Now that you’ve finished the entire saga, please do send me an email and let me know your thoughts. Plus I’d simply like to meet you! You can contact me at [email protected]. Again, my author web page is www.davidbsmithbooks.com.
My own wife – also named Lisa, of course – has often teased me about the reality that I probably live out my unfulfilled teen dreams through Bucky Stone, or as I sometimes call him, tongue-in-cheek: “the James Bond of Christianity.” True, I confess: I wasn’t much good at basketball and baseball as a kid, and certainly wasn’t in the home-run-king varsity MVP stratosphere level that Bucky achieves in every book. And no, I didn’t have girls like Deirdre and Tracy throwing themselves at me between classes. (Although I’ve done all right for myself; my Lisa, grandma of four, is still quite a stunner.)
But let me say this to all of you: the way Bucky Stone lives for Jesus . . . yeah, I want to do that too. I wrote these books partly to entertain, sure, because I think savoring life and living it to the full is God’s plan. But Bucky and I both want to be loyal to the Lord simply because he deserves it. He saved me from my sins; he died on the cross for me. I owe him my life and my talents and my daily devotion. I tried to pour those ideals into interesting lives for Bucky and Dan and Lisa, and if you haven’t yet embraced a life of having Jesus as your best friend, I hope you’ll step away from the fiction of these simple stories and make Christianity a wonderful and everlasting truth in your own soul.
• • • • •
It’s not available just yet, but in the very near future, we’ll be unveiling a really exciting new project, all set in Thailand (remember Book #5?) Love in a Distant Land is a full-length, 300-page Christian romantic story set in Bangkok. And the central character happens to be Rachel Marie Stone, Bucky’s younger sister! Now all grown up, she’s a schoolteacher looking for adventure, and happens to find it in Asia’s most glamorous and notorious city.
I’ll be posting more news about the book as soon as it becomes available, so do keep checking at the web site. Here’s a sneak preview just for now . . .
THE INTERSECTION
She could feel the pulsating of her own blood as the Nissan tore through a red light. Horns blared on all sides as taxi drivers vented their displeasure, slamming on brakes to avoid a mid-intersection pileup.
“Hold on, Rachel.” Still gunning the engine, he reached over with his left hand and pressed his bloody dress shirt into the gash. “I’m so sorry . . .”
Her vision was swimming as Rachel Marie fought to stay conscious. Is life going to end right here on this May night? I’m twenty-four! Will Mom and Dad and Bucky have to fly out here for my funeral? “Are we going to . . . make it?” She could barely murmur the words, and winced as an excruciating wave of pain hit.
“Shhh.” Her boyfriend wrestled the hurtling car past two lumbering buses. “I love you.”
Rachel Marie made a feeble effort to reach up herself and hold the white linen against the brutal cut in her upper arm. “Sweetie, I’m . . . not going to last . . .”
Her fragile farewell tore a sob from the driver’s throat and he risked taking his eyes off the road for a bare moment. “Don’t. Please . . . just hang on.”
The diesel bus looming to their left was jammed with humanity, and in her blackening vision, Rachel could see innocent faces peering blankly through the glass. Did they see the pool of blood filling her lap and spilling onto the floor mats? Did these people know that her life was hanging by a thread because of what one of their own had done to her?
A vision of Adrian drifted across the windshield, and Rachel Marie felt a wistful ache that competed with the stabbing pain from the attack. She had abandoned a decent, steady man back in California in order to pursue this . . . what? This elegant offering of service to her Lord? This mad adventure which was now bleeding itself into the upholstery?
She knew her memories weren’t lucid, that her soul was already drifting toward that seductive velvet slumber from which she might never wake up. But she had a flickering sense of the road she had spurned. Pasadena’s well-groomed lawns. The orderly traffic and her secure job teaching sixth grade. Adrian’s strong embrace. It had all been so reliably safe. Church most weekends. Macaroni Grill once a month. Pay the rent, catch the Dodger score, Leno’s opening monologue. Give your man a goodnight kiss, then teasingly nudge him toward the door.
