by Jeri Odell
She handed him and his dad each a piping hot cup. “Let’s go out on the back porch and enjoy the stars. You appear in need of a mom and dad fix.”
Brady laughed. “How can you always tell?”
“I’m a mom.”
“And moms always know,” Brady finished for her. He and his dad followed her, and they settled into plush, wood-framed lounge chairs.
“What’s up, son?” his dad asked, sipping his hot chocolate.
Brady recapped his evening with Kendall. “Here’s the thing—I’m in love with her, and I’m trying to heed your and Delanie’s warnings, but it’s tough. I just know deep inside that she’s a single Christian woman. I believe she’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”
His mom glanced at his dad, and concern embedded itself in their eyes. “We hope all of that is true, Brady. I’ve grown to love Kendall, too, and am praying for this story to have a happy ending. I want that for you and for her.”
“But,” his dad added in his soft, serious tone, “just because you feel it deep in your bones doesn’t make it so. I’ve arrested people and convinced myself of their innocence because I wished it to be, but our hopes can’t change facts.”
Brady’s head knew the truth of his dad’s words, but his heart was on a course of its own.
“I’m struggling with my faith.” Brady rose and paced to the edge of the porch. He faced his parents. “I’m really mad at God about this whole thing. I mean, He’s God. He can do anything. Why doesn’t He? He knows who she is. He can restore her memory. He can send someone to claim her. Where is He?” Brady glared up into the black night sky. Where are You?
“Those are all questions each believer wrestles with at one time or another, but His Word guarantees He is there, whether you feel Him or not.” His dad spoke into the stillness of the night.
Brady let out a long, loud sigh. “I’ve never had a faith crisis before, and for the first time in my life, I’m not 100 percent certain that God is who I thought He was.”
“This is one of those times when you have to return to His Word and stand on what it says.”
“What does it say, Mom? Does it say Kendall will ever remember? Does it say she’ll be all right?” Brady sat on the end of the lounge chair, resting his head in his hands.
❧
Some mornings Kendall hated rehab, and this was one of those days. “I know it’s hard, Kendall, but I promise all your hard work will reap great rewards in the end.” Tom wheeled her back toward her room.
“If I live to see the end,” Kendall reminded him.
“You will.” His voice rang with promise, and she wanted to believe one day she’d be well—her body and her memory; however, doubts plagued her.
As Tom steered her chariot—his affectionate name for her wheelchair—through the door of her room, she caught sight of Brady by the window. Her heart did a happy dance. He and his mom were the two bright spots in her life.
“Brady! I had no idea you would be here!”
“Sorry we’re late.” Tom set the brake on her chair and faced Brady. “I made Kendall stay after class and work harder than usual. She’s my star pupil, and her therapy will be rigorous from here on out.” He patted her head like one would appease a small child and headed toward the door, stopping before he exited. “You two have a good night. See you tomorrow, Kendall.”
“Bye, Tom,” they both called after him.
“Rigorous, huh?” Brady lifted a brow.
“Sometimes, like today, I feel like he wants more from me than I can give.”
“You look beat. I planned to take you down by the U again, only this time I thought we’d walk. Maybe we should wait until you aren’t so tired.”
No matter how worn out she felt, spending time with Brady always held appeal. “A walk—or roll in my case—in the fresh air might revive me. And truthfully, it beats the thought of staying confined to this little room all evening.”
“A walk it is.” Brady let off the brake and made a U-turn with her chair. “Did you sleep okay?” Concern laced his tone as he rolled her down the tiled hall toward the nurses’ station.
“No. I tossed and turned and punched my pillow at least a million times.”
“Sounds as fun as my night.” Brady stopped at the desk and signed Kendall out; then he pushed her toward the exit doors. “I stared at the clock on my nightstand and wondered if I’d ever fall asleep. I’d force myself to close my eyes, but when I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, I’d peek at the clock, only to discover it was mere minutes later than the last time I’d checked.”
Brady stopped beside his SUV. “There’s nothing worse than not being able to fall asleep.” Each night she hoped for sleep to capture her and carry her off into a land of bliss and peace where she didn’t have to wonder about herself. But every morning when she woke up again, her life was still a mystery. Brady lifted her into the backseat and held out her seat belt. She pulled it around her and clicked it shut. Even though he’d instructed her not to think about anything except what she knew for certain, she’d struggled all night with the daunting question of who and what she could be and all the what-ifs that came with that.
Brady climbed into the driver’s seat. “The last time I remember checking the clock, it was three in the morning, and my alarm rang at six. Can you beat that?”
Brady had driven the few blocks from St. Mary’s rehab unit to the firehouse where he worked. He parallel parked on Ralston.
“Is this your station house?”
“Yep. I thought we’d walk from here. A lot of students that don’t live on campus rent places in this area.” Brady effortlessly lifted her from the SUV to her chair.
Kendall fought an urge to kiss his cheek and hug him tight. Instead, she diverted her thoughts to the surrounding area. They walked through an older neighborhood, much of it run-down and in need of repair. The houses were small, the yards unkempt. It reminded her of a poor village.
