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  “Let’s talk about it.” He pulled back enough to see her eyes.

  “Really.”

  As the program drew to an end, a knot formed in Tracy’s stomach. She couldn’t avoid talking to Suzanne Reynolds, not here. When the students were dismissed, Tracy and Dan stood on either side of Holden. Dan said the words Tracy hadn’t heard him say since Holden’s diagnosis. “Holden, son … I’m proud of you. Your song was … well, it was perfect.”

  In the movies, Holden would’ve slung his arm around Dan’s shoulders and shrugged off the compliment. “It’s nothing, Dad. But thanks for being here.” The two would’ve shook hands or hugged, and the moment would’ve been registered for all posterity. A memory they’d revisit in years to come.

  But this was real life, where scenes had a way of finding their own endings. Holden looked down at the toes of his shoes and rocked a few times. Heel … toe. Heel… toe.

  “Holden … can you hear me?”

  Tracy willed him to respond, to give them some sign that the song was not an aberration, a fluke never to be seen again. “I’m proud of you, too, Holden. You have a beautiful voice.”

  He looked up and nodded, his movements quick and jerky. “Thanks … thank you.” His eyes never actually found their way to either Tracy or Dan, but his words were enough. It was another breakthrough. The first time he’d said anything to his father since he was three years old.

  Dan moved to pat Holden on his back, but then stopped, clearly thinking better of his decision. “We’ll, uh … we’ll talk to you later, then, okay?”

  Holden nodded and walked a few feet to where Ella was ready to head to class. She looked back and waved at Tracy and Dan. “I’ll make sure he gets where he needs to go.”

  As they left, Dan motioned to Michael’s parents. “I’m going to talk to them.” He glanced the other direction, toward the spot where Suzanne Reynolds was sitting by herself, waiting. Dan kept his voice low, so that only Tracy could hear him. “Go talk to her.”

  Tracy sighed. “Pray for me.”

  “I will.” He squeezed her hand and headed in the opposite direction, toward the Schwartzes. Tracy felt her palms grow sweaty. What was she supposed to say? After all this time, how could they have any common ground? She eased her purse onto her shoulder and walked back the few rows to where Suzanne was sitting. Their eyes met again, and Tracy registered the effects of time. It seemed just yesterday that they’d been sitting side by side on the swings, Holden on her lap, Ella on Suzanne’s. Two young moms who had been best friends since high school.

  But now Suzanne was barely recognizable. Bleached blonde hair and puffy lips. She couldn’t have been bigger than a size 3, and her chest was more filled out than when she was nursing Ella. Tracy had heard rumors in the news now and then about Suzanne’s husband, the fact that Randy Reynolds was washed-up. She hadn’t wanted to believe it back then, but looking at Suzanne there was no denying the brokenness in the eyes of her long-ago friend. The woman seemed miserable in every possible way.

  As Tracy walked toward her, she forgot every hurt in her heart, every way she’d felt abandoned and rejected by Suzanne. In this moment there were only the two of them, a couple of former best friends who had once a lifetime ago loved and laughed, and who had both lost much in the years since.

  Tracy stopped a few feet away, and Suzanne stood. For a long few seconds, neither of them said anything. Then, as if it was too late for grudges or awkward beginnings, they came together in a long hug.

  As they eased apart, Suzanne had fresh tears in her eyes. “Holden was amazing.” She looked at the empty stage, at the place where Holden had performed. “Is this … does he sing very often?”

  Tracy crossed her arms, willing her heartbeat to slow back to normal. “Only since he found Ella.”

  Suzanne closed her eyes, a wave of quiet sobs hitting her.

  Tracy put her hand on the shoulder of her long-ago friend. “He’s… he’s loved music since the beginning.” Suddenly she realized that Suzanne already knew this. “Of course … you remember. He and Ella would sing and dance all afternoon.”

  “Yes.” Suzanne opened her eyes. Her lip quivered, but she smiled despite her damp eyes. “I remember.”

  “But today … this was the first time we’ve heard him sing like that. The first time since … since he was three.”

