She heard Stephen cross toward the bed and the springs give as he sat down. She tugged her sweater tighter and then lifted one hand to wipe her eyes again. She hated it when Stephen saw her tears. She purposely lightened her voice. “Just getting off your shift?”
“Yes. I have something for you.”
He was always bringing her something. The feel of what he placed in her hand caught her interest. It was fuzzy, small, and the bottom was smooth and warm. She tried to figure it out by touch and when it hummed she smiled. “A Furby thing?”
“They call it a muffin. Your hand warms it up and the heat causes it to hum and then vibrate.”
“It’s cute.” She held it in her palm until the vibration started. She carefully set it on the table and it went quiet.
The silence lengthened and became awkward, but she didn’t know how to fill it.
“Meghan, I’m sorry—”
She nearly picked up the book and tossed it at him. “Don’t! Don’t apologize. I’m sick of people apologizing.” Even the cops said they were sorry. They couldn’t find the driver who caused this. It wasn’t Stephen’s fault he hadn’t traveled that road thirty minutes earlier. It wasn’t her fault for being on that road instead of the highway—it just was. She couldn’t handle another apology. She looked down after the outburst and in frustration tugged at the blanket to get it around her cold feet.
Stephen sighed. “Here.” His hand slid behind her ankles and lifted her feet, the blanket pulled under them to protect her from the cold floor. He squeezed her knee as he resumed his seat. “I was just going to say I was sorry for coming by so late. I got held up doing paperwork.” She heard pillows thump against the headboard. “There’s a good TV movie on tonight if you want a reason to fall asleep against me again like a bundled-up snail.”
She knew he wasn’t intending to say he was sorry for that, but at least he hadn’t pursued the subject. A movie would be good. As long as it was a classic she could remember most of the scenes. She didn’t want to have a conversation where she had to dance around avoiding answers to how she was feeling and what the doctors said.
“If you can get around here,” she shifted back in the chair and pulled over the table, “let’s play a game of checkers.” He had whittled her a full set: red ones had ridged edges, black ones smooth. The checkerboard brought up from rehab therapy had slim wooden ridges marking off the squares so the checkers could be touched yet not moved out of their square. She’d played endless games with her father just to pass the time.
“Sure.” Stephen moved over another chair.
He caught her hand as she set out her pieces, gently turned her wrist, and lifted her hand to his nose. “JoAnne has been by. Nice perfume.”
“It’s kind of soft. I liked yesterday’s better. You smell a bit like soap and a lot like that cologne of Jack’s.”
“I grabbed a shower. I didn’t figure you’d appreciate road oil and skunk.”
“Really? What happened?”
“A car wreck when the driver swerved to avoid hitting the animal. It was a big, fat, old-timer of a skunk and the car ran over it. Guys were putting Vicks under their noses and wearing face masks if they had to spend any time near the vehicle.”
Meghan laughed for the first time in days. “Oh my, that must have been a sight.” She settled her hand on the checkerboard, selected a piece, and made her first move. Stephen took her hand and showed her his.
A game that would have normally taken twenty minutes to play took them an hour. She was grateful Stephen didn’t interrupt her concentration. She lost, but at least she’d been able to get a few pieces crowned this time.
“You’re improving.”
“It’s still hard to hold more than two moves in my memory at a time.” She picked up one of the pieces. “You did a really nice job with these. I can tell this is an eagle.” She handed him her pieces.
He stacked them in the box. “Your dad said they’re going to release you this weekend.”
She tilted her head, wishing she knew what was behind the quiet statement. It was his work voice: calm and a bit detached.
“They’re talking about it. Dad can watch for any problems from the headaches.”
“You’re thinking about moving back to Silverton instead of staying in town for therapy?”
She had guessed right; he didn’t like the idea. “I’ll stay with my parents. Dad plans to hire someone so I won’t feel like I’m imposing on them while I learn my way around.” Back home everything from the post office to the church was familiar to her. It was time to go home. She needed desperately to be home.
