Every Precious Thing
( Logan Harper - 2 )
Brett Battles
Brett Battles
Every Precious Thing
CHAPTER ONE
“It’s not here,” Sara Lindley said as she dug through her purse.
Her husband Alan looked over her shoulder into the bag. “It’s gotta be there somewhere.”
“It’s not,” she told him, her tone of desperation growing. “It’s gone.”
“But you had it earlier.”
“I know I had it earlier. But I’m telling you it’s gone now.”
“Could you have left it somewhere? One of the shops?”
She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I never took it out.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you did but didn’t realize it.”
She looked at him, exasperated. “Now why would I have done that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone asked you for ID?” he suggested, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m just trying to think of possibilities.”
Sara closed her eyes and took a breath. “I know. I’m sorry. Here.” She held out the purse to him. “You check.”
Not taking it, he said, “Honey, I believe you.”
“A second set of eyes is always a good thing.”
He almost smiled at that. It was something he’d said to her in the past. He let her give him the purse, then carefully searched through it. She’d been right. Her passport was definitely not there.
“Oh, God,” she said as he handed the bag back to her. “What are we going to do?”
Alan looked at the traffic that was backed up on the road beside them, each car waiting its turn to reenter the United States from Tijuana, Mexico. Unlike those in the vehicles, he and his wife had left their car in a stateside parking lot and walked in.
“Let’s retrace our steps, and see if someone found it,” he suggested. “Maybe you just dropped it somewhere.”
Though the frown on her face made it clear she didn’t think their chances of success were very good, she said, “Okay.”
Up until that point, it had been a wonderful day, finishing off an equally wonderful weekend. They were celebrating, after all. While they’d been married for nearly a year, the final piece that solidified their life together had just been completed the previous week. He was now officially the father of Sara’s two-year-old daughter, Emily. They were truly a family now, and nothing would ever take that from them. He couldn’t have been happier.
Leaving Emily with Rachel and Kurt-his sister and brother-in-law who lived in Simi Valley-he and Sara had traveled south from their home in Riverside for a pre-anniversary romantic getaway. They’d spent Saturday in San Diego, splitting time between the beach and the zoo, then on Sunday, at Sara’s suggestion, had gone even farther south to Tijuana. The plan was to drive back home that evening.
But now, Riverside might as well have been on the other side of the world, because without Sara’s passport, she wasn’t getting back across the border.
It took over an hour to check all the places they’d visited earlier, but no one had seen Sara’s dark blue booklet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t know what happened.”
Alan put his arms around her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just explain that it was stolen. I’m sure it happens all the time.”
“But they’re not going to let me back through,” she argued.
“They’ll have to.”
“No, they won’t, Alan.”
She was starting to get worked up again, but he knew she was right. A decade ago, a person could pass back and forth across the Mexican border with just a driver’s license, but that all changed when the towers came down. These days, no passport, no entry into the States.
“There’s got to be an American consulate in town,” he said. “Someone there will know what to do.”
“Alan, I’m so sorry.”
He locked eyes with her and smiled again. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Really.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
He chuckled. “Well, you’re my idiot.” He looked around. “I’ll grab a cab. I’m sure the driver will know where the consulate is.”
As he started to raise his arm, she said, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I don’t have any other ID on me. Since we were together, I didn’t think I’d need my wallet. My driver’s license…it’s in the car. I’ll need that to prove who I am, won’t I?”
It took all his will to suppress a groan.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Since I had my passport, I thought that would be enough.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? We need it.”
“I know.” He paused for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go back and get it, while you find out where the consulate is. We’ll meet…” He looked around. There was a restaurant across the street with a bar that spilled out onto a patio. He pointed at it. “Over there. You can grab a drink while you wait.”
“Do I look like I need a drink?”
“I think we both do,” he said, giving her an encouraging smile. “Now which bag should I look in?”
“The red one,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “In the pocket on the side.”
He gave her a hug and a kiss. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
As he started to move away, she pulled him back.
“I love you,” she said, kissing him again.
“I love you, too,” he told her. “Now stop worrying. It’ll all be fine.”
“I know it will.”
As Alan crossed back into the States, he explained to the officer what had happened, hoping that maybe the guy would tell him just to bring her through. What he got instead was a confirmation that a trip to the consulate was in their future.
By the time he reached their car, nearly thirty minutes had passed since he left Sara by the restaurant. Anxious to get back, he immediately unlocked the trunk and popped it open.
For a second he thought he was at the wrong car, but his key had worked, and there, against the side, was his suitcase. But where were Sara’s bags?
He leaned in and looked beyond his luggage, but it was a ridiculous gesture. No way her bags could have been behind it without him noticing.
