Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  The bottle struck his ear. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he collapsed, hugging his head. Matt kicked him in the stomach and ran through the exit.

  Dalton clutched his gut and groaned. Pain radiated while he rested his face against the filthy ground. At the back of his head, a knot formed. When got to his knees, his leg injury pulsed with agony. He used the sink edge to pull himself up.

  He looked longingly at the brown paper bag before jamming it into the Nike bag.

  Dalton twisted a faucet and was rewarded with a dribble. He splashed water on his face, then cursed when he reached for the empty towel holder. Dalton stared in the mirror. A crack splintered the center of the glass making him look like a side-show freak. “How did I wind up here?” He rubbed a quivering hand over his eyes. “This is not me. I’ve got to stop!”

  After a few deep breaths, his pulse evened. He fished for his cell and tapped it awake It showed several voicemails he’d have to check later. He powered down the phone and tossed it in the gym bag, then removed a change of clothes. After pulling on a pair of shorts, he picked up Matt’s bottle. Under a vintage black and gold label, a quarter cup of amber liquid lined the bottom.

  Desert Durum, 92 proof. The expensive stuff.

  Dalton crammed it into his duffle. A little nip might come in handy later.

  ***

  Frozen behind a fake fern, Samantha watched Matt Connor run through the lobby, recognizing the signature pony tail bouncing off his collar. He’d just come from the men’s room. Had he met Dalton in there?

  Minutes ticked by. No sign of her husband. Maybe he’d left some other way. Was she wasting her time? A squeal from the door jarred her back. Dalton hurried past wearing shorts and a tank top, the Nike bag flailing over his shoulder. He burst through the front door and she ran after him. He started the BMW, then tore through the parking lot.

  She rushed to her car. She couldn’t lose him now.

  ***

  Gordon knew he shouldn’t have ordered the bacon cheeseburger at the last rest stop. He convinced himself that since he was older, his stomach could handle the windy road through Prescott National Forrest.

  Wrong.

  He fished through his backpack for the motion sickness pills his mother had given him. He’d been joking around so much with Bee and her mother, he’d forgotten to take them. Swallowing them now wouldn’t help much but maybe they’d take the edge off the nausea. He downed two tablets and took a swig from his water bottle. The road’s hairpins were continuous with no straight pavement in between. His vision blurred. He snapped his laptop shut and covered it with his windbreaker. If he lost his cookies at least he’d be ready.

  He already missed Bee. As much as he enjoyed visiting his grandmother, lately being with his childhood friend seemed a lot more interesting. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Bee was his girlfriend. She seemed different this summer. Had she been flirty today? Her turquoise eyes seemed to sparkle as she stared at him by the pool. It was odd. Had he misinterpreted her body language? Whoever this person was, she didn’t resemble the Bethany he knew.

  A new longing stirred inside but he couldn’t define it. And unlike past summers, he couldn’t wait to get back to McCormick. Hopefully Grams would keep him so busy time would fly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Angels Unaware

  _________________________________________________________

  1:30 p.m.

  Northern Arizona

  Dividing the desert like an ink ribbon, Black Canyon Freeway glistened under the afternoon sun as Matt raced toward Phoenix. Urgent voicemails convinced him to break all speeding laws. Carla yelled between desperate sobs. Charity was dying.

  “Matt ... please!” Her last recording begged. “She may not make it much longer.”

  What if he was too late?

  He tapped Carla’s number. “God … get me there in time.”

  She picked up after two rings.

  “Where are you?” she screamed.

  “I’m on my way. How’s Charity?”

  “Barely hanging on. Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “It was off.” That part was true. “I’ll explain when I get there. I’m an hour away.”

  “An hour?” Carla’s tone hitched higher. “Every breath drains more life from her. I’m scared, Matt.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “Laney Fernández. Her husband and some others are in the hallway praying.”

