by Leanna Ellis
“She said to try Makeout Flats.” Drew turns the wheel, backing the SUV out of the driveway.
“Why there?” I brace my hand against the wire cage.
“Rick likes to go there sometimes to think, get away.”
“Seems to be the happenin’ place.” Mike rubs his jaw. “Isn’t there any other place to go in Gillespie County?”
“Since your wife rammed Josie’s car into that crack, it’s the place to go for tourists and sightseers. More popular than when the Starbucks opened in Fredericksburg.”
I hold my cell phone in my lap, hoping Oliver will hear our messages and return our calls.
Ten minutes later Drew veers off the highway. The ground is wet and muddy as we slip and slide along the rough terrain where Josie and I ventured less than a week earlier.
Drew angles the SUV around bushes and rocks. He passes the barriers the sheriff’s department set up along the length of the crack. “You know, two kids could be anywhere out here.”
“It’s going to be hard to find them with this rain.” Mike leans forward, trying to see through the windshield. The windshield wipers are working hard, their insistent motion reminding me of the robot on the old television show Lost in Space waving its metallic arms and saying, “Warning, warning!”
“Actually,” Drew slows down, hits his high beams. “Looks like they might have left a trail for us to follow.”
I crane forward. Ahead of the SUV, two parallel trails cut through the mud. Drew fists the steering wheel resolutely. “If they’re still out here, we’ll find them.”
Once the crack is within fifty feet of the SUV, Drew turns and heads north following the twin tire tracks lead.
Mike braces a hand against the dashboard, peering through the driver’s window at the crack along the ground. “It looks like the rain is making parts of it cave in.”
“Probably pretty unstable around here.” But Drew keeps driving, keeping close to the crack. Danger, Will Robinson!
But none of us express concern for our own safety. My only thought is Oliver. What is he doing? Where is he? And why did he leave so suddenly? Guilt pulses through me once again. Is this the last domino to fall as a result of my sin?
Trepidation batters my insides as the SUV jounces along the rugged terrain like a Dodge Ram truck commercial in the making. The darkness gives away to a hazy light that streaks through the clouds. The rain lightens, and the clouds begin to lift. Moments later the windshield wipers screech across the glass. The rain has stopped as suddenly as it started. Drew flips a switch and the wipers cease their waving.
“There it is.” Relief saturates Drew’s voice. “Rick’s truck.” He pulls up next to the black truck with dirt crusted over the tires and undercarriage and splattered along the back. “You all stay put.”
But Mike alights from the vehicle.
Drew hesitates. The two men look at each other over the hood. Mike slams the passenger door shut. “He’s my son too.”
Drew nods and closes his door. They walk side by side toward Rick’s truck. It’s a miracle to me, two men so different and yet so honorable that they can set aside their own feelings, fears, and doubts and work together rather than fighting each other every step of the way. They peer inside the truck, then look around as if searching. The back tires are sunk deep in the mud.
“It’ll be okay.” Josie gives me a quick, encouraging hug. “Drew will find them.”
I nod, but inside I pray. This time I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make things right. This time I must rely totally on God. Unable to stay locked inside the SUV any longer without helping in some way, I open the back door. I stare at the fracture along the earth only twenty feet away, seeing what Mike meant by the rains making the sides cave in. It looks like the rain has started to heal the split, the dirt filling in the opening like a scab forming. It might leave a scar, with a slight indenture, but maybe it will eventually close.
My foot slips in the mud, and I throw my arms outward to balance myself. The terrain at the moment is a minefield of uncertainty and instability. I know some places in the crevice are deep, and my heart pounds. “Oliver!” I cry.
Drew studies the ground, following footprints. “Looks like they went this way.” He points away from the cracked opening in the earth.
“Oliver!” I call out again.
The light dripping of rain and the squishing of boots in mud are the only answer. Josie and I follow the men, picking our way over the muddy landscape. My heels sink into the softened earth.
Then I hear a faint response. Mike must have heard it because he calls out our son’s name. His tone forceful.
“Oliver!”
“Over here!”
Josie and I creep up a slight incline, our shoes slipping. Rocks scrape the black leather that are now coated in a chalky mud. Then I see him. Oliver sits on a rock, soaked to the skin, Mike behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Another boy, older but shorter, stands near Drew.
“They’re okay,” Mike calls to us.
Relief rushes through me like flood waters surging and swelling. I give Josie a hug and race forward. Then I’m hugging Oliver, his wet hair and clothes soaking my dress.
“I’m okay, Mom.”
“I know. I know.”
“Rick called him and wanted to talk,” Mike explains.
“I didn’t think you needed me during the funeral.” Oliver jams his hands in his pants. “And since it wasn’t really Grandpa’s funeral, I figured I could miss it.”