Stephen caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to miss you, Meghan.”
“I’ll miss you too.” She blinked tears back and started as Stephen reached past her.
“Kleenex.”
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t take much to make me cry anymore.”
“The tears are good for you.” He tugged the blanket on her lap tighter. “Your hands are still like ice.”
His voice was husky behind the rough assertion and she laughed to try and lighten the mood. “Dad’s been calling me his little iceberg.” She leaned back in her chair, shredded the Kleenex, and her smile faded. “Stephen, do me a favor. Let this go, okay? You couldn’t have changed things. I’ll go home, get a Seeing Eye dog, and go on with my life. I need to know you will too. I’m going to be okay with Jesus’ help.”
She heard the subtle shift of his weight. Just the mention of Jesus’ name made him uncomfortable. She’d been trying for years to get him to listen to the truth; and now…Jesus had to make this work or else her faith was misplaced. Maybe then Stephen would understand.
“I’ll be fine, Meghan.”
“Will you?”
He rubbed her wrist. “Now have I ever told you a fib?”
“I didn’t look pretty yesterday.”
“You did to me. Is it okay if I come to Silverton to see you occasionally?”
It really mattered that she show him she was okay, and that was not going to be a simple step. “You can call. But give me some time before you come by.”
“I don’t mind you being blind, Meghan. Please don’t push me away.”
She reached over and settled her hands against his face, her thumb finding the cleft in his chin and her palms the hard bone of his jaw. Her fingers lifted as a smile played at his mouth, her touch embarrassing him. “We’ve been friends for a lifetime. We’ll always be friends.” If she let him come, she’d lean against him, fall in love, and walk herself into a broken heart. “You can come visit in a year and buy me lunch.”
His hands covered hers, callused and rough against her skin. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’m counting on it.” She patted his cheeks. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
His fingers entwined with hers. “Yes, you will be. You’re stubborn that way.”
Six
PRESENT DAY
MONDAY, JUNE 25
WHITFIELD, ILLINOIS
Meghan fixed tea for Stephen. His offer to come by and give her a lift back to Silverton surprised and pleased her. She was making a deliberate attempt during this trip to Chicago for Jennifer’s visitation to renew old friendships. The teapot whistled. She turned off the burner and picked up the kettle with a hot pad. She hadn’t wanted to intrude on the O’Malleys’ grief, but it would be good to spend some time with Stephen rather than just talk on the phone, as they had done occasionally over the last few years.
The power went out with a snap—the TV she was listening to went dead and the appliances jolted to silence. Meghan froze. She was carrying a teapot full of hot water. The darkness didn’t change for her, but she left the room lights on for her dog, and she had to figure out where he was before she moved. Blackie could lead her safely across a street with heavy traffic or around a crowded mall, but he couldn’t handle cats, the smell of onions, which made him sneeze, or thunder.
She tried not to tease him about his w
eaknesses, at least not too much. He was okay with all three when he was in the harness working. Her collie gave her priceless freedom. “Where are you, Blackie?” The animal’s tail slapped against her leg. “Why don’t you go under the table for a minute, okay? I don’t want to step on your tail.”
She waited until she heard the sound of his movement before she carried the teapot to the counter to finish fixing the tea. Her grandparents were such creatures of habit that Meghan was able to find the cinnamon by first finding the glass jar of lemon drops and turning the spinning rack two items to the left. It had been that way when she could see, and years later it was still that way. Whoever said new was better was badly missing the value of predictability. She would like to strike new from her vocabulary now that she couldn’t see.
The TV came back on as abruptly as it had gone off, the appliances resuming operation with a hum. She stirred honey in her tea.
Stephen had taken a leave of absence. She tossed her spoon toward the sink and heard the satisfying sound of metal striking stainless steel. If she were smart she would get over the anger before he got here, but then again maybe not. Maybe it would be better to just give him both barrels of her emotion so at least he’d have to deal with it. Running away. Repeating history. She thought she’d broken him of the habit when they were children.
