Caught in the Crossfire

by Juliann Rich

  I pictured Paul and Hannah opening their doors and their hearts to Dawn and couldn’t help but smile to think of Hannah brewing her special tea and Paul with his head bent in prayer, leading Dawn to Christ. But my smile faded when I pictured Ian and me standing outside a closed door that would never open as long as we were together.

  “Are you angry with your mother?”

  “I was. For a long time.” The chainsaw broke through the resistance and died down to a steady buzz. The sound of some huge thing thudding to the ground startled me, and I jumped in my chair.

  “But not anymore?”

  “No, not anymore. The more I gave my heart to Christ, the more He filled it with love until there just wasn’t room for anger.” She gazed out her window. The air blew across her face. The turquoise beads she wore in her long hair clattered against each other like a living wind chime. “Besides, she has a good heart. In time, my mother will soften. As will yours. But now, I need to go check on the loons.” Dawn stood.

  “Do you think they made it through the storm?”

  “Edward and Bella probably did. Most likely they flew away when the storm hit, but the babies were just weeks old. Too young to fly.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I stood to leave. Bear barked his disappointment. “I won’t be coming back next summer, Dawn.”

  “I know, but we will see each other again.” Dawn tilted her head, listening to the wind. “I am proud of you, Needjee. Go in peace, Jonathan Cooper.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The Loon’s Nest had been burglarized. At least, it looked that way. Plastic mattresses lay bare. Damp, musty towels hung from every surface, their deadline for drying quickly approaching. Suitcases and duffel bags were open, half-packed, and a stream of worn socks and underwear cluttered the floor. Sleeping bags were badly rolled up and waited to unravel. The mosquito population of northern Minnesota could relax; Bryan’s bug zapper was nowhere to be seen. Jake was the only person who was completely packed. Either he was in a hurry to get home, which I doubted, or he didn’t want his mom or dad to pry into his bags stuffed with his Iron Man pj’s and his porn. I could even see the outline of the magazines at the bottom of his duffel bag if I looked closely. Lucky for Jake, his parents probably wouldn’t.

  It was a relief to have the cabin to myself as I packed up. Everyone else was either checking out the damage from the storm or waiting for parents to arrive.

  Rolling up my sleeping bag proved too difficult while balancing on crutches, so I left it. Mom and I could figure it out later, after the closing-day activities. I stood outside and listened to the hum of Spirit Lake in the distance, breathed in the fresh pine air, and looked at the cabin. When had the paint peeled from the windowsills? How had I never noticed the torn screen before?

  Without looking back, I turned and hobbled away.

  Warrior’s Way should have been renamed Wounded Warrior’s Way. I limped over the campground, my eyes wandering across the forest of fir and birch and the eternal blue of the passive lake that rolled toward the beach in the aftermath of the night’s storm. Trees were uprooted. Half the roof was missing from the canteen. Garbage was strewn over the campground I no longer recognized. The fire pit at the bonfire had turned into a pool of ashes.

  My breath caught in my throat. The willow tree, guardian of Spirit Lake Bible Camp, lay on the ground, charred and split in two. Half of its body was twisted and gnarled and lay defeated on the sandy beach. Cruel black streaks along the fallen limb gave evidence of the violence it had suffered. The other half, only lightly blackened, reached toward Heaven as if it had died in the middle of a prayer. My throat swelled shut and burned with grief. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. I let my body’s weight rest on my crutches as Sean bent over the fallen willow with a chainsaw, dismembering the remains. The wind shifted, and I choked on the wood dust that swirled around me like cremated ashes being scattered.

  “Jonathan, I’ve been looking for you. I heard you were hurt. Are you okay? What happened?” Bethany walked up to join me.

  “I sprained my ankle. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal? You were so brave, going back into the storm last night.”

  “Thanks, but you know what the flip side of bravery is, don’t you?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “Stupidity.” We laughed together and, for a moment, it almost felt right. “Lightning?” I guessed, looking at the fallen willow.

  “Yeah, I saw it get hit. The storm rolled in off the lake, and the whole sky turned this awful shade of green when a line of white streaked through the sky and hit the willow tree. All the lights went out in the lodge, so Paul made us go into the basement, and I didn’t see anything else.” I remembered a flash of light and a dead phone in Ian’s hand as he had called out to Paul.

  “So, it seems that a month goes by quicker than I thought.” Bethany avoided my eyes.

  “You must be excited about seeing your family again today.” The chainsaw sprang to life, and Sean began carving into the half of the willow that still stood. Nothing would be allowed to remain.

  “I guess. Actually, I’m not sure I’m ready to go home. It’s been nice just being Bethany, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do know. I’m not ready for parents’ day either.” The ticking of the clock that had been growing stronger for days had become deafening. It drowned out the whining chainsaw and the screaming tree and the soft-spoken girl.

  “So, I found your flowers and note with your phone number on my bunk. That was so sweet of you. I’d love for us to stay in touch too. Here.” Bethany handed me a piece of paper. “It’s my phone number. My mother won’t let me call boys, and I don’t have a cell, but you can call my home number. Don’t leave a message with one of my brothers or sisters though. I won’t get it for sure.” The largest remaining limb from the willow tree surrendered and crashed to the ground. Sean repositioned the chainsaw and began attacking the split trunk. I stared at the small piece of paper and said nothing.

