Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  “Let’s go outside and see if there’s any storm damage,” Samantha told her mother. “You stay here, sweetheart.”

  The girl nodded and opened the book again as they left through the side door.

  “How’d she do during the monsoon?” Samantha asked when they’d joined Gordy outside.

  “The thunder made her nervous but once the lights appeared she forgot about the storm.”

  Samantha looked at Gordy. “No lights on inside, son. What should we do now?”

  “You’re having that church meeting, right?”

  “Yes. Martin wants to get together in the annex on Thursday. We’ll see where the needs are, so we can help one another.”

  “How will people know about the meeting?” he asked.

  “Laney and Martin printed a flyer at the church office early this morning. The plan was to assemble a team and distribute them door-to-door this afternoon.”

  “Will everyone be there … uh … or … is it just for the adults?” Gordy asked. Samantha noticed the worry in his eyes. Enduring two long days before seeing Bethany again would be difficult.

  “Anyone can attend. You too, Mom.” She looked at her mother, raising her brows.

  Mom smiled. “Really? I’ll go. It’s been years since I’ve seen Laney.”

  Samantha forced herself not to stare at the shimmering auroras over the horizon. “We’ve got to get some news,” she said. “We need to know how bad this thing is.”

  “Maybe someone in the church has a short-wave radio. People on the other side of the globe might have power,” Gordy said. When he twisted a faucet, the water dribbled.

  “Uh oh. That’s not good.” He dropped the hose.

  Samantha shook her head. “I didn’t think about that,” she said. “The well’s powered by electricity.”

  “Do you have a hand pump?” Gordy asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll check the garage.”

  “I’ll go,” Grams said. “I have one at the cabin. I know what they look like.”

  “I’ll go with you, Grams,” Gordy said.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” Samantha smiled at her son. “You’ve become a man overnight.”

  “I don’t feel very brave, Mom. I’m sort of freaked out.” His eyes seemed to search hers. “After we get back, can we talk? I have an idea.”

  Samantha agreed and watched them walk toward the shed. “Look behind the blue storage tubs,” she called. “There’s stuff stashed there from when we first moved here. You might find a pump.”

  Gordy shuffled behind his grandmother. The lack of sleep seemed to be taking its toll. From the back, his wide shoulders and brown spiky hair mirrored Dalton’s.

  But today, that was where their resemblance ended. Dalton was in jail because of his selfishness and his addiction. While their son was growing into a man—a good and caring man—right before her eyes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  New Normal

  _________________________________________________________

  12:20 p.m.

  Saguaro Junction Sheriff’s Office

  The deputy appeared at the bars carrying small paper sacks. “You guys ready for lunch?” he asked. Dalton dragged himself to a sitting position. The Apache pressed the remote several times. Nothing happened. The deputy slapped his forehead and chuckled to himself. “I keep forgetting.” He set down the food, then pulled a massive ring of keys from his pocket. He set the lunches on the floor. “Eat up,” he said. He secured the jail and left.

  Bulldog lunged at the food like a ravenous wolf and tossed one of the bags to T.T. Dalton picked his up and looked inside. There was a sandwich, an apple, and a pint of milk. He debated with himself. He’d need to eat to keep up his strength but surging nausea seemed to be winning the hunger game.

  But he had to eat. He’d become weaker if he didn’t. He opened the sandwich and scowled. Bologna and processed cheese between white bread. He took a cautious bite, chewing on the good side of his mouth. It was dry, no mayonnaise or mustard.

  Hot needles stabbed through his cheek so he rewrapped the sandwich and set it aside. He’d save it for later. He opened the milk and took several gulps, washing away the remnants of bread that clung to the roof of his mouth. He refilled the milk container with water a few times, enjoying long drinks. He dropped the apple into his pocket.

  “I’ll take that if you don’t want it.” T.T. pointed to the bulge. Bread crumbs clung to the fat man’s face. He licked his lips. “How about the rest of my sandwich?” Dalton offered.