And then surely – if she hadn’t fled the scene to embark on this fool’s errand – the culminating Vera Wang moment of saying “I do.” Followed by a pleasant, predictable tapestry of California companionship. Walks on the beach, Sunday afternoons making lesson plans or puttering in the lush foliage of Adrian’s Glendale mansion. So safe . . .
“Did you say something?” His voice sounded far away, and the shrieking speed of the chase an oddly slow-motion dream, gauzy and fading. She managed to shake her head, and then gasped aloud as the car bounced over railroad tracks.
Fighting back tears, her beloved friend shoved the car into second gear, and the car darted to the right and toward Mission Hospital. A tuk-tuk driver, hearing the throaty engine screaming up behind him, spun out of harm’s way. Spent and sacrificed, Rachel Marie let go of the blood-soaked shirt as the darkest of Bangkok nights overtook her.
CHAPTER ONE
“Go straight, you silly . . .”
Rachel Marie gave a frustrated kick at the stubborn wheel. BigValue was a low-end supermarket, but the food prices were so reasonable, it was worth dragging a rickety cart up one aisle and down another looking for the bargains.
Still, this one was really grinding its gears today. Grumbling to herself and lifting up the back part of the recalcitrant piece of machinery so the hind wheels dangled rebelliously in the air, she wheeled to the front of the store and transferred her lettuce and dinner rolls to a newer model.
“You don’t like that one?” The assistant manager gave her a waving finger of mock criticism. “I’ll have to tell the big boss that Miss Stone is unhappy with our market.”
The young school teacher smiled in spite of her frustration. “Oh, it’s okay, Mr. G. I’d rather have cheap food prices than Lexus grocery carts. But that one’s about to break into a hundred pieces. It kept turning right when I wanted to go left.”
“I know.” The big man’s wrinkled face was warm with affection. “It’s always good to see you here. Everything good? School is nearly out, eh?”
“Five more weeks.” Which still feels like a century, some mornings.
“And for the summer? You have plans?”
Rachel Marie pondered the question. What about this summer? What about a job next school year? What about a . . . wedding? Here on the third of May nothing looked certain except for the heat outside.
As if reading her mind, the grocer pointed toward the bakery aisle. “If you’re thinking of saying ‘I do’ to your young man, you know that Uncle Hermano will donate the cake. Si?”
“I don’t think that’s on my calendar for this summer.” She swallowed the knot of frustration that the admission forced her to consider. “We’re just not ready yet.”
Mr. Gonzales, despite being a simple man working in an ethnic grocery store, had the savvy to back up. “You’re a very beautiful lady. And God will give you a beautiful wedding and mucho happy life – when it is his time.”
“I know.” She headed toward the cereal section.
It was hard to be reminded, even innocently, about how so many things in her life were in flux. Not desperately so, but it seemed like every piece of her existence was simply floating. Nothing was moving. Things weren’t getting better.
She glanced up at the huge convex mirror that silently guarded the wayward journeys shoppers made up and down the aisles of BigValue. Her own distorted figure came into view, and Rachel Marie smiled in spite of herself. Even the bend of the reflection couldn’t hide her slender but womanly frame and the chestnut hair she laboriously shaped into the beautiful styles Adrian raved about. Her face had a simple sweetness – lips that bathed her face
in an honest smile, dark gray eyes that were deep and thoughtful. Her nose had the tiniest bump in it, which she used to verbally mask her traces of vanity. But her skin was perfect: slightly pale for California, with spots of color in both cheeks when she received or dished out teasing.
Her cell buzzed, and she fished hopefully in her purse, feeling her pulse flutter as she peeked at the screen. “Hey, sweets.”
“Yup.” Adrian’s deep baritone came on the line. “How’s my favorite school marm doing?”
“Just stocking up on food and girl things.”
“Everything I like?”
“Sure.” She paused. “You do like artichokes, right?”
“You know I don’t,” he said shortly. “Messy, and not worth the bother. I gave those up a long time ago.”
“I like them. But I’ll get something else for you.”
She could tell his office was still humming even at a quarter to six. “Are you about ready to leave?”
