by Edward Es
Despite the flurry of questions, Kirshner walks away with Sam. The audience turns toward Noelle, who walks over to the female reporter and hugs her as the crowd forms around them.
The waning light of day casts a warm glow of earthen colors across the canyon as Bud sits in an old rocking chair on the porch of the Shack, reading a newspaper. On the front page in expanded headlines sprawls: SPECIAL EDITION: WORLDWIDE HEALINGS. HOLMES’ MIRACLE TRIP BACK. WHAT NEXT? A picture of Melody walking away from church takes up the entire front page. Bud hears commotion from the front gate, lowers the paper, and squints to see what’s going on. A woman sits in her car, arguing with the agent manning the gate. Reporters snap pictures as Bud hurries down from the verandah and walks toward the activity. When he arrives, he intervenes.
“What the heck’s going on here?” He looks at the woman. “Is there something I can—” He realizes it’s Francine, recognizing her from his files, and turns to the agent who intercepted her. “Let her through. I’ll handle this.”
She offers her hand out the window. “Thanks. Francine Holmes.” Bud stares at it, then takes it as if he’d never touched a woman’s hand before. She surprises him with a hearty grasp.
“Yes, ma’am. I know who you are and I apologize for the misunderstanding. Just drive your car on in here.” The handshake continues a few cycles too long, only because Bud has been unable to unlock his stare upon her. She breaks it by letting the car roll forward. Bud follows on foot, opens the car door, and helps her out. She pops the trunk open and takes out a small suitcase, which Bud eyes as Francine closes the trunk, climbs the steps to the verandah, and stops. She gazes around, taking in the Shack, it’s walled-in world, and the afterglow of all it has witnessed. Then she turns to Bud, looking him over.
“And who exactly are you?”
“Bud Meyerkamp. Agent Meyerkamp, actually.” He walks up to the verandah and extends his hand. Francine looks at it and smiles, taking it once more. “I’m sorry about the business at the gate, but my men are under orders to keep everyone out. It’s more for the protection of the property than anything else, what with all the press and public coming in.” Realizing he hadn’t let go of her hand, he withdraws the handshake. They lock eyes for a moment until she looks back at the gate.
“And you’re the last line of defense, I suppose.”
“No, actually. I’m not even on duty. To tell you the truth, I’m sort of on vacation, or leave. Or something. I really don’t know what I’m doing, exactly,” Bud fumbles.
She senses his trepidation and lowers her guard an inch, looking back into his eyes. There she sees something. Something unexpectedly comforting. “I know what you mean. I’m not sure what I’m doing, exactly, either. I haven’t been here in a long time.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Well, I know from... I know a lot about you, from when I was working this case. I know you haven’t been here.” An odd silence comes upon them. “I’m sorry about everything that happened. I’m sure it’s been difficult.”
Francine ponders. “Thank you. It has been. I’ve not been able to deal with any of it. Until last night.”
“Last night?”
“For a long time, I didn’t even know what questions to ask. And last night, I got the answers. The answers to questions I couldn’t even ask. Something told me I had to come back here. So, here I am.”
“Are you sure you want to go in there? Can I help somehow?” Bud offers.
“I need to do this alone. I might even take a nap, but thanks for asking.”
Francine walks toward the screen door, which Bud rushes to open for her. She looks inside, takes a breath for courage, and steps into the doorway as Bud carefully closes the screen door behind her. After hesitating, she looks back at Bud through the screen.
“Will you be here when I come back out?”
“You bet I will.” After a moment, he asks, “Did I just shake your hand twice?”
“Uh-huh.” She smiles, closing the front door. He walks back over to the chair and sits down, out of sorts. He looks back at the door, then stares out across the canyon and watches the last slice of Sun disappear behind Mount Kinesava.
Charles Grodin sits at his desk on the set while a makeup artist dabs the last few spots of reflection from his face and backs away. The floor director signals him, counts down, and points as the light comes on the camera.
“Good evening. There have been a lot of things going on during the last week, and especially the last day or two. You all know what I’m talking about, this Thomas Holmes story and all its twists and turns. First he goes up there, then he’s never coming back, then he’s coming back, and nobody knows how. And I’ll tell you right now, no one’s more confused about it all than me. I’ve gone back and forth, from one side to the other. I thought it was interesting at first, then I thought it was all a bit much. Then I felt bad when he... blew off his rocket or whatever happened when he was doomed to float off into space. Finally, last night, there’s this business of him on his way home, and I thought, like a lot of other people, it was starting to smell like some giant hoax or something. I watched that press conference by Dr. Kirshner, and I didn’t know what to think after that.
“But guess what? There are some other things, some miraculous things, that all seem to have happened at the same time. Not the least of which has to do with a girl named Melody Baxter. That name had already become a household word, what with her pleas for help and the big prayer she arranged all over the world. But what’s happened to her since yesterday... well how else can we say it? She was healed. Instantly. And she wasn’t the only one. Nobody can accuse that little girl, no matter what you think of Holmes or all his rockets or money or whatever, of anything but being honest. She spent most of her life bent over in a wheelchair. She had all kinds of other problems, and to be frank, a lot of people thought she wouldn’t live very long. Until yesterday. Yesterday, she walked into her church. That’s right, she walked.
