A Child of God

Copyright © 2011 Karen Higgins

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-2544-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-2546-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-2545-9 (e)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 8/23/2011

Contents

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Epilogue

About the Author

All characters in this book are fictitious except for Bayly. He very much resembles a very crazy but lovable yellow Lab named Chance that our family enjoyed immensely.

(Gorsebrook’s Best Chance 1996–2008)

This book is dedicated with love to my mom, Kaye Medhurst. Thanks, Mom, for

introducing me to the wonderful world of novels and encouraging me to read

at a young age. Sorry you’re unable to enjoy the completed manuscript.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I must thank my very patient husband, Stu, for not only putting up with me during the whole writing process, but for helping me immensely with editing, technical support, cover design, and lots of great feedback. Thanks, Stu! I would also like to thank my grownup children, Bryan and Lesley, for their unconditional love and support throughout this whole project. Bryan, thanks also for your great technical support! Yes, Lesley, you will get to read this novel! 

My good friend, and former colleague, Rhonda Dobranic, was instrumental in her continual support and motivating words as she read and carefully edited each chapter of my first draft. I could not have done it without you, Rhonda!

Special mention goes to my amazing friend, Barb Oshanski for her tremendous support, along with her creative ideas and assistance with the cover design. Thank you, Barb!

The following friends read excerpts from the manuscript and offered extremely helpful feedback for which I am greatly appreciative: Rossana Aldorassi, Pandora Bryce, Lee Bolton, Deborah Frankland, Donna Markson, Cheryl Cohoon, Shanna Rose, Terri Moss, and Marianna Gilbert.

Family and friends have been extremely encouraging, especially, my sister, Maureen Anthony, my brother, Paul Medhurst, my niece, Karen Badcock, Julie Howard, Donna and Doug Carl, and Ruth and Ray Troscianiec.

Thanks also to the O’Malley gang in Whitby, all of my wonderful friends in Horseshoe Valley and elsewhere, especially Horseshoe’s Ladies of the Night golf group. Your interest in my work and your words of motivation will never be forgotten.

Last, but not least, I send gratitude and thanks to the astounding team assisting me from iUniverse. I would like to give special mention to the following team members from iUniverse: Sarah Disbrow, Editorial Consultant Manager; Carolyn Neal, Publishing Services Associate; Brian Hallbauer, Senior Marketing Consultant and Nicole Bilby, Check In Coordinator.

One

November 2005

Throughout this brisk but bright November afternoon, Mary Simpson does not budge from her den. She’s working on an extremely important private matter in the comfort of her home office. While balancing her computer on her lap, she rests on her beautiful, cream-coloured, upholstered couch, her back supported by its large, rounded arm, and her legs stretched out comfortably. A multicoloured, granny-squared afghan gently blankets over her. She appreciates the lovely warmth coming from the gas fireplace as she sips away on her lemon tea, taking in its heavenly aroma. However, something keeps worrying her, not allowing her to continue enjoying these wonderful comforts.

Mary stares at a new site of listings on her laptop. If only her name would appear, she says to herself while slowly shaking her head. She looks up for a moment and glances at the old mahogany rolltop desk that sits under the wide bay window across from her. That desk is one of her most treasured possessions. Her beloved Grandmother Kate bequeathed it to her when she passed away many years ago. Sitting on top of the desk is an ornately framed photograph of her Grandmother Kate smiling while holding Mary as a baby. Next to that picture is a silver framed photo of her wonderful parents, Norm and Norma, who tragically died in a small plane crash in Bermuda back in 1972. Staring at her parents’ picture, a tear rolls down her cheek. Why could I not tell them that they had a granddaughter? Wiping the tear off her face, she quickly gets back to task and clicks away until she finds another website of listings.

Suddenly, Mary’s heart races as shivers run through her body. The message on the adoption website jumps out at her. She cannot believe her eyes!

Joan, born November 17th, 1970, St. Jude’s Hospital, Toronto. I need to contact my birth parent(s). If anyone has information, please e-mail me at joan431@loris.com.

Oh my God, it’s Joni! I never really thought … Oh God, we could be connected at any time.

There’s no doubt in Mary’s mind that Joan is her daughter. Her baby was the only baby girl born that November 17 at St. Jude’s.

A few minutes later, she forces her fingers to the keyboard and slowly types Joan’s e-mail address. However, after that, she doesn’t know what to write. What will I say? God, I can’t tell her too much.

After contemplating, Mary finally forces her fingers to type. When she finishes, she immediately presses ‘send’ to prevent herself from changing her mind.

