Warmth for Sara

Sara always thought of her dad as a saint and her mom as a sinner. Her parents married very young. Neither of them was quite prepared when she came along. When she was young, her mom worked as a waitress at Wimpy’s Café in their small town of Park Rapids, Minnesota, so she was mostly raised by her loving father.

She first remembered her parents fighting when she was four. They mostly argued about money and about her mom staying out late with friends. Her mom started throwing things and sometimes would fall down, arms flailing as she crumpled, commonly swearing on her way to the floor of their mobile home. Sara took to hiding in her room. By the time she was six, her mom only appeared three or four nights per week. By then, while Sara was in school, her dad worked odd jobs so they could scrape by, because her mom spent everything she earned.

The summer after third grade, a knock on the door prompted Sara to open her window, from which she peeked out to see a man showing her dad a badge. She heard him ask, “Are you married to Amanda Barnes?”

She could tell from his quaking voice that her dad was flustered, “Yes, what’s the problem? What has she done? I haven’t seen her in several days.”

“I’m very sorry to inform you that your wife has died of an overdose in Fargo.”

Sara silently shut the window and sat on her bed staring at nothing. She may not have respected her decisions, but in the end, she was her mom. Why hadn’t she taken motherhood seriously? Why hadn’t she stayed in Park Rapids and cared for her family?

Sara’s friend, Tina, was the only person she knew who understood what she was going through. Tina had been bounced around in foster care after her parents died in a car accident. The friends shared with each other their horror stories and leaned on each other for support. There’s nothing like the shoulder of a friend in a time of need.

For a while, things improved for both of them. Tina got adopted by a local minister and his wife. Sara’s dad did house painting every summer and interior odd jobs and snow shoveling in the winter.

The neighbor across the street, to the south, Ms. Peterson, who was a kindergarten teacher, helped them with food and firewood.

The Thursday before Thanksgiving of Sara’s sophomore year, her dad kissed her cheek on his way out the door. He said, “I may be late because I’m going hunting for Thanksgiving dinner after I finish painting Mrs. Stephenson’s sunroom. I’ll sleep in tomorrow, so go on to school, and I’ll see you afterward. Would you like to go to a movie Saturday? Park Theatre is showing, Zombie Death Wars.” With only one screen on Main Street, she wouldn’t turn down a zombie movie.

“Sounds great, Dad.” She never thought it odd that she still enjoyed her dad's company. She scooped up a spoonful of cereal and before she stuffed it in her mouth, she hastened to add, “Good luck! See you, Dad.”

Friday, the school clock seemed to tick along slower than usual, but eventually, she got off the bus, opened the front door, and called, “I’m home, Dad.” No answer. She wasn’t worried, because her dad could have gotten another job for all she knew. Later, she made some boxed macaroni and cheese. Still, no sign. She fell asleep reading Little Women on the couch. When she woke in the dark, her dad had still not returned. The house was bitterly cold. She dragged herself to her bed and tried to warm up under the flimsy covers. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep. Her dad was still nowhere to be found at 6:00. She paced back and forth, wishing for the thousandth time that they could afford to get her a cellphone in addition to the one her dad needed. At 8:00, she went next door to Ms. Peterson’s place. When the door opened, she asked, “Ms. Peterson, have you seen my dad?”

“No dear, come in. Why aren’t you wearing a winter coat? You’ll catch your death in this cold spell.”

“I…” Sara thought quickly. “It’s not that far, and I was in a hurry.” She didn’t want to admit that her fall hoodie was the only coat that currently fit her.

“Come, I’ll make you some hot cocoa. Have you had breakfast? I was about to make some eggs. Would you like some?”

“Um, okay, thank you.” Sara followed her into the kitchen. “Would you like some help?”

“You can set the table and then warm your hands on a hot drink. Honestly, I don’t know how you can handle this cold without gloves or mittens.” She put a mug of milk in the microwave. When it beeped, she handed it to Sara with a packet of hot chocolate.

As the bacon fried, she chopped onions and bell peppers to add to scrambled eggs. She asked, “When did you last see your dad?”

“Thursday. He said he was going hunting and not to worry.”

“Still, you should call the police after breakfast.”

Sara cringed. “I don’t have a phone.”

“You’ll use mine,” Ms. Peterson nodded as she stirred the food. It smelled heavenly.

After they ate and cleaned up, Ms. Peterson helped Sara explain everything to the police. Sara was told to wait at home for someone to come by.

Thirty minutes later, Officer James, the only female on the Park Rapids force, knocked on the door. She asked her questions kindly and with no tone of suspicion. When she asked about her mother, Sara decided to lie, because she didn’t want anyone questioning whether she would be okay until her dad came home. “My mom is working two jobs, so I don’t see much of her.”

“Very well, I’ll swing by if I hear anything since you don’t have a phone.”