  “Give me both.”

  Dalton decided this would not be the hill he would die on. He had no energy to argue. He handed T.T. his food.

  “Thanks, man.” T.T. chomped into the red skin.

  “I wonder how long the lights will be off.” Bulldog looked up at the darkened lights.

  “It could be a long time,” Dalton said. “My son believes the outage is from a CME.”

  Bulldog cursed. “That isn’t good.”

  “What’s a CME?” T.T. asked.

  “A plasma ejection from the sun that zaps the planet’s electricity,” Bulldog told him.

  Dalton stared at Bulldog. T.T. stopped chewing.

  “What are you sayin’?” T.T. asked through a mouthful of food.

  “We might not have power for months,” Bulldog added.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “High school, man. I paid attention in some of my classes.”

  Bulldog took over the conversation and Dalton leaned back and closed his eyes. Misery climbed through his gut and talking was difficult. His stomach agitated like an old washing machine. He felt like regurgitating the milk he just drank.

  “For months?” T.T. asked, then shrugged. “As long as I get my bail hearing, I don’t care.”

  Dalton wondered about his court appearance too. If everyone was worried about the CME, he might be stuck here a long time. He shut his eyes and stretched across the bench. It might help if he dozed off. But his body shivered and his skin crawled, preventing any sleep.

  ***

  12:59 p.m.

  Connor Home

  Matt Connor looked out his daughter’s window. The waning auroras had been eclipsed by grey, gloomy clouds, matching his mood. Carla was in the kitchen, mere feet away yet the distance between them felt like miles.

  The electricity had been off for an hour. Just what he needed on top of everything else. He dreaded the funeral home appointment. It solidified his nightmare. This wasn’t just a bad dream. His little girl lay on a slab of metal, her cold cheeks waited in the darkness for his final kiss.

  The church council had voted to help. Money trickled in from the congregation, giving them enough to bury their daughter. Laney and Martin offered to join them at the mortuary, but Matt told them no. He and Carla would handle it themselves. As much as he liked Carla’s church friends, seeing them reminded him too much of their pastor.

  Minutes ticked by. He stared at nothing in particular. The lack of electronic noise grated his nerves. A blaring television might have helped silence the voices in his head. The atmosphere seemed laden with accusation.

  He’d been a terrible father and a failure as a husband and he still hadn’t told Carla the truth. What would she do once she found he was dealing again? Would she believe that her own pastor was his biggest client? He doubted it. She thought the world of that so-called minister.

  Matt ground his teeth. Baxter would pay. But not in dollars. That would be too easy. Baxter must suffer like Matt had suffered. Now the only problem was how to do it.

  ***

  “We found it.” Gordy clutched a water pump and some papers when he and Grams joined his mom inside. He grinned. “Brand new in the box … with instructions.”

  “Are you ready to tell us what’s on your mind?” she asked, cradling a steamy cup.

  “I am. Can we sit down?” He slid across the vin
yl seat. Samantha scooted next to him as Grams pulled up a chair. “Where did you get the hot water?” he asked, pointing to his mother’s coffee.

  “I boiled it outside.” She nodded to the kitchen window. A kettle steamed on the Coleman he and Grams had brought from the mountains. “Thanks for bringing Grandpa’s camp stove. It works fine.” She gestured to an assortment of Starbucks Via boxes and teabags. “Choose your pleasure. I’ll get the water.”

  When his mom returned, Gordon drowned two instant coffee packs with water.

  “Whoa … that’s a lot of caffeine,” his mom said.

  “I need the extra shot,” he said, stirring the brew.

  “Gordy … tell your mom your idea,” Grams said.

  “As soon as I get some cream.” He exited the booth and opened the fridge, then retrieved some half and half from the top shelf. He slammed the door shut and spun around. “We’re going to lose most of this food.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” his mother said. “We’ll move everything to the garage freezer. It’s caked with ice and should give us a few days if we don’t open it much. I can grill the meat and make sandwiches for the church meeting.”