  “So, I’ll see you in Curtain Call for our performance, then.”

  “Yeah, sure, Bethany. I’ll be there.” It would have been so much easier to follow that path. She was everything I was supposed to have chosen.

  “Okay, later.” Bethany walked away, and suddenly I knew I couldn’t mislead her.

  “Ah, Bethany.”

  She turned to look at me. “What is it?” Her face lit up.

  “The flowers and note didn’t come from me.” I hated hurting her.

  “You didn’t write this?” She took another handwritten note from her pocket and gave it to me. Bethany, it was cool spending time with you in Curtain Call. Give me a call sometime. The only signature was one letter J followed by a phone number.

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t write that.”

  Disappointment, then understanding crossed her face. “But then, it must have been written by…”

  “I’m sorry, Bethany. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She smiled. “It was always Ian, wasn’t it?”

  “Since the moment I saw him.”

  Bethany nodded and walked away. This time, I let her go and she did not look back.

  The chainsaw finally stopped. I filled my lungs with as much pine-scented sorrow as I could stand. Exhaling, I said good-bye to the willow tree, to Spirit Lake Bible Camp, to the people here who were like family, and to the Jonathan I had tried so hard to be. The back of my throat burned from holding back my tears. In the distance I saw Ian, standing by Sara and Lily on the stage of the outdoor theater. They were maneuvering the TV stand into place. He wore a suit and tie, and his red hair was slicked back. He looked exactly like a news anchor. I would have laughed had my heart not been breaking.

  A steady line of cars streamed down the dirt road that led toward Spirit Lake Bible Camp. Parents’ day had begun.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Hey, Jonathan!” Simon’s voice reached me from the arts-and-crafts pavilion. “Look at you cruise on those crutch
es. Got a moment?”

  “Absolutely.” I lurched over to where he sat, saturated in the scent of turpentine as he cleaned the paintbrushes and tidied up for the end of the summer session. I had been hoping for a chance to say good-bye. He had been so much more than a counselor. More than an art teacher. He had become my friend. The easel held a completed portrait of a dark-haired woman, strong and fierce, dancing in the lush forest. The dawning sun was breaking over the ridge of trees. Her white flowing dress fanned out around her bare legs like an orchid opening to the morning light.

  “Oh, Simon, it’s fantastic.”

  “Thank you. I call it Morning Dance.” He smiled and ran his hand over the canvas.

  “It’s beautiful, Simon. I saw it. Last night when the shadows played across Ian’s face, I understood. All this time I’ve been looking right into the light, measuring its strength, but I should have been looking at where it fell. Like the picture of my mom.”

  “The light shows us truth. Sometimes it shows us more than we want to see. That’s what happened with that picture, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to take a peaceful picture of her. I suppose because that’s how I want her to be. Instead, the picture showed her looking worried because that’s how she really is.”

  He smiled. “I knew you’d see it. Believe me, there are a lot of people who never do. Did you figure out anything about the shadows?”

  I thought of the dark shadow that fell across my mother’s face. The softening I had seen on Ian’s face. “This may sound weird, but I think the light asks the questions, and the shadows give us the answers.”

  “You’ve begun to see the shades of gray. I can’t believe how far you’ve come. You’re going to be an amazing photographer someday.” Simon looked at me. Artist to artist.

  “Thank you for speaking up for me last night.”

  Simon sloshed the brushes one final time in the turpentine and set them on a table to dry. I looked around the supply hut and realized that the shelves were empty. Everything had been packed up. A prickling feeling traveled over my skin.

  “What happened, Simon? After I left the lodge?”

  He dried his hands on a paper towel. “Paul and I had a long talk.”

  “You mean Paul fired you.”

  “Let’s say we both realized our philosophies have grown too far apart.” I heard the sadness in his voice. “Now before you go blaming yourself, you should know that this has been a long time coming. Throughout the years I’ve known Paul, he has become more conservative in his beliefs while mine have been broadening. This day was unavoidable.”

  I still felt guilty. “Black and white versus shades of gray.”

  “Exactly.” Simon smiled at me.

  “What are you going to do now, Simon?”

  “Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” Simon quoted the Bible. “Isaiah 43:18 and 19. I have no idea what I’m going to do now, Jonathan, but I know that God will do a new thing with my life. He will make a way.”

  The willow tree was gone. The cross, scarred with Ian’s footprints, had survived. Simon was leaving, but Paul would remain. Spirit Lake Bible Camp would go on, to be certain, but as far as I was concerned, it could go on without me.

  “It still feels like my fault. You wouldn’t have argued with Paul if I hadn’t insisted on going to find Ian. And guess what? He was fine. In the end, he rescued me.” I grimaced.

  “So I heard, but that’s exactly how relationships are supposed to work.” Simon smiled. “Two people loving each other, helping each other.” He looked toward the cabin at the edge of the forest. Honking horns came from the direction of the parking lot.

  “A relationship with Ian—what a weird thought.” Saying it aloud made me dizzy.