Thinking maybe he’d put them in the backseat and forgotten, he rushed around and looked inside the cab, but of course they weren’t there. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d put them in the trunk when he’d put his own bag there.
He returned to the rear of the car and looked into the trunk once more. Why would someone only take Sara’s bags and leave his?
He was just about to pull out his cell phone so he could tell Sara what was up when he noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out from under his suitcase. He pulled it out, then nearly dropped it again when he saw his name written on the front in his wife’s handwriting.
With more apprehension than he’d ever felt in his life, he opened it and read the letter inside.
Alan,
Don’t come looking for me. You won’t find me. I wish I could have told you in person, but I might never have left. Whether you can accept it or not, this is for the best. Please don’t let this affect your relationship with Emily. She’s blameless, and now, more than ever, she needs a father. She needs you. I love you. Believe that or don’t, but I do.
I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me.
Sara
He read it twice, the words so hard to understand that it almost seemed as if they were written in a foreign lan
guage. When he finally finished he stared at the paper, his mind in a haze.
A voice started deep down in his gut-a whisper at first, but soon a scream that flooded his skull, jerking him back to the here and now.
“No!” it yelled. “No!”
He looked toward the border crossing.
The word then spilled from his lips. “No!”
Leaving the trunk of his car wide open, he started to run.
CHAPTER TWO
LOGAN HARPER WAS having lunch with his dad in the break room of Dunn Right Auto Repair and Service when Joy stuck her head in and said, “Harp, you’ve got a call. Line three.”
“Tell them I’ll call back when I’m done,” Logan’s dad said.
“They said it’s important.”
Harp frowned as he set his sandwich down and stood up. “Who is it?”
“Someone named…um…Mueller, I think.”
“Mueller?” Harp looked at Logan. “Your uncle Len.”
With a smile, Harp walked over to the phone mounted on the wall, and punched the button for line three.
“Len? What’s going on?”
The smile on Harp’s face froze, then faltered. “Oh, no,” he said as he closed his eyes for a moment.
Logan rose quickly from his chair and went over to him. “You all right, Dad?”
Harp shook his head and waved him off. He said into the phone, “When?…I’m so sorry…I understand. Don’t worry about it…Of course. What time?…We’ll be there.”
When he hung up, he just stood there, staring at nothing.
“Dad?” Logan said.
A second passed, then another, and another. Finally, Harp looked over. “What?”
“What’s going on?”
His father hesitated. “It’s…Len. He passed away this morning.”
Len Mueller wasn’t a blood relative, but that didn’t matter. He was as much an uncle to Logan and a brother to Harp as any man could have ever been. The Mueller family and the Harper family had lived on neighboring farms back in Kansas where Harp had grown up. Len had been best friends with Harp’s older brother Tommy. They had both served in World War II, and while Len had come back-minus two fingers on his left hand-Tommy hadn’t returned at all. Len had done what he could to fill in for Tommy-helping Harp, advising him, teasing him, and eventually serving as best man at Harp’s wedding.
Now he was gone, and with him Harp’s connection not just to one man but two.
Two and a half days later, Logan and Harp drove up the coast to Marin County, north of San Francisco. They stayed in a motel in Sausalito that overlooked the bay, then headed to Mill Valley the next morning for Len’s memorial service.
Church first, then a line of cars made their way out to the cemetery where at least three dozen people gathered around the gravesite. Sons, and daughters, and grandsons, and granddaughters, and a few old friends like Harp and Logan. Len had been a kind man, easy with his laugh and his smile. They had all hoped Len would live forever.
Because of his military service, an American flag was draped over the casket, and a four-person honor guard stood at the ready.
“You holding up okay?” Logan whispered to his father.
Harp’s response was no more than a quick nod. Logan could feel every breath his dad took-the shallow, shuttering intakes, the deep gasps, and the pauses in between.
As soon as the reverend finished speaking, the honor guard surrounded the casket, raised the flag, and with practiced precision, folded it into a neat, tight triangle. The servicewoman who ended up with the flag walked over to where Len’s five children sat and reverently handed it to Michael, who, at sixty-two, was Len’s oldest.
The reverend said a final prayer as the casket was lowered into the grave. One by one, the mourners walked by the opening in the ground, dropping in a handful of dirt as they passed.
As Harp’s turn came, Logan rose with him, putting a hand on his dad’s back to steady him.
“I’m okay,” Harp said, then walked to the grave unaided.
When he dropped in his dirt, he paused a second and said something Logan couldn’t hear before he continued on. Logan tossed in his handful of soil and followed his father, catching up to him just before he reached Logan’s electric blue El Camino.
