Season of Waiting

by Jim Christopher

  The man moved, as if he was part of this living tapestry that surrounded Emerson every moment of every day. Except life radiated color. Everyone in the Silverleaf had a shine. A halo. Overlapping hues of Pinks, Blues, Purples, Oranges, and Greens spilled out from the people around Emerson.

  Everyone, except for this man. This man had no light at all.

  Chapter 41

  Blair

  She stumbled into Emerson. “Dammit, Em,” she cursed. “You gotta be careful about getting in people’s way!” Blair put a hand against her son’s back, egging him forward. He wouldn’t budge.

  She stooped down to him, her other hand rubbing his chest. A calming gesture she called an Emerson sandwich. “Hey? C’mon, Em, what’s up?”

  His eyes were fixed. Blair followed his stare, landing on the man that had been bogarting the table for the last few hours. The tea drinker. He was standing now, staring at them. His face made an awkward smile, the kind pleasant men make on first dates.

  Blair looked from the customer to her boy, confused. “Emerson, what’s wrong, honey?”

  Emerson ducked behind her in a flurry of fidgets. She straightened, surprised at her son’s behavior. His face buried into her lower back, the bones of his nose and chin jabbing her backbone. His arms held her waist in a death vise. She turned her head, crooked an arm awkwardly around to stroke his hair. She smirked at how shy her boy could be. She hadn’t any idea where he got it. Blair wasn’t timid. And Emerson’s asshole father was about as bashful as a horny dog. And less discreet. Yet somehow together, they had created this sweet boy. She turned, finding the customer approaching them.

  “Oh, you can pay your bill at the register, sir,” Blair said with her work smile. “I’ll be right there.”

  The man stood there, running a hand through his hair and then over the stubble on his blotched face.

  Blair squinted, confused. “I’m sorry, did you need something else?” She pulled Emerson around her, nudging him toward the counter. Her son bolted, reached the farthest stool at the counter. He scurried his small body behind it. His hands whitened as he gripped the pedestal of the stool. Christ, he was upset today.

  “Is he your son?” the man asked. There was a lilt in his voice. A tone. It rubbed Blair the wrong way. The words were innocent, but the man’s interest in her son was not.

  Blair’s mothering hackles flared. In a clipped voice, she replied, “I’m sorry?”

  His hands fumbled, as if he didn’t know what they were for. “My son—” He motioned toward the windows, to the world beyond. “My son and I. Ah, we came all this way.”

  Blair’s brow furrowed. She stepped around the man, placing herself between him and her son. His eyes shot over her shoulder to her boy as the man licked his cracked lips. She slid into his gaze again, hardening her stare. “What is it you want?” she demanded.

  “We … ah … we saw the video? With the deer?”

  The lightness of adrenaline flooded her chest. Christ. That fucking video of Emerson and the deer! She knew it would cause trouble. Her eyes washed the room, looking for Jaime. Where was he?

  The man closed the gap between them. Blair backed away, bumping into an empty table.

  His eyes went wide, pleading. “Was it real? The video?” he begged. He was already nodding, waiting for the answer he wanted to hear. The loose skin on his cheeks stretched into a hopeful smile. He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers digging into her bicep. “Please, tell me!” he whispered in a quick breath.

  The thrush of her blood filled her ears as she panicked, her hands rising up to protect her face.

  “I’m sorry,” the man gasped. His face fell as he let go and stepped back. Blair leaned farther into the table behind her. “I’m sorry, it’s just that … My name is Caleb. Caleb Allard.” He held out a frail and skeletal hand, which Blair met with a tentative handshake. His skin felt brittle, reminding her of onion skin, yet the strength of his grip made her hand ache.

  “Blair,” she replied, releasing his hand as soon as she could.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. … ?” He trailed off, looking for her last name.

  “Miss,” she corrected him. She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you want from me?”

  People were paying attention to their conversation now. They heard the edge in her tone and saw her hardened stance. She could feel the customers’ stares on them. That relaxed her a little, gave her a tepid sense of safety. These were her people; they knew her; they loved her. As if to prove it, Hue stood from his table a few feet away. He puffed himself up, his mechanic’s coveralls stretching on his lean frame. “You okay, Blair?” he growled. She nodded, keeping her focus on the man in front of her.

