Damascus Road

by Charlie Cole

  He looked at me and I saw the deadness in his eyes. He was beyond outrage and anger. Some part of him had died. He looked at me like I was nothing-an insect that had crossed his path. Finally, he raised his arm and pointed up the way.

  “There.”

  That was all he said. Then he turned his back on me and went back to work. He sounded serious about this, like a prophet pointing the way, so I steered in that direction.

  I saw it then. The church. It was still standing in all the destruction. It was untouched. Completely unmarred. I drove up to it and saw the people flowing in and out. The church had a simple steeple with a bell in the top. The windows were stained glass. The siding was wood and painted white, although this probably would have been painted again in spring.

  I parked the car and got out, looking around, scanning the faces. They all were different, and yet they shared that same quality. Sixty years ago they would have called it shell shock. Now it was post-traumatic stress disorder. I liked the old term better. The crowd trudged into the building, slow and weary. I saw a side door where they exited with box lunches in their hands. Someone had provided them with assistance.

  I made my way up to the church and, rather than fight my way in the front door with everyone else, I went in the back, slipping inside past those who had received their meals. The place was a sea of people, and it was more than difficult to gain headway. I fought my way up the stairs with kind smiles and gentle nudges until I found the source of the food. In the front of the church there was a crew of people working from cardboard crates, handing out the lunches as fast as they could. It was a production line, and I realized in an instant what they all seemed to be struggling to comprehend. They did not have enough food to fill the bellies of the people waiting for it.

  There she was, her brown hair swept back into a ponytail under a baseball cap. Her eyes were like dark chocolate, and her smile was warm and comforting, even when it wasn't meant for me.

  Grace. My wife, Grace.

  For a moment, I considered leaving. Just walking away and not talking to her. She was happy from what I could see. What good could come from disrupting her life by coming back?

  My choice was gone in a moment when she looked up at me. She looked right through me at first. Then I saw her face go from blank to surprise to absolute joy to severe skepticism. I could have lived for days basking in that flash of joy. She had the face of an angel. Her smile could warm your heart and make absolutely anywhere feel like home. And yet, during our last days and months together, I saw that smile less and less, and in its place was a fearsome scowl that made me rue the day that I had dared to cross her path. She could go from sweet as a cherub to avenging angel.

  I didn't delude myself into believing that it was Grace's problem alone. I knew that in all things, I shared in the blame of what went wrong in our marriage. My share of blame was wide and deep and heavy as a boat anchor.

  "Hi," I said.

  "Hi."

  She blinked. I wished that I had a great explanation for her, but I didn't.

  "Need a hand?" I asked.

  "Obviously," she said, cocking her head.

  I took off my jacket and tossed it in the corner, ignoring her tone. I noticed the other workers, men and women alike, but I couldn't tell who was part of her team and who was a townie. I stopped trying to figure it out and focused on the task at hand.

  We worked together, tearing down boxes, handing out food, and over and over again I found myself trying to look at her, to capture a moment, to plan an opportunity where my hand could accidentally touch hers. It did not happen though. She kept moving and greeting these lost souls that poured through the door. Finally, I gave up any chance of connecting with her there. It wasn’t the time or the place, so I let it pass.

  When we ran out of food, I stood back and waited for the revolt, but it never came. A man who I didn’t recognize or know stepped forward.

  “My name is Erik Balfour,” he said in a booming voice. “Balfour Industries is pleased to provide these meals to you in this time of need. I realize that you haven’t all gotten the opportunity to eat yet, but my people tell me that more trucks are on the way. There’s more food coming.”

  A cheer rang out through the crowd, and he actually waved his hands to calm the crowd. His hair was blond and his eyes blue. He was the all-American boy. He could have been running for office. When the crowd erupted into applause, I saw Grace looking at him. The admiration in her eyes was unmistakable.

  I grabbed my jacket and walked out. Being careful not to push past the people too roughly, I got out of there as fast as I could. Once I was outside, I could breathe again. I had to get away from the crowds and the people.

  “Jim, what are you doing?”

  Grace followed me outside. She had dropped the look of admiration. That wasn’t her expression for me. I got a different one.

  “I had to get out of there,” I admitted. “That’s not the place for me.”

  “No, I didn’t mean why you are out here,” she said. “I meant why are you here at all?”

  “I was looking for you,” I said.

  “Why?” She asked. “You didn’t care where I was when we were together.”

  I bit my lip to stop myself from blurting out the rebuttal that was on the tip of my tongue.

  “Grace, some things have happened since we were together,” I said.

  “I’m sure,” she growled at me. “What have you been up to? Or don’t I want to know? Are you in trouble with the law? Is that it?”

  “You know what, Grace?” I said. “That’s really very sweet that you think so little of me. It was a bad idea to come here…”

  I turned my back on her and started walking away.

  “Jim…” she said. “Let’s start over.”

  I glared at her and had to force myself to soften my expression.

  “Do you remember Chris Beck?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. Her face lit up at this.

