The Face of the Earth

by Deborah Raney

  He hadn’t yet informed Miriam and Bert about the call from the antique store, or about the renewed search. Simonides assured him they wouldn’t release information to the news media until they’d had a chance to investigate, and Mitch hadn’t wanted to raise false hopes––especially if Simonides was expecting, at best, to recover a body.

  The detective put a hand briefly on Mitch’s arm and a wave of appreciation for the difficult job this man did washed over him. “You and Ms. Austin may as well go on back to work. No sense waiting around.”

  Mitch’s apprehension must have shown in his expression because Simonides gripped his shoulder in a fatherly fashion. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you know the minute we find anything at all. I know where to find you if we need you.”

  July

  Chapter 38

  Saturday, July 2

  Shelley sprayed water from the garden hose over a pot of begonias that had seen better days. Eight a.m. and already the thermometer was headed toward triple digits. The summer heat had taken its toll on the flowerpots on her front porch––and on her––but she was determined to revive the flowers. With everything else that had happened, it was too depressing to watch them wither away.

  Through the screen door, she heard the faint ting ting of a text coming through on her cell phone. The special tone she’d set for Audrey. She turned off the water and hurried inside, drying her hands on the back of her shorts as she went.

  Audrey had driven down to Springfield for the weekend to spend a weekend with her roommates. Sliding the arrow to power on her phone, Shelley frowned. She hoped Audrey hadn’t had car trouble. Her old beater had been acting up.

  Can u call when u have time to talk?

  That sounded like an emergency to a mom. And not a car emergency. Trying not to imagine the worst, she dialed the number and Audrey answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, sweetie.” She tried to keep her voice casual. “Is everything okay?”

  Silence on Audrey’s end, and then sniffles.

  “Honey? What’s wrong?”

  “I think . . . it’s over with Evan. For good.”

  “Over?”

  “We just talked for an hour and––I think we broke up.”

  “You think?”

  “No . . . we did. We decided . . . we make better friends than boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Are you okay with that?” She couldn’t read her daughter’s voice, but it wasn’t like her to be so calm under such circumstances.

  Audrey sighed into the phone. “I really am. I mean, I’m kind of sad, I guess.” Her voice broke, but when she spoke again, she sounded steady and strong. “Evan’s a great guy. He really is. But I don’t think he’s anywhere near ready to settle down.”

  “Guys usually take longer to get there than girls.”

  “Yeah, I know . . .”

  “And he’s been preoccupied with everything happening with his mom.”

  “I know. But . . . I think it’s more than that. We just weren’t––quite right together. When I meet the right guy, I think I’ll know it. Won’t I? At least I hope so. I don’t think I’ll be as uncertain of things as I always have been with Evan. From Day One.”

  “I think that’s very wise coming from somebody who, just yesterday, was a little freckle-faced girl in pigtails.”

  Audrey laughed that patronizing daughter’s laugh, but then her tone turned serious. “Thanks, Mom. I’m glad I can talk to you about stuff like this.”

  “Me, too, honey.” Don’t let me cry, Lord . . . please don’t let me cry.

  Audrey asked her about how work was going, and they talked and laughed for another twenty minutes. And when Shelley hung up the phone––after she’d whispered a prayer of thanks for the news about Evan––it struck her that Audrey was slowly growing from daughter into friend.

  Thoughts of Jill made the tears come. She missed her friend so desperately. Ever since Mitch had told her about the call from the antique store where Jill had stopped on her way home that fateful day, she’d missed Jill as though her disappearance were fresh.

  How she longed for someone who would let her pour out all her confused thoughts and emotions, someone who could be her sounding board and help her see things more clearly, the way Jill always had. Of course she could never talk to Jill about the things that troubled her heart in recent days.

  Did she dare share these things with her daughter? Could Audrey understand how Shelley had grown to love Mitch more deeply every day? That she still longed for Mitch––someday––to be more than a friend?

  No. That wasn’t something she could explain to herself, let alone her daughter. She couldn’t burden Audrey with that part of her life. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Even the best of friends had to grow into trust before such tender confidences were shared. And no matter how much Audrey might want her to be happy, the childhood romance she and Evan had shared couldn’t help but complicate Audrey’s opinions about such a revelation.

  No, for now anyway, Shelley’s feelings for Mitch would remain something she explored quietly in the privacy of her own heart.

  Still, having her daughter become her friend was a lovely transition.

  And an answer to prayer. The thought startled her. And yet, how true it was. It was not so long ago that she’d begun to ask God to put someone in her life to fill the empty place Jill’s loss had created in her life. Send me a friend, Lord. Just one friend. How like Him to fill that need with the daughter who’d been there all along––and who, God willing, would always be there––but only needed to grow into the role of friend.

  She went back out to finish watering and had just turned on the spigot when she heard a car coming into their quiet cul-de-sac. She glanced up to see a Highway Patrol vehicle roll slowly up the street. It turned onto the Brannons’ driveway next door, and two officers in full dress uniform stepped out of the car and walked to Mitch’s front door, their heads bowed.

  She knew he was home and she watched as the door opened and the officers disappeared inside his house.

