Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  ***

  “That looks nasty.” Bee pointed at the blackening clouds outside the breakfast window.

  They talked about the different CME scenarios as lightening splintered dark clouds. The storm gathered speed.

  Sipping drinks across from each other at the table, Gordy knew he should tell her about his dad. But how could he bring it up? How do you tell someone your dad was an addict and a thief?

  “Gordster. Spill it.” Bee’s order broke the silence between them.

  He shifted on his chair. “What?”

  “You wanted to tell me something.”

  Gordon cleared his throat and looked down at the table. “My dad …he’s in major trouble. He broke the law.”

  “Pastor D?”

  He listed his father’s crimes. “He’s ruined everything. He’ll probably go to jail.”

  “Jail?” Bee’s eyes formed large blue pools, her mouth fell open.

  “We don’t have bail money. Dad will have to stay put while he waits for trial. Mom called a lawyer who goes to Saint Luke’s. He thinks Dad will be charged.”

  “I can’t believe this. Pastor D baptized me …” Bee’s voice trailed off.

  “I’m shocked, too. I never suspected my dad would do anything like this.” Gordon exhaled, then took a sip of coffee. His best friend finally knew. He wasn’t alone anymore.

  She seemed to sense his relief because she segued to a lighter topic concerning the upcoming school year. “Can you believe classes start in two weeks?”

  “I know. It’s crazy.” Would a high school education be part of a non-electric America? He kept that thought to himself.

  “I lead the cheer squad this year.” She winked at him.

  Heat climb into his cheeks. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re really good. When’s practice?”

  “Next week. Coach Jensen told us to bring our suits. They’re letting us use the pool afterwards.” She stared at the weather outside. “A storm like this would be nice. At least we’d be inside. I hate doing our routines in the heat.”

  Rain pelted the windows. Gordon stood. “Time to get you home before this gets really bad. Gotta wake my mom and then we’ll leave.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Jail Time

  _________________________________________________________

  9:45 a.m.

  Near Saguaro Junction, Arizona

  Dalton mashed his face against the passenger window. He stared at the pines lining the road. One of Martin’s windshield wipers scraped across the glass, grating on his last nerve. He needed more medicine. He still had a pill in his sock but couldn’t be seen taking it. Not now. Not in front of Martin.

  This couldn’t be happening. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He used his shirt cuff to wipe them away. Rain sheeted the window as they neared the mountain town of Saguaro Junction.

  “Not much further,” Martin said.

  Dalton twisted around. He could see buildings ahead. Regret roiled through his gut. Surrendering at this small sheriff’s substation was the deal he’d made with the councilmen.

  “If you turn yourself in at Saguaro Junction,” Martin told him earlier, “we’ll make the stop at the cemetery.” Dalton agreed. Now he wondered if it had been such a good idea. If Sammy was right and he was arrested, Prescott’s upscale jail had to be better than what this one-horse-town had to offer.

  As they moved through the quiet community, hushed whispers came from the backseat. Were Harold and Jeremy debating whether he should be fired? Hadn’t he worked at being a good pastor? Had they forgotten all the good things he had done? Couldn’t they cut him some slack?

  “According to the GPS, it’s three blocks up,” Martin said. Dalton looked at the digital display on the console. New knots formed in his stomach.

  ***

  9:55 a.m.

  Baxter Home

  The rhythmic pelt of rain lulled Shirley Weston to sleep under a homemade quilt in Dalton’s office. One of hers, in fact, a gift to Samantha for her wedding.

  Dreaming, she saw her husband, Stephen. His waist-length hair whipped through the wind. They walked together through a park. He stopped suddenly and pointed to a bank of black clouds. “Hold on, sweetheart! Storm’s coming.”

  Clap! Boom!

  The thunder outside jarred Shirley awake. She sat up and scanned her surroundings. Stephen was gone and once again she was alone. Relief came, seeing the neon alarm clock on her son-in-law’s desk. They still had power. She rubbed her eyes and thought about the vision. Her husband’s ominous words seemed like a warning. She got up and headed to the kitchen to find Samantha.

  ***

  10:15 a.m.

  Saguaro Junction Sheriff’s Office

  “You have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer questions. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law.”

  Miranda’s famous words. Until now, Dalton had only heard them on cop shows. This all seemed surreal. Were these words really for him? When he had emptied his pockets on the counter, Sheriff Owen Winters, a short man with hairy arms, turned him toward a wall and cuffed him. “If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present,” Winters continued, “you still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand your rights, Reverend?”

  “Yes,” Dalton answered. Other than addressing him as “reverend”, a lot of good the collar had done. When he searched the councilmen’s faces, he saw widened eyes filled with worry.

  The officer guided him toward an open doorway and Dalton heard Martin call out, “It’ll be okay, brother. The church will be praying for you.” If only God would hear their prayers.

  ***

  10:20 a.m.

  Sherriff Winters inked and pressed Dalton’s fingers on a fingerprint chart then snapped two mug shots in front of a white wall. He hadn’t been given a placard of numbers to hold against his chest. The technology of the modern world, he guessed. Even in the boonies, numerical assignments were issued from cyberspace.

