Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  “I … don’t know what to say, Dalton.”

  “You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

  “I … I’m tired.” Fatigue swallowed her. She pressed a tissue to her nose, so he wouldn’t hear her sniffles. She wished she’d never followed him. Not knowing this would have been better.

  “Sammy … I hate to tell you this … the worst part is … the church offering … it was stolen.”

  No, Dalton, it wasn’t. Matt has it.

  “I can’t come. I can’t talk anymore,” she told him, shaking. “The Connors need pastoral care.”

  “I … uh …” he stammered, then said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way home.”

  ***

  In a shadowy corridor, Dalton ran toward the sound of a woman’s wail.

  When he reached an open door, people held candles around a bedridden girl. A woman sobbed, crumpled on the floor.

  Dalton knew the child was dead. “Who is she?” he asked.

  The circle of lights opened, welcoming him in.

  A man pointed. “She’s healed!”

  The girl’s curls looked familiar. The nose … the round chin …

  “Graaaa … ce! Nooooo, God, please!” Dalton screamed.

  “She’s whole again, safe in God’s arms,” a lady said.

  The woman on the floor glared up at him. Sammy!

  “You did this!” she shrieked.

  Someone grabbed his arms and shook him.

  Dalton spun around. “There’s been a terrible mistake!”

  “Mr. Baxter, wake up!”

  “What … huh?” Dalton forced his eyes open. Sleep paralysis held him in a tight grip.

  “I had a hard time waking you.” A doctor hovered over him under a florescent glare. He mopped Dalton’s face with a towel. Dalton slowly moved his arms.

  “I’m Dr. Adams.” He placed a cold stethoscope against his chest. Dalton jerked.

  “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

  He was confused. Then he remembered where he was.

  “My face is on fire.” Dalton pointed to his bandage. “The nurse could only give me Tylenol. That stuff doesn’t work for me.”

  “Let’s have a look,” the doctor said.

  The physician removed the dressing and examined the wound, then dabbed it with antiseptic while Dalton clenched his teeth.

  “I’ve looked at your X-rays. The lateral surface of your zygomatic bone has multiple fractures.”

  “My zygo … what?”

  “Your cheekbone is cracked. Fortunately, you won’t need any reconstructive surgery. I’ll need to suture the lesion in case it reopens.”

  “Sure, Doc. Whatever you say. But what about my pain?”

  “We’ll give you some acetaminophen with codeine to take home.” He loaded a hypodermic needle, then injected Dalton’s face. “This anesthesia should numb your skin in a couple of minutes. Do you have any questions?”

  “Acetaminophen? That’s Tylenol, isn’t it?” Dalton suppressed a groan.

  The doctor smiled. “Yes, it is. Nothing gets past you, does it, Mr. Baxter? Don’t worry. With the added codeine, it’s much more potent than the kind you buy at your local drug store.”

  “Can’t you prescribe something stronger? Awhile back I used a drug called …um … let’s see if I can remember … Oxy … something or other?”

  “Oxycotin?”

  “That’s it. I took it last year after a back-country skiing accident on Agassiz Mountain.”

  “Let me guess … Doyle’s Saddle, right?”

  “Dumbest thing I ever got talked into.”

  “That eastern bowl is amazing. Don’t tell me you attempted that without some serious training?”

  “Guilty. My wife would have killed me if I hadn’t almost done it myself. My buddy and I met up with an avalanche. He escaped. I tore up my knee pretty bad. Now about those meds …”

  Dalton could sense the doctor’s breath as he worked on his face. The anesthesia worked well. Dalton felt only light pokes as the physician stitched.

  Once the gauze and tape were reapplied, Dalton asked, “What about my medication?”

  “Codeine will be less habit-forming.” The doctor pulled out his prescription pad.

  “My cheek feels like it’s been hit by a Mack truck and I’ve got a job interview this Thursday. I’ve got to have something more effective,” Dalton pleaded. “I was careful before, Doc. I can handle Oxy … trust me.”