  Trembling, she turned off the water, and stood like a statue in the shadows of the porch’s eaves, the blood pounding in her ears. Something had happened.

  It had been three days since Mitch received the call from the antique store and the searchers had found nothing new. Still, the fact that Jill had been at that shop on the day she disappeared was the evidence they’d craved so desperately from the beginning.

  But it had come so late. So very late. Probably too late.

  Mitch had gone with the searchers over the weekend and had kept her updated on their efforts over the last few days. But hopes were flagging. Not that any of them dared to hope too hard after all this time. Mitch told her that Simonides had warned him they didn’t expect to find Jill alive.

  She didn’t think anyone really expected that any more, and yet, now that everything had been bumped up to the front burner again, none of them could help but have their hopes on the front burner, too. Shelley struggled to be grateful for this new lead. There was a time when she wouldn’t have wanted to examine her reasons for feeling that way. But she wasn’t afraid to do so now.

  She loved Mitch, and it tore her up to see him hurting. Whether she would ever have the right to express her love for him didn’t matter so much any more. She only wanted him to be happy, to be able to move on with his life. She wasn’t sure how much longer he could be ripped from hope to despair and back again––and not be changed by the torture of that tug-of-war.

  She must have stood on the porch for twenty minutes, watching his house, praying for Mitch. She prayed desperately that God would give him strength for whatever news the officers had brought. That he would finally have closure on this tragic chapter of his life. That he would be strong for Evan and Katie.

  Everything in her wanted to go over there and be with him. But something stopped her. This wasn’t for her to bear. Not now. Some grief had to be carried in private.

  She finally went inside and w
hen she checked the driveway ten minute later, the patrol car was gone. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “Be with him. Help him. Let him feel Your presence like he’s never felt it before.”

  An urgency compelled her to her knees and she knelt in front of the sofa, head in her hands, praying for mercy for the man she loved. Praying, until there were no words left and she could only weep.

  An hour later, the doorbell rang. Shelley hurried to answer it, praying again for the right words.

  Mitch stood there looking haggard and distraught, wearing an odd half smile that crumbled the moment he spoke her name. “Shelley . . .”

  “Oh, Mitch. What’s happened? What is it?” She opened the door and beckoned him in.

  “They found her, Shelley. They finally found her.”

  She led the way to the family room, to the sofa she’d just bathed in tears and prayers. He sat down, staring into the empty fireplace. For a full minute, he didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak, she suspected. She wanted so badly to put her arms around him, but she didn’t dare, not knowing yet what “they found her” even meant.

  He squinched his eyes shut and the words came––agonizing, halting. But they came. “They found her car in a ravine. Buried under water. She . . . she was still inside.”

  She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her throat. “Oh, Mitch. Oh, dear God. I’m so sorry.” She began to weep. Her friend was really gone. “When?” she whispered.

  Mitch reached for her hand. “They think probably that same day. The windshield was broken and they found . . . deer antlers broken off . . . caught in the steering wheel. Oh, Jill . . .” He released a sob and struggled for composure. “She–– She must have swerved trying not to hit the deer. They said the car had to have been airborne for twenty feet to land in that ravine the way it did.”

  Oh, Jill. Jill . . .

  “The car has been underwater, hidden by the underbrush, all this time. Two hours from home. So close, Shelley. She was almost home.”

  Morbid thoughts bombarded her. Her friend out there all this time. Eerie images of tree branches and deer antlers intertwined in her mind. A million questions that had no answers on this side of heaven.

  “She was flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones. How could I not have known––in my heart”––he placed his palm over his chest––“that she was in trouble? That she was . . . gone? How could I not have known?”

  “But don’t you see, Mitch . . .” The words she’d prayed for came then. “She wasn’t in trouble. At least not for long. All this time, Mitch, we’ve imagined the worst. And Jill wasn’t lost at all. Or lonely or suffering. She was home. All along, she was already home.”

  By the glow that lit his eyes, she knew they were exactly the right words. And not her words at all.

  He nodded. “They said she probably died . . . almost instantly.”

  Now Shelley was the one who could barely speak. “She’s in heaven. God had His hand on her all along. She’s probably been praying for us!” A strange excitement welled up in her. “Oh, Mitch! Almost before Jill could even realize that she was leaving this earth, she was being ushered into heaven. Straight into Jesus’s arms.”

  He wept then. And she took him in her arms and held him. Not as the woman who loved him––though she did. Oh, how she did. But as a friend––the friend of the woman he loved. The woman he’d lost.

  “How can I tell Katie . . . and Evan? How can I tell them she’s gone?”

  “They know, Mitch. I think in their hearts, they know. And just like it is for you, the worst is not knowing for sure. Your kids are strong. They’ll get through it. You’ll all get through it. It’s over now. It’s over . . .”

  He nodded against her shoulder and she felt the tension go out of him.

  It’s over . . .

  August

  Chapter 39

  Saturday, August 27

  A few of the slides were blurry and the music a little tinny-sounding, but it didn’t matter to anyone in the room. A week short of the first anniversary of her death, the life of Jill Evangeline Brannon was being celebrated by those who loved her most.