  Suzanne shrugged, her frame and effort equally weak. She looked like she might pass out from the emotional toll of the morning. “It’s a miracle. I’m glad I was here … to see it.”

  Questions poked pins at Tracy’s composure. Why had it taken this long for them to have this conversation and how come Holden’s autism had scared Suzanne and Randy away, and was it worth it? All they’d lost in the process? But as each question hit, Tracy set it aside. Maybe, as long as God was working miracles, they would have time for those conversations later. Nervousness raced through her veins as she searched for the next thing to say. The right next thing. “I guess Ella told you … about her and Holden.”

  “Yes.” Two tears splashed onto Suzanne’s cheek and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. As she did, it was clear she was trembling. Worse than Tracy, this moment was hard on Suzanne. “Ella says … he’s become very important to her.”

  “The changes in Holden … most of them are because of Ella.” Tracy felt her heart swell as she pictured the sweet friend who had found her way back into Holden’s life. “She’s a very … very special girl.”

  Another shrug and more tears. “I don’t know, really. She … she doesn’t talk to me.”

  Tracy took a few seconds to grasp what Suzanne was saying. Ella didn’t talk to her mother? And suddenly every bit of nervousness and angst over where the conversation would go and what could be discussed and whether this was a beginning or another ending … none of it mattered. Clearly Tracy’s first assessment of her friend had been right on. Suzanne was suffering. Long ago Tracy had learned that in a moment like this no questions were needed. Instead she put her hand on Suzanne’s bony shoulder and allowed empathy to fill her tone. “I’m sorry. I … I didn’t know.”

  For a minute it seemed like Suzanne might gather her purse and her sweater and dart out of the gymnasium before she could give away any other details of her life. But instead she looked at Tracy and for the first time since the conversation began, her eyes looked the way they had when they were teenagers. The connection between them was that strong.

  “Randy … he’s never home. His career’s in jeopardy. We don’t talk … don’t share anything anymore.” She sniffed and held her hand to her eyes for a long moment. When she lowered it, she looked more distraught than before. “The kids know and they … they feel sorry for me. At least the boys do. Ella thinks I don’t care because … because I spend all my time trying to be Randy’s wife.” Her tears dried up, and she sounded almost robotic. As if the pain of her admission was so great she couldn’t register it in her heart. Otherwise it might kill her.

  Tracy remained quiet, listening to every painful word.

  “I’m sorry.” Suzanne seemed to realize that her statements were odd in light of the years they’d missed. “This isn’t the time.”

  “The time is fine.” Tracy didn’t break eye contact. “We’re here, right? There has to be a reason for that.”

  Suzanne nodded, and a glazed look darkened her eyes. “My days are … They’re empty, Trace.” She shivered a little, like she might break into a panic attack right here in the gym. “Completely empty. I mean … I spend my days at the gym or shopping … getting my hair and nails and face done. I get Botox and I wear extensions and still …” She shook her head, and a glimpse of her pain broke through her strangely blank expression. “Still, it’s not enough. It’s never enough. He won’t look at me.” Her voice cracked and she hugged her arms tight around her middle. Her next words came in a broken whisper. “I don’t know how I got here, Trace. I don’t know how to go back. I mean … I can’t remember how to be anything but Randy Reynold
s’ wife.”

  A long time ago, Tracy was a fixer, the sort of person who would spout off the first natural solution that came to mind in a moment like this. But years of living with Holden had taught her to move slowly, to let God lead when people were broken and hurting. She reached out and gave Suzanne’s hand a soft squeeze. “What’s Randy say?”

  “Not much.” She looked off to the distance, as if she were seeing her husband in her mind. “He stays married to me, but … it’s a formality. Any day he could serve me with papers.” She found Tracy’s eyes again. “The distance between us is that bad.”

  Tracy didn’t have to ask if Suzanne and Randy were still attending church, still praying together and reading the Bible the way they’d done when the four of them hung out. Time had been hard on all of them. From the world’s viewpoint, Tracy and Dan had gotten the rougher deal. It was their healthy little boy who had disappeared into a world of silence. But until now Tracy had no idea how much the years had taken from Suzanne.

