Katy folded her hands and let the story sit for a moment. There was nothing more to say, because they all knew the ending from there. They’d all lived it.
Sniffling came from several of the kids, and a few minutes later, Katy held her hands out toward them. “See, guys, I’m not sure we need a petition if we’re going to come together and talk about Jeremy Fisher.” She lifted the big brown book in her lap and handed it to the girl closest to her. “Maybe we need a Bible.”
Tim looked at her. His eyes were soft and open again, the way she was used to seeing them. “Is it true, Katy? The part about CKT—did he really try out?”
“He did.” It was something she’d found out late last night. Bethany Allen, the area coordinator, had pulled her aside after the late meeting and told her. She’d been cleaning out computer files when she came across Jeremy’s name and the notes explaining why he wasn’t cast in the show.
“I think I remember him.” One of the girls hugged her knees to her chest. “He was a nice kid. Curly brown hair, sort of tall. I remember he was off-key in his song.”
“He tried like three times, I think.” Another girl folded her hands. “When he left, no one said anything to him.” She looked at the others. “Probably because no one knew him.”
They were quiet again, the reality of Jeremy Fisher’s life settling in on them.
Bailey was the first to stand up. She looked at Katy and then at the others. “I’ll go get the Bibles.”
And in that moment, Katy knew wherever the journey led them, God would see them through. Because for the first time hatred and anger and revenge weren’t having the last word when it came to Jeremy Fisher.
Love was.
The cell where Jeremy Fisher now lived was colder than usual. He couldn’t stop shivering, couldn’t stop wondering what his father would think if he knew his boy was in jail. He didn’t know yet, but he would know soon. By now there would be a week’s worth of unanswered e-mails. Eventually he’d call the school and find out the truth.
Or maybe he’d already done that. Whatever happened when his father found out, he deserved it. The old man would probably disown him. Maybe he’d stay in Iraq a few years longer and climb the ranks, since he had nothing to come home to.
Jeremy twisted his hands together and winced from the pain. He’d rubbed the skin raw between his thumbs and the rest of his fingers. Too much hand wringing, too much worry. Not about himself, but about the families of the kids who died. Drama kids, right? Wasn’t that what he’d read? Kids who might’ve been his friends if things had turned out differently. What were they doing now, and what did they think of him?
They probably wanted to take him out in a forest somewhere and shoot him cold. He wouldn’t blame them. It was what he deserved. Jeremy ran his hands along the sides of his arms and tried to ward off the chills. Was any place as cold as this? He didn’t think so, but then the whole cold thing had become part of the pattern.
He’d think again and again about what he knew of the accident, how he’d been driving drunk and veered over the yellow line and pretty much decimated a van full of kids. When that thought sank in, the way he tried to get it to sink in every few minutes, he’d think about how worthless he was, how he had no reason to live. And then he’d imagine the families of the kids taking him to some remote place and blowing his head off.
Everyone would feel better then.
When the thoughts came full circle, he would realize how cold he was. That’s where he was in the cycle of things right now. Freezing cold, man. Colder than fall mornings on the football field. The cell should’ve been heated, and even if it wasn’t, it was only mid-September. So where was the cold coming from?
That’s when it hit him. The cold wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from inside, deep inside his heart and soul. He was worthless, and that meant he had nothing but ice on the inside. He banged his head back against the cement-block wall. Worthless, worthless, worthless. He never should’ve been born.
There was a sound in the hallway, and someone walked toward his cell. “Fisher?”
“Yes?” For an instant, he had the craziest thought. Maybe his mother had found out about his arrest, and she’d come to talk to him, to apologize to him for leaving. They would let him out for a few minutes so he could hug her and tell her how sorry he was for letting her down, for doing the unthinkable. Then she’d promise to stay by his side and help him through whatever lay ahead.
A stout-looking prison guard shouted at him, “Fisher, you’ve got a visitor.” The man stepped aside and someone came into view. But it wasn’t his mother. It was a woman, a beautiful woman. About ten years older than he.
She waited until the guard took a few steps back. Then she gripped the bars of his cell and gave him a partial smile. “Hello, Jeremy.”
“Hi.” He’d seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t figure out where. Maybe it was just his imagination. “Are you a lawyer?”
“No.” She looked straight into his eyes. “I’m not a lawyer.”
That’s when he noticed that she had something in her hand. “What’s that?”
“The deputy said I could give it to you.” She slipped it through the bars. “It’s a Bible promise book.” She waited until he had taken it from her. “Have you seen one before?”
“Yes.” A memory flashed in his mind. He and his parents walking across a gravel parking lot into a church service. That day, everyone was given a little book. The pastor called it the same thing: a Bible promise book. Scriptures broken into topics, if he remembered it right. He blinked and the image faded. “I had one a long time ago.”