It’s gone … There’s no going back now … But … Maybe I should have written more. What’s wrong with me? It sounds more like correspondence to a legal firm than a letter to a daughter … A daughter, I can’t believe it! But … I just don’t know … And, what will I tell Robert? … Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

Mary and Robert Simpson have been blissfully married for thirty-four years. They have always relied on each other, as there has always been just the two of them.

Mary, an attractive, tall size eight, always looks great in the classic apparel she often sports. Her bright, platinum blonde hair, worn in a short bob with bangs, adds a charming softness to her face. Her blue eyes often twinkle when she smiles, as she so often does. Her cute little nose, high cheekbones, and silky smooth, fair skin all complement her perfect, oval face. At fifty-four, she is still a real beauty.

Sixty-four year old Robert is a tall, slim, distinguished, well-dressed lawyer with slightly receding silver grey hair.

This couple’s appearance, manner, and style all quietly say upper middle-class conservative. They reside in a posh townhouse in an upscale area of Toronto’s downtown. Some would guess them pretentious, but pretentious they are not. Robert and Mary live a quiet life together. They enjoy their successes but never think themselves above anyone. Robert is a brilliant tax attorney at a very highly regarded Toronto law firm, Carlson, Simpson & Payne. Mary works extremely hard as his firm’s chief administrative assistant. The lawyers all agree that Mary’s organizational abilities, along with her perfectionism, have kept their office running smoothly for almost thirty-five years.

Although Mary knows that she may not hear anything for a long time, if at all, she constantly checks her in-box that afternoon. While reading some reports for work, she suddenly hears a bleep. She jumps up and immediately checks the computer that is now sitting on the antique coffee table in front of her. She sighs, seeing that it’s only a forward that one of her girlfriends has sent. She’ll read that later. Suddenly however, she starts to worry about what she may have to tell Joan if she does e-mail her. Will she have any understanding, or will she think I was some kind of freak?

While resting on her comfy couch, thinking about what she may have to tell her grownup baby that she gave away thirty-five years ago, she reminisces. She remembers vividly those confusing days as a Toronto teenager in the late sixties.

During her childhood and teenage years, Mary was known as Maryann. At eighteen, she was a gentle young girl with soft, ivory-toned skin and bright blue eyes the shade of a clear summer sky. Her straight, silky, honey-coloured hair, parted in the middle, hung straight down her back and ended just above her tiny waist. High cheekbones accentuated her petite and delicate facial features. Her tall, slim figure made her look like a teenage model. Except for school, where uniforms were the rule, she was almost always dressed in bell-bottom blue jeans and one of her peasant-style, lacey tops. She also adored wearing her black granny boots and only took them off for school and bed.

While thinking about her youth, Mary suddenly laughs aloud as she remembers one particular night at her church youth group. It was May of 1969 in Toronto.

Charlie, Maryann’s devoted childhood friend and next-door neighbour, whom she hadn’t seen in over a year, arrives at St. Patrick’s Church. What an entrance! Charlie comes romping down the steep, wooden stairs and almost falls right into their meeting room. A huge smile encompasses his round, very chubby face, which is adorned with a full, curly beard and long, brown ringlets that flow down to the middle of his back.

Holding on to the white cement-block wall, Charlie peeks into the room and sees the kids from the youth group all sitting around on grey, metal folding chairs arranged in a circle. The young people, mostly clad in jeans, with T-shirts or army jackets for the guys, and tight sweaters or peasant style blouses for the girls, are all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Most of the guys have longish hair, and many of the girls have long, straight hair, parted in the middle. Two of the guys and a girl have guitars placed beside their chairs, and the girl is carefully looking over her sheet music. Most, however, seem to be giving their full attention to Dean, one of the youth members who always has a lot to say.

Charlie walks into the room and notices the young people, who are suddenly distracted. He sees them staring at him, not saying a word. He wonders why some of the girls are giggling. Charlie feels hurt as Dean yells, Why the hell’s he wearin’ that f-in’ white gown?

He watches as the kids continue staring at him, some with their mouths wide open. Approaching them, he speaks. Peace, sisters. I found the Lord Jesus! Peace brothers. I found the Lord Jesus.

Charlie looks over at his old friend, Maryann, and wonders why she looks so confused.

A minute later, he smiles when he sees Father O’Leary walk into the room. Father O’Leary, or Father O’ as the kids call him, is their parish priest. Charlie fondly remembers this forty-year-old, rather handsome Irish man with his dark black hair, twinkling green eyes, and thick Irish accent. He hasn’t forgotten Father’s warm heart and his ability to accept everyone for who they are.