She pulled out a chair, stopping her hand at the last moment to move the chair slowly until she figured out she wasn’t going to give her dog a headache. Did Stephen really think leaving was going to help? She was an expert on running from unattractive realities in life, and it just meant he would inevitably crash into a wall and do it far from home and everybody who cared for him.
Meghan rested her elbows on the table and turned her cup around to grasp the handle. This was a lot more serious than the whispered words from Kate last night had made it out to be. Meghan adored family members that had the nerve to meddle, but had Kate whispered in the right person’s ear? It had been over a year since she last talked to Stephen for more than a casual, “Hi, how are you?” and she was supposed to rescue him tonight?
Jesus, I’m no rescuer. Stephen has that title locked up in spades. As do You.
Thunder crashed overhead and she flinched. For years she had chased lightning and hail and tornadoes with Ken and laughed at nature’s fury. Now thunder cracked without warning and her nerves couldn’t handle it. The storm sounded as if it were directly overhead.
Jennifer’s funeral had been this morning. Stephen needed to go out in this storm somewhere and cry his eyes out, release the emotions. But he wouldn’t do it. Instead he’d run. And she knew for certain that if he ran, he would come to regret it. But she wouldn’t push, not if his family had already decided to back off and let him go.
Lord, please help me figure out what to say tonight. At least blindness had clarified her sight in other ways. All of life was a spiritual battle on one level or another—acceptance, endurance, peace, joy. Trying to find those things without Christ was an exercise in futility. If he kept avoiding the subject of Jesus, Stephen wouldn’t find the peace he sought.
Maybe she would have a chance to talk with him about serious things during the drive. Her bags were by the front door, the bed was already stripped, the sheets washed and now in the dryer. She’d been planning to crash on the couch for the few hours before her father arrived. Since sleep wasn’t going to happen in this storm, she’d much rather be on the road.
Meghan set down her cup of tea and stood. She walked through her grandparents’ vacation home to turn on the outdoor lights.
Stephen needs to find some comfort tonight, Lord. Since he doesn’t know You, I’ll have to reflect to him how much You care about him. The sadness he’s feeling about Jennifer must be incredible. I wish he understood that You’re there for him. The man needs to find You. She knew it in her head and felt it in her heart, and she ached at the realization that he didn’t. Years of praying for Stephen hadn’t opened the door, but Meghan wasn’t giving up on him. God hadn’t. Please remind him to drive carefully. There have been enough tragedies on nights like this.
Outdoor lights came on next door.
Jonathan Peters froze. Meghan was blind and couldn’t see him, but if she had company coming over… He finished unlocking the side door of the dark house. He’d like to give Neil another stroke for not hiding the gems that needed to cool off in something straightforward like a box buried under the woodpile or beneath attic insulation. Neil’s wife, now deep in the confusion of Alzheimer’s, had sold her china doll collection to her sister without asking her husband—and with it a hidden ruby bracelet worth a small fortune.
In the interwoven friendships of Silverton there was a certain logic to Meghan’s grandparents buying a vacation home next door to Neil’s wife’s sister. Jonathan eased open the door. Neil had given him a key. With the owners traveling, the house was empty tonight, and the storm was good cover.
Jonathan had no choice but to be the one who tried to recover the bracelet. He couldn’t trust Craig now that it was clear his friend was frying his common sense on drugs, and Neil wouldn’t be going more than a hundred feet from his sitting chair for the foreseeable future. The stroke had partially paralyzed Neil’s left side and ended his craftsman ability and thus their profitable sideline career. Future income would have to come from selling pieces they had already taken. Because of that, it was important not to let the ruby bracelet be lost or to have the cops called in and asking questions.
How many pieces over the years had disappeared by accident as Neil’s wife lost her sense of the present and gave away items?