  Matt dragged in a deep breath, his eyes welled. “Tell Laney thank you.” He couldn’t have asked for anyone better to help his wife.

  “We’ve tried reaching the pastor,” Carla continued. “His phone goes to voicemail. Samantha’s too.”

  Matt gritted his teeth. You despicable bastard. It’s a good thing you aren’t there! Baxter’s earlier threats about telling Carla seemed ridiculous now.

  “Did you hear me? We can’t reach the pastor.”

  “You’ve got good people there, Car’. Don’t bother with the Baxters. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

  “Promises from you mean nothing.” The click and silence cut him like a razor slicing cocaine.

  He tossed the cell into the passenger seat. His shoulders drooped. She was right. Knowing Charity lingered at death’s door and he hadn’t been there tortured him more than anything Carla would say once he admitted what he had done.

  He pushed the car past eighty and barreled toward Phoenix, watching for cops who might be trolling the desert road.

  ***

  Carla planted a warm kiss on Charity’s forehead, then swabbed her child’s cracked lips with a stick sponge. Her little girl slept. Her fever had dropped and her skin felt clammy.

  “She seems so peaceful, Carla,” Laney said. The older woman sat next to her, patting Carla’s arm.

  “She does. But her breathing … I can’t bear to hear it.” Death-rattles filled the room. Would Matt make it in time?

  “I know it’s hard, dear. She’s close to Glory now.”

  Charity’s eyes flickered and she looked at something near the window.

  “It’s okay, baby. Mama’s here.” Carla squeezed the little girl’s hand, then tucked a home-made quilt around her.

  Charity muttered.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Carla leaned near the child’s mouth.

  “… Angel …” Charity gasped. “… sing … ing …”

  Carla’s eyes brimmed and she looked at Laney. “She said something about an angel singing.”

  Laney’s eyes filled. “Oh … darlin’ ... your baby is seeing the gates of heaven …”

  Charity spoke again. This time both women heard.

  “He’s here … Mama ...” The girl smiled, looking at the back wall. “I … go … with … Papa …”

  “Papa?” Carla asked.

  Another laborious breath, then Charity drifted back to sleep.

  “That’s what she calls Matt.” Carla patted away beads of sweat on Charity’s face. “First an angel? Now her father?” She searched Laney’s face. “Is she hallucinating?”

  “No, honey. God walks His children through death’s door when it’s time.” Laney wrapped an arm around her back. “You’ve always said Matt and she are close. Why wouldn’t the Lord send an angel who looks like her daddy right now?”

  “Why would God do that? Matt left Charity when she needed him most.”

  “Matt’s a good man, Carla. Give him a chance to explain.”

  “I needed him to be here and he wasn’t. God has forgotten me.”

  “Oh ... no … dear. He’s right here with us, right now.”

  Carla shook her head. “So many people prayed. Why won’t He heal her?” Tears streamed down her face.

  “I … uh … don’t know …” Laney stammered. “No one can explain why a child dies before her parents.”

  “Thanks for not offering pat answers. I’m sick of those.” Carla rubbed Charity’s
arm under the quilt. Phoenix sun pierced through the window blinds leaving patterns across the calicos.

  “Cling to your faith, Carla. No matter what happens. Hold on to Jesus.” Laney’s generous arms squeezed love as Carla stared at her sleeping child. The girl’s agonizing pauses lengthened between raspy breaths, forecasting the inevitable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Deep Deception

  _________________________________________________________

  Sunday afternoon, 2:11 p.m.

  Prescott National Forest

  Dalton opened with the paper bag on the passenger seat, swerving into the opposite lane. A horn from an approaching SUV jarred him back. He tipped it over and a Ziploc bag toppled out. It was packed to the brim with tiny yellow pills. He removed two tablets and gulped them down with the last of his cold morning coffee.

  The restlessness would pass once his medicine kicked in. It always did. He was grateful for that because he still had much to do before sunset.