“Tonight, I’ve arranged to talk to Melody through a satellite link, and also with Noelle Crane, the ABN reporter who most of you will recognize. Noelle seems to have taken Melody under her wing, and from what I can tell, has her best interests at heart. We’ll be talking to them in just a couple of minutes, so don’t go away. I can promise you, this is a child you’re going to want to listen to. If anybody has answers to all this, I’ll bet it’s her. We’ll be right back.”
Parked in front of Noah House is a broadcast van with a transmission station extended and cables running into the main doors. Down the hall, the doors to the Starbridge are open and bright light pours into the hallway.
In the middle of the room, two chairs angle at each other. Melody sits in one, Noelle in the other, both wearing the T-shirts. Television spots are arranged for the interview with two cameras in waiting and cable bundles winding across the floor and out the door. A monitor sits directly across from them, and on it Grodin prepares for return from commercial. The location director stands near them wearing headphones, listening. He turns to them.
“OK, we’re on in 10 seconds.”
“Well, honey, here we go.” Noelle says.
“I’m ready, Miss Crane.”
The director counts them down, Grodin getting the same on the monitor. “For those of you who just joined us, we have with us live via satellite, Melody Baxter and her friend, Noelle Crane of ABN. Good evening, ladies. How’s our connection out there?”
“Five by five, Charles,” Noelle says. “You look great. It seems this talk show business agrees with you.”
“It agrees with me just fine, Noelle, although I suppose there are those who wish I’d go back to acting. So, Melody, how are you doing? You look wonderful.”
“I’m feeling wonderful, Mr. Grodin. I’m a little nervous though. I always loved your Beethoven movies so much. I never thought I’d ever actually get to talk
to you.”
“That’s really sweet of you, and I’m glad you liked those movies. They were a lot of fun to make. So, what do you think about all this?”
“I’m so excited that this happened to me. But I’m just as excited for all my friends, and all the other people in the world, too.”
“You know, Noelle, you’ve made friends with Melody and gotten to know her. It strikes me I’ve never seen a person so concerned with others, in spite of her own problems.”
Noelle touches Melody’s shoulder. “It’s extraordinary, Charles. If there’s anything we can learn from this child and all that she’s said, it’s about caring for another person without that caring being... clouded or conditioned on what our own lives are about. Unconditional love. It’s what we all need, and what so few of us can give.”
“Melody, you must know that so many people out in the world don’t understand what happened to you, or to all these other children. Is there anything you can say to them about what you think happened? Is there some kind of pattern or something?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but I’ll bet that everyone who was helped said that prayer with me that night, or somebody they knew said it for them.”
“So you think that the prayer caused all this? But the prayer was for Mr. Holmes, wasn’t it? Something very... unusual happened to him. He was helped, and no one can explain why or how, and a lot of people think, well, you know, they think he faked his problem. How does this all make sense to you?”
“First of all, I’m not sure what you mean by making sense. It seems to me that most people in the world don’t make much sense, with the things they do and say.”
Grodin’s signature smile appears. “Melody, I’ll tell you what, if anything makes any sense, it’s what you just said, don’t you think, Noelle?”
“Charles, I’ve learned more about myself in the few days I’ve known Melody than in fifteen years of therapy. In fact, it seems to me none of us listen to children nearly enough. We tend to dismiss what they say as... childish. Now there’s a term that applies more to us than them.”
“How true. So, Melody, you have no trouble in believing in these miracles. Well, how dumb of me. How could you? Look what happened to you.”
“I don’t get it why people find it so hard to believe in miracles. My Mommy told me I was the greatest miracle in the world to her. She said every time a child is born, it’s a miracle, but nobody pays attention to it that way.”
“I can see why Miss Crane made such good friends with you. I’m sure if I were out there, I’d want to be your friend too. You’re a very special child. No, let me take that back, you’re a very special person. So, you feel that the prayer made all this happen. But don’t people pray for help all the time? Why do you think all this happened the way it did?”
“We can’t figure out what God does, or why, and that’s what makes Him God. But I do believe some things about the way He works. I believe that when we pray, we’re like mirrors. I got that idea once when I was trying to send a message to the kids in the treehouse outside. They couldn’t hear me, so I tried to get their attention by reflecting the Sun in a mirror at them. I thought later that when we’re trying to get God’s attention to something, it’s like we’re trying to shine His light there with our prayers. And the better people we are, the better the mirrors we are, and the more of His light goes there.”
“I think I’m getting the picture. So this time there were a lot of mirrors, weren’t there?”
“That’s what I think. And kids are really good mirrors, because they’re clean, and bright. I think most people, when they get older, they get dark. They don’t reflect much of anything.”
“And why do you think all these wonderful things happened to you and the others if you were asking for help for somebody else?”
Melody pauses. “Well, I suppose somehow all that light got reflected back at us. We got our prayers sent back to us. When I was healed, I remember a big light. It was inside me, like a rainbow. That must be what happened. Whatever it was, I just thank Him so much for everything, and I hope and pray that everyone in the world can be a better person, and help shine His light back.”
