The Face of the Earth

by Deborah Raney

  He turned away, pretending to go check on TP again.

  “Mitch––Wait.”

  He pivoted to face her again.

  She looked at the ground before meeting his gaze again. “I feel like I should say I’m sorry. For. . .what just happened.”

  She’d felt it too. He wanted to pretend like he didn’t know what she referred to, but she would have seen right through him.

  “The truth is, I’m not sorry.” She dropped her head and wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking protection from his response.

  But he was speechless. How could he possibly respond to that?

  After a few seconds she looked up, a sort of resolve in her demeanor. “Mitch? What are you going to do now?”

  He cocked his head, fairly sure what she meant, but not wanting to borrow trouble. “Do now?”

  “Now that we . . . didn’t find Jill. What’s next?”

  “I don’t know.” He kicked at a pile of soggy, decaying leaves. “I just don’t know.”

  Chapter 24

  “It’s been almost five months now, Mitch.” Shelley looked at Mitch’s profile in the waning light. “Don’t you think it’s time to accept . . . and move on?”

  “Accept?”

  “A person can’t live in this kind of limbo, Mitch. You’ve got to give yourself a break.”

  He stared off into the woods. “I can’t just . . . give up.”

  “You’ve done everything humanly possible, Mitch. With no leads at all . . . isn’t it time to let it go? Let the authorities handle it. No one is asking you to give up hope, but you can’t keep pushing yourself, searching like this when you have nothing to go on.”

  “How is that not giving up hope?” He turned to her with a look of anguish. “How do I just let her go? What if she’s out there somewhere? Waiting? Counting on me?”

  “Mitch. I know how hard it must be to face this, but . . . What scenario could that be true for? Think about it. Either Jill is . . . gone. Or she’s chosen not to be found. And I can’t imagine any reason whatsoever the latter could be true,” she added quickly. “She never would have left you of her own free will.”

  He started to answer, but seemed to decide better of it.

  “You know . . .” Shelley turned toward him, leaning her right side against the car. “A wise man once––not that long ago, actually––told me, ‘The past is the past. Forgetting what lies behind and pressing on . . . and all that.’”

  Surprisingly, a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.” He mimicked the brief salute she’d given him moments ago and the glint in his eyes filled her with relief.

  He shook his head. “What is the deal with this talent women have for throwing men’s own words back at them like weapons?”

  She laughed. “You don’t really think I’m going to betray womankind and reveal that age-old secret, do you?”

  He shook his head and grinned at her, looking like a little boy. “I guess I temporarily lost my mind.”

  “Just temporarily, huh?”

  Again, that grin. The one that did funny things to her insides.

  How, in the space of half a dozen sentences, had they moved from such sober talk to this . . . flirting? That was all she could label it. But it didn’t matter how. She preferred this a thousand times over.

  The sun was low, but still it warmed them against the chill that hung in the evening air. The tree branches cast dappled shadows over the road. It would be dark soon.

  Shelley turned and pressed her back against the car again. She closed her eyes, stifling a yawn.

  “Am I boring you, Ms. Austin?” He scooted close enough to nudge her arm with his elbow, teasing.

  “Hey, be nice to me. I closed the store last night,” she pouted. “It was after midnight before I finally got to sleep. And then somebody dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn––”

  “Oh, I forgot you had to work.” He pushed off the car, stretching his arms over his head. “We’d better get you home.” He gave a low whistle, and called TP.

  “No, I’m fine.” She made her voice bright. “Don’t hurry . . . on my account. I don’t have to go in until ten tomorrow. We can stay a while if you want . . .”

  “Whatever you want,” he said, his voice raspy. He leaned back against the car again, close enough that the sleeves of their jackets touched. Without speaking, he looked over at her, and she recognized in his eyes the same longing that dwelled inside her.

  Whatever you want. They were skating on treacherously thin ice. Surely he could hear her heart pounding. The sky had grown dusky, but could he read in her eyes that it was him she wanted? She tried desperately to look away. And when she couldn’t, she tried to make her eyes say something else. To lie. It would destroy their friendship if he guessed her thoughts. She knew him well enough to know that. She had to keep her thoughts in check at all costs. She had to––

  And then, somehow, he was holding her, kissing her, as if her thoughts had meshed with his and spilled over into this amazing moment that she’d barely dared to dream.

  She let him kiss her, reached up to cradle the back of his head, and wove her fingers through his hair. He smelled like wood smoke and peppermint. He smelled like heaven.

  No. Not heaven. Create in me a clean heart . . . Oh, God . . .

  Against everything she longed for, she pushed him away, gasping for air as if she’d just surfaced from the depths of some lake. “Don’t, Mitch. No . . .” It was so hard to say no when her heart was shouting yes.

  Mitch groaned and covered his mouth with his hand, looking as stunned as she felt by what had just happened. “Oh, dear God. I’m sorry. Shelley, I’m sorry. I–– I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She wanted desperately to reach for him. Instead she took another step backward. “It’s okay,” she crooned. “It . . . wasn’t just you. It was me just as much . . . It’s okay, Mitch. I think we’ve both wanted––”

  “No, it’s not okay.” He pushed off the car, stumbling backward. His foot slid on the gravel, but he quickly righted himself and kept walking. He paced at the edge of the road, stopping to double over, looking like he might be sick.

