Michael smiled. “Yeah, in these clothes. What’s worse, walking with your father or being dressed like this?”
“Wow, that’s a tough one. Hmm. Well, my friends think I’m crazy anyway. Maybe crazy is cool?”
“Darn right it is.” Michael put his arm around her and started walking down the sidewalk toward the water.
“When did that place open?” he asked when they passed a toy store on their right.
“Dad, that’s been there my whole life! Aunt Sammie used to take me there all the time.”
“Hmm,” he said loudly.
Elizabeth started to giggle.
“What, what’s up?” Michael asked as he tightened his grip around his daughter’s shoulder.
“They’re looking at us, Dad,” she said, pointing.
Michael looked ahead, seeing a group of boys laughing, obviously watching them. “So they are, Elizabeth.”
“Hey,” he shouted out to the group of them, “what do you think of these fine robes?”
The boys looked around at each other before one shrugged his shoulders and gave them a thumbs-up. “Hey, mister, where are your shoes?”
Michael laughed. “Today I don’t need them.”
“Dad, cut it out! You’re embarrassing me!”
“Oops, sorry, Liz.”
Suddenly they were startled by the sound of a car horn honking on the other side of the street. Michael stopped.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
He shook his head and slowly walked to the other side of Main Street. An old man was struggling with his cane and a bag while attempting to press the crosswalk button. His hand shook visibly.
“Hold on. I’ve got that, sir,” Michael called out as he jogged over and pushed the button. He turned to the man. “You look familiar . . . Mr. . . . ?”
The man smiled. Michael could see his pink gums. “Szymanski.” He looked at Michael inquiringly. “I’m not sure I know you.”
Michael shook his hand. “I’m Michael Stewart. Can I give you a hand with that bag? Do you need some help?”
“You know, son, today I could use it. I hope you don’t mind.”
Michael grinned. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
He put his shoulder under the man’s outstretched arm. As a car approached, Michael grabbed the bag and put his hand out to stop the vehicle. “Quite an adventure, don’t you think, Mr. Szymanski?”
“Oh, every day is an adventure for me now.”
From across the street, Elizabeth grinned broadly and waved. When Michael and Mr. Szymanski had safely crossed, the old man cheered, “Woo-hoo!”
Michael and Elizabeth laughed. “Elizabeth, this is Mr. Szymanski. Can you please take this,” he said, handing her the bag.
“Sure.”
“Which way are you going, sir?”
“Not sure. Just taking my time and enjoying the day.”
Michael thought a moment. “Would you like to join us?”
“That all depends. Where are you going?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Elizabeth chimed in, “where are we going?”
“Baboo, I’m taking you and Mr. Szymanski for the biggest, baddest ice cream sundae you can get!”
“Ooh!” she squealed in delight. “I can see the shop!” She ran ahead down the street and in through the parlor doors.
Michael rolled his eyes. “There she goes again.”
Mr. Szymanski chuckled. “They all do that. Always in a hurry.”
“Well, we’ll take our time.” Slowly they walked down Main Street. The track for the cable car was still visible in the middle of the road, a vestige of bygone days. Michael took in the beautiful architecture of the quaint, old town. “This is nothing like Jerusalem,” he muttered. “But it’s just as beautiful.”
“What’s that, Michael?”
“Ah, nothing. Maybe someday I’ll explain it.”
Michael could see Elizabeth seated on one of the stools at the front counter when they walked in. The shop was painted in shades of white and pink, with candy displayed at the entrance. Booths lined the walls and an old jukebox played in the back.
This is perfect, he thought.
“Hey, Dad,” Elizabeth whispered, smiling surreptitiously, pointing to the woman behind the counter. “No ring.”
Michael looked down at his left hand. He felt a momentary sense of panic and loss as he remembered, then pushed the feelings aside. They were home. His daughter was safe. It was all that mattered.
“I’ve already ordered, Dad.” Elizabeth twirled around twice on her stool, underscoring her statement.
“Okay.” He sat down next to her and took an experimental spin himself. Michael looked at his beaming daughter. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.
“Are you going to share with your father?” he asked, needling her.
“Aw, do I have to?”
Michael laughed. “You can do whatever makes you happy. What would you like, Mr. Szymanski?”
The old man thought a moment. “You got enough money in your wallet for a banana split?”
Instinctively Michael put his hand in his pocket, then drew it out again quickly. “Elizabeth, look at this!” he exclaimed, holding out his palm. There were the silver coins he had taken from Judas. He was still gazing at them in wonder when the woman behind the counter turned around to greet them.
“Your daughter said you had never been here before. I’m so happy you found us.”
Michael smiled as he looked up into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
On a warm May night in 2007, a couple of decades of indecision ended. I arose with purpose, filled with ideas on how to finally complete my novel, which had gathered dusty bytes on my computer for far too long. I had never been so excited about the concept of writing. I shook my normally hard-to-wake wife, Debbie, out of her sleep and shared my thoughts. When she got excited about the plot, I knew then I had something special.
Based upon some emotional childhood experiences, I had been pondering two questions: If we had an opportunity to cleanse our sins, how would we go about achieving that, and whom would we seek to help us?
As I began to work on the first draft, the creative process became therapeutic. It gave me an opportunity to understand why my body and mind were experiencing certain emotions as an adult and how the joys and pains of childhood transformed me into the person I am today.
When you write, it’s rarely an absolutely joyful experience. But from the first word I wrote in my notebook to the last correction made on the proofs, Necessary Heartbreak enabled me to believe in the goodness of the human character.
I do believe there are people walking the earth who step into your lives for reasons. Many have done so along the way to help push me along in this project.
After the first draft was written, I sought out an editor to sit down and work with me paragraph by paragraph. While the concept and general ideas were already down on paper, I needed to shape this book with more details, dialogue, and tension. I searched for someone locally who could work with me, but I hit a dead end. I was fortunate to have a friend like Dee Karl, who badgered me to get off my backside and use Monster.com.
Although I received over thirty responses from my Monster.com experience, I interviewed only one person. I didn’t need to see anyone else after meeting Jenn Kujawski.
Jenn was a significant influence during the self-publishing process. She helped move this book in a direction I could feel proud of, spending many hours sharpening my creative skills and offering several suggestions that are part of this book today.
I was fortunate enough to sign with my book/movie agent, Irene Webb. With her enthusiastic support, I was able to revise the original manuscript into a more developed story.
While on a vacation trip to Orlando, I was contacted by Simon & Schuster VP Anthony Ziccardi, who expressed an interest in publishing a revised edition. He was the perfect fit for me and this trilogy, and I’m grateful for his support.