The thought triggered a memory from last night. “I had the strangest dream—almost surreal. I was playing with little children—dark-skinned ones like we saw yesterday at that restaurant. In the dream we all spoke Spanish. I knew them all, and they knew me. We ran through trees in a jungle, playing hide-and-seek. Do you think it’s significant or just a dream?”
“I don’t know.” Brady followed the sidewalk, turning onto a main street. “You do speak Spanish.”
“The children were laughing, but I remained still and quiet, hiding up in a tree. Several of them called to me, but they never found me. I kept yelling to them, but they couldn’t hear me or see me.”
Brady stopped and knelt in front of her. “Maybe it’s your anxiety over wanting to be found by someone who knows you.”
Kendall nodded, though not completely convinced.
“This is where your accident happened.”
Kendall studied every building, the street, but none of it looked familiar. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember.
She saw headlights coming toward her. Her heart pounded, and a scream tore from her throat. She felt as though all the blood had drained from her body. “No!” she cried. “No! Please don’t hit me!” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Eight
Brady swung by his parents’ house the next morning, coming through the garage.
“Hi, sweetheart.” His mom kissed his cheek on her way to the kitchen. “The coffee’s hot. You want a cup?”
“Sure. Where’s dad?” Brady settled on a bar stool, facing his mom and the kitchen.
“Shaving. He’ll be out in a minute.” She pulled a bag of frozen blueberries from the freezer. “Have you had breakfast?”
Brady shook his head.
“Dad and I are having smoothies. Would you like one?”
“Sure.”
“Morning, Brady.” His dad buttoned his uniform shirt as he walked into the room.
“Hey, Dad. I have some Kendall news for you and Mom.”
“Did her memory return?” H
ope filled his mom’s face as she swung around to face him.
“No, but she remembered her accident—at least part of it.”
“Does she remember the car—color? make? model?” His dad was always the investigative officer.
“No. Sorry. All she remembers are the headlights coming toward her and the fear that washed over her as she realized someone was about to hit her.”
“Still no identity, though—hers or the driver’s?”
“Nope.” Brady stirred cream and sugar into his coffee. His dad settled on the stool next to him.
“This is huge, though,” Marilyn said as she continued adding ingredients to the blender. “She remembers something—a snippet. Surely more will come.” She hit Start, and the blender hummed to life, mixing and grinding.
“I hope so.” Part of Brady feared what they might discover. Sometimes he wondered if she might be better off starting with a clean slate. No memory. No past life. Of course, he knew burying the past never erased it.
“So what brings you by so early this morning?” His dad sipped the hot coffee.
“Not that we aren’t happy to see you,” his mom added, pouring the frozen drink into three glasses.
“I’m hoping Dad and I can go to the evidence room and sort through Kendall’s things. I just need to see for myself exactly what’s there. Will you get me in?”
“Sure, if you think it will help, but nothing out of the ordinary was noted.”
“I know, and I’m certainly not slighting the reports. It’s just that since I know her, maybe something will mean something to me that wouldn’t to someone else. Am I grasping at straws?”
“Maybe.” His dad set the smoothie down. “But I understand your need to try. And unfortunately, with the recent string of casino robberies, I have no manpower to devote to a hit-and-run investigation, so this might be a good idea.” He pulled out his BlackBerry and checked his calendar. “I’m free until a 10:00 a.m. meeting. Drink up, and we’ll head over there now.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m hoping against hope that there will be a clue of some kind. Somewhere, somehow, there has to be something. I can’t give up, and you and Mom are the best for your understanding and help.”
His mom winked at him. “We try.”
Brady quickly finished his smoothie.
His dad had gone into the office to gather what he needed to take with him. “You ready?” He had his briefcase in tow.
Brady nodded and hugged his mom. “Thanks for the coffee and breakfast.” He followed his dad out the door into the garage. “I’ll meet you at the precinct.”
On the way over, Brady asked God to give him and his dad wisdom to see what others might have missed. He asked God to prepare both him and Kendall for what might lie ahead. He couldn’t shake the dread that settled over him like a dark cloud.
Once parked, he met his dad on the front steps of the building and trailed him through the halls to the locked evidence storage area. All evidence was kept under lock and key with an officer posted outside the room at all times.
“Chief Cooper.” Surprised to see the top gun, the officer stood straighter.
“Good morning. How’s that wound of yours healing?”
The surprised expression turned to shock. “My wound, sir?” At Chief Cooper’s nod, the policeman continued. “I’m doing well, sir. Thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. You’ll be back out there before you know it.” Brady watched his dad fill out the necessary form to enable them to view the evidence. The humility and integrity his dad possessed struck Brady. He accepted no special favors because of who he was or the office he filled.
The officer led them through a locked gate, locking it again behind them. He took them into a room with only a large table and gave them each a pair of white gloves. Then he left, carrying the form his dad had filled out.
“He’ll retrieve the evidence and lay it out on the table for us to peruse,” his dad explained.
“He seemed surprised that you knew about his injury.”
His dad shrugged. “They’re my men. I try to keep track of them.”
