He tried to quote Scripture out loud. The only Scripture that would come to mind at the moment was, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
***
Grant walked into his office during a Sunday afternoon slump to find Beau seated at his desk, expertly operating the keyboard.
“I guess you know you’re not supposed to be accessing the records of the ER director.” Grant pulled out a cushioned ladder-back chair from beneath the front lip of the desk and sank down into it.
Beau nodded and continued typing, his fingers racing across the keys. “I found another free program for your computer. It’s great. I’m downloading it for you.”
“I don’t even know how to use all that other stuff you downloaded for me the other day, Beau. Give it a rest. I’ll never be a techie—I’m an old-fashioned man who isn’t getting any younger.”
Beau looked up at Grant. “It’s almost done. I can show you how it works whenever you have time.”
Grant nodded. “How am I going to find the time?”
Amusement gleamed from Beau’s eyes and lifted the corners of his mouth—the right side more pronounced than the left. Beau was mature beyond his years. His special insight and thoughtfulness had given him privileges here at the hospital that few seventeen-year-olds were ever allowed. Grant couldn’t prevent the pride that occasionally caught him unaware.
“Speaking of time, Dad, you need to spend some of it with Brooke.” Beau turned from his computer project.
“Is she still moping?” Brooke. Another special blessing—even when she didn’t behave.
“She’s worse than moping,” Beau said. “She’s miserable. She wasn’t going to go to church this morning until I told her Lauren wouldn’t be there because she’s working today.”
“Sounds to me like she’s pouting. I thought we’d already discussed this subject.”
“It wasn’t a discussion, Dad, it was a lecture. You told her she needed to take a step back from the situation and see it from Lauren’s point of view.”
“I thought it was a good idea.”
“But to Brooke it felt like you were siding with Lauren against her.”
“I wasn’t siding with anyone.” He thought about the argument he’d had with Lauren earlier. She probably thought he was siding with Brooke against her. What a mess.
“I told her that,” Beau said, “but I don’t think it sank in. At least it hadn’t when I talked to her last.”
“Maybe I just need to give her more time to think about it.”
That was definitely disapproval Grant saw in his son’s expression. “Remember how Mom used to react when you tried to do that with her.”
“I know and I’m sorry but maybe you and I should both leave it alone and give Lauren and Brooke a little space so they can work things out for themselves.”
“And meanwhile act as if it doesn’t concern you? Bad idea, Dad.”
“No, I don’t think it is. Lauren does need some space right now.”
“But Brooke thinks it’s all her fault that Lauren doesn’t want to marry you.”
That stung. “What makes you think Lauren doesn’t want to—”
“It’s just what Brooke thinks, Dad.” The computer beeped and Beau turned back to the screen. “Suit yourself. If you don’t want to talk to Brooke about it you’d better get her and Lauren together pretty soon. You know how Brooke gets emotional and jumps to conclusions. She’s blaming herself for being so pushy with Lauren the other night.”
“She said that?”
“She didn’t have to, Dad, I can read her mind.” He got up from the chair. “Your new program’s downloaded.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Earlier than usual on Monday morning, Mitchell Caine stood in front of his dressing room mirror knotting his gray silk tie for the second time. His fingers didn’t seem to want to work this morning.
Last night he and Trisha had spent some strange “bonding” time together, though they had said less than fifteen words apiece during the three-and-a-half hours it had taken to watch two movies in the media room upstairs. She had even popped some popcorn in the microwave and put it into one bowl, which they had actually shared.
Amazing. In the four years preceding yesterday they had exchanged, at most, a dozen civil words.
It was the closest Mitchell had ever expected to come to restoring any kind of relationship with his daughter. Because of their shared time together last night, and because he’d reminded himself repeatedly that he must set a good example for her, he had not taken a Tranquen. Sweating and shaking in bed hours later, he’d given in and swallowed one pill. One innocuous benzodiazepine derivative for the peace he craved.
He still felt the effects of the drug taken too recently with too little sleep. In the kitchen he drank espresso in sizable gulps and grimaced at the taste. He had to wash away the effects of the drug before seeing his first patient.
He sat down at the breakfast bar with his toaster pastry and another cup of strong brew and decided to turn on the radio—a morning ritual in which he hadn’t indulged since last Friday. He kept it low enough that it wouldn’t awaken Trisha. He felt himself relaxing at the deep bass tones of the local radio announcer sharing tidbits of gossip and humorous vignettes in a segment called About Dogwood Springs.
The announcement came as he was swallowing his final bit of pastry and he nearly choked.
“Efforts are still underway to upgrade the search for Archer Pierce, pastor of the Dogwood Springs Baptist Church. Reverend Pierce was last seen leaving the Dogwood Springs Hospital on Friday night and was reputed to be en route to visit a sick—”
“Got any more of that?”
The sudden unexpected voice startled Mitchell. He dropped his espresso cup and it shattered on the counter. He stifled a quick curse and glared at his bleary-eyed daughter.