  We had all been friends together. Chris was my wingman. A great friend and an awesome guy. We shared collective history. I knew that Grace and Chris used to talk about our relationship, even when I wasn’t there. He was always looking out for me, presenting a guy’s viewpoint to give her perspective. We probably stayed together longer because of Chris Beck.

  “He was killed in a car crash,” I said. “I was driving. We were hit by a semi-truck. He didn’t make it.”

  Grace covered her mouth with her hand, and I could see her eyes start to well up. I had delivered the news straight and without buffer. I hoped that it would throw her off stride and stop her from being so harsh on me.

  “I went to his funeral, and his dad, Bill, gave me Chris’ car,” I said pointing.

  She saw it but made a quizzical expression.

  “I don’t remember Chris’ car being black,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “No, it wasn’t…I…” I said.

  Her weight was on her back leg, her hips cocked to the side. She was looking at me through narrowed eyes.

  “Were you drunk when Chris got killed?” she asked.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “No, I think you do,” she said. “I know you, and I know that you like to tip the bottle more than a little; if there’s a friend in the car, then so be it. You would’ve driven with Chris in the car even if you were drunk.”

  “Yes, okay? Yes, I was drinking,” I said. “I admitted that I was stupid, Grace. I was stupid and I messed up and it probably contributed to Chris getting killed.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Is that what you wanted to hear?” I asked.

  “Finish it, Jim,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You got your best friend killed because you were drunk and then oh, surprise-surprise, you find Jesus,” her tone was sweet and condescending at the same time.

  I swallowed, and it made an audible click in my throat. I unclenched my fists and blew out a breath
.

  “I can’t change what’s happened,” I said. “And I can’t change the way that you’re going to react to it. But it’s important that you hear this.”

  “Jim, I don’t want to do this anymore…” she started. She was waving me off, done.

  “My father is dead.”

  I hit her with the news, dead center.

  “What? Did he go for a ride with you too?” she shot back at me.

  I stared at her.

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” my voice calm, measured.

  I walked away from her and back toward the car.

  “Good luck, Grace,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  I got in the Cuda and turned over the engine. I wasn’t going to look for her. I had done my part, and she had done hers. There was a reason that we weren’t together. I was ready to pull out when Grace ran up to the car.

  “Don’t leave like this, Jim,” she said, stopping short of touching the car. “Don’t leave like this again.”

  I glared at her.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t leave, Grace,” I said. “I mean I know I’ve been a sorry excuse for a husband and all, but when I tell you about my dad… my father… and you say that kind of thing to me… I can see that you’re not a completely changed person, either.”

  That hurt her, and I knew it. It made me feel better. Bitch.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe you're right. You always managed to bring out that side of me."

  She said this with a little smile. It was a challenge, but a soft one.

  "I was different afterwards," I said, starting slowly. "I honestly felt like I was doing what God wanted me to do for the first time in my life. I wanted to see my dad. No... I had to see Ellis. Nothing else mattered."

  Grace was nodding, encouraging me to go on.

  "He was worried," I continued. "He had been receiving threats, so he asked me to look into it. It was too late. They grabbed him and took off. I was able to get him back, but the stress..."

  My voice was trembling and I fought to maintain control.

  "He had a massive heart attack and died in the trauma room," I said.

  "Jim, I am so sorry," Grace said. "I didn't know..."

  "I know... I know..." I said. "It's a long story. Longer than all of that, but there's something you need to know."

  "What is it?"

  "Tom is still alive," I said. "He didn't die in the war."

  "What? How?"

  "I don't know how, I didn't get a chance to ask him," I said.

  "You saw him?" she asked.

  "Yeah, larger than life," I said. "Listen, Grace. He's changed. He was the one that was driving the semi that hit me and killed Chris Beck. He was the one that kidnapped Ellis and caused his death."

  She was putting it together slowly.

  "Why are you here?" she asked. "Jim? What are you doing here?"

  "I saw my mom."

  "You did?"

  "She told me about Ellis," I said. "About how he was never there and how she wished that he would have cared enough about her to be there when she needed him."

  "Oh, Jim..."

  "So, I wanted to come anyway, but when I saw Tom... he told me that he was coming after you. He's out of his mind and wants to hurt me any way that he can. So, I came as fast as I could."

  "You think Tom wants to hurt me?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  "Jim, sweetie, if Tom wanted to hurt you, wouldn't he want to go after someone that you cared about?" she asked. Her implication was clear.

  I think it hurt me more that the question was genuine. It wasn't said to hurt me, so much as it was treated as if it were gospel truth.

  "Grace, I know it hasn't seemed like it... I know I haven't done anything to show it, but I do care about you," I said. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

  She stepped closer to the car and leaned over, putting her hand on my arm.

  "Did you have any trouble finding me?" she asked.

  "More than a little."

  "Out here, in the middle of the country, it's not like we can't see him coming," she said.

  "Grace, I just don't think..."

  "Jim, you're here in my backyard now," she said. "If you want to be here and watch out for me, then you have to be here and watch out for me."

