Dana Corbit - A Blessed Life

Serena could feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she took in the view of his apartment, but he didn’t try to interrupt her. His scrutiny made her neck feel warm.

Serena smiled, her flush creeping higher. “It looks great.” The simple awareness of him made her so uncomfortable that she scanned the room again for a distraction. Her gaze caught behind the door on a Harley-Davidson poster that seemed so out of character for the stereotypical youth minister she’d created in her mind. She got the feeling there was more to Andrew Westin than she’d originally guessed….

has been fascinated with words since third grade, when she began stringing together stanzas of rhyme. That interest, and an inherent nosiness, led her to a career as a newspaper reporter and editor. After earning state and national recognition in journalism, she traded her career for stay-at-home motherhood.

But the need for creative expression followed her home, and later through the move from Indiana to Milford, Michigan. Outside the office Dana discovered the joy of writing fiction. In stolen hours, during naps and between carpooling and church activities, she escapes into her private world, telling stories from her heart.

Dana now makes her home in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with her husband, three young daughters and two cats.

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Cast your burden on the Lord,

and He will sustain you;

He will never permit the righteous to be moved.

—Psalms 55:22

Dedicated to the little angels of my heart,

Marissa, Caterina and Alexa—especially to Caterina,

whose painful journey inspired this story. Also to

Randy, who makes me believe in miracles.

A special thanks to GDRWA and MMRWA

members, for endless support; to Melissa Baxter,

for always believing; and to Dr. Celia D’Errico,

D.O., and Dr. Hilary Haftel, M.D.,

for your answers and for your hope.

Dear Reader,

I started writing my debut novel, A Blessed Life, when my own heart needed healing. Like Serena, I have a daughter who lives with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I experienced some of the same guilt and hopelessness Serena feels and a similar joy when my child began to thrive. Also like Serena, I have struggled with giving up control to God.

I hope you enjoyed meeting the members of Hickory Ridge Community Church as much as I enjoyed creating them. Some of my favorite memories are from growing up as part of a large church family. Because these characters live on in my thoughts, I hope to meet them again in a future story.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

The waiting room stretched for miles in shades of warm tan and cheery peach, with pastel ocean scenes dotting the walls.

Every bit of it was a lie.

There was nothing sunny or happy about sitting in this sanitized holding cell. Not when Serena would have given anything to be on the other side of the wall…with Tessa. Instead she was forced to wait in here, helpless, while someone jammed a needle into her daughter’s hip, examining the bone marrow there, looking for the worst.

“If this is a charmed life, I’d sure hate to see a cursed one.” Serena didn’t care if the other parents and grandparents in the room overheard her mumbling. She squeezed her eyes shut but could still see her little girl, so far from her arms. At least the three-year-old was slumbering away her mother’s desertion and the medical assault on her body.

Unable to sit any longer, Serena stood and stretched her stiff legs, pacing the length of the room. She passed the television screen that had switched from a morning talk show to the midday news. Even the smell of this place—stale chips and soda—added to the nausea that had been building since this morning when she’d brought Tessa for her bone marrow biopsy—alone.

She stared by turns at the pay phone and her watch. Where was Trent? He’d promised to be here. This time at least…if none of the others. As frustrating as it was to admit, she knew if he walked through the door that minute, she’d forgive him for everything. For every time he’d failed her and their daughter since Tessa first became ill. Even for the indiscretions she suspected. If he’d be a stand-up husband just this once, she’d find a way to work through the rest of their problems. Finally, she gave in and dialed.

“Deirdre, this is Serena Jacobs again. May I speak to Trent?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jacobs. Mr. Jacobs still isn’t in. I checked his schedule, and he’d planned to be out most of the day. Is there a message I can give him when he calls in?”

“Yes, please tell him I’m still waiting at the hospital.” She hung up the phone without waiting for the pleasantries.

Shuffling back to the upholstered chair she’d claimed as hers, she wrapped her sweater tightly around her shoulders. Outside, the July heat had turned southeast Michigan into a steam bath, but here inside, she was chilled to the bone. She fought the fog that was clouding her vision, but the tears came anyway, dampening her face before she could grasp for control.

Trent, please show up. Tessa needs you. I need you.

Serena pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes, ending up with a soggy tissue that had done nothing to stem the flow. Glancing up, she caught the other people in the waiting room trying not to stare.

She had to get control of herself. It would terrify Tessa if she saw her mother looking as if she’d just come from a funeral. In many ways she had, but that didn’t matter. Not now. Tessa needed strength from her parents, at least from the one who wouldn’t fail her. She straightened in her seat and rubbed her thumb along her lash line, clearing the smudged eyeliner.

No matter what the hematology oncologist told her today, she planned to stay strong for Tessa’s sake. Leukemia was an unlikely diagnosis; the physicians had made that much clear. They were only ruling out the last of the “ugly” diseases before they could trust their earlier suspicions. And those weren’t all that beautiful themselves.

Please, God, let it only be JRA. She stared at the floor, keeping her eyes open for fear she would pass out if she shut out the light. Her stomach clenched and sweat gathered under her bangs. What was she saying? Had she lost her mind? She shook her head. Here she wasn’t just hoping, but begging, that Tessa would have to live with a potentially crippling chronic illness like juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. How could she wish that on her own child?