“Well, now you have a new one.” She hesitated, and he expected her to look uncomfortable. If she was some church girl come to do him a good deed, then she’d done that. It was time for her to back away and say some sort of awkward good-bye. But she didn’t. “Open it to page seventy-seven.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Who was she, and why did she care if he read something from page seventy-seven? Still, she was the only one who had come, and if she wanted him to turn the pages, he would. It was the least he could do. He ran his thumb over the cover and opened it. Inside, some words were written: Jeremy, don’t ever stop believing.
Tears came rarely for Jeremy, but he felt the sting of them now. He rubbed his eyes and flipped the pages until he arrived at the spot she had told him about. There, underlined, was a verse.
“Can you read it out loud, Jeremy?” Her voice was soft, kind. She stayed at her spot, clinging to his bars.
“Sure.” He found the beginning and coughed twice. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord. ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” When he looked up, something happened inside him. For the first time in a week he felt warm. “I never heard that before.”
“I was afraid of that.” She tilted her head, her eyes sad again. “God has a plan for you, Jeremy. Even now.”
“You know—” he hung his head—“you know what I did?”
“I know.” She sighed. “That’s why I came. I have some kids who might want to visit you one of these days. I wanted to make sure you were okay with the idea.”
“Kids?” Jeremy’s heart beat hard and fast. Suddenly he remembered where he’d seen her before. It was at the audition more than a year ago, the one for Charlie Brown. The woman had been in charge of the group. He licked his lips, trying to keep his mouth from drying up altogether. “What kids?”
“Friends of the kids who died. Theater kids.” She frowned. “I can’t be sure that they’ll come, but I’m praying.”
“And you want me . . . you want me to tell you that’s okay?”
She nodded. “You have to give permission before I can bring them here.”
Jeremy sorted through his options and realized he had just one. “Sure, of course.” He closed the Bible promise book and set it down on the bench beside him. “Bring whoever you want.”
At tha
t, the woman smiled. She reached out her hand. After several seconds, he did the same and their fingers touched. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” She let her hand fall back to her side. “I wish you would’ve gotten a part in Charlie Brown.”
For a long while, his words stuck together. But finally he said, “Yeah, me too.”
She told him good-bye, and then she was gone.
After she left he looked at the Bible promise book and picked it up. He turned once more to page seventy-seven and read the verse again. God knew the plans He had for him, huh? Well, those plans looked pretty bleak right now.
The friends of the kids he killed wanted to come see him. Probably so they could spit at him and yell at him and tell him how much they hated him. Maybe they’d scream or throw things at him. That’s what he expected, anyway, and if they did, well then, that was okay.
Whatever they threw at him, he deserved it. And not even a Bible promise could change that.
Ashley waited until they were in the car after church before spilling her feelings.
“Can I be honest?” She buckled her seat belt and watched as Landon helped Cole into their Durango.
When Landon was in the seat beside her, he shot her a quick smile. “Always, Ashley. Nothing less than honest.”
She grinned. “I know. It’s sort of a figure of speech.”
“Okay.” He started the engine. “So what’s on your mind?”
“My dad.” She uttered a quick groan. “The man’s driving me crazy.”
Landon steered out of the parking lot and onto the main highway toward home. “Is this story leading to the idea of going to your dad’s house?”
“Yes.” She winced. “Is that okay?”
He chuckled and changed lanes. “Of course. I just like to know where I’m driving.”
“You’re driving straight, Daddy.” Cole gave a toothy grin first at Landon, then at her. “Right, Mommy? Daddy’s driving straight.”
“Thank you, Cole,” said Landon. “You can sit back now.”
“Okay.”
Ashley hid a short laugh. Then she looked at Landon. “I think he’s spending time with that Elaine Denning again. Remember her? The woman he would go hiking with over the summer?” She said the word hiking as if it were akin to chewing tobacco. She worked to soften her tone some. “I mean, they were in a group but still, remember?”
Landon took her hand, keeping his eyes on the road. “I remember.”
“Well, she was trouble back then, but she’s more trouble now.”
“Says who?” Landon turned onto the road that led to her parents’ house.
“Kari. She talked to Dad yesterday and she called me this morning. Dad let it slip that he’s been talking to Elaine on the phone at night, and guess what else?”
“They’re eloping?”
“Landon!” Ashley jerked her hand from his and scowled at him. “That isn’t even a little funny.”
He chuckled again but gave her an apology with his eyes. “Sorry. I was just pretending to be you.”
“What’s that mean?” She was shocked. Didn’t he see the harm in her father spending time with a widow? The woman might be after his money or his house—anything. She nudged him. “Whadya mean, pretending to be me?”
“You know, believing that every phone call from a woman is the same thing as a wedding proposal.” His eyes sparkled, and she was struck by how he still left her breathless. How could she have made things so difficult between them for so many years?
She gave him a demure smile and took his hand again. “I’m not crazy, Landon. The woman’s been going with Dad to the farmers’ market of all things. Two Saturdays now.”
“So maybe they will elope.” He moved away from her fast so she couldn’t punch him. “Kidding. Just kidding.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Cole?” He tried to look more serious as he caught Cole’s look in the rearview mirror.