The officer returned, carrying a sealed box. Setting it on the table, he removed the contents and checked each against a master list. Brady moved closer, eyeing each thing removed from the box. This was all that remained of Kendall’s life—all that was known.
His dad checked the inventory and signed the sheet. “Ring this buzzer,” he said, pointing near the door, “when you’re finished.”
“We will. Thank you.”
The officer left, locking them and Kendall’s evidence inside the stark room. Brady wasn’t even sure where to begin. He walked around the table, eyeing her bike, her helmet, a baggie with her crushed cell phone, another baggie with a chain and some keys. Her clothes had been cut off, their chopped remains lying at the other end.
Brady glanced up. His dad studied him as intently as he studied the contents of Kendall’s life. His dad gave him a compassionate, encouraging smile. Brady moved past her riding attire to the pictures from the scene. He picked one up. The sight of his beloved Kendall lying in the rubble and blood nearly did him in—and he was a medic, for goodness’ sake. He’d seen far worse, but somehow it was different when a loved one was involved.
His dad moved over beside him, picking up several pictures. He, too, seemed moved by the blood and gore. “We see this sort of thing every day—you and I—but it’s different when the victim is someone you care about.” His dad laid the pictures down, moved to the other end of the table, and examined her bike. Brady joined him.
The frame was bent. The tires flat and wheels mangled beyond repair. The seat was twisted and torn. Both he and his dad stood bent over the bike, studying each inch of metal.
“This bike looks brand-new.”
Brady glanced at his dad. Was he nuts? This bike looked like it had been through a war and lost. “How so?”
His dad pointed to the shaft that held the seat. “Look at how shiny this paint is. No scratches. No fading. And the chrome that isn’t damaged is spotless.”
Brady nodded his agreement.
Brady’s dad picked up the helmet, holding it between his two index fingers. He examined it thoroughly inside and out. The helmet had some bloodstains on it and a dent on the right side.
“See, this doesn’t look new. The inside and strap show some wear.”
Brady examined it closely, amazed at his dad’s astuteness. “Guess that’s why you’re the cop.”
Frank gently returned the helmet to the table and moved on to the clothing. In less than a minute, he made his assessment. “This riding outfit is well worn.”
Now that, even Brady could see. “What does it all mean?”
His dad shrugged, focusing his attention on Brady. “My educated guess?”
Brady nodded.
“She hasn’t been in Reno long. Picked up a new bike when she got here, but she is an experienced biker, probably been doing it for years.”
Brady shook his head. “How did you get all that from this?” He pointed to the pile of rubble strewn across the table.
“The bike is new. It’s a Gary Fisher, which is a top brand. Serious bikers like good equipment.” He picked up her riding shoe. “Not everyone who owns a bike owns a pair of these.”
“That’s for sure.” Brady thought of his mountain bike collecting dust in his garage. He biked in his running shoes.
“Her helmet, shoes, and riding gear all show wear. They are also easier to pack and move than a bike would be.”
“Especially if you’re a college student and arrived by plane.” Brady felt pleased with his deduction.
“Exactly.” His dad smiled his “Good job, son” smile.
“But you asked the college for a list of no-shows.” Brady rubbed the back of his neck.
“Maybe she hadn’t enrolled yet.” His dad picked up the cell phone bag and carefully emptied the contents onto the table. “I don’t know.”
Brady watched as the re
d phone slid from the bag in three pieces. It had a tire mark across the back of the main body. His dad used his pen to turn the phone over.
“I think this is new, too. Look at the screen. Even though it’s cracked, the glass appears new. What isn’t scratched or broken is shiny.”
Brady didn’t quite see it, but he trusted his dad.
His dad pushed the phone back into the baggie and laid it aside. “I’ll get this sent to the crime lab and see if they can recover any information from the phone itself. As soon as they can spare a minute, I’ll have Frankie and his crew visit every bike shop in the city that sells Gary Fisher. They can take a picture of Kendall with them. Chances are if she bought it here, she paid with either a credit card or check. Between the cell phone and the bike, this might be the lead you’ve been praying for.”
“I hope so.” A tiny seed of expectation planted itself in Brady.
“Here’s a key and some jewelry.” His dad slid a key chain out of the bag. A single key was attached to a small wire circle. “It’s a house key.”
“To someplace here in Reno,” Brady said, tacking on the obvious.
“The girl traveled light,” his dad commented as he extracted a silver bracelet inscribed with Kendall’s name from the bag. Finally, he pulled out the last item, a plain gold chain with a delicate gold band suspended from it.
Brady’s heart fell to the floor, and his chest felt suddenly heavy, as if an elephant had stomped on him. His dad’s gaze rose to meet his, compassion filling his eyes.
“Maybe it’s not what it looks like. I mean, why would she wear a wedding band on a chain around her neck?” Brady attempted to reason away the facts.
His dad slipped it on the end of his pen and examined it at close range.
“It’s inscribed.” His dad squinted to make out the words. “In Spanish.”
What little hope Brady held on to was dashed to the ground with his father’s words. “Spanish?” Brady felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Kendall speaks Spanish, and she dreamed about a village with dark-skinned children.”