  “You won’t need to do any of that once you hear my idea,” he said.

  “Tell me. I’m too tired for suspense right now.” She grinned, giving him a curious look.

  “Let’s load up the cars and head back to Grams. It’ll be safer in the mountains.”

  “Gordster and I talked about this,” Grams interjected. “The whole family can come. I’ve got plenty of room.”

  His mom shook her head. “It would be nice, but we can’t. What about our friends? What about the congregation? Then … there’s your dad. I need to go to his hearing.”

  “Why should we care about him?” Gordon bit out. “He didn’t think of us when he took those drugs and stole that money.”

  “You have every right to be angry, Gordy,” his mom said. “But we need to put those feelings aside, just for now. If the power doesn’t come on, something horrible could happen to him.”

  “Dad’s locked up and being taken care of,” Gordon said. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

  “He needs medical attention. The withdrawals have probably started and if civil unrest becomes a reality, law enforcement will have their hands full. Your dad’s condition won’t be very high on their priority list.” She took a sip of coffee and studied her steaming mug. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m still angry, too. This has hurt me in ways I … I never imagined. In ways I can’t tell you. I’ve even considered divorce.” She looked up finally, met his gaze. “But the more I pray, the more I feel sorry for him. God must be changing my heart.”

  “I agree with your mom.” Grams grabbed his hand and squeezed. “This type of addiction is similar to what I went through. It took a miracle to kick heroin. I wish your grandpa was here. He’d tell you.”

  Seriously, Grams? Gordon stifled a groan. There was no comparison. His grandparents had been hippies. No one understood the implications of drug use back then. Not like today. His dad knew better. Gordon shrugged. He wouldn’t argue but rage continued to simmer inside.

  He drained his mug and grabbed another package of Via. Hopefully the coffee would revive him. A looming list of chores competed for his attention but the fatigue that had stolen his energy seemed to be winning. Figuring out how to hook up the water pump might take hours so that would be first.

  He tapped in the powdery coffee and stared at the empty packet. He held it up. “This could come in handy.”

  “How?” his mom asked.

  “Can you imagine what people would do to have a cup of Starbucks if the lights stay off? How many of these do you have?”

  “About twenty boxes. Got them on sale in Phoenix last month.”

  “Hold on to them. They’re gold.” Gordon refilled his mug from the kettle, then picked up the pump and placed it on the table. He spread out the two page instruction booklet. “I’ll do this first. Then we’ll transfer the food.”

  “Grams and I will do that. Grace’s old wagon is perfect for hauling.”

  “I’ll get Grace,” Grams said. “She’ll love to help.”

  His grandmother hurried from the room toward the den. Good thing she’d agreed to leave her mountain home and come with him to McCormick. He might be “the man of the house,” but having Grams here somehow made him feel everything would be okay.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Goodbye Charity

  _________________________________________________________

  1:55 p.m.

  Grace Park Funeral Parlor

  McCormick, Arizona

  “This is ridiculous. How can they be closed?” Matt pounded on the door. Ironically, like its patrons, McCormick’s only funeral home was deathly quiet.

  “Shouldn’t we call?” Carla asked. “Maybe we got the time wrong.”

  “My phone’s not working. What about yours?”

  “Mine’s off, too. It’s weird, monsoons never do this.”

  “Let’s go around back.” Matt suggested. They crossed the manicured lawn to a side gate.

  Matt fingered the top and found a latch. He pulled the gate open and they hurried through a narrow walkway. Metal shelving laden with grave stones leaned against the building. Matt looked away and hurried to catch up with Carla. She’d already disappeared around the corner. The sight of the headstones must have gotten to her. Him too.

  They reached the back door and banged simultaneously.

  Moments later Mr. Copeland, the undertaker, opened it.