  “Maybe … maybe we could have coffee Monday morning. There’s a Starbucks near my work. My shift doesn’t start till eleven.”

  Suzanne seemed to realize that she hadn’t asked anything about Tracy’s life, about where she lived or what she did—other than the obvious, her earlier comments about Holden. “Where do you work?”

  “Walmart.” Tracy held Suzanne’s gaze and watched her reaction. It wasn’t quite pity, but no question she felt uneasy about this turn in the conversation. Tracy expected as much, and it didn’t matter. She felt no shame about her job, or the fact that she and Suzanne were in different tax brackets. The people she worked with were nice, and her boss continued to pray for Holden. No matter what rich people thought, Tracy was a fan of Walmart. The company kept costs down for families like hers, and she was grateful for the work.

  Suzanne nodded … her eyes distant again as if she were trying to process the mountain of changes that had happened for both of them since their last time together. For the first moment since the conversation started, Suzanne smiled. Not the practiced smile she probably handed out all day long, but the hesitant, broken smile of someone wracked with regret. “Coffee would be nice.” She picked up her purse and her sweater and pulled out her phone. “Which Starbucks is it?”

  Tracy told her, and they shared another hug. Before Suzanne walked away, she hesitated. “I was wrong … walking away when I did.” Her voice was scratchy again, her emotions raw and close to the surface. “I need to say that.”

  “I could’ve called.” Tracy wasn’t sure where this new attempt at connecting with Suzanne would end up. But she would pray every day that God would use it. She held her ground, wanting Suzanne to hear her sincerity. “We all lost. But we can’t look back. It’s too late for that.”

  Suzanne started to say something, but in the end she only nodded and turned away. She hurried toward the door quickly, as if she might crumble at any minute, nothing but a weeping broken-down failure on the middle of the Eagles’ gym floor.

  Tracy watched her leave and suddenly everything about the morning came rushing back at her. The good-bye for Michael … Ella’s desperate plea … Susan and her flute … and Holden. Her precious Holden and his song. Dan crying beside her and now this. A coffee date with Suzanne Reynolds. For a long minute all Tracy could do was marvel at it all, aware in the depths of her soul that this was God—all God—at work around her. Because Ella was right. There were lots of ways to be locked up. And it was clear now that God wasn’t only working a miracle in unlocking Holden.

  He was working a miracle in all of them.

  Twenty-Nine

  DAN CONTACTED HIS CAPTAIN AT THE END OF THE WEEK AND told him the news. He wasn’t coming back. He’d applied at the school district —the maintenance department —and already he had an interview scheduled. The position looked promising, that’s what he’d been told. The money wasn’t what it could be out on the open seas of Alaska, but it was steady.

  And it would keep him home with Tracy and Holden.

  Not that being home was any easier than it had ever been, because the transformation they were watching with their son still hadn’t happened in conversation —not between the two of them. Holden talked to Tracy once in a while, but mostly he hummed or sang. Sometimes he danced.

  The holidays came and went, Christmas day special only because he and Tracy stayed up late into the night looking through photo albums, talking about years gone by. “He still won’t talk to me.” Dan hated to admit his frustration. After all, God was bringing Holden back. But Dan wanted him back all the way—the Holden they’d had the first three years of his life.

  “He will.” Tracy covered his hand with hers. Something about her quiet strength, and the daily battle she’d fought getting Holden to therapy and going years at a time without seeing even the slightest glimmer of hope, had done more than earn his respect. He was enamored with her, more with each passing day.

  “Coming home … It’s the right thing.”

  She never complained, never criticized him. But that night, she let the loneliness show in her eyes for a few seconds. “You should’ve come sooner.”

