Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  “Amanda says we could have the service this Saturday,” Carla said. “She assured me the sanctuary will be available whenever we need it.”

  “Not at your church, Carla. I can’t do that.” His clipped tone sounded angrier than he intended.

  Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

  Because he’d promised himself he’d never enter that building again. Now he wouldn’t have to. There’d be a funeral service all right, but without them. They’d be long gone before Saturday. Others would have to bury their daughter. That would be hard, yes, but staying in McCormick would be harder. They needed to follow Matt’s plan and leave the desert town for good.

  “Did you hear me, Matt? Why can’t we have the service at Saint Luke’s?”

  He’d wanted to wait. But her penetrating gaze and wobbly voice demanded an answer.

  He sighed. “I have something to tell you.”

  The silence grew while he gathered his courage. The image of Charity struggling to breathe in that hospital room swam in front of him. If his baby could face dying, he could tell the truth.

  “Matt? What?”

  “I … I’ve been dealing again.” He wanted to close his eyes, brace himself for her reaction, but he forced himself to keep talking. “I had to, babe. I did it for you and Charity.”

  Carla’s eyes grew large as she shook her head and inhaled sharply. “Am I hearing this right? After all we’ve been through … what are you saying?”

  He interrupted. “The bills were mounting, more than I could ever pay working that crummy job. I didn’t know what else to do.” He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away.

  Carla moved away and shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I was desperate.”

  “No more excuses, Matt! How could you do this?”

  “We could have lost our home.” He reached for her, but she pulled back.

  “Don’t touch me! You promised, Matt.” Her face twisted with pain. “So when you were delivering a package for your boss, you sold drugs?”

  “Yes ... to your minister.”

  “Pastor Dalton?” Her face emptied of all color. “You’re lying.”

  “He’s a junkie. He’s my biggest client.”

  “This can’t be true.”

  “He got arrested yesterday. Ask his wife, she’ll tell you.”

  “If that’s true then why haven’t you been arrested?”

  Good question. ”I don’t know.” Matt tried to connect with her eyes, but she looked away. “Please believe me, Carla. I’ll never do it again.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Let me make it up to you.” He may as well move forward with his plan. “Let’s sell this place and get out of McCormick.”

  “Move? I can’t move. This is where Charity is.” She climbed down from the stool and left, slamming their bedroom door.

  Okay, so he’d need to convince her. There was no way they could stay in this horrible town. They would move far, far away and have a new start.

  An hour passed. Matt pondered, ruminating through his plan. He drained the last dregs of his cold coffee. Carla would forgive him. Especially when she had another chance at being a mom.

  He heard the bedroom door open. Finally. Now he could talk to her rationally, help her see moving, a fresh start, was for the best.

  Matt turned to face her. She carried a small suitcase. He frowned.

  “I need some space.” The coldness in her voice rattled him.

  “I’ll be gone awhile,” she said. “I need to think.”

  An unbearable cocktail of fear and desperation mingled in his chest. “Don’t go.” His eyes welled. How could she leave him like this, with his heart in pieces? He needed her. He jumped from the stool and went to her. “Can’t we talk this out?”

  An open hand stopped him. ”You broke your word. Don’t follow me.” She left through the kitchen door. The rumble of her classic Ford Mustang as she drove away spurred his already racing emotions.

  He slammed balled fists on the counter and clenched his teeth. Fresh rage fueled his determination.

  This was the preacher’s fault.

  Matt fought the urge to scream his charge at the top of his lungs. But he forced deep and even breaths instead.

  It wasn’t time yet.

  But soon.

  Yes, soon.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Freedom Drive

  _________________________________________________________

  Saguaro Junction, AZ

  Wednesday, 5:30 p.m.

  Fresh air invigorated Dalton as he emerged from the jail lobby. Once they’d congregated at the street, T.T. and Bulldog ran in the opposite direction. They disappeared into an alley near the park.

  Dalton careened his neck and drank in his freedom. Sunlight pierced the dark clouds, splashing through a long, narrow passageway. He followed Martin and Jeremy as Gordy trudged beside him. Though he hadn’t felt his usual confidence and euphoria from Oxy since yesterday morning, he now felt alive and filled with hope. He grinned and eyed his son.

  “What gives, Dad?” Gordy frowned. “Why are you smiling?”

  “I guess I’m really happy you’re here, that’s all,” Dalton said.

  “What’s with that black stuff on your forehead?” he asked.

  “A cross, I think. Someone put it there this morning.”

  “One of your cell mates?”

  “No. Someone else,” Dalton said.

  “Who?”

  “I’ll tell you later. It’s a cool story.” Dalton smiled, remembering. He had a lot to say but now wasn’t the time. Seeing the VW parked at the end of the alley, everyone heightened their pace.

  Once they’d climbed in, Gordy cranked up the VW and ground the gears into reverse and backed up to a wide opening where he could turn around.

  Gordy applied the brakes, then looked at Dalton. His eyes narrowed. “I want you to know I only came today because Mom was worried about you. It may be months before the power comes back on.”