  He walked with Winters to a holding area. Dalton tried to give him eye contact. The man remained stoic.

  “Everything off,” the officer ordered.”

  “Everything?” Dalton swallowed hard as he took off his clerical collar.

  “Standard protocol. We need to cavity search you.”

  Heat flushed through Dalton’s face as he removed everything but his socks. He shivered on a steel bench, naked. A monster of a man entered the room. The giant smiled, revealing a gap between his two front teeth.

  “This is Deputy Chachu but we call him Charlie.” The Native American walked toward him, thick black hair tied behind his neck, the tail tucked into his collar. “Take those off.” The deputy pointed to his socks. Dalton stifled a groan and carefully removed them, staring longingly at the little yellow pill that bounced and rolled across the floor, out of reach. The deputy failed to notice.

  Chachu rummaged through a satchel he’d brought with him. He pulled out two LED flashlights, a tube of petroleum jelly and some rubber gloves. The sound of snapping plastic made Dalton’s skin crawl. How had it come to this humiliation? An eternity passed while he gritted his teeth through the procedure.

  “Here,” Winters said when it was finally over. The officer handed him a stack of clothing. A Ziploc with toiletries, including a new rubber toothbrush had been placed on top. “Put these on.”

  Sandwiched between the plastic bag and a towel, was a bright orange jumpsuit, some tube socks and sneakers. Dalton winced.

  “Wear your own skivvies. Get moving. We don’t have all day.”

  He put on his underwear, then climbed into the carrot-colored garb. It was at least three sizes too big. He tugged at the gaping sides, questioning both men with raised eyebrows.

  “It’s all we have,” Deputy Charlie said. “Once you’re taken to the detention center, you’ll get something that fits
.”

  “Detention center?”

  “Your new home if you can’t make bail. It’s in Prescott. Our facility only has holding tanks.”

  Goose flesh prickled his skin. He ground his teeth, tried to control the ensuing shaking in his arms. The thought of being locked up indefinitely caused … panic to coil like a rattler about to strike.

  He pulled on socks and sneakers while Winters stuffed his pricey duds into a blue plastic bag. After the officer crammed in the Italian leather shoes, he zip-tied it shut. He threw the bag over his shoulder, then left the room.

  Dalton stared at the tiny tablet about four feet away.

  “Let’s go,” the deputy said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Is there any way I can make a phone call?”

  “That comes next.”

  After being cuffed a second time, Dalton was led through a narrow hallway to a room with three pay phones.

  “Make it collect. All calls are recorded.” The officer removed Dalton’s restraints.

  Sweat beaded his forehead as he pressed zero for the operator.

  Once Samantha accepted his call she asked, “You’re in custody?”

  “It’s horrible. Can you post bail for me?”

  Silence lingered between them until she finally said, “We don’t have money for that or an attorney. Thanks to you, there’s nothing in our bank accounts.”

  “Borrow it from your mother!” Fear made that come out harsher than he’d intended. “I mean, please ask your mother.”

  “She promised to help us with the mortgage so we won’t lose our home. I can’t ask for anything else.”

  His vision narrowed and he swayed, like he was going to pass out. He inhaled sharply. A doctor had once told him, “Take a deep breath and count to ten.” It was supposed to ward off a panic attack. He felt calmer but the phone quivered in his fingers.

  “Dalton … are you there?”

  “Isn’t there anyone you can call?”

  “No.”

  “I guess I’ll figure things out on my own.”

  “Gene Snyder says you’ll have to stay put until your arraignment.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “This morning. And despite you hocking his mother’s heirloom, he was very helpful over the phone. That teapot had been in his family for over two hundred years.” Sammy’s voice climbed. “How could you?”

  He shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. How could he do any of this? And lie to Winifred Snyder. She was one of the pillars in the church. What kind of man had he become?

  “The pawn ticket’s in my office at the church.” He cleared his voice then spoke louder. “I can get it back, Sammy. I have thirty days.”

  “Gene picked it up a few hours ago.” Her voice hardened again. “Thanks to you, I now have to come up with five hundred dollars to pay him back.”

  He let out a long sigh. “When do I go to court?”

  “Gene said it could be three days to a week. He wasn’t sure.”

  Three days? He’d never been that long without his medicine.

  “There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” she said. “It’s not good.”

  What could be worse? “You better hurry. They say I only have a few minutes.”

  “Gordy came home early. The sun’s doing strange things. Are you familiar with a CME?”

  “Some type of a solar flare?”

  “One’s headed toward Earth. It will hit some time in the next few hours. Gordy says it’s massive. We could lose power for months. I want you to know in case something happens.”

  Dalton gripped the phone and shifted on his feet. She was freaking out about a few blackouts when his whole future was at stake?

  “Time’s up, Baxter.” Dalton pivoted and glared at the gigantic Apache standing over him.

  “They say I have to hang up … Sammy … I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of this …”

  Before she responded, the deputy took the phone and slammed it to the receiver. “Calls are restricted to five minutes. You got six. Let’s go.” The deputy replaced the handcuffs and led him back the way they came.