“I don’t know if I can go over there,” Harp said once they were inside the car.
Logan knew his father was referring to the reception that was about to start at Len’s house. “We can go back to the motel if you’d rather,” he suggested.
Harp sat silently for a moment, then said, “It would be rude not to stop by at least.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dad. They’ll understand.”
Harp looked at him, his face a mix of uncountable emotions. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
His father thought about it, then nodded.
When they pulled into the motel parking lot, Harp said, “Maybe we should have gone.”
“We still can, if you want.”
“I just don’t know.”
Logan hated seeing his dad like this. Harp was always the positive one, the one who kept things going and encouraged others to keep their heads up. And to Logan especially, he was also invincible, a stone that shouldn’t crack. That’s how most children saw their parents. Even when Logan’s mother had died, Harp had kept up a strong facade though Logan knew his dad had been deeply affected by her passing. Of course Harp had been younger then, more in control. Now he’d reached an age where he was outliving his friends, including the brother who was not his brother.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Logan suggested. “We can grab a coffee, look at the houseboats. They’ll be at Uncle Len’s for hours. If you want, we can go over after we get back.”
Harp almost smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Most of Sausalito’s famous houseboats were located along piers at the north end of town. It was a long walk, but it turned out to be just what Harp needed. After a while he started talking, telling Logan stories about Len, about Kansas, and even a couple about his brother Tommy-a subject he’d always been less open about. By the time they grabbed a coffee on their way back, Harp seemed if not himself then at least improved.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m up for an early dinner,” Logan said. “Maybe catch a movie on TV after?”
Harp said nothing for a moment. “I’d like to stop by the cemetery on our way home in the morning.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever you want.”
“Okay,” Harp said, looking relieved. “That sounds good.”
As they crossed into the motel parking lot, Logan said, “There’s that Indian restaurant here that’s supposed to be pretty decent, and I thought I saw a sushi place when we drove in.”
Harp lit up. “Sushi sounds good.” He’d developed a fondness for California rolls in recent years. “Let’s-”
His pace slowed to a stop as his gaze locked onto something in the distance. Logan turned to see what it was.
Standing near his El Camino was Callie Johnson, Uncle Len’s youngest child and only daughter, still wearing the same black dress she’d had on earlier. She was somewhere in her mid-fifties now, and when she’d been a young undergrad at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, she’d make a few extra bucks by occasionally driving up to Cambria and babysitting Logan.
Harp shook off his surprise and walked quickly toward her.
“Callie. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t stay around. I just…”
“It’s okay, Uncle Neal,” she said, using Harp’s first name. “I couldn’t hang around there, either.”
“Well, uh…we’re about to grab some dinner. Would you like to join us?”
“I don’t want to interfere.”
“You won’t be interfering,” Logan said, coming up behind his father. “I’m sure Dad would like a little more company than just me.”
“Well, now that he mentions it…” Harp said.
She smiled and nodded. “All right. Thank y
ou.”
Logan ordered spicy tuna, while Harp went for his usual. Callie, not as experienced at sushi, decided on the sampler plate.
As they waited for their food, Harp said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your dad.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I know he meant a lot to you, too.”
“He was a special man. I don’t know what my life would have been like without him.”
Callie bit the inside of her lip, obviously attempting to keep her emotions in check. Finally she said, “He left something for you.”
Harp looked surprised. “For me? What?”
“I don’t know.” She opened her purse and withdrew a padded envelope about an inch thick. “It was in a box of things Dad told Michael and me about. He said once he was gone, we should open it and we’d know what to do. There were packages for several people inside.” She looked at the envelope and then handed it to Harp. “This one has your name on it.”
Written across the front in thick black ink was FOR HARP. Below this was his address in Cambria. Harp stared at his name for a moment, then looked at Callie and said, “Thank you.”
As he started to set the package on the seat beside him, she asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”
Logan was sure Harp wanted to wait until he was alone, but Callie was Len’s daughter, and the package was, in essence, one of his last messages. She’d want to know what was inside, too.
Harp also seemed to sense this. “Sure,” he said, and set the package on the table.
A single strip of packing tape held the package closed. Harp carefully ripped it off, then reached inside the envelope and pulled out the contents.
A book. An old book.
Harp looked at it, his face growing in wonder. “Oh, my god,” he said.
“What is it?” Logan asked.
Harp turned the book so Logan and Callie could see it. It was a hardcover, and though torn a little at one end, the dust jacket was still intact. Arched across the top portion was the title Lost Horizon, below this was a brown illustration of some buildings on a mountain, and at the very bottom was the name James Hilton.
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