  The stranger pointed over her shoulder with a crooked finger. “Is it real? Is … he … for real?” he whispered.

  Blair swallowed. She took a glance at the man’s shoes. High-end joggers. Dirty, but new. Expensive. “Yes,” she answered, returning to his gaze. “As real as you standing here.” She struggled to recall this sickly man’s name.

  The man exhaled a single whimper, his eyes growing dewy. “I’m ah—” He stopped to wipe his eyes. “I’m sick, and I was hoping …”

  She and Jaime had talked about this. It wasn’t safe to discuss Emerson in public. Blair held up a hand and interrupted him. “Not here,” she snapped. The man’s face wobbled as his voice stuttered. She turned to the clock over the service counter. “My shift ends in about an hour. Meet me in the park across the street from here. There’s a wooden gazebo. You can’t miss it. We’ll talk there.”

  The man smiled. He wrung his hands and shifted his weight, as if unsure of where he needed to go. “Thank you,” he sighed. And again, Caleb looked past her, to Emerson. His face stern, eyes focused. A look of hunger, of longing. He repeated in a breathy whisper, “Thank you so much.”

  Blair stepped into his line of sight again. “The gazebo, one hour,” she said. The man grinned, turned, and hobbled toward the door of the diner.

  She watched the man walk. He was frail. His clothes were dirty and stained with sweat. But they were brand-name. Blair called after him, “Oh, mister?”

  He turned to her. He wiped tears from his eyes, his lips trembling.

  Blair folded her arms and nodded over her right shoulder, toward the register. “You still need to pay your bill.”

  Chapter 42

  Caleb

  Caleb stepped out of the Silverleaf into the hazy afternoon. The sun was different here than in New Mexico. Gentler on the skin, it traveled through a deeper sky, and it didn’t brutalize the earth like it did back home. In Utopia, the sun felt comforting instead of dangerous. Things had more of a chance to grow here, to fill in the space between buildings and roads. That made the air smell more lush and wet than out west.

  Caleb glanced across the street from the shade of the diner’s awning. The park was a flat acre of grass with a brown wooden gazebo a few dozen feet from the road. A crew worked on a stone wall at the close edge of the park, their trucks double-parked. He wanted nothing more than to get over there and wait for Blair and Emerson.

  The tap of a car horn pulled Caleb’s attention to the parking spaces in front of the Silverleaf, where he found Wes parking the Nissan. He walked to the driver’s window, spinning a finger so Wes would roll it down. Anticipation had him shaking.

  Caleb gasped at the cleanliness of his son’s face. He had washed himself off somewhere, his skin shining. Gone was the panicked demeanor of the morning. The car was clean too. Wes had emptied the backseat, save the carton of water bottles. Even the outside of the car was free from the dirt and grime with which it had come.

  “Any luck here, Pop?” Wes asked, his voice hopeful.

  The rush of excitement splayed a smile across Caleb’s face. “Yeah, it went well, son. I found him. I found the boy.”

  Wes sat up, anticipation widening his eyes. “You did? So fast? Holy shit!” H
e slapped the steering wheel with elation. He broke out the gummy smile. His honest smile. “I have to admit, Pop, I was afraid it might take a day or two. I wasn’t sure the plan would work!”

  “Yeah, me too. But it did! I saw the boy, and I met his mother.”

  Wes’s eyes glowed. “So, did you … ?” He gestured at Caleb’s cancer-ridden body.

  Caleb shook his head, his grin fading. “Not yet, she said to meet them at the gazebo over there soon.” He turned, pointing across the street into the park. “You cleaned up?”

  Wes nodded. “Made a few arrangements for us too.” He released his seat belt and exited the little car. Caleb considered asking him for details, but decided against it. The day had wrung him out; he couldn’t handle any more ups or downs. They were close now. Minutes away. Across the street and Caleb would be well again. An hour from now, he would be cancer-free. A wave of giddiness tickled his ribs.

