The Face of the Earth

by Deborah Raney

  She didn’t want to analyze––much less admit––the hope that grew inside her. “Mitch?” She stepped out into the kitchen. Evan’s friends had gathered around the oak table, one of them asleep with his head on the table, the other two talking in hushed tones, obviously intimidated by Evan’s dad. She gave a little wave and went to look for Mitch.

  She found him in what must be the master bedroom. His and Jill’s room. The light was on. He was rifling through a pile of newspapers on top of a dresser.

  “Have you found anything?”

  He shook his head, seeming preoccupied.

  “The clothes in the bathroom aren’t Jill’s.”

  For the first time since they’d arrived, he met her gaze. “You’re right. I––I don’t think she’s here.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  He met her gaze and shook his head, his eyes saying the words before his lips even moved. “I don’t think she’s ever been here. Not since––” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. “I’m not sure how I know. But I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He took a deep breath and pressed his lips together like he was trying to keep it together.

  Everything in her wanted to go to him, put her arms around him and comfort him. And yet, somewhere in the recesses of her subconscious, she was bargaining with God. Maybe now he’ll realize that she’s never coming back. Maybe now . . .

  He gathered up the pile of papers in front of him and wadded them into a ball.

  “Don’t you think they might need those? The sheriff?”

  He stuffed it all in a small wastebasket beside the dresser. “It’s just newspapers . . . grocery ads. There’s nothing here.”

  “The dates might be important, Mitch.”

  He halted, then pulled the wad of papers out and tried to smooth the wrinkles.

  She’d never seen him look so haggard. Like he carried the weight of the last year on his shoulders. And it was more than he could carry.

  “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll deal with this in the morning.” He reached for a pillow on the unmade bed and stripped off the pillowcase. “There should be clean sheets in the closet there.” He motioned toward an armoire on the wall at the end of the bed.

  She went to open it and found a stack of clean sheets and pillowcases.

  “You can sleep in here. The boys will all fit in the loft.”

  “What about you? Is there another bedroom?” She knew Evan and Katie always slept in the loft, and she hadn’t seen another room on her brief tour of the cabin.

  “I happen to know the couch is very comfortable.” He stripped off the contour sheet and wadded it up with the rest of the bedding. “Besides, I’m so beat I think I could sleep on a rock pile.” He went to the window and drew heavy drapes over a wall of dark windows.

  “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, Mitch. You should have your own bed––”

  “Shelley . . . I’m too tired to argue. Just please, help me make up your bed. I’ll lock the doors.”

  She did as he asked.

  Sun streamed in the window, and Mitch covered his eyes against it and rolled over on the narrow couch. He’d told Shelley the couch was comfortable––and it was, for Sunday afternoon naps. Overnight, not so much.

  In the loft above him someone––maybe two someones––snored loudly. Squinting at the clock over the fireplace, he felt suddenly disoriented. The clock must have stopped. It wasn’t two a.m. and it sure wasn’t two p.m.

  He heard the sound of the shower in the bedroom. Jill must be up too, and–– He stopped breathing. Shelley. Not Jill. All the events of yesterday rolled over him, pressed in on him. The movie with Shelley, Evan’s phone call, the drive to the cabin with Shelley––and her insistence that she bow out of his life now . . . Then coming to the cabin and realizing Jill wasn’t here. Likely never had been. Likely never would be again.

  Would a loving God ask him to accept that he may never know the truth about what happened? And yet, God had brought him this far. And through it all, he was learning to seek the Lord more closely. He’d made mistakes. He hadn’t come through unscathed, and yet God’s presence had been so very real to him. And eternity seemed closer than it ever had.

  Last night he’d felt as heavy, as utterly overwhelmed as he had that first night after Jill went missing. But now, with the sun lighting the room and a renewed sense of God’s very presence with him, he felt a quiet peace descend over him like a cool breeze.