“Because your friend needed you,” I fill in the blanks.
He nods. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mom.”
“I know.” I sit down beside him, put a hand on his thigh. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“What about Grandma and Grandpa?” he asks.
“Well, I’m not sure about them yet. We left them at the church.”
Drew walks over and claps Oliver on the shoulder. “You okay?”
“Sure. I mean, yes, sir.”
I watch as Josie now talks softly to Rick a few feet away.
“Is he okay?”
“Seems Oliver has made quite an impression on Rick. Maybe our boy is helping to lead someone else onto the straight and narrow.”
I kiss my son’s cheek, then reach for Mike’s hand. Somehow I know no matter what winds of change and storms of life may assault our family, with God’s help, we’ll seek higher ground and come through together.
* * *
“THEY’RE COMING OUT,” Pastor Reese announces. “Archie and Betty Lynne.”
We’re back at the dance hall, Rick Parker possibly making his first appearance ever in a house of God, even this makeshift one. Both boys have a sheriff’s blanket around their shoulders.
Mother and Daddy step out of the dance hall onto the back steps. Mother looks as if she has powdered her nose and retouched her lipstick. Dad seems calm. They stand next to each other, yet apart, not touching. But not screeching at each other either. They look as though they showed up for church and realized it wasn’t Sunday, mildly disappointed and somewhat confused.
“Everything okay?” Mike asks.
“Sure thing.” Dad hooks his thumb through his belt loop.
“Mother?” I ask, afraid for her temper to be reignited.
“Oh, yes, dear. All’s well.” A secretive smile passes between my parents.
Mike and I glance at each other.
“So, can we cancel the funeral?” Pastor Reese asks.
Oliver laughs then looks down at his Nikes. I run a hand over his wet hair and down to his nape. It feels good to know he’s okay, that he’s handling the family chaos better than the adults.
“Of course. Archie’s not dead.” Mother speaks as if we should know better, as if she isn’t the one who started the whole charade.
I release a taut breath. “Good. Then maybe—”
“We’re getting married,” Dad blurts out.
“What?”
“We’ve decided to get rema
rried.” Mother emphasizes the first syllable.
It’s obvious who made that decision. “Right now?”
“Oh, no. That wouldn’t be seemly.”
“Not in the middle of a funeral,” Mike notes.
I elbow him. “But the dance hall is decorated.” I cringe inwardly at having to fly back to Texas in a month or two for another family event. I’m not sure my nerves or heart can take it. “And we’re already here.”
“Kill two birds with one stone.” Oliver grins.
“Those flowers are depressing.” Mother sniffs indignantly.
“But you picked them out!”
“For a funeral. Not a wedding.” She clasps her hands together. “No, it’s got to be just right.”
I sigh. Not again.
“When?” Mike takes my hand in his.
“Soon.” Dad smiles, reaching for Mother’s hand.
“As soon as possible,” Mother corrects.
“Soon,” Dad repeats.
“Can we do this wedding before we go back to California?” I ask.
“Actually,” Mother folds her hands together at her waist, “we’re thinking of coming to California and getting married—”
“On your balcony,” Dad adds, “overlooking the ocean.”
“Then maybe going on to Hawaii,” Mother continues without missing a beat.
“For our honeymoon.” Dad grins.
“We never did get a proper honeymoon,” Mother laments, as if all this could be traced back to an improper wedding.
“I want Suzanne to help me plan everything.”
Mike looks at me and starts to laugh.
If this funeral was my near undoing, then—who knows?— my parents’ wedding may bring a kind of healing I never expected.
Acknowledgments
A writer is never alone is her work. First and foremost, I have to thank my family. Gary, if it wasn’t for you, for your support and encouragement, I wouldn’t be able to juggle all I do. Thank you for the glorious vacation in Hawaii where we experienced a real earthquake. How did you plan that? Graham and Caroline, thank you for putting up with meals that never quite measure up to Rachel Ray’s. Mom, thanks for always helping out when needed, for buying so many books and for telling bookstores to place my books in more prominent locations.
Thanks to so many supportive friends, both writers and non, who encourage me when the going gets tough:
D. Anne, Jane, Hock, Leslie, Maria, Beth. I appreciate the prayers and the support. Thanks to Chris Zygarlicke for answering my geological questions.
I have the best agent! Natasha, thank you for believing in this book.
B&H Publishing has been wonderful! David Webb, you are the best editor I could have ever imagined. Julie, you rock, girl! Karen, Mary Beth, Diana, Kim, Robin, Matt, the sales team—you guys are the best an author could ever envision, and authors have pretty good imaginations! I’m so blessed to work with such talented, enthusiastic folks.