Jonathan turned on his flashlight and looked around the living room, careful not to let the light pass across the windows. Shelves had been emptied and tables cleared of pictures and knickknacks. They were having the rooms redone—the project of a retired lady with too much time on her hands. Would the dolls be out or tucked in some boxes somewhere?
He would have to pressure Neil to tell him where the remaining pieces were hidden. He had no leverage with the man and didn’t expect the pressure to yield much, but if he had to go to Silverton after Neil died and rip up his house and jewelry store—it would be a headache creating the block of free time in his schedule. His manager was already demanding to know what was so urgent that he had to fly back to the States for a long weekend and miss an opportunity to rehearse with the London symphony.
In a way he was glad of Neil’s stroke. The stealing had run its course. Find the pieces, consider the income from their sale his nest egg, and wrap this up for good.
Neil was a tough old man. He’d probably live another ten years, but if he didn’t? Jonathan wasn’t looking to change things as much as create some insurance. Would Neil have kept so many pieces on his own property, among his own things? Or had he spread them out tucked in spots around town? Maybe at Meghan’s—the fact she couldn’t see would have made her home an ideal stash site.
The mere thought of being in a race with Craig to find the stones Neil had hidden wasn’t something Jonathan wanted to contemplate. It was definitely time to start thinking about how to handle his friend before the occasion arose.
The china cabinet was empty. Couldn’t she have waited another two or three days to begin redecorating? He sighed and started looking through the boxes that weren’t taped closed.
Time crawled by as Meghan waited for Stephen to arrive. She paced back and forth in the living room. The power was out again. The radio in the bathroom might still have good batteries. She walked with her hand trailing along the wall into the hallway then to the stairway. Her dog bumped against her knee as she walked, pressing so close he interfered with her balance. She lowered her hand to stroke his head.
Meghan took the radio from the bathroom counter into the guest bedroom to try and find a location that got better reception. The local news crackled with static. A thunderbolt cracked overhead. Her dog yelped and she heard a door hit a wall.
“Blackie.” He must have headed into
his favorite hiding spot—the open walk-in closet. She tried to coax him out but he refused to come. She finally crawled in after him, shoving back the hanging coats to sit beside him. “I can’t blame you, boy. It’s loud enough to hurt your ears.” She leaned her head against his warm coat.
Glass broke and Meghan flinched. Somewhere a tree limb had just pierced a window. She left Blackie to his temporary shelter, tossing a glove back at him to distract him. She followed the noise and realized it was the bathroom window. The rain was reaching her standing in the doorway, and she could tell from the wind it wasn’t a little tap by a twig. Stepping on glass or cutting her hand was a bad idea. She gave up dealing with it herself and closed the bathroom door.
She thought there was plywood in the garage that could be used to patch the window for the night. Stephen was a good carpenter. Maybe it would help him out to have something to do tonight. She heard the potted fern in the bathroom shatter on the tiles. This was going to be a huge mess to clean up.
Jonathan found the china dolls wrapped in tissue paper in a box in the living room. He had unwrapped six before finding the one with painted black eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and a small red dimple on the right cheek. He opened up the base of the doll stand and the rubies tumbled out. The piece was gorgeous. He didn’t remember who he had stolen it from. Had it really been that many years and that many pieces? He slipped the bracelet into his pocket. His percentage of the sale price would pay bills for a couple months.
Hearing a car slow, Jonathan clicked off his flashlight. Headlights crossed the windows. He walked over to the windows, staying back far enough from the curtains that his presence would remain unnoticed. The car pulled into Meghan’s driveway. A man he didn’t recognize with a baseball cap on his head dashed through the rain toward the house.
Jonathan wanted to check the other dolls and find out if Neil had tucked another piece in one of them and forgotten, but a guest noticing lights over here wasn’t worth the risk. Tomorrow or the next day, he’d be back if necessary.
The Rescuer Page 6