  “I know.” Dan leaned over, his forearms on his knees. The distance between him and Holden hurt as much now as when the boy was four years old. Before his diagnosis, Dan had pictured hiking and camping and Scouts and sports. A thousand ways he and Holden would grow close over the years. But autism had stolen every dream, every father-son moment that never took place. Dan shook his head. “But the truth was Holden didn’t need me. He still doesn’t.”

  “Dan …” She raised her brow, searching his eyes. “I need you.”

  Something about the way she said those three words stirred up deep guilt within him. He sat up straighter, amazed by her. “Why’d you stay with me?” He looked more intently at her, searching for answers he might never find. Suddenly the weight of his absence hit him like one of the fishing cages they dropped into the ocean every day at sea. Tracy was right. Never mind his role as Holden’s father. What sort of husband had he been? “You should’ve left me a long time ago.”

  “No.” A smile filled her eyes, a smile that mixed patience and persistence, courage and concern. “Love doesn’t leave.”

  They should’ve had this conversation a month earlier, when Dan first came home. But he’d been too afraid to bring it up, too afraid of what he’d find if he did. Now, though, he couldn’t stop himself. “You … you had to do everything by yourself. All the work with Holden … the appointments and therapy.” He felt disgusted with himself. “I didn’t help you with any of it.”

  “You helped.” The apartment’s electric fireplace crackled in the background. Holden and Kate had been asleep for hours, and this was the first time they’d been alone all day. Tracy set the photo album down on the nearby coffee table and slid closer to him. “You did what you could.”

  “All those days … you were alone here with him and … It’s just … I should’ve been here.”

  “Yes.” She put her hand alongside his face. “But that’s behind us. You’re here now, and I love you. You love me. And God’s bringing Holden back.” She smiled again. “What else could matter?”

  “You.” He took her in his arms. “Just you, Tracy. That’s all that matters.” They stood then and turned off the fireplace and lights and walked quietly to their bedroom. They finished the conversation there, and later that night Dan fell asleep thanking God for his wife and making a promise to himself and the Lord. He would give Holden the attention he deserved, even if he received nothing in return. He could at least do that.

  As the winter wore down and new leaves began to bud again, Dan made good on his promise. The school drama rehearsals lasted an hour after school now that the performance was drawing closer, and Dan told Tracy he wanted the job of picking Holden up. The first day Dan tried to make small talk, asking questions and making observations about the drive home. But Holden only looked out the window and remained silent. So silent Dan wan
ted to catch the next flight back to Alaska. But he fought the urge and the next day, after Dan made fewer observations and asked only a couple questions, they were halfway home when a breakthrough happened.

  After a few minutes of silence Holden turned to him. “Dad?”

  He let up on the gas pedal and glanced at Holden. If his son hadn’t been looking straight at him, he would’ve been convinced that he was imagining the sound of his name. An overactive imagination honed sharp from years of silence at sea. But Holden was clearly waiting for his response, so Dan pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. If he was about to have his first conversation with Holden in fifteen years, he didn’t want to miss a single moment.

  When the car was safely parked, he shifted so he could see Holden full on. He thought about turning off the radio, but then he stopped himself. Music was always a good thing where Holden was concerned. Dan turned it down just slightly, so they could hear each other. “Holden … you know my name.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to see all the way to the place where Holden had been hiding.

  “Dad.” Holden blinked. “Your name is Dad.” He looked down at his hands, and for a long moment he worked his fingers together, nervous and unsure. Then, as if he suddenly remembered his train of thought, he looked at Dan again. “Dad?”

  “Yes, Holden?” His heart was thudding hard against his ribs. He’s talking to me, God … Please, let him keep talking.

  “Mom said you were fishing.” His voice was monotone, and the rhythm wasn’t quite normal. But that didn’t matter.

  Dan’s mind raced. “Fishing? In Alaska, you mean?” Guilt came over him like the rogue wave. “Yes, that’s right. I was fishing.”

  Holden rocked a few times and he looked out the window again. Was that it? Had he disappeared to his own private world again? Dan wasn’t sure what to do, whether he should ask more questions or wait. But if he’d learned one thing at sea it was patience, so he waited.