  So, Sammy sent them. Thank You, Lord. “I’m very grateful to all of you, I really am.”

  Gordy twisted toward the windshield and stared at the road. After easing the van to an abandoned parking lot, he suddenly applied the brakes a second time. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “I’m sorry, son. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done.”

  “You got that right.” Gordy jerked the clutch into first gear. With each shift, Gordy’s anger seemed to notch up. “My life is over, Dad. How could you do this to me? How could you do this to any of us? Gordy unloaded a list of his father’s offenses, from disappointing Grace to ripping off the church. From stealing from the elderly to lying to his family.

  Martin and Jeremy remained voiceless in the VW’s backseat courtroom. Dalton knew his son’s indictments were coming but hadn’t thought they’d be shared here … in front of congregants.

  “Can you give me a reason why?” Gordon removed a hand from the wheel and pounded the dashboard.

  Dalton bowed, shaking his head. He didn’t know himself. He no longer recognized the man he once was. “I’m guilty as charged, Gordy. I have no excuses. For months now, I led a life of deceit. The drugs became more important than my own family. I did whatever I could to get them. If it takes me a lifetime, I will pay everyone back. If there’s jail time, I’ll serve it.”

  Gordy straightened his spine and kept silent, never once turning his face toward him.

  “I have no right to ask you,” Dalton continued. “But … could you forgive me, son?”

  Gordy looked at him and wagged his head. “I need some time, Dad. I’m really angry at you.”

  ***

  Wednesday evening, 5:50 p.m.

  Baxter Home

  Matt hid behind a Palo Verde tree. It was one of many that lined the opposite side of Casa Blanca Ro
ad. His eyes lingered at the Baxter’s front windows. The sun draped the horizon, casting an orange silhouette around the home. Sunsets like this usually calmed him. Tonight, the orange and red hues magnified his simmering rage.

  Lights flickered through the windows. Probably candles. Like his family, the Baxters must have found rudimentary light sources wherever they could. He’d been in their home a few times before, for some church gatherings with Carla. He thought he remembered the layout. He’d never been upstairs though. That could be a problem.

  It was good he came early, while it was still light out. He’d gotten the lay of the land. He’d return later. After midnight, when darkness would be his best friend.

  Matt climbed into the old station wagon and cranked it to life. He’d always been ashamed of driving this bucket of bolts, but now he was glad he had a car that ran. Many didn’t. When he drove through the empty street, headlights approached. An aging Volkswagen van rumbled past. Matt looked at its driver. Baxter’s son, Gordy. Matt’s eyes swept to the man sitting next to Gordy, and he stilled. Dalton Baxter sat shotgun.

  You got out of jail, you S.O.B.! Matt steamed. Your day of reckoning will come. He smiled. So this was what revenge felt like.

  It was sweet.

  He pondered his plans while he drove toward McCormick to look for Carla. She often liked to take walks to clear her head. Maybe he could find her. She might even be with Laney. He wasn’t sure. Wait until she saw what he brought her tomorrow. She would forgive him and then they’d have a fresh start, far away from this place of misery.

  ***

  “That was Matt Connor,” Dalton said, watching the tail lights of the old brown Buick disappear around a corner. “I wonder if he’s looking for me.”

  “Why would he need to find you?” Martin asked.

  Dalton shifted nervously. He was tempted to lie. But he wouldn’t. The old Dalton must be kept at bay. No matter what.

  “Matt was my dealer. He’s the one I met in Prescott on Sunday. I’ve been buying from him for months.” Seeing their shocked faces, he quickly added, “I forced him to meet me, threatening to tell Carla he was dealing again.”

  Gordy’s face filled with revulsion. “Are you kidding me? His little girl died on Sunday.”

  “I know, son.” Dalton ran a hand over his face. “I’ll do whatever I can to make that up to the Connors.”

  “You can’t—” Gordy stopped, drew a breath.

  “You can’t give Matt more time with his daughter, Dalton.” Martin spoke quietly from the back seat. “Those minutes are gone forever.”

  Dalton sensed the fog of disappointment filling the van. He gulped down the unwelcome truth. Some things couldn’t be made right, no matter what.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Time With Grace

  _________________________________________________________

  Wednesday evening, 6:30 p.m.

  Baxter Home

  Dusk settled over the Baxter home depositing rosy splashes of light throughout the den. Grace’s golden curls reflected candlelight. Dalton snuggled close and they took turns reading Little House on the Prairie. How appropriate. They were now 21st century pioneers existing in an 1860 reality. Maybe he could learn something from the classic story.

  “Your cross is still there.” Grace pointed to his face.

  “I know it’s getting lighter but I don’t want to wash it off,” he said.

  “Why, Daddy?”

  He looked into her curious eyes and thought about his answer. He had carefully washed around the ash mark earlier. From its faded appearance, it was only a matter of time and it would be gone forever. Yet soap and water could never remove its impact from his life.

  “It means a lot to me. A friend put it there.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, so he read another paragraph.

  “What about my ice cream?” Grace nudged his arm.

  Dalton looked up from the book and smiled. “I’m never going to finish this chapter, Grace.”