As Father approaches Charlie, he smiles at him and tells him how happy he is to see him. Charlie doesn’t understand the sad, worried look in Father’s eyes.

Hey, man, Charlie, Rick, a tall, longhaired guy says. What’s up with that gown? You kinda look like the angel from our Christmas pageant back in third grade, he says laughing.

My brother, this gown represents my spiritual purity and helps cleanse me from the very unspiritual world that we live in.

After those words, the room becomes very quiet, and Charlie once again notices everyone staring at him. He pouts like a small boy but is soon smiling as Father O’Leary gets him a chair and places it beside his own. Father takes out his harmonica, and the kids soon begin singing and guitar playing. Charlie joins in, singing loudly and enthusiastically.

As soon as the meeting is over, Maryann approaches Charlie. Come on, now, tell me the truth. You’re not taking drugs again, are you?

No way! You don’t need drugs when you have Jesus, man.

Tell me you’re not still with those freaky people I heard about.

"Let me tell you somethin’. Those freaky people, or as I say, those wonderful Jesus freaks, were the ones that took all those bad drugs away from me when I was first at Rochdale."

Maryann’s mouth hangs wide open. "Rochdale? You’re not still there, are you?"

Why?

"You know why! Why do you think it’s called the largest drug supermarket around?"

What are you sayin’?

It’s full of drugs, and it’s a real farce! It’s not even a real college.

"Whatever … but, yeah, I’m still there, but I think I’m gonna be movin’ soon, even though those freaks were good to me."

"And how were they good to you, Charlie?"

You know, most of them were junkies to start, but the Jesus people say no drugs … their members have to be clean. They don’t even drink beer, man! They cleaned me up good.

"Charlie, maybe, and I do mean maybe, those Jesus guys are good people, but how can you stand living like that? And … Rochdale … it’s a pigpen!"

Charlie grins as he says, Well, I do kinda miss sleepin’ in a bed. And, as much as I love those freaks, I’m becomin’ interested in some other cats now.

"And, what kind of cats are they? Do they have shaved heads or what?"

Charlie chuckles and says, "No, sweetie, they don’t have shaved heads. They’re the straightest lookin’ cats I’ve ever seen. And their chicks, they’re beautiful, man! They’re called God’s Children. I want you to come meet them. You have to meet them!"

They’re not at that … that pigpen … Rochdale, are they?

No, chicky, they’re a few streets away in a large duplex that they rent.

I don’t know. I don’t know about going to any strange house.

Maryann, how ’bout coffee tomorrow? We’ll meet them at the A&W down on Bloor Street. I see them there lots. How ’bout it?

Okay, Charlie, you win. I’ll have one coffee with them, but only because I’m worried about you. You know, I still think of you as my very best friend.

You worry way too much, but I do love you too, chicky. I’ll even pay for your coffee.

"Did those Jesus people give you powers? You, paying! That would be a real miracle!" she says, laughing.

A few minutes later, Maryann stares hard at Charlie, shakes her head, and says, Don’t wear that gown tomorrow, or I’m not coming.

You wouldn’t be ashamed of me, would you, chicky?

Yes, I would. And, you know what … I didn’t fall for your little act, like some of the others at church did, either. And, I’m sure Father O’ is really worried about you.

"Yeah, I know. Father wants me to come out and talk to him on Sunday. I know he doesn’t get any of … you know, what I’m into. But, I really want to let you guys know how much I dig the Lord!"

Let us know another way.

Yeah, maybe. You’re really gonna like these cats tomorrow. And don’t worry; they don’t wear gowns like the Jesus freaks.

"Okay, I’m gonna like them. See ya."

Tomorrow, Maryann.

Tomorrow, Charlie.

It’s a glorious Saturday morning in May when Maryann sets out downtown to see Charlie and meet his new friends at the A&W. Toronto is just starting to really warm up after an extremely chilly winter. Tulips and daffodils seem to be smiling in the springtime sun, and the new leaves budding out … well … that in itself, is a heavenly experience. The wonderful aroma of fresh-mowed grass penetrates the air in Maryann’s upper-middle-class neighbourhood near Lawrence and Avenue Road.

I’m leaving now, Mom, Maryann calls, as she hurries to get out of the house.

Where’d you say you’re going, dear? And who are you going with again?

"Mom, remember, Susan Woods and I are going down to Eaton’s to buy some new jeans."