  A mischievous grin was growing on her face. It made me nervous. Whenever she did that, I always thought that I'd rather face a grizzly bear or a great white shark. I knew their motivations. With Grace, it was harder to tell.

  "Okay, what do you have in mind?" I asked.

  "Well, you know that I'm a field meteorologist," she said.

  "You're a storm chaser," I replied.

  "Stop watching movies and pay attention," she said, but she was good-natured when she said it. "We use scout drivers and chase drivers. Usually the scouts are out in the field trying to find the tornados. Then we try to keep up with the equipment to get the readings and deploy the probes."

  "Probes?" I asked warily.

  "Electronic transmitters that get picked up by the tornado and send back data," she explained. "But the challenge is in getting close enough to deploy the probes without getting smashed by the twister."

  "Has it ever occurred to you that your job is insane?" I asked.

  "No, never," she replied, stone-faced. "I'm in the middle of my work here, Jim. You know I can't just pick up and take off, so don't even suggest that I leave with you."

  She was figuring out what I was going to say before I said it. That drove me more than a little nuts.

  "Then what?" I asked.

  “You want to chase tornadoes with me, baby?” she asked.

  “You are insane, woman.”

  “If you want to stay here and watch out for me,” she said. “You need to work with me. As part of my team. Drive with me, Jim.”

  “Really? I hadn’t…I mean…that’s not what I expected you to say.”

  “You know me. I’m not running. You want to stay with me, you have to stay with me.”

  I stared out the windshield, considering my options.

  “Sounds like fun,” I said.

  “We’ll see, Jimmy,” she said. “You got a place to stay?”

  “You’re looking at it.”

  “You can’t sleep in your car,” she said.

  “I can and I have.”

  “Well, you don’t have to,” she said. “Come on. I’ll grab the team and you can follow us to the hotel.”

  “Grace, wait…”

  She turned back to me, and I saw that look in her eye. She looked lighter somehow. The years seemed to drop away along with all the nonsense and bitterness.

  “What is it, Jim?”

  I wanted to ask her about Erik Balfour and her team and what she had been doing all that time without me. But the look on her face stopped me cold. Her mood had risen from dark to light, and it was too precious to let it go. I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin it.

  “What kind of car are you driving?” I asked.

  “It’s the Suburban right over there,” she pointed. ‘We’ll be right out.”

  I nodded and watched her walk away.

  Rain began to fall during the drive to the hotel. It was soft and gentle and fell in a steady cascade. I had a little knot in my stomach, anticipating how that would change in the days to come. I had no doubt there would be more rain, more wind and more wreckage. I didn’t relish crossing paths with another tornado, but Grace had been right. It kept me close to her, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered.

  The Suburban and Ford F-150 pulled into a hotel parking lot, so I followed them in. We were already our own little rag tag caravan. They parked in front of the entrance, so I stopped in line. They were going to check in first and then move the cars. Made sense, I conceded to myself.

  I locked the car and walked inside. Grace stood with a tight circle of men. Erik Balfour was there, and I did my best not to break stride when I saw him. Questions about him rose in m
y throat, but I swallowed them back.

  My eyes met with Grace’s, and she beckoned me over.

  “Jim, I’d like you to meet some people,” she said.

  She still had the lilt to her voice. She was happy, or so it seemed. I feared that we hadn’t really talked through everything that had happened, that would and could happen. She was pressing forward it seemed; if I was for real, if I was genuine, I would have to prove it to her by staying there. I’d need to take some risks of my own before she was willing to take a risk on me again.

  “Jim, this is Erik Balfour,” Grace said. “He’s our benefactor. He owns a number of companies and has been providing private relief efforts to towns hit by natural disasters like tornados. He also has a number of degrees around meteorology and climatology.”

  “Just concerned about the environment is all,” Erik said modestly. “I think it’s evidenced in our changing climate, and the tornados are a part of that. I’d just like to be part of the solution, you know?”

  I shook his hand; it wasn’t the limp fish I expected it to be.

  “Well, you know what they say,” I replied. “Quod erat demonstrotum.”

  “Q.E.D. Thus it is proved,” he said, his opinion of me changing in midstream. “Indeed.”

  Grace shot me a snarky little look.

  “And these are our brothers, Duff and Bud,” she said.

  They were redheads both of them, short and thick. Duff had a wild goatee working. Bud’s head was shaved, and his round glasses that made him look even rotund.

  “Hey Jim!”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Hey, fellas,” I said. “So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  “We’ve got a network of storm spotters that help us to find tornados and the like,” Bud said. “We also have Doppler and portable radar.”

  “We’re hoping that we’ll come across some real twisters in the next few days,” Duff said. “You coming with us tomorrow?”

  I made eye contact with Grace.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Looking forward to it.”

  Grace was looking at me, but something in her expression was off, like she was waiting for me to give up and make a break for the door.

  “We’re glad to have you,” Erik said. “Any friend of Grace’s is welcome here.”