  The doctor’s eyes seemed to search his. “Okay … I’ll give you a ten-day supply. But Mr. Baxter …” He held up his pen like a nun’s 12-inch ruler. “You need to be careful. Twelve hours between each dose. Do you understand?” He wrote out the order and gave it to him.

  Dalton snapped the paper. “Absolutely.”

  After signing release documents, the doctor looked up. “Have you arranged for a ride home?”

  “I’ve got someone I can call.”

  Adams pointed to the wound. “Have that looked at by your doctor within a week.” He gestured to the prescription in Dalton’s hand. “We have a pharmacy near the lobby where you can fill that.” He checked his wristwatch. “The nurse will be back in a few minutes with your first dose. No more pills before nine a.m. tomorrow. Is that clear?”

  “Got it. Thanks, Doc.”

  Dalton played a few rounds of solitaire on his iPhone as he waited for the nurse. The same surly woman swung back the curtain and handed him two yellow pills and a cup of water. “Frau” Schmidt glared, folding her arms, watching him like a prison guard. Crushing the pills would be out of the question. He gulped them down and leaned his head against the pillow.

  When Schmidt started to leave Dalton asked, “Were you able to get me something to eat?”

  “The cafeteria’s closed,” she grumbled, then rummaged in her pockets. She handed him some meager rations: a package of broken crackers and some juice. “I found these in the staff lounge. Chew on your left side.”

  Minutes later, she returned with an orderly. They helped him into to a wheelchair while familiar warmth coursed his body. As he rolled through hallway, he felt better. For half a minute, he considered going to Phoenix tonight. Showing up at Camelback Children’s, with his injury on display, Sammy and the others would realize he cared. By the time he reached the lobby, a more logical voice won the debate. Going to Phoenix wasn’t a good idea. Engaging an angry father wouldn’t be fun. Matt hated him. The welt behind his left ear testified to that.

  The orderly wheeled him toward the pharmacy while Dalton prayed for Charity Connor.

  God … I screwed up today … please let her be okay. The mounting debt between him and the Almighty seemed formidable. Could he ever even the scale? I’ll make things right once I get that job … I promise.

  He’d never meant to let anyone down. Sammy’s caustic tone replayed in his head. Maybe the dreadful nightmare had been a warning from God. He shuddered. If he didn’t get his act together, would tragedy visit the Baxter home?

  When he arrived at the pharmacy’s double glass doors, he saw a line of people wrapped around a rope chain. One person manned the counter. He patted the bulge in his pocket. The supply of pills he’d brought from the mountains would get him by. He tugged the attendant’s sleeve. “I changed my mind. I’ll get my meds tomorrow.”

  The attendant left him sitting near glass doors in the lobby and Dalton scrolled his phone contacts.

  ***

  Sunday, 11:25 p.m.

  “Deidra?”

  “Oh … Dawling … I hoped you’d call.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get back to you. I’m still in Prescott. Would you be able to pick me up at Camp Verde Hospital? Samantha’s in Phoenix helping another congregant’s family. I’m in the lobby near the ER.”

  “ER? What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I had a little accident. I’ll explain once you’re here.”

  Dalton waited over an hour, th
umbing through magazines. He looked out the window, watching. When would Deidra’s car appear in the hospital round-about?

  How should he handle this? She’d expect something for this little “favor.” Once back in McCormick, he’d remind her again that they could only be friends. No sense in upsetting her now. It might cost him a ride. Hopefully, she wouldn’t try anything. Not tonight. Not with his face stitched and swollen.

  He jiggled his foot, perusing the latest Time magazine, sucking the last of his apple juice with a straw. He’d tried eating a saltine, but even with the Oxy, burning needles exploded through his jaw so he chucked the crackers in the trash. His stomach grumbled, imagining Sammy’s homemade chicken soup simmering on the stove. But she was angry and hours away. Lukewarm Campbell’s would have to do.