“No. I told you I had to finish the San Gabriel paperwork this evening. And escrow on that one is totally haywire. I’m stuck here till at least eight.”
She could picture him at his desk in the corner suite at Homes Ahoy Realty. Six foot one and well built. Necktie, dress shirt with the sleeves fashionably rolled halfway up. Those tanned, muscular forearms with his expensive wristwatch gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Adrian always dressed to the hilt when he went to work, explaining to friends that in this combustible market, potential buyers wanted to believe their agent was on the ball and knew how to protect them from the foreclosure buzzards. “Nobody wants to go hunting for their dream house with a realtor who’s got ketchup stains on his pants and rides around in a five-year old Kia,” he would snort.
Her voice sounded a bit tentative. “Should I come over when you get off?”
“Nah. Not worth it. I got that thing, then I promised the Kurchenkos I’d pop over and at least give them a ballpark price range for their place in Arcadia. They may list this weekend if all goes well. So just . . . I don’t know. Go to Baja Fresh or whatever. We’ll get together tomorrow for sure. Sorry.”
She plodded her way through the rest of the grocery list, thinking about Adrian and the ten months they’d been dating now. He’d tagged along with his Wisconsin cousin to a Fourth of July beach party New Hope Church sponsored for its young adults, and ambled over to offer her a hot dog. “Looks like no one here is feeding you, pretty lady,” he observed with a confident grin. Following a shared slice of watermelon and a sunset walk down to the pier, he wrangled an email address out of her before the last embers in the fire faded into a sandy darkness.
Her fellow teachers teased her about dating a hottie strictly for his looks – and Rachel Marie had to confess that his dark blue eyes and fashionably ragged haircuts still made her go weak in the knees. But Adrian was a good guy, hard-working, strong and protective of her needs. At least some weekends, he would tag along to New Hope and squint curiously at the twin screens as Pastor Mike or one of his associates would open up God’s Word to the rapidly growing congregation.
“I admit I don’t get all this stuff,” he would confess over a shared picnic lunch at Descanso Gardens or a romantic return to Huntington Beach. “I guess I got to trust you, babe, to make sure we both get into heaven.”
The acrid heat hit her in the face as she wheeled her cart out of the market, giving Mr. G a last wave as she beeped for her car. “June gloom” was a regular part of life in Southern California, but early May in the San Gabriel Valley had some days that were intense sizzlers. It took several minutes before the AC in her Focus began to cool the commute over to Temple City.
Two blocks from home the reminder jolted her: No boyfriend tonight. Baja Fresh. “Argggh!” It was a favorite born-again expletive, and she actually spat it out audibly, regretfully swerving into the left-turn lane so she could wheel around and return to the plaza’s line of fast-food restaurants.
It was typical in her relationship with Adrian that they had dinners together just a couple times a week, so going home to make a simple meal for one was a usual part of Rachel Marie’s routine. But with school soon being out . . . and the complication of planning next week’s field trip to Knott’s . . . and with a zillion spelling papers to grade . . . and a virtually empty refrigerator, it was going to be a burrito and chips at Baja Fresh or nothing. She couldn’t face a stove and the stillness of her house.
Her cell phone gave a warning ding while she was standing in line waiting to order. She glanced at the text message. “Call me when you can. Jisoo.”
Collecting her food, Rachel Marie perched herself on a high stool at a table in the back and bowed her head for a quick prayer. She munched thoughtfully on the spicy fare, trying to sort out the conflicting feelings that caused angst for California teachers in the month of May. The state budget was a shambles and the Glendale district was desperately trying to cobble together a future blueprint made up of more than pink slips, crowded classrooms, and gutted music programs.
“Is this yours?” A young waiter, face butchered by acne and sporting a tattoo on both forearms, pointed to a small container of salsa on the table next to hers.
“Huh uh.” She managed a smile. “But thanks.”
“No problem.”
She finished up her soda, resisting the urge to go up to the counter and spend another $1.39 for an extra bag of tortilla chips. When times were anxious, it was a temptation to comfort herself with a mini-binge, and it was a failing she was asking God to help her overcome. Forcing her mind away, she gathered her wrappings and headed for the door and the ebbing heat outside. Better call Jisoo.