  “But does it feel right?”

  “Sometimes, I think yeah, it could. If he’s able to forgive me, that is. But then I think about my mom. I know how she’s going to feel about this. And my dad, well, you’ve met him.”

  He read the look of panic that passed over my face. “Right. Sergeant Cooper. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. You’re going to have to give them time and try to remember that they love you. Believe it or not, I think your dad would have been proud of you when you went back into the storm for Ian. You should have seen yourself. The way you stood up to Paul and walked into that storm, determined to find Ian. You were a soldier last night, even if it does take some time for your dad to see it that way. As far as whether or not Ian forgives you, well…whatever he decides to do won’t change who you are. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. I finally know who I am.”

  Simon smiled at me as he wheeled over to his workbench and picked up a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

  “That’s my cell. I want you to call me, anytime, okay? You are not alone.”

  More tears sprang to my eyes, though I would have thought I’d run dry. I had never cried so much in my life. There were things I wanted to tell him, but the pavilion spun. I nodded, unable to talk.

  “Now go, find your mom. Look her in the eye and be yourself.” Simon squared his shoulders. “As for me, I think it’s time I took my own advice.” He winked at me. “Wish me luck.”

  “Woo-hoo! You go get her!”

  Simon wheeled toward the small cabin at the edge of the forest while I took one last look around the arts-and-crafts pavilion and tucked Simon’s phone number into my empty pocket. All the gold coins had finally been spent.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The pit in my stomach grew bigger as car after car turned into the parking lot. She’s late? The thought shocked me. I choked on the stifling stench of exhaust that poured out of idling cars. The door to the administration building opened and Mom walked out with Paul. She held a Kleenex to her eyes. Oh crap, she’s early.

  “I don’t understand, Paul. How could this happen? What am I supposed to do now?” Her voice carried across the parking lot and pierced me through the heart.

  “I’ve given you a list of Christian counselors I know in the Cities.” Paul’s voice soothed. “They’ll help you. Linda, please don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”

  My mom stared at me.

  You’re the man of the house now, Jon. Take care of your mother. My chest tightened.

  “Jon!” She looked pale, shaken. “Look at you on crutches! Oh dear Lord, what has happened to you?”

  I knew she was asking about more than my ankle.

  She crossed the parking lot to where I stood, leaning on my crutches. Her arms rose to give me a hug, but I saw her hesitation and she saw mine. She dropped them to her side and stood in front of me.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. “I’m going to be fine. It’s just a sprain.”

  “We should leave. I think we should go. Now.”

  “I’m in Curtain Call, Mom. Sara’s counting on me. Can’t we leave right after the play?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked her toward the outdoor theater.

  *

  “It’s about time you showed up.” Sara looked stressed as she fastened the belt of chiming bells around Bethany’s waist. “Everyone’s here. We’re almost ready to begin.”

  “Sorry, Sara, I’m not moving too fast.” I apologized and ducked into the dimly lit costume hut. I breathed in the air, thickened with years of dust, and threw my purple robe over my T-shirt and shorts. The color of royalty, according to Lily. I attached a realistic-looking black beard and looked for my crown where I’d left it, but it wasn’t there. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere in the costume hut. I gave up and took a look at myself in the mirror. Herod on crutches. Minus his crown. Why not? A sharp rap at the door cut short my reflections.

  “Jonathan? You in there?” Ian’s voice was an answer to prayer. “Let me in, quick. Before someo
ne sees.” I pushed the door open. He slipped in without anyone spotting him.

  “Listen, this is it. I don’t think we’re going to get another chance to say good-bye.” Ian looked ridiculously cute with his slicked-back hair. “My foster parents know. Paul asked them to come up early so they could talk.” Sounds of murmuring audience voices and tinkling bells carried through the walls along with the muted tones of Aaron’s guitar as he provided some entertainment before the play.

  “Looking fine, girl!” Jake’s voice boomed out behind the stage, too loud to earn him any points with Sara, though maybe with Bethany.

  “Yeah, my mom knows too. She looks like she’s going to throw up.” I imagined her sitting, head whirling, in a sea of happy faces. My heart hurt for her. “Ian—”

  He shushed me. “Look, what you did was bullshit, but I think I understand why you freaked out.” He avoided my eyes.

  “Does that mean you forgive me?”

  “I don’t feel right leaving things the way they are. Let’s say I’m willing to let it go.”

  “I’ll take it.” I pulled him into my arms, and he lifted his face to me.

  Our lips touched awkwardly. Our noses bumped. Though we’d kissed before, this kiss tasted different. It tasted of good-bye.

  “Ian.” I mouthed his name. His eyes fluttered open. “What happens next?”

  “Maybe it will be easier now that they know. We won’t have to hide. Maybe they’ll understand.” Ian sounded so hopeful.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s a nice thought.”

  “It’s only two more years, right? And then college. Besides, I’m going to come and visit you this fall. We’re going to go to the Guthrie and take in a play. And you’re going to take me to the bookstore near your house.” The clinking of water glasses and oohs and aahs told me that Lily and Hannah were moving through the tables, providing our dinner guests with their meals.