  Finally he came back to the car, looking like a man in shock. He kept his distance, his voice so strangled she had to strain to hear his words.

  “Please forgive me. Oh, God . . . I am so sorry, Shelley. I’m sorry, God.” He ran trembling hands through his hair, leaving it spiked and unruly. “Please, please forgive me.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to God. “It wasn’t just you, Mitch. Do you hear what I’m saying? It wasn’t only you. I’m as much to blame as––”

  “I don’t know why I did that. I am so sorry.”

  “Mitch! Stop it.”

  “Shelley . . . I think the world of you . . . Absolutely the world.” He closed his eyes. “You’ve made these months bearable for me. I truly don’t know how I would have survived without all your help, but I’m afraid we’re . . . slipping into something that isn’t right. And . . . oh, God”––he buried his face in the bowl of his palms––“now I’ve just proven everything you said.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “About men who aren’t faithful to their wives . . . About marriages that–– I’ve just proven it all.”

  “No you haven’t, Mitch. Stop it. How can you be unfaithful to a wife who’s gone.”

  “We don’t know that, Shelley. We don’t!”

  “Mitch . . . please . . .” His anguish broke her heart and she struggled to offer him relief. An endearment was on her lips and she bit it back, caressing him with his name instead. “Oh, Mitch, do you really think Jill is ever coming back? Deep in your heart, do you really think so?” She reached up to put a hand on his cheek, savoring the warmth of it, wanting so desperately to be in his arms again. And knowing that she couldn’t be. Not now.

  He pushed her hand away roughly and walked out to the middle of the narrow gravel road.
He gave a sharp, high whistle, calling for TP.

  The dog came running, and Mitch made a wide berth around where Shelley stood, still with her spine against the driver’s side door. He opened the back door, and TP bounded into the car, panting and slobbering.

  “We need to get on the road,” he said, not looking at her.

  She trudged around to the passenger side, neither of them speaking. The leaves and twigs crunching underfoot compensated for their silence.

  Mitch drove with his head bent, never taking his eyes off the road, still looking like he might be sick at any moment.

  Her heart ached so deeply––physically ached––that had she not known the source of her pain, she would have feared she was having a heart attack.

  But she knew the source. And she knew what she had to do about it.

  March

  Chapter 25

  Monday, March 7

  Shelley rounded the curve and punched the garage door opener on the car’s visor, but it wasn’t her own house she was focused on. As she had every day for the past seven weeks, she pulled slowly into her driveway and stopped, looking over at the Brannons’ front yard, hoping she’d catch a glimpse of Mitch.

  Over the past weeks––almost two months now––she had searched her heart and been chagrined by what she discovered. She’d let her desires for things that did not belong to her, things she had no claim to, cause her to act in ways she was ashamed of. They were subtle things, but they’d crept into her life and made her behave in ways she knew were wrong. She’d asked God to forgive her, and she’d prayed that she and Mitch could somehow find their way back to . . . friendship. That was all she dared ask for right now––of Mitch.

  Or of God. But she was learning to be more honest in her prayers. “God, I don’t know if I can ever be satisfied with mere friendship with Mitch. Please give me pure desires. Please show me your truth. Don’t let me long for something that I can’t have. Something that isn’t Your will for me.”

  What had happened between them that last day on the road had provoked her imagination and kindled daydreams about what it would be like to be married to Mitch Brannon. What it would be like to know his love the way her friend had known it.

  The very words of her thoughts brought instant shame. Could she not even think Jill’s name anymore? No. Because after all that had happened between her and Mitch, if by some miracle Jill did come back, their friendship would be over.

  She thought she’d mastered the monster of envy. She thought she’d finally learned to be content with her life. And to rejoice for all her friend had. How had one kiss undone everything she’d once asked God to accomplish in her?

  And Mitch’s apology––as if kissing her had been the most unpleasant experience of his life––made her feel awful. Crushed and rejected. Disgraced. And yet, she deserved it. If she was honest, she had to admit that in subtle––and sometimes not so subtle––ways, she’d been coming on to Mitch. And deep inside she’d known what she was doing. And all when Mitch was most vulnerable. Oh, Lord, what was I thinking? Please forgive me.

  But was it fair that their lives be put on hold like this? If Jill was gone––and somehow, she felt so certain that she was––then there was nothing keeping her and Mitch apart. Was it only wishful thinking that gave her such certainty?

  She aimed her car into the garage, but glancing over at Mitch’s house again, her breath caught. What in the world . . . ?

  There was a Realtor’s FOR SALE sign planted in his front yard.

  Mitch hadn’t spoken two words to her since that night on the way back to Sylvia when he’d kissed her. He’d apologized again, practically in tears, when he dropped her off at her house that night. He’d sworn to her that it would never happen again. That he didn’t know what had come over him.