  “It’s been two days, Daddy.” She frowned, crossing her arms. “Two days since you promised. And you got home this afternoon. It’s time for ice cream.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He set the book on the coffee table. “Let’s go to town, kiddo. Maybe we can find something open.”

  “Yay!” She jumped up and found her sneakers.

  It would be nice to get Grace out of the house, even if the stores were closed. Sammy had said barely a word to him since arriving home. There was still some time before the family meeting he’d requested for that evening at nine. He and Grace might as well enjoy what was left of the day.

  Grace trailed him as Dalton entered the kitchen. He grabbed Gordy’s keys from a wall hook. Shirley smiled, but Sammy said nothing.

  “Grace and I are going to town. Be back in a bit,” he said, walking through the breakfast room.

  Small town McCormick with its quaint Mom and Pop stores resembled the renowned Mayberry from the sitcom reruns his mother let him watch as a child. But the shopkeepers who boarded their windows on Main Street disrupted that image of old time Americana. The homey 1950’s atmosphere had surrendered to a 21st century panic.

  He turned left on Lincoln hoping Brewster’s Ice Cream Shoppe might be open. If the power stayed off, they’d be trying to get rid of their premium ice cream before it spoiled. He pulled to the corner and parked near the building. Grace exited the passenger seat and ran to the front door. Her face was mashed against the glass when he caught up with her.

  He joined her and looked inside. “I don’t see anyone. They must be closed.” He rattled the brass bell, then knocked. No one came. He waited a few seconds and tried again, then wrapped an arm around her back. “Let’s go. Maybe the market’s open.” Bailey’s Supermarket was likely closed too, but spending time with Grace would be worth the ten or so minutes it would take to walk there.

  “Sure, Dad,” she said as they rounded the corner to Jefferson. An older man with a paunch walked toward them, yielding a large mallet.

  Dalton stopped and tugged Grace behind.

  “Reverend Baxter, could I have a word with you?” the man asked.

  Dalton squinted through waning sunlight. At a closer look, it was Larry Woodbury, from Woody’s Toy Store.

  He relaxed. “Sure Larry, what’s up?” Grace resumed her place at Dalton’s side.

  “Have you talked with the mayor? Does he know how long the power will be out?”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Dalton said. “If I do, I’ll let you know.” Apparently, Woodbury was in the dark in more ways than one. Larry wasn’t aware of his arrest and that Dalton been too busy vomiting on a jail floor to check in with the mayor.

  ***

  Matt trolled another empty street hoping to see Carla. He’d have to implement his plan before she came home, but still he yearned to see her, just to make sure she was okay. But she was nowhere in sight. As the sun was quick to set, McCormick bustled with foot traffic amidst a stream of bicycles that seemed to be the new mode of travel.

  He’d passed a few blocks on Jefferson when he saw them. The preacher was talking to old man Woodbury. The girl stood near, while Baxter wrapped an arm around her back. Matt looked longingly at her.

  Fresh anger surged.

  How dare he pretend to love her? He wasn’t fit to be a father. Especially not to a beautiful and innocent daughter.

  He eased on the pedal and crawled past. Baxter didn’t notice him but the girl did. She looked up and smiled, then waved. He could almost see Charity’s eyes in hers. As he drove past, he returned the gesture, then watched her through the rearview mirror.

  This was the final sign he needed. God was showing him His favor. The girl obviously recognized his car. Probably because he’d taken Charity and her to the movies last month. He looked at the empty passenger seat, remembering. Charity should be there.

  She would be soon.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

&n
bsp; Family Meeting

  _________________________________________________________

  Wednesday, 8:15 p.m.

  Baxter Home

  Sammy and Shirley were canning in the kitchen when Dalton and Grace returned home. They’d been preserving butter in mason jars using a pressure cooker. The boxes of frozen butter they’d stocked up on a few months ago at Costco were being transformed into a much-needed staple. Shirley insisted the final product would keep for twenty-five years.

  Dalton wondered if they’d need to cope that long but was grateful for his mother-in-law’s expertise. Still … all the propane needed to complete such a task would drain their fuel resources. He shrugged. Oh well. Better not argue. Tonight, Sammy clearly called the shots. He’d stay out of her way until tonight’s family meeting.

  He looped Gordy’s keys on the hook and asked, “What can I do to help?”

  Sammy’s face remained void of emotion. “You can keep Grace entertained,” she said coolly.

  “Not a problem. I’d love to. In fact, she keeps me entertained,” Dalton said.

  Shirley chuckled and nodded. “Me too, son. She’s got so many questions these days.”

  Questions he’d always shoved off on Sammy. Not any longer. He’d take time with his daughter. No more distractions from the important things in life. T.V. shows and texting had been eliminated. Hours pondering his future, gone. Ask all the questions you want, Grace. Though he felt like an open book, ready to be read, only Grace dared to lift his cover.

  He joined her in the den and picked up the Little House classic when she announced, “I really want ice cream, Daddy.”

  “You know we tried. This is out of my control.”

  “It’s not fair.” Her lower lip quivered. “I waited for you to come back. You promised.”