  He didn’t have answers about Jill. Maybe he never would. He’d lived with that blackness for nearly a year, and at times, it had felt like a living hell. But here he was. Faith tattered, but intact. He folded his hands on his chest––the nearest posture of prayer he could manage without risk of discovery––and in the space of one breath, he relinquished the remnants of his life to the One who’d held them all along.

  “I give up, Lord,” he whispered. His prayer was a surrender of all the things he’d held so tightly to, had not been willing to let go of until this moment in time. The right to know what happened to Jill. The right to be bitter about the way his life had gone. The right to explore his relationship with Shelley.

  Could it be this simple? Could a person go to sleep one night feeling crushed and defeated and confused, and wake up only a few hours later to sun in his face and a heart filled with peace?

  So peaceful. The words to a song they sometimes sang in church wove itself through his thoughts. Let not your heart be troubled. My peace I give to you. I’ll turn your mourning into dancing and clothe you with joy.

  Maybe not joy. Yet. But . . . peace. And hope.

  Those, he could live with.

  Chapter 34

  Shelley awoke early and showered and dressed, wishing desperately for a fresh change of clothes. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and did the best she could with what little makeup she had in her purse.

  The sunrise revealed a door behind the draperies Mitch had closed last night. She stepped outside to discover a deck that ran the length of the cabin and afforded a stunning view of the lake. A morning breeze whipped up frothy whitecaps on the dark surface of the water, and a pair of gulls took turns diving for breakfast. At the edge of the deck, a stand of cottonwoods whispered in a language all their own.

  Under different circumstances, it would have been a little taste of heaven. She stood at the rail, mesmerized by the lake, thinking and praying, waiting for Mitch and the boys to wake up. Dreading the drive back.

  When she heard them rumbling around in the living room half an hour later, she went inside to the kitchen to make coffee.

  “Good morning,” Mitch said, coming to stand beside her at the counter. “I see you found the coffee.”

  She nodded. “I hope you don’t mind that I rummaged around in your cupboards. It’s a beautiful place you have here. I enjoyed being out on the deck this morning. The lake is so peaceful.”

  He gave her an odd look, as if she’d said something surprising. Or maybe he’d just expected her to be more upset about everything that had happened.

  But he shook his head and she didn’t press him. There would be plenty of time to talk on the drive home today.

  “There’s nothing to eat here,” he said, “but I’ll send the boys into town to get us some breakfast. Did you sleep okay?”

  “I did.” For a few hours anyway.

  “Listen, I need go make some phone calls . . . let Detective Fredriks know there’s no need for him to come down. And I need to talk to the sheriff and the Marleys before we leave. Oh . . . and I also need to get someone to change the locks this week.” He tapped out notes on his phone, then looked up and caught her eye. “I’m really sorry you got dragged along on this joyride. I’m hoping we can be on the road in an hour or two.”

  She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Do whatever you need to do. I need to call Audrey. But maybe not this early . . .”

  “What time is it?” He checked his watch. “Katie has to work. She
’ll be up. I’ll call her first.”

  He roused the boys with a shout up to the loft and they straggled down, not looking too happy about the way this weekend had turned out. But Mitch gave instructions about breakfast and the guys headed to town in Evan’s car. Mitch went out to the deck with his phone.

  Shelley watched him from the kitchen window, rehearsing the things she wanted to tell him on their drive home. Nothing had really changed. Maybe all this had happened to spur her to tell him what she should have told him long ago.

  Maybe she’d needed something to help her understand that even if Jill was never found, Mitch would always be looking over his shoulder thinking that tomorrow’s phone call, tomorrow’s new clue, really might be Jill. No, unless Mitch got some answers about Jill, nothing would change for a very long time. Maybe ever.

  So, she would do what she’d promised and move on. Because she couldn’t live next door, loving him as she did, and pretend it was otherwise.

  But––for both their sakes––she would pray every day for answers about Jill.

