“It’s right here,” she said, flipping through the pages. “It’s in the Christmas story in 2 Luke. ‘All who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.’ Mary knew Jesus would face trials. It reassured me. Mothers feel things about their kids. I sense my daughter needs me, Benjamin.”
“I’m not going to disagree with you. I just don’t want you to worry about what it means. I think it’s the time of year. I truly think the voice will pass.”
The dinner she’d eaten churned in her stomach, and Joanne could only shake her head. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
“You need to cheer up, Joanne. Let’s do something different. Let’s go…” He paused, thinking, then grinned. “How about shopping? Ladies love to shop.”
“But men don’t, and anyway, I promised to go Christmas shopping with Nita.”
His face brightened as if relieved. “Okay, that saves me from a fate worse than…” He didn’t finish but chuckled instead. “Let’s decorate. It’s almost Thanksgiving. It’s never too early to put up a wreath and set out some holiday candles.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he’d already stood.
“Where do you keep all that stuff?”
“I haven’t been doing much with that since—”
“Time you did,” he said. He moved to face her and held out his hands.
Joanne couldn’t bear to dampen his enthusiasm. She grasped his hands and let him pull her to her feet. “It’s in the attic.” She pointed upward.
“One of those holes in the ceiling?” His tone reflected his fading eagerness.
“This decorating business wasn’t my idea,” she said.
He grinned. “Where is it?” He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face the archway.
Joanne led him into her walk-in bedroom closet and pointed to the drop-down ladder. “I’ll go with you so you know what to bring down.”
She snapped on the light from below while Benjamin climbed the ladder, then gave her a hand. At the top, she stood while he hunched to avoid the low ceiling.
She beckoned to him, and they moved across the plank floor to a pile of boxes. “It’s all here. Some of it’s labeled, but that’s not always accurate.”
In the gloomy light, they lifted lids and checked contents, and soon, they were lowering a few of the cartons to the floor below. Once the trap door was closed, Joanne piled three boxes into Benjamin’s arms, then took one for herself, and they carried them into the living room.
Joanne sat on the floor and Benjamin joined her, and together they opened the boxes and checked the contents. Soon Christmas candles, window wreaths, and garland for the fireplace lined the floor around them.
“What’s this?” Benjamin asked.
Joanne looked up and caught her breath. “It’s Floppy.” She reached out and grasped the plush, loopy-eared dog. “It was Mandy’s favorite toy. She slept with him every night.” Tears welled in her eyes as the scene rose before her—Mandy’s blond hair pressed against the pillow and Floppy nestled beside her.
Benjamin shifted nearer and opened his arms to her. “I’m sorry. I thought doing this might be a way to—”
He stopped talking, and she rested her head against his strong shoulder, accepting his comforting arms. “It’s not your fault,” she said, once she’d regained control. She eased back and pressed the dog against her chest. “I’d forgotten I’d put him in with the Christmas stuff. We had the ornaments out to decorate, before I got the call that—” She stopped. Benjamin understood; she didn’t need to explain.
She lowered the plush toy into her lap and brushed her fingers along its fake fur. “I’d planned to bury Floppy along with the Christmas toys, but…I couldn’t.”
“I understand.”
“I couldn’t, because I kept wanting to think it wasn’t true, that they were wrong. I wanted the doorbell to ring and, when I answered, a police officer to be there with Mandy in his arms, but it didn’t happen.”
Benjamin only looked at her, his eyes so sad she wished she hadn’t told him.
“Maybe this year will be a breakthrough,” she said. “It could be.”
“It could be,” Benjamin said, rising.
“I feel something special. I believe this year will be different.”
Benjamin’s chest ached from the sadness he felt surrounding them both. He’d adored Mandy and couldn’t imagine the pain Joanne felt as the child’s mother.
He’d done a lot of thinking since they’d last talked, and had questions that he wanted to ask, but he knew she was too sensitive today. He watched her caressing the bedraggled, stuffed dog, his long ears soiled from Mandy’s dragging him with her everywhere, and finally he had to look away or fall apart himself.
Then he mustered courage and spoke. “What makes you think this year is different? You don’t really think Mandy will come through that door, do you?”
Her silence put him on edge.
“Joanne, please, don’t—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t know why I feel this way, but I’ve never felt that Mandy was totally gone. Gone from me, yes, but not gone. I hear that voice, and it’s her, but she’s not three anymore. She’d be almost six. Reality tells me she’s dead, but I sense she’s alive.”
Benjamin’s heart sank. “She is alive in heaven, Joanne.”
“I know, but I mean…”
Her downcast look made him ache. Yet, common sense told him it could be no other way. He’d asked himself questions, too, about Mandy’s death, but nothing made sense. His attorney’s mind had sorted through the information and he had no doubt that a three-year-old couldn’t have escaped.
The question came to his lips before he could stop himself. “How could Mandy have survived the freezing water of Lake St. Clair, Joanne? We’re talking November.”
Joanne turned toward him, her eyes searching his. “Maybe she wasn’t in the car.”
“She what?”
“I’m not sure she was in the car, Benjamin. That’s the feeling I have.”
He knelt beside her. “Joanne, I didn’t like the details, either, and I know they never found her body, but what you’re thinking is far-fetched.”
“Far-fetched, but not impossible. In my heart, I knew that Greg would never let her in the car without her seat belt fastened.”
“What if Mandy unhooked it? Did you think of that?”
“She’d never unfastened the belt before. I’m not sure she knew how. I think someone else unhooked it. I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days.”
Her admission swam through his mind like a fish avoiding a baited hook. He couldn’t imagine the possibility, but he’d found that fact of the case disturbing, including the child floating through the partially opened window.
“And the window,” Joanne said, as if she had read his mind. “Why would Greg have the window open on a cold November night? The police speculated and dismissed that fact. It’s lived inside me for too long. I think something else happened that night. Before the accident.”
Donna sat on the edge of