  Headlights appeared at the end of the circular drive, then a red Lexus materialized behind the glow. Deidra had made it in record time. She emerged and waved as Dalton rolled himself through the exit. He met up with the driveway attendant who pushed him to the car. Wearing white silky shorts, Deidra staccato-stepped in pointy stilettos. They met at the passenger door.

  “Wow, Deidra, you got here sooner than I expected,” Dalton said.

  “I probably broke all the speed laws. Oh, Pastor ... hon … You look awful.”

  “I’ve had better days.” He collapsed into the creamy leather, hoping she wouldn’t talk his ear off the whole way home. His eyes burned, begging for sleep but the Oxy kept him alert. Maybe a cat nap against the window?

  Deidra rattled off questions while the car snaked through the encroaching darkness of Prescott National Forest. She floored the accelerator, squealing around treacherous cliffs. The way his stomach tossed, good thing it was empty. Deep dark gulches dropped down into blackness. Dalton gripped the edge of his seat. He hated being a passenger with this speed demon.

  “So, you think they’ll catch the guy?” she asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “How can people do such things?” She reached over and squeezed his knee.

  “Owww!” Dalton yelled.

  She snapped her hand back. “I’m sorry. Was that your bad knee?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “You poor man. I’ll get you home as soon as I can.”

  Good idea. He yearned to close his burning eyes.

  “Deidra, do you mind if I get some shut eye?” Pretending to be asleep would be easy. “It’s been quite a day.”

  “Of course, Pastor. I’ll play soft music to relax you.”

  A quick tap of a button, the stereo released classic rock and roll.

  “Oh, darn. That won’t do.” Deidra pressed a few other buttons from jazz to easy listening. When she landed on a talk-radio station, she stopped. The host seemed to capture her attention. “Recent sun activity has authorities concerned that the planet might be hit by a geomagnetic super storm,” he said. “If that happens, the power grids might be taken down. People would be wise to put away food and water … enough for thirty days.”

  Dalton twisted his face toward her. “Gordy’s into that. Always saying the earth could have a kill shot from the sun.”

  “Drake has an obsessive interest too. Drives me crazy. I don’t want to think about it.” Deidra tapped a button and brought Michael Bublé into the car.

  “Me neither. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.” Dalton turned back to the window, snuggling against the headrest. Romantic songs melded together, and he drifted in and out of sleep. The last thing he remembered was Deidra singing about feeling hot and fevered when someone kissed her. Her voice seemed to grow louder … almost as if she sang to him..

  Monday

  The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Psalm 24:18

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Broken Hearts

  _________________________________________________________

  Monday, 1:55 a.m.

  Connor Home

  McCormick, Arizona

  Grace dozed under a mermaid blanket while Samantha and Laney huddled near a window. “This can’t be real. Tell me it’s a bad dream, Laney. Is Charity really gone?” Samantha asked.

  “I can’t believe it either.” Laney dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “Shouldn’t we check on Matt and Carla?” Samantha asked.

  “When you went to the bathroom I did. Matt would like us to leave.”

  “Who else is still here?”

  “A few of the council members and their spouses. They’re discussing arrangements.”

  Samantha poked her head into the hallway. Hushed voices came from the kitchen. She glanced at the Hello Kitty clock near Charity’s bed. “It’s almost two. Folks need to go to bed. We’ll meet at the church later to make plans. I know Matt wants us to leave, but I can’t. Carla’s a mess.”

  “It’d be nice if someone was here. Martin and I will stay. You go. Dalton needs you.”

  “Believe me, he’s fine.” He had his pills, didn’t he? “He’s probably asleep.”

  Laney draped an arm around her shoulder. “Can we talk?”

  Samantha’s stomach twisted. “Okay.” She tucked the blanket around Grace and kissed her forehead, then followed Laney to the living room.

  Laney motioned her to a plaid couch by the fireplace.

  When they were seated, Laney’s eyes glistened with kindness. “Did you know Martin and I almost hit you yesterday morning on Kaibab Road?”

  “Was that you?” Samantha gasped. “I’m sorry. I was in a hurry.”

  “Where were you headed?”