“I think you should keep your eyes on the road. That’s what you always tell Mommy.”
This time Landon licked his finger and pretended to score one point for Cole and Ashley. He looked straight ahead and nodded. “Good idea, Cole. That’s just what I’ll do.”
Ashley raised her eyebrows at him. “The point is, Mister Kidding, my dad is seeing a lot of her, okay? And it’s way too soon for him to be spending that kind of time with a widow.”
“Would it help if she were a guy?” Landon turned into her parents’ driveway, pulled up to the house, and cut the engine.
“Why do you ask?” Ashley was anxious to get out, anxious to talk some sense into her father.
Landon studied her. “Because maybe he just needs a friend. I doubt he’s doing anything wacky like falling in love, Ash. You know your father. No one could ever take your mother’s place, not with him.”
Some of the frustration and concern that had built in Ashley’s mind lifted a little. “Still . . . I wanted to come over so I could talk to him. Then maybe he could come to our house for dinner.”
“Because you miss him.” Landon leaned across the gearshift and kissed her on the lips. “Or because you don’t want him home alone where he might get the idea to talk to Elaine?”
“Landon Blake . . . why do you have to know me so well?”
“Because. That’s part of loving you.” He kissed her again. “You were busy this week with the funeral and theater stuff.” He gave her a teasing look. “Busy getting a ride home from movie star Dayne Matthews. You know, that sort of stuff.”
“It was a simple ride.”
“With America’s biggest heartthrob.” Landon laughed. “Anyway, you were busy. Your father spent the time talking to Elaine, and now you’re worried. You don’t want his Sunday open too.”
“Exactly.”
“Hey, guys—” Cole leaned up between the seats—“can you kiss in the house? I have to go to the bathroom.”
They all laughed and climbed out of the SUV. In the process, Ashley whispered to Landon, “Know-it-all!”
He pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “Only when it comes to you, Ash.”
Inside, Cole rushed to the bathroom, while Ashley and Landon found Ashley’s father sitting in his favorite recliner with his feet propped up, watching a football game and drinking a glass of iced tea. “Rams and Colts!” He raised his glass. “Colts are winning.”
Cole returned. “Yeah, Papa, because Colts are the bestest team, right?”
“C’mere, big boy.” Her father set his drink down and held his hands out to Cole. “You’re right about the Colts. This year especially.”
They watched a few minutes of the game; then Ashley went to the kitchen and poured water for her and Landon and Cole. “Care if I make Cole a sandwich?”
Her father raised his voice loud enough for her to hear. “Make us all one. I have some chicken salad in the fridge.”
She opened the refrigerator and spotted the deli container on the top shelf. Ashley felt a twinge of sorrow. On summer Sundays, her mother had always made chicken salad. Only she would boil the chicken, chop it, and add fresh onion and red peppers and shredded cucumber, and she’d serve it over a tossed salad.
A sigh left Ashley’s lips as she took the container and lifted the lid. So much of life would never be the same again without Mom. Ashley made a plateful of sandwiches and returned to the family room. They ate and made small talk while Cole cuddled on his grandfather’s lap. The game kept Cole’s attention, and Ashley was surprised to see that he could follow the action.
Once in a while her dad would say, “What kind of play do you think they’ll run next?”
She wasn’t even sure whether the Colts were on offense or defense, but Cole would grin and say, “A pass play, Papa. Maybe a screen.”
“Or a bootleg pass, right, Coley?” Landon gave an approving nod at their little boy.
Ashley was amazed. Had Landon and Cole been studying plays in their spare time? Maybe when she was upstairs painting? It was just one more way the two of them had bonded
in the year since the wedding. She put her hand over her abdomen. “This new baby better like football.”
“Yeah, Mommy, and he better be a boy too.” Cole caught her look and made his eyes big. “Just kidding.” He gave a single laugh and looked at Landon. “Like Daddy, right? Us boys like to kid around.”
Her father tousled Cole’s hair. “That’s what boys do best.”
Only at halftime did Cole lose interest and ask Landon to go outside with him. “There’s a snake near the porch, Daddy. I promise. Maybe if we go together we can catch it.”
“Okay.” Landon took Cole’s hand, and the two headed for the patio door. “Let’s walk really quiet.”
Cole held his finger to his lips. “And talk quiet too. Paul at school says snakes get scared of loud noises.”
“Right.” Landon sent Ashley a look from the doorway, one that said he would give her the time she needed to talk to her father.
Ashley mouthed the words thank you. When they’d closed the sliding door behind them, she turned to her father. She waited until the next commercial; then she slid to the edge of her seat. “Hey, Dad, can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure.” He looked at ease. Not at all like someone about to be caught in some hidden activity or relationship. “By the way, how’ve you been?”
“I feel great.” She put her hand over her midsection. “I’m starting to show. At least I feel like it.”
Her father gave her a skeptical look. “You look flat as a board still, but I understand. Your mother used to feel that way too. Tight across the middle, like she was all of a sudden huge.”
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