No, I don’t remember that. But have a good time, dear. Don’t spend too much money.

No, Mom, I won’t. But … I may be a little late. We’ll probably go back to Susan’s after.

Okay, Maryann, but be home by curfew.

Bye, Mom.

Bye, dear. Have fun.

As Maryann waits at the bus stop, she thinks about the lies that she just told her mother. Oh, well, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. If Mom had any idea I was meeting Charlie and his freaky friends, I’d be grounded. But, God, I’m eighteen, not seven!

However, while traveling on the Lawrence bus, she does worry about meeting Charlie’s friends. I wish I hadn’t said I’d go. Oh, Charlie, if you weren’t the best friend I’ve ever had in the world, I’d have nothing to do with this. The only reason I’m going is for you, Charlie Davis. You’re screwing up your life so bad. I can’t let you do it anymore. But, God, I really don’t want to do this.

After the bus ride, a short trip down the Yonge subway takes her to Bloor Street, where she is to meet Charlie. As she leaves the platform, she wishes that she wasn’t there yet.

Hey, Maryann, Charlie hollers when he catches sight of her.

Hi, Charlie. Uh, I don’t really know about this. I’ve got this real creepy feeling about meeting those guys.

Maryann, chicky girl, I told you. They’re as straight as the sorority girls at your school. Wait till ya see them. They’re straight! How many times do I have to keep tellin’ you?

All right, Charlie, whatever, she says, laughing.

When Charlie and Maryann arrive outside the A&W, a very conservative-looking young couple approaches them. Hey, Charlie, how are you? the young man asks.

"Hey, Christopher. Hi, Margaret. I’d like you to meet my best and oldest friend, my Maryann."

You must be the friend Charlie’s been talking to us about, Margaret says.

We’ve been dying to meet you, Christopher adds.

I’ve been dying to meet you too, Maryann forces herself to say.

Christopher asks, Why don’t we all go in and have a coffee? It’ll be on us.

Sounds like a plan, man, Charlie says, chuckling.

As they sit at their table enjoying the coffee, Maryann tries not to stare at the couple. She’s shocked at how conservative they look. Christopher’s even wearing a tie. He looks like somebody from my dad’s office, except really cute. And Margaret, she looks the way my mom would like me to look! They don’t look like the type of people Charlie hangs out with these days. They are straight. But, God, that Christopher, God, talk about tall, dark, and handsome!

The four of them sit and talk. Actually, Christopher does most of the talking. Maryann’s amazed at how he knows so much about the Bible. She’s stunned as she listens to him quote whole scriptures.

After two hours have passed, Margaret and Christopher have to leave.

Charlie says to both of them, It’s been great rappin’ with you guys, man.

We enjoyed it too, Charlie, Christopher says.

Just as they’re about to go, Christopher smiles at Maryann and says, "I hope you can join us, with Charlie, of course, at our house tonight. We’re having a really wonderful feast to celebrate spring. Everyone in our tribe will be there. I know they’ll all want to meet you—"

Uh … I’m not sure.

Charlie pipes in, Come on, chicky, you’ll love it. I’ll even let you play my guitar. I left it there a few days ago. One of the chicks said she’d tune it for me.

I’ll tell you what, guys, if I can make it, I will.

Christopher, who’s been gazing the whole time at Maryann, looks deep into her blue eyes, smiles, and says, Maryann, I would really, really love it if you’d come. Charlie tells me you have the most beautiful voice. I’d love to sing with you.

She can’t believe it. This gorgeous hunk of a guy’s been flirting with me! I thought he was with Margaret; maybe not. My God, he’s beautiful!

Still smiling, Christopher pleads, Come on, honey; I just want one song.

Okay, I’ll come. But I can’t stay late, though.

They say their good-byes. Charlie and Maryann agree to be at their house around seven.

The two young friends enjoy walking down the Yonge Street strip; some say it resembles a carnival. Colourful neon signs sparkle everywhere, competing for attention. Bars, strip joints, and record stores are plentiful. The street is wall-to-wall people; the cars have all been banished. There are high-school kids, hippies, Hare Krishna, some moms and dads, winos and drug addicts; everyone hangs out on Yonge Street.

"I can’t believe it; those guys over there are dealing drugs right out in the open. They’re not even trying to hide it," Maryann whispers.

Charlie chuckles as he rolls his eyes. You see a lot of that here, chicky. You know, I was in that scene not too long ago, man. Those Jesus freaks cleaned me up good, though.