  The BMW scaled the mountain, eating up the breath-taking curves. Except for an old recreational vehicle lumbering along behind him, Dalton had the highway to himself. He floored the accelerator, creating distance. With a little luck, his quick exit wouldn’t be noticed by the RV driver.

  Racing around a curve, Dalton saw it. The oak tree he’d passed earlier. It shrouded the dirt road on the satellite map. He swung around the tree and entered the hideaway. This obscure way to Copper Lake would be perfect. No traffic meant no witnesses. The rough, dusty roadway might punish his car, but that wouldn’t matter.

  ***

  Samantha couldn’t see Dalton’s car. She leaned toward the dash and scanned the horizon. The large RV she’d been tail-gating offered concealment but prevented her from seeing if he made any unexpected turns.

  When the camper pulled over, she passed, giving the driver a wave. Ahead, she could see a red billowy cloud near a gigantic tree by the highway. Had Dalton exited here? She had to find out.

  She entered the thicket and scanned the road ahead. Dalton’s BMW ascended a distant hill as rocks jarred her car from side to side, forcing her to slow down. Seeing a weathered sign a few feet ahead, she braked.

  Copper Lake, 1 mile, no through traffic.

  No through traffic? Where was he going? She forged ahead, then scanned the forest for a hiding place. A hiking trail, covered with brush, seemed wide enough to accommodate her car.

  Samantha drove into the woods as far as she could, then stopped the car and turned off the engine. She got out, popped the trunk, and looked for her running shoes. No luck. She frowned at her feet. The classy Italian sandals she’d worn to church would have to do. She opened a case of Costco water, retrieved two bottles, stashed them in a tote bag, then shut the trunk.

  When Samantha turned on her phone, it beeped, indicating its impending death. She scavenged the car for the charger. What could she have done with it? Maybe it had fallen on the Brewster driveway. She powered down the cell to save what energy was left for later, then tossed the phone into the tote, then locked the car.

  Afternoon sun washed her face as she began her hike. The evergreen setting should have calmed her, but it didn’t. Her sandaled feet objected to each step. Minutes later she arrived at the road and began a steep climb toward Copper Lake.

  Breathless, Samantha reached the summit and sat on a rock overlooking the dark snake-like reservoir below. The indigo water slithered through a gully. It was surrounded by a craggy shoreline, lined with layers of minerals that glistened in the afternoon sun. Dalton was nowhere to be seen.

  A revving engine caused Samantha to jump. She darted behind a Ponderosa pine and peeked around the trunk. Dalton sat in his car near the end of the lake. He exited the convertible, ran to the passenger side, then retrieved something. It flashed in the light. It looked like the hammer she’d seen earlier.

  He crammed it inside the gym bag, then went to the back bumper of the car. It looked like he was pushing the car. The BMW moved toward the lake.

  What’s going on? Her mouth fell open. He worships that car. It took great restraint not to scream. Her eyes couldn’t make sense of the scene unfolding in front of her.

  The car gained speed until it broke through the lake’s glassy surface. Waves spiraled outward. Water poured over leather upholstery and for a moment, the BMW floated, then dived forward, hood first, into its watery grave.

  Samantha shook so hard the bark from the tree scraped her cheek.

  Dalton tied his red running bandana around his forehead, then straddled the Nike bag over his shoulder. He picked up a leafy tree limb and dragged it from side to side, walking backwards uphill, eliminating the tire tracks. When he reached the summit, he hesitated, looking at the scene below. After a few moments, he tossed the branch aside, then turned and hurried down the road.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hug away the shaking as she forged back through the forest. Pine needles snapped with each step toward the road. She poked her head out of the thicket and saw Dalton at the bottom of the hill. He ran, putting more distance between them.

  Samantha hurried after him, loose gravel filling her sandals, rubbing her feet raw. Focused on Dalton’s bobbing head, she tripped over a dead branch and fell. Ow! Her knee collided with a jagged rock.