  Shelley laughed softly along with the others at some of the photos Jill’s kids had chosen for the slide show. As the images scrolled by on the screen overhead––marshmallow-smeared faces at the cabin, two-year-old Evan spraying the garden hose at a bathing-suit clad Jill, Mitch and Jill in silly party hats and sillier 2000 eyeglasses celebrating the turn of the millennium––memories overwhelmed Shelley. And she wept openly at a photo of her and Jill, arm in arm at one of their impromptu backyard picnics a couple years ago. Warm, tender memories. Truly things to celebrate.

  Tears flowed again seeing Katie’s shoulders shake as photos of a much younger Jill flashed on the screen, pudgy baby Katie in arms, and more recently Jill and Katie, arm in arm at Katie’s high school graduation.

  A family’s life reduced to a ten-minute slide show always seemed an apt and sobering metaphor for eternity. This life, in all its beauty and pain, was over in a flash, whether you lived to be forty-four or ninety-four.

  Two weeks ago, Jill’s remains had been buried in the church cemetery near her childhood home in southwest Missouri. And they had a date to inscribe on a grave marker. Given the alternative, it was a gift. Given the media circus they’d endured over the past year, Mitch had wanted to let that brief, private graveside service be enough. But Evan and Katie insisted on a memorial service. And as difficult as this day was, Shelley could already see what a healing time it had been for them all, even just in planning the program and putting together photos for the slide show.

  It was a small, private event, with only family members and a few close friends from church present, plus Mitch’s coworkers and Jill’s friends and fellow teachers. Jill’s father was in nursing care now, and hadn’t been well enough to make the trip, but Shelley had enjoyed some wonderful talks with Jill’s mom over the three days Miriam had been staying with Mitch and the kids. Jill had been so like her mother. It was a privilege to get the chance to tell Miriam so.

  The music stilled and an expectant hush came over the sanctuary. Shelley glanced over at Mitch and saw him rise from his place and climb the shallow steps to the podium.

  Give him strength, Lord.

  Mitch breathed in a prayer and steadied himself on the podium.

  He’d dreaded this moment, afraid he would fall apart in front of the people he cared about most. To his surprise, he felt strong––and privileged to have this time to honor Jill, to remember her life.

  He looked out over the sanctuary, overwhelmed by the blessing of friends. He found Shelley––head bowed, lips moving––and knew she was praying for him. Mitch had asked her to sit with the family today, but she and Audrey had chosen seats a little apart, at the end of an aisle behind Jill’s mother. And that seemed just right. Yet another thing he loved about Shelley Austin.

  He looked down at the front row where his children sat. Katie gave him a watery smile. But she sat with her back straight, her eyes bright. She fingered the silver band she wore on her right hand––Jill’s wedding ring. She would always be his little girl, his Katiebug, but she was turning into a lovely, gracious young woman and he could scarcely contain his pride in her.

  Evan sat beside Katie, stone-faced. But Mitch liked the way he propped an arm on the pew behind his sister, protecting her, ready to offer a big-brother hug if she needed one. Evan would be all right. He would find his way. Only he might keep Mitch on his knees for a while first.

  But he was learning that on his knees was a good place to be.

  What a relief that they could finally erase from reality the nightmarish fears for Jill’s well-being that they’d carried with them for all these months.

  Mitch shuddered. Yes, there were new images in his mind, horrific ones, given how long it had taken them to find Jill. Simonides had gently recommended that Mitch not view her remains. The car was undeniably Jill’s, and dental records positively identified the remains. H
e didn’t need more proof than that.

  But there was deep peace in knowing that on her final day on this earth, Jill had lectured an old boyfriend about what it took to have a happy marriage––a subject she knew well. She had called her husband to say she was on her way home and she couldn’t wait to tell him about her week. And she had traveled back roads toward home and stopped at an antique store to buy a gift for her best friend. Had Jill made it home to Sylvia, she might have called it an interesting day––her highest compliment for any day. Given her new, eternal perspective, Mitch thought she might have even declared it a perfect day.

  He was overwhelmed with gratitude for answers to his questions––answers he could live with. Or would learn to. Though none of them would ever understand why this tragedy had touched their lives, why God hadn’t allowed them to find her sooner, the facts they did have were ones he––and his children––could find closure in.

  He slipped his notes from his pocket and read the brief eulogy from the program. Then he put his notes aside and, speaking from the depths of his heart, he honored this woman he’d loved and gave thanks for the years God had given him with her.

  “It’s important for us to remember Jill’s life,” he said, after he’d spoken for fifteen minutes, “but I want us to also consider Jill’s death. As a very dear friend of Jill’s reminded my family”––he looked out over the sanctuary and caught Shelley’s eye––“all those hours . . . All the days and weeks and months that we were sick with worry about Jill, searching for her, praying for her . . . She was––already home.” His voice broke. He swallowed hard and took a long moment to regain his composure. “She was home in the most wonderful sense of the word possible. Already with Jesus––probably praying for us, if I know Jill. I don’t expect to ever understand––on this side of heaven anyway––why we had to suffer through all those long months. Why we had to worry and wonder. Why God allowed this to happen to Jill. Why we had to wait.”