The Envelope

(This story, though fictionalized, is based on actual events and is used by permission.)

Drenched in sweat, Casey sighed when she checked her Apple Watch as she came through the door. It was already 6:13 AM, and she had a long day ahead of her. Shower. Drag Sean out of bed and get him moving for school. Then school herself—two classes today. (It had been a leap for her to start Physical Therapy school at this age, but it was a long-held dream and, as it turned out, she loved it.) Plus, she had bills on her desk that needed attention; the kitchen floor showed the effects of having two families of neighbors for dinner the night before, and it was her turn to run the afternoon middle school pickup route.

She was still dripping from the shower when the cell phone of the other side of the bed rang. It was the head of her church congregation. “Mike home?” She frowned. It was never good when the Bishop called her husband this early in the morning.

“I’ll get him,” she said. She knew better than to ask questions.

“Bishop?” There was a prolonged silence as Mike listened, his expression becoming more and more serious. “I’ll be there.” And he hung up. “There’s been an accident. I have to go.”

Her face turned ashen. “Someone we know?”

“No. A family traveling though. I’ll call when I have more info.” He grabbed his jacket and his keys, disappearing down the hall headed to the garage. He’d check with the office on the way. It wasn’t looking like he’d make it this morning.

Bethany and her children sat silent in the Lubbock, Texas, emergency waiting room. She was numb with exhaustion and shock. Her youngest daughter leaned against her for safety, the little girl’s thumb in her mouth—an old habit that only appeared when the child was anxious. It had started raining again outside, the drops slamming against the double glass doors of the ambulance entrance with a violence she seldom saw in Florida. What had she done? She had been so sure this was the only answer.

Mike Acton and Bishop Sorensen arrived 20 minutes later. They didn’t bother to stop at the reception desk. The police sergeant who called had said, “a woman with four children”. Though there were several people in the waiting room, only the woman across the room ahead of them had children–what appeared to be two elementary-aged boys and a little girl, all sitting on the bench beside her. The officer had reported one child was injured so badly it was likely that the fourth, a pre-teen girl, was in surgery by now.

“Mrs. Chandler? I’m Bishop Sorensen. This is my counselor, Mike Acton. We’re here to help.”

Unable to speak, the woman began to weep. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Pulling up two chairs, they sat down at opposite ends of the little family. The boys moved protectively closer to their mother; the small girl patted her mother’s hand and repeated, “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK,” as her mother had done for her so many times in the recent past.

“Can you tell us what brought you here?” Bishop Chandler asked gently.

Taking several slow, shuddering breaths, the woman attempted to quell the overwhelming relief she felt when the she realized she was not alone. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I . . . .” But the tears engulfed her again.

The two men sat silent beside her and simply waited. Experience had taught them that listening would reveal the core of the problem soon enough. It was several minutes before Bethany could finally say, “We were driving. In the rain. We’d been on the road a long time. I was tired. The kids were all asleep. The car . . .” she stopped, willing back more tears at the memory. “The rain . . . the road was so wet. The car skidded. I couldn’t stop it. It slid across two lanes and into a car coming from the other direction.” Her face collapsed in horror. “Ellie,” she whispered. “Ellie was thrown . . .” Her face crumpled.

The little girl lifted her head from her mother’s chest. “My Ellie got hurt.” There was a slight list to her words from her missing two front teeth. “She was bleeding.” Now the child dissolved into her own memory. “Ellie cried and cried. She didn’t stop until the fireman gave her medicine.”  She looked up at the Bishop sitting next to her. “When will my Ellie get better?” Flinging her arms around her mother, the child begam to cry, her sobs so fierce they shook both her own little body and that of her mother who was clutching the child even more tightly than before.

The Bishop looked across the family at Mike, who from long experience, nodded in understanding. “Mrs. Chandler, have you kids had anything to eat? Why don’t I take them over to the cafeteria and get them some breakfast?”

The mother looked down at the child in her lap. “Caroline, are you hungry?” she asked the little girl. “Would you like some cereal or some pancakes?”

The boys were immediately on board, but It took a bit of convincing to entice Caroline to leave her mom long enough for a bit of food. “You can help me choose something to bring back to you mom,” Mike  promised. It helped that a long hallway connected to ER to the cafeteria, so the children could see her mother as they ate.

If I had stayed, Bethany berated herself, Ellie would be safe. But she knew it wasn’t true. When her drunken husband in an uncontrollable rage had gone after their seven-year-old son with a belt, she had begged him to stop, placing her own body between him and the boy. Wrath washed across his face. He reared his other hand to shove her out of the way, but something stopped him. For a moment he stood silent, staring at her and shaking with fury. Then without warning, his eyes glazed over, rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the floor–unconscious. Stifling her panic, Bethany bent down to check his pulse and breathing. It wasn’t the first time he had passed out after the anger. In relief she realized It might take several hours, but he would sleep it off.  Turning to her children, she said quietly, “Get the suitcases.”