Rachel Marie found a small knot of picnic tables protected from the late-afternoon sun by some parched umbrella awnings with Dodger logos etched on them. A bit of breeze wafted through the parking lot and she sighed gratefully, pulling out her phone and dialing the number.
“This is Jisoo.”
“Hey. It’s me.” She flicked away a blob of salsa stuck to her pinkie fingernail and pushed the phone closer. “Sorry. Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Thank you for calling me back.”
“How’s everything going? It’s nice to hear from you, Jisoo.”
She smiled to herself, remembering the two crazy college years. It was one of those inexplicable ways God directed in people’s lives, having a California girl travel to Texas to go to school and ending up with a Korean roommate. Jisoo was several years older due to an interminable lifetime in an ESL program before starting college. She gritted her way through tough biology and honors composition classes, carefully composing term papers on a dorm laptop and then bribing Rachel Marie to edit out the many Asian syntax mistakes.
But the four colorful semesters had also involved midnight trips to the multiplex to watch Harry Potter movies and weekend whitewater rafting adventures. Not to mention Jisoo’s stubborn insistence on weekly pig-out excursions to a Korean restaurant where her all-American roommate had quickly developed a taste for kimchi, the eye-watering fermented delicacy of pickled cabbage and radishes.
There was a long pause and when Jisoo spoke, her voice had an odd weakness to it. “I’m . . . I’m all right.”
“Come on, roomie.” Rachel Marie tried to inject a spark of good cheer. “‘Fess up. You’re mad about something. Did I forget your birthday? It’s August, right?”
“No. Not that. I just . . .”
Rachel Marie waited, shifting on the concrete bench as the harsh sunlight found a tear in the umbrella and made her squint.
“Could you please perhaps come over?”
“I . . . well, I guess. Sure, if you want.” Something inside of her tightened up. Claremont was a good thirty-five minutes east on the freeway, and the commute was little better than a parking lot this time of early evening. After such a long day with the thirty-one zombies, an evening of solitude and television had begun to sound pretty wonderful. But Jisoo was her friend, of course . . .
“Did you and Ad
rian have plans?”
A sigh. “No. He bailed on me. Again. So, sure, I’m free. If you’ve got some kimchi in the fridge, I’m there.”
For some reason, this wasn’t a Monday for banter, she suddenly realized. Jisoo said something she didn’t quite get, and added: “Please, Rachel Marie. That would be so . . . good. Thank you.”
“All right then. I’ll get on the road, dahling.”
“See you very soon.” Her friend’s voice still sounded clotted, but perhaps it was just the crackle of all that digital traffic. Rachel Marie glanced at her watch and trudged over to the car.
The I-210 twin ribbons of concrete were indeed clogged when she inched her way onto the eastbound freeway at Baldwin Avenue. But to her surprise the traffic flow eased almost immediately. Breathing a prayer of thanksgiving, she punched in a praise album on her iPod and turned the volume down. The malls and restaurants flowed past as Rachel Marie pondered the dilemma of her baffling romantic relationship with Adrian.
Lord Jesus, you know all things. You know where we both are in our search for you. And that we’re . . . just not really together. I don’t know why, but we’re not. Please help us to find our way.
It was a habit she’d had since high school, murmuring little prayers on the freeway. Out loud if she was by herself. It felt good to spill out the angst she sometimes sensed over the fact that in terms of God and matters of the kingdom, the man she loved was simply present but not participating. He was affable toward the promises of Calvary, but not much excited about it. Not like she longed for things to be with the man who would share her life.
But that could always happen. The goodness in Adrian’s heart just needed to find its true wellspring of being. Somehow his character needed to come from Christ more than from chromosomes.
She saw the Claremont exit to Jisoo’s place and eased over to the right-hand lane. She flipped her headlights on, relying on memory to take her north toward the foothills that were now in muted shadows. Right – left – left – left. It took a couple of minutes to maneuver into the last parking slot available in the big apartment complex by the man-made lake.
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