  Wes handed him a bottle of water, taking one for himself, and they crossed Main Street to the park. The earthy odor of fresh masonry hung in the air. It mixed with the sweet smell from the pile of flowers the work crew pulled up to make room for their wall. Wes’s arm snaked through Caleb’s elbow. His son helped him move across the lawn and into the musty structure at the center of the park.

  Despite his earlier enjoyment of the lazy heat, Caleb was thankful for the shade. Wooden benches lined the octagonal bower. He motioned to the bench farthest from them, the one that faced the diner. Wes eased him down onto the splintering seat.

  Time passed, and Caleb kept laser eyes on the diner. Wes paced the edge of the gazebo, turning now and then to track the sound of a car or a voice.

  “Is that her?” Wes asked, pointing at a tall brunette walking on the other side of the partially built wall.

  “No, Blair’s a redhead. Small, but you can’t miss her.”

  A mud wasp buzzed by Caleb. He watched it circle and land on the railing. It crawled into a hollow of a papery nest on a post that supported the gazebo roof. After a moment it reappeared, somehow turning around so its head poked out of the tube first. It paused for a moment, pulsing its thorax before it shot into the air. Thin legs dangled from the insect as it spiraled awkwardly away, as if flying was just within its control.

  Caleb’s eyes tracked the wasp out of the gazebo. He saw a flash of unnatural red across the street. It was Blair. “There she is,” he whispered, unable to contain the tingling excitement brewing inside of him and stealing his breath. He stood from the bench uneasily, his back and stomach complaining about the last hour of waiting.

  Blair crossed the street beside a man built like a house. Caleb squinted, looking for Emerson. He couldn’t see the boy. The giant stopped just before they reached the narrow paved path from the street to the gazebo. The man turned to Blair, a hand on her shoulder. He was speaking to her; Caleb couldn’t hear the words but watched her nod adamantly. They moved toward the park. Caleb felt a chill, a compulsion to avoid the man’s glacial stare.

  The man entered the gazebo first, with Blair following. She still wore her work outfit, complete with the half-apron around her waist. The two were tentative as they settled against the railing on the other side of the rotunda.

  Wes drew next to his father to place a hand on his back. Caleb stepped forward, but stopped. The brute held up a hand, showing they were close enough. Blair crossed her arms, her eyes tight and her mouth a stern line.

  Caleb swallowed, missing the lightness of an hour ago. The boy wasn’t here. Blair’s face was passive. And this enormous man’s posture was threatening. Had she changed her mind? Caleb’s throat cracked, and he took a glub of water. “Thank you,” he said after wetting his throat. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Blair nodded. “Of course. This is my friend Jaime.” She nodded her head to the pile of bricks beside her. Before Caleb could acknowledge the man, she continued. “Y’all come far?”

  Wes answered. “From New Mexico. It’s been a”—he sighed, rubbing a gentle hand on Caleb’s lower back—“long trip.”

  Blair furrowed her brow and pursed her lips for a moment. Her arms opened and her hands found the front pockets of her jeans. Her eyes never left Caleb. He felt her watching. Not just looking at him. Something in the way she was taking him in, like she was measuring him. It made him uncomfortable.

  “You’re sick,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  Again Wes responded, “He has cancer. It’s terminal. We were hoping the boy—”

  Blair interrupted him, “Emerson.” Her gaze shifted back to Caleb.

  “Of course,” Wes continued, his tone placating and friendly. “Emerson. We were hoping Emerson could, you know, do the thing he did with that deer? On my dad?”

  Jaime shifted his weight, enough for the wood joists beneath his feet to groan. Blair nodded. Her eyes fell to the floor of the gazebo, to a decking nail stalked several inches out of the floor. She picked at it with her Croc.

  “What have y’all tried?” she asked, eyes down.

  Caleb cleared his throat. “I mean, everything, I guess? Radiation at first, chemotherapy, stem cell replacement. The whole shebang. Nothing’s stopping this disease,” he said, putting a hand on his abdomen.

  Blair nodded, looking up with a sympathetic smile. Caleb felt a slight unwind of tension as she replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. That sounds expensive and harsh.”

  “Thank you, Blair. I was preparing to … for the end, you know? I’ve just been managing my pain. And then we learned about your son, Emerson. We saw the video—we couldn’t believe it was real.”

