Waiting to Believe by Sandra Bloom Read Free Book Online

Minnesota is behind me now, Mr. D. I doubt I’ll come back home.”
    Kacey felt discomfort at the conversation. Greg put his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the door. The four walked to his truck. Kenneth reached out his hand again, grasping Greg’s firmly, shaking it longer than Kacey thought he should. “I don’t like to hear that, Greg. You stop by whenever you’re home.” Kenneth gave a wave over his shoulder as he stepped onto the back porch.
    Gerald didn’t like saying good-bye. But finally, with false enthusiasm, he gave Greg a sharp jab in the arm, “So long, Greg, it’s been real!”
    Kacey stood in silence, hands on the open car window frame, as Greg turned the key in the ignition. It was time for him to go.

    The squeak of the fourth floorboard beyond the bathroom door was the signal that someone was coming down the hall toward Kacey’s room. Kacey lay alone in the darkened room, waiting to see who turned up.
    Rose stood in the doorway. “Kacey? You awake?”
    â€œC’mon in, Mom.”
    Rose slipped in, closing the door behind her. Kacey patted the empty side of the bed, and Rose sat down. “I hear Greg stopped by. Sorry I missed him.”
    â€œYeah, he came to say good-bye. He’s leaving in the morning.”
    â€œTwo more days, and it’ll be you.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œI always thought maybe you and Greg would, you know, end up together.” Rose spoke hesitantly. Gnawing silence hung between them. Finally Rose took a breath, and when she spoke again her voice came with greater urgency. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Kacey! You don’t have to be with Greg. I mean, you could go to the U—or St. Catherine’s!” The words were tumbling out. “Oh, Kacey . . .” she implored as she reached out a trembling hand to touch Kacey’s cheek.
    Kacey took her mother’s hand and held it gently in both of hers. “I’ve decided, Mom. This is what I want.”
    â€œBut I know your father’s pushing—”
    â€œThis isn’t about Dad. It’s what I want. Please, Mom, drop it.”
    Rose shuddered at the authority in Kacey’s voice. She slumped. “I just want you to keep an open mind.”
    Kacey could sense, though not see, tears spilling from her mother’s eyes, but she knew she could offer no comfort.

    Kacey awakened before five. She felt pinned to the bed by a sense of loss. Finally she rolled onto her side, eyes wide open. She dare not lie here for long. Her fears might run away with her.
    Crawling out of bed, she did something she could not remember doing before: she sank down to the floor and knelt to pray. But the petitions would not come. Not even a “Hail Mary” or an “Our Father.” She fidgeted. The floor was hard on her bare knees . Concentrate! Concentrate!
    She could not pull up the joyful anticipation she thought she should be feeling. Instead, she heard the early murmuring of the doves, the repetitive phoebes, and the cardinals with their insistent “listen to me” call. She could smell the dew on freshly cut grass. Life here had not been perfect, but it was home.
    She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her folded hands. Her prayer became a question. Oh, God! Am I doing the right thing?

Book 2

11
    â€œIt looks like a prison!” Joseph cried out as the Doyle station wagon turned up the long, curving drive of Blessed Sacrament Convent.
    As Kacey approached her new home, she remembered the last time she’d moved, and how anxious she’d been—how anxious all of them had been, except for her father.
    She was ten when they’d left their rental in Minneapolis to get the first look at their new farm. Her father had been driving nearly an hour, out Highway 12, past Lake Minnetonka and the spattering of small shopping centers dotting the western suburbs. Still he drove, now through occasional