"I’m so glad for that. Oh God … Hare Krishna. Let’s avoid them," Maryann says, pointing to the men with shaven heads wearing long, saffron-coloured gowns.

One of the Hare Krishna members sees Maryann pointing and immediately darts over.

Wearing a warm smile, he gently says, Hello, my friends. How are you doing this beautiful day?

We’re fine, thank you. But I’m afraid we’re in a real hurry, Maryann says quickly.

Charlie gives the guy a huge grin and says, I’m feelin’ great, man. How are you doin’?

I’m feeling enormous love from you, my friend.

I’m feelin’ the same love too, man.

Giving Charlie a dirty look, Maryann says, Charlie, we have to go!

I’m afraid we have to split, man, Charlie says.

Do you know about Hare Krishna? the young man asks Charlie.

Yeah, I know all about you guys, man. I was with the Jesus—

Well, we’re very different. Here, take some of our literature, he says, handing some papers to Charlie. Why don’t you two come over tonight?

Sorry, man. We’ve got plans.

Then come tomorrow. Our address is on that first page there, he says, pointing to the sheets he gave Charlie.

Yeah, man, we’ll try.

Maryann stares at Charlie as if he’s crazy.

You two come see us, the member yells, as he starts running towards a pretty, young, teenage girl that’s approaching them.

See ya, man, Charlie hollers back.

"Charlie, let’s get out of here. Those guys with their shaved heads and … and their ridiculous robes really freak me out."

Maryann walks very briskly. Charlie’s running a few feet behind her, panting hard as he struggles to keep up. She stops and waits. "I’d never go to a Hare Krishna place. That guy gives me the creeps," she says when he catches up.

Chicky, you can’t judge those cats by the way they look.

I know … but …

No buts, man.

Okay. No buts, she says giggling.

Maryann thinks about the evening ahead. I guess they did look okay … and Christopher, God, he’s too good looking and … smart. The guy’s gorgeous, but … I … He’s in a cult, for God’s sake.

As Charlie walks alongside Maryann, enjoying all the magical sights of Yonge Street, he smiles at her while shaking his head. Chicky, girl, you seem a zillion miles away. Where’s your head at?

Oh … nowhere at all. I’m just thinking about going there tonight.

"Chicky, tell me you’re not still afraid. Did either of them look like the big bad wolf? I don’t think they’re gonna eat you up for supper."

No, I guess you’re right, she says laughing.

Why am I being so paranoid? I’ll be with Charlie, and even if he is a bit crazy, I do trust him.

Two

Today, Friday, November 17, 2005, is Joan’s thirty-fifth birthday. It’s a rather drizzly, overcast day, with the predicted high to be only fifty degrees in Raleigh, North Carolina. Early this morning, Joan’s husband, Brad, surprised her with a BlackBerry. It is exactly what she’d hoped for. Brad asked her if she’d like a new ring, or possibly a bracelet, but she insisted that he give her something practical, something for work. Brad also wanted to throw her a big party, but she told him not to. Tomorrow the two of them will go out for dinner to celebrate. Today they are just too tired. Both of them have put in very crazy hours at their offices all week.

Joan rolls into her driveway at seven o’clock that night, exhausted from her job at Winslow and Warren, Public Accountants. They are one of the most prestigious accounting firms in Raleigh. Friday night is usually her early night leaving work. The rest of the week, it’s quite common for her and her colleagues to work ridiculously long hours, occasionally until midnight. They’re all competing for the same goal, to make partner. Although Joan’s extremely tired, she still looks amazing, smartly dressed in her brown, silk Jones New York suit and matching heels. At five feet six and a size four, with silky, long blonde hair, she looks more like a model than a CPA.

As she drives her Lexus into the garage, she notices that Brad’s BMW isn’t there yet. Her good-looking, young husband is just as busy as she is, climbing the executive ladder in a very well-respected law firm. She hopes he’ll be home soon.

The only one home is Bayly, their six-year-old yellow Lab. Joan barely makes it inside the door before he starts his usual crazy greeting of jumping up and down, running around in circles, then licking her legs. He has a real thing for Joan’s legs!

Joan bends over, places her computer and files on the hardwood floor, and pets Bayly as she lovingly talks to him. Hi, Bay, how are ya? Were you a good boy today when Mom was at work? Did you have good walks with Jen? I know she’s your favourite doggy walker. What a good boy, Bayly. Good boy, Bay.

Bayly was given to Joan by Brad for their first anniversary. He could not have given her a better present. Of course, Brad had no idea of how smitten he would also become with