  “Then why come all the way here?” she probed, her eyes curious.

  Wes replied this time. “We got confirmation from a higher authority.” His hand patted Caleb’s lower back.

  Blair’s expression deepened into amusement. Her smile grew, rounding her high cheekbones. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. Her face softened, along with her posture as she leaned farther against the railing. “He is the real deal too, ya know? I’ve seen it myself. Shit, I’ve lived it.” Her face became thoughtful. “I swear, I ain’t been sick since he started walkin’.” Pride shone on her face, her eyes floating to the roof in a moment of remembering.

  The moment passed, and Blair’s wistful eyes fell back onto Caleb. She continued, “I’ve seen that boy heal the sick, Caleb. Seen ’im put broken animals back together. He’s a miracle, you know? He’s my miracle.”

  Caleb had no response to that. He believed her.

  After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Blair sighed. “Look, I’m sorry to hear about your cancer, Caleb.” He swallowed the thick suspense in his throat, waiting for her to go on. Over a sigh, her eyes walked him up and down again. She finally nodded, her face relaxing. “We want to help you, okay?” Her voice was warm now. Caring.

  Caleb’s breath became light in his chest. He couldn’t help his eyes watering. He turned to his son. Wes had a hand to his mouth, as if he was trying to contain a joyous song from spilling out.

  “But there are three things you gotta understand,” Blair added. Her tone had turned to business. Professional. It pulled Caleb back into the moment, his eyes back onto her. “First, it don’t always work, you know?”

  Caleb gawked, unsure of what to say. “Sure? Okay? I mean we appreciate you trying. You can’t understand—”

  Blair interrupted him, “Second, we try it once, but that’s it. It takes a hell of a lot out of him.” She crossed her arms again.

  Caleb nodded, insecurity blooming in his chest. He looked at Wes, who was a mirror of his own confusion. The warbling hum of the wasp returned. It circled behind Wes and then around Caleb’s back.

  “Of course, of course, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Caleb said, turning back to Blair with a forced smile. He felt uneasy about something, but he couldn’t find what it was. His voice became tentative, his tone pitchy and unconfident as he asked, “And the third thing?”

  Jaime uncla
sped his hands, making his frame appear more intimidating. Blair’s eyes locked onto Caleb’s as she licked her lips. She gently cleared her throat before continuing.

  “And third,” Blair said, letting the moment hang in the air with the wasp, “we’re gonna need five thousand dollars. Cash.”

  Chapter 43

  Irene

  The Kimble County Sheriff’s Office in Junction was a hell of a lot smaller than the one in Las Cruces. The building was older, but the interior was immaculate. A cloying flowery odor filled the single room, potpourri that was trying too hard. Three small metal desks took up most of the space. A young officer sat at a desk near the door, his work space taken by a CB radio and a laptop. His long face bore an eager smile. He stood, smoothing his pressed brown button-down and adjusting his belt.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you?” His voice betrayed his youth. Irene looked at the nameplate pinned to his breast pocket. Leo. She wasn’t sure if that was his first or last name.

  “My name is Irene Allard,” she replied, her voice breathy and impatient. “I’m here because you found my brother’s car. It’s part of a Silver Alert for my father.”

  Leo’s smile widened. He turned his head, speaking into the room behind him. “Las Cruces was right, Sheriff,” he called. “She came all the way here.” Irene leaned her head around Leo’s solid build to see whom he was speaking to.

  A woman stood from the metal desk set against the back wall and turned around. A loose blouse and dark jeans covered her lean frame. She waved Irene over and pulled a chair away from the empty desk.

  “Go on ahead,” Leo said, turning back to sit at his desk. “She’s been expecting you.”

  An unease quivered in Irene’s belly. The woman’s stare was cool, her eyes piercing and sharp. Her face conveyed none of her feelings. She held out a hand as Irene approached. “Sheriff Dietrick,” she offered. Irene took her hand. Her grip was solid, but not overbearing. “And you are Irene Allard.” The sheriff motioned to the chair and Irene sat. The metal legs rubbed the floor as it took her weight, cutting the air with a sharp scraping sound.