  ***

  Samantha yanked the cell away from her ear and looked at her mother. “He hung up on me!”

  “I’m sorry dear,” her mother said. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I can loan you more money.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve done enough. Dalton’s made his own bed.”

  The sound of an engine rumbled outside.

  “Gordy’s back.” She wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders as the front door opened. Her son’s rapid footsteps approached.

  “Have you heard from Dad? Is he in jail?” Gordy asked when he joined them. He dropped his keys. They clattered across the counter. His hair was wet and disheveled, his t-shirt soaked.

  “He’s being processed.” Samantha quickly changed the subject. “It must be bad out there.” She raked her fingers through his hair. “How’d it go with Bethany?”

  “She was stunned.” He shrugged. “I hated her knowing.”

  “It’s a hard thing to tell anyone.” Samantha studied her son. Gordy’s bleary eyes were circled in red. “Why don’t you get some rest?” she asked.

  “I can sleep later. Tell me about Dad.”

  “He’s at Saguaro Junction Sheriff’s Office.”

  “What happened to Prescott?”

  “It’s the 7th and you know your father rarely misses.”

  “Really? He went today?”

  “Wouldn’t turn himself in unless they agreed”

  “This fixation with Grandma’s grave is nutty. It’s been … what … ten years since she died?”

  “Nutty or not, he got his way. With the condition that they go to a closer town.”

  Gordy poured himself a glass of Mountain Dew, then tossed in three ice cubes. “I can’t believe Dad’s a druggie.”

  “I can’t say I was surprised,” Grams said. “That man has a lot of pain.”

  Samantha turned to her mother. “You’re not excusing him, are you?”

  “No, dear. But I do understand.”

  “Remember Trevor Johnson?” Gordy interjected. “He got hooked on meth last summer right after graduation. He’s in rehab right now.”

  “The football star?” Samantha’s eyes widened.

  “Yep.” Her son chugged a full gulp of soda. “No one could believe it. He blew a full ride at A.S.U.”

  “Our choices can ruin our lives,” Grams said.

  “Dad’s have ruined mine.” Gordy set his soda down.

  “Don’t believe that for a minute,” Grams said. “Your future’s in God’s hands, not your father’s.” She lifted Gordy’s chin. A tear slipped from his eye. He quickly wiped it away, looking embarrassed.

  “Things will be okay,” Grams said. “Hold on to the Lord, Gordy.”

  Samantha wished she could hold on to God. She needed to grab His hand and not let go until this whole mess was over. But right now He seemed a million miles away.

  “The whole town will know about this,” Gordy said. “How will I face my friends?”

  “With your head held high,” Grams said.

  “If this thing hits earth, do you really think people will care about what your father did?” Samantha asked.

  He shrugged at both of them, looking at the storm outside. “I guess you’re right. If the grids go down, all hell will break loose.”

  “One thing’s for sure. Your father needs treatment,” Samantha told him. “Laney says coming off these drugs is excruciating. From how he sounded on the phone, I believe he’s starting withdrawals.” She flipped on the electric kettle. Another cup of coffee would help keep her awake.

  Gordy responded with another shrug. He picked up his soda and walked toward the back door, then turned around. “I’ve got to check our supplies in the shed. Can you make me a sandwich?”

  “Sure, hon. I got most of
your check-list this morning. We can make a run into town if we need anything else. Thank goodness we have a pool.”

  “It’s great we live in the boonies, too,” he said. “We may need to hunker down a few weeks.”

  “Take down the umbrellas on your way to the storage unit. Put them in the back, near the Christmas boxes. The winds are raging out there.”

  “I will. Sure looks gloomy out. Sort of how I feel right now.”

  “Me too,” Samantha said.

  “Me three,” her mother added as she sat in the breakfast booth.

  Samantha watched Gordy leave the kitchen. He hurried through the rain toward the shed, a large umbrella tucked under each arm. Only three days had passed since he’d left for her mother’s cabin, yet in her eyes, the boy who had left had become a man.

  What awaited them today? Would her faith hold out long enough to get her through? Hopelessness crept up her bones like overgrown ivy swallowing a shack. Even if they were spared this CME catastrophe, Dalton’s legal troubles and the family’s public disgrace were too much to bear. She collapsed with a thud across from her mother.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Getting Ready

  _________________________________________________________

  10:40 a.m.

  McCormick, AZ

  Wind assaulted Samantha’s face. She ran through the yard, cradling a plate of food. The black sky grew more ominous by the minute, a tell-tale sign of the impending monsoon.

  She opened the shed’s side door and found Gordy nestled among several boxes. He’d organized them, forming towers across the cement floor. Samantha offered him the plate which contained a chicken sandwich and his favorite chips, along with an apple. He took a seat on a heavy box of kerosene and dove in.

  “I never found the heirloom vegetables you wanted.” She pointed to a box of seeds near the lawn mower. “I think Jacobsen’s Hardware has them. I can stop by on my way back from Laney’s.”

  “Buy everything they have. GMO seeds are useless,” Gordy said. “They don’t reproduce. We can save what you bought for bartering.”