“Well, God bless you, Melody, and thank you. You know, Mr. Holmes has a TV up there, and I hope he watches me sometimes. In case he’s watching right now, is there anything you’d like to say to him?”
Melody pauses again. “Yes, I think so.” She looks directly into the camera. “If you’re listening, Mr. Holmes, I’m just so happy that you’re coming home, and I know you’ll be happy about my being able to walk. I can’t wait to see you and give you a big hug. I also hope you feel like saying something to all of us down here, because we prayed so hard for you.”
Tom is watching, Zion sleeping on his lap. Melody stares directly at him.
“I don’t know what happened to you up there behind the Moon, but I hope it helped you, and you won’t have to be sad about Noah anymore. I know he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. And we all love you down here, too.” Melody ends her message with a smile, and Tom blinks to see it. Grodin comes back on the screen.
“What else can I say, except that maybe we should think about lowering the age for elected office in this country. I mean really lowering it. We’ll be back after this.”
As the show goes to commercial, Tom switches it off, the path projection returning to the screen, his capsule now more than halfway to Earth. He looks out the window and sees the Earth coming closer, the South Pacific a lustrous shade of blue, embellished with golden glints from the deepening angle of the Sun. Tom moves closer to the window and as he does so, puts his hand in his pants pocket and finds the rock, the one Billy handed him. He takes it out, looks it over, and again the flooding sensation comes upon him, the oddness of unexplainable familiarity.
He looks closer at the rock, noticing its strange shape, like an eight, as if worn in the middle, or as if two rocks had joined. On one end there’s an unnatural scar, chipped off, revealing unlikely strata. Tom holds the rock at arm’s length toward the earth, thinking it odd that this specimen made the journey with him, older than man himself, once a part of that magnificent planet, gone, and now returning by the hand of a man. As he holds it over the Pacific, a flash of light comes off the water and illuminates the rock.
And then another vision, this more intense than any, this full of mandate as he’s drawn toward the rock at a speed greater than light. And when it’s over, he knows it’s the last, the final inscape. This time he’s not confused, but enlightened, and though he doesn’t understand the meaning yet, knows it is to come and give purpose to all the engulfing mysteries of the previous visions. He puts the rock back in his pocket.
Isabel leans against the stern railing, watching the ship’s broad wake churn the deep blue water to fluorescent aqua. From the ship’s PA system comes:
“OK, fans, this is your cruise director, Debra, and it’s time to reveal the destination of our Mystery Cruise. For all of you that entered the contest, here are the totals: one hundred fifty-seven of you thought we were going to Alaska. I guess you can tell by the temperature you lost. Three hundred sixty-nine thought it was Mexico. One hundred eighty-seven guessed the Panama Canal. One hundred five thought we were coming back to Los Angeles. Nice try, but no dice. Right now, I’d like all of you to take a look off the port side of the ship. That’s the left side for you landlubbers.”
There’s a stampede over to that side. Since Isabel’s already at the stern, all she has to do is turn in that direction. “If you look off to the horizon you’ll see a large island that looks like a volcano. That’s right! Two hundred twenty-five of you smart cruisers guessed Hawaii. Congratulations! That’s the beautiful island of Maui, and we’ll be making our way off shore of Lahaina in an hour. Each one of you lucky winners gets a free T-shirt from Hilo Hatties!” There’s a great shout of joy, especially from the children.
A ship’s tender bumps the dock in Lahaina and the crew jumps off, lines in hand, Noah 5 anchored in the distance. The crew can barely get secured before a herd of squealing children pour out and run in all directions, followed by frantic chaperones. Once they’ve disembarked, Isabel pushes Nonna’s wheelchair down the gangplank and they face up toward the steaming Sun.
Isabel and Nonna enter the bar at the Hard Rock Cafe, taking a small table. The waiter, a striking, tanned figure in shorts, approaches and lays down cocktail napkins. Nonna looks up and smiles.
“What can I get for you two beauties?” he asks.
“Oh, how about a room?”
“Nonna!” Isabel exclaims.
The waiter winks. “I don’t know if I could handle all that… experience.”
Nonna looks at Isabel. “Oh for heaven’s sake, girl, I was just joking.” Isabel looks away, pretending embarrassment. “We’ll take two of anything with an umbrella.”
“Gotcha,” he says as he walks away. They both can’t help but watch. Nonna looks at Isabel watching, who looks at Nonna to find a caught-yeah-lookin’ look. Isabel pokes her in the arm, then looks up at a projection TV.
An NFL playoff game is in progress, just coming back from commercial, and John Madden stands with Al Michaels in the booth. Madden holds the microphone like an ice cream cone. “Al, this game has been a giant track meet from the beginning. We got over two hundred yards rushing by both teams in the first half, with only four completed passes for San Francisco, and five for Dallas. Who would have thought?”
“Well, we said at the beginning that with Steele still injured and Grant running on a bad ankle, the 49ers’ ground game would have to come alive. As for the Cowboys, it all goes to the credit of the 49ers’ corners. What can you say about Bradbury and Swenson? They’ve completely frustrated the wide receivers, and Caldwell can’t seem to find anything open in the secondary.”