  “To the church.” Samantha’s cheeks warmed. “I needed to speak to Dalton before he left.” She took in a deep breath. “I ended up following him all the way to Prescott.”

  “You did?” Laney’s brow furrowed.

  “There’s a lot more to this carjacking story than what I told you earlier.”

  “What?”

  “If I reveal what I know, my whole life will change.” Samantha’s eyes pooled. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

  “Do you want things to stay the way they are?” Laney asked.

  No, she didn’t. She was tired of hiding in the shadows, hoping Dalton would come to his senses. Between sniffs into a wad of tissue, Samantha poured out her heart. As she unraveled the twisted tale, the knots in her stomach loosened.

  “I hid behind a fern at the bus stop. Dalton was in the bathroom and I’m pretty sure I know what he was doing there.”

  “You do? What?”

  “Buying drugs.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Laney’s eyes became saucers. “How do you know that?”

  “I put things together when I followed him to the mountains.” She decided not to mention seeing Matt Connor exiting the bathroom door and that he was most likely Dalton’s dealer. She’d spare Carla and everyone else that part of the story. Hopefully Matt would confess on his own.

  She then proceeded to describe Dalton’s mountain mayhem.

  “He sank his car?” Laney asked.

  “That’s not all …” Samantha told her about the foothill chase. “He took his father’s hammer and hit himself in the face.”

  Laney’s mouth dropped. “What on earth …?”

  “It was all part of a devious plan.” Samantha’s anger climbed, remembering Dalton’s howls of pain, her own cries of disbelief.

  “What plan?”

  “Covering up a so-called robbery.”

  “I’m lost. What do you mean?”

  “He took the mission offering and used it to buy drugs. I know this because after he left the area, I dug up the duffle bag and found the pills. They’re hidden in my car.”

  “Oh ... mija ... how long has he been using?”

  “I think since his skiing accident.”

  “His leg was pretty mangled after that avalanche mishap. Then with knee surgery, the recuperation had to be awful.” Laney scooted close. “Dalton’s hook
ed on opiates,” she said matter of factly. “He couldn’t get free if he tried. He needs help, Samantha.”

  Disbelief flooded Samantha’s chest and she blinked. “Are you making excuses for him?”

  Laney placed a hand on Samantha’s clenched fist. “Of course not. He can only blame himself for the initial abuse. Once a person takes more than prescribed, an addiction is certain. Why on earth the government hasn’t taken them off the market is beyond me.” She squeezed Samantha’s hand. “Dalton’s out of control. I’ve worked with addicts. I know how they think.”

  Samantha wagged her head. “I … uh … don’t know what to do.”

  Laney hugged her tight, then looked into her eyes. “It’ll be okay. Your family and friends are here to help.”

  “I’m scared, Laney. When the council finds out, Dalton will go to jail.” She ripped her tissue into shreds, afraid to meet her friend’s eye. “Won’t he?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let me talk with Martin. Maybe we could handle this without involving law enforcement.”

  “I don’t think so. He filed a police report.”

  Laney exhaled a deep breath. She kept silent a moment. Samantha’s hopes rose like campfire smoke in the dawn. “With the right lawyer, a judge might be persuaded to sentence him to a recovery program instead of jail. I’ve seen that before.”

  Laney’s words blew away the thin wisps of optimism and reality barged in. “Dalton’s used all of our money. We can’t pay attorney fees.”

  “Maybe the church’s benevolence fund can help.”

  “After what he did?” The shredded tissue looked like snow in Samantha’s lap. She gathered the pieces into a ball.

  “None of this is your fault, Samantha. The congregation will want to help.”

  Samantha shook her head. “This is so humiliating. I’m embarrassed to ask.”

  “I know, honey.” Laney’s eyes filled. “May I pray with you?”

  She shrugged as Laney took her hands. Samantha didn’t know if God would even listen. The woman’s kind words loosened the blanket of shame that had suffocated Samantha for the past twelve hours. Hope stirred in her heart. Having a friend beside her made all the difference in the world.