing, only her body. Mom was hugging those pictures.

When she laid them down to look at them again, wet splats began to land right on them. Mom was crying.

Uh-oh. Mom didn't like those pictures. I shouldn't have thrown them around the room and yelled. I shouldn't have never kicked them and scattered them everywhere. Now Mom was going to throw them away again, because they made her sad.

I hoped I wouldn't have to go into the big dumpster to get them out this time. Hannah and Cameron would be mad at me forever if I let them really get ruined. What was I thinking?

“Chelsea? Come out from under the bed. I want to talk to you.”

Huh? I peeked my head out. “How did you know I was under the bed?”

Mom gave me her “are you for real” look before she wiped her eyes.

I had to chuckle as I crawled out, because, duh! Where else would I have been? I scooted some of the pictures over and slowly stacked them in a pile, and then sat down where they had been. Mom wandered around the room picking up the rest. She still sniffled and wiped her eyes. I felt awful.

“Sorry, Mom.”

“It's okay,” she muttered as she walked to another spot to collect more.

But it wasn't okay. I'd ruined everything just because I was mad. “I didn't mean to dump out the pictures, Mom. Are you mad that I did?”

“No, honey.” She stopped and stared at her favorite picture of Dad. It was a big one. He looked just like a prince. It was Hannah's favorite too.

“I didn't mean for you to see them—honest,” I blurted out as I stood up. “I know you don't like them anymore, but I promise to be really, really good with them and not make a mess again if you let me have them. I promise.”

“What?” Mom looked up from studying the picture. Her eyes seemed lost.

I sighed. “Never mind.” I walked over to the door and picked up the box where it had landed. It was bent pretty badly, but still could shut. That was a good thing.

“No, honey, I'm sorry.” Mom came over and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her other hand still held the picture of Dad. “What were you saying? I wasn't listening.”

I looked up into her eyes. She was staring back down at her prince. “Are you mad at me?” It's all I really wanted to know—just how much trouble was I in, anyway?

Mom dropped her hand that held the picture and turned around to face me. “What? Chelsea, no.” She shook her head. “No, no—I'm not mad at you at all.” Her mouth broke out in a smile. “I'm—I'm happy. I'm so happy you found these pictures and saved them.” She grabbed me and wrapped me up in a huge bear hug. My whole body was pressed and squeezed. It felt really good.

When she set me down again, I stepped back and looked right up to her eyes. They were wet, but more than that, deep, deep down in the way back of them there was a small spark. Her eyes were trying to smile again.

I smiled.

“Really? You're happy I saved them?”

Mom threw her head back and laughed and hugged me to her again. “Are you kidding me? Of course I am! I'm—I—it's a miracle they're here.” She let me go and walked slowly around the room, her arms spread out. The picture of Dad was still in her hand as she made a circle, looking at the pictures. “They're all here, aren't they? You saved every one, didn't you?”

I nodded my head, but Mom wasn't looking. “Yeah, I did.” I stepped toward her with the box. “They were here. I kept them a secret so you wouldn't throw them away again.”

“Really?” Mom's mouth was open and she just stood there and shook her head at me. “I'm baffled, Chelsea, completely baffled.”

“I thought that maybe later you would want to see them again, when you weren't trying to forget Dad anymore. So I snatched them up, right out of the garbage can in your room, and saved them.”

“There isn't anything in this world I have been hoping to see more.” Mom held her arms out for the box, so I handed it to her. I thought she was going to start picking up the pictures, but instead she sat the box on the bed and wrapped me in another hug.

That was three hugs in just a few minutes.

I liked that.

“Chelsea, you are the smartest, most wonderful girl ever!” She squeezed me extra tight and I felt my hair get wet from Mom's tears.

“Really?” I smiled. I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe my mom was this happy.

“Yes.” She sniffled. “I will love you forever and ever and ever for what you have done for me—for us—by saving those pictures.” Her hand came up and rubbed my back. “I was so stupid, honey. I never should've thrown away our prince.” She sniffed again. “And do you know what? You're never going to guess, so I'll just have to tell you.” She pulled back a little bit to see me better.

“What?”

Her smile choked off the sob that tried to come out. Instead, she just shook her head. She couldn't talk for a minute.

After a little bit, I got impatient and asked, “What is it?”

Mom took a deep breath and blinked her eyes a whole lot before she brought her wavering smile back to me. “I've been praying and praying that God would bring those pictures back to me somehow.”

“Y-you have?”

Mom nodded. “Uh-huh. And guess what? It was you. He used you to answer my prayer, Chelsea. It was a miracle. God worked through you.” Then she squeezed me to her again and asked, “Isn't that the most wonderful thing you've ever heard?”