She headed for her car with a wave.

Sara stood at the door, watching her. Officer James took about four steps when her cellphone rang. Sara couldn’t hear the conversation, but the officer turned around with a look she most dreaded – pity. Now Sara feared the worst.

Officer James returned and held out her phone. “You’d better call your mom. We’re not sure, but a man fitting your dad’s description was discovered yesterday afternoon below a hunting blind with a broken leg. He didn’t make it out of the cold. I’m so sorry.”

Sara froze, stunned. She whispered, “Mom doesn’t have a phone either. I’ll tell her later. I want to see him.”

“Very well, come with me.”

Sara watched the familiar homes and businesses go by in a haze. They pulled up to the morgue. As they walked into the sterile room, the smell of formaldehyde reminded her of dissecting frogs in biology class. She steeled herself for what she knew in her heart she was about to see. Her brain couldn’t comprehend any words spoken to her. She simply nodded to indicate she was ready.

When the mortician pulled back the sheet, the pale husk of what had once been her vibrant father became visible. She tentatively touched his face.It was as cold as ice. She wondered how long he had been in the snow before succumbing.

Officer James interrupted her thoughts, “We need your mom to come sign papers, but I think he would want you to have his personal effects.” She held out a plastic bag with her dad’s phone and wallet. She continued, “His gun will be released to your mom.” She put a hand on Sara’s shoulder and said, “I’ll take you home.”

It took an hour of pacing the abysmally quiet mobile home for Sara to give in to the tears. Once the floodgate was open, she hugged an old shirt of her dad’s and let it all out. When she was sure she had no more tears left, she nibbled some stale bread with the last bit of peanut butter and milk. She knew she would have to get a job, but she needed food until she got a paycheck. Sara remembered a barn she and Tina had discovered across the frozen Fishhook River which, at the time, had a pantry.

Sunday night, she put on as many layers as she could, and trudged across the snowy ice, past icehouses standing sentry, with a 5-gallon bucket in hand. She hoped the owners of the barn wouldn’t miss a few items - that is, if there was anything to be taken. She didn’t like stealing, but she was desperate.

The side door to the barn had snow piled against it. Sara used the bucket to push it out of the way. There were enough missing boards and enough moonlight for her to see the shelves, packed with jars of canned food. As she was loading the bucket, a sudden noise from the other end of the barn made her jump and then freeze. Sara turned and saw the source. A large barn owl had landed in the rafters, picking away at an indescript fresh kill.

Sara felt her racing heartbeat begin to relax. She finished loading the bucket. She took one last glance at the majestic animal as she left quietly, and whispered, “I‘ll leave you to enjoy your food in peace.” She carried the heavy bucket with both arms.

Just as she was passing Ms. Peterson’s home, her neighbor came from the garage, dragging her garbage bin. She said, “Hey, Sara, I was going to bring a hotdish over to you. Has your dad made it home?”

“Um, uh,” Sara stuttered, “Th-this is heavy.” She nodded toward her load. “Come on over and we’ll talk.” She continued walking and added, “Thanks.” She rushed home and hastily emptied the contents of the bucket into a cupboard. Ms. Peterson’s knock came as she was shoving the bucket into a closet. Ms. Peterson presented a large baking container full of a delicious-looking concoction of rice, hamburger, and vegetables.

They kept the conversation light at first. Ms. Peterson told her about a student who kept bringing her pictures of his pet bug. Sara told her about the owl. “It was amazing! It looked so intelligent.”

"There’s a lot more to the animal kingdom than meets the eye.” Then, she took Sara by the shoulders. “I know something is going on. Tell me what happened. Is it about your dad?”

Sara sobbed, “He was so cold,” and fell into her neighbor’s arms. “Please don’t tell anyone that I’m living alone. I don’t want to go through foster care like Tina.”

Ms. Peterson patted her arm, looked into her eyes, and said, “On one condition. You will accept my help.” She took a deep breath. “You see, I’ve always wanted children. My husband wanted sons to carry on his name, but I kept having miscarriages.” Tears began to fall as she remembered the shame and anger she had endured. “He left me when he got someone else pregnant.”

Sara looked down at the carpet and then back up at Ms. Peterson. “I would be proud to be your daughter…if that’s what you want.”

"Oh, Sara, I never dreamed…but we both need to think about this, and if it is to be, we have to do it legally, and that takes time.

***

The next day, Ms. Peterson posed as Sara’s mother at the morgue so that a memorial service could be arranged. She also bought Sara a warm, fuzzy winter coat and mittens with owls on them.

The adoption went through the following summer, sooner than either of them expected. Ms. Peterson honored the memories of Sara’s father and helped her survive the angst of high school. She offered her a warm, loving home; all the while being slowly healed from the scars of her own past.

Sara went on to become an outstanding teacher, like her mom.