  She sat on the hard ground, panting. She located one of the water bottles in her tote and rinsed the grit from her mouth before inspecting her knee. It was scraped and stung a little but didn’t look too bad. She dribbled water on the welt and patted it dry with her sleeve, then gulped down the rest of the water.

  Knowing Dalton might have made it to the highway by now encouraged her to get moving. She managed some wobbly steps downhill. Had she lost Dalton for good?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Charity Bug

  _________________________________________________________

  3:16 p.m.

  Camelback Children’s Hospital

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Matt burst into the hospital room. He noticed the empty bed. His throat tightened. He gasped for air.

  “Matt? We’re over here,” his wife called. Carla held Charity near the window. Laney Fernández sat in a chair next to her.

  He could breathe again.

  “Carla?” Matt’s voice choked. “How is she?”

  “The doctor was just here. It could be any time.”

  Laney stood up and gave Matt a lengthy hug. She waved him to the empty chair. “Sit darlin’,” she ordered. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Laney.” Matt watched her leave.

  He dragged the chair close to his wife and sat. He wiped sweat from Charity’s forehead with his palm. Her ragged breathing added to a pot of regret that had simmered since he’d left Prescott. What kind of father would leave his wife and child during a time like this?

  “I’m sorry, Carla,” he managed between sobs. He wrapped his arm around Carla’s back. Though she didn’t speak, she seemed to offer forgiveness when she leaned her head against his chest. “Can I hold her?” he asked.

  Carla released her grasp, lifting Charity to Matt. The morphine drip line made the transfer tricky. He scooped her feathery body into his arms.

  Matt kissed her face and whispered, “It’s Papa. Can you hear me? I love you, my little Charity Bug.”

  Charity’s eyes flickered.

  “Can you hear me, sweetheart?” he asked again.

  Carla leaned near. “Charity … Papa is here. Wake up, baby.”

  Her eyes opened and locked in recognition with his. Her lips came together to form a faint smile.

  Matt moved close. “Mommy and I love you.”

  “Yes, baby, we do.” Carla chimed in.

  Charity’s sunken eyes stared at him, their dim light warming his spirit. The moment ended too soon. She sucked in a raspy breath and slipped back into unresponsiveness. But a slight smile remained fixed on her face.


  Matt guided Charity’s legs so they rested across Carla’s lap. Letting her go was something they’d do together.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Buried Evidence

  _________________________________________________________

  3:25 p.m.

  Prescott National Forest

  Highway 89 shimmered under the afternoon sun. Dalton stood on a pinnacle and scanned the terrain. He removed his bandana, blotted sweat from his eyes, then mopped his forehead. Despite the high temperatures, he felt invigorated.

  He wadded the headband and jammed it into his pocket, then descended toward a grove of chaparral trees as brush scratched his legs. He pulled back the foliage and pushed through to a shrouded area in the woods, a tiny meadow surrounded by junipers and oak trees. A melon-sized rock caught his attention. He smiled. He couldn’t have asked for a more perfect place to complete his plan. Secret and hidden from view.

  Dalton yanked the stone loose and rolled it over. He dug for several minutes with his hands, but barely made a dent.

  He pulled out the hammer. It had been a good thing he’d stashed it in a toolbox in the church annex. Today it would serve him well. As he pummeled the ground, a smile crossed his lips. “If only my old man could see me now.” Dalton couldn’t imagine his father could see anything from where he was roasting and begging for sips of water right now. It gave him a sense of satisfaction knowing he pummeled the ground with the old man’s hammer. He smiled, eagerly stabbing the soil.

  When he had dug a wide hole, a couple of feet deep, he stopped and set the hammer aside. That should work.

  Dalton sat on the boulder and rested. He burrowed through the canvas, locating the prescription container and the Ziploc bag. After unfastening the lid, he opened the plastic and poured in a generous portion of pills, filling the bottle to the rim.