For a long time she had slowly been sorting through the family’s limited supplies and possessions in case a moment like this should come. When she had gone to work as a part time library aide, she’d opened her own checking account, explaining to her husband they could use her savings for future college expenses for the kids. But always in the back of her mind was this possibility.

Within an hour, she had loaded what were the absolute minimum of essentials, ordered her terrified children to carry coats, pillows, and blankets into the car, filled the tank at the gas station just before the freeway entrance, and headed west. She wasn’t sure where they were going; she hoped she’d know it when she saw. She’d never heard of Lubbock, Texas, but now with Ellie clinging to life and the car totaled, there was no going back.

While the kids were eating, Mike took a few minutes to update Casey. “We’ve got room,” she said. “We can put the boys in the bunk beds in Sean’s room. He can sleep on the couch in the den. Once Jared gets home from his mission, we’ll have to buy him a new bed anyway. The mom and her little girl can share the queen bed in Leigh’s room—it’ll be a couple of weeks till her semester is finished.” She added their family mantra for problems they had no idea how to solve: “We can figure it out.”

Eighteen hours later, Bethany sat in a darkened room next to the bed where Ellie lay, bruises across her daughter’s face, and the girl’s eyes so swollen that had she been conscious, she wouldn’t have been able to see. She was breathing through a ventilator and attached to machines that monitored her blood pressure and heart rate, injected pain medicine in carefully measured drips, and rang an alarm if there was any deviation from the accepted medical protocols.

“She made it through the second surgery,” the surgeon–still his scrubs and cap–told her. “We managed to put her leg back together. It will take some serious physical therapy, but she’ll walk again.” He paused when Bethany sucked in her breath and bit her lip to keep from whimpering in relief. “The broken ribs are going to be OK though It’s going to take a while, but it’s the collapsed lung that I’m worried about.” His voice was gentle. “There’s so much damage there.” Bethany was startled when he leaned toward her and touched her shoulder. “I know it’s bad,” he said gently,” but she’s young. That’s in her favor.”

Thank God for Mike and Casey, Bethany thought for the hundredth time.  Her money was almost gone. She had no idea how she’d pay for the medical bills, but at least her kids had a safe place to stay while she was at the hospital. When panic about the future started to overwhelm her, she found herself practicing the breathing technique the OBGYN nurses had taught her when she was delivering Caroline. “Smell the roses; blow out the candle,” they had said over and over as the contractions increased. Caroline was almost five now, but the breathing had proven to be useful for reducing the anxiety of her life in almost any situation.

Two weeks later, the house was quiet and the hour was late as Mike and Casey whispered together. “What are we going to do about the family reunion?” Casey asked. “Leigh will be home tomorrow, and we’ve been promising my mom that we wouldn’t miss another one.”

“We were in Australia two years ago! How did you mom except us to afford to fly to Colorado and back?”

Casey held her finger to her lips, as she looked over her shoulder. “Shush! The kids may be still awake.” She turned back to him. “Mom knew we couldn’t come then; she just wants us to be there now that it’s feasible.”

Mike took in a deep, slow breath and nodded. “I know. I know. It’s just that there’s so much going on here. Bethany doesn’t complain, but I keep thinking how I might feel if it were Leigh. Or one of the  boys.”

Casey reached for his hand. “What are we going to do?” She murmured.

“We’ll figure something out. I promise.” But Mike had no idea what.

It was late the next afternoon when Bethany came in from a long visit at the hospital. Sean and her boys were engrossed in some video game she didn’t recognize. “I have some good news,” she announced.

Casey joined her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Excellent! It’s time for good news.”

“Ellie’s been moved out of the ICU into a regular room!” Bethany began, fanning her hand back and forth in front of her face in a futile attempt to keep her eyes welling up with tears. Again.  She felt Casey’s arms engulf her, tears streaming down her friend’s face, too.

It was well after the kids were all in bed and settled for the night that Mike and Casey asked Bethany to join them at the kitchen table. He started out, “You know we are scheduled to leave for Casey’s family reunion on Monday?”

“I know,” Bethany rushed in to say. “I’ve been checking around to see if I could find an inexpensive motel in the area. I’m so grateful for your letting me and the kids stay here. I haven’t found anything yet, but I will.”

“No. That’s not it at all,” Casey said, reaching across the table to clasp Bethany’s hand in hers. “We love having you and the kids here.”

Nodding, Mike said, “Ellie’s going to have a long road ahead of her. We’ll be gone a couple of weeks. We’d like you to consider house-sitting for us till we get back. By then we’ll know more about Ellie’s recovery time, and we can talk with the  Bishop about how to find a longer-term solution for your family.”