  And she’d tried again and again to own the blame for that kiss, for what happened between them. But he wouldn’t hear her. Wouldn’t even let her finish explaining.

  And since that night she would have sworn he’d planned his schedule around hers, so that their paths would never cross.

  Now, apparently even that wasn’t enough, because a large, red-and-white sign announced to the whole neighborhood that he was selling his home. The way gossip spread in Sylvia, she was surprised she hadn’t heard about it at the store today.

  She put her car in Park and turned off the engine. She tossed her keys beside her purse on the passenger seat. This was ridiculous. She should have insisted that he talk to her, that they talk things out, long ago.

  She crossed her driveway and the alleyway that separated their properties. Her breath hung in the air in front of her, and she broke into a trot across the brown lawn. Her low heels sank into dead grass that was still soggy from this morning’s dusting of snow. She rang the doorbell, then pounded on his door.

  A few seconds later the door opened, and Mitch appeared, still in his suit jacket and tie from work. He seemed surprised to see her. “Shelley––”

  “What is going on?” She looked back briefly toward the lawn and the offending sign.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re selling your house? Moving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where? Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know yet. I have to sell the house first. That could take a while.”

  “But . . . What about the kids? It’s . . . so soon. Where will they come home to for the summer? This is their home. Oh, Mitch. Please. They’ve already lost so much.”

  He studied her as if he couldn’t believe she had the gall to ask such questions. “I think it’s best for everyone this way.”

  She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. He was still watching her when she opened them again. “Mitch, please don’t do this. Please. What about Jill? What if she tries to come home. What if––”

  “I didn’t think you expect her to come home.” The hardness in his voice was like a physical blow.

  And she deserved it. It was cruel to have played that card. The Jill card. Was she that desperate? “Have you told your kids?”

  “Told them what? About––what I did?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant, Mitch. I wouldn’t expect you to say anything to them.” He was still wallowing in guilt. “I meant about the house. That you’re selling.”

  “Not yet.”

  “This is my fault, Mitch.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Please don’t do this. If . . . if anyone should move, it should be me.”

  “No. I would not do that to you, Shelley. I hope you know that.”

  “Why do either of us need to move? If you want me out of your life, I promise I won’t bother you. We’re both adults. We can figure out how to stay out of each other’s hair.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that. You should be free to come and go from your own home without having to try to avoid me.”

  “I haven’t been trying to avoid you.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he was the one who’d made her feel like she should stay away.

  “No, but I’ve tried to avoid you.”

  So he admitted it. “Okay. So, we’ve done that for weeks. We can keep doing it. Indefinitely. Come on, Mitch. This isn’t fair to your kids. They’ll be devastated. This is where they grew up. It’s where their memories of Jill are. Where will they come home to this summer? Where will they spend next Christmas?”

  He stared at her, his demeanor unyielding.

  She pointed at the neighbors’ house on the other side of hers. “I see the Rohrmeiers maybe four times a year. I can ignore you, too.”

  He shook his head. “That’s just it, Shelley. I can’t ignore you.”

  The realization of what he was saying left her speechless for a moment. But then her anger––and hurt––resurfaced. “I’d say you’ve done a pretty good job of it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why, Mitch? Is it because you’re afraid . . . what happened that night will happen again? Is it––”

 
“Why?” He stepped out onto the porch and looked past her, panning the street, as if he was afraid they might be overheard. “I’ll tell you why. Because I lost my wife and I should be consumed with finding her. But instead––no matter how hard I try to stay away from you––I’m drawn to you––more every day. That’s why! Are you happy now?”

  Her next breath wouldn’t come, and she stared at him, in shock, not sure she’d even heard him right. “Then . . . then why don’t we do something about that? Because I feel the same way about you, Mitch. I have––for a long time.” She couldn’t tell him that she’d loved him long before Jill disappeared.

  “No. Shhh.” He hung his head. “No, Shelley. I wasn’t . . . trying to come up with reasons. I’m saying it can’t happen. At all. I’m sorry.”

  “Mitch . . . Please. Why can’t you let yourself move on? Go forward? Why can’t you let yourself fall in love again? Are you going to be hanging on to Jill’s memory three years from now? Five? Six? Feeling guilty because you think she might still be out there?”

  “But that’s just it. It hasn’t been six years. It’s barely been six months. Shelley . . . I care for you a great deal. You’ve been amazing––an amazing friend––through this whole ordeal. And I appreciate that. But––” He stopped, swallowed hard. She could see he was struggling for composure. “Even if Jill . . . died––even if I knew for sure she was gone––it would be too soon for me to be making decisions about . . . going on. I’m still in love with my wife. I can’t forget that.”

  She dropped her head. “I know you are. I know that, Mitch. You’ll always love her. Of course you will. That’s why I love you. All I’ve ever wanted is someone who would love me the way you love Jill. I don’t expect you to fall in love with me overnight. I know that will take time. I can live with that. I can live on hope––that you’ll grow to love me the way you loved––the way you love her. Just please, give me a chance to––”