“Hey, sorry,” she grumbled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“Shh!” He held up his hand, straining to catch the rest of the news broadcast, but the announcer had gone on to other things.
Mitchell’s stomach threatened to rebel against his breakfast. Calm down. It isn’t her fault.
Archer’s missing? He forced a tight smile and a shrug. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you up yet and the radio announced some alarming news. There’s orange juice and milk in the refrigerator.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. It can’t be.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own for solid food this morning. You could scramble yourself some—”
“I’m not fifteen anymore, Dad,” she said in that irritating monotone. “I know how to cook.” She fingered a few short strands of dark hair from her forehead and watched him with bleak indifference. “Guess I’ll see you tonight?”
“Yes. I’ll make my rounds at the hospital during the day if I can get away from the clinic.” If he even had rounds to make.
“Whatever,” she said. “You don’t have to come home early just for me, you know. It isn’t as if we’ll have anything to talk about.”
He hated the lack of expression on her face, as if life was only to be endured—as if his daughter had somehow inherited her father’s outlook on life. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Sure.”
For a moment he thought he saw disappointment in the strange-familiar eyes of his daughter but she turned away with a characteristic one-shoulder shrug and slouched back along the hallway to the guest bedroom.
He walked out the back door to the detached garage where his Audi and Darla’s Ferrari had been housed side by side until Darla moved out. The silver lines of his Audi Infiniti gleamed in the glow of cloudy morning light and he hesitated.
During one of Darla’s many periods of obsessive searching for a life-fulfilling hobby, she had insisted they turn half of their attached garage into a garden room complete with skylights and a private garden she promised to personally tend. This meant that two of their three automobiles went to the two-car detached garage. Of course, Darla’s
interest in gardening had lasted about three months until she realized that the desire of her life was to take courses to become an interior decorator. He had heard recently that she was managing a restaurant in Springfield and he couldn’t help wondering how long it would take for that place to fold.
He backed the Audi out into rain-washed morning light and switched on the radio—something he rarely did on his way to work.
Today, however, he was leaving a little early and the announcement was just being made when he turned up the sound.
“ ...Dwight Hahnfeld, a deacon in the pastor’s church, told a reporter this morning that Reverend Pierce may have been caught in the flash flood that washed out the old bridge on the Black Oak River late Friday evening. His car was discovered in the early morning hours Sunday...”
Mitchell drove past the hospital, past his clinic, and turned onto Highway Z. It was still a little early for his first patient. Maybe he was being paranoid—most likely so.
But what if he wasn’t?
***
Grant sat down in his office and gazed out the open door toward the central desk of the emergency department. He had discovered years ago that he had a knack for administrative work but today administration was more than he wanted to handle. He would gladly have traded duties with Dr. Jonas, who was only responsible for patient care this shift.
This was one of those catch-up days Grant had planned for when making out the schedule. Trying to play phone tag and conduct a crisis-team meeting while jumping through the hoops of ten exam rooms was too much for any ER director to ask of himself or of the people who worked with him. Consequently, he had reduced his shift hours, added another part-time physician and a physician assistant, even included some split shifts so he could make better use of the local family-practice physicians who couldn’t pull all-nighters. It worked well and though he didn’t see as many patients now as he would like his clinical skills were in no danger of getting rusty.
This morning telephone tag was the game. He had just picked up the receiver to hit William Butler’s speed dial number when Lauren approached his open office door from the employee entrance.
She was dressed for the unseasonably warm spring weather in knee-length cut-off jeans and a T-shirt the color of watermelon. Her thick blond hair was pulled away from her face with clips and lay across her shoulders in loose waves.
She looked wonderful and her smile was filled with pleasure at the sight of him as she stepped into the office. “A person would think I’d try to stay away from here on my days off,” she said. “You busy?”
“Just getting started.” He walked around the desk and drew her into his arms. He caught sight of the secretary grinning at him from the front desk and with a smile he pushed the office door shut. Since a window graced the door it offered no privacy but it would muffle their voices. “How did you know I was just thinking about you?” he asked.
“Because I was thinking of you.” She released him and sank down into the nearest chair. “I came to check on Jessica and I wanted to apologize for—”
“No, I’m the one who needs to do that.” He sat down across from her. “Sometimes we Sheldons can get a little self-absorbed. I should’ve realized long before Saturday that you would need some space.”
“And I should have understood that my actions might seem like rejection to you.”
“I’m not the one we need to worry about.”
She rested her elbows on her knees. “Brooke’s still upset?”
“She’s practically idolized you for months. I just didn’t realize until Saturday evening how attached she’d grown and how deeply this perceived threat to our relationship would affect her.”
Lauren looked down and hesitated. That hesitation concerned Grant. A lot.
“Lauren?”
She nodded, still not looking at him.
“I know it must be a little frightening to become emotionally involved with not just one but three strong-willed Sheldons.” Lauren’s continued lack of response was making him increasingly uncomfortable.