  Mitch heard the back door open and looked up to see Shelley bringing two steaming mugs out to the deck.

  He took the one she offered and cupped his hands around it. “Thanks.” The warmth was welcome, even though the sun was already promising another scorcher.

  She tested a sip from her cup. “I know you prefer it with cream, but unless Evan picks up some half-and-half, your choices today are black, black, or black.”

  He smiled. “I’ll take black.”

  At the sound of tires on the gravel drive, they both looked up. A sheriff’s patrol car came around the curve and parked near the house.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told Shelley, and went down the steps to meet the officer.

  The deputy climbed out of the car. “Everything okay here now? Anybody ever show up?”

  “No. But . . . it’s not my wife. I’m sure of that. I’ll have someone come out and change the locks this week, but what do we do with the stuff they left in the house?”

  “What’d they leave?”

  “Mostly clothes. I’m honestly not sure whether some of the stuff is ours or not––towels and such.”

  “I’ll haul off anything you don’t think is yours. Or you can just trash it.”

  “Good. I’d like to get back on the road as soon as I can. Let me get the stuff for you.”

  The officer followed him into the house and Mitch gathered the whole pile of clothes––towels and all––and brought them into the living room. He put them in a heap on the floor beside the sofa. “Let me get a bag to put these in.”

  Mitch heard voices outside, Shelley talking to someone. Probably the guys back with breakfast. But a minute later, a knock sounded on the kitchen door and Shelley came in with Wayne Marley.

  “Hey, Wayne!” Mitch crossed the room and greeted the burly man warmly. “How’s it going? Long time, no see.”

  Wayne Marley shook hands with the officer, then turned back to Mitch. “I hear you had a break-in last night? Your boy and his buddies came by.”

  “Yes. Thanks for putting up with them. I wouldn’t call it a break-in exactly. No doors or windows were broken, but somebody’s been camping out here. Don’t know for how long, but it doesn’t look like anything was stolen.” He didn’t want to imply that he blamed Wayne for not keeping a closer eye on the place. Anyone who left a lake home unattended knew break-ins were a risk.

  “Sorry to hear it. Everything looked fine the last time I drove by. That was last Tuesday.” Wayne looked past him, panning the room as if to check things out for himself. “You going to have the locks–– Hey! What’s that doing here?” He lumbered past Mitch to where the laundry was piled. He picked up the T-shirt with the offensive logo. “What the––” He looked from Mitch to the sheriff and back. “What’s my daughter’s shirt doing here?”

  “That’s Becky’s shirt?”

  “It was. That jerk of a boyfriend of hers gave it to her for her birthday, but her mother forbid her to wear it.”

  The sheriff took the shirt and looked at it, chuckling a little at the crude humor. “You’re sure this is your daughter’s?”

  “She had one like it.”

  “Where is Becky now, Wayne?” Mitch asked, putting two and two together and coming up with a solid four.

  “She’s at work––at the café. At least that’s where she’s supposed to be.”

  The sheriff eyed him. “Any chance your daughter’s the one who’s been camping out here? Was she home last night?”

  “She and her mom haven’t been on the best of terms lately. Becky’s been staying with a friend in town.” Wayne’s face drained of color. “Least, that’s what she told us.”

  “Do you know where your key to my place is?” Mitch asked as gently as he could.

  “I have a feeling I do know.” Wayne gripped his beard and hung his head. “Man, I’m sorry, Mitch. I should’ve wised up. We’ll make this right. I swear we will. I feel like an idiot . . .”

  “No harm done. I just hope she’s––”

  “If it was her, we’ll pay whatever it takes to get the place cleaned up, or the locks changed . . . whatever you need. You just let me know.”

  “Do you want to press charges, Mr. Brannon?” It was obvious in the way the officer asked he knew what Mitch’s answer would be.

  “No. Not if it turns out to be Becky. Definitely not.” He stepped forward and put a hand on Wayne’s shoulder. “If it was her, we’ll work it out between the two of us.”