He slid a sealed envelope across the table to her. “In here are keys to the house and the other car. You’ll be doing us a favor by staying here and feeding Libby.”

Bethany laughed out loud. Libby was the crankiest cat she’d ever run across. The critter condescended to accept food when offered, but only if the giver left it on the back patio and didn’t expect any hint of thanks in return. Plus, she hissed at every person who crossed her path except Casey. Mike and Casey joined in her laughter. Feeding Libby was a big ask!

“I can’t take any more. . . “ Bethany started. “You’ve already done too much.”

Mike reached over and closed her fingers around the envelope. “We’re leaving early Monday morning. Thank you for helping us out.”

Casey leaned over and left a light kiss on Bethany’s cheek. “We’ll keep praying for Ellie. Every day.”

Bethany slipped the envelope in her pocket; it’s bulky contents made a reassuring crackle in her pocket. She and the kids stood on the porch and waved as Mike and Casey, with Leigh and Sean in the back seat, pulled out of the driveway headed for Colorado. It would be a long drive, so she said a silent prayer in their behalf. By 10 o’clock she had dropped her three younger kids at a neighbor’s house who offered to have them play with her own kids when Bethany made her daily visit to the hospital. It wasn’t till she was surrounded by the familiar whooshing and buzzing of the machines in Ellie’s room that she had time to pull out the message Casey and Mike had left in the envelope they’d given her:

Bethany, attached is a credit card for you to use while we’re gone. Buy gas, get groceries–and since school is starting soon–maybe take your kids to get some new clothes? We’re guessing they’ve outgrown the ones they brought with them. Use what you need. Someday, when you’re in a better place, you can pay it forward.         

Mike and Casey

By the time she finished reading the note, Bethany was beyond weary of tears staining everything she had touched over the last few weeks.

Three Years Later

Almost seven months pregnant, Bethany waved as Ellie headed down the driveway to catch the bus for the last day of school before Christmas break. Occasionally, when the humidity was high, her daughter still had difficulty breathing, but she’d learned to adapt. “Good luck, Mom,” she called.

Bethany nodded. Her husband–a colleague of the ER doctor who had saved Ellie’s life,—passed her on the porch, his briefcase in hand. She blew him a kiss. “Today’s the day,” she said.

He grinned back. “A very good day, indeed.”

Sometime later Bethany pulled into Mike and Casey’s neighborhood, driving slowly past their house and checking to be sure none of the family cars were in the driveway. Satisfied the place looked deserted, she left her own car idling and, in the awkward gait the coming baby had forced upon her, she crossed the lawn to the porch where she taped a worn, stained envelope on the front door. Once she assured herself it was fastened securely enough to withstand the ever-present Texas wind, she climbed back in her car and headed home.

A couple of hours later as she walked into the house after work, Leigh found the envelope and pulled it off the doorframe. Since it was addressed to her parents, she dropped it on the kitchen counter next to the key rack by the patio door.

Even this far south, in December the dark came early. Casey picked up Sean from his high school basketball practice and headed home to start dinner. Most of the houses on her block were decorated with lights and reindeer and snowflakes, the irony of which usually didn’t escape Casey–snowflakes in the land of Texas sun. But tonight she wasn’t in the mood to smile.

It was the final day to register for her last semester of classes. She had planned to graduate in the spring and go straight to work as a physical therapist. With Mike unemployed, their budget was stretched so tightly the slightest unexpected expense could destroy their fragile financial balance. She’d already been offered a full-time job starting the week after she graduated, but at the beginning of December, her aging Honda had needed a new transmission–$938.00. It had taken every penny of the tuition money she had set aside last summer. “We can figure it out,” Mike had said, and for a couple of weeks they had argued the pros and cons of re-financing the house, hoping the equity could keep them going for the next few months. In the end, they decided their budget was so constrained that if Mike went much longer without a job, the risk of losing the house was just too great. They had always agreed they could figure it out–but this time, Casey could not imagine how.

Automatically, she hung her car keys on the wall and saw the envelope on the counter addressed to her and Mike. She stared at it a minute. The paper was clearly old and slightly stained. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but she couldn’t quite identify what?  She was shocked when she lifted the envelope’s flap and found a small stack of bills so carefully aligned that they might have come directly from a banker’s cash drawer. She detached the paper clip which held them to the note, set them aside on the table, and began to read.

Mike and Casey: I know this has been a tough year for your family with the collapse of the economy, the drop in oil prices, and Mike losing his job– along with thousands of others all over the state. Enclosed is a bit of help from someone who loves you. Consider it payment forward–as promised.

Merry Christmas,
Bethany and Family

Casey picked up the money and began to count. She was startled to see Benjamin Franklin’s face on each bill. There were exactly ten of them.

May the Peace that Surpasses All Understanding Encircle You and Your Family
This Holiday Season