She looked up at him. “If you’re fishing for a denial you’re not going to get one from me, Grant. You’re absolutely right but it’s more than just ‘a little frightening.’”
“Which means you don’t give your heart lightly. It means that when you do finally commit I will always be able to trust you with my own heart and my kids’. It means a lot, Lauren.”
She looked down again.
He really did not like the implication of her silence.
“Look,” he said, “what are your plans for the day?”
“I want to spend some time helping search for Archer.”
“Would you be able to stop by the house tonight for dinner? Then maybe we could clear the air and let the dust settle.”
“I’d like that. But don’t go to too much trouble. I’m afraid I won’t have an appetite if I’m expecting a conflict.”
“Then how about lunch? Just the two of us.”
“Can’t. Gina’s off today and I promised to have an early lunch with her.”
“Okay, but I’d like to spend some quality time with you very soon away from this place and away from my kids.” They needed to iron out some of their recent misunderstandings and that hadn’t happened yet. He knew Lauren wasn’t one to hold a grudge but they did need to learn how to speak the same language so weekends like this past one didn’t happen again.
“I barely got to talk to Jessica for a few minutes this morning,” Lauren said. “Visitors from church were practically three deep in line to see her in the hallway and some of them had mud on their shoes, so they’d either been helping in the search for Archer or they were helping some of the farmers dig out of the flooded area.”
“No one else knows about the baby yet.”
“Not yet. Jessica hasn’t said a word and I don’t blame her. She wants Archer to be the first to know he’s going to be a fath—” Her voice faltered, and her eyes closed. “Oh, Grant, what if they don’t find him?”
He could see the struggle on her face. “I’m sorry. This is the wrong time for me to be pressuring you about our relationship. You do know, don’t you, that above all else I am your friend? That’s something you can depend on no matter what else happens.” Not that he’d been proving that very well lately.
“Thanks,” she said. “That means a lot. And you understand that I love Archer like a brother? I know there was a time last summer when my emotions became confused but they aren’t now. This has just hit me a lot harder than I would have expected.”
“Especially since you lost your own brother so recently. Give yourself a break, Lauren, and I’ll give you one, too.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “So are we on for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Mitchell continued to listen to the car radio as he took the final curve on Highway Z out of town. This led to the old bridge that crossed the Black Oak.
The plaintive country-western song ended on a note of steel guitar and the heavy twang of the next singer’s voice jarred on him. Mitchell preferred classical but folks around here were heavily influenced by Branson and he wanted to catch any updates about Archer.
He drove for another mile along the flat ridge until he came to the edge of a forest of dogwoods and cedar watered generously by the Black Oak River.
He slowed the car and studied the trees more closely. Dogwoods... What was it about the impression of dogwood blooms that stirred his memory?
But those trees were thick in their namesake city and he would have had no reason to be on this road Friday night.
A car came up behind him and he waved it around.
The news of Archer’s disappearance had struck Mitchell with a sense of loss he would never have expected until a few months ago. Archer Pierce, of all people, had shown Mitchell compassion and kindness when others had spread rumors and stared at him in the hallways of the hospital after Darla left.
It had to b
e the shock of the news that also triggered this fear that he should know more than he remembered from Friday night. He’d spoken with Archer but for how long? Mitchell had taken his Tranquen while he was still at the hospital. Judging from past experience, he most likely would never be able to remember more.
He came to a dip in the road and then a banked curve lined with trees. He stopped several yards behind a line of pickup trucks and cars—this was the spot for which the town had been named in the first place. Beautiful dogwood trees, in full white-and-pink bloom, covered nearly an acre of land.
Settlers had come here more than a century ago and staked their claim. Mitchell knew this because the town reveled in its history—and Mitchell’s great-great grandfather had been one of the founding fathers. He remembered squirming with discomfort in class when the teacher reminded the students of this piece of information.
The cars belonged to searchers and he watched as two more cars pulled over and the passengers got out and walked downhill toward the forest, where the river flowed south of the bridge.
They’re in the wrong place.
The thought startled him. He couldn’t know that.
He drove another mile, studying the roadside, pressing his brake from time to time, as if staring long enough at the long-familiar landscape would dredge up some new memory.
He was acting ridiculous.
He blinked and once again saw the flash of red eyes imprinted on his lids.
On impulse, he pulled off the pavement and parked. In spite of his spotless dress clothes and shoes he got out of the car and treaded cautiously over the mud-laden grass toward the cliff he knew to be several yards past the loosely packed stand of cedar trees to the right side of the road. At the bottom of the cliff the Black Oak River encircled the ridge on three sides.
He knew this place because it had been a favorite party road when he was in high school—not that he came here much. There hadn’t been time for that and he had thought it pretty foolish to drink a six-pack of beer and then come to the cliffs to see who could dive from the highest cliff ledge without injuring himself in the process.
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