  “Okay, then.” The sheriff moved toward the door. “You need anything else, you give us a call.”

  After the officer had gone, Marley apologized again.

  Mitch caught Shelley’s eye across the room and her soft smile buoyed him. He turned back to Wayne. “If it helps any, the whole reason I’m here today is because my son came down to stay in the cabin without permission. Sounds like we’ve both got some hard issues to deal with.”

  Marley shook his head. “I appreciate that, man. Good luck to you.”

  “Yeah. You too.” Mitch thought of Evan and his buddies––and the beer that was no doubt either buried at the bottom of the lake or stashed in a ditch somewhere waiting to be retrieved on the drive home. He sighed. He would send Evan back to Lawrence today so he wouldn’t miss any work. But he needed to clear his calendar and make a trip to Lawrence to have a tough talk with his son. And soon.

  Chapter 35

  Shelley peered at the dreary sky through the windshield of Mitch’s car. The wipers beat a hypnotic cadence as he navigated the winding roads back to Sylvia. They were an hour from home yet, and it had rained on them the entire way. It reminded her of those days last winter when she and Mitch had driven the crisscross of roads on the opposite end of the state. Searching for Jill. Searching for answers. And searching for a way to have a friendship with each other that they could both live with.

  In two weeks it would be July, and she wasn’t sure they were any closer to the latter than they’d been that day Mitch had kissed her.

  Oh, they’d talked easily on the drive home––about Evan, and how Mitch should handle his son’s trespassing at the cabin. And his drinking. Shelley wouldn’t say anything yet––Mitch didn’t need one more thing weighing on him––but she was deeply concerned about Evan, especially if he and Audrey were still exploring a renewed relationship. She needed to talk to Audrey and find out if her daughter knew that Evan was drinking and that he’d committed a crime by trespassing on private property to do so. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly, even if the property was Mitch’s.

  It was something she and Mitch would have to talk about eventually. Certainly if Evan and Audrey were seeing each other again. Shelley hoped it wouldn’t cause friction between her and Mitch, because there was already plenty of that. Both good and bad.

  She and Mitch had skirted around the question of where their friendship should go from here. But they’d reached no conclusions on any of it. The �
�now what?” question still hung heavy in the air between them.

  Still, Mitch seemed to have a new peace about him, and while the fact should have made her happy, it merely made her lonely. Because ever so subtly, as the miles disappeared behind them, she felt him pulling away from her.

  It surprised her that she didn’t feel more hurt by that fact. She’d even dared to hope––just for a moment––that this “false alarm” might jolt Mitch into realizing that Jill probably was not coming back.

  At the same time she was encouraged that her heart had stood by the things she’d told Mitch: She had to let him go. She knew that now. And as much as it hurt to let the dream of him die, nobody got to have all their dreams come true.

  It was almost three o’clock when they pulled into the Sylvia city limits. It felt like eons since Mitch and Shelley had left for an evening at the movies, and in one sense, he felt deflated that the whole trip to the lake had turned into nothing. And yet, the peace and . . . resolve he’d felt lying on that couch in the cabin this morning had stayed with him all the miles back to home.

  Mitch passed by his own driveway and turned into Shelley’s.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she protested. “I think I can walk the thirty feet to my house.”

  But he ignored her and pulled the car up as close to her front door as he could.

  “It’s not like I have luggage to carry or anything.” She fluffed her ponytail and gave him a wry smile.

  He reciprocated, appreciating her upbeat mood. She opened the car door, but he put the Saturn in Park, causing her to pause and look expectantly at him.

  “Thanks again for coming with me, Shelley. I know I didn’t leave you much choice, but—” He chose his words carefully, still unsure of––everything. “It was good to have a friend along. I mean that.”

  “I’m glad I could be there. I’m . . . sorry things didn’t turn out differently, Mitch.”