  “You must be the Connors.” He stepped back, gesturing them in. “Please come to my office. I wanted to call you but the phones are out.” They followed him into a small room with an oak desk and two chairs. A thin candle flickered near a desk phone, barely lighting the room. “Please have a seat.” Matt collapsed into one of the chairs but his wife remained standing.

  “I want to see my daughter,” she demanded.

  “She’s not ready.” The mortician’s brows knitted and his eyes glistened with sympathy. “Please … Mrs. Connor … give me some time.” He seemed to struggle for words. “The little one will look like an angel when you see her. For some strange reason, I can’t get my generator to start but I’m sure the power will be on soon. Let’s reschedule for tomorrow. Will morning work for you?”

  Carla bolted toward the door. “I want to see her now!”

  Matt jumped to his feet and followed. “Mr. Copeland’s right, honey.” He gently turned her to face him. “We’ll return in the morning.” He pulled her close. She bristled.

  “I don’t care what you say.” She wiggled free, her eyes shot bullets. “No one’s going to stop me from seeing my baby.” She walked to the hallway, then turned to Mr. Copeland who stood next to Matt. “Where can I find her?”

  The mortician wagged his head. He walked around Carla and spread his hands to each wall, blocking the narrow hallway. “I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Connor. It’s against regulation. Besides, during a power outage, the vault remains sealed.”

  “Just try and stop me!” She pushed at his shoulder but he didn’t budge. His exasperated expression begged Matt to do something.

  “Mr. Copeland, seeing that it’s monsoon season, the power might be off for days,” Matt said. “If that’s true, wouldn’t it be better to let Carla see her now … uh … before … she begins to … uh … look worse?” Matt hoped his attempt at negotiation would prevail. He could tell Carla was close to her breaking point, close to exploding.

  Mr. Copeland sighed deeply. “I’ll make an exception just this once.” He dropped his arms to his sides. “Only five minutes, Mrs. Connor. We must keep the body preserved as long as possible. Do you understand?”

  Carla nodded and he let her pass.

  “This is a mistake,” Mr. Copeland mumbled loud enough for Matt to hear.

  Yeah, it probably was.

  CHAPTER FORTY
-THREE

  Grief and Withdrawals

  _________________________________________________________

  3:12 p.m.

  Downtown McCormick

  Matt gripped the steering wheel. If only he could do something to help make this nightmare go away.

  Carla dabbed her eyes with a crumpled tissue while she sobbed in the passenger seat. Lifeless stoplights slowed the afternoon traffic while tensions mounted on Main Street. Driving through the sluggish street, he searched for an open restaurant. Carla hadn’t eaten a decent meal since Sunday morning. But everything looked closed. No power, no cooking, no food. He wondered how long this could last. Had the monsoons done permanent damage to the grid?

  “Are you hungry?” Matt touched her hand.

  “No.” She jerked away and turned toward the window. A painful lump lodged in his throat. May as well head home. He turned down a side alley and took an alternate detour to their neighborhood.

  When they entered the house, Carla rushed to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. He hesitated in the hallway, wanting to twist the doorknob while horrific memories from the funeral home replayed in his mind.

  Their precious baby lay naked on the mortician’s slab. Her eyes were sealed and her blue lips sagged over ghostly white skin. Carla screamed. Matt would never forget the image of his wife clutching their daughter’s body to her chest.

  Did she blame him for Charity’s death? Hadn’t he done all he could to keep a roof over their heads during the treatments? So what if he’d chosen the life of dark alley deals and low-lifes. What else could he do? Though government assistance helped, Charity’s outpatient care took everything they had. If Carla was this broken now, what would happen once she found out he’d gotten back into the drug trade?

  Matt went to the garage to find his camping stove. He hunted through some shelves until he located his four-burner Coleman. Inside a metal cabinet he found some lanterns and a short-wave radio. Near one of the walls, he collected some fuel containers. He piled everything on the patio table and attached a canister to the stove.